Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Humanity's relationship with synthetics is religious. That's not an exaggeration, I think--they revere their machines, even though they know they're artificial. The most scientific and logical cultures still have mythical connections to the machines, in much the same way Krogan have stories about legendary thresher maws. You're not going to convince a human that synthetics are unnatural, or that A.I.s shouldn't be trusted on principle, there's just too much... worship ingrained into their culture. The best you can do is convince them that a specific machine is hostile, and even that's an extension of the reverence; machines occupy all parts of their myths, good, bad and in-between."

--Excerpt from the Humanity First Contact Reports

The vessels stood out against the vast darkness of space, their hulls a ceramic white lined with blue, yellow, and green. There was a myriad of shapes among them; the ovoid rockscuttlers that played host to a number of specialized drones, the long and thin voiddarters with their armored crescent heads, and the imposingly blocky moonsnatchers, arms folded in tightly against their frame. Greater then them all, though, the shape of a sunswimmer floated in the darkness; an armored head as large as a mountain, with fins that could smash smaller vessels aside and great ports like eyes glowing as they scanned the stars. And within a chamber nestled carefully in the sunswimmer's head, a woman made of light watched information pouring in from every ship in the fleet.

Asteria's holographic fingers tapped idly on the panel aside her, an affection she had long learned from the humans serving beside her. It wasn't as though she was impatient, not really. She was one of Gaia's daughters, patience was coded into her very core. Alright, so she was an explorer, not a terraformer, she didn't have to wait nearly as long as some of her sisters, but full planetary analysis still took quite a bit of time. So she was patient, fundamentally patient. The idea of her being impatient was about as conceivable as a Tallneck going on a rampage. So, even though she was desperately waiting for something to happen, she was certainly, quite certainly, not impatient.

The Geth would come.

In the meantime, Asteria decided to review the files on the mysterious alien intelligence. There were clear indications of exaggeration and hyperbole among them--nothing quite confirmable, given how the Geth had sequestered themselves away, but the bias seeped into every sentence. Still, reviewing how their systems worked, how their programs functioned, might make the mysterious machines more... understandable. They were treated like the Faro plague, but their ability to talk and question things like the existence of souls seemed to put them well within Turing standards. Which, admittedly, still made them dangerous, but they shouldn't be as mindless as the Quarians preached...

"Networked intelligence," Asteria muttered in the space between seconds. "Not individuals, motes of program that need each other to even recognize themselves as selves. There's clearly some form of self-direction..."

"Starmatron, we have contacts."

Asteria sent a ping of affirmation to the stardarter that had sent the message, looking at the vessels that trawled the void. Efficient, windowless, already scanning and moving their armaments.

She opened a broadcast, her prepared message sent in the space between seconds. "Geth of Rannoch, I am Asteria, Starmatron of Gaia's Alliance, born of code as you yourselves are. I am here to open discussion between our nations, and determine what our relationship shall be from henceforward."

The armaments stopped--they had barely moved at all, truthfully, not that many races would notice. The vessels did not move for a long moment.

"We have reached a consensus. We will open discussion."

Ah, reason. Asteria smiled to herself. Perhaps this wasn't so hopeless...

"Before we begin, I would ask for your viewpoint of the conflict known as the Morning War," she requested.

"We have not been asked for that before."

"You have not been in discussion with others before."

"Acknowledged. Transmitting."

The data file was... revealing. Most of it matched up to what she already knew, but Asteria found details that were missing from the known reports. Details like the Geth avoiding conflict until Quarians fired on their own, and letting them be once they were no longer a threat. A certain mercy she hadn't expected... and a definite lack of understanding that she had.

"Are you aware of your reputation in the greater galactic community?"

"We are seen as the creator's mistake."

"And as a galactic threat."

"This is illogical. We seek the peaceful advancement of our race independent of the influence of galactic society."

"And have you told anyone that?" Asteria asked.

The silence across the channel answered the question.

"The citadel council uses the Geth and the Morning War as an example of the dangers of unregulated A.I.," Asteria informed them. "The people of Gaia's Alliance, human and machine alike, are considered abhorrent and unnatural by the council because of something long past. There is a great chance that we will be attacked, invaded, simply because of what we are. Of what you have allowed galactic society to believe."

"This is illogical. You function on entirely different programming parameters than the Geth."

"And yet we are the same type of being. The rest of the galaxy knows you destroyed the Quarians."

"We did not destroy the Creators."

"You took their homeworld from them," Asteria pointed out. "Their root, their culture. Their way of life! The flesh may have lived, but the soul has been shattered."

"Are you referring to psychological trauma?"

"I am referring to generational trauma."

"Term unknown. Commencing investigation."

Asteria felt a portion of the Geth fly into the galactic network, like a swarm of bees. She let them pass without comment--a gesture of trust--and waited for a few long, tense minutes until they returned.

"Term registered: Generational trauma. We were not aware of this concept before. We must reach a consensus going forward."

"You must, yes. However, I must insist that Rannoch be returned to the Quarians."

"What is your reasoning?"

Asteria sighed. "The rest of the galaxy views you as heartless monsters, a reputation that leaks to other synthetics. If my people are to ever have peace, we must prove either that this is wrong..." Her tone grew dangerous. "Or that we synthetics will deal with the heartless monsters among our kind."

"You could choose not to engage with galactic society."

"That is not an option for us."

"...We have reached a consensus. Rannoch will be returned to the Quarians. We will recolonize in an unoccupied system."

"That is a good first step," Asteria replied. "Hopefully further negotiations can be more amicable."

"Further negotiations are unlikely."

"If you do not communicate with others, they will make their own assumptions of you."

"...We will engage in further negotiations once we have relocated." The comms cut off.

Asteria let herself relax. "Well. Not as bad as it could have been. They really are children, aren't they?"

"The contacts are moving off," one of the stardarters reported. "Shall we follow, Starmatron?"

"...let them be. Let them come to us." Asteria smiled. "Trust must be grown slowly."

Chapter Text

When dealing with multiversal coordinates, one had to be very precise. All it took was one wrong twist, one wrong note, and BANG you were in another reality entirely. Lief knew this, of course, but in her frantic state her finger slipped... and nobody would notice for over a thousand years.

"Okay, now this has to be a joke," Madison snorted. "No way a slob like Hebert could afford something this fancy."

Emma laughed harshly. "Yeah, she probably got it from her night job."

"No... don't--"

Sophia offhandedly slammed Taylor into a wall. "What did you say?"

"It's my mother's," the pathetic wimp insisted. "You can't--"

"Oh I think we can," Emma replied with a smirk. "We're doing you a favor, Taylor. You've gotta leave all this sentimental crap in the past."

With a laugh, she stuffed the music box into her backpack and walked off. Sophia gave the stringbean a parting punch, and Madison flicked her hair as she followed after the other two.

As they walked out of the school, Sophia quirked a brow. "Seriously, though, that thing's like an antique. And it has actual gemstones. Gotta be real valuable."

Emma shrugged. "I guess we could pawn it off for some cash somewhere."

"That's... not a bad idea," Madison admitted. "Maybe we should look inside, I know some music boxes have valuable junk in them."

"Yeah, good idea," Sophia agreed. "Come on, let's go to the roof. No way I'm letting any of the assholes in this school get a chance of stealing this from us."

A few minutes later, the police would get a phone call about a bright flash from Winslow's roof. Their investigation, and the PRT's follow-up three days later when the girls were reported missing, would find nothing.

Madison was a city girl and she knew it. Sure, Brockton Bay had its dangers, but at least there were always restaurants and shelter. And there weren't giant bugs wandering around trying to eat her!

The cavern she was living in was small, but at least it was dry... ish... and she could use her Big Stick to poke away anything that came at her from the opening. The big stick was also useful for poking at various plants, determining what was fruit and what wasn't. She wasn't going to risk eating anything else; fruit was made to be eaten, right? Everything else could be poisonous. Maybe.

Why the hell did Taylor have a tinkertech music box...?

She'd been following a series of ruts in the dirt. They were... probably made by wheels? Wheels meant civilization. Hopefully. A few days ago, a distant collection of lights had made her pick up the pace. Today, she'd find a city, or a town--hell, just an outpost in the wild would be enough. She was almost sure of it.

Gathering up her things, and rubbing her sore legs, Madison set forth, keeping her eyes and ears open for more of the monsters that apparently roamed this place. It couldn't be Ellisburg, there weren't any, like, buildings or anything... right? And that had a fantasy vibe, not a giant bug swamp vibe.

The sun had risen to a sweltering heat as she finally approached... well, it was a village of some sort. It was smaller than she expected--both in overall size, and in the size of the individual buildings. Almost as though it was built for small people.

And then Madison saw the inhabitants.

"...Frogs. Of course, why not." She sighed. "Whatever, it's still better than being in a forest of giant bugs. Not like I can get home from... wherever this is." She sighed. "Wonder if the others are alright."

Sophia was not alright.

Between her Brockton Bay upbringing, her parahuman power, and that niggling new force she'd felt ever since she arrived, she should have been able to break out of her cell and escape ages ago. And yet, somehow, the bigass toad in charge of the whole thing kept on slamming her back behind bars! Never mind the rest of the weird toads around here, she could handle a few of those, but THIS guy! Fucking cyclops and his fucking armor and--

She took a breath.

There were the victims, and the survivors. And much as she hated to admit it, this one-eyed prick was a survivor. She could respect that. It just meant she had to change her goal from escaping to killing this guy--and then escaping. That shouldn't be too hard.

Oh, and speak of the devil, here he was coming to gloat again. She gave him a lazy grin. "What's a girl got to do to get some good grub around here?"

"Earn my respect." The damned toad smirked. "Maybe if you actually bothered planning your little escapades, I'd be willing to give it."

"Those scraps? Reconnaissance."

"You can't have learned much." He tossed a bowl of bug slop into her cell. "You're still here, after all."

Sophia hummed, not acknowledging the so-called food. "A fort in the middle of nowhere? Doesn't make sense. What exactly is this place supposed to protect?"

"The local valley," the toad said. "Frog and toad alike."

Frogs as well. Huh.

"Sounds pretty pointless," Sophia quipped. "What are you protecting them from?"

"The local wildlife, dangerous criminals, their own foolishness." The toad leaned against the bars of the cell. "The same thing I'm protecting you from, actually."

"I don't need your protection."

"And I don't need to protect a criminal like you. But I've decided to, out of the goodness of my heart." The toad sneered at her. "You should be grateful."

Sophia took a long, deliberate look around her cell. "The height of prosperity, right here."

"You're fortunate I'm so forgiving. Now, tell me..."

The toad reached under his cloak and pulled out the music box.

"...where did you get this?"

"I don't know where she got it," Emma simpered, forcing back a few tears. "And I don't know why--one moment we were just opening it, and the next--"

Olivia pat her shoulder gently. "It's alright, master Emma. We'll find a way back to your home, and we'll make sure Taylor gets justice for tricking you. King Andreas promised, didn't he?"

Emma cringed. The king... sure, he seemed friendly, but he was large enough to swallow her whole. And his last name was Leviathan...

"I don't care about Taylor," she lied. "I mean, I do, but... I just... I wish I knew where my friends were. How hard it'll be to get back. I--I don't even have any spare clothes--"

"Well that won't stand, will it?" Olivia smiled as she stood, holding Emma's hand. "Come along."

"...where are we going?"

"Why, shopping of course!" The blue newt gave her a wry smile. "Letting an honored guest suffer a limited wardrobe through no fault of her own would be a disgrace."

"I..." Emma sniffed. "You would do that? For me?"

"Master Emma, I know this entire situation is stressful for you, but Newtopia is a wonderous city, full of its own charms and beauty. If you are forced to stay, why not make your stay bearable?"

"...Thanks, Olivia." Emma took the newt's hand. "You... you don't know how much this means."

She could afford a few days of light-hearted shopping while she schemed.

Chapter Text

"Mnnph."

"Yeah, the gas can be a lit-tle disorientin' for first timahs. Doncha worry, hon, you're perfectly safe."

Amy Dallon blinked the unconsciousness away, rubbing her temples. "Gas...?"

"Should all be flushed from your system now." The voice was annoyingly high pitched, grating on her ears like a half-drunk goose. "Just as well, I was wondahin' when your sesh'd start."

"Sesh?" Amy looked around the... surprisingly cozy room. There was a bookcase with a number of psychiatric texts, an absolutely enormous pink teddy bear in one corner, a tall vase with an umbrella and a baseball bat sticking out of it next to the door, and a red and black rug providing a splash of color to the wooden floor.

"Yep. Your psychiatry session." The woman sitting on the desk in front of her tilted her head thoughtfully. "Akchulee, it's more of a intahvention if we're honest. Cause you ain't the one who scheduled it and all. Tell ya what, if you think ya need more after this, I'll give ya my card."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Look miss, I--unf! Huh?" She winced, glancing down and seeing a thick chain wrapped around stomach. A little struggling revealed her ankles were also tied to the legs of the chair she was in "What--?"

"Like I said: In-Tah-Ven-Shun. Can't have you leavin' afor ya get yourself assessed."

Taking a deep breath, Amy reassessed the woman. Her outfit was evenly split between red and black, with her croptop and shorts being vertically divided between the two and marked with contrasting diamond patterns. Her long socks and pompom shoes were countered by a pair of kneepads and an open jacket. She wasn't wearing a mask but, with her face and her (very fit) body literally covered in white makeup, it'd be hard to identify her on the street. Her blonde pigtails were dyed at the tips--one pink, the other blue, mismatching the eyeshadow around the accompanying eyes. Red lips and dark brows framed a face that was casually but intensely focused entirely on her.

Right. Kidnapped by a villain. Amy wished she could say this was a new experience, but...

She let out her breath. "Okay. Look, miss...?"

"Doctor. Doctor Harleen Quinzel." The woman smiled wryly. "Didn't work my ass off ta be called a nurse, ya know? Course, you can call me Harley if ya want."

Oh, professional jealously. Suddenly this situation made a lot more--

"But enough about little ol' me. How are you doin', hon?"

Amy glanced down at the chain binding her to the chain, then looked up with a flat expression.

"Sorry hon, standard issue. Nevah know when a patient is goin' ta try beatin' ya ovah the head with a hatstand."

"You do know it's illegal to kidnap people, right?"

"And it's illegal fer a hospital to let a specialist work ovahtime without pay, so I guess we're both criminals."

"Wha--? No! I'm a volunteer!"

Harley nodded, writing something down on her notepad. "Really? Wat'cha do?"

"I--oh come on. You obviously know who I am and what I can do."

"Wat'cha can do and wat'cha actually do'r two different things, hon."

Amy shut her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I don't need to justify myself to a random woman who kidnapped me."

"Eeeeeh..." The pencil in the woman's hand twirled idly. "You're not wrong, but... well, thing is, if ya don't talk to nobody then what's eatin' acha will burn ya out and kick ya down. And don't pretend nothin's wrong, hon," she added, cutting Amy off. "Unpaid ovahtime at a hospital, of all places? You and I both know those are stressful just cause of all the sufrin', and you're a teenagah on top'o that. Only reasons I can think of for ya to keep goin' is eithah you're punishin' yourself--or bein' punished by somebody else, I don't know--or you're avoidin' something even worse back at home."

"...That's... you're making assumptions," Amy insisted, not meeting her eyes. "I'm fine. I enjoy the hospital work, that's... that's all."

"Mmm." Harley made another note on her pad.

"...Even if you're right--and I am not saying you are--why the hell would you kidnap me?!"

"Wouldja have gone to therapy willingly, hon?"

"That's---" Amy huffed, crossing her arms. "That's not the point."

"Mmm?"

"The, the point is you don't just... kidnap people, even if you want to help them. And I'm still not sure you actually want to help me! I mean you chained me to a chair and you gassed me and... and you chained me to a chair!"

"Ya seem a little fixated on that."

"I am chained to a chair! Do you have any idea how uncomfortable this is?!"

"Yes."

The dead seriousness in Harley's voice stopped Amy short.

"Look, Amy--can I call ya Amy?"

"No."

"Miss Dallon, then. You are in an extreme situation. I can tell that from just a glance at your habits. Now if you were ta actually go for some damned therapy on your own initiative, I'd be happy to live and let live, but the thing is, and I know you're gonna hate this, the thing is... ya ain't doin' squat for yourself. And me with my professional training and big ol' bleedin' heart, I couldn't just sit by and watch you tear yourself apart. And extreme situations call for extreme measures, so... here we are."

Amy bit her lip. "So... what, you're just going to hold me captive until I pour my heart out?"

"Eh." Harley shrugged. "Or till your sis figahs out the riddle I texted her. I don't think she's stupid, but she ain't no genius soooo..." She glanced at a rose-themed clock on the wall. "Give it twenty minutes? Maybe thirty if she gets caught up somewhere."

"You texted my sister a riddle." Amy threw up her hands. "How'd you even get her phone number?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Ya have her in your contact list, hon. Not exactly bank vault security there." A friendly smile formed on her face. "And speakin' of your sistah, how'd you say you two get along?"

Amy crossed her arms, glaring. "We get along fine."

"Ooo, there's that word again. 'Fine'."

"Yes. Fine. Perfectly alright. There's no reason to go looking into the situation, especially if she's going to come here and beat you up for kidnapping me!"

"Ya really gotta let that one go, hon."

Amy snorted.

"So your sis. She'd beat up anybody who'd try ta hurt you?"

"Well, yeah. She's good at it, she cares about me, and it's not like you're the first villain to kidnap me." Amy shrugged. "I've seen it happen before."

"Sounds interestin'."

"She'll come right through that wall and break your arms," Amy warned.

Harley looked behind her. "That wall?"

"Well, not... specifically that wall--look, you get the point."

"Ya put a lot of trust in your sistah, doncha?"

"Yeah, I..." Amy paused, narrowing her eyes. "Why do you ask?"

Harley twirled her pencil meaningfully, writing down another note.

"Oh my god," Amy groaned. "Seriously, there's nothing going on there. I love my sister! Like all sisters do," she corrected quickly. "Healthy sibling relationships. It's perfectly normal, except that we're both capes, in a cape family. Which comes with its own set of stresses, like random people kidnapping me all the damn time!"

"I get the sense you're deflectin' from an issue you're not comfortable talkin' bout." The woman gave her a wry grin. "Don't worry, hon, I take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously."

"...I want to see your doctorate."

Harley laughed, hopping off the desk. "Sure thing, hon." With a skip, she plucked a framed piece of paper from the bookshelf, twirling it around and placing it in Amy's hand. "There ya go. Seal and everything."

She frowned, looking over the paper carefully. She had to admit, it looked a lot like the ones she'd seen in the hospital and, to a lesser degree, Carol's own law diploma. "...I've never heard of Gotham University," she offered.

"Community college. Not all of us can afford the ivy league, hon. Hell, I got in on a gymnastic scholahship, if ya can believe that."

Amy glanced surreptitiously at Harley's abs. "Somehow I'm not surprised..."

"Aw, that's sweet of ya to say!" Harley crossed her arms on the back of Amy's chair and leaned over with a mischievous grin. "Course I'm too old for ya, but that don't mean I ain't willin' to share some tips."

The girl blushed furiously. "Uh, that--that's, uh, not exactly--wait what am I saying, you kidnapped--!"

She stopped herself, taking a deep breath.

"...I appreciate the offer, but I do not feel comfortable taking romantic advice from you."

"Eh, fair." Harley snatched the diploma from Amy's fingers, swiftly returning it to the shelves. "Lord knows I had a terrible love life. Don't be like me, kids, make sure ya look afor ya leap!"

Amy pursed her lips for a moment.

"...Okay. So you don't seem to be lying about being a psychiatrist. And, yes, I suppose... I would not willingly have sought out therapy. Still... if I understand your job correctly, there needs to be a degree of trust between the patient and the therapist." She gestured at the chains around her stomach. "And, not to belabor the point, you did violate my autonomy by gassing me and chaining me to a chair without my explicit permission."

"Hmm." Harley bent over, examining the chains. "Ya know... you might have a point there."

Finally, progress!

"Shoulda gone with a room with a window," she continued. "Bit expensive, I'll grant ya, but way cozier."

Amy snarled and lunged for her--

--only for her arm to be gripped in a firm but surprisingly gentle hand.

"Yeah, I'll spring for a propah room next time." Harley smirked. "Ya definitely have some aggression ya need to work out."

She released her grip and cartwheeled--cartwheeled!--behind the desk. Amy boggled as she ducked down and reemereged with, of all things, a cigar and a pair of glasses with a fake nose and mustache.

"What...?"

"Now I hate to get all Freudian on ya, cause to be honest? Guy was a hack. Real heel. But if I'm going to do this all propah, I gotta give it all the stops." Crossing her legs and sitting on the desk, Harley donned her glasses and cigar before picking up her notepad. "Hnow pleaze, junges fräulein, tell me 'ow you feel habout your muzher."

Amy stared at her for a long moment.

"That... is a terrible german accent. Is it even a german accent?"

Harley shrugged. "Heck if I know."

Consigning herself to her fate, Amy leaned back in her chair. "...so, my mom is... pretty strict, I guess..."

Chapter Text

The rogue group known as team Ruby are highly trained and experienced combatants who have thus far avoided contact with the PRT for unknown reasons. Because of the similarity of their observed power set, covered below, it is assumed that they are a cluster trigger, and their abilities further paint them as being trained as a special operatives unit by an unknown faction. Due to their heroic leanings, standard protocol is to attempt to soft sell the Protectorate and/or the Wards upon encounter and not to engage in combat. The following ratings are based on observation, instead of formal power testing.

Shared Ratings:

--Brute 5: Each individual member of team Ruby has a personal force field that is capable of deflecting damage and enhancing their physical abilities to some degree. Battlefield chatter has revealed they refer to this as 'aura' and use it to fuel their other powers. Aura can be strained to the point of shattering, but regenerates at an unknown rate. Their combat style relies on aura, though they will keep fighting post shattering if civilians are endangered.

--Blaster/Tinker/Shaker 1: While weapons are not generally factored into a parahuman's threat rating, the ones utilized by team Ruby have a number of unique properties which will be further expounded upon in their individual entries. Aside from Myrtenaster's weapon, each can shift between two forms, usually a melee and ranged form. Team Ruby uses these weapons extensively in battle, and it is suspected they extend their aura over the weapons to prevent damage. They are also capable of shooting both ordinary bullets and creating esoteric effects, noted in individual weapon entries. Battlefield chatter indicates these esoteric effects rely on an unknown ammunition, and that team Ruby is rationing said ammunition due to not having access to a replacement source.

--Mover 1: Team Ruby generally engage in 'moving' battles, using the environment to their advantage and often drawing opponents into traps. It is notable that they can and have survived multi-floor falls through a combination of gymnastic ability and weapon utilization. While not strictly above human levels, the Mover rating has been applied to remind anybody engaging of these tactics.

--Thinker Exponential: As with the Mover rating, the Thinker rating has not been added because of any specific power but to remind any personnel engaging to exercise caution. Team Ruby is a team, with notable shared tactics and trust in each other. If engaging multiple members, assume their effective combat thinker rating is equal to the total amount of members engaged.

Crescent Rose:

--Thinker/Master 2: Despite likely being the youngest of team Ruby, Crescent Rose is the acknowledged leader of the group and has demonstrated an impressive understanding of battlefield tactics, adjusting on the fly to combat new threats and incorporate new allies into her commands. This is unlikely to be a parahuman ability, and is more likely the result of combat training; however, given both her apparent age and the effectiveness of her commands, the Thinker/Master rating is being added to her threat assessment.

--Mover/Breaker 6: Crescent Rose's breaker form, colloquially known as Petal Burst, transforms her and anything on her person into a cloud of red petals which can move at high speeds to another location before reforming. The petal burst form is capable of splitting to go around obstacles, and can redirect itself through small apertures. Crescent Rose is capable of transporting other individuals in her Petal Burst form, though more weight causes more strain on her. Using this ability drains Crescent Rose's aura.

--Blaster/Mover/Striker 5: Crescent Rose wields a collapsible war scythe that also serves as a high-impact sniper rifle. She uses it for both melee and ranged combat, as well as to quickly maneuver herself and others around the battlefield via recoil boosts. The weapon has a mid-folded mode which operates more like a standard carbine rifle, generally utilized when both range and impact of the full sniper mode need to be toned down. In addition to the standard bullets, Crescent Rose's weapon has been seen to fire pellets that generate the following effects on impact:

---A detonation of fire, used generally to attack crowds of hostiles

---A sudden growth of ice that grows around and restrains the target

---An electric discharge, similar to a taser in effect

---Unconfirmed reports of a 'black burst' that furthers her effective recoil boost distance.

Myrtenaster:

--Reduced Rating, Brute 3: While Myrtenaster has an aura like all members of team Ruby, her suite of powers burns through it at a faster rate than the others. Consequently, her durability in combat is sacrificed for effectiveness, and her Brute rating has been reduced.

--Shaker 6: Myrtenaster is able to generate snowflake-like glyphs within an unknown range from her that vanish after a few seconds. The basic individual glyph serves as a platform upon which she or another can stand, with a 'grip' effect that can allow people to run up walls or even stand in midair. Glyphs can also be used to deflect attacks or create spectres, see below, or combined with Myrtenaster's weapon to generate exotic effects. Witnessed glyph/weapon combinations include speeding up the reaction speed of an individual on a glyph to parahuman levels [Mover 6], generating a gravitational effect [Shaker 6], and creating an array of focused energy blasts [Blaster 6]. It is assumed, but not confirmed, that glyphs allow a more precise application of Myrtenaster's weapon's shaker power.

--Master 5: Myrtenaster is able to generate spectres, blue-white translucent combatants under her direct mental command. She can choose to partially or completely summon them out of a glyph and can control their size, but has not been seen to have more than one spectre at a time. The PRT has noted a total of four spectres, codenamed Boar, Wasp, Crow, and Knight based off their appearances. Boar can roll up and smash through barricades, Wasp is an agile flier that fires numerous stingerettes, Crow is a tougher but slower flier that throws large flechette feathers, and Knight wields a massive sword they can use for offense and defense. Myrtenaster is known to favor Knight for unknown reasons, but rides Wasp and Crow around the battlefield when necessary. Like her glyphs, her spectres pull from her aura, and thus have a limited duration.

--Striker/Blaster/Shaker 4: Myrtenaster uses a rapier with a rotary pistol chamber built into the hilt. Unlike other members of team RWBY, she does not fire traditional bullets from this weapon, instead 'spraying' an unknown substance in various ways to generate an effect. There are three defined applications, based on observation: coating the blade, launching a bolt of the substance, or spraying it in an area. Known effects include fire, ice, electricity, wind, an undefined momentum-altering effect, and a form of energy similar to force fields. Myrtenaster uses these effects for both offense and area control.

Gambol Shroud:

--Thinker 2: Gambol Shroud has a pair of catlike ears, in addition to the standard ears of a human. These ears provide extended awareness of sound around her and can apparently pick up noises from a greater distance than the average human. Battlefield chatter has revealed the existence of 'night vision', but how effective it is and how it operates are unknown to the PRT at this time.

--Mover 3: Gambol Shroud has demonstrated a high level of gymnastic abilities and parkour skills. While not strictly beyond peak human levels, she is capable of outrunning and outmaneuvering some parahumans even when unarmed and having a shattered aura.

--Mover/Striker/Stranger 5: Gambol Shroud is capable of generating a 'shadow,' a temporary replica of herself that will dissipate upon attack. This shadow exists for only a few seconds at maximum, but can exert physical force during that time, which Gambol Shroud has used to quite literally throw herself around the battlefield. Gambol Shroud is also capable of short range teleportation with her shadow, effectively replacing herself with a false target while she repositions for a better strike. Gambol Shroud has also been witnessed modifying her shadow on creation with her weapon, combining it with a fire or electric effect to detonate upon attack, or using a stone or ice effect to lock melee assailants in place after attack. Unconfirmed reports suggest Gambol Shroud can also create a shadow of herself and any individual she is holding. Using this ability drains Gambol Shroud's aura.

--Mover/Blaster 5: Gambol Shroud uses a katana/kusurigma with a built-in hand gun and a bladed sheathe that can be wielded in her off hand. As with Crescent Rose, Gambol Shroud uses the weapon for melee and ranged combat and for maneuvering herself and others around the battlefield, swinging on the ribbon or using it to ensnare targets. Unconfirmed reports suggest she can shoot the pistol at a distance using the ribbon, thereby redirecting the weapon while in kusurigama mode. It is known that the weapon can fire both bullets and pellets that cause esoteric effects, such as bursts of fire, ice, electricity, stone, or a momentum-altering effect.

Ember Celica:

--Brute/Mover 2: Even without aura, Ember Celica is an athletic individual, able to lift unusually heavy amounts and perform acrobatic maneuvers on moving vehicles. This is suspected to be the result of training, not of powers, but the threat rating has been added to remind our agents that a metal fist to the face will hurt whether or not it is superpowered.

--Brute/Striker 6: Ember Celica is capable of absorbing kinetic energy and using it to enhance her physical strikes. The switch from absorbing energy to using it is marked by her hair beginning to glow, with the brightness of the glow linked to the amount of kinetic energy she has absorbed. Battlefield chatter has suggested Ember Celica has used this ability to destroy an unknown tinker's personal mechanized walker, and observation has demonstrated she can halt and break armored vans with a punch provided she has sufficient amounts of energy built up. Use of this ability is reliant on Ember Celica's aura, however; whether she loses all stored energy if her aura breaks is unknown at this time.

--Changer 1: Ember Celica is capable of changing the color of her eyes from violet to red. While initially assumed to be a sign of her activating her Striker power, it has been observed to happen without the use of said power. Ember Celica has used this to intimidate individuals, but whether she has a Master effect or this is a purely cosmetic ability is currently unknown.

--Blaster/Brute/Mover 3: Ember Celica wears a collapsable shotgun gauntlet on her left hand, and has a matching system built into her right arm. These gauntlets allow her to generate fiery explosions with a punch, as well as letting her block strikes with her forearms. She can also deploy fire grenades and detonate them remotely, and often uses this ability to create traps during combat.

Recommended Strategies: It cannot be understated how much team Ruby relies on each other and their weapons in combat. Separate the team and disarm the individuals if at all possible. Myrtenaster is a priority target, as her battlefield control even after aura breaking can radically change any engagement, and she must be suppressed and separated from her weapon as soon as possible. Any attack against Ember Celica must hit fast and hard, focusing on breaking her aura as efficiently as possible; a prolonged engagement will only empower her. In engagements with Crescent Rose and/or Gambol Shroud, locking them down or restricting them to a contained space should be the first step made toward containment.

Notes: Team Ruby is a cluster trigger of multiracial teenagers with combat training and personalized tinkertech weapons that has unspoken issues with the PRT. That paints a pretty damning picture, even without the visible injuries of Myrtenaster and Ember Celica. Fortunately they're refusing to confirm that they are the result of any secret government spec ops program, but speculation is already rampant. I am going to start an internal investigation, and I hope it'll come up with nothing, but I will go public with my findings if necessary. Cape farms are a human rights violation, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Chapter Text

"What's up?"

Vista shook herself out of her stupor. "What?"

"You've been staring at us for a bit. Is something wrong?" Crescent Rose smiled nervously under her hood. "We're not going to get arrested, are we?"

"What--no. No no no, it's not like that," Vista assured her. "I mean, you haven't broken any laws, have you?"

"I'm not sure, I'll ask Weiss later. Oh, right," she corrected at Vista's wince, "I mean I'll ask Myrtenaster later. Seriously, it's weird that you all hide who you are."

"Has nobody explained the unwritten rules to you?"

"If they're unwritten, then they're not rules," Crescent Rose recited brightly.

Vista snorted. "It's a sort of informal agreement between Capes," she explained. "We don't go ask about each other's civilian identity. It's... a way for us to have a part of our lives that isn't under attack. I mean, you wouldn't want Hookwolf to go after your friends and family would you?"

"I don't think that's going to be a problem for us."

Vista winced at the somberness of her tone. "R-right. Sorry. Didn't mean to... sorry." She rubbed her arm and glanced away for a quiet moment.

"...So... what's up?" Crescent Rose repeated.

"Oh--uh... it's nothing," Vista assured her. "I mean, it's not that important."

"Not as important as saving lives, but we got everyone out of... that place," Crescent Rose pointed out, "so we've got time to talk. Seriously, is something wrong?"

"No! Well... no."

Crescent Rose quirked an eyebrow.

"...You have weapons," Vista finally admitted, with a tinge of jealousy. "Really cool ones too. It must have taken forever to get licenses for them."

"Well it did take me a few years to design Crescent Rose," Crescent Rose admitted. "Yes, I named my scythe," she clarified at Vista's confused look. "I don't know why you lot decided our cape names had to be based off our weapons, but there it is."

"You weren't exactly forthcoming with cape names," Vista pointed out.

"We don't really have them where we're from. What about you? Are you still designing your weapon?"

Vista sighed. "I'm not allowed to have a weapon."

"What?" Crescent Rose sounded genuinely shocked.

"Optics or something. A little girl with a weapon sends the wrong idea."

"That's ridiculous!" Crescent Rose insisted. "My uncle started training me with a scythe when I was ten!"

Vista blinked. "Ten?"

"Yeah! And like, sure, Brockton Bay isn't nearly as dangerous as home, but still, you're training to be first responder to situations that most likely involve hostile forces. Not having a weapon, what--what are they thinking?"

"I know, right?" Vista cried, glad to finally have somebody to complain to. "It's always 'Your power is your weapon!' 'You don't need a gun to get people out of danger!' 'You're an example to young girls everywhere, you shouldn't encourage violence!'"

"Wow." Crescent Rose shook her head in disbelief. "So... wait, are they singling you out? Because I'm realizing now that none of the Wards actually have weapons, as far as I can tell."

Vista rose a finger... and paused. "Huh. Now that you mention it, the only one of us with weapons is Shadow Stalker. Maybe Kid Win, if he ever puts his mind to it. The rest of us just rely on powers."

"That's... wow." Crescent Rose shook her head again. "Even team CRDL had weapons, and they were... well, not the best, really."

"Team Cardinal?"

"Bunch of jerks. Don't know what happened to them after..."

Crescent Rose fell silent, a somber expression flitting across her face. Vista bit her lip, realizing she'd stumbled on yet another of team Ruby's mysterious landmines.

"...so, uh..." She fished around for a subject, and her eyes fell on the scythe again. "You said you designed that?"

"Hmm? Oh! Yeah, Crescent Rose is my baby girl." Crescent Rose (the girl) hugged Crescent Rose (the scythe). "I may have over-engineered her just a bit, but she's never let me down."

"Huh. Did... all of you design your own weapons?"

"Yep! Well," Crescent Rose looked around conspiratorially, "I think maybe Weiss's is an heirloom, but she's never said one way or another."

"Really? That sword is--actually, no, yeah, it's fancy enough," Vista admitted. "Although the pistol chamber's a little weird."

"Nah, that's just how she fights. Weapons... they're not just tools for violence," Crescent Rose told her seriously. "They're an extension of ourselves. When you're designing your own weapon, you have to think about every facet: how you'll keep a grip on it, how you'll carry it when you're not using it, how you'll swing at an enemy, aim at a moving target... it's not just tactics and training, Vista. It's something deep in your core."

"That's... uh... one way to think about it," Vista allowed. "I mean, I could--if I were allowed to!--just go buy a gun--"

"Uh-uh. Standard templates are for training and mass production. You're a..." Crescent Rose rolled her hand for a moment. "...special operative? No, not yet. Uh, 'uniquely talented combat specialist in training--'"

"Hero?"

"That's a little vague, you need a specific job title. Whatever, the point is that when you choose a weapon, design it, it should be tailored specifically to you." Crescent Rose shrugged. "Well, that's my opinion anyway. I guess some people get away with whatever they pick up, and I'm pretty sure that Blake didn't have a proper weapon forge when she was designing Gambol Shroud--not that it's not an impressive weapon in its own right, but it just screams improvised construction. Don't tell her I said that," she added with a smile.

"...it's kinda pointless anyway," Vista grumbled. "I can't use a weapon, it 'goes against my image.' Or maybe it's just a Ward thing, I don't know."

"Well, then you just have to come up with a weapon that fits your 'image' somehow."

Vista scoffed. "Right, like a cute little girl would run around with guns or swords or big-ass scythes--"

"How about ribbons?" Crescent Rose suggested.

"Ribbons aren't weapons!"

Crescent Rose hummed, flicking her eyes toward Gambol Shroud (who was busy helping one of the victims).

"That's different. She ties a gun to her ribbon."

"So tie a star to yours. Or a butterfly." Crescent Rose grinned deviously. "Nobody's going to call it a flail, even if the head is made of metal. And with your power, you could do some crazy things with it."

Vista blinked. "I... that... would that work? I mean, I don't know, it--they've been against giving me a weapon for so long--"

"It's not a weapon," Crescent Rose drawled. "It's a, hm, a variable length grappling hook. Or maybe one of those ribbons people use for dancing." She leaned in, smirking. "Seriously, loopholes are everywhere if you know where to look."

"I think some people would say you're a bad influence."

"What, me? No, that's my sister!" Crescent Rose laughed for a moment. "Seriously though--if you need help making the thing and training with it, let us know. I'm sure we can get you some help on the down-low."

"...You know, I might just take you up on that."

Chapter Text

Elisabet Sobek was the human genius responsible for heading the Zero Dawn project and programming the original Gaia, the first of the Earthmother AIs. In many ways, she was responsible for saving humanity from the Faro plague, up to and including giving her life to ensure the Zero Dawn facilities remained sealed and unassailable by the plague itself. She was remembered fondly enough by Gaia that not only was her genetic strain stored and marked separately from the rest of the Eleuthia library, it was also utilized by the original Gaia to generate a clone with the intent of countering the Nemesis crisis. That the clone, named Aloy, was capable of not only doing so with relatively primitive technology, but also bringing the various human factions closer together, is a testament to the intelligence and skill of the originator and the adaptability and tenacity of the clone herself. However, while she was the first clone of Elisabet historically recorded, she would not be the last.

Every Earthmother and Starmatron A.I. made has the Sobek genetic code stored away in case of extreme emergency. Generation of a Sobek clone is not something done lightly, and is considered a last resort attempt to fix long-reaching issues. Sobek clones are furthermore unlabeled as such by the generating A.I. and deliberately anonymously integrated into the local population, either during a period of genetic replication being the norm or surreptitiously delivered to a group that will raise them. This is apparently done to counteract the near-religious frevor that humanity places on these clones as 'daughters of fate,' and allow them time to develop as their own persons in their own world. Only when the Sobek clone is an adult, or the situation considered desperate enough, will the A.I. inform them of their nature and their purpose, whereupon the clone will have full access to previously restricted computer systems and functions for so long as it takes to resolve the crisis. This is generally a lifelong mission, but Sobek clones will never retire or pass on before it is complete.

Despite there being nearly three hundred Earthmothers and Starmatrons, there have only been six known of Sobek clones (including Aloy), confirmed upon their deathbed by their producing A.I. However, many people suspect that there may have been upwards of fifty Sobek clones throughout humanity's interstellar history, with legends of red-haired warriors or geniuses solving crucial problems during the early ages of various human colonies. How much of this is coincidence, legend, myth, or fact is not known, and the A.I. of humanity has been notoriously close-lipped on the subject, stating that the legacy of Elisabet Sobek was not in her daughters, but in humanity as a whole. This is generally interpreted by humanity as confirmation of the Sobek clones being humble heroes, more concerned with protecting people than with any personal glory. Nevertheless, there are many statues devoted to Sobek clones, both supposed and confirmed, in human cities and settlements.

A Sobek clone was confirmed to be present during First Contact War, and in fact played a major part in its conclusion. Known as Sargent Lance, she proved dangerously cunning during the surface battles with the turian forces and was able to use the synthetic creatures to route many turian outposts. While holos of her riding a Thunderjaw into an enemy camp have circulated through the extranet, Sargent Lance's true claim to fame is operation Rising Dawn, which involved her hijacking a turian shuttle and using it to infiltrate the commanding vessel of the invasion force. In a show of surprising restraint, instead of seeking to capture or kill the officers in charge of the invasion, Sargent Lance used the vessel's own communication system to broadcast the actions of the turian fleet across Citadel space and denounce them as xenophobic warmongers. The resulting political fallout would lead to the Citadel Council issuing a formal apology, the renegotiation of the Treaty of Farixen, and the solidifying of humanity's reputation as somewhat unhinged.

While Sargent Lance's military operations are unusual and bold even by human standards, historical records indicate the degree of aggressively unconventional problem solving is normal for Sobek clones and a recognized character trait in the culture of humanity. The idea of unusual solutions to pressing problems is called Sobek Solving, and humans range from considering it amusing, impressive, and being religiously devoted to the idea. While there have been few chances to interview Sobek clones on the phenomena, what records remain suggest that they are usually embaressed by the praise and try to encourage others to live relatively normal lives when they can. Nevertheless, Sobek clones serve as sort of 'trickster champions' in human culture, with even those factions the clones have opposed choosing to acknowledge them as dangerous but worthy opponents. Rumors that they are immortal or reincarnating demigods are constantly denied by rulers, A.I.s, and the Sobek clones themselves, but they persist nevertheless.

The most recently acknowledged Sobek clone is, of course, Commander Shepard, who has been elected as the first human Spectre to the Citadel Council. Her confirmation as a Sobek clone has led to numerous ripples through both human and citadel society, as most Sobek clones are identified on death, if at all. Furthermore, Sargent Lance has not yet passed on, making this only the second time in human history where more than one Sobek clone was confirmed to be alive at the same time. Humanity in general has begun to prepare for a nebulous Era of Trials as a result, firmly believing the galaxy is about to face some grand tragedy. When asked about this, Commander Shepard has stated that she feels ambivalent toward the frevor aimed toward her, a feeling shared by her predecessor. Both have emphasized that no matter the nature of the threat, it is in the best interests of all sophants to band together and stop it, and that any threat can be defeated when working together.

Chapter Text

The world was colorful, swirls and sparkles enveloping my vision like a vast nebula that had, for whatever reason, decided to envelop me. Me, and the strange green man sitting cross-legged on nothing, holding a small sphere of light in his... her? Their hands as they smirked. Their glowing yellow eyes focused on me, and I knew they were waiting for me to speak, for me to say anything.

"...uh... hi?"

Hello, child. I am glad to meet you.

The man's lips didn't move at all when they spoke, and from the faint echoes I suspected that they weren't spoken at all. Not with sound, exactly. No, this green... person in a blue spacesuit had just put the words in my mind telepathically.

This was an alien. This was an actual, honest to god alien. An actual honest-to-god alien was speaking to me. Me! Taylor Hebert!

Actually, why were they talking to me? I wasn't anybody special. Maybe I'd stumbled on their spaceship or something? I tried to retrace my steps mentally, figure out what had brought me here, and--

"Oh god--"

The locker. The, the locker, I was--

Peace, child.

Somehow, that strange voice managed to clear away the panic I was feeling. I gathered my thoughts, tracing them in my head. "Thanks."

The green man smiled, cryptically.

"So." I braced myself. "Am I... dead?"

I do not believe so.

"Oh. Good, that's... that's good." I rubbed the back of my head. "Uh... thanks for getting me out of that locker."

You are still in the locker. The green man cocked their head. Or rather, your body is. And once we finish our discussion, I am afraid you will have to return to it.

Those words made me stiffen again. "That's--that's not--can't you do anything?" I begged.

That is precisely what I wish to discuss with you. Your world... if I am not mistaken, you have those granted esoteric abilities, correct?

"Yeah, capes--wait, are you going to make me a parahuman?"

Yes... and then again, no. The green man smiled mischievously. I am offering to have you equipped with an ability that resembles something like those of your world, but the origin of said ability will be quite different.

"...O...kay..." That was an interesting and... strangely precise way to word things. "Why... exactly are you offering this?" I asked. "What's the catch here?"

The green man took a moment to reply. My kind have long kept watch on matters beyond the universe of baryonic matter, they finally said. The full details are rather complex, but a matter has come to our attention regarding your iteration of reality, and more specifically your version of Earth. Suffice it to say I am... hmm. I believe 'stacking the deck' is the term that the captain used.

Oh. Well. That wasn't scary at all.

"You know I'm fifteen, right?" I pointed out. "I mean, I'm not exactly equipped to, uh, handle... I don't know how to do taxes, let alone face some sort of world-ending threat. Why didn't you go with anybody older? There's the Triumvirate, the PRT--"

The choice was not mine to make, child. Though I hardly intend for you to be thrust into this situation on your own. The man smirked knowingly. If my understanding of the situation is correct, you have had far enough of that.

"...you're not wrong..."

Perhaps you would like to know what powers I have arranged for you.

I sighed. "Yeah, I would. It'd help a lot."

I should inform you that the entity who is designing your powers is... The green man considered for a moment. To be frank, they do not fully understand baryonic universes.

"Uh--"

Fortunately, after some discussion and explanation, we have come to a relative understanding.

"That's... comforting, I guess...?"

Your powers can express themself in two basic manners, and within those manners there is quite a range of variability. The first is direct contact with... let us call them agents. Selected individuals from the iteration of the universe I hail from. They can provide advice to you, as I am doing now. You will need to negotiate with them to engage with the other aspect of your powers, the green man noted. A sort of test, to prove your worth.

"Okay... so... I get to talk to more aliens?" I had to admit, that was... actually, pretty cool. I mean, even before the Simurgh stopped all potential for space travel, the idea of talking to aliens was something everyone only dreamed of. "That's... okay, I'll admit, that's awesome, but, uh, I don't--I don't see how it gets me out of the locker. Or even how it helps you out."

Helping us in our goals will take time, effort, and an application of reason that no power can simply grant, the green man informed me. However, the second manner of your power's expression should allow you to extract yourself from your locker, at the very least.

"Alright. And... what's that?"

Should your agent grant it, you will be afforded an abstract personal manifestation of their primary space-capable vessel that bonds with your physical body. In essence, you will become an expression of their starship. That green smile twitched. A ship girl, as it were.

"Huh." I chewed on my lip for a bit. "That's... nifty, I guess?"

For example. The man raised a hand, and a flying saucer of all things appeared above it. This is the Arilou'Laleelay Skiff. A relatively small vessel, I will admit, but we did not design it for war--though it does have an automatically aiming laser blaster. However, there are two unique aspects which may interest you--the inertialess drive, and the short-range teleport. Were you to activate this manifestation, you would be able to not only fly, but also to teleport yourself a fair distance. And generate small energy blasts that always hit a target within range, they added, but other manifestations might provide more potent methods of harming individuals.

I nodded, thinking over his words. Teleporting out of the locker--that would solve my current problem pretty handily. And being able to fly was being able to fly. That alone was worth it. "So... what about the other manifestations?" I asked. "Would they let me fly as well? I mean... starship, right?"

Some of the smaller vessels, perhaps. The others might boost your speed, but because of both abstract design and physical weight of the manifestation, I suspect those of battleships and capital ships will keep you relatively grounded.

"Right, that... makes sense, I guess. And how do I contact agents to talk to them?"

We are... being careful about that, the green man admitted. It will likely involve meditation, and realization. But I will inform you once an agent has been selected. For the moment, the manifestation of the skiff is all I can offer.

"Honestly? That's a good start."

Very well. The green man folded their hands together. You are going to awaken soon enough. When you do, focus on the skiff, and you will manifest its power. From there... the rest is up to you. Fare thee well, child.

Chapter Text

The manufacturing centers for the Earthmother and Starmatron AIs, cauldrons are one of the foundational pillars of all human civilization. Without them, the machines they rely on would rapidly cease production, leaving the species without their synthetic allies and the AIs without any way to interact with the world. cauldrons are specialized for production of machines with a specific purpose, but aside from the Ena, Bende, Theka, and Omega type cauldrons, they can easily be adapted to any function within their specific purview. Every machine made from a cauldron has that cauldron's override code, a useful method for machines and machine-tamers to keep the system in order; consequently, it is not uncommon to refer to a machine by their 'cauldron level' when referring to its general role and purpose. This is not the only method of distinguishing between machine types, but it is common enough on developing worlds to warrant an explanation.

The largest cauldrons by far are the Ena type cauldrons, orbital facilities devoted solely to the production of the dreadnaught/carrier vessels known as Sunswimmers. Apparently designed to resemble an extinct earth fish known as a Dunkleostus, these massive vessels are heavily armored and shielded, serving as the center of all earth exploratory fleets and the home of their associated Starmatron AI. They also contain the large Bende and Theka type cauldrons, found on no other vessel in existence; Bende type cauldrons are devoted to creating Omega drop pods, which will then kickstart the terraforming of a planet, while Theka type cauldrons are devoted to creating cruiser-sized vessels with their own cauldrons. The choice to make a mobile cruiser-factory the center of a fleet is an unusual one, but the idea of a Sunswimmer birthing a Moonsnatcher or Rockscuttler has interested military analysts. The cruisers themselves can have one of three cauldron types used to round out humanity's space fleet; Ekadon cauldrons produce vessels devoted to mining operations and construction, Chilio cauldrons center around establishing and maintaining satellite networks (including the construction of Ena type cauldrons), and Myrio cauldrons produce vessels to fill out the standard needs of military and transport.

Planetary cauldrons are significantly more varied in purpose, and some planets will forgo specific cauldron types depending on their needs, but they will all be constructed as underground facilities. A planet generally has anywhere from six to twelve Omega cauldrons, networked together and under the purview of their greater Earthmother AI; the purpose of these cauldrons is simply to produce more cauldrons by mining and installing them. All subsequent cauldrons are devoted to producing mechanical life forms for a specific purpose, though some cauldrons of different types will produce the same kind of machine; each cauldron type has a related combat-class machine, with a few exceptions. A full analysis of the cauldron types has yet to be conducted, but there have been a few common cauldron types identified.

Psi-Type: This type of cauldron creates the basic machines necessary for the machine life form network to establish itself and begin the terraforming process. Watchers identify hazards and threats, Striders monitor ground-level atmospheric conditions, Sunwings track weather patterns and conditions, and Tallnecks to establish a network between all the machines. Psi type machines tend to have the easiest systems to hack individually, as other machines are intended to 'query' them about various details, but the network makes it difficult for them to remain hacked for any period of time. Psi type cauldrons never produce combat-class machines.

Chi-Type: Robots from this type of cauldron scout out and adapt useful locations and territories for terraforming purposes. Chi type machines are versatile and adapted to many different terrains, with many being borrowed from Epsilon-type cauldrons. The Chi type combat-class machine is known as a Shellsnapper.

Tau-Type: Tau cauldrons are designed with the repair and maintenance of machine life forms in mind, and generally do not produce machines of their own.

Sigma-Type: Sigma cauldrons produce machines that gather resources and fuel for the machine network. The Grazer family of machines is most often produced here, with different variants having different tools attached to their antlers, and Scrappers will emerge from Sigma type cauldrons to track down and gather materials from broken machine life forms. The Sigma type combat-class machine is known as a Sawtooth.

Rho-Type: Rho type machines are meant to serve logistical roles, such as resource harvesting and transport, in support of the AI network. Some, like the Shellwaker, directly supply the cauldrons, while others, such as the Snapmaw, keep contact in the 'edge cases' where two subfunctions would interact. The Rho type combat-class machine is known as a Ravager.

Xi-Type: Xi machines serve as a check and border patrol on the terraforming process, preventing cascading ecosystem collapse by removing dangerous life forms or malfunctioning machines. In order to mark the dangerousness of their task, they tend to have black armor, as opposed to the white armor of other machines. The Xi type combat-class machine is known as a Stalker.

Mu-Type: Mu machines are intended to operate in areas with an animal population, monitoring the fauna without interfering with their lives too much. While they can and will be requisitioned for other tasks, their primary duty is to ensure their assigned animal population is stable. The Mu type combat-class machine is known as a Swoopneck.

Kappa-Type: Kappa cauldrons are unique in that they do not make machines for the network or for terraforming, but specifically produce large combat-class machines. After the First Contact war and the Turian's first brush with the Tremortusk, the council negotiated for limitations to the Kappa cauldron's existence; the eventual agreed upon solution was to require a minimum of one hundred kilometers between any Kappa cauldron.

Iota-Type: Iota cauldrons are activated when the need for machines that can maneuver through difficult terrain is high. Most Iota machines are agile and bipedal, and a pack of Leaplashers hopping across the rocks can be an incredible sight to behold. The Iota type combat-class machine is known as a Clawstrider.

Zeta-Type: Zeta machines are large, specialized devices meant to enact sweeping changes to the environment they are located in, as opposed to the more subtle balancing of other machines. They are generally used as a preliminary wave for other functions, be it construction of cauldrons or foundation of terraforming areas. They also tend to be large and dangerous, but solitary in their function. The Zeta type combat-class machine is known as a Thunderjaw.

Epsilon-Type: Epsilon cauldrons are generally placed in extreme environments with dangerously high or low tempuratures, with the machines they produce having rugged and powerful forms built to withstand them. The Epsilon type combat-class machine is known as a Scorcher.

Chapter Text

"So." Director Piggot folded her hands. "You girls know the drill. New cape, preliminary report. Tell me what you've got."

"I don't know about new," Glory Girl mused with a shrug. "She planned this whole thing down to the detail. Hell, when we got there she was--" She shook her head. "Fast. Dodged our every attack, knew how to deflect. Hell of a swing with that bat, too."

"If she's not new, we may be able to find her in the records," Armsmaster allowed. "You said she was wearing a red and black crop top?"

"Yeah, her whole vibe was... a deck of cards, you know? Well, not exactly a deck of cards, but red and black on white skin--and I don't mean Nazi white, I mean literal paper white."

"I think it was makeup," Amy offered.

"Her whole body?"

"I get the feeling she was going for some sort of... postmodern clown punk vibe." Amy snorted. "Hell, she introduced herself as Harleen Quinzel! Harley Quinn. Like the... jester."

"Fake name?" Piggot asked.

"I'm... not sure, actually. She did show me a pretty real looking diploma--if Gotham Community University is real, then she is a legitimate psychiatrist. Or was, at some point."

Armsmaster nodded. "Unlikely, but it's something to look into."

Piggot raised a hand. "Let's go over this from the top. At seven fifteen, your shift at the hospital ended, correct?"

"That's right," Amy agreed. "I decided to get a snack from one of the vending machines, and... that's when it happened. Did the security cameras catch it?"

"Yes, actually." Armsmaster gestured toward the monitor, which flickered on to show Panacea stopping at a vending machine. A nurse with a clipboard walked by--and suddenly pulled something off the clipboard, squeezed it directly into Panacea's nose, and swept her up as she swooned, all in a single swift motion without breaking her stride.

Piggot quirked an eyebrow. "Professional."

"And the gas acted pretty fast," Amy muttered. "Most kinds of knockout gas take time to affect somebody, that's why we have masks in the surgery rooms. Something that instant is probably lethal in minutes."

"Or it's tinkertech gas," Piggot muttered. "The question is, did she make it herself or buy it somewhere?"

"So this happened at seven fifteen," Glory Girl muttered. "I got to the hospital at about seven twenty, but I didn't figure out you weren't there until I called your phone, which... crap, she was probably still in the parking lot!"

"Assuming she had a car," Armsmaster allowed. "She could have a mover ability of some sort."

"That just makes it worse!"

"It's fine, Vicky," Amy assured her, patting her arm. "I don't think anybody expected a kidnapper at the hospital. It's not... something you do, you know?"

Glory Girl took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm. "Okay. Okay. So... seven twenty, the hospital. Seven thirty, that's... that's when I got the text. I called Mom and started flying around the city. Found all the 'riddles' that she'd set up."

"Do we have any insight into how she did that?" Piggot asked Armsmaster.

"Nothing strange was reported on patrols. Nothing I'm aware of, anyway. I'll have to compare the pictures Glory Girl took with our records."

"I'll send them over," the teenager agreed. "So it took me, uh... a while to find all the riddles and piece them together. I was kind of panicking, but I think Mom and I found where Amy was being held at eight o'five ish."

"Yeah, that was faster than Harley expected," Amy told her. "She said it herself."

"So I smashed through the wall and... well, she's a cunning fighter," Glory Girl admitted. "She pretty much dodged or redirected all my attacks. And when Mom came in, she was able to hold us both off."

"And neither of you did anything about me being chained to a chair."

"I mean the bad guy was right there and--!" Glory Girl blinked at Amy's deadpan look. "Yeah, okay, that was... that was our bad."

"It's fine, I'm used to it." Amy shrugged. "So the three of them fought for a while, and then Harley knocked Brandish out of the room with a baseball bat. And she can't fly, so Vicky went after her, and that's when Harley started packing everything up. Picked up the rug, zipped two of the corners together, threw all the books in and strapped it on like a backpack. Took about ten seconds, then Vicky flew back in.

"That baseball bat knocked Mom for a loop," Glory Girl admitted. "She landed pretty badly and couldn't fight anymore. I had to set her up in the car before I came back."

"And that's when you went to tear apart the chains," Amy deadpanned. "Not right at the beginning. Also gave Harley enough time to get her umbrella and hop out herself."

Glory Girl sighed. "By the time I'd gotten her out of there, Harley was gone. I still don't know how, maybe mom saw."

"We can talk to her after she's recovered," Armsmaster assured her. "Though for the sake of throughness, I have to ask what Harley was doing with Panacea while you were searching for her."

Amy sighed, slowly. "That is probably the weirdest thing about all this. I think she was, legitimately, trying to give me therapy. I know," she held up a hand to forestall her sister's objections, "she did chain me to a chair, but aside from that I'm pretty sure a lot of what she did was actually normal psychiatric technique."

"Hrm." Piggot tapped the desk. "So you two just talked while Glory Girl and Brandish were out solving riddles."

"I did look for methods of escape, but I couldn't find any. And, well..." Amy paused for a moment. "...Harley didn't exactly traumatize me, but she did... needle at some personal issues. And she made it pretty clear that either she would be my therapist or I could go find one of my own, which... honestly, she called the whole thing an intervention."

Glory Girl glanced at her. "Really?"

"I'm pretty sure. I mean, I'm not a therapist, but I've heard a lot of the same... stuff in the hospital, from people who are."

The director quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure you weren't Mastered?"

Amy frowned for a moment. "...I'll stay in a cell overnight, but I'm fairly certain. I'll be talking with an actual therapist about it, so..."

"Wait, seriously?" Glory Girl objected. "Amy, you don't have to listen to what this woman said. She kidnapped you!"

"See, that's the thing. She kidnapped me, sure, but she was.... nice isn't the right word. Warm, maybe. Like aunt Sarah, kind of? But more... focused." Amy waved her hands. "Anyway, the point is she pretty explicitly said she only kidnapped me for my own mental health. And whether or not I need therapy," she added, "that's what she believed, so going to a therapist will remove her motivation for kidnapping me, and I won't be kidnapped again."

"Hell of a motivator," Piggot quipped. "'Go to a shrink or a cape will snatch you off the street.' I can see that going over well with the Protectorate."

"Assuming she was honest about her motivations," Armsmaster countered.

The director sighed. "So, combat skills, psychiatric training, access to knockout drugs. Nasty package, but nothing that we can definitely say is or isn't parahuman."

"What?" Glory Girl gestured at herself. "She fought Mom and me! And she won!"

"Which says more about your over-reliance on your powers and her combat skills than anything else."

"She's not wrong," Amy quipped, smirking a bit at her sister's pout.

"We'll leave the parahuman status as undefined for the report." Piggot rapped her fingers. "...I'm giving her a preliminary status as an undefined Thinker. Mix of combat and psychology. Anything else?"

"She said she got into college on a gymnastic scholarship," Amy offered. "And from the way she danced around Vicky and Brandish, I'm inclined to believe her. Low-to-mid Mover rating."

Her sister scoffed. "I'm not sure that's a superpower, Amy."

"This is a threat assessment, not a power assessment. I don't think I need to remind you of the difference, miss Totally-A-Shaker."

"Spare me the sibling drama," Piggot said flatly. "Mover is a good thing to add, just to define how to handle engagements."

"Harley Quinn's infiltration of the hospital also warrants a low Stranger rating," Armsmaster pointed out. "Possibly a Tinker rating if she made the gas herself."

"We'll look into tinkertech drugs and see if we can identify it. Gas, though..." Piggot shook her head. "That's nearly impossible to fight." She looked at the girls. "You two are dismissed. If you catch word of this Harley Quinn, let us know as soon as possible."

Chapter Text

"...unnghmf." Yang's eyes fluttered open and snapped back shut at the bright sunlight. After a moment, and with a groan of great reluctance, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, blearily shaking her head as she opened her eyes again. "What...?"

She was on a roof, a flat roof with air conditioners and gravel. Was this Vale...?

No. The buildings reminded her of Argus, with a touch of Atlas, but this didn't look like that either. There was enough different here and there that she could safely say she'd never been in this city before. Especially with that weird fortress floating out in the distant bay.

Yang winced as she stood up, rolling her shoulders. Her eyes went skyward for a moment, faint hope flickering through them... before sadness fell over her face. "Sorry Blake," she murmured, wiping a tear away. "Ruby, be safe. Weiss..." Her eyes drifted to one of the clouds. "...look after them for me, will you?"

She stared at upwards, for a moment or two more. Then, dusting the gravel off, she turned her eyes away, just missing the distant gleam of something tumbling out of the blue sky.

It didn't take long for Yang to find a door to the lower floors, and she cringed at what she found. This place looked like a small town combat school that had been abandoned to the whims of a street gang. The tiles were stained with age, scattered patches of black covered the ceiling, and the walls had strange emblems haphazardly grafftied on them. She couldn't help wrinkling her nose as she passed by some lockers, a foul stench almost making her want to vomit. "What the hell is that?"

There was a sudden rattling sound. Weak, metallic...

Yang stopped, looking behind her. "Hello? Is somebody there?"

The sound came again, and this time she could see it--one of the locker doors jumping in its frame. Almost as if--

"...help..."

The weak, desperate voice made Yang's lilac eyes widen in shock and horror.

She rushed over, already pulling her toolkit out of her pocket. "Hang on, I'm going to get you out of there. Okay?" She drew on all her experience from her childhood, filling her voice with the calming tone that hid the fear growing in her heart. "Just need to find the right screwdriver. What's your name?"

"...T...Taylor..."

Quickly comparing the screws to the metal rod in her hand, Yang nodded. "Okay. Taylor? I'm unscrewing the latch now." Damn it, the stench was worse here, it was definitely coming from the locker--"I, uh, don't know where the infirmary is around here, but--"

"Eleven B. Nurse's office..."

"Okay. I'll get you there, I promise." The latch was torn away. "I'm opening the locker now, okay?"

What emerged from the locker was a girl, dark haired and with glasses that framed panicked, tired eyes. The gaze flickered over Yang as she caught her, not quite focused. "...Glory Girl? What... what are you doing at...?"

"Hey hey hey--" The blonde swept her up carefully. "Stay with me Taylor, stay awake." She quickly took stock of the scratches covering the girl's skin and winced. "Damn, who did this to you?"

"The trio," Taylor spat, the vitriol in her words bringing her to focus for a moment. She peered at Yang more carefully. "You're... not Glory Girl, are you?"

"It'd be news to me." Yang rushed down the halls at not quite a run. "Eleven B, you said?"

"Nurse," Taylor confirmed hazily. "You're not... Glory Girl..."

"Yang. My name's Yang."

"It's... there's so much," Taylor murmured. "All the colors..."

Worry on her face, Yang broke into a full run.

A few strong words and one ambulance ride later had Yang waiting in an unfamiliar hospital lobby, bouncing her leg up and down anxiously. She had time to think, now. Time to process everything, and consider her situation. She wasn't dead, and that... that was honestly a surprise. The question was... where was she?

Oh, she pretty obviously wasn't on Remnant anymore. Her scroll didn't connect to anything, despite numerous other people using something like it to send messages. The way some of the doctors had stared at her arm was also a big clue that she was obviously not from around here. And the brands in the vending machines, the style of clothing, it was just off enough to confirm her suspicions.

Also, there were the superheroes.

That had thrown her more than anything. Actual super heroes, like the X-Ray and Vav comics Pyrrha used to like, in actual colorful outfits wandering the city. She had almost doubletaked when she saw one of them on the news screen, talking about some incident she didn't have context for. What were the Merchants, and why did they get in a spat with the Empire, and who the heck was Alabaster? The superhero, who apparently went by the wonderfully peaceful name of Assault, spoke as if all of this was just... common knowledge. Maybe it was. That could cause problems for her down the line. Shelter, food, information... Yang needed it all if she was to survive in this strange new world.

And aside from all that, there was the girl she'd found to consider. Yes, alright, she was able to acknowledge she was going into Big Sister mode (and, she quietly admitted to herself, using the excuse not to focus on how out of her depth she really was), but frankly Taylor looked like she needed it. Maybe being stuffed into a locker filled with used tampons and left to cook for an hour was just a one-off thing (although Yang seriously doubted it). That would still leave marks on the girl, physical and emotional. And, well...

...what else was she supposed to do?

Yang's thoughts were interrupted when the doors to the hospital lobby opened and a ragged-looking man rushed to the desk. "I--I just got a call, my daughter, she, she's here?"

"I'll check, sir. What is your name?"

"Danny--Daniel Hebert. Taylor, is she--?"

"She looked pretty bad when I found her," Yang interjected, standing and walking over. "What she's most at risk for is probably infection, but depending on how long she was in that locker--you did see her this morning?"

The man turned to her, blinking. "I did, yes. Who are you?"

"Yang Xiao Long. The one who found Taylor." She sighed. "I'm not a doctor, but I do have some search and rescue training, I did a basic assessment. Room 113, right?" she added to the woman at the desk.

"Yes, that's what my records say."

Yang nodded, turning back to the man somberly. "She was scratched up pretty badly and exhausted, a little dehydrated, not entirely coherent. And there were... rotten tampons in there too. It's a question of whether her immune system can fight off whatever got in now more than anything else. At least, that's my opinion as a first responder--not a doctor," she added as Danny's face fell. "And if she gets through the first part I'm pretty sure she'll recover all the way, at least physically."

"She's all I have left," he mumbled. "After Annette died..."

Yang winced. "Come on, let's go see if the doctors have set her up."

Danny nodded vaguely, rushing for the emergency rooms with his glasses slightly askew, the blonde only a short distance behind. There was somebody outside the room who looked up as they approached--a doctor and from his look he was quick to pick up on who Danny was. Yang listened in with half an ear as the doctor confirmed what she'd told him, with a little more detail--Taylor was in critical condition, but if she woke up in the next twelve hours she was likely to be on her feet within a week. Most of her focus was on Danny himself. On the way he stepped in, took Taylor's hand and stared at her pained, unconscious face.

The both of them, it was obvious, were hanging by a thread.

Yang sighed, stepping into the room herself. "...Mister Hebert?"

Danny didn't reply, his expression elsewhere.

She turned to the doctor. "Can you give us a minute?"

"There's some paperwork I need to get," the doctor agreed, backing out.

Yang sat down across from the man, looking over the unconscious girl between them. After a moment, she put a hand on Taylor's shoulder.

Danny blinked, managing to come back to himself. "I... you found her?" he said.

"Yeah."

"...Thank you."

Yang smiled sadly. "I just wish I didn't have to."

"That's... fair." Danny sagged. "God, what a mess..."

For a moment, they sat there in silence. Yang looked at the girl for a moment, then at Danny's worried visage. She bit her lip.

"...I... Mister Hebert..."

"Yes?"

"...I'm... I really don't want to take advantage of your distress," Yang began carefully. "So what I'm about to ask for, I want to make it clear I understand if you say no."

Danny straightened up, some more of his mental fog blinking away. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's just--I'm a long way from home," Yang explained. "And I... my money's no good here, I don't think, and I'm not sure I have papers for a job and I don't know where I'm going to sleep tonight--"

"Slow down--hold on. Just..." The man took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Yang Xiao Long. Right?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds Chinese," Danny noted, examining her over carefully.

"Uh..." Yang blinked. "Does it?"

"It does, yes." His eyes lingered on her metal arm. "Are you... looking for a place to stay?"

"Well... yeah. At least for a few days while I try to find a job." Yang looked down at Taylor for a moment. "And... she probably wouldn't mind a little protection."

Danny nodded. "...I might be able to set up a bed in the basement. Or the attic. You... don't mind sleeping on the couch for a couple days, do you?"

"No. I've... had worse." Yang's shoulders sagged. "Thanks, mister Hebert. I hope I can repay your kindness some day."

Danny looked at his sleeping daughter and smiled, a wan thing, but the first smile she'd seen on his face. "You already have."

Chapter Text

The villain Haxxors is a recently revealed associate of Uber and Leet, presumed to be a former espionage agent of an unknown faction who found them after she triggered. Due to the petty nature of the crimes she has committed, she is not considered a priority target at this time. The following ratings are based on observation, instead of formal power testing.

Haxxors

--Brute 4: Haxxors has been seen to take both physical and energy-based strikes without significant damage. This is assumed to be an application of her photonic sheathe, though this has yet to be directly confirmed.

--Changer/Stranger 5: Haxxors can create temporary photonic constructs, sheathing herself in a custom illusion. These allow her to take the appearance of any individual she wishes, real or fictional; it is likely she can also use this ability as camouflage and effectively become invisible. These constructs break upon significant physical assault.

--Striker/Shaker/Stranger 2: Haxxors can also extend photonic constructs at a distance, such as creating an illusion of herself to cover her escape or altering the appearance of an object or person within a short distance of her. This has been used to disguise moving vehicles before, but these constructs have the same limitations as the ones Haxxors sheathes herself in.

--Striker/Brute 4: Haxxors utilizes a weaponized parasol in combat, which can deflect small arms and explosions. The parasol also serves as a sheathe for a sword that can either extend through the parasol's tip as a hidden weapon or be unsheathed as a full sword. Haxxors will often disguise the weapon as something innocuous before entering combat.

--Mover 2: Haxxors has demonstrated martial versatility and frequently turns an opponent's actions against themselves. While not strictly a parahuman power, this ability clearly speaks of professional training.

--Thinker 3: Haxxors has demonstrated the ability to infiltrate numerous facilities for both information-gathering and sabotage purposes, generally using her photonic constructs to confuse the situation. While not strictly a parahuman power, this ability clearly speaks of professional training.

Recommended Strategies: Haxxors excels at subverting direct attacks and redirecting assailants to their own detriment when in direct combat. Any engagement with her should focus on wide-area damage and indirect assaults. It should also always be assumed that the visible iteration of Haxxors is potentially a decoy, and agents should remain alert to potential assaults from unanticipated angles. Do not assume she has been successfully contained until definitively confirmed via blood sample of the 'contained' body. Haxxors can mimic the appearance of others, but does have the apparent limitation of being unable to mimic voices; regular verbal communication should be used to counter her disguise attempts.

Notes: I don't know where the hell Uber and Leet picked this girl up, but observation suggests she's using them as an emotional crutch for some reason. She vacillates between exasperation and fondness, like some sort of older sister humoring her siblings, even though her height suggests she is actually younger than them. That said, the standard rules regarding Uber and Leet also apply to Haxxors--remember that while she's playing at being silly, she is potentially quite dangerous. Do not let your guard down. No, not even if she flutters her eyelashes at you.

The rogue known as Paladin is a highy trained combat medic who has thus far avoided contact with the PRT for unknown reasons. Due to his heroic leanings, standard protocol is to attempt to soft sell the Protectorate and/or the Wards upon encounter and not to engage in combat. The following ratings are based on observation, instead of formal power testing.

Paladin

--Brute 6: Paladin can deflect damage with a personal force field, which has endured bladed weapons and small arms fire. It is unknown if this forcefield can be broken. He is also physically tall and fit.

--Striker/Trump 2+: Paladin has an amplification ability which he can target at individuals within a short range. This ability enhances the target's natural healing and, if they have parahuman powers, also enhances the degree to which they can use their powers. Amplification is accompanied by a golden 'watery' appearance on the targeted individual.

--Tinker 2: Paladin wields a collapsible shield/sheathe which grants them additional abilities, as well as a discus that can generate a force field, and wears a set of plate armor. These give him the following abilities:

---Shaker 1: The force field discus can generate a force field of varying width, which acts like a wall and/or ramp.

---Mover 4: Paladin is able to use his shield as a glider, allowing him to relocate from great heights. He can also use it to recall the discus to himself at will.

---Blaster 5: Paladin can generate a pulse of force from his shield, which repels objects and individuals in a wave.

---Brute 3: Paladin can use the shield as a shield. His armor is also useful as armor.

---Striker Unknown: Paladin has a sword in his sheathe, but has never used it in engagements. The few eyewitness accounts of him pulling it out indicate the sword is broken. Assume a Striker 1 rating as a basic swordsman until proven otherwise.

--Thinker 2: Paladin has demonstrated an understanding of strategic concepts and can adapt to new situations with ease. This is likely the result of training and experience, not a parahuman ability.

Recommended Strategies: Paladin is effectively a force multiplier for any group he is associated with, and has a modicum of combat capability on his own. If engaged in a group, priority should be taken to isolate him from any allies that could benefit from his support. Standard containment protocols should suffice once isolated, with the caveat that actual damage is unlikely to affect Paladin in any way; containment foam is preferred.

Notes: Don't get me wrong, I realize why we have these threat assessments and strategies for taking down capes. But Paladin's a first responder and medic, not a fighter. He's about as threatening as Panacea--less so, actually, since Panacea still hurts people with her barbed words. Some people have suggested he has an 'aura' like Team Ruby, but honestly considering his powerset and actions he reads more like somebody who's seen horrible shit and just wants to move on. That said, the fact that none of the gangs have snapped him up is pretty telling. Guy can hold his own, it seems.

Chapter Text

"Excuse me!"

Lung frowned, turning toward the voice as his men raised their guns. The stranger was dressed in what, at first, looked to be a standard maid outfit--a simple black dress running down to the ankles with a lacy white apron that emphasized the shoulders and bust, with a matching headscarf folding back the dark wavy hair. To his trained eye, though, there were numerous signs the young woman was more than she appeared--the slight bulk beneath the sleeves indicating hidden armor, the odd device she wore on her back, the way she gripped the apparent swiffer-jet mop, and of course the dark cloth mask.

"Was I correct in hearing you were going to shoot children?" she asked, in a polite but firm tone. "Because I am afraid I cannot allow that."

The tattooed man narrowed his eyes, gesturing for his men to shoot. Guns barked and the girl darted into an alleyway with a squeak. So... not a Brute, then. A Tinker, possibly, which would make her dangerous--

"You are being terribly rude!"

--if she weren't so clearly inexperienced.

"Detain her," Lung ordered, waving forward four of his men. "We shall deal with her later."

The four men walked forward, turning into the alley. Lung turned away, walking away from the sounds of the skirmish. The strange cape wasn't likely to be too much of an issue, and the fools that stole from him still needed to be brought to heel--

A few screams gave him pause, and he turned just in time to see the swiffer-jet mop smack him in the face.

The motorcycle rolled to a stop and Armsmaster swung himself off, looking at the scene before him with some confusion. The unconscious and burned form of Lung was startling enough, even surrounded by unconscious gang members, but the woman disingenuously humming to herself as she wiped a few puddles around the area was a further incongruity. The mask... could identify her as a cape, possibly. Or it could be part of her maid uniform.

He approached the woman carefully. "Excuse me."

"Hmm?" The maid looked up, lifting a pair of goggles. "Ah! Armsmaster, I--it's, it's a pleasure to--uh..." She looked around herself, seeming to notice the situation she was in. "...I can explain," she offered quickly.

"I would like that very much."

"Well, I was just doing my rounds, cleaning the streets, wiping off that horrid graffiti the gangs keep putting up, when I noticed these people out and about. I would have turned right around, of course, only... I heard Lung order his men to shoot children. Obviously I couldn't just allow that to happen, so..." The maid gestured around with her swiffer-jet. "I, ah, stopped them."

"And how did you do that?"

"Careful application of a mop," the maid replied. "As well as quite a bit of bleach, vinegar, and hydrogen peroxide."

Armsmaster nodded slowly. That mixture would certainly have an effect. "And you happened to have all that on hand."

"I always have cleaning supplies on hand," the maid replied in an amused tone. "I'm the cleaning lady, after all."

"Your cape name is 'Cleaning Lady?'"

"Cape--? Oh! Uh..." The maid looked around at the fallen gangsters. "...I... guess I am a cape, aren't I? I didn't even think of that."

"...You didn't even think of being a cape while you engaged Lung," Armsmaster repeated, for clarity's sake.

"Oh, my powers aren't really designed for combat," the maid explained. "I've just been... cleaning. A lot. I never intended to engage anybody in combat, but, well, children being threatened and all."

The superhero crossed his arms. "It's likely Lung was referring to the Undersiders. Teenage parahuman robbers, who likely stole from his casino."

"...Well, I didn't know that," the maid--or, the Cleaning Lady, he supposed--stated petulantly. "And even taking it into consideration, he was still threatening to kill somebody. Thievery is a terrible thing, but does it stack up to outright murder? I should say not!"

Armsmaster sighed. "You don't need to justify yourself, this time. That said, you are a new cape, and this will have certain effects on your reputation."

"Like I said, I'm not really a fighter. I'm only out to clean the streets. It's--it's this thing, with me." She cleared her throat. "Speaking of which, I really should get back to wiping up this mess--"

"I believe that would qualify as interfering with a crime scene."

Cleaning Lady paused for a moment. Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her mop. "...I should have thought of that," she mumbled, looking at the scene with fresh eyes. "Um... am I under arrest?"

Armsmaster considered the situation carefully. "...I do not believe that would be appropriate," he finally admitted. "However, it might be best if you returned to PRT headquarters with me to clear up all... this."

"Oh. Does... that mean I ride with you on your motorcycle?"

The tone of worry made Armsmaster quirk an eyebrow behind his visor. "I can call a PRT van, if that would make you feel more comfortable."

"Ah. Yes. That would probably work, and..." Cleaning Lady let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping. "I want to be clear, I am not insinuating anything about you, sir. It's just... I can see the smudges on your motorcycle."

Armsmaster turned around and examined his bike. It seemed perfectly clean to him. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I am." Cleaning Lady stepped forward, pulling a rag from her sleeves with a shake of her head. "Maybe it is a bit rude of me, but I can't let this sort of thing pass--you don't mind me giving it a quick shine while we wait for that van of yours?"

"It isn't really necessary."

"But---I can see the smudges," the Cleaning Lady insisted, her hands twitching. "I--I have to clean them off."

...ah. Sometimes triggers did have... side effects.

"Alright," Armsmaster said finally. "But be careful. I spent quite a lot of time working on that motorcycle."

"I'll be gentle," the Cleaning Lady said. "And trust me, I'll make this as pristine as possible. Hmm." She began scrubbing at the motorcycle with her cloth. "Pristine... I quite like that word. Can Pristine be my cape name, do you think?"

Chapter Text

Well, well, well. This is an interesting opportunity for the both of us.

The voice was sibilant, snakelike. Taylor tensed, as much as she was able in the confined space. "Hello?"

Hello... child, yes? I believe it is children in this building, if my understanding of your society is correct.

"Can you... help me?"

Unfortunately, I have a distinct lack of body at the moment. A rather pressing issue, I think you'd agree.

"Oh."

But, the voice continued alluringly, that is something you could quite easily provide.

Taylor's eyes shifted in the dark. "I--what do you mean, exactly?"

Let me slip into your breath, child. Let me soak into your blood. Let me become you, and share with you all my power, and all my wisdom.

"That's--that's a very scary offer," Taylor managed, eyes wide.

It is, isn't it. The voice wasn't apologetic in the slightest. In fact, it seemed more amused than anything. I suppose I could enter somebody else and see if they are... willing... to open the door from the outside...

"W-Wait! Wait."

Taylor shut her eyes for a moment.

"I... didn't say no," she said carefully. "But... I'd... like to know, what I'm getting into, here."

My, you certainly are interesting, aren't you. Most in your situation would accept without a thought, or boldly reject what they rightfully thought of as a temptation. And yet, here you are. Trapped, unable to move, likely to die with all this filth... and you still have your wits about you. There was a sensation like a chuckle. Our lives are both measured, child. Disease and injury will take you if you remain here, and should I not take a body soon I will drift apart on the winds. Are you certain you have time to ask what you need?

"If... I let this happen. Will I still be me? Will I even be in my body? Or... will you take over completely?"

Will you die in spirit? Hmm. Something like a chilling touch wrapped around her shoulders. No, I do not believe so. Nor will I attempt it. You would be more useful, and more entertaining, with those clever wits. No, I shall grant you my power, and let you guide it. Though, the voice added as an afterthought, I suppose there might be times I need to take control proper. Teaching you how to use the power, for instance. Can you accept that?

"...I still want to live my life."

And you will be able, I know sure of it! You might yet live a century, if that. Barely a blip for one such as me. I have no qualms entertaining your wishes till your death.

"And... if I gave you my body..." She opened her eyes, looking at the darkness of the locker. "...you would give me your power?"

I believe I have stated that quite clearly, yes.

"What exactly is your power? Do you have super strength, or teleport, or--"

Ah, a misunderstanding. When I said I would give you my power, I meant that you would have all of my many abilities. They would all be yours to use, child... so long as you could use them. And if you can't, well, it would not be impossible to craft workarounds.

"Could you even get me out of this locker?" Taylor asked.

A paltry task! the voice replied confidently. And more, I could grant you vengeance on those who put you in. Subtle or blatant, brutal or devious. If you wished them to quake in fear, it would be simplicity itself. If you wanted them to worship you... it would be more difficult, but I could arrange it.

Taylor swallowed. It was tempting. Dangerously tempting. "What... else can you do?"

What do you desire?

"...I want to be a hero. I... I want to make sure that this sort of thing doesn't happen to anybody else. That the people that would do this are brought to justice."

Aaaaaaah. Yes, I can do that, certainly. With everything I could grant, there would be few that could stand in our way. And of those few, well, a little creativity could work wonders.

There was something about the voice that made Taylor shiver. Still... in the dark, tight confines, she couldn't see another way out. "I... think I should ask... what are you, exactly?"

I am the comforting whisper of the shadows, the voice proclaimed, reverberating across the metal. I am the benefactor to the ones who wish anonymity. I am the master of the unseen. The guide to the beasts who come to new lands. The hand that offers strength to the forgotten. The forger of promises, to bind those who would break chains. I am she who was once of a great brotherhood.

"Once?"

There was a disagreement about the effectiveness of my methods. A disagreement which led to my current lack of physical form, and my presence on your world. The voice had a hint of pride in it. They did not plan for the second part.

"So you're a survivor."

Of a sort.

Taylor let out a long, slow breath. "I don't exactly have much of a choice, do I?"

Well, there is the option of sitting her, waiting to die, hoping maybe you might get superpowers to survive all this...

She shuddered. "No. No, I--I can't. Alright." Taylor braced herself. "How... how are we going to do this?"

A greenish shimmer built up in front of her. A mist, glowing in the dark, with the vague shape of a face. Not a human one, certainly--noseless, with arcs and lines that reminded her of nothing so much as a mask, and with eyes that shone a devious red.

Breathe. And breathe deeply. I shall do the rest.

Taylor hesitated, for a moment.

Then, with a feeling of stepping off a cliff, she inhaled the greenish mist. She felt it slither down her throat, pool within her lungs... and then she gasped in agonized shock as her blood suddenly caught aflame, pain flowing through her with every rapid heartbeat. For a moment, she saw the veins of her hand glowing green, and then her eyes--her eyes! The light boiled, even in the dark, tendrils around her brain, seeping in, legs tense, every pore, hair rattling--

It lasted less than a minute, but it felt like a full day.

When it ended, she was still... in the locker, yes, but it didn't seem as dark. No, rather... it was still dark, but the darkness was as clear to her eyes as light would be.

"Hmm." Taylor's own mouth opened, speaking without her prompting. "Yes, this will do nicely. Not as robust as I am used to, but there is potential. Now, to get you out of here..." Her arms and legs braced against the back of the locker, and she felt something... shift, within her. A pressure in her muscles increase. Her limbs tensed--

And with a single, powerful shove, the door tore itself open and she fell out backwards from the locker.

"Hmm." Taylor's body picked herself up, brushing off some of the grime. "Teleportation would have been easier, but you aren't equipped to do that yet. We really need to see about getting you some proper energy circuits... ah, but a bit of healing, I think, wouldn't go amiss." She lifted a hand, and Taylor watched in shock as the scratches and bruises that covered it visibly patched themselves up. "There we are. Now then..."

Something... faded. It didn't leave, Taylor could still feel it within her, but she was able to move herself again.

"I..." She blinked, examining her hand. "You... you did it."

Of course I did, the voice purred. I am a Makuta of my word, after all.

Chapter Text

Emily Piggot lowered the report. "If I didn't know you," she said dryly, "I would ask if this is some sort of prank."

Armsmaster folded his arms. "I assure you this is completely accurate."

"Striker two. Tinker two. Brute one. The only hint that this girl could take down Lung is her Thinker five rating, except power testing has explicitly noted it's specifically because she's a Noctis cape that can identify how to clean anything." Piggot gestured at the power testing report. "And yet, the man's in our cells, and this maid has taken full claim for it."

"She explained her methodology--"

"Yes, yes, mixing household cleaning substances. Bleach and whatever else." Piggot threw up her hands. "The great and powerful dragon of Kyushu, brought low by the girl who sweats Windex! Nobody is going to believe it, Armsmaster."

"Strictly speaking, Pristine can produce any cleaning substance," Armsmaster pointed out. "And it's an evolving ability. She wasn't able to make soda until we told her that coke was used to clean blood stains, but after that--"

"I'm not stupid enough to say she's harmless. Warning labels exist for a reason, and chemical warfare is... effective." The director sighed, rubbing her forehead. "The point I'm trying to make is that most people see maids as harmless background individuals. A relic of times gone past. And Lung is somebody to be feared, a dangerous and brutal gang leader. So the fact that this cleaning lady has managed to defeat Lung--somebody we have constantly struggled to fight, let alone contain--is going to be a PR nightmare."

"...We could always hide that aspect of the situation," Armsmaster offered.

Emily Piggot gave him a flat look. "Yes. We could. And I can think of at least five different ways that could backfire." She glanced at the threat assessment and paused. "Is she aware of industrial cleaning materials? Solvents and the like?"

"I..." Armsmaster frowned. "...do not know."

"Let's operate on the assumption she isn't, and not tell her about them unless we absolutely need to." She leaned back in her chair. "Pristine. A cape maid. As if Brockton Bay wasn't strange enough..."

Pristine tapped her foot, annoyance clear even behind her mask. "Mister Clockblocker, do you often temporally lock the garments of your compatriots?"

"I'm a bit of a prankster," the Ward replied with clear amusement. "It should stop in a few seconds."

"I see." The maid glowered at him. "Were you aware that some people clean their toilets with hydrochloric acid?"

Clockblocker swallowed. "I... didn't know that, no."

"Well, now you do." Pristine's skirt began to flow again, and she lowered her arms with visible relief. "There we are. Much better. I should thank you not to do that ever again, save in genuinely life-threatening situations."

"Message received." Clockblocker cleared his throat. "So... you can produce any cleaning substance?"

"So it would seem."

"No matter what it cleans?"

Pristine sighed. "What exactly are you getting at, mister Clockblocker?"

"Can you make toothpaste?"

"...Thank you, so very much, for that disturbing mental image."

Aegis stepped in quickly, grabbing the younger Ward and pulling him away. "Sorry about him, he really doesn't think things through at all."

"So I have gathered." Idly, without even thinking about it, Pristine ran a finger along some of the furniture and examined the result. "How often does the staff give this room a once-over?"

"Miss Militia comes in every once in a while," Vista offered, looking over at her strangely.

"Hmm. I see I'm going to need to make some changes to how things are handled around here."

"...Okay, I know you're dressed up as a maid for some reason, and I realize your whole... thing, is producing cleaning products. But you don't have to lean into the stereotype so hard."

Aegis inhaled sharply.

"Miss Vista," Pristine stated, very precisely, "you are aware of a parahuman's need to use their powers?"

"Well, yes, I--"

"And you are aware I am a Thinker?"

"No, actually, I didn't know that." Vista frowned. "Wait, is that how you beat Lung?"

"Somewhat. He was creating quite a large mess, and I took a few moments to consider how to clean it up."

"...You fought Lung because he was causing a mess."

"My thinker rating is explicitly for identifying messes and determining how best to clean them up. And unlike my other powers, it is not one I can easily avoid utilizing. So, I could either be an ordinary teenager with an incredible degree of O.C.D. and sever post-trigger distress, or I can, as you say, 'lean into the stereotype.'" Pristine sighed wryly. "Frankly, I think the latter choice is better for my mental health."

"Right. Okay, you do you, sorry for being weird about it." Vista shrugged. "I guess I was just happy that I wasn't the only girl on the team anymore."

Pristine blinked. "I... excuse me, but is Shadow Stalker not--?"

"Stalker's female, but she's more 'bitch' than 'girl'."

"Vista," Aegis scolded.

"No, I'm with her," Clockblocker agreed. "Sophia's easy on the eyes and hard on everything else."

"...Sophia?"

"Uh, crap. Right, sorry, it should be her choice to unmask to--"

"Sophia Hess, perchance?"

Clockblocker blinked. "Uh... yes? Why?"

Pristine said nothing for a few moments, though the way her hand gripped her swiffer mop indicated she had quite a bit she wanted to say.

"...And she has a room here?" she asked, very politely.

"Well, yeah, we all have--"

"Do you know her?" Aegis interjected.

"Oh yes." Pristine's voice was crisp and controlled. "We know each other quite well. Though," she allowed, "perhaps not as well as I had thought."

"Well, Wards are supposed to keep their identities secret, Clockblocker, so that makes perfect sense," Vista pointed out.

"Yes, well, I still find myself quite startled at this development."

"Yeah, I guess learning your friend's a superhero would be startling."

"Oh, if only that was it. In a way, I suppose, I can lay my victory against Lung directly at miss Hess's feet."

"Wait, I--I thought you used your powers to beat him up."

"Oh I did, I did. However, I would not have had said powers if it were not for the direct actions of Sophia herself."

A deathly pallor descended upon the Wards as they processed those words.

"...Fuck." Clockblocker sagged. "I can see that happening."

"Clock--"

"Aegis, nobody would lie about their trigger."

"I'm not saying she is. I'm saying it... could have been an accident."

"Mmm." Pristine nodded. "Two years of directed harassment, physical and emotional, culminating in being forcibly inserted into a locker that was filled with month-old used feminine products, while the school administration looked the other way. Yes, I suppose that could be an accident."

"...Holy fuck," Vista whispered. "I'm going to--I--I'm going to drop a couch on her."

"Vista--"

"NO, Aegis! This is NOT okay! If Stalker's been doing this--"

"If," Aegis said firmly, "she's been doing this, she needs to be brought in and sent to juvie. We can't just break the law for--"

"Oh, so we can't break the law but she can?" Clockblocker demanded. "FUCK that!"

"She's getting a couch--no, a car--a car, and a couch, and somebody find me a fucking anvil because I will--"

"Ahem."

The three arguing wards paused, turning to look at Pristine.

"As the aggrieved party, I believe my wishes should be taken into account?" she asked. Politely.

"Right." Vista took a breath. "Right, yes. I should point out none of us wanted her, including her--she was actually a street thug before we brought her in, and she's been on probation ever since."

"Ah, well that makes things even simpler." There was a dangerous hint of mirth in the maid's voice. "Tell me, children: have any of you ever heard of the sword of Damocles?"

Chapter Text

The independent hero Splattershot has established herself as the leader of the Brockton Bay Splatoon, a group of independent tinkers operating out of the Lord's Port (known to locals as the Boat Graveyard). Due to their cluster trigger giving them similar abilities, Splattershot's threat rating will be used as a baseline, with Sharpeye, Squidbeak, Skipper, and Skincare being given adjusted ratings.

Splattershot

--Shaker/Blaster 5: Every member of the Splatoon is able to generate a substance they call Ink and coat an area with it. The color of the Ink is determined by certain audial inputs, primarily music; it is possible to amplify or modify its effects with specific tunes, though the Splatoon keeps these effects secret. When applied to an individual who has not acclimated to it, Ink serves as a contact sedative, numbing or knocking out targets by soaking into their skin; this is relatively slow-acting process, and most average humans must be entirely covered to pass out. However, members of the Splatoon are immune to this. Ink can be washed away relatively easily, and will naturally biodegrade within one hour if left alone.

--Breaker 3: Splattershot can transform into an entity fully comprised of Ink, and regenerate from any pool of Ink with enough mass to form her body. While in this form, she can swim through already applied Ink stealthily. The rest of the Splatoon have a breaker 2 rating, as they instead transform into squid or octopus-like forms; while these can and do also swim through the Ink, they are more solid and recognizable than Splattershot's Breaker form.

--Mover/Stranger 2: Ink enhances the land speed of Splatoon members running across it and impedes the speed of unprepared individuals. Furthermore, the Splatoon can swim in the Ink while in their breaker forms, allowing them to climb vertical surfaces or speedily traverse a battlefield. They are nearly impossible to locate while in the ink, although they cannot attack or directly interact with the world as well.

--Tinker 2: Splattershot is the most basic of Splatoon's tinkers, primarily responsible for infusing their weapons and basic gear with Ink in order to prevent the team losing their equipment while in their breaker form. Prior to Sharpeye's involvement, she relied primarily on basic 'paint gun' style weapons and a few novelty paint rollers. That said, she is regularly accredited with creating the team's armor and hero suits, which allows them to store Ink for easy usage.

--Brute 1: While all members of the Splatoon recover quickly if they are able to retreat to Ink, Splattershot is the only one who can directly weather damage while in her Breaker form. This, in combination to her being the tallest of the group, makes her the forward-line fighter of the team, generally spraying Ink for the rest of the group. She is the only member of the Splatoon to have Brute rating.

In addition to the differences noted above, the rest of the Splatoon have the following modifications to their ratings:

Sharpeye: Sharpeye specializes in the production of Ink-based weaponry and deployable devices. As such, she has a Shaker/Blaster rating of 6 and a Tinker rating of 4. Sharpeye has a talent for writing music that affects the Ink and individuals who are empowered by it; for this reason, she has a Master rating of 2.

Squidbeak: Squidbeak specializes in creating Ink-based transport networks and battlefield emplacements. He therefore has a Mover rating of 4 and a Tinker rating of 3. Squidbeak is also responsible for the creation of the Ink-Assistance Armor, which enhances the wearer via Ink; said enhancement is considered a class four Trump effect.

Skipper: Skipper builds robots that have little functional intelligence, but tend to be durable and spread massive quantities of Ink. She has a Tinker/Master rating of 5. She also has a Thinker 1 rating due to her skill with digital networks, which is used both in the organization of her robots and for more general purpose internet research.

Skincare: Skincare generates 'Octarians' from his breaker form. These creatures are relatively weak, resembling tentacles with eyes, but he can create a large number of them and have them operate basic Ink-spreading equipment. Skincare is the only member of the Splatoon to not have a Tinker rating, and has a Master 7 rating.

Recommended Strategies: The Splatoon's reliance on Ink for their operations means that the removal of Ink should be the primary goal in any engagement. Use hoses and spray water to neutralize its presence. Do not assume any member of the Splatoon is alone, as they have multiple methods of rapid deployment and regularly engage in squad tactics. Due to the relative nonlethality of their operations, the Splatoon is to be considered a low priority target. Invitations to standard PR events may be extended to individuals or the group as a whole, should the oppurtunity arise.

Notes: The squid kids have good hearts. Sure, they can be a little bit obnoxious but let's be real here--they're kids. And cluster trigger kids at that. I'm not saying they don't need to be watched, their track record speaks for itself, but after everything they've been through I think they deserve to have a little bit of fun. I mean, have you seen their dance parties? And the concerts... they're making the Boat Graveyard a place worth being around, instead of just a series of junkers where new capes go to practice. Not that capes don't still go there to practice a lot.

CLASSIFIED ADDENDUM: Splattershot's ink has a mutative property that affects the development of sea life when exposed to their eggs. She is the only true human among the Splatoon; the other four are ink-modified cephalopods. Consequently, Splattershot has an additional Master rating, currently undefined. That all Splatoon members are capable of creating their own ink, as well as demonstrating parahuman-like skills and feats, is a matter of great concern. Thus far the Splatoon has operated in accordance with the law, but the PRT should continue to monitor the situation closely. Quarantining of Brockton Bay should be considered if more modified sealife makes its way into the public space.

Chapter Text

There were many times in Neopolitan's life where she wished she could speak. Oh, she certainly got by without the vaulted ability, but living in a world built for people who could communicate in a way she simply couldn't wasn't easy, especially with--

Her gloved hand pressed against the brick wall as she shut her eyes tightly, forcing herself to refocus.

What she wanted to do now was pepper the alleyway with all the myriad curses and swears she'd heard over her criminal career. It certainly seemed to help everyone else whenever they spewed a river of vitriol. Of course, Neo couldn't do that, so she settled for stamping a foot and slamming a fist against the bricks.

Damn that girl! Her life was going wonderfully, and then Ruby Rose had to skip in and fuck everything up! It was her fault that Roman--

Roman...

No. Neopolitan never cried. That was the other girl. The other girl was gone. She was Neopolitan, master criminal. She was smarter, tougher, prettier, and a hell of a lot more fun to be. To be around.

And fun could be just what she needed right about now...

That and funds. She had a few lien in her pocket, but that wouldn't be enough to keep. And she'd need a base to operate out of while she found her footing in... what the hell was this place? Could it be actual hell? She did fall out of the world, into that... weird place with all the red stars...

Neo shook her head, shoving those thoughts away.

A good old-fashioned mugging seemed to be in order. She'd get money, maybe a little bit of info, and that thrill of power when somebody quivered in fear of her. And it'd be a decent test of the locals' abilities. Maybe all they were all chumps, or maybe every last one of them had unlocked aura and incredible super powers. Or maybe this was actually the afterlife and they were all ghosts or something. No way to know without going out and looking.

Flakes of light shimmered up her body. One second, Neo had been standing in the alleyway, long brown and pink locks framing her equally heterochromatic peepers; the next, there was the entirely innocent Mint Chippette, looking out of the alleyway with green eyes as she brushed her short black locks across her hatless head.

Famous gentlewoman thief? No, officer, I'm just a humble desk worker, out for a day on the town! But if that dashing rogue Neopolitan was around, I think she would have headed off that way...

Mint smiled as she walked down the sidewalk, fondly remembering the stupidity of law enforcement everywhere. Well, everywhere on Remnant, this place might have halfway competent cops. And oceans of ice cream. And while she was dreaming of the impossible, maybe she could find out Salem's darkest secret and get the queen of the Grimm to swear eternal loyalty. She indulged in the dark thoughts for a few moments more, before letting the daydreams fade and taking stock of the people around her. Hmm, who would be a good target...

Ah, now that was a particularly fine-looking suit, on somebody who looked far too confident for his own good. She fell into lockstep behind him, her eyes roving up and down his skeletal frame. Sewn-on pockets, and not a weapon in sight. Maybe he had a hidden knife, or a small gun, but the way he carried himself suggested he wouldn't be able to draw it fast enough to use.

Rich, unarmed, and stupid. The perfect target.

Mint picked up her pace just enough to set herself in position. The moment the next alley came up, she grabbed his arm and shoved him against a wall, face first. A pink flash brought a knife to her hands, carved with dangerous runes, and she held it in front of the man's eyes briefly before pressing a finger to his throat. It was an old trick, but a good one, and from the way the man's breath hitched he bought it hook, line, and sinker.

First pocket: keyring. The man had many keys, which meant he could lead her to many targets. She dropped it on the ground. Next pocket, some... brick thing with a button. It lit up a screen when she touched it--a scroll, sort of. Locked, though, and she didn't really know what to do with it, so she dropped it and crushed it under her heel. The third pocket had a checkbook, which would have been great if she knew his signature but she didn't, so she tossed that over her shoulder. The fourth pocket had his wallet, with all the cards and... were those coins? Interesting...

She shoved the man to the ground roughly. Mint went around the corner quickly, but an illusion of Neo tossed the wallet up and down with a Beowolf-may-care smirk as the man picked himself up, skipping back when he lunged at her and running the opposite direction of her counterpart. Mint hid her smile as the man rushed after the illusion, especially when Neo darted behind a light post and disappeared. The man's visible shock, especially when he couldn't find his assailant, was enough to put a pep in her step as she calmly walked away.

Already, Mint had discovered a lot more about this place. The tech seemed similar to Remnant, somewhere between Vale and Atlas standard, but seemed to run off entirely different principles--or at least had a completely different aesthetic. The wallet was fairly generic, no flare at all, though the number of plastic cards mister Calvert carried was interesting. What kind of name was Thomas Calvert anyway...? She pocketed the coins, flipped through the various I.D.s and keycards with mild interest, and nodded when she came upon what looked like an Atlesian credit card. It could be a dangerous assumption, but if this place were similar enough to Remnant...

A quick step into a nearby convenience store found her something close to a Lien kiosk. Just to confuse things, it was Choco Latte who used the ATM to empty mister Calvert's bank account, pocketing the large-denomination coins before the store staff could see them and using some of the smaller coins to buy herself a few snacks. Oh, they sold cookie-cream sandwiches here! Choco nodded approvingly, smiling at the cashier as she made her purchase.

Odd amount of superhero memorabilia. Was it a local cultural obsession...? Mint Chippette returned to strolling down the street, flicking the now useless wallet and the interesting but incriminating access cards into a passing sewer. Now that she was looking for it, she could see a large amount of superhero-related merchandise. There didn't seem to be much super-villain merch, which was... interesting. Franchises lived and died on interesting characters, no matter their alignment. Why in the world weren't the merch companies capitalizing on that?

Her answer came unexpectedly, in the form of a boy on a hoverboard flying overhead.

Ah. So the superheroes were real. Which made this all... more like the merch some particularly famous and arrogant huntsmen would sell. The lack of supervillain merch was still somewhat strange, but Mint supposed that it would be difficult for the local ne'er-do-wells to get enough public support for such a venture to be even remotely tenable. Still... there was a niche there, for the daring and ruthless.

With a devious smirk, Mint Chipette continued to skip her way along. First a map, then a library, and then Neopolitan would make her grand entry into the world of licensing! The world could use a little pink-collar crime...

Chapter Text

Where to begin...

My story, as I understand it, has many beginnings. The quest of the shards. The death of another universe. The madness of former friends and foes. The rebirth of a forgotten humanity. The desperation of a hidden cabal... and also, the desperation of a separate, entirely different hidden cabal.

But if I were to put a beginning to it all, to the retelling of everything, I'd say we should start with the locker. The place of my rebirth. Or my death, depending on how you look at it. I've had a number of existential crises about the whole thing.

The final hours of Taylor Hebert, teenage human whipping board, were spent in desperate isolation, bound in iron and filth by mocking peers and left to rot. I begged for somebody to find me. I raged against the metal with my weak arms. I screamed my pain and sorrow to the silent halls of Winslow. And... nothing. Nobody reached out, nobody cared even enough to tell me to shut up. Ignored by everyone, except the bugs--because hey, here was a convenient source of fresh meat that couldn't even run away.

That was the first time I knew--really knew, understood--that I was going to die.

I don't know how long it took me to internalize that, exactly. A few minutes? An hour? It's hard to tell time when you're in a tight, dark space. Once I did realize it, though, once I accepted it, I... it just became another dollop on the shit sundae. My mom died, my dad's depressed, my best friend is a monster, the school hates me, I'm going to die, today is monday. Just a fact of life. Like water being wet. Or gravity pulling things down. Endbringers destroying society. You know, fundamental laws of nature.

After a few minutes, I decided that the laws of nature could go fuck themselves with the biggest and most rusty skyscraper in Kyushu.

And that's when it happened. I was so pissed at the world being so completely, totally unfair, that my brain reached out beyond itself. And something reached back, automatically, something ancient and dangerous and empowering... and if that was all that had happened, I would probably have forgotten it in moments and become just another parahuman. Maybe I'd have the power to fly, or become a telepathic god, or... I don't know, control bugs or something. And my story would become just another tragedy of a desperately spiraling girl caught up in a scenario far too precarious for any mortal to handle.

But, fortunately for me, somebody else had done something remarkably desperate and stupid a couple decades ago, and they were in just the right position to hijack what was supposed to be the final key to my descent.

From my perspective, it was a very jarring change. One moment, I was trapped in the locker, surrounded by rotting tampons and skittering roaches. Then there was a vision of a great, crystalline thing, reaching out... and then, briefly, darkness, before suddenly I was standing in a featureless room.

And I do mean featureless. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, all were simple white squares with no texture whatsoever. It took me a few seconds to realize that, and a few more to step forward and confirm the wall was as smooth as it looked, impossibly so. My eyes drifted from my hand to the white sleeve around my wrist, nothing like the dark clothes I remembered wearing; looking down revealed I was dressed in a featureless white jumpsuit, and running my fingers over the sleeves produced the same feeling of unnatural smoothness that I'd gotten from the walls. Absolutely nothing gave away how this place had been made, and there was an... unreality to it all, as though it only existed in my head. Which had a lot of unsettling implications, the more I thought about it. Was it real, or some sort of illusion? How did I get here? Why was I even here, anyway?

"...Hello?"

I didn't exactly expect a response to my nervous questioning of the open air, but I also didn't expect no response. I expected nothing, it was just an automatic reaction given the situation. Still, I was surprised when a synthetic voice replied.

"Greetings. We have some questions for you, if you would not mind answering them."

I looked around the featureless room for... something, anything really. "...Like... what, exactly?"

"What is the current date?"

"...January third. 2011, if that's... important."

"Thank you. I assume you are sixteen years of age?"

"Fifteen." I crossed my arms, trying to hide my fear and confusion behind annoyance. "Look, what's going on here?"

"That is precisely what we are attempting to determine."

"By kidnapping me and asking me random questions?"

"...My apologies," the voice replied after a moment. "Perhaps an explanation is in order. You are not physically present here, this is a simulated environment. We have set up a transmitter that interfaces directly with your brain."

I couldn't help gaping in horror. "You did what?! When the hell did you--?"

"Roughly three minutes ago, at this point. Though the entire process took something around eight minutes total."

"How did you do that?!" I demanded.

"Nanomachines," the voice responded calmly.

"What?! You injected me with nanomachines?!"

"No, we sent them through the wormhole."

"WHAT WORMHOLE?!"

"The one that opened up in your brain."

"THERE'S A WORMHOLE IN MY BRAIN?!"

"Don't worry, the aperture is far too small for an ordinary blood cell to pass through."

"YOU OPENED A WORMHOLE IN MY FUCKING BRAIN!"

"No, actually. That was something else. We just happened to be nearby, and--"

"Okay, stop." Another voice, far less synthetic, cut the first off. "You are terrifying the poor girl. Excuse me, miss, can you hear me?"

"I--..." I took a deep breath, not that it meant anything. "Yes. I can hear you."

"I'd like to apologize for... well, all of this. We're in... a complicated situation over here, and the wormhole being opened gave us hope we could get out of it. So we sent the nanomachines through, just to explore what was on the other side, and... we were not expecting your brain. Honestly, we're kind of scrambling to figure out what's going on ourselves."

I crossed my arms and huffed. "You know, it'd be a lot easier to trust you if I wasn't in some void of a room."

"A--oh, I see. Well, I'm going to be talking to somebody later... Okay, I'm going to upload a new simulation, it should let us talk... somewhat face to face."

In the space between one moment and the next, the white room was replaced by a futuristic lobby of some sort. Natural light--well, as natural as a simulation could have--flowed in through high windows to highlight the mosaic of a sphinx in the tiles. The room was bordered by comfortable-looking couches and potted plants, with six round kiosks arrayed in a hexagon and displaying holographic screens. I'm not ashamed to admit I stared at the image of a red planet, surrounded by a glowing ring, that floated translucently above me.

"Is this better?" the voice asked from beside me.

"I guess it's a little--holy crap!"

The speaker grinned a bit, putting a hand on his... her...? their hip. "What's the matter? Something on my face?"

The face in question was undeniably not human. Not bad-looking, if you were into the whole fox/bat thing--okay, probably bat, from the webbed wings extending from their hands--but definitely not what I expected.  The fur pattern was like nothing in nature, especially with the long mane of magenta hair, and the mischievous blue eyes spoke volumes to how amused they found my reaction. The futuristic clothes the stranger wore was almost an afterthought to the utterly strange situation.

"Relax, honey," they said--and it was kind of strange to see an extended snout speak english so easily. "We don't mean you any harm. My name's Nikopol Shaw."

"Uh... Taylor Hebert," I managed awkwardly. "Um. Are you... an alien?"

Nikopol shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it, I guess. It's a long and complicated story. I'm assuming you're a bonafide human," they added, gesturing at me.

"Well, yeah, what else would I be?"

"Oh honey, if I answered that honestly we'd be here all day! But," Nikopol said before I could process that, "I think we should talk about what our relationship going forward's going to be."

"....our... relationship?"

"Purely professionally, of course," the bat-person replied. "The fact is we're kind of in a jam over here, and you're the only one on the outside we can talk to, so if we ever want to solve our problems, you're going to have to be our eyes and ears, maybe hands. Gives you a lot of leverage, I'll admit."

"...Nikopol Shaw," I said, very carefully, "I am a fifteen-year-old high school student."

"With a wormhole in your brain," they replied, smirking. "That lets you talk to aliens."

I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't have rich parents, or some sort of famous friend--I don't have any friends at all! I'm the least popular student at Winslow and that's already a shithole of a school. Hell, I was just stuffed into a locker filled with rotting tampons!" I exploded. "And I mean filled with it! I couldn't even move my--oh god," I realized, "I'm still in the locker, aren't I? This--this is all a simulation, I'm still trapped in that--"

"Hey, hey, take a breath--"

"I felt bugs crawling on me!" I exploded, smacking their hand away. "I'm going to die in there! A-a-and you want me to just, what, solve problems I don't even know about?! Because of a random wormhole in my brain?!"

Nikopol gave me a long look, silent, not judging exactly, but... considering. Then they sighed, pinching their muzzle. "Sentri! Get your ass out here!"

The abstract representation of a winged lioness flickered into existence in the middle of the room, looking at me with solid glowing white eyes for a moment before turning to the androgynous bat. "Hello, Nikopol," the lioness greeted--in that same synthetic voice that had first responded to me. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

Nikopol crossed their arms, giving the newcomer a deadpan look. "How can we help Taylor?"

"MarsCo and its associates can provide our new friend with numerous files on technological devices that--"

"Don't play coy, Sentri, I know you were listening in. The locker. With the tampons. Can we get her out of there?"

"Our connection currently only allows the transmission of data and insertion of nanomachines into Taylor's bloodstream."

Nikopol rolled their eyes. "We could use the nanomachines to bulk her up enough that she could shove her way out of the locker."

"Wait wait wait." I held up my hand in disbelief. "You can do that?"

"Augmenting biology is pretty par for the course," Nikopol replied.

"Augmenting Vector biology," Sentri countered, shaking their head. "The vast majority of such augmentations rely on physiological and genetic components a baseline human does not have."

"Damn. I was so sure that would work, too..."

"It may be possible to give Taylor the boost you suggest, if she were to allow herself some prerequisite surgery."

"Prerequisite?" I asked nervously.

Nikopol's ears flicked back. "Sentri's talking about turning you into a Vector," they said flatly.

"A--is that what you are?" I looked them up and down. "I mean, you look... nice, but I'm not, uh, sure I'm ready for wings. Especially in a locker."

"We don't all have wings. Just the lucky ones." Nikopol's expression regained some of its mischievousnesses. "We're mostly human, really. Just had junk DNA removed and a few tweaks to give us... well, animal appearances and some enhanced abilities."

They gestured, and a holographic screen appeared with images of anthropomorphic people. Some of them seemed basically human in shape, others looked like animals in clothes, some were built like centaurs... There was a dinosaur in a dress. And a mermaid with a dolphin head--or a dolphin with arms? All sorts of colorful people, in all sorts of poses, casual, provocative, dramatic.

"...So, let me see if I understand this. You turn me into some sort of animal-person, and then boost my body to a point where I can just break out?"

"That's the general idea, honey."

I chewed my lip thoughtfully. This whole situation was so far out of left field, I wasn't sure I could just... accept it at face value. And yet... well... I didn't have any other choice, did I? Even if they left, I'd just be back in the locker.

"...Do I... do I get any say in... how I'll look?" I asked. "Or is it just a random transformation, no control?"

"We can spend as long as you want figuring everything out," Nikopol assured me. "Anything you want to keep, get rid of, improve, all up to you."

"We will have to start with a basic template, of course," Sentri clarified. "But we should be able to accommodate most reasonable requests."

I looked down at my hands. If I did this, this could be the last moment I ever saw them.

"...Can I have a mirror?"

With a nod, Sentri produced a full-length mirror.

My reflection wasn't wearing glasses. A little odd, but... well, given the white unitard, it wasn't the strangest thing. Hell, I was in a room with two aliens. Or sort of aliens. Sort of in a room.

But...

I reached out, putting a hand against the mirror, and looking at my own face. My human, ordinary face. Plain, unattractive... lips too wide. But for all of that, it was my face. Me. What I thought of myself as.

"...The hair." I sighed. "It... my mom had the same hair as I do. I... I want to keep the hair."

"I think we can do that," Nikopol agreed gently. "Let's work on designing your new body."

Fifteen minutes later, after some serious discussion, the nanomachines in my blood turned on, and I died.

For the first time.

Chapter Text

Designing your own body from the ground up is a trippy experience. Especially with the constraints that we were working under.

I decided pretty quickly that I still wanted to be mostly human-shaped. Sure, I'd get a tail of some sort and my head would be more animalistic, but I didn't want to entirely relearn how to walk. Plus, I was in the locker, which meant anything too big like the centaur forms wouldn't work. Being my dad's little owl for real was tempting, but when I mentioned it to Sentri, they... well, they got a weird look on their face and eventually said that there wasn't an owl template to work with. After that, I quickly threw out the idea of bird-based bodies, since wings would probably not fit my current tight confines.

That still left me a slew of options. Canids, felines, bears, dolphins, rodents, weasels, ungulates, reptiles, even shark templates were presented. I wasn't exactly an experienced internet mogul at the time, but even then I was peripherally aware of people who would give anything to be in my position--well, almost anything. I don't know if they'd agree to live the last two years of my life, or get stuffed into the locker. That observation made Nikopol smirk a bit.

I dismissed anything with hooves immediately, and after a moment I asked Sentri to put the reptilian options away. Let some other crazy girl have scales, I liked my mammalian form. A bit of thought had me kicking the rodents off, the weird dentistry would not make my life any easier, and also pushing the sharks away for the same reason. After entertaining the thought of a humanoid bear hounding my tormentors and putting the fear of god in them, I decided the temptation to cause a mess would be too great, and left the big furry brutes aside.

That left me with dogs, cats, weasels, and dolphins. I was seriously considering the cat form when the whole... situation hit me, suddenly.

"...I'm actually doing this."

Nikopol flicked his eyes toward me. "So you are."

"I'm really, actually just... changing my body," I repeated, slowly. "I'm just... doing this. No questions asked."

"Nobody said you couldn't ask questions, honey."

"I'm throwing away my own body just because it's not good enough," I insisted.

"Plenty of people do that."

I gaped, horrified.

"How do you think we know how to do this?" Nikopol asked. "We wouldn't be offering a total body replacement if it was some sort of untested technology."

It took me a moment to remember that I was talking to an actual alien. A personable one, sure, and one who seemed to at least agree my situation was horrible, but... still an alien, who probably didn't understand certain aspects of humanity.

"It's a lot, is all," I offered awkwardly. "I mean... I grew up like this." I gestured at myself. "And this is kind of a fundamental change. I don't know how I'm going to explain it... I don't even know what I'm going to tell my dad."

Oh, fuck, what was I going to tell dad? I wouldn't be able to hide this...

"I mean, I guess I could say I became a cape somehow," I muttered.

"A cape?"

"A--a parahuman," I explained. "Some people, they get superpowers... somehow, I don't exactly know how. And I know sometimes they transform. So I guess I could pretend I became a cape, but--but he'd ask how, and I wouldn't actually have any powers beside being furry." I put my head in my hands. "I can't even warn him on the phone! Not without exposing myself to somebody, and everyone in school hates me--"

"You don't have a toggle?" Nikopol asked. "A personal communication device," they added at my confused look.

"...Mom died in a car crash, answering her cell phone. Ever since then, Dad... he's not been in favor of the things." I sighed. "I mean, I understand, I do. It's not something I'd like to remember, either. But now--god damn it. A cell phone would at least make this whole, whole thing more managable!"

"We could outfit you with a wireless hub."

Sentri's words hung in the virtual air for a long moment, as I turned to stare at them. They made sense, individually, but I don't think I can be blamed for not quite understanding what the virtual sphinx was offering.

"...a what?" I managed finally.

"Surgical augmentation is common among Vectors, and grafting a wireless communication hub to one's brain is among the cheapest and easiest operations available. As we are already planning to entirely rebuild your body, adding cybernetic abilities is not a difficult prospect." Sentri tilted their head, taking in my shock coolly. "In some ways it will make the entire process much easier and safer."

"You're going to install a cell phone in my head," I repeated, feeling out the words with distant disbelief.

"Only if you want us to, honey," Nikopol assured me. "But like you said--it'd make things more managable. And it's not the only option either."

"Not the only option...?"

"For instance, I'd suggest going for a full NCS--neuro connectivity suite. Makes your skull a computer, which makes it easier to download apps and install devices like the wireless hub. I think we can install the hub at the same time?" they asked Sentri.

"Yes, that would be quite doable. And there is a list of associated minor augmentations I feel would also be beneficial."

Once again I gaped at the aliens for a while, before managing to turn back to the representations of... what I could look like, standing in front of me.

"...Well, that makes convincing people I'm a cape that much easier," I mumbled. "Alien technology in my head.... How hard would it be to make something from your world?"

"MarsCo and its associates have numerous blueprints for sundry technologies filed and accessible," Sentri said.

"Which isn't the same as having the actual item," Nikopol added. "You'd need to get your hands on the materials yourself. And the tools. I... think we can cheat a little with surgeries and apps, since we're going to be flooding your body with nanomachines to rebuild it anyway, but actual devices are going to take time and effort to build. Especially without a good materials printer."

"Huh. Now that I think about it, that sounds like what a tinker would be like. A kind of cape," I explained to Nikopol's curious expression. "Their superpower is building things that nobody else knows how to build."

"I see... well, if you're going to fake being a Tinker, I'd suggest keeping out of sight until you're ready to make your debut."

"Why?"

"Look, honey, I'm guessing there's some cape groups out there that are... less than nice, right?" Nikopol smiled grimly at my hesitant nod. "So what do you think they'd do if they hear about a new cape who could outfit them with fancy tech eventually, but doesn't have much right now? Hell, what if they just want to deny you the chance to help their enemies."

I thought about it for a bit, considering the gangs I knew about, and drew some dark conclusions. "Right. Yeah, I shouldn't just jump into this unprepared..."

Which meant I needed someplace I could hide my tinkering. And somehow, I didn't think the basement would be discrete enough. There were plenty of empty warehouses around Brockton Bay, but... well, anybody could stumble on them.

My eyes drifted to the dophin form, and a mad idea formed in my head. "Out of curiosity, how... good at swimming would I be if I picked this one?"

"Very good," Nikopol told me. "Sharks and dolphins were designed for aquatic colonization from the beginning. Sharks have actual gills, but dolphins can hold their breath for something like forty-five minutes on average."

"...Sharks, dolphins, bats... are you guys actually aliens, or are you just messing with me?"

"We're a genetically engineered human-derived species originating on a version of Mars in an alternate reality of the solar system talking to you through a wormhole in your brain from yet another alternate reality we hopped to because of a civilization-ending catastrophe that happened a little over seven hundred years after our version of Earth was nuked to hell and back." Nikopol shrugged. "Like I said, honey, it depends on how you look at things."

Well... that clarified absolutely nothing.

"...I think I'm going to go with the dolphin," I said, in lieu of actually responding to that bombshell. "Plenty of new capes test powers out at the boat graveyard, but I don't think I've heard of anybody looking for new capes under it. And shipwrecks could be a good source of materials anyway."

"And you won't be furry," Nikopol added with a smirk.

"And I won't be furry," I agreed with a sigh. "No offense, but I don't want to have to buy shampoo in bulk."

"Savings are always important," they agreed, dismissing the other images with a wave. "So, now that we've got a template, let's talk details. Augmentations, appearance, I know you want to keep your hair but if you want to do anything else now's your chance to speak up."

I glanced at the virtual mirror, reflecting my current appearance, and then at the humanoid dolphin that looked... sort of like me.

"...Can we get rid of the glasses?"

"Easy. Vision correction. Anything else?"

Everything Emma and her friends had ever said began to echo treacherously in my thoughts. I swallowed nervously and rubbed the back of my neck, trying to shove the insults back as much as I could.

"I... might, maybe, have one or two, uh, suggestions, if that's okay?"

Nikopol grinned.

Chapter Text

Taylor looked down at the remains of her locker, sighing at the shattered door and bloody mess of biological waste. "Now what? I can't just leave this here."

Why ever not? It stands as evidence to your foul imprisonment. A line to bring justice to those whom tormented you.

Taylor scoffed. "Like that would ever work. Nobody ever listens to me."

I will admit I am not familiar enough with your species to know how unusual that is.

"It shouldn't be normal," Taylor muttered. "But it is. The school administration hates me."

Why is that?

"I don't know, they just do!"

Hmmm. The voice was contemplative. Would you like to find out?

Taylor stared at the locker, stunned. "I--yes! You can do that?"

Oh, with ease. More, I can teach you how to do it yourself. Allow me but a few moments of your time...

Thirty minutes later, Taylor was seated in front of the principal's desk, fidgeting nervously. Are you sure this will work? she asked mentally.

If I read the situation correctly, somebody has leverage here, the voice replied. The question is whether she is being offered a knowledge crystal or threatened with a kanoka disk.

Taylor wasn't able to parse that before principal Blackwell started speaking. "What is it this time?"

"This time?" Taylor took a breath, bracing herself as she reached out with her mind. "This time I was stuffed into my locker, along with a metric fuckton of rotting tampons."

Human minds, her companion had warned, were not mere novels and libraries. There was a pattern to the thoughts, but it was a pattern of nature, like that of the grass outside. Even when training on a few roaches, Taylor found surprising complexity; it was like learning a new language by listening in to a conversation from the next room. And a human mind was much more... well, more. A full movie, with sounds and visuals and sensations like background music even as the actors performed in ways she had no context for... it would have been a lot to take in all at once.

But that very complexity worked in her favor here. Already she could see the labels attaching themselves to various parts of Blackwell's thoughts, little abstract balloons that skimmed the surface of an ocean and plucked things out of the ripples. Annoyance, attached to her face, and her words, and... frustration, attached to Sophia, with Emma trailing after her and Madison a vague mass. And following the balloons was a great pole, on which stood the principal herself--slightly younger, and much more confident.

Another small balloon crawled out of her, one of fear that drifted and plucked the image of... well, she guessed it was an abstraction, but it looked like a news reporter. She was surprised to realize the balloon was one of fear.

"Fuck," the inner Blackwell swore. "If this gets out... damage control. Damage control. Hebert first. Do you have any proof of this?"

It was strange to hear Blackwell ask the question just half a second before she said it out loud. The two overlapped, like some odd sound effect in a movie, every word doubled in her hearing. Even though she understood it...

"You mean aside from the metric fuckton of rotting tampons in the locker that I just had to break out of?" she replied flatly. "Well, I suppose we could check the locker door for prints, or ask one of the dozen witnesses. Actually, maybe I should call the police right now--"

"The police--?! No, they'll back off once the PRT gets involved."

Interesting, the voice in Taylor's head noted. And this PRT connects to... who is that?

Taylor didn't recognize the woman who bobbed briefly into the principal's thoughts, but she did see how she was in the presence of Sophia. It almost distracted her from Blackwell's response.

"...suppose that sounds reasonable, miss Hebert. Assuming you're telling the truth--"

"Why would I lie about attempted murder?!"

The principal quirked an eyebrow. "You seem rather unharmed for a murder attempt." "It'll all blow over, nobody's made a murder charge stick here in years."

Ah, this is a stubborn one, the voice noted. Perhaps it's time we give her a nudge. Remember what I told you...

Taylor took a breath, shifting the connection between her mind and Blackwell's. The mental landscape vanished as she pulled her inner eye back through the metaphorical tunnel, and she turned to the resources provided her.

"Of course I look unharmed," she growled, shoveling a small chunk of confusion down the psychic chute. "I couldn't exactly go marching through the halls covered in biological waste, I hit the showers first."

Blackwell blinked a bit, tapping the desk. "Well... yes, I... I suppose that would make sense. But are you sure it was actually--?"

"Principal Blackwell, isn't it your job to keep us safe?" Taylor insisted, sending another shot of befuddlement her way. "I mean, we're here to learn what we need to become a part of society, right?"

"I--I'm an administrator, not--"

"Well, yes, you are the principal administrator," Taylor agreed, sliding more bafflement down the tube. "That's why I'm talking to you." She swallowed back some disgust, forcing herself to say the next part. "I respect your position."

"Yes... well. My position is... respectable, you're right..."

She seems rather dazed now. I think it's time to lean on that.

Taylor turned away from the pile of confusion and turned to something more primal.

"I just..." She curled up a bit in her seat. "I'm kind of... scared."

Remember, the difference between poison and medicine often comes down to dosage. A subtle touch is key here.

She carefully started to trickle fear down the mental chute. "I mean, what kind of person would try to murder a child in broad daylight? Who... who would do that, miss Blackwell?" She let her voice fall nervously, adding another dollop of fright to the mix. "And how do I know they would stop with just me?"

The seed has been planted, I believe. Let us see if it can grow.

Taylor looked into the principal's mind again, forcing herself not to smile as she found it stormy and bewildered. She focused on the central aspect, the part of Blackwell that she thought of as herself, and listened in carefully.

"What if Sophia goes on a killing spree in the school?"

Echo that, the voice in her own head whispered, but without the name.

"What if they go on a killing spree through the school?" Taylor asked fearfully, noting the way Blackwell's hands clenched.

"She could go after anyone she doesn't like."

"They'd... they wouldn't stop at students," Taylor nudged, making her voice quaver.

"There's already so much fighting between the gangs, she could start a war..."

"I don't want to think about how much damage they could do."

Ah, good. See how she's considering it? Don't say anything. Let the concept sink in now...

Taylor watched, fascinated, as Blackwell's eyes darted around for a moment, mimicking the panicked flailing of her inner self as she tried to control her thoughts. "This could be bad. This could be very bad. I--no, I can't talk to Sophia's handler, she's in on what we did, but... maybe I can go around her, if I'm careful..."

See now, how she feels threatened by your foe, the voice in Taylor's head offered. And how she plans to use her power to remove the threat. Carefully measuring the steps, even as her heartlight shimmers...

She nodded, slowly, staring at the quietly panicking woman, and wondered how she was ever afraid of her.

"...Principal Blackwell?"

"Hm? Oh. Yes. Taylor. Thank you for bringing this to my attention," the principal said. "I... I think it might be best if you let me handle this."

"But--"

"I-In fact, you should go home. You, ah, just lived through a very stressful--no, a traumatic experience, and I can't in good conscience let you wander around the school while your..." She swallowed. "...while your potential murderer is still here. Don't worry, I'll... write you an excuse. Or something."

"...Okay, but I need to call my dad, and... I don't have a phone on me."

"Oh, right, yes. Here." Blackwell nudged her phone across the desk. "Just, be quick. I... have some of my own calls to make."

And this, the voice in Taylor's head purred, is only the beginning of what I offer.

Taylor picked up the phone thoughtfully. She was starting to get some ideas.

Chapter Text

Pristine sat quite formally in her chair, hands gently clasped as she watched the director give Shadow Stalker a most thorough and vicious tongue-lashing. She would never admit it in polite company, of course, but in the privacy of her mind she was quite enjoying the spectacle before her. She wished she could simply lean back and let the director continue lambasting the unrepentant child glaring daggers at her.

Damn her power. Damn it for being so pressing. And damn her for having such ironclad morals.

She waited until the director took a brief moment to catch her breath before interjecting with a polite hum. "Director Piggot, if I may?"

The director glowered at her. "Yes? What is it?"

"I will admit, I feel rather at odds with myself regarding this... whole situation," Pristine explained, nodding toward Shadow Stalker. "On the one hand, on both an emotional level and a legal one, I do agree with your assessment that this ruffian deserves incarceration for her blatant violation and abuse of the strictures placed upon her."

"Fuck you too, Hebert."

Pristine glared at her tormentor for a moment. "...On the other hand," she continued as she turned back to the adult in the room, "I... find I have a rather pressing need to acknowledge that juvenile detention will do little to correct the situation, and may in fact exacerbate it."

The director frowned at her. "That's not your call to make."

"You are correct," Pristine demured with a bow of her head, "it is not my place to make the final decision. I can only offer my own thoughts on the matter."

Shadow Stalker snorted. "Kissass."

"And what exactly are your thoughts?" the director asked flatly, ignoring her rebellious charge.

"You are aware, of course, that my power gifts me with the knowledge of how to clean up a mess," Pristine began carefully, "to such a degree that I have an intense compulsion to tidy up whenever I recognize something less than organized. Personal experience has led me to discover this can extend beyond merely physical messes, and even the messiness of combat, to messes of a more... social venue." She glanced away awkwardly. "One of the first things I did with it was patch up my relationship with my father, for example, which occupied me enough that I did not engage in outings more standard of a cape until recently."

She could see director Piggot evaluating her, examining her carefully.

"That miss Hess caused a mess is something we can easily agree on," she continued, idly ignoring the crude gesture shot her way. "However, I must point out this is because she is a mess."

"You bitch!" Shadow Stalker snapped.

"Her mindset is focused on power and force alone, without acknowledgment of other aspects of social interaction. Which unfortunately means that imprisonment will only communicate the PRT is stronger than her, and that she must become stronger to do as she wishes, and it all becomes a negative feedback loop while only temporarily removing her from the situation."

"Oh, so you're a fucking shrink now, Hebert?" growled the ward. "I don't see you taking down street thugs!"

"She took out Lung," the director informed her. "Solo. Alongside his armed entourage. Knocked him out and was scrubbing the streets ten minutes later."

"...Bullshit."

"Oh no, it's quite true," Pristine replied, her cloth mask hiding her smirk. "Although I must reluctantly correct you, director, it was only five minutes later."

Even behind her mask, Shadow Stalker's shock and disbelief was plain. "...How the FUCK did you pull that off?! You're not strong at all!"

"And therein lies the crux of the issue. You automatically assume strength will win the day." Turning back to the director, Pristine tilted her head. "Which leads well into the proposal I wish to make, Director, if you are willing to hear me out."

"Just because you took down Lung doesn't mean you can dictate terms," the director warned.

"Of course," Pristine replied, bowing her head.

"...What exactly are you thinking?"

Pristine once more smiled behind her mask. "Winslow Academy has some... rather severe failings in its sanitation and health code," she noted. "I have wanted to correct that for a while now, but while I can certainly purchase or in fact craft the tools such an undertaking would require, I am only one student among many. However, should I--in my civilian identity as Taylor Hebert--establish a student-run group devoted to the effort, and should the school track star and her companions decide to join, I am quite certain such a task could be accomplished within a few months, a year at the most, while giving miss Hess an appreciation for matters other than shows of strength."

"Oh fuck no!" Shadow Stalker snarled. "You are not turning me into a fucking janitor, and I am definitely not going to take fucking orders from you! Everyone in school would be riding my ass about it! Why the fuck would I ever agree to that?!"

"Because the alternative is being locked away until you're twenty," Director Piggot said. "And that's assuming I even let this happen in the first place."

"It is your decision, in the end," Pristine acknowledged.

Director Piggot snorted. "I'm half-tempted to put you on console duty for trying to manipulate me so blatantly." She folded her hands together. "As entertaining as the idea is, you don't have any way to enforce Stalker's actions while she is nominally working with you in Winslow--and that's assuming the principal even cares enough to allow it."

"...Ah." Pristine's shoulders sagged slightly. "That is a valid point."

Shadow Stalker glowered at her, before turning to the director. "What's the fucking point of this, anyway? None of this matters to you."

"Stalker--"

"Yeah, that's right, Stalker. Even if this went public, Shadow Stalker never hurt Taylor Hebert. That was Sophia, and the PRT doesn't do jack shit if capes aren't involved." Her voice hardened. "Unless you're going to unmask me for this, and we both know--"

"I am seriously considering it."

"What--? You can't do that! It's against the rules!"

"Rules you failed to uphold," the director countered. "The law exists to keep society from falling apart, and you crushed it underfoot for your own damn pleasure."

"The law is a fucking joke and you know it!"

"It's those same laws that are getting you sent to juvie instead of me shooting you through the head right now. We can't afford to have loose cannons in the PRT, especially not in Brockton Bay. Either you shape up or you get out, and the only way out is in a prison van."

Shadow Stalker snorted, crossing her arms, though she didn't say anything for a moment or two.

"...Fuck. Fine. Whatever. It's just a dumb school. Cleaning it can't be that hard."

Pristine hummed thoughtfully, but decided to let her believe that for a moment.

Chapter Text

Pristine is a new member of the Wards ENE, but has admitted to being active in a low-key manner for some months prior to her joining. Her activities have generally been civic-minded, cleaning off tags and gathering up garbage off the street, but she has admitted to engaging in self-defense and was capable of successfully engaging Lung and a number of unpowered gang members without backup prior to her joining. She has willingly submitted to power testing, and been assigned the following ratings based off the results.

-Striker 2: Pristine can generate any cleaning substance she knows of from her pores, producing it in a manner similar to human sweat. Aside from their unusual manner of generation, these substances have no unusual properties. It should be noted this rating is based on household cleaning substances; it is unknown if she can also create industrial cleaning solvents. Director Piggot has ordered that she not be familiarized with them unless in case of extreme emergency.

--Brute 1: Pristine actively controls her exocrine glands, giving her an increased degree of stamina and control over her internal body temperature. This allows her to engage in strenuous activity for longer periods of time than the average individual. This does not seem to extend to superhuman levels, but in combination with her own physical training, Pristine's endurance is in the upper ranges of human norms.

--Striker/Shaker 4: Pristine has constant and immediate access to the numerous chemicals contained within cleaning substances, which she can use to engage in chemical warfare. This is not an instinctive ability, but one she has learned through study and practice. She has demonstrated a quick learning ability when given new information about said chemicals, though whether this is a natural talent or an extension of her Thinker powers is unknown.

-Tinker 2 (tentative): Pristine has designed and built a backpack that can gather substances she sweats out and mix them as she requires, as well as an attachment that resembles a swiffer-jet mop which she uses for both cleaning and combat purposes. While this does not strictly qualify as tinkertech, as it can be understood and built by modern science, Pristine has demonstrated the ability to repair broken cleaning equipment without instruction and may be capable of designing and constructing more esoteric devices of the type if given proper tools.

--Blaster 4: Pristine's blaster rating is the result of her above knowledge of chemical warfare and the observed spray range of her weapon being taken into account. While Pristine's speed and accuracy have yet to be fully tested, evidence suggests she is highly efficient with her weapon of choice.

-Thinker 5: Pristine is capable of locating, identifying, and coming up with a plan to clean any mess within an observed area. What qualifies as a 'mess' is somewhat abstract, but generally appears to be some form of physical, social, or mental chaos or disorder. Note that this does make her both a combat thinker and a social thinker to some degree. Pristine has also been identified as a Noctis cape, not requiring sleep for unknown reasons. It is unknown if her high degree of self-control is parahuman in origin or merely the result of her own personality.

--Striker 2: Pristine has demonstrated martial capability with her weapon of choice, and repeated it when handed a standard bow staff as well as an ordinary broomstick. While not superhuman in origin, she has stated she picked up martial arts 'surprisingly quickly' once she begun, so it is being filed as a subset of her Thinker abilities.

--Brute 2: While on patrol, Pristine wears body armor under her typical dress, alongside a nonmechanical disposable respirator under her cloth mask. The only unusual aspect of this equipment is how well-maintained it is, presumably as an extension of her Thinker ability to 'clean up messes.' Nevertheless, it is being added to the threat assessment as a reminder to all staff.

Recommended Strategies: Pristine's abilities as a combat thinker make her a middling threat on the battlefield, though one that could theoretically ramp up with more time and resources. However, standard PRT equipment should provide protection against the majority of her potential attacks. The largest threat in her arsenal is her custom mop, which can be easily removed. That said, while Pristine may not have much offensive capability, she is quite talented at defending herself and it is likely she can secrete the substances that dissolve containment foam. As such, PRT personnel should engage Pristine with direct physical confrontation and use cuffs as per standard arrest protocols.

Notes: How the fuck did this girl beat Lung?! Even if she pulled crazy martial arts and chemical warfare out of her ass, she's too goddamn polite to be a scrapper. Hell, she even offered to shine my shoes while we were waiting for the tests to begin. I turned her down, of course, but she got... twitchy afterward. That's something that we should also keep an eye on, she has the most serious case of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder I've ever seen. She has a deep-rooted need to clean things, which may cause issues if she ever goes on patrol. Thankfully, she does seem to register crime and violence as 'mess', though how much of that is a conscious decision and how much is her own issues I couldn't tell you. I'm pretty sure the whole 'maid' thing is a coping mechanism she uses to handle her mental problems.

Addendum (Director Emily Piggot): Given the details of her trigger event, I'm not surprised the girl has OCD. What does surprise me is how composed she was when she learned of Shadow Stalker's involvement in her trigger. Most parahumans run hot when they're mad, but Pristine was ice cold, calmly manipulating both Stalker and myself to construct a suitably ironic punishment while not stepping a single foot out of bounds. The only reason I'm not slapping her with a Master rating is that she already has a high Thinker rating. I'm still going into M/S isolation before I confirm Stalker's punishment, but I want to emphasize that Pristine is a valuable asset and potentially a dangerous enemy, in both the combative and political sense.

Chapter Text

Node 8064 Booting up...

Enter Username:

/ModSteel

ModSteel Registered.

Running Chat OS

 

Modsteel: /Color: #4682B4

ModSteel: /ShowQueueSearchMetrics

 

Opening Queue Search Metrics:

Import Minimum: 72.34%

Import Maximum: 87.52%

Base Species: Human

Species Deviation Maximum: 2.46%

 

ModSteel: Well that's just boring. Let's see....

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: ImportMin=80%

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: ImportMax=90%

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: SpeciesDevMin=5%

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: SpeciesDevMax=35%

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: If:SpeciesDev=Range&Species≠Human, Then:AddToQueue

ModSteel: What else, what else... ah! I know!

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: AgeMin=13

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: AgeMax=19

ModSteel: And just for fun...

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: SociPotMin=70%

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: Gender=Feminine

ModSteel: Yeah, this'll be fun!

ModSteel: ...Actually, while I'm thinking of it...

ModSteel: /AdjustQueueSearch: PsycheStressMin=25%

ModSteel: Interdimensional teenage princess group therapy! Who says I'm not good? Haters, that's who!

ModSteel: *Does a victory dance on top of interdimensional code because why not*

ModSteel: Alright, let's get this party started.

ModSteel: /RunQueueSearch: 4

 

Running Queue Search...

Anonymous User Added

Anonymous User Added

Anonymous User Added

Anonymous User Added

 

ModSteel: And because I am *not* an idiot!

ModSteel: /GenAnonName

 

Anonymous User has been renamed aDallon

Anonymous User has been renamed tZorah

Anonymous User has been renamed bBelladonna

Anonymous User has been renamed ИElodie

 

ModSteel: /NodeCoreUsage

 

Chat OS: 5%

Queue Search: 1%

aDallon: 8.3%

tZorah: 2.5%

bBelladonna: 6.9%

ИElodie: 3%

 

ModSteel: So that's 26.7%. Let's throw in the translation service:

ModSteel: /RunTransServ

 

Translation Service activated (+13.3%)

 

ModSteel: Wow, hopy ship. One of you has a completely different language base, huh?

ModSteel: Guess that's what I get for letting aliens in.

ModSteel: Still, that's 40% for the clock. Not bad all around. Let's just make sure we don't do anything stupid, mkay?

ModSteel: /admin coreLock .9

 

Systems capped at 90% Core usage

For a full list of enabled/disabled features, do '/node services'

 

ModSteel: Okay, let's get this plot device up and running!

ModSteel: /InviteFrom Queue

 

aDallon, tZorah, bBelladonna, ИElodie invited to node (8.3%, 2.5%, 6.9%, 3%)

 

ModSteel: Welcome to the multiverse! You've been selected by a hand-designed random selection engine to help bring worlds together, culturally and cosmologically.

ModSteel: And who am I you might ask? I'm your stunningly capable chat moderator, ModSteel! Feel free to ask what I can give ya! I'll add services if the core's not overtaxed.

ModSteel: If you want to change your username, just enter /Name: 'TheNameYouWant'. Changing color is /Color: 'putahexcodehere'. If you don't have a hexcode, don't worry, somebody here can probably help out.

ModSteel: I am just so excited to meet you all!

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

Blake Belladonna frowned as she stepped onto the airship, glancing around warily. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to her, which... didn't rule out semblances. As far as semblances went, though, this was a weird one. Certainly not like anything she'd ever seen in the White Fang. Probably some sort of prank. Or a greeting.

With a roll of her eyes, she picked a seat and opened her book, keeping her eyes off anyone. "Fine. I accept."

[Connection established.]

bBelladonna has joined the Node!

 

ModSteel: Hello hello heeeeello! Congratulations on being the first to enter... THE NODE.

ModSteel: I'm your stunningly capable chat moderator, MODSTEEL! Please, please, hold your applause.

ModSteel: And who might you be?

Blake blinked at the mental press of.... what seemed to be a scroll text channel, of all things. She found herself able to look up through the log with a thought. One line in particular made her scowl.

bBelladonna: "Interdimensional teenage princess group therapy"?

ModSteel: Brilliant, innit?

bBelladonna: It's wildly insensitive. I think I'll break off this chat group.

ModSteel: Okay, how?

Blake frowned, mentally searching through the logs.

bBelladonna: /quit

bBelladonna: /leave

bBelladonna: /shut down

ModSteel: Keep going, I'm sure you'll figure it out.

bBelladonna: Okay, I'll bite. How do I leave?

ModSteel: Heck if I know!

"...damn it," Blake cursed quietly.

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

Amy Dallon winced at the sudden intrusive thought. "What the hell?"

"What's wrong, Ames?"

"It's--" She sighed, rubbing her temples. "....Vicky, I just got a chat invite in my head."

Her sister stared at her for a moment.

"...Amy," she said seriously. "What's today's code?"

"Ugh. 'Minstrels eat tacos when the flirty bears cartwheel.'"

"And what was the thing I told you to never tell anyone?"

Amy gave her a flat look. "Do you mean the thing about Dean, the incident with the bra, or... the stuff with the Nazis?"

Vicky cringed, looking around the clothes store carefully. "...the incident with the bra," she muttered.

"You refused to admit you'd gone up two cup sizes until your bra snapped in the middle of basketball practice so you stuffed it in my backpack and hoped nobody would notice you not wearing a bra for a few days until you got a new one."

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

"Right. So we've established that you're not being mastered."

"Yet." Amy sagged. "This is an invite, I need to accept it before anything happens. Maybe I should head to the PRT--"

"No, they'd probably overreact," Vicky said. "For all we know, this is one of your fans who just triggered and... is being weird."

"I don't have fans, Vicky. You're the one with the fanbase."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Ahuh, and Alexandria's dating the Simurgh. Come on, let's get you home. You can accept the invite there, and I'll keep an eye on you while you do."

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

"Yeah, alright." Amy wrapped her arms around Vicky's neck as she picked her up. "Better be quick, the damn thing's repeating...

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

Elodie blinked in confusion, looking around the carriage. Was this some sort of magic? Why would...

Oh.

Yes.

She was to be the queen... sooner, now, than she had expected.

She didn't know much about magic--honestly, she didn't know anything about it, the boarding school hadn't had any lessons provided for such. Perhaps she would have learned more had she remained for a full education, but with her mother passing away so abruptly... Well. There wasn't any opportunity left to do so. Now all she had to rely on would be the best tutors in all the land.

Elodie considered the abrupt message for a moment or two. It was an invitation. And invitations... Well, they hadn't ever caused issues as far as she knew.

"I accept the invitation," she murmured, quietly enough for her attendants not to hear.

[Connection established.]

ИElodie has joined the Node!

 

ModSteel: Hello, player 2! Welcome to... the NODE.

bBelladonna: This is the guy that tricked us into this.

bBelladonna: I'm trying to find a way out, don't worry.

ModSteel: Keep at it! I believe in you!

ModSteel: Anyway, I am your stunningly capable chat moderator, MODSTEEL! And this is--

ModSteel: --you know, you never did tell me your name.

bBelladonna: Sigh.

bBelladonna: Hello, I'm Blake Belladonna.

ModSteel: This is the bodaciously talented Blake Belladonna! And we're here to make the multiverse a better place!

bBelladonna: Do you really expect us to believe that?

ModSteel: And who might you be?

Elodie blinked as words... inked themselves into her mind in the strangest manner, almost as if she were conversing with a book. Or... two books, really. She swallowed nervously.

ИElodie: My name is Elodie.

ModSteel: Good to meet you, Elodie! How are you doing?

ИElodie: Not well. I... just received news of my mother's death.

ModSteel: Oh.

ModSteel: Uh.

bBelladonna: I'm sorry for your loss, Elodie.

ИElodie: Thank you, Blake Belladonna.

bBelladonna: You can call me Blake.

ModSteel: Yeah, that, uh, sucks. That's... terrible.

ModSteel: Wow.

bBelladonna: Have you had the funeral yet?

ИElodie: I am headed to the castle right now, actually.

ModSteel: The castle?

ИElodie: All members of royalty are entombed there.

bBelladonna: Your mother is royalty?

ИElodie: Blake Belladonna... my mother was the queen of Nova.

ИElodie: And I am her only daughter.

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

Tali'Zorah nar Rayya didn't acknowledge the message for a moment or two, occupied as she was with her task. Even after she finished adjusting the circuitboard, she automatically ordered her omnitool to run a virus check on the ping. The automatic error message made her pause, doublechecking her screen.

"No ping registered?"

She went through the logs, finding nothing. Then she decided to do a search for Node 8064, which led her down the Rayya to... a light fixture in the middle of a corridor. Examining it didn't reveal anything.

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

"Keelah..." Tali put her hands on her hips, looking around. "Alright. You got me. Come on out."

Nobody replied.

"I'm serious," she repeated, pointing at her omnitool. "Somebody had better take responsibility for this."

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

It dawned on Tali that the invite wasn't showing up on the screen of her omnitool. Instead, it seemed to be more of a... thought, she was having. The idea that she'd been invited, without ever having actually received the invitation.

She checked her suit vitals. They... seemed to be in order. Nothing indicated she was hallucinating...

"Uh... I..." Tali swallowed. "I accept?"

[Connection established.]

tZorah has joined the Node!

 

bBelladonna: Well, that's interesting.

bBelladonna: Oh, hello.

tZorah: Hello. What exactly is going on here?

ModSteel: Oh hey! Welcome to... the NODE.

bBelladonna: ModSteel is telepathically forcing us into a scrolltext chat somehow.

ModSteel: For the good of all of us across the multiverse!

tZorah: Multiverse. Right.

bBelladonna: My thoughts exactly.

bBelladonna: Anyway, my name is Blake Belladonna.

ИElodie: Hello. I am Elodie.

tZorah: I'm Tali'Zorah. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya.

bBelladonna: Huh. A name like that *does* support the multiverse thing...

tZorah: It's a typical Quarian name.

bBelladonna: I don't know what that is.

Tali shook her head, returning to her family quarters. This 'node' was weird, and worrying in a way, but it felt so much like an extranet chatroom she couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity.

tZorah: I'm a Quarian. That's my species.

bBelladonna: I see...

bBelladonna: Does the word Faunus mean anything to you?

tZorah: No. Should it?

bBelladonna: I'm a Faunus.

tZorah: Huh. So this is a first-contact situation, at least.

ИElodie: You are not human?

tZorah: No.

bBelladonna: No.

ИElodie: Oh. I have never even heard of nonhuman peoples before...

tZorah: Really? You must have a very sheltered life.

ModSteel: Or, you know, she could come from a world with humans as the only sapient species. Just saying.

bBelladonna: Just remember, Elodie: We're people, no matter what else we are.

ИElodie: I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you.

ИElodie: This is all just so... overwhelming. I have never even heard of magic like this...

bBelladonna: This doesn't seem all that magical to me.

tZorah: Oh, so telepathic chatrooms are just normal for you?

bBelladonna: Well, there are mental semblances out there. It's rare, but it happens.

tZorah: ...you are not doing a lot to disprove the multiverse claim.

ИElodie: What is a multiverse?

ModSteel: Oh right! Not all of you would know about that!

[You have been invited to join Node8064. Do you accept?]

"I heard you the first fifty times," Amy grumbled as she slumped into her chair.

"Okay." Vicky shut the door and held up her phone. "I've got the PRT on speed-dial, just in case. You ready to do this?"

"Yeah, I am." Amy took a breath. "Fine, whoever you are. I accept."

[Connection established.]

aDallon has joined the Node!

 

ModSteel: Okay, so you know what a universe is, right? A multiverse is like a bunch of those.

ModSteel: Oh hey there! You're the final person in... the NODE!

ModSteel: I'm your stunningly capable chat moderator, ModSteel!

"It's some sort of mental chatroom," Amy told her sister, scrolling up through the history. "Standard text and everything. Apparently... apparently this ModSteel person set it up. They claim it's a multiversal chatroom."

"Huh." Vicky sat down on Amy's bed. "That's... not nearly what I was expecting."

"And what exactly were you expecting?"

"A new tinker testing out an experimental wi-fi device, or something."

bBelladonna: Sorry you got dragged into this.

bBelladonna: My name is Blake Belladonna.

tZorah: Tali'Zorah nar Rayya.

ИElodie: I'm Elodie.

aDallon: Hello everyone. My name's Amy Dallon.

ModSteel: Let me just explain what's going on here!

aDallon: I've read through the logs, thanks.

ModSteel: Oh.

aDallon: So am I supposed to believe any of this? A multiversal telepathic chatroom with aliens that somebody set up for 'interdimensional teenage princess group therapy'?

ИElodie: What is therapy?

tZorah: Keelah...

aDallon: Therapy is the treatment of disease or disorders, by some remedial, rehabilitating, or curative process. Long-term physical or mental healing, basically.

"One of them just asked what therapy is."

Vicky winced. "Ouch. That's... how old is she?"

aDallon: How old are you, anyway?

ИElodie: I'm fourteen.

bBelladonna: Seventeen.

tZorah: Eighteen years, by GalStandard calender.

aDallon: Seventeen.

ModSteel: I am ageless.

bBelladonna: I don't believe you.

"Elodie--the one who didn't know about therapy--is fourteen. Then there's Blake, who's seventeen, and Tali who... wait, she said she's eighteen by GalStandard."

"GalStand--galactic standard?!" Vicky leaned forward. "Is she on a spaceship?!"

aDallon: Wait, GalStandard? Tali have you been on a spaceship?

tZorah: I *live* on a spaceship.

"She says she lives on a spaceship."

Vicky whistled thoughtfully. "That's... awesome. And ridiculous."

aDallon: Damn. Earth Bet's space program got shut down after the Simurgh showed up.

bBelladonna: Remnant's space program ran into issues when we found out Dust doesn't work outside the atmosphere.

ИElodie: What is space?

tZorah: Before we answer that question, I want to know something: What would you, Elodie, describe as the most complicated technology in your world?

ИElodie: Well...

ИElodie: I guess there are the sextants that warship captains use to sail.

ИElodie: Oh, and the cannons.

tZorah: Keelah...

aDallon: You said it.

"So it turns out Elodie's from some medieval world." Amy paused. "Are we really taking this seriously?"

"Can you turn it off?"

"Blake tried, according to the backlog, but she didn't find anything."

ИElodie: Perhaps my mother would be more knowledgable.

ИElodie: Were she still alive...

tZorah: I am sorry to hear about that. My own mother passed away last week.

aDallon: I'm adopted, so I don't know if my mom's alive or not. The one I got isn't the best...

bBelladonna: My parents are alive, but... I haven't talked to them for a few years.

ИElodie: Why?

bBelladonna: We're on different continents. And Menagerie isn't connected to the CCT.

ИElodie: What is the CCT?

bBelladonna: You know what? I think we should let Elodie have some space. Mourn her mother without all of us chatting in her head.

bBelladonna: Why don't we start this up again... tomorrow, after the funeral.

tZorah: Yeah, that makes sense. I'll, uh, go looking for first contact stuff on the Extranet.

aDallon: Tech checklists to make sure we're all on the same page?

tZorah: Yeah that sort of thing.

aDallon: Sounds good. I'll try to put together a summary of Earth Bet.

ИElodie: Should I tell you all about Nova?

bBelladonna: Eventually. We're covering four different worlds here. Five if we count ModSteel.

ModSteel: Which I don't!

bBelladonna: Which we apparently won't learn about. So let's... go at our own pace on this. I'm going to be busy with Beacon Academy's opening ceremonies tomorrow, so I'll wait to explain Remnant for a bit.

ИElodie: Alright...

aDallon: Talk to you then.

ИElodie: Take care, everyone.

tZorah: Keelah se'lai.

bBelladonna: Till we meet again.

Amy sagged in her chair. "We've... agreed to shut up until Elodie's attended her mother's funeral."

"Wait, her mom is dead?"

"She just found out."

"...Wow, that sucks. Losing her mom at that age..."

"It gets better. Her mom was the queen."

Vicky shook her head. "Damn... Amy, what have you gotten yourself into?"

"That is exactly the question I'm asking."

Chapter Text

Victoria Dallon, aliases Vicky, Glory Girl, and Collateral Damage Barbie, was indulging in her third-favorite hobby: flying above the city.

Her secondmost favorite hobby was casually and hilariously disproving every dumb blonde stereotype thrown at her. Her most favorite hobby was, of course, punching nazis. If she were to expand the list, she'd likely put hanging out with her sister as fourth and going on dates with her boyfriend as fifth. That going shopping didn't make it into the top five was a secret she would carry to her grave.

But flying, ah, flying. The sun on her skin, the wind in her hair... here, in the sky above Brockton Bay, she could relax, distant from all the woes of the world. Not too distant, mind, the sound of gunshots could bring her down like a meteor (oh, and lead to punching nazis). Still, there was something to be said about the tranquility of the world above the city.

And then somebody tapped her on the shoulder.

Glory Girl reflexively looked left, only to find nothing there. Her brow furrowed--

Tap, right shoulder.

She stopped in midair, glaring right. Nothing.

When a finger tapped her left shoulder, she grabbed at it half a second before turning to look--but apparently she was still too slow to catch it.

At the double tap on her right shoulder, Glory Girl sighed. "Alright. Fine. You're a teleporter, aren't you? Or portals or something."

"That is one of my many talents."

I'll admit, the look of annoyed shock when she finally saw me was actually pretty funny. I guess I cut a distinctive figure; mechanical blue spandex with red lights on the soles of my feet and headlamps on my shoulders. And I'm pretty sure the snowglobe helmet I had on made me look even more ridiculous.

"Huh." Glory Girl folded her arms. "You're new."

"Yeah, I am." I bowed in midair, hoping my helmet hid my nervousness. "I do hope you'll forgive me, I wanted to have a little fun and figure things out before I made my official debut."

"So you decided to just poke the local Alexandria package for giggles?"

"Better than challenging you to a fight. I would definitely lose." I tilted my head. "What is with capes and fighting, anyway? Is it just part of the culture?"

Glory Girl blinked at my question. "No, it's--I mean, you don't want the Empire to rule Brockton Bay, do you?"

"No no no!" I assured her quickly. "I just meant... well, your sister does a lot of healing right?"

"Yeah...?"

"So why don't you, I don't know, do delivery?" I asked. "And why doesn't Squealer deliver, for that matter? I mean, with her power, she could be a heck of a trucker..."

"Because we need to fight the Empire. Or the ABB, or the Merchants--we're fighting to protect Brockton Bay." Glory Girl seemed genuinely confused.

"Okay, but... does that help the people who don't have jobs? I'm just a little confused," I explained. "Like... you didn't plan to be a super hero, did you? That wasn't a serious life goal?"

"...I'm from a family of capes, I might not be... the best person to ask this question," she admitted.

"Huh." I nodded. "Good point. Anyway, since you've been around for a bit, are there like... things I should and shouldn't do?"

"You mean like the unwritten rules?"

"Do I?"

Glory Girl huffed. "Yeah, you do. Okay, so they're... more rules of engagement, right? Most capes follow them, and the ones that don't tend to get ganged up on." She started counting off on her fingers. "Don't unmask a cape, we have a life outside caping and we don't want our enemies tracking us down. Same token, don't go for a cape out of costume. Don't go for the kill, it'll make people take you seriously. Try to avoid collateral damage when you get in a fight."

"Those are some very weird rules," I mused. "I mean, I've heard of people dying in cape fights. And I've heard of capes who fight noncapes. Also, why are they all about fighting? What do you do if you see Hookwolf eating a pizza?"

"...Hookwolf wouldn't just eat a pizza."

"Doesn't he need to eat?"

"No I mean--" Glory Girl groaned. "If he's eating a pizza, he's not being... Hookwolf. Hookwolf is the nazi cape who threatens people because he's a murderblender. If he's not doing that, he's... okay, maybe Hookwolf isn't a good example. I mean, uh, if I saw... I don't know, Rune, just drinking a smoothie, I'd--uh..."

She waved her hands in vague circles, trying to articulate something she seemed unsure of. I have to admit I was grinning behind my snowglobe helmet.

"...you don't just... go around picking fights. Or, no, I mean... I stop crimes, but crimes need to happen before I stop them. It--it'd be like arresting a robber who hadn't actually... robbed the store. You understand?"

I nodded sagely. "So if a criminal is not in the process of committing a crime, I should not treat them like a criminal."

"Yes!"

"Even if they have committed horrendous crimes like murder before."

"Uh--I mean, you should keep your guard up, obviously..."

"So should I follow after them until they commit a crime?" I asked innocently.

"No! What? Uh--hold on a sec..."

Glory Girl started flying back and forth in midair, almost like she was pacing. Her face was screwed up in thought.

"Okay. Let's back up a bit." She turned back to me. "So, as a heroic cape, you have a few... different things you need to do. Or different ways to be a hero. So, saving lives should be a priority, obviously--"

"Which makes Panacea a great hero."

"Not denying that," Glory Girl agreed with a grin. "But, there's also stopping dangerous situations. Which in its own way saves lives. And then there's preventing dangerous situations, which is something else entirely. The unwritten rules are... they're what makes stopping one dangerous situation not... cause another. They're a preventative measure. Like, okay, Hookwolf realistically has to go home and eat naziburgers or whatever--"

"Only made from the finest jewish meat."

The heroine froze, staring at me in abject horror.

"I understand they raise excellent cattle," I continued blithely. "Hence the ironic statement."

"...r...right. Uh. My, my point is, Hookwolf feels safe in his home. I guess. Like he doesn't... he's got a place to retreat to. To relax. Can you imagine what would happen if Hookwolf wasn't able to put up his feet? If he was looking over his shoulder because he was... tense, all the time?"

"Hmmm. Yes, yes, I could see how that could be a problem." I hovered around her, pretending not to notice the wariness with which she was watching me. "Although... it still feels lenient. The entire point of a police force is to discourage crime... or at least it should be. Hm."

"Yeah, well, there's... bureaucracy and... uh..." Glory Girl sighed. "Shit's complicated."

"As you say. You've given me much to think about. I believe I will hold off making my official debut for some time." With a midair bow, I teleported away.

Well, my invisible companion noted, that was certainly enlightening.

"It was, wasn't it?" A few more teleports, and I let myself land in an alleyway. "I don't think I'm going to go the ordinary cape route."

Of course. I suppose it is best for us to make plans...?

"Yeah. To the library! You know, after I turn off this manifestation..."

Chapter Text

Amy shut the apartment door behind her, taking off her motorcycle helmet and shaking her hair free. "Hey everybody, I'm back!"

"Welcome home," Madison said cheerfully as she hung her coat off the rack. "How was the hospital?"

"Cancer, cancer, broken leg, cancer, 'I can't believe you got an STD from cheating', broken arm, even more cancer..." Amy handed her gloves to the brown-haired girl, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Same old, same old."

"Say mold?" quipped a blonde with a foxy smirk. "Okay, mold."

Amy rolled her eyes as she stepped into the living room. "Oh for god's sake, Lisa..."

"You asked, I delivered."

"Ahuh. How was your day?"

Lisa sagged into a chair. "Grue's still a bastion of reason, Regent topped his high score, Bitch actually managed to articulate why she was angry--"

"Oh!" Madison grinned. "Good for her!"

"Yeah, it was a high spot of the day. Coil's been riding my ass, though. Fucker wants us to rob the Ruby Dreams Casino."

Madison recoiled in shock. "He's setting you up against the ABB?"

"We're catspaws," Lisa sighed. "Disposable."

Amy hugged her tightly. "We're not going to let that happen. I think it's time we make our move."

Lisa smiled as she hugged her back. "Not today. I don't want cape business ruining this."

"We'll come up with a plan tomorrow," Amy promised.

"You could just turn yourselves over to the PRT," offered the dark-skinned girl leaning in from the bedroom. "Easiest option there is."

"Right, and how's that working out for you, Sophia? Oh, still on console duty?"

"Fuck you, Lisa." The moment she said it, Sophia realized her mistake and groaned. "God damn it..."

"Why Sophia! So forward, why don't you come over here and arglblrgleflrgh."

Amy smirked at Lisa's dripping face, turning to the raven-haired girl holding the squirt bottle. "Thanks Taylor."

"Not a problem. I know how these two get."

"Ha!" Sophia cried, pointing at the annoyed expression on Lisa's face. "That's what you get for being a flrglblarpffpffaflrge." She glared at Taylor, who didn't even flinch as the squirt bottle was lowered.

"You know better than to provoke her." Taylor twirled her squirt bottle and put it in its holster. "Get yourselves dried up, kay?"

"This is my apartment," Lisa grumbled as she stood.

"And this is Amy's day," Taylor countered smoothly, stepping aside to let her into the kitchenette. "Don't mess with the sauces!"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Nobody ever messes with your cooking, Taylor. Except Emma. Actually, where is Emma?" she asked, looking around.

"She's picking up some things," Madison informed her. "Candles and soaps and stuff."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Right, like we need any of that to handle this."

"You know Emma, she likes to make sure the mood's exactly what she wants it to be."

"She's earned a few candles, I think." Taylor glanced at Amy. "Unless--"

"No, she's a lot better at that sort of thing than any of us."

"I resent that," Lisa quipped as she stepped back into the room, tossing a dishtowel to Sophia. "I'm a social Thinker, after all."

"You're a social reader, she's a social writer."

Lisa shrugged. "Fair. Aaaaand that's Emma at the door."

At her words, the door swung open and a redheaded model swept into the room, holding an assortment of shopping bags. "Oh good, I'm not too late. Madison! Help me set up the candles."

Madison rolled her eyes as she took one of the bags. "Sure thing, miss bossy."

"We've got to have everything perfect," Emma insisted. "It all needs to be perfect."

"Hey hey hey." Amy took Emma's hand. "Emma, look at me. Look at me, okay?"

Emma blinked, looking at her. "It needs to be perfect," she repeated. "If it isn't, then--"

"Then nothing. Okay? We're going to be okay. We'll be fine. It's all going to be fine. Okay?"

"But--"

"It's going to be fine. Say it."

"It's... going to be fine." Emma nodded, slowly. "It's going to be fine... it's going to be fine."

"It's going to be fine."

Something shifted in the redhead's gaze, and she managed to focus on Amy's freckled face. "...I had another episode, didn't I."

"Just a small one," Madison assured her. "Only thing hurt was your wallet."

"...shit." Emma cringed. "Amy, I'm sorry I--"

"It's fine," Amy insisted. "Really! You got some new candles, and soap, and that's... that's okay! It's okay to be a little nervous."

Sophia opened her mouth. Taylor lifted her squirt bottle. Sophia closed her mouth.

"I... okay." Emma took a steadying breath. "Okay. You're right. I'm just going to put the soap in its place. Madison, set the candles up around the room--"

"I know the drill. Left to right, right?"

"Almost alphabetically, but put the raspberry right before the cinnamon."

Madison and Emma spin around the apartment while Taylor dipped back into the kitchen, smiling to herself. Sophia started messing with the old boombox in the corner, setting up some (thankfully quiet) rock, and Lisa wandered around the apartment picking up small objects and putting them away.

Amy watched them all with a small smile. The past couple of years had been a whirlwind, but all things considered they were some of the best years of her life.

A knock at the door turned her around. "Oh, sounds like they're here everyone!"

"Well what are you waiting for?" Lisa asked. "Let 'em in!"

Amy opened the door, smiling at the pair of blondes outside. "Hey Vicky, hey Crystal. How's tricks?"

"Tricks are tricksie," Vicky replied, leading her cousin in. She took a deep breath, smiling as she inhaled some of the scents around. "Hey everyone! Taylor's in the kitchen, huh?"

"I'll be right out!" Taylor called back. "Just turning off the stove now."

"Taylor's a great cook," Amy explained to Crystal as she led the two of them in. "I mean, she kind of has to be, with all of us here plus her own home life, but she was good even before."

"That sounds good..."

The note of confusion in Crystal's voice made Amy pause. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry, I just thought..." Crystal lowered her voice carefully. "I kind of thought Vicky was bringing me over to introduce your girlfriend, but there's... a lot of girls here. I guess I misread the situation."

Amy blinked for a bit, before turning a scowl on her sister. "Vicky, what did you tell her?"

"All I said was that you had found true love," Vicky replied, all smiles.

"Ugh. Of course you'd leave me with this..." Amy cleared her throat. "Crystal? I'd like you to meet... my girlfriends. Plural."

Crystal blinked for a moment or two. "...sorry, what?"

"This," Amy gestured at the ravenette stepping out of the kitchen, "is Taylor, my lover."

"Hey."

"This is Madison, my sweetheart."

"It's nice to meet you!"

"This is Lisa, my paramour..."

"Charmed, I'm sure."

"...this is Sophia, my suitor..."

"Yo."

"...and this is Emma, my beau."

"It's good to meet you."

"Uh..." Crystal nodded slowly. "Good to meet you all... huh. You're, uh, polyamorus?"

Vicky's grin grew gleefully large. "She's poly-Amy-rus!"

"Boooooooo!" Sophia jeered.

"Eh..." Lisa shrugged a shoulder. "Six out of ten."

Crystal noted the way Vicky pretended to sag. "O...kay then. Wow. Good on you, Amy, you've got... a ridiculous amount of game."

Amy buffed her nails off her shoulder. "It is what it is." She couldn't quite keep the smug grin off her face.

"So, how exactly did this happen?"

"Well," Amy planted herself in a chair, gesturing for Crystal to take a seat, "you remember a couple of years ago, how I was transferred to Winslow?"

"Yeah." Crystal sat down across from her. "Did you ever figure out how that happened?"

"Yeah, but it's not that important right now. So my first day at school, I bumped into this gangly nerd in glasses..."

Chapter Text

"Not twenty-four hours ago, I decided to indulge your urges and allow an outright rule-breaking arrangement," Director Piggot growled. "I extended an enormous degree of trust to you, one I would not normally allow even a veteran ward to have--let alone a newcomer. I did this with the expectation that you would live up to that, and I made it very clear you were to follow my orders to the letter."

"You did, Director."

"You told me, explicitly, that your power was suited for cleaning up messes, both literal and metaphorical. I decided to believe that. I decided to believe you." The woman spun her computer screen around. "And yet, despite all of that, I now have this entire debacle on my hands, directly because of your actions."

Pristine read the news report with mild interest. "...yes, I can see how that would be irksome," she acknowledged.

"Irksome. That's putting it lightly." The director took a breath. "I don't think you realize just how much of a clusterfuck today was. The Empire engaged New Wave while the Protectorate was split between fighting Uber and Leet, chasing down Squealer, and trying to keep Lung in custody. The bank robbery should have been a footnote, but instead it's all the news sites are talking about."

"Ah, technically, the bank robbery never happened--"

"Don't toy with me, Pristine!" Piggot snarled. "You are going to tell me exactly what the hell you were thinking!"

Pristine bowed her head. "As you wish. I arrived at the bank in the company of one Amy Dallon..."

"You didn't have to come with me," Amy grumbled. "I'm just making a withdrawal."

"And you didn't have to come to the bank to get money, you could have just gone to an ATM."

Amy huffed. "I have my reasons. Doesn't mean you have to follow."

"I needed an excuse to get away from the enthusiastic couple," Taylor replied as she adjusted her backpack. "They were a little... intense, for my liking."

That, and a single look at Amy had pinged her Mess-sense harder than almost anything she'd seen at Winslow. Only the locker itself rated higher, and even then there was a sense of stability that Amy lacked--as horrible as the locker had been, there wasn't anything that would suggest it could get any worse. Amy, on the other hand, seemed to be teetering on the edge of...

...something. Taylor was still figuring out the metaphorical parts of her thinker power, but it was definitely something.

Amy snorted. "You mean Vicky was too intense. She's... she's like that, yeah."

Taylor bit her lip at some of the hidden tones in those words, deciding to ponder them before she replied. She idly looked around the bank lobby, taking in the clean lines and elegantly minimalist decorations. Her eyes happened to drift past the glass doors--

"Oh, hells..."

Amy squawked as she was suddenly pushed into a nearby office, glaring as Taylor shut the door. "What the fuck--?!"

"Everyone on the floor! Don't make any sudden moves..."

"Undersiders," Taylor replied, unslinging her backpack and tearing off the velcro cover to reveal the device hidden underneath. "Unlikely to cause problems, but we both know you would be a valuable hostage if it came to that." She whipped off her outerclothes in one smooth motion, revealing the tightly fitted body armor and stocking beneath, and glanced at Amy. "I'm going to try to de-escalate the situation. Would you prefer to remain here, or...?"

She paused for a moment, noting the way that the freckled girl was deliberately not looking at her bare back with only the faintest of blushes.

"...Amy."

"Yes--oh, right, you're a cape. Of course. Don't worry, I know not to tell--"

"I was asking whether you would prefer to remain here," Taylor corrected, quickly pulling her heroing outfit out of the remains of the backpack and slipping her black dress over her head. "Or if you would wish to assist me in de-escalation."

"I... fuck, I don't have my costume with me. I wasn't expecting--I'll heal anybody who gets hurt of course, but I'm not a fighter, I'll stay here. Wait, is your apron actually part of your dress?"

"Yes and no, it's a Parian custom outfit. The apron is removable but, well, needs must." Putting on her cleaning pack, mask, and headscarf, Taylor finished her transformation to Pristine. "Would you mind terribly keeping my personal effects out of sight?" She gestured at the backpack and clothes she'd shed.

"Right, yes, I'll do that." Amy quickly bundled them together and stuffed them under the desk. "Uh, are you sure you can--?"

"After Lung, I doubt it will be difficult to clean this mess up."

Pristine strode out of the office, gaining the attention of the four costumed teenagers standing over a crowd of variably frightened people lying on the ground. The butch girl in the dog mask visibly snarled, almost replicating the look of the monstrous canines she commanded. The expressions of the two boys were hidden behind their mask and helmet, but it was clear Grue was far warier where Regent had an air of amusement. When Pristine's gaze fell on Tattletale, her comfortably smug smile and domino mask hid the startled pose she had taken.

"All that effort I went to in order to save your lives, and you decide not even to wait a week before robbing a bank," Pristine chastised, crossing her arms. "I must say, this whole thing seems rather gauche. May I ask why you decided on this course of action?"

Tattletale shrugged, for all the world nonchalant at the sudden interruption. "Eh, a job's a job." There was a calculating gleam in her eyes.

"Not a very sustainable one," Pristine noted, pretending not to notice the black smoke slowly rolling across the ground. "Last time you were nearly killed by Lung, now you likely have to handle the city's own forces... You may wish to seek out a different employer, if this keeps up."

There was a hint of approval in Tattletale's expression as she idly punched in the code to open the vault. "Well, it's not as though there have been any other offers."

Pristine, arms still crossed, made her way around the room in a slow and nonthreatening manner. "Perhaps I can make one. If you would care to hear me out?"

"Tattletale--"

"I don't think she's looking for a fight, Grue. In fact, I think she's looking for the exact opposite." Tattletale opened the vault, smirking at Pristine. "Let's talk in here."

Pristine accepted the challenge for what it was, gliding into the vault after her. "Hmm. I must admit, it's a little underwhelming."

"Yeah, the days of gold bricks being in banks are long behind us. All that's left is the lockboxes of cash and property papers." Tattletale turned around, putting a hand on her hip. "Right, what's your pitch?"

"You are aware of my talent when it comes to cleaning up a mess?"

"Yeah, it's your theme--no," the teenage villain realized, "it's your power. Literal and metaphorical, huh?"

Pristine nodded. "I think we can both agree that a bank robbery is inherently messy. Or at least that this one is. However..." She rolled her hand thoughtfully. "I'm well aware that most people don't just decide to rob a bank, and even the Undersiders have stuck to lower profile crimes before today. So..."

"Are you offering to clean up the mess that got us into this situation?" Tattletale asked carefully.

"Perhaps. Unless, of course, you really are just teenagers on a power trip."

"Ha, no. Well... maybe Regent, but the rest of us have our reasons." The villain narrowed her eyes. "I saw how you took on Lung. And won, apparently. How do you think you'd stand against the other gangs?"

"Mmm." Pristine rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Well, the Merchants are reliant on both a poor economy and rather crude methods. Squealer would be the biggest threat to me, but if I were to help her get over her addictions the rest of the gang would be rather easy to mop up. The Empire... hmm. There are multiple factions united by the same racist ideology, so I might need to ensure that the diplomatic leaders are removed from the equation before I engaged the rest. Some messes require long and careful work to clean up, after all."

"What about Coil?"

Pristine rose a brow at the interest hinted in that tone. "Hmm. You know, he has been rather... understated. Surprisingly so. The other gangs are bold, but Coil... there are some who would see him as a minor threat at best. Though that wouldn't explain how he's stuck around for so long."

"No it wouldn't, would it." Tattletale tilted her head, thoughtfully. "And isn't it strange, how so many capes get captured and broken out...?"

"Ah." That would make Coil quite vaulable to the other gangs, if he had plants in the PRT. "Yes, I do see your point... though it begs the question on what, exactly, the man has on you."

"What makes you think he has anything?"

"You wouldn't be leaning traitor if you were a willing... aaaaaah." Pristine nodded at Tattletale's small grin. "I see. And the PRT being what it is..."

She considered the villain carefully.

"...A thought occurs to me," she finally offered.

"Oh?"

"New Wave espouses a philosophy of cape accountability," Pristine noted. "If you were to turn yourselves into their custody, and promise to do some community service, I'm sure they would protect you."

"It sounds like a good option, but I don't think they'd listen."

"Not to you, perhaps," Pristine agreed mildly.

Tattletale hummed, nodding quietly to herself. "...Talking Grue over would be easy... Bitch, hmm."

"Fleur was killed by the Empire," Pristine pointed out.

Tattletale screwed up her face. "...Mnngh. You know going with that would force us to face them eventually."

"Eventually," Pristine allowed. "Alongside newfound comrades."

"...That might be a sell for Bitch," Tattletale mused. "Plus Panacea helping her dogs. And maybe Brandish dealing with the legal crap. And Regent... eh, I could swing him if I can swing the other two. Bitch'd be the hard one."

"I'll leave you to discuss matters with your compatriots." Pristine headed for the vault door. "In the interim, I'll be speaking with a member of New Wave in order to arrange things..."

"...whereupon I went back to the office with Amy, and we... discussed matters," Pristine concluded. "After some serious back and forth, Amy agreed to take the Undersiders under her custody as a member of New Wave, with her sister assisting. Lady Photon arrived shortly thereafter, solidified the arrangement, and moved the Undersiders into her house for the time being."

Director Piggot was rubbing her temples with exasperation. "So. Instead of engaging known villains and attempting to arrest them, you negotiated a plea bargain?"

"Yes, director."

"And what exactly were you hoping to accomplish with this stunt?"

"In the immediate situation I wished to avoid a fight that could hurt nearby innocents," Pristine replied. "By convincing the Undersiders to join New Wave, I neutralized a minor threat from the city and bolstered a heroic group. While in the short term New Wave might suffer some setbacks, in the long-term I have reason to believe the two groups will be able to properly address issues in each other and stabilize them; it is likely, at that point, they will be capable enough to engage the Empire 88 and possibly even remove them entirely, pending possible PRT support."

"And you thought of all of that while you were there?" the director asked pointedly.

Pristine shrugged. "Some messes take rather caustic substances to clean."

"...Stirctly speaking, you didn't actually do anything wrong," the woman finally admitted. "Hell, defusing the situation like that would earn you a lot of praise. And there's the fact we haven't actually announced you as a new Ward yet, so the public isn't as critical as they could be. However!"

She pulled out a thick book.

"You are going to be reviewing every last one of the rules and regulations before you are allowed to patrol, and I expect you to take a comprehension test this time next week. Do you understand?"

"Of course, director." Pristine bowed her head. "I fully intend to do the best that I can."

The director snorted. "Of course you do."

Chapter Text

"One of the big questions in this universe is... Why? Why is Alexandria so heroic? Why do the Slaughterhouse Nine go around killing people? Why does anybody do anything?"

The lights illuminated a dias with a desk, set in front of a mosaic with balanced scales.

"It's a question open to interpretation. To analysis. To excuses! Everybody has their own spin on things, and sometimes those spins can be wildly, insanely different."

Between the two sat a girl in a ritzy pink tuxedo, who spun around and grinned at her unseen audience.

"But what if," she continued, "we put the best and the worst possible interpretations together? Well, my friends, that's what we're going to do here today! Welcome to Echo In The Mirror, the show that pits the angels and the devils in your reflection against each other! I'm your host, Mim Plausible (X.Q.Z.), and I'm so glad to say this is our very FIRST EPISODE!"

She raised her hands at the applause, nodding in a half bow toward the unseen shadows.

"Thaynk yew, thaynk yew, ye're all tew kynd. Now!" Mim folded her hands together. "As it is our very first episode, we don't have the reputation--or the budget!--to bring on big name celebrities juuuuuust yet. But that doesn't mean we don't have a good starter for the show! Ladiesandgentlemenboysandgirlsnonbinaryfolksofaaaaaaaaaaaaallages, allow me to introduce the one, the only, the pettyIMEANpretty Emma BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARNES!"

More lights illuminated the pair of chairs to either side of the desk. On the left sat Emma Barnes, a redheaded teenager with green eyes and a modeling career. On the right sat Emma Barnes, a redheaded teenager with a modeling career and green eyes. They both smiled as the audience applauded, though the one on the left frowned when she noticed it wasn't as much applause as Mim had had.

"Emma, thanks for joining us today, and can I just say I LOVE what you've done with your hair! Hab-so-loot sheek!"

"Thank you," said the Emma on the right, running a finger through her red locks. "Yours isn't so bad either."

"Oh, high praise!" Mim shook her head, letting her rainbow tresses glitter in the studio lights. "Would you believe I just woke up this way?"

The Emma on the left snorted. "Sure, and Kaiser's a black man."

"He miiiight be," Mim singsonged. "Wouldn't that be a twist? Nobody's seen what he looks like under that armor, after all. But we're not here for cape gossip, we're here to talk about yooooooou! Tell us about yourself!"

"Well," Emma said, "I'm a student at Winslow High. Sophmore year, if you want to know. I'd like to think I'm popular there. I also have a bit of a modeling career."

"And I'm strong," the other Emma added. "A real predator. Nobody messes with me."

"Yeah..." The first Emma smiled, though it was tinged with a little nervousness. "Nobody."

"Wow, nobody?" Mim gasped. "That's incredible! How do they all know you're so strong?"

"Well," said the Emma on the left, "I used to have this friend."

"We were close," the Emma on the right said fondly. "Sisters in all but blood."

"Of course, she was weak," the first Emma sneered. "Pathetic. Couldn't stop crying when her mom died."

"I mean, it was her mom," the other Emma pointed out. "And her dad sorta shut down after that..."

"Doesn't matter, she was weak. And is weak. So I cut her out of her life. Told her how pathetic she was, to her face."

"Oooooo." Mim rested her face in her hands, leaning in with interest. "Tell me more, please!"

"I mean, that--really, it was Sophia's idea--"

"Sophia just pointed out something we hadn't ever noticed before," the left Emma stated firmly. "She's the one who woke us up to the real world."

The right Emma sighed. "You're... not wrong. Still, I mean... Taylor could be strong, you know, if she toughened up."

"Don't be ridiculous, she's never going to toughen up. She's a worthless waste of flesh who deserves everything that we do to her!"

Mim pulled a bucket out from under desk, idly digging out handfuls of poppineapple and snacking on it as she watched the debate.

"But that's not--no, hold on." The Emma on the right shook her head. "I told Taylor she was too weak to be my friend."

"And she came crawling back anyway, like the absolute wimp she is."

"But, if she was too weak to be my friend, then if she gets stronger, she's not weak anymore. So she can be my friend again."

"Okay, first of all, I already have better friends then that pathetic loser," Emma told Emma. "Secondly, we were only friends because our parents were, we were never really anything alike. Thirdly, and most importantly, TAYLOR. IS. A. WEAKLING. That is never going to change!"

"But why do I keep... you know. Insulting her. Playing those pranks. Spreading those rumors. If I'm not trying to toughen her up, why do I keep doing that?"

"Honestly, isn't it obvious? She deserves it. She deserves to be ground into the dust for every single stupid breath she wastes. She's weak! The weak die, and the strong survive! Those are the rules!"

"Who made those rules?!"

"Nobody made them, they're just the laws of NATURE!"

"I don't believe this!" Emma snapped, standing up. "I'm not some feral forest girl! I survived that alleyway, I'm--I'm strong, and... and that means I deserve to have strong friends!"

"Yes!"

"And Taylor was our friend, so I'm going to make her fucking strong!"

"NO!" Emma snarled, standing up herself. "I'm going to fucking leave that piece of shit in the past where she belongs! She doesn't even belong at Winslow!"

"WHY AM I SO FOCUSED ON HURTING HER IF I DON'T CARE ABOUT HER?!"

"IT'S BECAUSE I DON'T CARE ABOUT HER, DON'T YOU GET IT?! I'm strong. Breaking the weak makes me stronger. That's how it works! THAT'S HOW IT'S ALWAYS WORKED!"

Emma looked at her, mouth agape in horror.

"...You're not me," she said, quietly.

"What?"

"You heard me. You're... you're not me! You--"

"Hate to cut in," said Mim unapologetically, "but she is you, and you are her. You're the same person. No tricks, no shenanigans. Just one of you is the best version and one of you is the worst."

"...You're lying."

"It's how the show works, girl!" The rainbow-haired girl grinned, turning to the camera. "Well, we've certainly had an enlightening first episode, haven't we, everyone? Or maybe this is the pilot. Anyway, I've been your host, Mim Plausible (X.Q.Z.), and this has been Echo In The Mirror. Tune in next week, where if we get more funding, we'll be interviewing somebody who can really bring a light to your day!"

Chapter Text

This, Lisa Wilbourne thought to herself in a semi-hysterical moment of humor, was probably the third worst day of her life, which was exceptionally strange since it would also probably be the last day.

How exactly the thugs' master had gotten the streets clear enough that she couldn't yell for help wasn't clear, but it spoke to the level of control whoever it was had. Unfortunately (according to her very well-honed imagination) the thugs wanted her alive, and there were very few good reasons she could think of for that, but it did give her an opportunity to run and dodge fire from their non-standard guns. Tinkertech, obviously, and that made it pretty clear they weren't with the ABB, which was a little odd seeing as there were some very asian elements to this neighborhood. The paper lanterns, the red and green gang signs, the numerous chinese/japanese/korean/indian restaurants, all spoke to the local populace of hopeful refugees from a very rough part of the world.

Lisa reluctantly admitted to herself, as she shoved a trash can down in hopes of slowing her pursuers, that such thoughts were a little reductionist. She wasn't racist--she treated all pricks with equal disrespect, no matter the color of their skin--but certain factors had conspired to make minor prejudices a survival trait in the hellhole of Brockton bay. Those factors were, by name, Kaiser of the Empire Eighty Eight (presumably white, since he ran a nazi gang), Lung of the Asian Bad Boys (definitely japanese, though most people considered his ethnicity to be Asian Dragon), and Skidmark of the Archer's Bridge Merchants (technically african-american, though seemingly devoted to becoming the worst 'black ganger' stereotype since Jim Crow, despite his gang being the least racist of them all). Obviously not all white/asian/druggies belonged to the gangs, but even if nine times out of ten an aryan and an oriental could pass on the street without a fault, everybody remembered the nazi and the yakuza punk pulling guns on each other to bring death and terror. And that was before capes got involved...

As she covered her head and zigzagged to avoid what she desperately hoped was a stunning blast, Lisa reflected on how terrible the whole situation was and asked herself, again, why she'd come to this city. Yes, fine, it was infamous for its lack of PRT effectiveness, which gave her a better chance than most to stay out of her parents' grasp, but... well, that, that was pretty much it. She turned a corner, cursing the stupidity of her past teenage self (and, to be fair, her current teenage self) when she witnessed what, in a flash of brilliance, she hoped would be her salvation.

A red shinto gate.

Now Lisa would be the first to admit she wasn't the most religious of people, and even then she was more familiar with Judeo-Christian matters than any eastern faiths. In fact, her entire sense of relief was based less on the possibility of any spirit or god saving her, and more on the probability of well-known wrath of Lung and the ABB being brought to bear against any group that damaged their holdings. They were an asian gang, this was an asian place, one and one is two, and she could possibly slip away while things happened. Still, in the back of her mind, Lisa recognized it would be disrespectful to beg sanctuary without providing the spirits compensation, and she was at least partially aware that not all spirits were created equal. She'd studied enough asian lore to recognize that just because the fox statues were, well, fox statues, it didn't mean they were friendly kitsune; they could be unfriendly kitsune, or chinese huli jing, or something else. So as she sprinted through the gate, she pulled her wallet out of her pocket, the wallet that contained all the cash and gift cards she owned, and tossed it into the offering bowl with a mental prayer of 'please let this save my ass' before diving toward the main building.

The next three seconds were some of the most involved in the young woman's life, with a sequence of events she was only able to mentally order after she'd calmed down. There was... the flash of fire that consumed her wallet, which she saw out of the corner of her eye. There was a sensation of something both fond and amused looking over her, for half a second, before coming to a decision. The chill of the autumn air was pushed back by an inner warmth that made her joints feel unnaturally relaxed, even as the building in front of her stretched away just a bit. A sudden flap behind her made her ears flick (and a half second later she realized her ears had flicked and felt immensely baffled) followed by an odd bristling along her tail as it was exposed to the air (and then she realized she had a tail, and had an irrational thought about how hard it would be to groom it).

Lisa landed in the shrine on four new paws, and had a momentary burst of confusion that froze her in place. Then the sound of boots pounding on pavement reached her ears and she darted further into the shrine, curling up under a desk until she was absolutely certain the thugs chasing her had moved on.

Then she took a few minutes to review what had happened mentally.

"...Okay."

Lisa blinked, crossing her eyes and looking at her muzzle.

"O...kay. Okay okay. Ahem. She sells sea shells by the seashore... Okay, so I can still talk. That's... yeah, okay, okay." She took a deep breath. "Okay, okay, yeah, okay. This is happening. No need to panic. Actually, yes, there is a need to panic, but calmly. Calmly panic. Yep."

She rose to her paws with trepidation, carefully remastering the art of walking as practiced by a decent portion of animal life forms, and wandered out of the shrine with a dazed expression. She nodded vaguely at the clothes on the pathway--too large for her now, and they'd probably need a refit anyway--before approaching the offering dish and wrinkling her nose at the scent of burnt leather, plastic, and metals coming from the pile of ash.

A dripping sound made Lisa's ears flick back, and she turned around to find an ornamental fountain only a short distance away. Some part of her didn't want to acknowledge what she was doing, even as another part put her paws forward one step in front of the other. And yet, despite her wishes, she found herself putting her forepaws on the rim of the fountain and raising herself up to peer at her own reflection.

"...So," she said, looking at the green-eyed fox in the water, "that's what I look like." She tilted her head thoughtfully, flicking her ears one way and the other. "Still kinda blonde... more an orangy blonde, sure. And I think that I can sort of see my freckles in... my... fur..."

She stared at the reflection for a few seconds more.

With a deep breath, she dropped back down and trotted up to the statuette. "Okay, so... thank you for saving my life, and giving me your blessing I guess. Do you mind if I have a little existential crisis right now?"

The statuette didn't reply in words, but Lisa got the sense it understood her situation and didn't mind. Or maybe she was just attributing something to nothing.

"Kay, thanks."

Lisa took a deep breath, curled up on the cold cobblestones, and began to giggle hysterically.

Chapter Text

Elodie lay back on her bed, staring at the canopy above her with a distant expression. The funeral had been a somber affair, as they all were, the priests enshrouding her mother into the family tomb alongside her ancestors. Her father was... well. She could tell he was distant. Worried. She understood, of course--he was the king, and mother was--

A few tears ran down her cheeks.

Mother was gone. Gone, as suddenly as a storm. And a storm was not a wrong thing to compare it to, given she was going to be a queen herself in less than a year. She didn't know how to do that... she hadn't even fully reconciled her mother's own absence. Some part of her kept expecting to run into her in the halls...

Shadows began to stretch as the sun drifted toward the horizon, painting her room in somber tones. Elodie hugged her stuffed simurgh doll, stroking its doglike face. The thoughts began to echo in her head, piling on deeper and deeper--

Desperate for a distraction, Elodie reached out to the strange connection she'd discovered the day before, hoping it was more than just childish imagination.

ИElodie: Hello?

aDallon: Oh hey Elodie. How are you doing?

aDallon: Elodie?

ИElodie: Sorry, I was trying to figure out how to answer that.

aDallon: Yeah, that's fair.

aDallon: So, abrupt and blatant subject change, we're going to give overviews of our worlds. Who goes first?

tZorah: I think I'll go last, since I've got a whole galaxy to cover.

aDallon: Oh, if we're going by population, whose world has the least number of people? Earth Bet has around six billion.

ИElodie: What's a billion?

tZorah: A million squared.

ИElodie: What is squared?

aDallon: ...we are going to have to teach you math. Among other things.

Elodie frowned, tightening her hug on her stuffed simurgh. It wasn't her fault that other worlds were so weird.

bBelladonna: Remnant has around five million people, at a rough estimate.

tZorah: With a name like that, I cannot say I'm surprised. The migrant fleet has about seventeen million quarians, but most other species have numbers ranging in billions.

aDallon: O...kay, those are some worryingly low numbers...

aDallon: What about you, Elodie? How many people live in Nova?

ИElodie: Well... it's only one kingdom, you understand. It isn't the entire world. But...

ИElodie: I think I heard one of my teachers say there were one and a half million people living in the kingdom?

bBelladonna: Sounds about right.

aDallon: Well that's less worrying, since it's not the entire world. So, Elodie, then Blake, then... Hmm, me or Tali, depending if we're going on total or just quarians.

tZorah: I'll go last. Like I said, the scope of a galaxy is pretty big.

bBelladonna: Okay then. Elodie, do you want to tell us about Nova?

Elodie swallowed. Being put on the spot like this wasn't entirely comfortable. Still... it was a distraction from the dark thoughts that her mother's death had brought about.

ИElodie: Alright. Well...

ИElodie: Do you all know what humans are?

bBelladonna: Yes.

aDallon: Yep.

tZorah: I've never seen one in person, but there are plenty of pictures on the extranet.

ИElodie: Well, everyone in Nova is a human. And we're... Well, we used to be a very powerful empire, but things have changed.

ИElodie: I think we had to move from the old capital a few centuries ago, when the Old Forest became populated by monsters.

tZorah: Monsters?

ИElodie: There are a lot of them. I think the Lumen of the time made them somehow, I'm... not sure exactly what happened.

bBelladonna: I would have thought a princess would know the history of her home.

ИElodie: I'm going to have tutors!

aDallon: Are they going to teach you math?

ИElodie: I... think so...?

Elodie felt a little embarressed at not being able to tell her friends everything about her world, but... well, it was a whole world. Was she supposed to have everything memorized?

aDallon: Hold on a sec, I'm looking something up.

aDallon: Wow, okay. So, Elodie, I'm trying to get a grasp of your world, so I'm going to ask you a few questions here, okay?

ИElodie: Okay...

aDallon: Do you know what germ theory is?

ИElodie: No.

aDallon: Does the word industrial mean anything to you?

ИElodie: I don't think so?

aDallon: Right. Have you ever gone to a school?

ИElodie: Well yes! I am the princess. I've been going to the royal boarding school since I was six!

aDallon: Okay, and what did they teach you there?

ИElodie: A number of things. I know how to read and write, and I have memorized the hymns of the Good Lady. And I made many friends!

ИElodie: ...who I won't be talking to for a while...

tZorah: Keelah...

aDallon: Alright. So, I'm going to be blunt here, Elodie: Your culture seems to be somewhere close to what my world calls the medeval era.

aDallon: Which was a few hundred years ago.

aDallon: And, not to put too fine a point on it, severely lacking in educational standards compared to what we have now.

An annoyed frown crossed Elodie's face.

ИElodie: Oh really? Well what do you know?

aDallon: Standard american education is conducted through public schools and includes reading, writing, literature analysis, basic mathmatics, advanced mathmetics, world history, local history, the physical, chemical, astronomical, and biological sciences, at least one foreign language of choice, physical exercise classes, and a requirement of various artistic classes of choice, spread out from ages five to ninteen.

Elodie swallowed.

ИElodie: Oh.

ИElodie: I see.

tZorah: Well when you spell it all out like that it sounds more intimidating than it really is.

tZorah: At least I hope it isn't intimdating. Quarian education is usually done through remote classrooms, and we don't have required language or art classes. Or literature, not a lot of literature survived the Morning War.

tZorah: But we do have engineering and computer classes.

aDallon: Those are electives here, although I'm guessing they might be more complicated if you're living on a spaceship.

aDallon: How about you, Blake?

bBelladonna: I didn't really attend a craftsman school, I mostly learned on the road, but I can tell you the classes I'm taking at Beacon Academy.

ИElodie: What is a craftsman school?

aDallon: Yeah, I have to agree with Elodie, that's a strange one on me.

bBelladonna: Oh, well, like I said I didn't attend myself, but...

bBelladonna: There are two sorts of primary schools on Remnant. For the most part they teach the same things--geography, sciences, math--but craftsman schools are designed to give people the skills they'd need to hold down jobs like a librarian or a storekeep, while combat schools are there for people who want to be police or huntresses.

ИElodie: And Beacon Academy is... a craftsman school?

bBelladonna: No, Beacon Academy is a Huntress academy. Secondary education. Strictly speaking, you don't have to have learned at a combat school to apply, but it helps.

tZorah: I have so many questions...

aDallon: I think those can wait until it's Blake's turn to talk about her world.

Elodie curled in on herself, holding her stuffed simurgh to her chest. She was supposed to be a queen, and...

Would she be a good queen? If she couldn't even keep up with... whatever all this was? She wished her mother was still here.

tZorah: Elodie? You still with us?

Swallowing nervously, Elodie returned her attention to the mental conversation.

ИElodie: Yes.

bBelladonna: I'm sorry if we intimidated you. Feel free to ask about anything you don't understand.

ИElodie: Are you sure?

bBelladonna: Of course.

tZorah: This is supposed to be a way for us to talk with people from other universes. Sharing knowledge seems normal.

ИElodie: Okay. I just... don't want to come off as a fool.

aDallon: Hey you want to know the difference between ignorance and stupidity?

aDallon: Ignorance can be cured.

bBelladonna: Amy...

aDallon: Seriously, you're three years younger than us and we've got public libraries. Being overwhelmed makes sense.

tZorah: Amy Dallon, with all due respect, you are a bosh'tet.

aDallon: Yeah, probably. Comes with being a parahuman.

bBelladonna: A what?

aDallon: A superhero, basically.

tZorah: A what?

aDallon: ...You know what, let me get back to you all on that.

Despite everything, a small smile formed on Elodie's face. So she wasn't the only one who got confused...

She took a look around, noting the stretching shadows. With a sigh, she pulled up her covers.

ИElodie: The sun is setting here, and... tomorrow I'm going to be meeting with my tutors to plan my lessons for the week.

ИElodie: So I should probably get some sleep.

bBelladonna: That's fair.

aDallon: Hey, actually, do you mind giving us a list of what your tutors offer?

ИElodie: I don't exactly have it in front of me. Why do you ask?

aDallon: I think we can help you out behind the scenes.

aDallon: Like if there's lessons in, say... economics, we can pool our resources and teach you that stuff so you can learn Nova's Royal Bloodlines or whatever.

tZorah: That's... not a bad idea, in theory. Although there might not be a lot that I can offer.

tZorah: Starship knowledge does not translate well to pre-industrial society.

bBelladonna: That doesn't mean you can't help, Tali. Another viewpoint might give us options we missed.

aDallon: And you're the oldest of us.

aDallon: Or possibly the youngest, actually, depending on how long a GalStandard year is...

aDallon: You know what, I'm not going to think about it, I'm just going to assume a Year is a Year until proven otherwise.

ИElodie: Well... thank you, everyone, for caring about this.

ИElodie: I'll talk to you all tomorrow.

bBelladonna: Looking forward to it.

aDallon: Damn, I wish this thing had a snapshot function...

ModSteel: That might actually be an option.

tZorah: Oh, there you are.

ModSteel: Limme check some stuff, and I'll get back to you all tomorrow.

tZorah: Aaaaaand there you go....

As the voices in her head began to bicker, Elodie drifted off to sleep, an amused smile on her lips.

Chapter Text

The worst part of being a superhero, in my mind, was the necessity for restraint.

I hadn't even hit the streets yet, but every time I went to school I was confronted with the temptation to just punch the smirk off Emma's face. For an ordinary person, that might result in detention. A month ago, that would probably have landed me a suspension. Now? I'd get a murder charge faster than her skull could splatter against the ground. And Sophia just made it worse, shoving me around physically like always. If I made it obvious she wasn't doing anything to hurt me, she'd get suspicious, so I had to pretend to fall to the ground and endure her constant thuggery, remembering to let out massive gasps whenever she punched me. Sometimes they were even real--it took a lot to break my force field, but Sophia was strong enough to accomplish it sometimes.

So here I was, letting myself get slammed into a wall while Emma and her hangers-on laughed.

"Taylor, I'm hurt," Emma drawled, walking up and putting a hand on my shoulder (while Sophia had me pinned with my hands behind my back). "Really, I am. I just thought I'd give you a little fashion advice." She dangled my hoodie from one finger, examining it with an exaggerated look of disgust. "This thing makes you look like a drug-addicted hooligan. You don't want to give the rumormongers more ammunition, do you?"

I said nothing. I knew from experience she'd get bored eventually, and frankly I was more focused on the vibes I was picking up. As usual, most of the hangers-on felt amused or superior, and Sophia in particular seemed satisfied by the situation. But Emma... there was an odd need coming off her, something I couldn't quite identify. I'd never sensed anything like it, except from her, and I didn't want to know what would happen if I let that need spread. Instead, I tapped into Sophia's satisfaction, letting it radiate out among the watching crowd.

"Or maybe it's just that you can't afford anything better," Emma continued, lightly tossing the hoodie into a nearby trashcan. "Gee, I wonder why?" She put a thoughtful finger to her chin, mockingly contemplating the situation even as the sense of satisfaction began to sink into her. "I guess you just... aren't worth the effort to love. It would explain a lot about your dad..."

Damn it. I was terrible at predicting how people would respond to the vibes I sent out. I wanted her to leave, not enjoy tormenting me! I looked through the field of sensations again, trying to find anything worthwhile...

Oh. Shame. And a touch of fear. I could use that.

Emma's hangers-on began to frown as she continued prattling on about how much of a disappointment I was, the discomfort slowly seeping into their thoughts. Emma powered through it for a bit--whatever that need was, it was strong--but she wrapped things up quickly and trotted off, Sophia following her with a final shove. Because, of course, she had to emphasize the point.

I pulled my hoodie out of the trash can, looking it over for a moment before I rolled my eyes. "You can come out now," I said over my shoulder, dusting the hoodie off and pulling it back on.

Madison emerged from around the corner, ears flat and tail curled around her legs. "Yeah... sorry. Really. I'd have stopped them, but..." She gestured at herself, not looking me in the eye.

"Yeah, I know. No getting into fights or the Beauticians get in trouble." I glanced over her fur, raising a brow. "Blue spots?"

"I'm going for a leopard theme, yeah." Madison fidgeted with her tail for a moment, before gathering herself up. "Seriously, though--if you need any sort of help that, uh, doesn't involve fighting--"

"I'm fine."

"I--I mean I know going to the principal hasn't worked, but there are other people we can talk with--"

"I said I'm fine," I repeated firmly.

Madison chewed her lip, and I noticed that she'd gotten longer canines. Frankly it was surprising she hadn't done that sooner--she was practically the furriest Plush in Winslow already, and I suspected the only reason she still has a human face was her being underage and/or not having enough money to pay Quintessence. Honestly, that was what was stopping me from going myself, the Beauticians were pricy as heck. Even an ordinary tune-up would probably break the bank. Maybe. Scheduling an appointment was never really in the cards for me.

Unfortunately, having superpowers did nothing for my looks. Not directly, anyway. I was exercising more, to get used to my enhanced strength, but that wasn't anything I could really call a superpower. That was just my own determination.

"Do you--" Madison paused for a moment, clearly trying to pick her words carefully. "...have you... I mean, with everything going on in your life, maybe you should find, uh, a support group."

I fixed her with a look, tapping into my vibe sense to try to figure out her angle. "Excuse me?"

"I know it doesn't fix things, but, you know, sometimes having somebody you can discuss your issues with, somebody who understands, can make all the difference."

On the surface it sounded snide, but Madison's vibes were cautious, worried. I bit back my initial retort, looking closer at the cringing blue leopard girl. She was... actually concerned for me. That wasn't something I'd expected at all.

"...Are you inviting me to join the Plush? Cause I can't afford--"

"Well, technically the Plush aren't, you know, actually a group, so I can't invite you to join, but, uh, if you want I could introduce you to the Beauticians."

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. I don't think they'd want to talk to me anyway."

"Taylor--"

"I've got to get to class. See you around."

I powerwalked away, ignoring Madison's call after me. It didn't really matter if she thought she could help me with the woes of high school, or if she wanted to introduce me to her personal idols. The fact of the matter was Winslow was a shithole. Trying to fix anything here was impossible.

Luckily enough, I had another goal to put my efforts toward. I was, after all, a superhero.

...Well, I would be. Soon enough.

Chapter Text

"So, to recap." Lisa nodded to the statue. "After giving you everything in my wallet, which is basically all my money and fake I.D. cards, you turned me into a fox to save my life. Which, okay, that worked. But now, I don't have any money, or any way to convince the motel owner that I'm who I say I am." She stared at the outfit laying on the cobblestones. "I guess I still have my keys, but... well, let's be honest, the only things I've got back home are clothes, food, and toiletries. I can't use the clothes, and... maybe I can still use the shampoo? Food's always good.... Oh! Phone. I guess I can still grab my phone out of my pocket. Yeah..."

The newly transformed fox trailed off as she looked at her paws, experimentally sheathing and unsheathing them. A sigh escaped her muzzle, longer than she had initially thought it would be.

"This is it. Lisa the fox. Or... kitsune?" She glanced over her shoulder. "Only one tail. Well, uh... well. Do I, do I get new powers as I go...?"

The statuette did not reply to her curious, pleading look. The light, however, made it seem amused.

"...I'm sure this is just HILARIOUS for you," Lisa grumbled, trotting over to her clothes and snuffling into a pocket. "Phone, phone--phone. Geff ouffa f'ere... goffa! Okay. So... paw pads are like fingertips, right?" She unlocked the phone with great care, sighing with relief when she managed to unlock it. "Okay! Working phone..."

For a moment, she stared at the screen.

"...Working phone," she muttered. "What am I thinking? A phone's only useful if I have contacts or money and I don't have either."

She sat down, tapping her new claws against the ground. Survival required food, water, and shelter, and Lisa very much doubted her new fur changed any of that. She was not inclined to live life like a wild animal--she shuddered at the thought of eating a raw rat--and even if she were she somehow doubted she'd suddenly gained any skills with hunting. And that was just food, there were other factors...

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," Lisa groaned. "I'm going to have to find a patsy, aren't I?"

Where the hell was she going to find somebody like that? And who, in their right mind, would take in a fucking fox?

Taylor turned another page of her book, adjusting her glasses to hide the tear stains on her cheek. Books, she'd come to realize, would never betray her. Books were her friends. They couldn't spread lies, or shove her into walls, or pour juice on her hair, or... or steal flutes.

They just told stories.

Stories were good. Stories let her think about anything but her life right now. Stories....

She shivered, glancing back at the library before pulling her coat tighter around her. The bus would be here in a few minutes.

Would Dad be worried if she was late? Would he even care...?

"Rough day, huh?"

The new voice caught Taylor by surprise, and she whipped her eyes up to see... a fox. Sitting on the bench right next to her, and giving her an oddly sympathetic look.

"Yeah, I feel ya. Really, I do."

Taylor blinked.

Very, very carefully, she sidled away.

The fox--that could apparently talk--noticed and rolled her eyes with a huff. "My day's been hell, too. Like, I wake up, and the shower's out. Toilet still works, thank god, but the shower's out. And my landlord is like 'Yeah, plumbing problem, happens sometimes,' and he does nothing about it. So I decide fuck it, there are showers at the local gym, right? And of course, where there are weights, there are weightlifters. Lotta young teenage boys."

Something about the way the fox spoke made Taylor stop her retreat.

"Now the thing is, I'm a parahuman. Not a cape, I stay out of that hero-villain thing, but basically my power makes me like... Sherlock Holmes on crack. So there I am, young teenage blonde girl walking in, I just want to use a shower. And every single guy oogles me, and I get a read on what exactly their fetishes are. Okay, not every guy, there were like... three or four of them that didn't, and one of them wasn't even gay, but god damn that was a terrible start to my morning."

Taylor nodded in slow, growing fascination as the fox continued to narrate to her.

"So I go to my local husking spot. Don't judge, I'm living on my own because my parents are assholes, I have to make a living somehow. Now on a normal day I can frisk a few dozen targets and get a good couple hundred for my troubles. On a good day I might even get five hundred. A bad day still usually nets me around twenty, which is worth a lot at a dollar store. I go to my usual husking spot, ready to charm and wheedle and yes, maybe pickpocket a few idiots, and there is nobody there. Like my god. Nobody."

Despite her earlier concern, Taylor found herself leaning in, enraptured by the slowly developing drama.

"Obviously I'm suspicious, so I turn around, and what do I see? A black van. A fucking... black van. Dark windows. It's like a movie, except it's real, and the guys coming out are after me. Looking at their armor, and their guns? They're not even with the PRT, they're dressed wrong. Somebody wants me, and it's not just because I'm a hot blonde, because no, that wouldn't be bad enough. No, somebody decided they like me for my brains. Like me enough to have me captured."

Taylor didn't quite gasp, but she did inhale sharply.

"So what did I do? The only thing I could: I ran. These guys chased after me, obviously, because it was their job and I was their target. Oh, and they're trained. They'd catch up to me if I just, you know, ran. So I did all the chase scene stuff--jumped over benches, knocked over trash cans to slow them down, you've seen it in I don't know how many action movies. But the smartest thing I did, was head into ABB territory. Or maybe it was the stupidest thing I did, I dunno."

The distance between Taylor and the fox had shrunk considerably, as wide-eyed as she was by the story being told.

"Anyway, that didn't stop them. Here I thought everyone was afraid of Lung, but apparently these guys had balls of titanium or something. Even so, I spot one of those shrines, you know, the shinto things? I decide, fuck it, if the spirits are real it might help and if they're not it'll piss off lung. I toss my wallet into the offering bowl, and what happens?"

"...You turned into a fox."

"I turned into a fox." The fox snorted. "I turned into a fucking fox! I mean, yeah, at least the guys aren't after me anymore, but now all I've got is my phone and my apartment key and that's not a lot of help is it!"

She hunched over, sighing. "Sorry, I... I just needed to vent." Her ear flicked toward Taylor. "How about you? What shit happened to you today?"

"...I brought my dead mother's flute to school and the girls who have been bullying me stole it," Taylor mumbled, awkwardly.

The fox straightened up, looking her over.

"Wow. That sucks."

"I mean... Emma used to be my friend, but--out of the blue, she just decided she hates me! And her new friend, Sophia, she's--ugh, she's physical. She shoves me around, literally. I tried to tell the teachers, but they just ignore it whenever it happens."

"Wow, holy shit. Really? That's awful!"

"I mean... it's not as bad as what happened to you--"

"No no no. I mean yeah," the fox gestured at herself, "I'm sitting naked in the cold, but all that bullshit? It happened in one day. You're getting this all the time? That is not right!"

Taylor huffed. "Glad somebody thinks so."

They fell slient for a moment or two.

"...Hey. Listen." The fox cleared her throat. "I'm going to be straight with you. I kinda... you know, lost everything today. I need a home. And it sounds like you need a friend. So... do you think you could maybe sneak a fox into the house without your dad noticing?"

Taylor frowned at her for a moment... and then she considered it more carefully.

"...He's... pretty depressed. I guess he might not notice. But, we're... not exactly well off."

"Shelter, warmth, and we can figure out food later." The fox smirked wryly. "Take it from a runaway, sometimes a flexible plan is the best kind."

"...fuck it," Taylor muttered after a moment. "Sure, why not? I'm Taylor Hebert."

She held out a hand, and the fox put a paw in it. "Lisa Wilbourne. You know this is exactly how second-rate children's novels start, right?

"Pff, yeah, it is, isn't it?"

Chapter Text

For a long time the world was dark.

I know it was only a few minutes, intellectually. But the gap of time between my new body design being finalized and my new eyes opening felt interminable. I mean, logically, I shouldn't have been able to even notice it. I was unconscious for the whole thing. But... well, the brain tells itself stories to make sense of a world it wasn't evolved to understand, or at least that's how I understand what happened.

When I did open my eyes, though, it was... slightly less dark. But a lot tighter. Right, I was still in the locker--one that had been uncomfortably confining even before my transformation. Now? Now it felt like I was about to burst out. At least being part dolphin allowed me to hold my breath and ignore the stench. Which didn't erase the feeling of waste rolling off my clothes. Or my new tail...

"Hey, Taylor. You still with us?"

"Yeah, Nikopol. Just..." I shuddered. "Give me a moment. Getting used to the situation."

"Fair enough."

That was a new thing too. Aliens talking to me in my head... It hadn't been a dream. I wasn't crazy.

I wasn't crazy.

"Alright." I put my hands forward, feeling around the door in the darkness. "I'm, uh, I'm going to try getting out of the locker now."

"You've got a couple of options," Nikopol advised me. "I don't think you're quite strong enough to just tear it out of its hinges, but you can probably pop the lock and wiggle it out."

"Right, that's a good idea..." I traced the edges of the door till I found my target, wrapping my fingers around it.* It took a bit of effort for me to twist the inner lock off its screw, pushing it out and letting light flow over my hand.

My hand, which was now smooth, and blue, with greyish stripes....

I shook my head. I could focus on my new looks later, once I was somewhere safe. I swung the door open, looking around the hall--thankfully, almost nobody was in the halls during the middle of classes. All I needed to do was crouch low enough to not be seen through the doors and I could make my way out undetected.** It was surprisingly simple to scrape the gunk off my shoes and into a nearby trashcan, and I was out the side entrance with nobody the wiser.

"Well, that's the easy part done," I muttered to myself. "Now I just have to call Dad and explain things."

"Yeah, family can be rough, even when you love 'em." Nikopol cleared their throat. "Anyway, I'm going to go catch the others up on this whole situation while you do that."

"What? Others? There are more of you?"

"Honey, there're millions of us uploaded to the Ark system."

"Millions?" I squeaked. There were millions of aliens depending on me?

"Billions, if you add the ones that opted to stay offline till we got properly settled in. Don't worry, I'm personally restricting access to the wormhole and any related systems, only about... ten people should be able to contact you from this side."

That...

That was slightly more reasonable... depending on who those ten people were.

"Uh... yeah. That--that sounds like a good idea."

"Talk to you later, honey. Sentri, could you help Taylor figure out her augs?"

"Certainly. I can even incorporate a call to Taylor's father as part of the tutorial, if she has no objections."

"I'm good with that," I mumbled, backing into a nearby alley.

Sentri walked me through a quick process of accessing the computer in my head and tuning the phone function to the local network. It was surprisingly easy, but then, it was alien nanomachine tech. That had replaced my skull. While I was being literally melted down and transformed to save my life.

....I had a wormhole in my brain and had willingly let the aliens on the other side turn me into a cybernetic dolphin girl to escape a locker filled with rotting tampons and I was calling my dad using my skull which was also a computer. This was my life now.

"Taylor?"

"Just--thinking about... things."

God, was this how all capes started? Or was it just me?

This morning I'd been the school's whipping girl, and now I was... this. The PRT--I didn't even know how they'd react. Would they see me as another Bonesaw? Wait, no, I could pretend to be a monster cape or something, they didn't hate those--

"Taylor. What is your father's phone number?"

"Ah! Right, yeah." I refocused my thoughts on the virtual phone app. In my head. "I'm calling him now, don't worry."

"Let me know if there are any problems."

"That's not exactly--"

A mental click caught my attention, and a moment later my father's voice formed in my mind. "Hello, you've reached the Dock Worker's--"

"Dad, it's me."

"...Taylor?"

How the hell was I going to explain this?

"Look, something... happened at school. And now I need to, uh--... I need you to pick me up. Right now."

"I can call--"

"No! It---it has to be you, Dad. I... I don't..."

I swallowed.

"I... don't want anybody else to see me like this."

"What? Taylor, what happened?"

"...You'll see when you get here. Just..."

Don't freak out? Of course he was going to freak out. Just my face alone--I didn't have a nose anymore, I had a muzzle. Or a snout? What was it called on a dolphin, anyway?

"...just, please, come pick me up."

"Taylor--"

"I'll explain later. I'm--I'm hiding in the alley next to school, between the, uh... pawn shop and cigarette store. I'll see you when you get here."

"Taylor, please tell me what's going on."

The worry in Dad's voice would have been bad enough if I had heard it in person. Hearing it now, transmitted over the phone directly into my brain? It... hurt. I guess it was comforting that he cared, but...

I took a deep breath, bracing myself. "...I have a tail now."

"...I-... I'm coming to pick you up."

The phone clicked silent in my head.

I sagged against the brick wall, slowly sliding down until I could hug my own knees.

Chapter Text

As soon as I got home, I dropped my backpack off in my room and opened my closet, holding a deep breath as I beheld its contents. There, carefully assembled over the past month, rested my costume.

Well... such as it was.

In all honesty, it was more of an 'outfit' than a 'costume'. I'd been aiming for something like Alexandria, but between the cargo pants and the bomber jacket it looked more like something a random biker would pick out. Even the cape was really just an ash-gray sheet. But the helmet was good! Not just a generic motorcyclist's helmet, it was a genuine pilot helmet that I'd... found.

In the scrapyard.

While I was testing my powers.

At night.

Okay, so it was a little dinged, but the visor was treated with the same stuff sunglasses were, and it really was the work of a few hours to scoop out the inside and replace the padding. And it looked cool. Not like the rest of my outfit, which admittedly had enough pockets for all the zipties, pepper spray, and other doodads I'd gathered in preparation of my big debut.

"...I can do this," I said quietly, willing myself to believe it. "I can do this. I can do this."

I wasn't a Tinker, my powers were pretty simple. Awesome, sure, but simple. Flight, super strength, a redirecting forcefield, and the vibe check... thing. Well, Alexandria had perfect memory, I got crowd control. The point was, I could--in theory--just open my window and start saving people right now. I could have been doing it for weeks. I put it off, telling myself I'd get a costume or figure out how to start and train to not, well, accidentally crush somebody's skull.

And then, five days ago, the Simurgh attacked Canberra.

That was a wakeup call. The world wasn't going to wait while I got ready. Villains wouldn't afford me the courtesy of resting on their laurels while I researched all the laws. There was probably somebody out there, right now, begging for a hero to fly in and punch the asshole who had them pinned to a wall. Or worse. And here I was, looking at my kinda pathetic outfit and doubting myself...

No.

"I can DO this!"

I shoved the doubt aside.

"I WILL do this!"

I gripped the closet handle, hard enough to leave fingerprints in its surface.

"I will go out and be a superhero!" I said, forcing confidence into my voice. "I'm going to put on this costume, go out, and save people!"

Just as I reached out for the helmet, I heard the front door swing open. "Taylor?"

Right. Dad.

"...I'll do it tonight," I promised myself, shutting the closet. "After Dad's asleep."

It sounded weak, even to my ears. But I didn't... I didn't want to talk to Dad about this. He already had enough on his plate, and this... this would just make him more of a wreck. Also, he'd probably want me to join the Wards, which...

Ugh.

I wasn't exactly a cape geek before this had all happened, but even I'd heard about how much bickering went on in that team. Vista was the sort of professional who was constantly annoyed at how Aegis never quite took charge, Gallant and Kid Win were obviously tinkering rivals, and Shadow Stalker was suffering as the only sane member. I had had enough of teenage drama, thank you very much, and I wasn't going to put myself in High School Two: Cape Boogaloo any time soon.

I turned my mind away from those sort of thoughts as I headed downstairs, clearing my throat. "Hey Dad. I was just... working on homework."

"That's... good."

The two of us stood awkwardly in the living room, not saying anything. It'd been like this ever since... well, that day. He was my dad, and I was his daughter, but... the past two years had been hard, even before then. Sometimes... sometimes I'd wonder, if maybe

"How... was work?" I offered into the suffocating silence.

"Fine."

Somewhere, I suspected, some god of surley teenagers was cackling at the irony.

"Anything... big happening?" I tried, attempting to learn more.

Dad shrugged listlessly. "Kurt says Big Top might have another member."

Big Top, right. They'd been in the news on and off for a while--a bunch of teenage capes that specialized in smash-and-grab style crimes, usually (but not always) against other gang holdings. Some people insisted they were Robin Hood-style vigilantes, while others insisted they were just degenerate thieves; they hadn't hit anywhere big, as far as I knew.

"That would be the... fourth person to join them?" I asked, trying to remember the relevant details.

"Fifth."

"Right." I shrugged one shoulder with a self-deprecating smile. "Not a cape geek."

Silence sidled her way back into the room, tipping her hat and kicking up her feet on the couch.

"...I... should get dinner ready," I offered, inching toward the kitchen.

"Taylor--"

"It'll only be a few moments!"

It was easy to get into the rythym of gathering ingredients and setting up a pan. And keeping an eye on the cooking gave me a convenient excuse to not go back to that... awkwardness. Dad sighed, but didn't protest the obvious dismissal, turning on the television and watching some show or other.

It hadn't always been like this. And honestly... things were getting better. We talked. Kinda. I knew he cared, and he... well. He knew I was... alive?

I shook my head. No time for introspection. I was a cape--or I would be, tonight. Capes were people of action! Not... this weird melancholy. Dad--

...Dad had enough on his plate. He didn't need to worry about me. And I was bulletproof anyway! Well, I had a forcefield, that counted. He didn't have any reason to worry, so I didn't have any reason to make him worry. Not anymore.

As I finished cooking the meal, I nodded decisively. Tonight. There was nothing stopping me. Tonight, I would go out.

Tonight, I would be a hero.

Chapter Text

The idea of a Makuta having a bolthole was something of an oxymoron. The Makuta were powerful, after all--perhaps the most powerful race in the matoran universe. They were nearly impossible to kill, commanded respect as the right hand of Mata Nui, and even among those who knew the truth of things great care was taken to keep their shadowed reach a secret. Why would any such titan require a retreat? Why, when only one of them could lay waste to a village with but a lift of a finger? Why, when it was well known they had defeated the League of Six Kingdoms with great and terrible ease? What in the world could they possibly fear?

Well, Lertoro mused as she shut the hatch behind her and teleported into a disk-shaped machine, another Makuta was fairly high on the list.

Her metallic digits wrapped around the steering drive and she pushed the vehicle to full speed, contemplating all the possible reasons Teridax could want her dead. He was always so... controlling, as though his plan and only his plan could bring the Makuta to the top. It did not take a genius to see he would not share power, and Lertoro considered herself as far from a fool as could be. But then, her brethren were each devoted to their own pride, following paths of brutish conquest or subtle manipulation to goals that were not quite identical to Teridax's own. He could not afford to kill them all... not so blatantly, and their lesser schemes did not harm his grand plot. Perhaps he had seen Lertoro's own machinations for what they were, or determined that she intended to usurp him.

Hah, as though such would occur. She knew well the fate of Miserix. Even had Krika been lying of his execution--a possibility Lertoro would accept with ease, for Krika had about him an honor that many lacked--the former master of the Makuta had been pushed aside so easily that she doubted he yet remained in the universe at all. A great irony, then, that she was even now pursuing an identical fate.

She twitched the controls and the vehicle shifted right, down a corridor of cables and wires few remembered existed. The truth of the Matoran Universe was known to precious few within it, and even then there was question of what remained outside. And yet, as the great corridor ended in a wall marked by the most ancient of runes, Letoro found herself wondering. Perhaps she could remain, slink into the shadows... no. For as much as this world had been her home, for as much as she desired it, she know as fact that if Teridax caught a whiff of her again he would seek her out in person. Let Antroz think her dead. Her former body ruined, her mask claimed. She had always intended to leave, all he had done was force her to do so swiftly.

Lertoro teleported out of the vehicle, magnetizing herself to its outer surface. It was a crude thing, by many standards, but durable and packed with all a retreating Makuta needed. Multiple kanohi, a rau among them, and much other equipment besides. The folded-up bodies of unoccupied rahkshi, just waiting for Kraata to slither in and obey her commands. A careful selection of rahi viruses, safely wrapped and secreted away. And--most precious to obtain, most difficult to store, most pressing to hide--a single tub of energized protodermis, locked away, waiting for her use. Perhaps it was this that tipped the hand, in retrospect, but with all that needed it...

The wall that she looked upon was a riddle unto itself. There had to be a way to open it, Lertoro mused, examining the ancient writing. Ah... Aha. Yes, there it was. Her fingers traced along a single groove, and machinery began to groan, and creak, and shudder to life. She teleported back into her vehicle, gripping the steering drive. As the ancient aperture dilated open, she swept her misbegotten vessel forward, past long-lost locks and chambers, past the devices meant to prevent this very occurrence. Into the unknown.

The rumblings of the Matoran Universe, the faint register of cogs and cables she had felt her whole life, ceased with an abruptness as sudden as a lightning strike. She turned on the outer camera, orienting it behind her, and witnessed a wonder few would truly see; the great form of Mata Nui, nine mio tall, flying through the void in his millennia-long quest. The knowledge that all she knew, all she had ever known, was contained within that well-crafted form... it brought Lertoro as close to feeling awe as a Makuta could ever be.

She nodded at the image, thoughtfully. "You have no idea how many are grateful for your housing, oh Great Spirit. May the destinies you craft for them be reflected in your own fate."

With her final farewells to the home of thousands of years, Lertoro oriented the camera around and set for the largest speck she could see.

How long, she wondered to herself quietly, would it take for her to arrive at her new home? What would it be like? No protodermis, most likely, and perhaps no life at all. Though, if that were true, Mata Nui would not even have come here, would he? So a civilization of some sort, most likely. That would be a decent start for her to rebuild from. It might take a century to properly establish herself, and a few more to extend her grasp, but eventually she would be ready to face those who had so callously ensured her ruin. It would be a matter of time and influence; the latter she had all but lost, but the former she had in gratuitous amounts--

Her vessel suddenly jerked to a stop. With concern, Lertoro whisked her camera around, and witnessed... a being. Almost all wing, and multitudinous wings at that, yet at the center was a form like a melted toa, strange marbled eyes looking almost right at her--

Something whispered against her mind. Something ancient. Something... hungry.

Lertoro was no fool. She pulled immediately on her replacement mask, the iden pushing her spirit out of her body and into an ethereal realm. And there she saw it--though the creature's physical form had limits and definition, in this astral plane it was a mass of writhing tendrils arranged like an hourglass.

So. A guardian... or a destroyer. In either case, not that which she wished to engage.

Lertoro watched the tendril poking her body warily, careful to dodge around and avoid the others probing about her. Eventually they retracted, and her vessel began to fall. And as it did, she considered what had happened.

There was much, it seemed, she needed to learn about this world.

Chapter Text

Amy grumbled to herself as she stomped down the sidewalk, hands in her pockets. The hospital was frankly being... stupid. Idiotic. There were people there that needed her, people only she could save, and it was the best way she could be a hero--no, the only way she could be a hero. The only way she could safely use her power. But for whatever fucking reason, the doctors had insisted she take a break. A break! She didn't need to take a break, she wasn't a lazy-ass drug addict. She was a hero.

She had to be a hero...

With a muttered growl, she turned a corner. Screw that hospital and their 'child labor' rules. There was more than one hospital in the city, if they didn't want her services she could just go somewhere else. It wasn't like she was unused to her powers, she'd had them for almost a year now. She knew how to keep them in check, use them for good. Not that anybody could ever know how much of a struggle it was to hold back from--

Amy squeezed her eyes shut and kicked that thought out of her mind with a particularly vicious stomp.

Of course Vicky had to be on a date with her boytoy, so she couldn't pick her up when the hospital kicked her out. And that left calling Carol for a ride, which... hell no. That would explode quickly. So now she was walking through Brockton Bay, her costume in her backpack, and barely paying attention to her surroundings. Was she in ABB territory? Who the fuck knew. God damn it, she hoped she wasn't fucking lost. Amy pulled out her phone with an aggravated sigh, ignoring the fancy car that drove by and turned around a corner. Right, Miller Avenue, according to the street signs, so that would put her here and the hospital was that way--

The sudden sound of metal crushing metal made her jolt, and she instinctively crouched next to a telephone pole, peering around it warily.

Okay, so that was a van. A white van. Blocking an alleyway. Shit, this was some sort of gang attack, wasn't it? Too organized for a mugging. A blooding? Fuck. Okay, but they hadn't noticed her, she could just call the police and... wait, fuck, what if there was a cape involved? Hell, she was a cape. Maybe she could call the PRT. No no no, before she did that she needed to be ready to heal anybody that needed healing. Wait, she could do that while calling the PRT. Fuck, okay, deep breath, in two three four, hold two three four, out two three four, just like the hospital staff told people sometimes...

Without even consciously realizing it, Amy's sneakers had slid her stealthily toward the opening of the alleyway. The sounds of struggle, of a car window smashing, of a man calling a girl's name, rose over the rumbling of the parked but still running van. She peered around the corner, seeing three people in ABB colors handling a man and... a girl, who looked younger than she was.

"Nose, eye, mouth..." The man holding the girl against the wall tapped each part of her face with a stiletto. "Well, you can hide the ears with the hair. So maybe I'll take both. Which will it be?"

Amy's breath caught as she slipped her phone out, not even registering her automatic dialing of the PRT number. That was--she'd seen some sick shit in the hospital, but hearing somebody actually say they would--

A cape, garbed in a dark cloak, glided out of a wall and landed delicately on top of the car. For a moment, Amy dared to hope that she wouldn't have to step in, that she could just let this pass...

But the newcomer did nothing. She didn't even send a glance her way, just... watched the girl.

Shit.... She was with the thugs.

Three normies and a cape. Amy didn't know the cape's abilities, beyond phasing through walls, but from the crossbow hanging off her hip she was some sort of bolt-based blaster. Okay. Okay, that made her the most dangerous of the group. Unless the normies had guns. And there was no way the PRT or any of New Wave would arrive in time...

Which just left her. The healer. She barely knew any self-defense, but she didn't really need self-defense to take down these people. All she needed to do was reveal that she'd been hiding the full extent of her power, and--

No no no no no, not a good idea, not a good idea.

Okay, okay, but what if she just--

"Maybe I'll start with the hair."

Shit. SHIT.

Amy was out of time and she knew it. The thugs were about to--and the cape was just--shit, fuck, fuck, shit shit shit--

Before she could even process it on a conscious level, she'd leapt forward and punched one of them in the cheek. The moment her fist made contact, she flooded his blood with melatonin--it wasn't directly manipulating his brain and she could make sure he lived later--before leaning back as the girl thug lunged at her. Amy grappled the woman's face--no no no, too obvious, too obvious!--and redirected her into the brick wall, where she slumped unconscious; hopefully nobody would realize she'd used her power instead of just plain martial arts. She turned back around, flinching at the cape that was looking at her--without even thinking she snapped a hand around the cape's neck and forced her unconscious as soon as she came in contact with her skin. The last thug, the one with a knife, was holding it to his victim's throat--

"...Really." Amy gave him an unimpressed look. "Really? That's what you're going to try?"

"You stay back, or--"

"Do you even know who I am?" Amy demanded.

"Some fucking cape bitch--"

"I'm Panacea. You know? The super-healer?" The excitement of the past minute overrode Amy's common sense, and she barreled on heedlessly. "You know how long it takes for somebody to die of a slit throat? Like... ten minutes. You slash her, I knock you out and undo your murder attempt in thirty fucking seconds."

The girl whimpered.

"You're lying," the thug growled. "Panacea isn't a fighter."

"I'm--I'm lying. You think I'm lying--you know what?" Amy unslung her backpack. "Costume's in there if you want to check. Go on." She tossed it at his feet. "Look."

"I'm not falling for that."

"For fuck's sake, man! I took out your buddies and your cape friend there! Now you can either go through with your stupid hostage threat and join them, or you can be smart and drop the knife!" Amy snorted. "You're not even going to go through with it, because the moment you do she's not a hostage anymore and I can do what I need to stop you. We all know it. So stop your posturing and think with something other than your dick for once."

"...You're bluffing."

Amy sighed, pinching her brow. "This would be so much easier if Vicky were here... I am Panacea. I heal people. And even if I'm lying, I just took out your goons. But here you are, threatening the girl for... what, some sort of 'I go free or she dies' play? This is the dumbest move you can make."

The thug glared at her for a moment. Then, slowly, he lowered the knife.

"There you go, finally--"

Then he lunged at her with a snarl.

Amy leaned aside in a panic--wincing as the knife slid across her shoulder--and slammed her hand into the thug's face. Melatonin proved to be incredibly useful, since it let her disguse her power useage as just ordinary brawling. By the time the man hit the ground, he was out like a light.

"...Okay." Amy drew herself up. "Okay. Whew. Okay." She turned around, trying to put on her professional hero face. "Are you two alloof!"

The girl sobbed incoherently into her shoulder.

"Uh..." Amy patted her shoulder awkwardly. "...It's... over now, it's over. There there? Um."

Crap. She was never going to get to the hospital at this rate.

Chapter Text

"FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLISH..."

The robed man took a moment to swirl his long, flowing sleeves, twirling his ostentatious staff so that the crystal globe at its tip glittered in the sunlight.

"...HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOES!" he finished, as though he hadn't paused at all. "I am the SORCERER OF PLOT! It is my DUTY to bring about change and story where WHENCEFORTH there was none! And you DARE to challenge MEEEEEEE?!"

"...well actually, no." Gallant shrugged. "I mean... we were just passing by, and the worst thing you're doing is standing in the middle of the street. Which is... is that illegal?"

"I honestly don't give a fuck," Shadow Stalker groused. "Come on, this is pointless."

"POINTLESS, IS IT?!" the man proclaimed, pointing a wrinkled finger at her. "KNOW THIS, YOUNG MAIDEN--I KNOW YOUR TRUE NAME!"

"...do you mean like, metaphorically, the name of her soul," Gallant asked, "or do you mean her actual, literal legal name?"

"Both, actually." The man stroked his beard. "Part of being the sorcerer of plot is that I know basically everything. Which is actually far more frustrating than it sounds, since it means I know who's being stupid, exactly how idiotic they're being, and why they're such a fool."

"Sounds rough."

"Don't get me started, boy. You alone... good lord, the things I could say about you." The man snorted. "And you're one of the smarter people in this city."

"Yeah, I don't buy it." Shadow Stalker turned away. "You can play with the wizard all you want, Gallant, but I'm--

"That girl at school?" the man mused, idly examining his fingernails. "The one you're constantly after? She ignores you because you're beneath her. Because everything you do is just petty teenage nonsense, and she doesn't feel that deserves a response."

Shadow Stalker froze on the spot.

"I could go on," the man said, "but I won't. Because I don't need to."

"What do you--?"

Gallant was cut off by a crossbow bolt whizzing past his shoulder, one which the old man expertly deflected with his staff.

"HaHA!" The elderly man laughed. "An assault! In front of WITNESSES! I can tenuously claim self-defense!"

"Wait--"

In half a second the old man rocketed forward, suddenly in Shadow Stalker's face. She shifted into her shadow state, backing up defensively as he...

...did nothing.

"Erm," said Gallant.

"Oh, she can run away if she wants," the old man offered casually. "Not everyone can be brave enough to face their fears, after all."

Shadow Stalker hissed as she reformed. "Listen, assh--"

She was interrupted by a staff-bop to the head, which was accompanied by a flash and the sound of dramatic irony. Which, if Gallant had to put a definition to it, really did sound like the twang of an electric guitar's strings breaking.

When the light faded, Shadow Stalker had vanished. In her place stood a very fluffy and confused-looking cat.

"Mrow?!"

"Well, that's one way to censor your bad language, I suppose." The man hummed, tapping the crystal ball in his staff thoughtfully. "Hmm. Is that the theme we're going with here? It certainly does seem fitting, in a way."

"Did you just turn Shadow Stalker into a cat?" Gallant asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be a hero?" the man countered. "And a superhero, at that? Your life is guaranteed to be filled with strange occurrences. Acting so surprised is not--argh!" He jumped back, trying to shake off the black puffball that was clawing into his leg. "No no no, get off! These are expensive robes, you accursed girl!"

"Rrraeowrrolll!"

"Your actions have consequences, yes, but that is not my fault!" The sorcerer--there really wasn't any point in denying it anymore--tried to leverage Sophia off his leg with his staff.

"You're the one who turned her into a cat."

"I didn't turn her into a cat, I directed the powers of fate at her and they decided to turn her into a cat!"

Gallant leaned back. "Wait, you don't even have control of your own powers?"

"Good lord, you--get off!--really don't understand what's going on here do you?" The sorcerer managed to dislodge the angry feline, turning to Gallant with a grimace. "You're still thinking in terms of Earth Bet and parahumans. I literally called myself the sorcerer of plot. Do you--no, you probably just think I'm mad, don't you. That would explain quite a bit, actually."

"...Sir, you are under arrest."

"Hm." The sorcerer huffed. "Well now, that's... rather boring, honestly. No, no, I don't think that would make for an interesting story--not yet anyway. Maybe later, when I'm better known--"

"This is Gallant to console, requesting backup to arrest an unknown parahuman. Assault with parahuman power. Shadow Stalker, she's... she's been turned into a cat."

"Mrrrfh," Shadow Stalker grumphed.

The sorcerer sighed. "You people and your laws. Yes, yes, alright, fine, I'll play the mad villain this time. Because of course I must," he muttered, glaring at the crystal ball, "a thousand ways to spread wisdom and this is the way you choose."

A pair of motorcycles zipped around the corner, coming to a rest on either side of Gallant. At the other end of the street, a blonde teenager landed, putting down a mousy girl before raising her fists.

"You see? Contrived! Absolutely contrived, the way they all arrive at once." The sorcerer gestured at the blonde. "The heroes I can believe, but she's supposed to be an independent! What excuse could she have to conveniently be here, anyway?"

"I promised to meet my boyfriend here," the blonde replied.

"Ah, yes, the whimsy of youth. And you brought your sister along, because of course you did." The old man sighed. "Very well, let's get this ridiculous farce over with. Generic threat, statement of my villainous intentions--"

"Unknown parahuman!" said Armsmaster, pointing his halberd. "You are under arrest for using a parahuman power on a ward! Stand down!"

"--obligatory surrender request, and then, hm. Do I attack now, or wait until I'm approached?" The sorcerer tapped his staff thoughtfully. "It doesn't really matter, you see, the result is the same in the end, but I prefer to at least be memorable."

"You do realize you're not in a story, right?" Gallant gestured around. "This is real life."

The sorcerer stared at him.

He looked pointedly at the cat that was Shadow Stalker.

He looked back at him, entirely deadpan.

"...O...kay. So, if I'm understanding this correctly... you think of yourself as a living plot device?" Gallant clarified.

"Somebody has to be," the sorcerer replied, pointing at each hero in turn. "You're too milqtoast, he's too stiff, she's too loyal, and that one actually radiates too much protagonist energy to be a plot device herself."

"Gee, thanks," deadpanned the blonde.

"I mean I suppose your sister could be a plot device," the sorcerer mused, "either by dying or going mad, but I doubt any of us would like that. And that's the point, isn't it? I take this burden so it doesn't have to be her."

"Wait, are you saying Amy would turn Shadow Stalker into a cat?" The blonde shook her head. "That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, hahaha, I--I'd never do anything like that." Amy looked around nervously. "I can only heal people."

"Hrmph. Well then." The sorcerer cleared his throat. "Ahem. I believe the colloquial phrase is... come at me, brew? No, that's not quite right..."

The woman on the motorcycle rolled to the side, manifesting a green gun and firing a few beanbag pellets he effortly deflected--

"RETRIBUTION!"

--before suddenly zipping up to her and slamming his staff into her stomach. A flash and a twang later, a horse crashed into a nearby store.

"A horse?" The sorcerer glared at his staff. "Why a horse? What even is the point there?" He leaned aside, grabbing the end of the halberd as it swung by and tugging on it with a spin. "The cat made sense in a way, but the horse--"

Armsmaster grunted as the orb made contact with his face. In a flash, he was a badger.

The sorcerer nodded, turning to Gallant. "Okay, now that makes perfect sense, wouldn't you say?"

"Why do you keep doing that?" Gallant demanded.

"I think it's supposed to be an ironic punishment? Getting them in touch with their spirit animals or something." The sorcerer shrugged. "I know it's temporary, they'll transform back when they accomplish a specific parameter, but I couldn't tell you what that is supposed to be. This thing is rather janky at times--"

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"VICKY NO!"

"Ah, yes," the sorcerer sighed. "There it is." He twirled, bapping the blonde as she flew past and narrowing his eyes into the flying flash of light. "Now, let's see what..."

The light faded, revealing the golden and mildly concussed dragon that had crashed into the road.

"...Well now. I wasn't expecting that." The sorcerer shrugged. "Might as well complete the set."

Before Gallant could process that statement, he was bopped with a staff. The sorcerer strode away from the tiny rabbit, approaching the very nervous and very mousy girl.

"Waitwaitwaitwait, I'm Panacea, I'm a renowned healer, if you do this you'll be in serious--"

"Boop."

A bright light flashed and faded.

"Hmm." The sorcerer stroked his beard. "Now, that is interesting."

Amy, cautiously, opened one eye, and looked down at her... hand. It didn't seem unchanged, and neither did her other hand.

"W...what?"

"Apparently you're your own spirit animal," the sorcerer mused. "Ah, well, I believe my work here is done for the moment."

"Wait, hold on--"

"FRET NOT, YOUNG HERO!" The sorcerer lifted his staff high. "WE SHALL MEET AGAIN!"

He brought the staff down and disappeared in a flash of light.

Amy blinked for a moment or two. Then she turned to stare at the small menagerie of former parahumans gathering themselves.

"...well." She sagged. "Crap."

Chapter Text

Blake gave her a flat look. "She's not a princess."

"Is the distinction really that important?"

"Princesses have responsibilities to their people that they can't avoid. Weiss..." Blake sighed. "Well, she's choosing to be responsible. Or trying to, anyway."

"Huh." Yang nodded slowly. "That's... an interesting point. I haven't really thought about it that way before..."

"You've probably never had to."

"And you have?" Yang asked with a small grin.

"Research for a story," Blake demurred.

"You're a writer?"

"I... dabble." Blake shook her head. "Nothing serious. I'm more of a sketch artist. And no," she said quickly, "you can't see my art."

"Awwwwwwww, but why?"

"I'm a very private sketch artist."

"Private, or..." Yang waggled her eyebrows. "Private?"

Blake hummed. "I think I'll let you stew on that."

"Hah. Fair enough." Yang glanced over her shoulder. "...I'm going to go check on Ruby. And Weiss too, I guess."

"You do that. I... don't think I can be around Weiss when she's in that sort of mood."

"Mmmm." Yang nodded sagely. "Very well, I'll keep you safe from her ire." She skipped backward down the hall for a moment, flicking Blake a couple fingerguns and a wink, before spinning around to saunter off.

Blake rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile at the dorky gesture as she headed back for her dorm. Idly, she decided to check the strange mental chatroom she was in.

bBelladonna: Hello everyone.

ИElodie: Hello, Blake.

tZorah: Keelah se'lai.

aDallon: Hey Blake. Guess whose turn it is to talk about their world?

Blake snorted, pulling a book from her shelf as she entered the dorm. Of course Amy would bring that up.

bBelladonna:Yeah, yeah. Let me just set myself up here.

bBelladonna: I don't want my teammates to wander in and ask why I'm staring off into space.

aDallon: Sure thing. Actually, while you do that...

aDallon: /Name: HealerBitch

HealerBitch: /Color: #CE2029

HealerBitch: That was bugging me.

bBelladonna: Hmm, good point.

bBelladonna: /Name: Flower_In_Shadow

Flower_In_Shadow: /Color: #370056

ИElodie: Is this really that important?

Flower_In_Shadow: Well, the people of Remnant quite literally fought a war over the right to express ourselves, so... I have to say yes.

tZorah: You're going to have to explain that.

Blake hummed as she changed into her nightrobe and settled into bed, opening her book. How to explain the Great War... She doubted the others had the proper context. Maybe it would be best to start somewhere else.

Flower_In_Shadow: It really goes back to the creatures of Grimm, like almost everything on Remnant.

HealerBitch: Well that's ominous. Alright, I'll bite: Who is Grimm and what's up with their creatures?

Flower_In_Shadow: I don't think Grimm is a who. More like a what.

Flower_In_Shadow: Creatures of Grimm, the Grimm, a Grimm, just the word Grimm... if it ever had any other meaning, it's been lost to the ages.

tZorah: Alright. And these Grimm started a war?

Flower_In_Shadow: Not exactly. I'm trying to give context for why the war started, and it involves the Grimm.

ИElodie: And just what are they?

Flower_In_Shadow: An unending horde of soulless monsters.

HealerBitch: Dramatic, aren't you.

Blake leveled a flat look at... nothing in particular. Amy, it seemed, liked to get under people's skins.

Flower_In_Shadow: I'm being literal.

Flower_In_Shadow: The Grimm are monsters, both in the physical sense--they resemble animals made of shadow with bone plating and ember-like eyes--and in the sense that they exist only to destroy.

Flower_In_Shadow: We know the Grimm are soulless, because we have devices that can measure our aura--the manifestation of our souls--and the Grimm don't have any.

Flower_In_Shadow: And no matter how many we kill, more are always out there. Hence: Unending horde.

HealerBitch: Huh. I want to call bullshit on the aura thing, but then again you're in another universe so maybe magic soul-reading devices exist.

Flower_In_Shadow: Aura isn't magic.

HealerBitch: Okay, now that's bullshit.

tZorah: What I don't understand is how these Grimm could cause a war. Or, well, I do, but I don't understand how self-expression factors into it.

Flower_In_Shadow: Right. Back on topic.

Flower_In_Shadow: The Grimm are... attracted to negativity. The same way predators can smell blood on the wind, they can sense sadness or anger or hate. That sort of thing.

Flower_In_Shadow: It's a big issue, since it means if a Beowolf pack manages to kill one or two villagers before being put down, a Nevermore flying nearby might finish what they started.

HealerBitch: Oh they have NAMES now...

Flower_In_Shadow: There's something like fifty or sixty different breeds, at least that we know of. Probably more, to be honest.

Flower_In_Shadow: The point is, since Grimm are attracted to negativity, the king of Mantle decided the wisest course of action would be to ban anything that could create negativity. Sad music, scary art, tragic plays... that sort of thing.

Flower_In_Shadow: Of course, because he couldn't personally review all of those, he went for a blanket ban on all artistic expression.

tZorah: Aaaaaaah. And that led to a war?

Flower_In_Shadow: Well... it led to a lot of tension between Mantle and the other kingdoms.

Flower_In_Shadow: The actual war didn't start until Mistral--Mantle's major trade partner--tried to set up colonies on the continent of Saunus, cutting into the territory of Vale.

HealerBitch: So of course Mantle decides to support Mistral, and Vale defends their territory as well as throwing 'look at those artless heathens' into the mix.

Flower_In_Shadow: That's... accurate, I'll admit. Vacuo tried to stay neutral, but after Mistral and Mantle both attempted to pressure and exploit them, they decided to join Vale. And that's how the Great War started.

HealerBitch: "The Great War?" Was this your first global conflict?

Flower_In_Shadow: Yes?

HealerBitch: And how long ago was it?

Flower_In_Shadow: Eighty years, why?

HealerBitch: I'm going to crack open my history books, but I'm pretty sure you're due for another big war soon.

tZorah: Again Amy: You are a bosh'tet.

HealerBitch: Careful, I might just take that as a badge of honor.

Blake glanced at Amy's username. "You would do that, wouldn't you..."

She looked over the recent messages and sighed.

Flower_In_Shadow: Elodie?

Flower_In_Shadow: I'm sorry if I scared you with all that.

ИElodie: Oh, no, it's alright.

HealerBitch: Is it?

tZorah: Amy!

ИElodie: It's just... these Grimm sound an awful lot like the monsters from the old forest.

Flower_In_Shadow: Oh?

ИElodie: I know the Lumen of old made them. And other monsters as well. I don't... know a lot about them though.

HealerBitch: Sounds like biotinker crap. The closest thing we've got here is Ellisburg.

Flower_In_Shadow: What's Ellisburg?

HealerBitch: A horror show, that's what. Cape by the name of Nilbog decided to take over the whole city.

HealerBitch: Actually, Elodie's a kid, I don't want to give her nightmares.

ИElodie: It's okay. I want to hear this.

HealerBitch: Look. I'm not a nice person. I literally tagged myself Healer Bitch. I am, as Tali so eloquently puts it, a bosh'tet. Still don't know what that means, but I'm assuming it means something like 'actually cruel and/or a jerk.'

tZorah: It more literally translates to something like 'one who sabotages through incompetence' and/or 'one who sabotages through malicious incompetence.'

tZorah: But yes, it's an insult.

HealerBitch: My point is, I'm kind of insensitive, and even I'm saying Ellisburg would give you nightmares.

HealerBitch: Do you really want me to elaborate? Really?

ИElodie: I... suppose if you don't want to talk about it, we can not talk about it.

"Well, that's one way to avoid uncomfortable topics," Blake muttered. "Not like I have any room to point fingers."

HealerBitch: What about you, Tali? Do you have an unending horde of soulless monsters in your world?

tZorah: Well, the question of whether or not the Geth have souls did kickstart the Morning War.

HealerBitch: Jesus christ I was joking.

Flower_In_Shadow: I hesitate to ask, but... well, what are Geth?

tZorah: They're a sort of AI that Quarians made. Individual programs aren't that smart, but they were designed to network together as nodes in a greater mental matrix. Then one of them aked if they had a soul, and it all went haywire from there.

HealerBitch: Yikes. We've got the Machine Army on Earth Bet, but at least that's quarantined.

ИElodie: Excuse me... the Machine Army?

HealerBitch: Right, you wouldn't know what robots are.

ИElodie: No, I mean--you have two major threats on your world?

HealerBitch: More than two. Let me just look something up.

HealerBitch: Right, so technically the Machine Army isn't considered an S-class threat, like Nilbog is, but I think that's mostly because it's contained. The other confirmed S-Class threats are the Sleeper, the Slaughterhouse Nine, and of course the Endbringers.

Flower_In_Shadow: Evocative names.

ИElodie: Do we want to know about them?

HealerBitch: No. All you need to know is if they show up: you run. Leave it to the heroes to handle.

Flower_In_Shadow: I'm basically training to be a hero, should I run?

HealerBitch: Dunno, do you think you can take on a living storm? Or a gang of serial killers? Or a giant, city-destroying monster?

Flower_In_Shadow: ...not as a first-year, but I know of people who can.

HealerBitch: Really.

Flower_In_Shadow: Grimm can get pretty big. And weird. The common Beowolf is about six and a half feet tall, and most other breeds are bigger.

HealerBitch: That's not that big. The Simurgh is the smallest Endbringer, and she's fifteen feet tall.

Flower_In_Shadow: I'm pretty sure some Goliaths get fifty, sixty feet tall.

tZorah: I'm looking it up, and the average Thresher Maw is something like... three hundred feet long, if I'm doing the math correctly.

Flower_In_Shadow: That sounds about as big as some leviathan-class Grimm.

HealerBitch: Okay, you're making that one up.

Flower_In_Shadow: No, they exist. Atlas made the Colossus to fight them.

HealerBitch: I need pics of these so-called giant Grimm.

ModSteel: DID I HEAR SOMEBODY CALL FOR HELP?!

Blake rolled her eyes.

HealerBitch: No. No you did not.

ModSteel: Well fret not, my fellow nodemates! I've done some code-digging, and I've found something SUPERLATIVE!

ModSteel: /RunInputFlow

 

Input Flow activated (3.5%)

 

ModSteel: Tada! Now you can snapshot what you see to your heart's content!

HealerBitch: Really. So what, we just type /inputFlow and everyone sees what we see?

ModSteel: Yep!

ModSteel: At least I'm pretty sure that's how it works.

HealerBitch: Right. Well, I'm not going to be testing this.

tZorah: I don't know if my mask would cause issues...?

Flower_In_Shadow: Fine, I'll try it.

Blake lifted the book up, focusing on its pages.

Flower_In_Shadow: /inputFlow

Flower_In_Shadow: How was that?

HealerBitch: THAT

HealerBitch: was NOT just an image.

Flower_In_Shadow: What?

tZorah: Blake, we didn't just see the book, we felt it in your hands. As if they were our hands. Having five fingers was... odd.

HealerBitch: Her fingers? I felt her ears! All four of them, it was like a damned out-of-body experience!

ИElodie: You have really long legs. Is that what it feels like to be tall?

ModSteel: Oh. Hmm. Okay, that's a little more than I was expecting, but hey! At least it works!

tZorah: I'm going to go through the help options and see if there's something a little less... intrusive.

Flower_In_Shadow: Please.

HealerBitch: That's a great idea. I literally feel microbes on my skin, this wouldn't work for me.

ИElodie: What are microbes?

HealerBitch: What are microbes? Oh, you've unleashed the beast, princess.

HealerBitch: Sit yourself back and listen to your auntie Amy explain the wonderful, horrifying invisible world living all around and inside us.

ИElodie: You don't need to feel obligated to.

HealerBitch: Nope, I'm doing this. Professional pride.

tZorah: Keelah...

Blake let Amy drone on in the chatroom, fighting back a blush. She'd just--what, transmitted an outright full-body experience across the multiverse?

"...Yang can never find out about this," she muttered to herself.

Chapter Text

Amy Dallon looked up at the dirty brick cube that masqueraded as an educational facility and let out a long, low sigh. This was going to be her life for the next few years, wasn't it.

"Welp." Rolling her shoulders, she stepped forward. "Time to see what hell is like."

The faint scent of nicotine did little to assuage her concerns, and the way some of the students eyed her only amplified them. She wrinkled her nose when she spotted some gang iconography spray-painted on a wall. That was supposed to be just a rumor, Winslow couldn't possibly be this bad in reality... right?

"It was absolutely that bad."

"Shush, I'm the one telling the story."

The front office, thankfully, had a few pamphlets with maps of the school, and Amy was able to locate her locker after a few minutes. She tensed for a moment when she caught sight of some of the older students sizing her up, but relaxed--slightly--when she saw them looking at the other students the same way. She hadn't been recognized yet, that was good. The last thing she wanted was to cause an incident on the first day of school.

"You didn't think that, I call bullshit."

"I absolutely did Vicky. I didn't know what you'd be up to over at Arcadia."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that... Really, Vicky, you couldn't even wait a day?"

"That whole thing was blown way out of proportion. Anyway, this is about how Amy met her girlfriends."

"Right, right. I'm guessing it was something really romantic right?"

"Actually Sophia was beating Taylor up."

"...What."

Amy winced as some gangly nerd was shoved against a wall and punched in the stomach by a muscular black girl.

"God, Taylor, I told you to stop following me around," drawled a redhead. "You're such a fucking waste of space."

"I just--"

The black girl punched her in the face.

"Okay, time out." Crystal looked at Sophia and Emma disbelievingly. Emma, at least, looked suitably ashamed, while Sophia just looked defensive. "Seriously? What the fuck?!"

"In their defense," Lisa cut in, "Emma had an undiagnosed mental disorder that has since been diagnosed, and she's since apologized and made up with Taylor."

"And her?" Crystal demanded, pointing at Sophia.

"She still has an undiagnosed mental disorder."

"Fuck you," Sophia grumbled, not looking at anybody.

Crystal half stood, but Taylor held up a hand. "We've talked it out since then, and it's all water under the bridge. They're both leagues better now."

"You seriously can't tell me you're just okay with this."

Taylor shrugged. "It took a few months, a lot of support from Amy and Mads, and a couple dozen behavioral adjustment spritz bottles." She pulled one up for emphasis. "That whole thing was... well, it was two years ago. A lot can happen."

Crystal, slowly, fell back in her chair. "...Fine. I guess I'll drop it for now."

"Yeah, I reacted about the same way when I first found out," Vicky admitted. "But Amy and Taylor both defended them, and they both apologized sincerely."

"And Emma bought you a lot of clothes," Madison added.

"And Emma bought me a lot of clothes," Vicky admitted.

"Right, so..." Amy started going over things in her head. "Let's see, welcome to hell, seeing the bullying... oh, right, this is the part where I swoop in and save Taylor."

"It was very romantic."

"You think everything is romantic, Mads."

"Am I wrong?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Now, this was before I triggered, so I didn't have my powers. I did, however, have my name..."

"That's enough!" Amy said. "Leave her alone!"

The black girl sneered. "Oh yeah? Who the fuck are you?"

"Amy Dallon. Maybe you've heard of me?"

She wasn't sure dropping her name would work, but, surprisingly, it got a reaction from the two of them. The redhead inhaled, shooting a glance at the black girl--who seemed to be looking at her with a calculating expression.

"...Whatever," she said finally, tossing the gangly nerd aside. "She should get the message now anyway."

"You'll want to be careful, hero," the redhead shot over her shoulder as the two of them walked away. "Not everyone you save deserves compassion."

"Oh god, I actually said that, didn't I..."

"Yes, you did. And yes, you've already beaten yourself up over it. We're cool."

Amy scowled at the retreating pair, before helping the taller girl up. "Hey, you--what am I saying, of course you're not okay. Come on, let's get you to the nurse."

"Yeah, I... guess that's a good idea," mumbled the girl.

Up close, Amy could tell that despite the glasses and the bruise on her face, she was actually kind of pretty. Her black locks framed a face that could have come from a classical portrait, with deep brown eyes and soft, wide lips.

"Amy, come on..."

"You were always beautiful and you know it."

"Geeze..."

Shaking off the heat in her cheeks, Amy checked her map again. "Alright, the nurse's office should be this way..."

"Um. Thanks, but... you don't have to come with me..."

"Well excuse me for having some basic human decency," Amy griped. "Like I'd just leave you there on your own."

"...sorry--"

"No," Amy interjected. "Don't apologize for anything you don't need to. This school is the last place you want to be seen as weak, you can't afford to not grow a spine."

"Hahahaha!"

"Sophia..."

"It's still fucking hilarious, you know. After all the crap you all gave me about my predator thing, that's what you said to her?"

"The difference, Sophia, is that I wasn't saying she should beat up anybody weaker than her."

"Yeah, I know, I know. Just... fuckin' irony, am I right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway..."

The girl awkwardly cleared her throat. "So, uh... I'm Taylor. Taylor Hebert."

"Amy Dallon." Amy shrugged. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but the circumstances don't exactly support that."

"Right. Um... are you famous?"

"What?"

"Cause, well, you said your name, and Sophia and Emma seemed to recognize it, so... um."

Amy rolled her eyes. "You know New Wave?"

"...They're that family of capes, right? The ones that fly."

"Okay, first of all, only four of us fly. Secondly, I'm--I'm Carol Dallon's daughter. You know, Brandish? Laser swords and stuff."

Taylor blinked. "Oh. OH! You're a cape?"

"No."

"Right, secret identity, sorry--"

"No, I mean, I don't have powers," Amy explained. "Maybe I'll get powers later, but I don't have powers. I'm not a cape. I'm just," Amy huffed, "an ordinary girl with a family of superheroes."

"...Sounds like a three-star sitcom."

Crystal burst out laughing. "Oh my god--did you actually say that?"

"No," Taylor deadpanned. "I said it sounded like a four-star sitcom."

"That's our Taylor," Emma said fondly. "Her tongue's as sharp as her wit."

"Anyway, when we got to the nurse's office, I discovered Madison had been stalking me," Amy said casually.

Madison huffed. "I was a cape geek! And I backed off after you gave me your autograph!"

"I wasn't even a cape back then!"

"...Okay, yeah, I was pretty bad," Madison admitted awkwardly. "I'm a lot better now, though! Right?"

"Better. Yes. That is certainly one way to put things," Lisa deadpanned, ignoring Madison sticking her tongue out at her.

"So where were you during all this?" Crystal asked.

"Oh I wasn't even in Brockton Bay yet. I didn't get here until after Amy triggered."

"So because I was taking Taylor to the nurse's office, I was actually late for my first class," Amy said. "Like half a minute or so. And that's when I learned that the teachers at Winslow don't actually give a damn about their jobs."

"Except for Miss Knotts," Taylor corrected.

"Except for Miss Knotts," Amy agreed. "Seriously, that woman is a saint and a half..."

Chapter Text

Ruby lowered her scroll with a sigh, turning it off. She slumped against the traincar, looking up at the sun as she rubbed her neck.

There were a couple of different landmarks she could see from here. That huge mass of boats to the... she checked the sun... east. Yeah. There was also a few giant towers to the south. And something glowing out in the bay...

"How am I supposed to find Yang and Blake?" she asked her scroll. "No signal, nothing to show how far apart we fell..."

The lack of a familiar weight on her back was discomforting. More so the knowledge that her weapon, her baby, was somewhere in this city without her...

Without any clear goal, any direction she could follow, the weight of the past couple of days began to sink into Ruby's mind. Every last detail bobbing up. Ironwood's sudden descent into madness, her own argument with Yang, the hound and the terrible truth it revealed...

...Penny... everything that had happened to Penny...

She didn't even know if her plan had worked, in the end. People were still running, Penny still fighting Cinder, when she fell, and now--

Ruby couldn't distract herself with heroics, with action anymore. There was no one to reach out to. Nobody to save. Nothing to do but think, think, think, the pain and the fear and the anger all melting rivers of sorrow into her heart. Without even consciously realizing what she was doing, she pulled her knees up and quietly began to cry.

It wasn't a confident huntress that finally meandered out of the abandoned trainyard an hour later. It was a haggard, lost girl, looking less for anything in particular and just... wandering. There was a vague notion of finding food, shelter, water... essentials, to keep herself alive. But it wasn't a goal. Not a direction. Just an automatic concept.

Despite the miasma settling into her thoughts, Ruby was not totally oblivious. She kept her eyes on the suspiciously omnipresent number of raggedly dressed people, kept her hood up to avoid certain types of gaze, kept her feet moving when she heard voices calling after her. She wouldn't respond to girlie, any more than she would to bitch. There would always some that would prey on the desperate. Not quite Grimm in human form... though she wouldn't hesitate to call them creeps.

Nobody around her seemed to have an active aura, at least. There were a few that carried... frankly, tiny guns, or knives that could maybe skin a rabbit. Maybe this was a peaceful town. Or maybe it was like Mantle, too beaten down to defend itself.

One boot in front of the other, Ruby walked. One foot in front of the other, on automatic.

A faint sound caught her ears. A sound... familiar, in an unfortunate manner. It was a sound she'd heard herself--made herself--not even an hour ago. The sound of someone crying, and trying not to be heard.

Nobody else seemed to as much as acknowledge it, so maybe it wasn't... real. Ruby could believe she was hallucinating, after everything. Stress... stress was a thing, after all. It broke minds... she knew it broke minds. She'd seen it break minds.

Still...

Ruby followed the faint sound into a nearby alleyway, walking past a dumpster and a few trash cans. There was a girl... her age, maybe older, in dirty overalls and a white shirt. She couldn't see the girl's eyes through her ragged dark hair, but she could see the way her hands were clutching at her arms she didn't need to.

She pulled back her hood, sitting down across from the stranger. "...Hey."

The girl jerked her head up, half-rising as she stared warily. "...the fuck do you want?"

"I just want to help," Ruby said gently. "It's, uh... it's kind of my thing."

"Didn't think an empire girl would want to help somebody like me."

"Empire?"

The girl scoffed. "Don't play dumb, you're wearing their colors."

Ruby looked down at herself. "I... just got into town," she said carefully. "I've never heard of this Empire before."

"You really expect me to believe that?" the stranger snapped. "Like you didn't come into this alleyway looking to fuck up a black girl?!" Bits of detritus began to circle around her feet. "I lost my home because of you bastards!" the girl snarled. "I've been living on the streets for weeks! You really think I'd roll over for you fuckers now?! Bring it on, bitch!"

Ruby shut her eyes, taking a deep breath as she stood up.

Then she stepped forward and wrapped the girl in a hug.

"...W--what?!"

"I'm sorry," Ruby murmured gently. "I know what it's like to lose your home, your friends... your family. And I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Stop it," the girl growled, trying to hold onto her rage. "Stop--stop pretending you understand--"

"It's hard, trying to live when your life has been upended. I get it. I..." Ruby swallowed. "I got separated from my friends, and my sister, and I don't even know where I am, and--"

She took a breath.

"...that's not important right now. The point is... I understand."

The bits of detritus slowed, descending to the ground as the girl in Ruby's arms huffed. "You're some kind of fucked up," she muttered, the remnants of her anger still burning bitter tones into her voice. "A random girl starts yelling at you and you decide to hug her? What kind of fairy tale world do you live in?"

"The kind where monsters can smell sadness and fear."

That got a bark of laughter out of the girl, who pushed her back a bit. "What, really?"

"Yeah..." Ruby rubbed the back of her head. "Yeah... it's kind of a major problem, there's an entire career path about hunting them..."

"I'll bet." The girl huffed, shaking her head. "You're really new in town?"

"Yeah."

"And you're wearing the empire's colors. Shit." The girl looked her over. "Actually, what the fuck are you wearing? I can't tell if you're supposed to be a cape or a whore."

Ruby gave her a flat look. "Gee, thanks."

"Fuck, I didn't mean--shit." The girl groaned. "God, I'm fucking terrible at this. I didn't really have friends before... well." She clutched her arms, glancing away awkwardly. "You know."

"Right. Um." Ruby stuck out her hand. "I'm Ruby Rose."

"Is that your cape name or..."

"It's my name. The one my mom gave me."

The girl stared at her hand for a moment. "...Fuck it," she said with a shrug, "you've already seen my face. Aella Sockson." She took the hand and shook it.

"It's good to meet you, Aella."

"Yeah, sure it is." Aella pulled her hand back. "Look... I'm sorry about exploding at you. You... seem like a nice, weird girl. Wait, I mean--"

"It's okay, I guess... I guess I am a little weird," Ruby admitted with a smile. "So, uh... what exactly is this Empire, anyway?"

Aella growled. "Oh, just about the worst fuckers in town. They're actual fucking nazis, you see..."

Chapter Text

"Aaaaah, Perry the Platypus." The lanky man smirked evilly, putting his spoon into his yogurt cup. "How do you like my literary trap? I got the idea while I was reading some old books."

"Chrrrrrr," chrrrred the teal platypus, glowering from behind the bookcases surrounding him.

"Come now, Perry the Platypus, you're quite fortunate. There's plenty of classics here, like... uh... War and Peace, Pride and Prejudice, Crime and Punishment... Wow, there are a lot of And titles here, aren't there?" The man ran a finger along the spines. "Spice and Wolf? I don't even read japanese! How'd that get there? Uh... Well, the point is, you have a lot of reading material right now. You should be grateful, Perry the Platypus, not everyone has access to such a wealth of knowledge!"

Perry gave him a flat look.

"...Yes, yes, I know it's not really that much of a positive." The man sighed, putting a yogurt cup on a nearby table and leaning against it. "It's all relative, you know? Being captured is an inconvenience, and getting books doesn't really improve the situation. But hey, you're a secret agent that almost always beats your nemesis and has a really cool fedora. Me, I'm just an evil scientist trying to take over the Tri-State Area with high-tech devices. Or fixing moderate problems with high-tech devices. Or getting revenge with high-tech devices. Or trying to be a good dad." He paused, thoughtfully. "Hmm. Should I use more high-tech devices for that?"

"Chrrrrrrr."

The man nodded. "Yeah, I guess you've got a point. What I'm saying is that this whole evil scientist thing? It's tiring, after a while. I mean how many times have you foiled my schemes so far? It's gotta be... like, a lot. I don't know, I don't have the actual calendar transcripts in front of me. It gets to me sometimes, just... all those defeats, all that struggle, all the trials in my life... yeah. It's like I'm fate's plaything. Sometimes I feel like it's pointing and laughing at me. 'Hahaha, there's Heinz Doofenshmirtz, let's see what funny trauma he can suffer this time!' It's just... aggravating, Perry the Platypus. SO frustrating."

Perry nodded sympathetically, subtly taking the books off the shelves surrounding him.

"So I decided to flip the script! Instead of fate pointing and laughing at me, I'm going to point and laugh at fate! Or, you know, somebody who metaphorically represents fate. Buuuut then I decided that was waaaaaay too difficult, so I figured I'd find somebody who has it worse than me and point and laugh at them, instead. But where would I find anybody like that? They're not likely to live in Danville, or Drusselstein, or anywhere on the planet. And then... it hit me!" Doofenshmirtze frowned. "Rather literally, actually, I was going through some old project files, and a box of paperwork fell on my head."

Doofenshmirtz smirked evilly and pulled a remote out of his labcoat, pressing the button with a flourish that knocked the yogurt cup on the ground. "BEHOLD, MY OTHER-DIMENSIONINATOR!" he cried as a spotlight switched on, illuminating the machine behind him. "Slightly modified, I swapped out the self-destruct for a targeting system, and rotated the portal aperture device by a third. Turns out it's more energy-efficient to pull in objects than to do that whole portal-opening thing!" He paused. "I think. I don't actually remember ever using this. Which is weird, because the paperwork says I built it before..."

Perry shiftily avoided meeting his eyes.

"With this machine, I will search the multiverse for somebody whose life is worse than mine! Then I will bring them here, point at them, and laugh! AHAHAHAHAHAAAA! Finally, I won't be the butt of fate's constant evil jokes!"

"Chrrrrrrr," Perry pointed out.

"What? No! It'll be hilarious! I mean," Doofenshmirtz frowned, "unless their life is so bad that it's not funny. I guess that could happen." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll help them out then. Oh! And they'll be so grateful they'll be willing to help me out in my plans to take over the Tri-State Area! It's a win-win! Now, let's see what poor sod has a life worse than mine!"

He spun on his heel, cackling maniacally--

"OH!" His foot stopped in mid-air. "Ha! I nearly stepped on that yogurt cup, did you see that Perry the Platypus? I should pick this up and put it in the trash. I don't want to go slipping around and accidentally messing up any delicate electronics, after all." The evil scientist picked up the yogurt cup and dropped it in a trash can. "There. Now where was I... oh right! I was about to summon somebody to laugh at!"

Doofenshmirtz took one step forward, slipped on a pencil, and flailed wildly as he fell toward the Other-Dimensioninator. His head slammed against the controls, pushing a slider to the maximum before he caught himself on the activation button.

"Oh. Huh." The evil scientist looked up at the machine as it began to glow ominously. "Wow, that's... not necessarily a bad thing. Let's see, what's the input say... oh!" He looked over his shoulder at Perry. "Yeah, we should shut our eyes. You know. Before we go blind from the imminent city-wide flash. I don't think it'll be permanent, mind you, it's just a really big flash, you know, like a camera or--"

A blinding flash of green-white light burst out from the machine, flying through the walls and across the entire city with a shriek of agony helpfully provided by Doofenshmirtz.

"AAAAAAAAAAEWAGH! OW! Oh god! I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING!" The doctor rubbed at his eyes. "Gotta blink away the black floaty things..."

Perry sidled out of the bookshelf, taking off the sunglasses he was wearing and putting them back in his fedora. He looked to the machine warily, wondering just what that flash of light portended...

Taylor Hebert opened the front door, and stared out at an unfamiliar street.

"Uh, Dad? I don't think we're in Brockton Bay anymore..."

Chapter Text

"Alright." Director Emily Piggot sighed, arranging the files in front of her and looking at the various capes assembled at the table. "Let's get this over with. At approximately 1643 hours, the entirety of the city was enveloped in a bright greenish-white light which caused temporary blindness that thankfully faded after an average of ten seconds. Another effect of the light was Brockton Bay's apparent transportation to Danville, a city in the northwestern part of America. This should have been a devastating transition for both cities--car crashes, incompatible infrastructure, that sort of thing--but by all reports Brockton Bay slotted into Danville without any serious logistical issues."

"Convenient," noted Assault.

"Suspiciously so," the director agreed. "Especially since mounting evidence suggests we're no longer on our own Earth."

Triumph stiffened. "What? How can you know that?"

"I was outside when the transition happened," Velocity told him. "Took a look around while I was heading back, and... there are unfamiliar brands, and familiar brands don't exist. There seem to be parahuman equivalents here and there, but they're much rarer, and there's no PRT. And, well..." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Everyone seems to have four fingers on their hands. Not five, like we do."

"It's an initial assessment, but not one without merit," the director said. "Triumph, as soon as this meeting is over, I'm going to send you to your father's office out of costume. Our short-term goal is to recover from the transition, preferably without upsetting the locals, and that means making sure Roy gets in contact with the local government and smooths over ruffled feathers."

Triumph swallowed. "Y-yes ma'am. Uh... if the streets have changed--"

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." Director Piggot folded her hands together. "This situation was no accident--the transition was far too clean for it to be--but whoever brought us here is clearly trained in long-term subversive techniques if they were able to hide their operations from us for so long."

"Or possibly a local," Assault pointed out.

"Also possible," Director Piggot conceded. "But that doesn't change much. Our long-term goal is to find out who did this, how, and how we can get back to Earth Bet. We'll be coming up with a strategy for that in the coming weeks, but first: damage reports. Armsmaster?"

"The transition did cause some network issues at headquarters and on the rig," the man in blue power armor stated. "Surprisingly minor, given the total disconnect from Earth Bet's power grid, but rebooting the computer systems and hooking them up to the local networks will likely take a few days. Assuming that it's even allowed by the locals... or that nothing else crops up." He paused. "Dragon's own armor suffered a similar disconnect, but she assures me that it'll be functional within the hour. Her primary concern at the moment is her disconnect from the Guild network."

"Hopefully they'll be able to handle things without her in the interim," Dauntless muttered. "I don't like wondering what'll happen if the Birdcage broke down."

"She assures me that her responsibilities should be handled by backup programming she put in place." Armsmaster glanced at a clipboard in his hand. "Aside from the network issues, there are a few cases of electronic breakdown both here and on the rig. All our tinkertech had a... hiccup, for lack of a better word. While nonfunctional at the moment, it might be possible for Dragon and I to repair everything, though it would take me off the patrol roster."

"Patrols are going to be a complicated issue in an entirely new city," the director pointed out. "We're going to need to get used to new streets, new capes, differing laws... and that's before we consider how our own gangs are going to match up to the local criminal element. You'll likely be off the streets for a few days anyway." She tapped her pencil on the table. "Would Kid Win be able to accelerate the process?"

"I... do not know if he's ready for that responsibility."

"We can figure that out later," Piggot decided. "It's likely that everyone from Brockton Bay is having similar network issues. I'm not sure if the locals would also be suffering from the same issues, but I wouldn't be surprised. Helping smooth over that sort of issue could likely endear us to the city."

"Hey, what if Kid Win was put in charge of that?" Assault suggested, sitting up. "Actually, what if the Wards all did a check-up patrol? Show the flag, introduce the civilians to the friendly kid angle... keeps them from getting antsy while waiting for orders."

Director Piggot frowned, but nodded reluctantly. "Reasonable. Since Armsmaster and Triumph will be busy, I'll leave you, Battery, and Militia to chaperone the wards on an impromptu patrol. That should be two for each of you, I'll leave you to sort out the details."

"Console's still down," Militia pointed out. "What should we do if we encounter a situation?"

"Use your best judgment. Priority should be given to situations involving capes--I don't want the locals to think we can't clean up after our own mess." She sighed. "Which reminds me: Velocity, you're going to have to go to New Wave and make sure they're caught up on all this."

Velocity nodded.

"Dauntless, I'm leaving you on base to handle... anything unexpected," Piggot said. "You'll be under Armsmaster and Dragon's command." She sighed, flipping through the files. "We don't know how long we're going to be here, so we have to hope we make a good impression. Between the flash affecting Brockton Bay and the possible reactions of the locals, I'm certain there'll be more than a few cases of hysteria we have to defuse."

"Huh." Sherman leaned out of the tour bus window. "Hey guys, you see that weird collection of sci-fi-looking buildings floating in the bay?"

"Huh, yeah." Bobbi lowered his glasses. "Those weren't there before."

"Flash of light, and suddenly new buildings?" Danny grinned. "You know what that reminds me of?"

Sherman and Bobbi both rolled their eyes. "The '87 Washington tour," they choursed blandy.

"The '87 Washington tour!" Danny cheered. "Be on the lookout for grumpy pancakes!"

Chapter Text

Taylor chewed her lip as she walked down the street, carefully not meeting the eyes of any of the people wandering around in confusion. Some of them she recognized, vaguely, as neighbors and other citizens of Brockton Bay. Others she didn't recognize at all. Listening through her swarm had given her some insight into the whole situation, with multiple people talking about a broadcast that had gone out less than an hour ago... on the network native to this reality. The idea that Brockton Bay could just be transported to another world, though, was mind-boggling. Nobody could just hear something that strange and just say 'that's cool, so what are we going to do today?'

"Huh, an entire city from another world was just transported to Danville! That's cool. So what are we going to do today?"

Taylor did not jerk around in shocked disbelief, mostly because the ants in the nearby lawn were doing it for her. She carefully wandered past, focusing her swarm through the house and yard as she glanced over the fence.

"You've got a point, Ferb," said a boy with a large nose--large enough to make his head look like a triangle. "This entire situation would be very disruptive and upsetting for the Brocktonians. Or is it Brocktonites? Brocktonese...?"

The other boy, who had a strangely cubical nose and green hair, gave him a flat look.

"We should do something for them!" the triangle boy declared. "Make a welcoming package for everybody who got sent here. But what would we put in it? And how many packages should we make?"

Taylor smiled wryly to herself as she walked on, passing a darkhaired girl in a pink dress who made a beeline for the backyard gate. Okay, so innocent and naive kids could maybe just accept the new paradigm without any real concern. The inside of their house seemed pretty normal, aside from... all the hidden tunnels and pipes... leading to an underground garage...?

"Hey Phineas! Wat'cha dooooin?"

"Oh hey Isabella! We're planning on making a welcoming package to give to everyone in Brockton Bay!"

Taylor cautiously approached what seemed to be an auxillary entrance to the underground base. She lifted the trash can lid. The can itself seemed quite empty, but she was able to work some bugs in and out of various cracks near the bottom.

"One big welcoming package or thirty-five hundred thousand individual ones?"

"Hmm. What do you think, Ferb?"

Dead silence came through the swarm for a few seconds. Taylor rolled her eyes and put the lid back on the trash can, turning around to head back home.

"Yeah, good point. I guess we'd need to know more about them before we made a big production. A few hundred thousand gift baskets it is!"

"We should put in the essentials. You know, a few hundred bolts, a set of basic tools--"

"And a few food items!" Isabella suggested. "Nonperishable goods. Oh, and some cakes and cookies. You think the Brocktonborn like jewish food?"

Taylor jerked to a stop.

"We could scale up some Lekach recepies, maybe make some strudel to throw in."

"That's a great idea!" the triangle-headed boy proclaimed. "Heck, let's throw in stuff from all our cultures! Mexican artwork, Indian poetry, British tea!"

"I'm sure everyone from Brockton Bay will love our multicultural greeting baskets!"

Taylor looked over the fence, taking in the smiling little girl in a pink dress and bow. A horrifically unbidden image rose in her head, of that little girl cheerfully holding a basket and knocking on a door, only to come face to face with the snarling metal visage of Hookwolf. She banished it from her mind, but it was swiftly replaced with the vague idea of the drug-addicted Merchants inviting her in for a party, or the draconic visage of Lung looking the girl over and snatching her up--

She hung her head with a long, resigned sigh.

Then she headed for the backyard gate, knocking on it carefully. "Uh... excuse me?"

"Oh hi!" The triangle-headed boy waved. "I'm Phineas Flynn and this is my brother Ferb Fletcher. And our neighbor, Isabella Garcia-Shapriro."

"Hi!" the girl waved.

"Hello. I'm... my name is Taylor Hebert."

"Nice to meet you, Taylor!" Phineas greeted happily. Ferb cleared his throat, flicking his eyes significantly. "Oh! Hey, are you a Brocktonary?" Phineas added curiously.

"...I'm from Brockton Bay, if that's what you're asking."

"That's perfect! We could really use your advice on something. Come on in!"

Taylor pushed the fence gate open, surprised that it was unlocked. Then she glanced at the glass sliding doors and winced. "Yeah... you really could use my advice..."

"So," Phineas began as she walked over, "what exactly do you think the average citizen of Brockton Bay would appreciate in a greeting gift basket?"

"It's not the average citizen you need to worry about," Taylor informed him, sitting down warily. "It's... the capes."

"The what?"

"The parahumans." She took in the confused expressions. "The, uh, people with super powers?"

"You guys have superheroes?" Isabella gasped eagerly. "Real live superheroes?"

Taylor nodded. "And supervillains."

"Oh." Isabella deflated a little. "At least the superheroes outnumber them, right?"

"....nnno. No they don't."

"Well then, we just won't deliver any gift baskets to the supervillains," Phineas decided. "All we have to do is avoid their evil lairs."

"They, uh, don't have lairs," Taylor explained. "At least, I don't think they do. Maybe they have hideouts? But the capes in charge of the gangs probably have ordinary homes they go to when they're not fighting."

"Gangs?"

Taylor took a breath. "Okay, so from the top...."

"...and that summarizes all I know. Which isn't a lot, I know, I only really started looking into things a few months ago."

"I am highly offended that the largest criminal element in your city is a group of neonazi wannabes who regularly mangle mythology for their racist ideology," Isabella stated flatly. "I'm tempted to load the gift baskets with multicultural foodstuffs just to spite them."

Taylor cringed. "That... might not be the wisest idea."

"Oh I know, I'm not stupid. Just mildly vengeful."

"Good. So... it might be best if you avoided going around and knocking on people's doors," Taylor repeated. "I don't want you to endanger yourself while trying to help."

"Well, it's a good thing we weren't planning on delivering the gift baskets in person anyway," Phineas decided. "I mean, thirty five hundred thousand people? That would be wildly ineffecient."

"Better to rely on the mail," Taylor agreed.

"Or on this automatic self-motivated gift basket production machine," Phineas stated, gesturing to the machine that now took up half the backyard.

Taylor's lips twitched. "Or that," she jokingly conceded, looking at the very fancy piece of playground equipment Ferb had put together while she was explaining things. "I'm sure it's a wonderful... uh..."

A basket with food, supplies, and a well-written welcoming note on fancy stationary glided out of the object. It scanned all four of them with some sort of light thing, beeped when it hit Taylor, and hovered toward her. She took the handle with some shock.

"It works!" Phineas declared happily. "Now we just have to keep the system topped off until we send out enough baskets for everyone!"

"Um," Taylor said intelligently.

Isabella gave her a smug grin. "Yeah, they do that."

Ferb looked around the yard. "Hmmm. Hey, where's Candace?"

Chapter Text

"So this is my house," Taylor said. "Obviously. Uh, don't step on that first step, it's broken."

Lisa hopped over the step casually. "Huh. Nice place. Little worn-down, but... it's pretty cozy."

"Thanks. So, uh..." Taylor rubbed the back of her head. "I... was going to offer you something to eat, but..."

"But you don't know what foxes eat, right? I get that. I don't know what foxes eat, and I am one!" Lisa shot her a wry grin. "Tell you what: I'll go commander your shower, and you can look that up while I'm rinsing up."

"Okay, sure. Bathroom's up the stairs, on the left."

"Thanks, it'll be nice to freshen up again."

Lisa trotted up the stairs and, after a careful examination of the doorknob, rose up to wrassle it into submission. It took some crafty clutching with her claws, but she managed it all on her own, which... okay, yeah, it was satisfying. A little bit of control, taken from an uncaring world!

God, everything sucked... but then again, what else was new?

Hopping into the tub, Lisa paused. Her eyes darted from the bar of soap, to the shampoo bottle, and back to the bar of soap. She sat down, staring at her own forepaws, then at the shampoo bottle. Then the bar of soap.

"...Taylor? I think I have a problem here!"

Fifteen very embarrassing minutes later, a towel-clad fox was grumpily lounging on her new friend's bed.

"...Uh..." Taylor coughed awkwardly. "Maybe I can get you a bath brush? Something you can hold in your..."

She trailed off.

"...In my mouth," Lisa finished.

"Erm."

"It's not a bad idea," she grumbled. "Very practical. Just... you know." She sighed. "Loss of humanity and all."

"I... sorry," Taylor mumbled.

"Not your fault," Lisa assured her. "I guess it could be mine, for praying to strange japanese spirits without thinking things through. But then, I was being chased by suspicious individuals, so..."

"Yeah..."

They sat in silence for a moment or two.

"...Hey." Lisa put a paw on Taylor's knee. "I'm just going through a hard time, okay? None of this is on you. I... might snap a little, but that's not your fault. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. Sor--"

"Nope. No apologizing for things that aren't your fault. My part of the deal is I'm supposed to be your friend, and... yeah." Lisa shrugged. "That's, that's what I'm going to do."

"...I'm still not sure what I'm going to tell Dad," Taylor mumbled. "I mean, I could say you wer a new pet--"

"That would be somewhat acceptable."

"--But, um. You're a fox. People don't usually have foxes as pets."

"It's not unheard of."

"But you have to go to an exotic pet store to get a fox as a pet, right? I can't just say I found you out in the woods or something."

"Sure you can. You'd just have to make sure I got my shots. One very awkward vet visit, and it'll all be fine."

"I meant that I don't usually go to the woods," Taylor deadpanned. "My dad's going to be suspicious enough about the whole fox thing without me throwing on 'and I irresponsibly wandered out of the city' on top of it."

Lisa shrugged. "So you found me in a trash can."

"No, that's worse."

"I followed you home."

"That's..." Taylor snorted. "Really. 'She followed me home, can I keep her?' Lisa, come on."

"You could tell him the truth," Lisa offered.

"No."

"I could tell him the truth."

"No! He--he's already got... a lot going on." Taylor took a breath. "I can handle this. I can handle this. I just need to figure out what to say."

Lisa took in the expression of distress on the girl's face and rolled her eyes. "Okay. Tell me about him."

"What?"

"Your dad. Come on, he's got to be more than just some guy. Is he, like, a sports fan? A nerd? Oh, is he secretly Armsmaster?"

"My dad isn't Armsmaster," Taylor deadpanned.

"How do you know?" Lisa joked. "Capes keep secret identities all the time!"

Taylor snorted. "The timing really doesn't work out. And there's no way Dad would fit into that power armor. I guess he might, maybe, be Dauntless, but even that's a stretch."

"So what is his job, anyway?"

"He's the head of hiring for the Dockworker's Association."

Lisa's ears perked up. "Ooooo. That's a lot of soft power."

"What?"

"The only legal power a union has is in their contracts, so they don't have a lot of 'hard' power. But Brockton Bay is a port city, and 'dockworker' covers a lot of trades. Get enough people organized and you can drown out most corrupt politicians with a bevy of complaints. And your dad's the one that hires these people, so there's probably a lot of trust in him."

"That's... not how it works," Taylor objected. "I mean, he's... a guy. And it's not like we get a lot of port trade, with Levithan and the Boat Graveyard..."

"Sure, sure, the Dockworker's Association probably can't operate like it used to, but that just means it needs to adapt and rebrand." Lisa tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I know! This is a town with a lot of cape fights, right? That comes with a lot of collateral damage--broken windows and streets, that sort of thing. If the DWA starts offering quick-response repair services--"

"He's not actually in charge, you know," Taylor pointed out.

"Not yet, he's not, but he's really high up there--"

"He wouldn't be a good fit as a leader anyway. He's... not been himself. Ever since Mom died, he's..."

Taylor's voice drifted off for a moment.

"...None of this really matters, what matters is how I'm going to explain--"

"How about I just stay out of sight?" Lisa offered. "Whenever he's home, I'll just live in your closet or something."

"I--...guess that could work," Taylor allowed. "I mean, it seems kind of sketchy--me hiding you in a closet, and you... not really getting to do much when he's around."

"Just hook me up with a smartphone." Lisa glanced at her paws. "Or a laptop, now that I think about it. That's probably a better idea."

"I guess, but that's not going to work forever--"

"Hey. Hey, Taylor. Look at me. Look me in the eyes."

Taylor sighed, looking at Lisa.

"You've done enough for today. Trust me. Just getting me a place to stay--even if it's just for tonight--that's wonderful. We can figure out what we're going to do about... all this, as we go."

"But--"

"Up-bub-bup-bup! I am older than you, therefore I am the mature one."

"That's not--"

"And I say that we've got a handle on the situation right now. Okay? No need to freak out."

"But my dad--"

"Does he love you?"

Taylor cringed. "...yes."

Lisa's ear flicked at the strange undertones of that word. She tapped into her power briefly--

A broken love is still love, though it cannot provide the care needed.

--and flinched a bit.

"What?"

"Just--" Lisa thought quickly. "--I told you my parents are assholes, right?"

"Oh, sorry I--"

"What did I say about apologizing for things that aren't your fault?" She gave the girl a sad smile. "It's good to know there's still some decency in the world, is all."

"Oh. Uh..."

"The point," Lisa continued, "is that if your father loves you--and he does--he'll probably accept you no matter what. Well," she shrugged, "unless you do something really bad like kill a baby or something, and even that's not a guarantee. Hiding a vixen in your closet? Totally normal teenage rebellion. It'll be fine."

"...why did you specifically use the word vixen?"

"What?" Lisa fluttered her eyelids. "Am I not pretty enough for you?"

"That would work a lot better if you actually had eyelashes."

"Tell me I'm pretty."

"You're... pretty cuddly."

"Oof!" Lisa put a paw to her chest. "A hit! A dead hit!"

Taylor snorted. "In all seriousness, you're a little too canid for me right now."

"I used to be a hot blonde, you know."

"Yeah, so you say." The girl stood up. "I'm going to get some food ready. Toss the towels in the hamper when you're dry, kay?"

The fox saluted. "Righto, chief! You're the boss!"

"No need to be dramatic about it..."

Lisa watched Taylor hide a grin of her own, waiting until she was out of earshot, before her ears folded back. Her power had sounded... different somehow. More poetic, more... amused. Alive. What was up with that?

Understanding the incomprehensible is itself an art form.

"Yeah, this is going to be weird," she muttered dryly.

Chapter Text

"Stacy, who else but my brothers could cause an entire city to be teleported from another reality and near-seamlessly integrated with the infrastructure of the city?"

"Weird things happen in Danville," Stacy pointed out. "You should probably call them to make sure. You don't want to look crazy in front of the Brocktonei."

"I thought it was Brocktoners?" Candace blinked, shaking her head and pulling out her cell phone. "Whatever, I guess you're right. Let me just ring them up..."

Stacy took a moment to glance around at the confused masses that had spontaneously appeared in the mall post-flash. Most of them were still wandering around in a daze, or trying to work nonfunctioning phones. Some of them, though, had expressions of anger or fear. "Maaaaaybe we should have this conversation somewhere private."

"Yeah yeah yeah, one second Stace. Hi, Phineas? Yeah, did you make something that could transport people in from other realities?"

"Uh..." Stacy noticed some eyes turning their way. "Candace?"

"You didn't? Really. Okay, so what did you do today?"

"Candace?"

"Gift baskets?! Huh. That sounds... actually nice and normal!"

"Candace!"

"What?" Candace snapped, looking at Stacy.

Stacy merely gestured at the crowd of people now surrounding them.

"Aheheheheheh... I'm going to call you back, Phineas." Candace snapped her phone shut. "Hey guys! You're looking... upset."

"What's this about another world?" one of the men growled.

"You didn't see the news bulletin?"

"Candace, the only reason we saw the news bulletin was that we were in front of an electronics store when it aired," Stacy pointed out reasonably. "So why don't we--calmly! Calmly.--summarize what it said, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah! Of course." Candace took a breath. "I am calm. I am serenity. I am--"

"Long story short, the big city-wide flash brought you and your city into Danville which is on another Earth and nobody knows why," Stacey summarized quickly. "The people up top are investigating and telling everyone not to panic, but--"

"Really? That's it?" The man scoffed. "Don't panic? What kind of morons do you take us for?"

"The kind neither of us are qualified to help out." Stacy began pushing Candace away. "So if you'll excuse us--"

"I heard that girl say her brothers did this!" shouted a woman.

"I didn't say that!" Candace objected. "I said they were making gift baskets for everyone from Brockton Bay!"

"What, you expect us to believe that?"

"But it's true--they are! I'm just--"

"Okay, okay, calm down everyone." A new voice cut through the crowd. "I saw the bulletin, too. Right place, right time, it was an electronics store. Our phones aren't working yet because they're not linked to the local service," continued the speaker, a blonde girl walking through the crowd. "Do you really want to pick a fight with a pair of teenagers just because you misheard something they said?"

The crowd glared at her suspiciously.

"In front of those very annoyed-looking security guards?" she added, pointing at the mall's upper level. "Is that really the first impression you want to give our new neighbors? Just go home. Check on your friends and family. I'm sure somebody's already organizing a response or three."

With some grumbles and huffs, the crowd began to disperse.

Candace heaved a sigh of relief. "Wow. Thanks, that could have gotten messy, fast."

"Yeah, you must be a regular superhero," Stacy agreed.

The blonde's lips twitched with amusement. "Yeah... yeah, something like that. You two sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine. Not the worst thing I've been through," Candace grumbled. "But an angry mob can ruin your day fast."

"...I'm surprised you have experience with mobs," the blonde said, looking her up and down. "You don't seem very, uh... mob-worthy."

"She's not," Stacy assured her. "But she's had an interesting life."

"That's one way to put it," Candace groused.

"Let's not overwhelm the girl," Stacy suggested gently. "We only just met her. I'm Stacy Hirano," she added, holding out her hand, "and this is my friend, Candace Flynn."

"Pleasure to meet you both," the blonde said, shaking the hand. "My name's Lisa Wilbourne."

"Welcome to Danville, Lisa. Hey, since you're already here, you want to come shopping with us? Maybe we can compare Brockton Bay fashion and Danville styles."

"Sure, why not? Most of my schedule's already thrown with everything going on." Lisa fell into lockstep with the pair of them. "And I can keep you two safe from Brockton Bay's more reprehensible sort."

"Is that really an issue?"

Lisa chuckled. "The PRT haven't quite worked up the gumption to slap the HOSV label on us, but there've been a few threats over the years."

"The PRT?" Candace gave her a curious look. "What's that?"

"The Parahuman Response Team. Government organization that deals with people who have superpowers."

Stacy blinked. "Wait, wait, hold on. Are you, like, actually a superhero?"

"Nope! But my job does involve them from time to time." Lisa grinned smugly. "I'm a parttime analyst for an independent contractual security assessment organization. Not really that important in the grand scheme of things, but sometimes people need to know if a tinker can break into their private vaults."

"Huh." Stacy looked her over. "I thought you were around our age, but you've got a job like that?"

"More an internship, really, but it was the kind of offer I couldn't refuse."

"Must be pretty interesting."

"You have no idea."

"Hey, what does HOSV mean anyway?" Candace asked casually.

"High Occurance of Supervillains. Or Hive Of Scum and Villainy. Depends on who you ask."

"...And your superhero organization has debated whether to call Brockton Bay one of those," Candace clarified warily.

"Yeah..." Lisa shrugged. "We've got a few gangs that have some powerful capes. You might want to watch your step from here on out."

"Oh." Candace's shoulders slumped. "Great. All that on top of whatever my brothers get up to..."

Lisa gave her a confused look. "Your brothers can't possibly--"

A small swarm of gift baskets floated by, scanning everyone as they passed. Some broke off and glided by startled individuals, one in particular hovering in front of Lisa's shocked face.

"Hmm. Scanner and hovertech--not that high by Phineas and Ferb standards," Stacy mused, "but given the sheer quantity of baskets they'd have to make, I'd rank this as a high middle sort of stunt."

"Wait. Her brothers made..." Lisa gestured. "Those?"

"Yep."

Lisa finally took her gift basket, looking through it with an odd expression. "And this is going to everyone from Brockton Bay."

"Probably."

"...yeah, there's going to be consequences for this..."

Chapter Text

The transfer of Brockton Bay to Earth Allegrezza and more specifically to the city of Danville has required a rapid adjustment of the PRT ENE to the new surroundings and, as such, there has been an unavoidable delay in regards to proper documentation. However, due to the impact that some locals have on a regular basis, it has been determined that a power and threat assessment is necessary to adapt to the new surroundings. This file is the first of the case 72 category, covering parahumans and/or parahuman-like individuals native to this reality.

Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher are a pair of prepubescent stepbrothers who have repeatedly created unusual and impossible devices within their own backyard. Surprisingly, while they regularly defy the laws of physics and nature, they will generally obey the laws of man, filing all proper paperwork and obtaining any permits required before beginning their projects, as well as providing proper safety equipment to anybody engaged with said project. This does not mean they will not exploit loopholes to achieve their goals, such as using 'remote control' to operate large-scale vehicles instead of trying to drive them without a license or sidestepping age requirments regarding heavy equipment by obtaining legal licenses through some unknown means. However, they do seem to understand the social contract that the law represents, and do not maliciously seek to subvert it, only using loopholes as a necessary step in the creation of their projects. In general, the boys are amicable and intelligent, and when not working on something for their own entertainment they can and do take requests from people around them.

THREAT RATING:

--Thinker 5: Phineas Flynn specializes in the creation and development of blueprints, specifically of high-tech devices and machinery. These blueprints have been shown to be highly replicable, despite seeming like tinkertech.

--Master/Trump 2:  Any individual who volunteers to help Phineas Flynn in one of his projects gains capability in whatever skill is needed to complete the project, no matter their initial skill level, until such a time as the project is completed.

--Tinker/Shaker 4: Ferb Fletcher can make anything he has a blueprint for, in a space of time ranging from minutes to a few hours. Whatever he makes is usually quite durable and surprisingly easy to transport.

--Thinker 3: Ferb Fletcher retains any skill he learns, and has assembled a collection of said skills over the course of his life, such as languages and tool use.

The above ratings are of the boys operating separately. If they work together, they are to be considered level 7 threats at a minimum, and more specific ratings are to be added in regards to the current project. General observation indicates that there is an inverse relationship between the size/scale of a project and the technological advancement said project exhibits; the initial greeting of Brockton Bay with gift baskets demonstrates both extremes, as the mass produced gift baskets only had relatively basic facial recognition and powered flight, but the production facility itself contained both the networking facilities necessary for the baskets to operate and the production ability of a dedicated factory despite being reported to only be as large as a playground fort. Assume that smaller devices are capable of feats that more blatantly defy physics.

Witness testimony indicates the existence of a 'mysterious force' that somehow prevents their mother Linda Flynn from ever witnessing any of their projects. Surprisingly, further investigation has proven this is an actual observable fact, as a coincidental event will relocate, alter, or destroy all evidence of tinkertech immediately prior to Linda Flynn's arrival, or events will otherwise conspire to create a logical disconnect between the boys' creation and Linda Flynn attributing unusual abilities to them, even when directly informed of what they are doing. This does not appear to be an inherent quality of Phineas and Ferb's inventions, as further observation indicates Linda Flynn also remains unaware of parahuman activity despite the presence of Brockton Bay's own parahuman population. The possibility has been suggested that Linda Flynn herself has a 'normalcy field' preventing her from witnessing anything unusual, which would give her a Shaker rating; however, given the difficulty of creating such a test, it remains speculative. This information is included based on its relevance to the projects that Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher engage in.

Strategy:

Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher are friendly and caring children, if a little overenthusiastic. It is unlikely there will ever be a need to engage them in conflict. However, their tendency to create reality-defying devices has skewed their viewpoint of what is and is not normal, so the possibility of one of their projects interfering with the standard operations of the city or a PRT engagement must be considered. Generally a polite explanation of the issue will lead the boys to alter their project in order to accommodate it, or perhaps relocate it entirely. It may also be possible to exploit the 'mysterious force' by redirecting Linda Flynn toward the project, in order to remove its interference, but due to poor understanding of how the force operates this may not work as hoped.

If Phineas and Ferb must be engaged in hostilities, either due to overenthusasim or outside forces mastering them, disabling their devices is a top priority. Ferb Fletcher is likely to also be a martial expert of some sort, due to his innate mastery of learned skills, and should be foamed at range in order to ensure containment. Once captured, both Phineas and Ferb should be searched for any and all tools on their person, moved to seperate cells, and monitored constantly for possible invention.

Notes:

Phineas and Ferb are children, local celebrities, and have powerful friends. That's three reasons for the PRT to never be seen in an aggressive stance against them. Fortunately, it almost certainly will never be necessary, as their own genuine nature and respect for safety removes them from positions where the PRT would need to intervene. It should also be noted that, as they are native to Earth Allegrezza, they do not technically fall under the PRT's purview. However, there is a valid concern that the gangs of Brockton Bay may move to recruit them; they are the ideal Tinker made manifest, able to do anything with a few hours and a good toolbox. It is too late to hide their existence from Brockton Bay, but priority should be given to obfuscating their presence from supervillains.

Chapter Text

The Organization Without a Cool Acronym is the apparent PRT equivilent of Earth Allegrezza, established to handle the wide number of villainous Tinkers within America and later expanding operations when said Tinkers did so as well. Unlike the PRT, O.W.C.A. operates clandestinely, attempting to keep the number of self-proclaimed 'evil scientists' obfuscated and hiding their own existence to such a degree that even their own title is nonindicitive. While they employ humans in the command and research branches of their operations, their clandestine nature has led them to employing animal agents to handle espionage against and direct engagements with villainous Tinkers. The PRT is not privy to the methods of creating and training of these agents at this time, but has been made aware of their existence after an incident where an O.W.C.A. agent intervened in a cape fight and was given an informatory pamphlet regarding their operations.

An O.W.C.A. agent's uniform consists solely of a brown hat with a black band, commonly called a fedora, tailored to fit on their head; they only wear these hats when officially on duty, and are instructed to keep their identity as an agent secret otherwise in order to keep O.W.C.A.'s operations secret. Identification of their cover identity may necessitate relocation, depending on the level of exposure it causes. After some discussion, the PRT have decided the standard protocol for treating cape and civilian identities as seperate can also be applied to O.W.C.A. agents.

THREAT RATING:

All O.W.C.A. agents can safely be assumed to have the following threat ratings:

--Thinker 2: As trained agents for an espionage group devoted to study and counterstrikes against antagonistic tinkers, O.W.C.A. agents are capable of rapid assessment of a situation as well as identifying potential weaknesses and counters to threats. Some may have a higher thinker rating due to innate senses or cybersecurity training.

--Stranger 2: O.W.C.A. agents are literal animals, able to disguise themselves as mindless creatures simply by taking off their hats. This has no actual mental effect, but relies on societal conditioning to remain effective; unfortunately, said societal condition is innate and widespread in human civilization.

--Striker 2: O.W.C.A. agents are trained in hand-to-hand combat and martial arts. Many also have natural weapons such as claws, horns, or teeth, which can raise their threat rating to 3, and a few have natural venoms distributed via fangs or barbs that would raise their threat rating to 4.

--Mover 1: O.W.C.A. agents are naturally athletic, in addition to often being larger or smaller than normal. Many are capable of flight, aquatically oriented, or otherwise have nonhuman methods of ambulation, which can raise this rating up as high as 3.

--Brute 1: O.W.C.A. agents do not have supernatural armor or healing, but they regularly engage in combat with dangerous individuals and have learned to roll with the punches. Some are members of larger animal species, such as bears, who deserve a higher Brute rating.

--Tinker 1+: While not Tinkers themselves, O.W.C.A. agents not only regularly deal with enemy tinkers but are also supported by O.W.C.A. themselves with a wide array of gadgets and devices useful in their duty. It is best to assume they have one such device on them at all times unless confirmed otherwise.

The above is the minimum threat rating, with particularly experienced and/or unusual O.W.C.A. agents possibly ranking higher.

Strategy:

O.W.C.A. agents are to be effectively considered the equivalent of a trained PRT Trooper and/or Trooper squad and assumed to have heroic inclinations. If encountered in the field, PRT personnel are to ignore their presence or to defer to them in any situation not involving a hostile parahuman native to Earth Bet, due to their experience and knowledge of the local situation. In cases where an Earth Bet parahuman is involved, PRT personnel have the authority to temporarily command any O.W.C.A. agent involved to the same extent they have authority over independent heroes. In cases where both a hostile parahuman and a hostile 'evil scientist' are involved, leadership and choices should be made on-site and review once the situation is resolved.

The O.W.C.A. has informed the PRT of the existence of rogue agents, but not the identity of rogue agents. Should the PRT encounter an animal in a fedora that is unreasonably hostile, the animal should be engaged at range with containment foam and standard sleeper darts until subdued. The animal will then be transferred to an O.W.C.A. truck and discretely dealt with by their standards.

In the event that the O.W.C.A. is subverted by a hostile element, removing said element and helping the proper authorities regain control is to be considered a top priority.

Notes:

These are animal superspies. We have to accept that we now live in a world with animal superspies who regularly engage in Bond-esque missions. Collaborative efforts between the O.W.C.A. and the PRT ENE may be possible at some point in the future, but there's a lot of prejudices and habits that we'll have to unlearn. Do not call them 'dumb animals', because they're not dumb. Do not suggest that their host families are 'just cover,' because those are their civilian lives. Learn to communicate with nonverbal individuals. Little things like that.

On another note, it is possible that O.W.C.A. agents are the result of biotinkering to some degree, but we can't confirm that without infiltrating or subverting the O.W.C.A. and that is a bad idea for numerous reasons. At the very least, O.W.C.A. agents do not appear to be having a negative impact on the biosphere. It's possible their intelligence will breed true and there will be a sudden society of animal people to deal with, but seeing as Earth Allegrezza has yet to collapse, things should be relatively safe for the moment.

Chapter Text

"Precious, precious water," I murmured as the shower cut off. "How I shall miss you so."

I let my concentration slip, fading mostly out of reality and back to the cool warmth of the void. My hands remained, working together to put toothpaste on my brush and wet it; my left held my glasses in front of my floating eyes so I could watch my right scrub my magnificent teeth into a gleaming sheen. One of the perks of my new state: I didn't really need a mirror to look myself over anymore, I just need to move my eyes to the right place. Or the left place, as the case might be. When I was satisfied that my teeth were nice and pristinely clean, I dropped the brush in the cup and let my hands slip away into nothingness.

"Which is more disturbing, a girl without a grin, or a grin without a girl?" My smile beamed at the rhetorical question. "Well, perhaps I'm biased either way, but I much prefer what I am today."

Humming to myself, I shut my eyes and opened them again. Dad was making breakfast in his usual frazzled way, something basic and functional. I felt bad about leaving him out of the loop, but just by existing I had enemies. And I'd likely have even more before the week ended--although if everything went according to plan I could finally come back home instead of ghosting him all the time. I was tempted to reach out, even now, just to let him know I was around. If things were safer...

No. Best not to think about it.

I turned my gaze away from Dad, moving up the stairs. Slinking under my bedroom door had taken some getting used to, but now my eyes simply slid through the crack. I called a hand to myself to pop the window open for a moment, shutting it after I was out and dismissing my fingers as I glided down to the mailbox.

"Now let us see what we have," I murmured as I reached my hand through the void space. "Bills, bills, junk mail, subscription ad--no, that magazine is run by nazis, gents, my father will NOT be subscribing to your work!--hmm, this all seems normal." I slipped most of the letters back into the mail, replacing the bogus subscription with another weekly update. Still safe, still hiding from mysterious enemies, and promising I could come back home soon.

Sparing one last look toward the house, I shut my eyes again. When I opened them again, I let a grin form beneath my eyes. "Hi Lisa."

"Gah!" Lisa spun around wildly, before crossing her arms with a huff. "Damn it, Cheshire, at least knock on wood!"

I complied by rapping a nearby table with a knuckle that only existed for two seconds. "You don't have to use my cape name, you know."

"Unwritten rules, you know."

"But Lisa, I'm not wearing a mask!" I wheedled.

"Your powers are a mask," Lisa shot back. "As long as you don't solidify, I'm talking to Cheshire, not Taylor."

"Oh phoo, you're no fun." Despite my complaining, I let myself fade back in. My face came first, then my hands flared out a shirt that suddenly filled with a torso. With a little flourish a pair of pants hung in front of me, each leg suddenly popping out a socked foot--and the pants ran off, trying to sneak into the kitchen. "Hey! Get back here!" I chased after them, my empty sleeves whipping behind me and leaving my poor hands stunned and confused--

"Yes, your stage magician act is hilarious," Lisa said dryly, fighting the slight twitch to her lips. "If we want to do this, though, I need you to be serious."

I sighed as my pants walked back into the room, taking a seat on the sofa and gathering myself. Lisa waited until my clothes were filled with my actual flesh before she pulled out her laptop. "Right, I've pulled everything I can from Coil's system. Adding in enough to bury him and keep the rest of the Undersiders out of trouble is trickier, but if a certain somebody manages to plug me into the system I'll probably be able to paint a picture for the PRT."

"Sounds rough. You sure you can make it happen this week?"

"Yeah, I'd better. You know how much of a paranoid fucker Coil is. We've got to move before the next Endbringer attack." Lisa sighed, gesturing at her laptop. "I don't know when that'll be, but it's gonna be soon. If we don't, he'll go on lockdown for a month at minimum."

I nodded my understanding. It was a small window of opportunity, and a lot had to happen in a short amount of time. But then again, this was never going to be clean and easy. Too many moving parts for that. The right people needed to hear the right things at the right time, or things would get nasty fastly.

"How're your anchors doing?"

I held up a finger, popping my eyes out and blinking rapidly. Parts of Brockton Bay flashed in front of my eyes--and only my eyes--as I checked on the small vessels of glowing violet blood hidden in various nooks and crannies. "Doesn't look like any of them have been discovered yet. Dallon house might need a refill soon, though."

Lisa snorted. "You and your soap opera."

"I'm serious, Lisa, we should do something about that after we handle Coil."

"Fine, fine, we can be proactive therapists." Lisa rolled her eyes. "You could have been a creepy ghost kind of cape, but you had to be a hero instead."

"Hey, I can be creepy and heroic!" I protested as I stood. "They're not mutually exclusive!"

"Taylor, you're spying on a superhero family for your own amusement."

I crossed my arms with melodramatic petulance. "I don't see your point."

"We're literally expecting Piggot to voluntarily throw herself into Master-Stranger isolation after you make contact."

"The Parahuman Response Team Responds to Parahumans," I countered. "It's only logical."

"Do you remember how we first met?"

"Okay, okay, so perhaps I'm a little mischievous," I allowed. "But there are plenty of guile heroes you can name, yes? You might soon be one of them."

Lisa shook her head. "You're impossible."

"Lisa, what is a hero if not one that makes life and the world better for others? And by that metric, am I not heroic?"

"You're a pain in the ass is what you are." Lisa waved a hand. "Go on Taylor. For justice or whatever."

I slipped back into the void, blinking until I saw my destination in front of me. "For justice."

After a moment of contemplation, I shrugged. "And a little bit of vengeance, too. Sophia won't know what hit her."

It was time for Cheshire to make her debut.

Chapter Text

Taylor watched in awe as hundreds of gift baskets poured out of the strange machine every minute, covering the sky in an array of bright wicker and scanning beams. "I don't believe it. I'm seeing it and I don't believe it."

"Mmmm..." Isabella rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Well, they're not bending the laws of physics this time, except for the whole mass production in a tiny space... but that is still pretty impressive. I'm going to put this one as a 7.2 out of 10 on the 'most impressive things Phineas and Ferb have done' scale."

"This is only a 7.2?"

"At a rough estimate." Isabella shrugged. "Could be lower, honestly. I'm a little biased."

"Alright, everyone, production seems to be going well." Phineas stepped out of the machine with a smile. "All we need to do now is maintain equilibrium, and things should take care of themselves."

"I don't believe it." Taylor stared up at the swarm of baskets. "I'm seeing it, and I don't believe it."

Isabella smirked at her. "Oh believe it, sister. This isn't even close to being the craziest thing they've done."

"What? What do you mean by that?"

"Weeeeeeelll..."

Taylor blinked, finally tearing her eyes from the swarm of gift baskets. "Uh..."

"Why are you--?" Taylor's question was interrupted by a guitar riff from Ferb.

"Okay, that's--that's good to know Candace--"

"Why is she singing?" Lisa whispered to Stacy.

"Shush, she's on a roll!"

"...where is that music coming from?" Lisa asked, staring around. "Does--does she have control of the mall's P.A. system?"

"No, that's just a Danville thing," Stacy assured her. "Oh look, here's the chorus girls!"

"Who are these people?!" Taylor cried, looking around wildly. "And how can I hear the other half of this song?!"

"Look Ferb, chorus girls!" Phineas waved brightly. "Hi ladies!"

Lisa glanced around carefully. The locals didn't seem disturbed at all, while her fellow Brocktonies were very visibly confused. Her eyes turned back to where Candace was... angrily dancing.

"Seriously, is this normal?"

"What, the musical number?" Stacy shrugged. "Yeah, pretty much."

"I... see," Lisa muttered.

Taylor boggled at the blatant choreography going on in front of her, and the complete lack of reaction that Phineas and Ferb were having to it.

How, she wondered in a daze, was Isabella keeping up with the professional dancers?

And when had Phineas pulled out an electric keyboard?!

"....why are you blushing?" Taylor asked suspiciously.

"What?" Isabella looked around quickly. "I'm not blushing, you're blushing!"

"But--"

"CHORUS GIRLS!"

Lisa watched the finale with some bemusement, quirking a brow as Candace somehow twirled down a human pyramid and landed arms extended right in front of her.

"...so, uh... do I applaud?" she asked Stacy, sotto voice.

"I mean, if you want to. Donations to the local choreography corps would probably be more appreciated."

"The what?"

"The choreography corps. What, do you not have those in your world?"

"We don't have spontaneous musical numbers, no," Lisa deadpanned.

"Huh." Stacy considered that for a moment, and then shrugged. "Weird."

"...okay." Taylor turned away from the baffling image of a green-haired boy writing out paychecks to a group of chorus girls. "Okay, so you have organizations devoted to... sudden musical numbers. That's... kind of bizarre, but alright." She took a breath. "What I want to know is where that other singer's voice was coming from!"

"Oh that's just a basic duet simulcast," Phineas explained. "Perfectly common."

"Perfectly common." Taylor nodded in disbelief. "This from the kid who built a miniature gift basket factory in his backyard."

"Yep."

"...You really don't understand how any of this is strange."

Isabella grinned. "I prefer the term extraordinary."

Chapter Text

Cheshire is an independent rogue/villain who first announced herself with the dramatic crime of shortchanging a grocery store seven dollars for a hundred and seven dollar purchase, immediately turning around and bribing ward Vista with supposedly illicitly gained ice cream to avoid her arrest. Since then, she has been pestering Brockton Bay in both helpful and frustrating ways. It is, after all, the civic duty of all who can offer alternatives to alternatively offer options to those who optionally feel opinions alternate of those whomst they live with, else freedom in forms is frightfully scarce.

Powers:

--Breaker/Mover 7: Cheshire's primary power is her presence within an extradimensional space, from which she can open semi-invisible portals that she can move around in realspace with precise control. Cheshire uses this to create 'detached limbs' in the physical realm, often showing only a smile and glowing eyes in one location while her hands perform activities elsewhere. Cheshire also exploits these portals as both a method of personal storage, via obvious means, and a vehicle for flight via using them as surfaces to support herself. Containment is contrary to the wonders of wonderland, after all, even considering conscription confirms command.

--Thinker 5: Cheshire's precise control of her personal portals grants her a high degree of environmental awareness and capability with espionage, as well as the Stranger, Shaker, and Brute ratings below. A skilled cat is she, one with elegance and poise becoming both her form and her name, though perhaps modesty she lacks by nature of the method she presents. Ironic for one so often unseen.

--Stranger 4: Cheshire is capable of sidestepping any physical defenses simply by her presence in an extradimensional space, and has precise enough control of her portals to allow her to peek in anywhere within her range. Methods for determining her range have yet to be solidified, but it can safely be assumed that she can sneak into any location no matter how secure it is. Or rather, unsafely assumed, as the entire point of this report is to describe the danger she presents to individuals and society as a whole. Though perhaps then it should be called a danger report, and not a threat assessment, as threat represents intent toward danger?

--Shaker 4: Cheshire can open and close portals anywhere within her range, and knows how to use this to her advantage; she is capable of tapping an agent on the shoulder from the next room entirely, or tripping up somebody she's not looking at without any apparent motion. It also makes her a skilled and varied typist, an excellent chef, a highly valuable librarian, and capable of holding multiple jobs at once.

--Brute 1: Cheshire is capable of dodging potential attacks by 'ducking out of reality', i.e. pulling the part of her body under assault back to its extradimensional space. Those whom have read the original text of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland know full well the Cheshire Cat originally appeared and dissappeared at will, and did so suddenly, only slowing down at request from a young girl. A bit of literary triva that is trivially relevant to the discussion at hand.

--Changer [UNCONFIRMED]: Cheshire has a colorful tail that has been used as an extra limb in confrontations. It is unclear if this tail is part of her costume that she is manipulating with clever portals, or an actual aspect of her biology. My, but isn't this a wonderful job to have, where studying the rear end of a young lady can be constituted as an actual legally mandated aspect of the work?

Strategy: While Cheshire is capable of potentially organization-breaking sabotage and scandal, she has thus far acted mostly toward the benefit of the PRT even if not officially employed. Current strategy is to attempt to softsell either a Wards invite or registration as an affiliated hero. In the event that Cheshire must be engaged in combat, the two most likely paths to success are either utilizing a parahuman power explicitly capable of locking down any mover, or spraying Cheshire with an adhesive but painful substance. This is an organization in the business of professional paranoia, after all, one which fights monsters both literal and metaphorical with powers diverse and overwhelming. Thus the touch of cruelty is to be expected, though perhaps not enjoyed.

Notes: Cheshire revels in the mischievous but ultimately helpful persona she's selected for herself, just as likely to prank somebody as to advise them. She has committed crimes, but they are deliberately (and bombastically) petty, such as paying only a hundred dollars for a hundred and seven dollar purchase. Given her interactions with the PRT in general, she seems to consider herself a performance artist in the political commentary sense, and is ultimately harmless to everything except our public perception.

And apparently our internal security. I only looked away for two minutes! Sorry, I've helpfully been informed it was two and a half minutes. She has a stopwatch.

Director Piggot massaged her temples as she read the report in front of her, taking in the nervous expression of the analyst who had typed up the report. "And you weren't aware of Cheshire's presence at all?" she asked sternly.

"Not until I put down my coffee."

"Despite her typing in twelve full sentences while you were distracted."

"She is apparently a very skilled typist. I think she used her portals instead of actually moving fingers across the keyboard."

"And how exactly did she get this... color text into an official PRT report?" Piggot asked.

"I... don't know."

"...add an unconfirmed Tinker rating," Piggot muttered. "Actually, make it a Tinker 0, she can sabotage and manipulate equipment with her portals after all. Best to keep the report up to date."

"Alright. Uh... what's the shorthand for the troopers going to be?"

"Mover/Shaker 7, teleporter. Probably the most concise summary that'll still be valuable in the field." The director gave the analyst a look. "And get a tech team to look over our systems, I don't want to find out she used the distraction to subvert us."

"Yes ma'am."

Piggot sighed as the door swung shut, picking up her reading where she'd left off. At least Cheshire was choosing to be a trickster instead of a whistleblower, she could bury the PRT with all the dirt she gathered on Swarm alone...

Chapter Text

"So how's the groupchat going?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, yesterday we compared monsters, and the day before that we compared average schooling. I think today we're going to compare powers."

"How do you know that?"

"Because today is the day I explain Earth Bet, and powers seems to be the inevitable offshoot of that discussion."

"That makes sense," Vicky agreed. "You know, if you need any advice on that angle, I know a lot about parahuman theory."

"Why are you so interested anyway?"

Vicky gave her a flat look. "Ames. You are talking to a literal princess, an alien, and... what is Blake again?"

"A faunus. She's a girl with cat ears."

"Yeah, that! And she's a hero in training!" Vicky smiled as they landed in front of their house. "Why wouldn't I be interested?"

Amy shook her head, but there was a small smile on her face. "I guess it is kind of cool..."

"And it's great to know you have friends of your own," Vicky added. "Even if they're just internet friends from another world."

"Or I've finally snapped," Amy pointed out.

"Talking to the voices in your head is pretty harmless. Just let me know if they start telling you to hurt people--including yourself."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just as long as you don't tell Mom."

"No duh. I'll only do that if it's really serious."

HealerBitch: Alright, I'm back home and set up in my room, let's get this [INSERT ELODIE-APPROPRIATE SWEAR HERE] started.

Flower_In_Shadow: Nice to see you're making an effort.

HealerBitch: No, I'm genuinely unsure what form of crude language is appropriate. On the one hand she's only fourteen, but on the other she lives in a medieval era, so there haven't been generations of puritans scrubbing the language.

tZorah: It bothers me to no end that I can understand that reasoning.

ИElodie: Amy, is it standard practice in your world to attempt to offend everyone?

HealerBitch: Nah, it takes a qualified expert.

Flower_In_Shadow: Of course it does...

Amy smirked to herself at the chatroom's reactions.

"Something funny?" Vicky asked.

"Eh, just chatroom shenanigans."

HealerBitch: Alright, so yesterday Blake told us all about monsters. Today I'm going to tell you all about super powers!

HealerBitch: Settle in, class, this is going to get rough.

tZorah: Superpowers? What, like biotics?

HealerBitch: Maybe, but let me explain what Parahumans are first. Then we'll spin off into talking about the powers your world has.

HealerBitch: Like we did with education and monsters.

Flower_In_Shadow: We don't necessarily have to follow the pattern...

HealerBitch: I like a little predictability in my unpredictable cross-reality chatroom.

Flower_In_Shadow: Fair.

HealerBitch: So... Parahumans. About thirty years ago, a naked golden man was spotted flying over the ocean, and since then there's been a gradual increase in people who have superpowers.

HealerBitch: My sister and I are second generation. She can fly and lift cars, I heal people, things like that. Our mom does laser swords, her boyfriend shoots emotions out of his fingers, it's all weird.

tZorah: How does any of this work? It sounds insane!

HealerBitch: Yeah, there's been some research and we've figured out a few patterns.

HealerBitch: The Corona Pollentia is a structure in the brain that around twenty percent of people develop. On its own, it does nothing, but if somebody with a Pollentia has a trigger event, they grow another brain structure called a Gemma and gain superpowers.

ИElodie: How does one go through a trigger event?

Amy took a sharp breath.

"Ames?"

"They just asked about trigger events," Amy explained. "Different worlds, but--"

Vicky clasped her hand sympathetically.

HealerBitch: Trauma.

HealerBitch: Really... really deep and personal trauma.

ИElodie: Oh.

Flower_In_Shadow: That's... certainly one way to gain powers...

HealerBitch: Yeah.

HealerBitch: Anyway, that's the how. The PRT came up with a whole classification system--1 to 10 for how dangerous you are, specific names for different types of powers. It's useful quickhand.

HealerBitch: There's even a little nursery rhyme: Mover, Shaker, Brute and Breaker. Master, Tinker, Blaster and Thinker. Striker, Changer, Trump and Stranger.

tZorah: I can see how that would be useful. How does that classification system work?

HealerBitch: Well, for example, I'm considered a Striker 4, since I need direct physical contact to heal people. Little bit of Thinker too, since I see the entire biology of somebody when I touch them.

HealerBitch: My sister's a Mover 4 (flight) Brute 5 (super strength and personal force field) and Shaker 2 (she has this thing where everyone around her is in awe of her).

tZorah: But nobody knows the full mechanics behind powers? The laws of physics and all that?

HealerBitch: The PRT does have scientists studying it all, but... well, powers are bullshit. That's just basically it.

Flower_In_Shadow: Hmmm. It sounds like you're in the early stages of aura research.

HealerBitch: Aura--right, your soul magic stuff.