Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

If shot from the correct angle, Winslow High School wouldn't look out of place in a post-apocalyptic movie.

The grass was either dead or drowning in mud from the recent snow. Graffiti and gang signs covered the crumbling bricks.

The chain-linked fences were lined with rust, cut and pulled back in so many places that they were entirely superfluous. Even more so was the barbed wire on top. Why they thought it was a good idea to put that near a school was anyone's guess. No one was trying to get in.

Maybe it was there to keep the students from getting out.

Regardless, it did nothing to stop the lone figure who approached.

Classes were actively in session. It was the first day back after winter break.

And yet, no one saw her.

She opened one of the rusted side doors. It was usually locked, but one of the cafeteria workers had slipped out earlier to sneak in an extra smoke break, and it didn't latch back properly. It creaked, but there was no one close enough to hear it.

The woman's black dress shoes clicked on the cracked linoleum floors as she strode down the hall.

The noises reached her before she reached her destination.

"Please… help… someone…"

The broken voice was accompanied by the dull thud of flesh on metal.

"...let me out…"

The woman arrived at the correct place.

The locker door trembled with the force of the impacts from inside.

"...please…"

The woman reached out and carefully attached a circular piece of tinkertech to the outside of the locker.

The begging cut off abruptly.

No sound would escape the metal box.

No smells.

No one would even be able to think about it too hard.

No one would remember who shoved the girl into the locker.

Or that she was in there at all.

Until the device self-destructed in 72 hours, leaving no trace of its existence.

And by then, it would be far, far too late.

But it was necessary.

The Path required it.

"Door, please," the woman in the fedora said.

And then she left.

…

The moon was bright, tonight.

A silver isle, in the endless dark.

It called to her, as she drifted, lost.

A lullaby, to sleep, and dream of blood.

…

Chapter Text

Frost 1.1

It was cold, when Taylor Hebert woke up.

She hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected the cold, or to wake up at all.

She shivered at the memory, and the chill.

It was a while before her other senses returned.

The ground was rough and rocky, but surprisingly comfortable, all things considered.

Part of her wanted to lie here forever.

But, after a few more long seconds, she groaned and uncurled her lanky limbs. Her joints creaked stiffly as they straightened.

How long have I been here?

Her clothes were wet.

Decaying blood soaking into her while she screamed, bugs and acid crawling over her skin-

Taylor rolled onto her hands and knees and bit her lip hard to drive away the bloody thoughts.

It worked. Mostly.

She opened her eyes and almost screamed again.

The snow beneath her was stained red-black with blood.

Her blood?

Surely not. There was too much.

The locker. The bloody-

Nope. Not thinking about it.

Taylor looked around while her eyes adjusted. Anything, to distract herself from the blood and metal.

The full moon cast a stark contrast to her surroundings, the snow pristine and coating the bare trees in an ivory shell. The grass poked through the soft layer, black against the white covering.

The graves stood in rows under the snow, like frosted teeth jutting out of the silent blanket.

How did I get here?

It was horrifyingly familiar. She and Dad had come here a few times, since the funeral. Even in his empty stupor, he could manage to drag himself here.

Taylor looked down and brushed the snow off the closest headstone, expecting to see her mother's name, as always.

Taylor Anne Hebert

June 12, 1995 - January 5, 2011

The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass.

What the hell?

But…

She wasn't dead.

Right?

She ran a trembling finger over her own grave, leaving a thin streak in the spiderwebbed frost.

She wasn't.

Shivering tremors wracked her limbs as the cold began to seep deeper.

I'm not dead yet.

She snorted out loud. That was meant to sound dramatic, but all she could think of was the stupid British movie her dad used to like.

He didn't really laugh like that, anymore.

None of this answered the question of how she had gotten here, when she had lost consciousness in a rotting, metal box.

It didn't help stave off the cold.

If only I had more blood…

What?

Where did that thought come from?

Strange designs danced in her mind's eye. The secrets and methods of blood ministration.

What the hell is blood ministration?

According to the alien thoughts, it was the use of blood to strengthen and enhance both the practitioner and their weapons.

But that didn't make any sense either.

Taylor stood tall with surprising ease and took a moment to stretch the concrete from her bones.

Despite everything, she felt… strong.

Her baggy jeans and tattered sweatshirt were soaked with blood and melted snow, but she felt fire singing in her veins.

Am I…

Taylor looked down at her hands, bleached as white as the snow by the moon. She flexed her long, thin fingers and felt a wiry strength in them that she had never felt before. Something inside her longed to grip the smooth leather-wrapped handle of her weapon-

I'm a cape. A parahuman.

There was no other explanation. She was nothing, a weak and ugly wretch. She wasn't strong.

She felt strong, now.

Well, if I am dead, this is a hell of a dream.

She still needed to get out of the cold, though.

Taylor looked around again, getting her bearings. It was only then that she realized there was something sitting on the ground beside her grave.

Curious, she reached down and picked up the dark object.

Whatever she had been expecting, she definitely wasn't expecting it to be a hat.

And yet, here, leaning against her grave, waiting for her, was a flat-brimmed, black leather fedora.

She was about to toss it aside when a note fell out of it, written on thick, high quality paper.

"Put on the hat."

What.

Taylor blinked.

She read the note again.

She put on the hat.

It wasn't wet, somehow. Surprisingly warm, actually.

What the hell.

It wasn't too far from the graveyard to her house, although it was far enough that Dad always drove.

Her first steps were halting, unsure of herself and the newfound hunger singing in her bones.

Then her strides came to her easier, longer and more confident than ever before.

Then she was running.

The icy wind whipped her damp hair out behind her, long black curls heavy in the breeze. Her blood-stained clothes stuck to her lanky frame as her gait lengthened, first to a sprint, then beyond.

It was glorious.

She may as well have been flying, for all it felt like her feet touched the ground. The fence at the edge of the graveyard loomed over her, and she leapt.

It took everything she had to repress a giddy whoop as she soared over the fence, her jump carrying her easily ten feet into the air and twice as far over the snowy ground.

She landed on the slushy street with unconscious ease, her feet finding hidden traction beneath the ice.

Only half of the streetlights in Brockton worked, and they cast an eerie glow onto the cracked pavement when reflected off of the puddles and half-melted snow.

Taylor sprinted down the ruined road, reveling in the power that drove her legs under her. Her speed should have turned the surrounding buildings into a blur, but she saw every crumbled brick, every dirty, trash-filled alley.

She was alive.

She hit an intersection and turned sharply, skidding around the corner with a casual grace that she certainly hadn't possessed before, her shoes sliding across the ice at just the right angle to let her swing ninety degrees with barely a drop in speed.

The lone car out driving this late honked at her, but she didn't care.

They couldn't catch her, anyway.

The next corner ended in an alley with a fire escape, and she couldn't resist.

It was almost too easy to find a stable slab of pavement to leap from, up to brace another foot on the edge of the dumpster, and then up again to the edge of the metal railing.

Then up, up, up.

The metal was cold, so she stepped up with her feet whenever possible rather than grabbing it with her hands. She only had to grip the frosted steel a couple times as she practically ran up the side of the building, bounding from railing to ladder to support beam with reckless abandon before throwing herself up and over the edge of the roof.

She had thought that running over the broken streets was fantastic, but it was nothing compared to the rooftops. It felt like she was made for this.

The rusted air-conditioning units and chimneys became convenient platforms and handholds to slide over or leap from. The iron beams and crumbling bricks were perfect handles as she ran across the ruined skyline.

It was almost enough to forget.

But not quite.

Too soon, she arrived at the familiar street of narrow, two-story houses.

Taylor couldn't risk continuing on the rooftops here, but she still didn't want to be seen. Instead, she worked her way through the snow-covered backyards, over fences and running across the areas where the snow had melted or was blocked by trees. She didn't want to leave too many footprints, just in case.

Her own backyard should have been more familiar, but it felt strangely alien, under the full moon.

Thankfully, she still had her keys in her pocket. She didn't want to wake her father up at this hour.

Taylor eased the back door open and carefully closed it behind her before making her way inside.

The house felt different, in the dark. Empty. A deep sadness seemed to pervade the very air, dripping off the furnishings and soaking into the wooden beams.

She really needed to get out of these bloody clothes. Would her father be too annoyed if she decided to shower, despite the time?

What time is it, anyway?

The clock on the oven said just after one in the morning.

The stairs creaked as she made her way up to her room.

A shadow moved in the upstairs hall.

An aluminum baseball bat smashed into the drywall where her head had been a split second before. Only the newfound power singing in her bones let her avoid the blow with instinctual precision, swaying backwards in an arch and throwing herself sideways in a tight spin that let her duck the follow up strike as well, landing on her feet with impossible dexterity.

She stepped forward and caught the next strike right above the grip, throwing the attack to the side and pinning her attacker's hand against the wall.

"Shit-"

"Dad! It's me!"

Everything froze.

Her windchilled face was less than a foot from his, the brim of her hat almost touching his forehead. She could barely make out the familiar planes of his pale face, in the moonlight.

"No," he choked out, dropping the bat to wrench his hand out of her grasp and stumbling backwards. "No, you're dead. You're-"

"I'm not dead, Dad. I'm here," she said, unsure what to say to convince him otherwise. She had seen her own grave.

His back hit the wall and he slid down it slowly, his eyes never leaving her face.

Her fingers hunted for a moment before they found the hall light switch. Luckily, it hadn't been in the path of the baseball bat.

The golden light was blinding, after only the moonlight for so long.

She looked down at her father, and her heart broke just a little bit more.

His face was blotchy and pale. Deep purple shadows haunted his eyes. He looked sunken, like the life was being drained from him piece by piece.

He stared up at her with an uncomprehending horror tinged with unbidden hope, blinking against the suddenly bright light.

Taylor took a deep breath.

"I don't know what's going on, but I'm here," she said. "I'm still me. And I'm still alive."

Danny dragged himself forward in a crawl before managing to pull himself to his feet, lunging forward to wrap his long, skinny arms around her.

Without her newfound strength, she may have toppled backwards. As it was, she held him upright as dry sobs wracked his slim frame.

"Taylor…" he seemed to lose steam after one word, gasping for air again.

She didn't know what else to do, so she just held on tight. Anything to convince him that she was real.

He pulled back and held her face between his hands, staring at her like a man dying of thirst seeing an oasis on the horizon.

"You're alive," he said, more light returning to his empty eyes with every moment.

She nodded, pushing away the memories of the blood and the stench and the dark.

He glanced up.

"What's with the hat?"

She cracked. She couldn't help it.

Wheezing, mad laughter filled the hall as they cackled.

…

A hot shower made a lot more of a difference than she thought it would.

It turns out, everything feels better when one isn't wearing dirty old clothes soaked with blood and slushy muck. Who would have thought?

The hot tea helped, too.

They sat across from each other at the rickety kitchen table.

Her father had one arm flopped casually across the table, his fingers just touching the edge of her elbow. Like he needed the reminder that she was actually real.

He finally broke the silence.

"I... I identified your body. I planned your funeral. There wasn't anyone else," he said.

Taylor felt like she should apologize, even though it obviously wasn't her fault that someone killed her.

That Emma killed her.

She pushed back the fire that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought.

"I don't… what day is it?" She asked. She hadn't realized it had been so long. Obviously, they had time to put in a gravestone, but…

"It's the 19th. Well, technically the 20th, now. Of January," he said.

At least she hadn't missed too much time, in the grand scheme of things. Two weeks? Give or take?

It must have felt like a long time to her father, though.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," she said with a tired grin. "Coming back from the dead is a tedious business."

He snorted, and she counted that as a win. Even if the bitterness still ran deep.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy… so, so happy, that you're here, somehow, I just…" he shook his head. "What happened, Taylor?"

She didn't want to talk about it.

But he spent two weeks thinking she died, alone in the blood and the acid.

He deserved better than lies, or nothing.

"It started after camp, summer before last…"

And so she told him. About Emma, and Sophia. About how they turned against her, and turned everyone else with them. About Madison, and the teachers, and the administration. About the constant, constant stress and anxiety and pain.

And then she told him about the locker. Being pushed inside with the other trash, and left to die.

How no one ever came. How no one helped. No one noticed, no one cared.

"We looked everywhere for you," he said in a broken whisper. "Everywhere we could think of. We never even considered… no one said anything about your locker. No one even remembered seeing you at school, that day. Or so they said."

His voice dropped even further.

"It wasn't… it wasn't until the smell… after days… oh God…"

She didn't make him say anything else about that.

"It was Emma. Or Sophia, or one of their lackeys. It doesn't really matter. It was them, all along."

Something in her voice made him look at her.

She could see the helpless fury in his eyes, not knowing how or what to do next.

"They'll get what they deserve," she said in a low growl. There was something within her, some new core of steel that demanded blood.

"I'll go talk-"

"No," she cut him off sharply, and he reeled back like she had struck him. "Anything you do will be tracked, and swept under the rug like everything else. The school won't be willing to pin the blame on anyone specifically, or they will be responsible too. Alan won't stand by while you slander his daughter."

She stood up and started pacing.

"You will be painted as a grieving father lashing out after the unfortunate death of your favorite daughter. You," she turned to him with a frightening smile, "are still alive."

She could see the moment that it clicked, behind his tired eyes.

"You don't want to tell anyone else that you're back?" He said in a whisper.

"What better way to make sure that my identity is kept hidden? Taylor Hebert is dead. There isn't any way she's doing anything," Taylor said.

"But what…"

"I'm a cape, Dad. A parahuman. You think I dodged your grand slam with lucky ducks? I came back from the dead," she laughed at the absurdity of it.

"You're-"

He stood, pacing along with her, fists clenched.

"You can't go out there like that. It's not safe," he said through locked teeth.

"Not safe?" She exclaimed. "I died! What else could be more unsafe than actual, gone-to-meet-my-maker dead?"

"Just because you made it back once doesn't mean-"

"The hell it does!"

Why couldn't he see?

"This is my way out," she said in a more even tone, trying to rein in both tempers running wild in the dim kitchen. "If we tell them I'm back, it will let everyone know about my power. Next time, they might just make sure I'm locked up forever, rather than dead. Plus, it will put me right back in Winslow, right back in that fucking locker!"

Okay, so she did a pretty bad job of reining in the tempers.

"The Wards-"

"No! No, fuck that! It's the same shit, just in spandex. I'm not going back, to them or to Winslow."

"So what?" He yelled back, although she could tell that his frustration wasn't necessarily aimed at her. "You just… become a ghost? Pretend to be dead so no one bothers you? What about your life?"

"I'll build a new one. A better one," she said lowly.

Taylor turned and met his broken gaze.

"With or without you."

She knew she had him, then.

"I want you here, Dad," she whispered. "I want to do this with you by my side, or at least at my back, but if you push me on this… I still stay dead, and I'm gone."

He collapsed back into the chair by the table. The thin wood protested at the mistreatment.

"No one will believe you if you tell them that I came back. Not if I'm not here," she said.

"Stop," he said.

She did, waiting in the silence for him to speak again.

"It means that much to you? You really want to do this, stay dead on paper so you can… what? Run around in spandex and fight bad guys?" Her father said, raising his eyebrows.

"I'll come up with a better costume," Taylor said grudgingly, fighting back a smile.

Danny took a deep breath.

"Fine," he said finally. "Fine. I know… I know that you won't change your mind, not from my trying to force it, anyway. I hope that someday we can figure out how to move forward, get you a real life again, but… you're right. Right now, that would definitely out you as a parahuman, at least to the government if no one else."

She stared at him with narrow eyes from across the kitchen.

"You promise that you're not just saying that to get me to stay, and I'll wake up with the PRT downstairs tomorrow morning?"

She could see the knives slide in even as she said it.

"No," he said, as genuinely as she had ever heard from him. "No, I won't lie to you, not about this. I'm not… happy, with the situation, but…"

He took another breath.

"Taylor, you died. I spent two long weeks staring into another forty years of nothing. Or a lot less than forty, probably," he said ruefully.

The thought was like ice running down her spine.

What would she have done, if she came home and found him with a bullet in his brain, or an empty pill bottle next to his cold body?

What if she had been too late?

"I'm not…" she choked, and she closed her eyes as a lot of emotions caught up to her all at once. "Don't make me leave, please."

She felt his arms around her again, and then suddenly she was the one sobbing.

It took a long time, until she ran out of tears to cry.

"We'll figure it out, kiddo. Don't worry," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest against her ear.

She nodded into his tear-soaked T-shirt and finally extricated herself from his embrace.

They both sat back down at the table, letting the silence stretch for a while.

Taylor took a sip of her tea. It was kind of cold, by now.

"So, aside from dodging baseball bats and self-resurrection, what powers do you have?" Danny finally asked.

"That isn't enough?" Taylor laughed, before frowning into her cool tea. "I think I'm some kind of Tinker, on top of that. I have these designs, these blueprints, buzzing around in my head. Some of them… some of them are pretty brutal, if I'm honest."

"Tinker, like Armsmaster? Power armor?"

"No, no it's…" she let the terrifying instruments swim in front of her eyes. "It's blood tinkering. Experimenting with different kinds of blood, and different uses. Quick injection syringes, extractors, ways to boost my healing and my speed…"

Danny raised his eyebrows.

"That sounds… well, that doesn't sound like something that the Wards would take too kindly to, anyway," he said.

"No shit," she laughed sardonically. "It's not exactly… palatable. I'll definitely need to do some workshopping, see what is and isn't feasible for… sane people."

"We have the basement," her father said with a grin. "Is that a suitable mad scientist lair?"

Taylor couldn't help but smile. It was nice, that he seemed sort of on board with this.

"For now," she said. "I also… I also have weapon designs. They're pretty basic, compared to other Tinker weapons, but they work in tandem with the blood ministration. I can't really explain, exactly, it's all a bit… muddy. But I think it will sort itself out as I go."

"Okay," Danny said. He took another deep breath. He had been doing that a lot, over the last thirty minutes. "We can get more into this tomorrow. For now… I think we both need some sleep."

The night was definitely taking its toll on her. Apparently, coming back from the dead was tiring work.

They made it to the top of the stairs, and she hugged her father tightly again.

"No running away," he said into her hair.

"No calling the PRT," she said into his shirt.

They both laughed. It might have been a bit manic, but it was better than yelling.

Taylor finally slipped in between the sheets, and it felt amazing.

When sleep finally took her, she dreamed of blood, and the moon. Not nightmares; just a peaceful, silver light, and a rippling pool of crimson deep.

…

Chapter Text

Frost 1.2

It was cold, when Taylor woke up.

For a moment, she was back on the bloodstained snow in the graveyard.

But no, the house was just drafty and she had misplaced her blanket at some point during the night.

Her dreams had been… strange.

Was it like this for all capes? Did Alexandria packages dream of flying?

The blood sang for her, even though she knew that it should horrify her. Especially after the-

Nope, not thinking about it.

Taylor pulled herself out of bed and stretched, enjoying the quiet vigor flowing through her veins.

She grabbed fresh clothes for the day and took another shower. It might have just been in her head, but even after her late night return the acid still prickled at her skin.

The reflection in the mirror caught her attention.

Emma's words about her appearance had always hurt, but it wasn't exactly anything she hadn't already known. It was obvious, every time she looked at herself.

Thin, gangly limbs and boney joints. Ill-proportioned, and somehow also soft in all the wrong places. Not pretty enough to be worth looking at, not striking enough to be unique, and not strong enough to make up for it.

She didn't really know what was so different, now. Objectively, her body hadn't actually changed.

But there was something…

Something about her wiry, corded arms felt dangerous, now that she could feel the strength in her long fingers. Her legs didn't look out of place, when she remembered rocketing over the moonlit snow.

Her eyes were hard and resolved, under her curtain of midnight curls. She had always thought that brown was such a boring color, but now her irises looked close enough to black that it was hard to tell where the pupil ended, like piercing onyx.

Maybe it was all in her head. What did any of it matter, when she had already died?

She pulled the white button-down over her boney shoulders. The image solidified, as she slid the buttons into place and fixed the collar.

Taylor didn't know why she grabbed this outfit, in particular. Didn't even remember when she got it. It was a departure from her normal style, but Emma would never ruin her clothes again. Would never cut her with poisoned words. They wouldn't pull her strings, anymore.

Black slacks, and suspenders. Shirt cuffs rolled up to expose sinewy forearms and wrists, fingers longing to rest on the trigger.

She really needed to get some supplies. The urges were getting more persistent.

Her new hat completed the ensemble.

Mysterious notes aside, she liked the look. It was different, and it was new. She hadn't liked herself, before, but maybe she could find it in her to like this version.

Taylor Hebert was dead. It was fitting that her vices should die with her.

She could already hear activity downstairs. At least it just sounded like her dad was making breakfast, rather than organizing an inquisition.

Her feet were light on the stairs, the unconscious dexterity already bringing a smile to her face.

"Morning, Dad," she said. The kitchen smelled strongly of bacon. Grease popped and crackled on the stove.

Danny looked over at her, and for a brief moment the starving stare was back before he smiled.

"Morning, Taylor," he said.

She started the water boiling for tea.

"I took the day off," her father said, pushing the bacon around in the pan without looking at her. "I thought you might want some help getting things set up for your… lab? Lair?"

Maybe her untimely demise and subsequent resurrection had been enough to shock him out of his stupor. He hadn't been this animated in years. She could only hope that it lasted.

"I do have some… ideas," she said. "I'm not sure how much of what I need can be bought at Walmart, though."

Danny hummed in agreement as he moved the bacon onto a plate lined with paper towels.

He seemed to be caught somewhere between wanting to stare at her constantly and trying to avoid her gaze.

"That's a new look," he said, eyes flicking over to her before jumping back to his coffee.

"I thought it was time for a change. Besides, it matches my new hat," Taylor grinned.

"I forgot about that, last night," Danny said, moving over to the spindly table. "Where'd you get the hat? It's not a bad look, just… different."

"Would you believe that someone left it by my grave? It felt appropriate," Taylor said.

Danny raised his eyebrows.

"That's… odd. I wonder who visited you. No one else," he looked away for a moment before forcing himself to continue, "...no one else came to the funeral."

Unsurprising.

"I wondered where Emma was, but… I guess it makes sense that she didn't show, after what she did," Danny said.

Taylor thought that Emma would come just to spit on her grave. Maybe she had waited until later.

"It had this note in it too. Fell out right as I was about to throw it away," Taylor said, handing over the cryptic message.

Her dad just stared at it for a while as he chewed.

"This is weird, kiddo."

"Weirder than coming back from the dead?"

"I'll admit, that one's hard to top," he said with a small smile. "Brussels sprouts and chocolate, though."

Her mom used to say that, that brussels sprouts tasting terrible had no effect on the taste of chocolate. According to her, it was a logical fallacy to think that bad times are required to appreciate the good.

Or, in this case, extreme death weirdness didn't make cryptic hat messages any less weird.

It was good, that he remembered. He hadn't said anything like that in a long time.

They ate in silence, for a while. Danny drank his coffee, and she sipped her tea.

"I need a lot of glass. Different sizes of beakers, and bottles. Vials. And tubing. And a hot plate," she said eventually.

"I think we have a camp stove?" Danny said.

"Do they sell needles at the drugstore?"

"I think you probably need a prescription, but I can ask. Worst case scenario, they think I'm a Merchant," her father said dryly.

"Not funny. I also need saws. A lot of saws."

"I'm not even going to ask."

…

It was ironic that her cape career was being funded by insurance fraud.

Her father had some kind of family life insurance plan through his job, and it turns out that teenagers don't actually die very often, so the payout was decent.

Silver linings.

Taylor stayed in the truck with her hat shading her eyes. It was generally a good idea for dead people to avoid security cameras. Especially dead Tinkers who didn't want to draw the attention of the gangs or the PRT.

The details were a bit fuzzy, but everyone who paid attention to cape culture knew that Tinkers were highly valued, and easy to snap up if they weren't careful. Even with her supernatural speed, she didn't want to tip her hat too early.

It isn't paranoia if they're actually out to get you.

The truck door opened as Danny returned from yet another hardware store. Dirty, half-melted snow still lined the streets despite the sunshine.

Her father had agreed with the necessity of going to multiple stores in different parts of town. He had shaken his head a bit at the idea of wearing different coats into each store, but he had gone along with it. He was less enthusiastic about parking a few blocks away, in areas where there weren't any security cameras.

Overall, though, he had been a pretty good sport about the whole thing.

"Did I miss anything exciting?" He asked as they pulled back into traffic.

"Yeah, I got in a bar fight with Hookwolf. It was great, you should've been there."

He didn't laugh, but he did the thing where people exhale a bit sharper than usual through their nose. Progress.

"What's next on the agenda, hero?"

She wasn't actually sure if she was a hero, really. Something to work out later.

"Maybe a department store? I need a coat for my costume. Something at least to my thighs, with a split up the back for when I need to run. And some boots. And gloves," Taylor said.

They had managed to get pretty much everything else, except for the actual needles. It turns out, those do actually require a prescription, which was… inconvenient.

"Sure. Do you want to come in or should I guestimate the sizes?" Danny asked.

"I'm sure you'll do great on your own. Tell them it's a birthday present or something, and if it doesn't fit we'll return it. Oh, get me a scarf too," she said. "Please."

He rolled his eyes but left to brave the wilds of Kohl's solo.

…

Taylor surveyed their haul, arrayed on the solid wooden workbench in the basement.

All in all, she was pretty pleased with what they had managed to find.

A surprising variety of glassware from different craft and home goods stores. All manner of hand tools and materials from home improvement stores. Metal and rubber piping, tubing, saws with different shaped handles, screws and nuts and bolts a plenty.

They even sold Bunsen burners at Walmart. What a time to be alive.

And the best part was that nothing about any of this screamed 'Tinker'. It was old fashioned, gristly work. Not graceful and efficient electronics, but blood and oil and steel.

She was so excited. And nervous.

Without the needles, her options were limited. She needed blood for the majority of the designs in her head, in quantities that she wasn't comfortable trying to gather by cutting herself.

It was morbidly hilarious, that when she had been bullied and depressed she had never harmed herself, but now that she was free, she was debating the best way to spill her own blood.

Of course she couldn't get a normal power, like flying or laser beams. No, of course she had to get the power two steps to the left of fucking Bonesaw.

Still, it beat being dead. Mostly.

Her first order of business was the most practical, but it was also something she dreaded.

She needed to be able to die. She couldn't risk anyone finding out her secret and neutralizing her before she could slip into the dark. Immortals weren't actually all that difficult to deal with, once you knew what to look for. Bury them in concrete, chop off all their limbs and hook them up to a nutrient and sedative drip, etc, etc.

It occurred to her that normal people probably didn't think about this stuff, but her enemies wouldn't be normal.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on the perspective) her powers offered a fairly easy answer to the death issue.

It just wasn't pleasant.

With a sigh, Taylor tied her hair back, grabbed a length of steel wire and some pliers, and began to work.

…

The flame of the Bunsen burner cast an eerie light over the basement.

The metal wire glowed brilliant orange in the fire, the tongs keeping her hands away from the heat.

Taylor carefully maneuvered the cool part of the wire into a vice, so it could continue to heat while she prepared the blood quench.

It sounded more clinical than what it actually entailed.

Maybe I should wait until I get some needles.

No, it needed to happen now or she would lose her nerve. A bit of pain, for absolute security.

She raised her scalpel. It was surprising, what you could buy at craft stores. Clay sculpting tools worked just as well on flesh.

The sterile blade parted the skin on the back of her forearm with ease, and she hissed at the burn as the crimson ichor flowed into the shallow dish she prepared.

Just a little sting, in the grand scheme of things. She didn't actually need much.

When the dish had a decent layer on the bottom, she bandaged the wound tightly. No reason to waste any extra blood.

Her eyes returned to the fiery wire.

Several strands bent together to make the brand. A single long, vertical slash, with two branches angled back on themselves forming a diamond at the bottom. A dangling, upside-down rune.

To awaken fresh, as if it were all just a bad dream.

Her breath came in sharp pants. She put a piece of leather between her teeth.

There would be no going back, after this.

She released the white hot brand from the vice.

The metal was warm under her fingers, even through her gloves. Even so far from the fire.

She quenched the brand in her blood, the crimson deep hissing on contact with the burning metal.

The symbol of a Hunter, etched into one's own mind.

It was still more than hot enough, when she removed it.

She held it up, eyes fixed on the black-red crusted steel.

Taylor Hebert is dead.

Her breath hitched.

I am a Hunter.

Her mind flashed unbidden to the bloody metal box that was her crucible.

And I will never be chained again.

She pressed the bloody, burning metal into the skin of her forehead, just over her right eye.

The sound of her flesh sizzling under the cleansing fire was both horrifying and beautiful in equal measure. She felt the ethereal rune carve itself into her mind, like an axe to the frontal lobe.

Pain lanced through her, jumping from the brand down her spine, tearing at the nerves down to her fingers and toes before bouncing back up and crashing into her brain like wildfire.

She barely heard the clang of metal on concrete as she dropped the brand, falling to one knee as she tried to stay afloat amid the ocean of agony. Overhead, the moon hung full and bright, but blood-red instead of peaceful silver.

Hands gripped her shoulders and she just barely managed to resist the automatic urge to rip out her assailant's spine.

It was only then that she realized that the horrible keening noise was coming from her own throat.

"-lor! Taylor! What's going on? What happened? Can you hear me?" Her father's frantic voice dragged her out of the bloody nightmares.

The wailing cut off and she gasped for air, one hand braced on the basement floor beneath her. Her hair had come free from the tie at some point, falling around her face in a midnight curtain.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," she rasped, her voice dry and torn from the screaming. She pushed her hair back from her face, careful to keep both her hands and her hair from touching the raw, bloody mark on her forehead.

She looked up at her father and his eyes widened dramatically.

"You… you…" he stammered, reaching out halfway between them before stopping himself from touching her face.

Probably a good idea. Everything hurt, right now.

"It was necessary," she said, iron resolve curling in her gut.

"Why?" He whispered.

"To make me free, forever," she said, rising to her feet in front of him. "As long as this mark is etched into my mind, I will always have the choice to die, and awake anew. I will never be held against my will, ever again."

Her father took several deep breaths while she waited for him to calm himself.

"It's a bit… obvious…" he said eventually. "You couldn't have put it anywhere else?"

"No."

"Okay. Okay," he said, centering himself again. "Well, it's not ideal for a secret identity…"

"My hat will cover it," she said.

"I guess…" he still seemed unsure.

It was quiet, for a while.

"Can I go get an ice pack, now?" She asked with a crooked grin. "This really hurts."

It did. Not the all-consuming agony and bestial hunger that burned within her before, but the more mundane pain that came along with shoving hot metal against one's face.

"Yeah, yeah, go," he said, backing up as she headed for the stairs.

Hopefully this wouldn't dampen her dad's enthusiasm for helping her with her tinkering. It wasn't like she planned on mutilating herself like this again.

For now, at least.

…

Brockton Bay looked less broken, from up here.

Taylor crouched on top of the railing that ran around the roof of Brockton General Hospital. One of the underappreciated benefits of superpowers was definitely brooding on rooftops.

Currently, Taylor was brooding over the moral conundrum of robbing a hospital for the greater good.

The greater good, in this case, being her ability to Tinker.

It was, unquestionably, a bad thing to do. Even if she eventually used her equipment to help people.

But she did really want some high quality equipment. Not just needles, but titration and distillation equipment, centrifuges, blood.

She really needed the blood.

Which also begged the question: was it more morally dubious to steal donated blood from a hospital, or take it under duress from the source?

It was probably fine, as long as her victims were Nazis. But she didn't want to provoke the Empire until after she had some gear. It was an irritating catch-22.

Hence, the brooding.

"That hat makes you look like a hipster," a sarcastic voice behind her said suddenly.

Taylor almost fell off the roof.

It turns out, her supernatural perception only worked if she was actually looking at something, or if it was an active threat to her. Good to know.

She regained her balance and looked over at her unexpected company.

Holy shit, that's Panacea.

The red and white robed hero was standing about fifteen feet behind her, in the process of lighting a cigarette.

Huh.

And she had insulted Taylor's hat. Rude.

A year ago, an insult like that might have set her gut churning, but now…

After everything Emma did, after dying…

It just… didn't matter, as much as it used to. Besides, it wasn't like Taylor had chosen the hat for herself. The hat chose her.

"Nice to meet you, too," Taylor said, not moving from her crouch on the railing. It was easy for her to keep her balance, now.

"Sure," Panacea said.

They stared at each other across the rooftop for a long moment.

"So… what'cha doin'?" Panacea finally asked. Her sarcasm hadn't decreased a bit. It might have been her default setting.

"Casing the joint," Taylor said, honestly.

"Sounds pretty villainous," Panacea said. "I thought it was against the rules to rob hospitals."

"I'm not a villain," Taylor said, although she was becoming less sure by the day. Blood Tinkering didn't exactly lend itself to heroics.

She couldn't really see Panacea's face under her hood, but she got the feeling that she was raising her eyebrows.

"It doesn't get much more villainous than stealing from sick people," Panacea said.

"I don't suppose you could just go grab me some needles, then? Oh, and some blood, too, while you're at it," Taylor said dryly. She didn't know where she was getting all this confidence. Maybe it was the mask. It was easier to be straightforward, when she wasn't herself.

"Wait, wait, needles, blood? What?" Panacea said, wandering closer despite herself. "Are you trying to get high or something?"

"No," Taylor said. She debated how much to tell this stranger, this hero. It would probably get out soon, anyway, but she wanted to have her lab set up and established first.

"Why, then?"

"Hand over some blood and I'll tell you," Taylor said, grinning behind her scarf.

"Fucking vampire. I could give you cancer, you know," Panacea said.

"Do it, coward."

Panacea coughed out a grudging laugh at that.

"You could just rob Medhall. They probably have better security, but they're bloodsucking private-insurance-only types. You'll get along great. Or, you could just, I don't know, not rob a fucking hospital," Panacea said.

Taylor pursed her lips and hummed thoughtfully.

"Do you know anywhere else I could get some medical equipment? I don't really need the blood, I guess," Taylor said.

"I could just call the PRT," Panacea said.

"How do you know I'm even a cape?" Taylor asked, mainly just to keep her talking. She had a nice voice, under all the acid.

"You're hunkered dramatically on a rooftop. That is guaranteed cape behavior. No one in their right mind would do that."

That was a good point.

"Okay, you got me there. But what would you even tell them? That you talked to a weirdo with a cool hat on a roof and they said they were totally going to steal from the hospital?" Taylor said.

"I take personal offense to the 'cool hat' part. It's not cool, and I would never say it was," Panacea said, but Taylor could see her lips curling up despite her best efforts.

"It's pretty cool."

"It's really not."

"It's not my fault you have no taste," Taylor's grin widened behind her scarf.

"Oh, fuck you," Panacea said, and Taylor laughed.

"I'm sorry, did you say 'you win'?"

"That's it, I'm calling the cops."

"Bring it on, hero," Taylor said.

Neither of them moved, though.

Panacea took another drag of her cigarette.

Taylor's brand itched under the bandage, which was under her hat, so she couldn't scratch it. Annoying.

"For real, do you know where I can get needles and basic medical equipment, IV bags, and whatnot? It's not for villain stuff, I promise," Taylor said. She wasn't even lying… mostly.

Was stalking Emma and Sophia villainous? They deserved it.

Panacea just looked at her for a while.

"Fuck it," the hero finally said, flicking the remains of her cigarette onto the roof and walking away.

Oh well.

It was fun while it lasted.

Taylor leaned back and let her hair fall behind her, face turned up to the night sky.

The moon wasn't full, anymore, but it was close. The silver light was soothing.

A door slammed on the other side of the rooftop, and she reached up quickly to make sure that her scarf was still in place.

Panacea was back?

"You're lucky I'm in a shitty mood and feel like doing some teenage rebellion. I figure this is better than robbing liquor stores," Panacea said, holding out a bulging plastic bag.

Well… shit.

"Um… thanks?" Taylor said, taking the care package. She wasn't sure what else to say. What exactly was the expected platitude when the world's foremost parahuman healer steals medical supplies on one's behalf?

"Fair warning, I might feel guilty tomorrow and tell the PRT," Panacea said.

"I mean, I'd prefer if you didn't, but I can't exactly stop you," Taylor shrugged.

Panacea lit another cigarette.

Taylor couldn't help herself.

"You know those give you cancer," she said.

"Fuck you."

Taylor laughed.

"Shut up and take your ill-gotten gains before I change my mind," Panacea snapped.

"Sure thing, doc."

She couldn't see under the hood, but Taylor hoped the healer was rolling her eyes.

Taylor stood on the railing and turned to leave.

"Wait," Panacea's voice was still sharp, but it sounded a bit forced. "What's your name, vampire girl?"

Taylor hadn't really thought about it, but only one name sprung to mind.

"Hunter," she said.

Panacea snorted.

"That has to be taken already. There's no way just plain Hunter is available."

"Don't care."

"The PRT will make up something stupid instead," Panacea warned.

"It will be funny to see what they come up with. Let their PR department do the legwork," Taylor said.

"Most capes care about that kind of thing," Panacea said.

"I'm not most capes."

"Whatever you say, drama queen."

Taylor laughed again.

"I thought you were leaving," Panacea said, gray smoke coiling around her red-trimmed hood.

"I was, you're the one who-"

"Shut up."

"Fine, fine, I'm going," Taylor shook her head. "See you around, Panacea."

"I hope not," the healer said, although Taylor was reasonably sure that she didn't mean it.

She was tempted to see how long Panacea would keep trying to have the last word, but the robed healer had just stolen medical supplies for her. She deserved the small amount of satisfaction.

A soaring leap carried her to one of the hospital's lower roofs, and then she was running, under the stars.

…

Chapter Text

Frost 1.3

Taylor carefully bent the cherry orange glass tubing into the required shape, one end locked in a vice and the other held tightly in a set of tongs.

Panacea hadn't grabbed any of the more advanced equipment that Taylor had been coveting, but glass tubing was available wholesale and Taylor had a Bunsen burner. She could make her own distillation and titration apparatuses. Looking a gift horse in the mouth was rude, and this way she didn't have to grapple with the moral issues involved with robbing hospitals or medical suppliers.

She still needed blood, but that could wait until after she finished making and setting up the actual equipment.

"Taylor, I'm home," her dad called down the stairs.

She made a vaguely affirmative noise in his general direction.

The basement stairs creaked as he approached.

"Have you… left the basement, today?"

Had she?

Maybe. When had she talked to Panacea?

Probably not, actually.

"Yeah, of course," she said.

Danny hummed and looked over her shoulder. She didn't think he believed her. She didn't believe herself.

"I'll bring you a sandwich. And a smoothie. And a change of bandages," he said.

Come to think of it, the gauze over her brand did feel a bit… sticky.

"Thanks, Dad."

He squeezed her shoulder with one hand. The actual physical contact was nice, even if it threw off her angle slightly.

It was worth it.

…

Taylor finished her sandwich and leaned back in the old folding camp chair. The arms on the chair made for a good sling to keep her arm level. She didn't want to jostle any of the tubes.

Deep crimson filled the spiraling lines and dripped into the waiting receptacles. The basement walls were covered in stark shadows cast by the single, naked light bulb on the ceiling.

She was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. Her power longed for more beautiful material, more medium to shape and refine her work, but she would need to stop the flow soon.

"Taylor, I'm going to bed-"

Her father froze halfway down the stairs, staring at the various apparatuses hooked up to her circulatory system.

"It's not what it looks like," Taylor said automatically.

"It looks like you're harvesting your own blood for your experiments," he said with a raised eyebrow.

Oh.

"Well, in that case, it's exactly what it looks like," Taylor said.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Just… don't overdo it. I don't want to wake up and find your bloodless corpse in the basement."

Right. Panacea had already accused her of being a vampire.

"I won't," she said. Killing herself with blood loss would be inefficient, anyway. She wasn't exactly sure how long it would take for her to come back the next time she died. It had taken two weeks last time. Maybe it had something to do with the full moon?

"I'm actually done for now, anyway. Can you hand me that gauze and tape?" Taylor said.

She stanched the flow from the crook of her arm and bound it tightly. The floor spun as she stood and she had to grip the edge of the workbench to avoid sprawling on the concrete.

"You okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah, yeah," Taylor said. The spinning was already slowing down. "Just… overdid it a bit. But at least I have a test batch to work with."

She needed to know which of her ideas would work with her own blood, and which needed more… variety.

"Can it wait until morning?" he asked.

It probably could…

"No, I need to know if it makes any difference if it's fresh," she lied.

"Don't stay up too late, especially after losing that much blood," her father said. "And make sure to drink something."

She held up her half empty Gatorade bottle.

"Well, that's better than nothing," he said with a rueful smile.

Taylor carefully weighed out the beakers for the first test batch. The stairs creaked as her father headed back upstairs.

"Goodnight, Little Owl."

"Goodnight, Dad."

…

Taylor re-tied her hair back to make sure none accidentally got in the path of the hot soldering iron.

Her hands were cramped from the repeated, precise movements. Sweat ran down her jaw as she worked.

She was so close.

Just a few more connections…

The needle was already fixed securely in place and reinforced. The release mechanism was perfect.

She just needed to finish the last bracket to allow for easy reloading, and she would be done with her first mobile apparatus.

Once the connection was complete, she quickly quenched the hot metal.

With water, this time. Not blood. This mechanism wouldn't benefit from the metaphorical weight of a blood quench.

When it was cool, she tested the bracket to see if the vials would easily slip in and out.

The glass vial slid home with a satisfying click. It wouldn't slide out by accident, but it would be easy to replace on the fly if needed.

Taylor leaned back on the stool and wiped the sweat from her face. Her brand itched under the fresh bandage.

Her first piece of actual tinkertech was complete. The first step in her journey to realize the designs in her head.

It was a simple thing, but beautiful, in its simplicity. A molded wooden handle and sturdy steel mechanisms.

It looked a bit like an insulin injector from hell.

Designed for quick injection and distribution, the handheld, pressurized syringe would empty the contents of the inserted vial into the target with extreme efficiency.

Holding it in one hand with the needle pointing down, it would be quick and easy to inject herself with whatever concoctions she needed on a moment's notice. Or anyone else, for that matter.

She glanced over at the petri dishes filled with her blood, condensing with the necessary cocktail to create what she hoped would be a fast-acting healing agent.

It wouldn't necessarily regenerate the blood lost from her own harvesting, but it should stimulate cell growth and coagulation to quickly close any wounds and stop the bleeding.

Although the extrapolating blueprints in her mind were informing her that blood could also crystalize under the right circumstances, rather than coagulating. Interesting.

Another time.

For now, she really needed to sleep.

She couldn't help but smile at the bloodstained workshop. The complex glasswork suspended on wire racks cast delicate shadows over the surface of the old wood workbench. Crimson pools in irregular dishes and beakers at various stages of condensation and distillation. It may have been grotesque to anyone else, but it was satisfying to her.

With a sharp click, the light cut off and the basement was shrouded in darkness.

Taylor collapsed into bed, weary but content with her work.

Her dreams were chaotic, pervaded by an incessant, irregular heartbeat. She couldn't quite tell if the beats coincided with her own, or the drip, drip, drip of the ruby rain.

…

There was something comforting about striding over the cracked asphalt in the dead of night.

The late January air was crisp and clear, cold against the exposed portions of her face. The snow had melted in the afternoon sun, but now began to refreeze under the empty night sky. She kept her hat pulled low just in case anyone happened to look out their window, and her scarf covered her nose and mouth.

Her long coat flared dramatically behind her while her long steps quickly ate away the miles beneath her boots. Taylor enjoyed the feeling of power that came with her ability to go where she pleased, free from the doubts that had always plagued her, before.

It was ironic, considering her destination.

All too soon, she found herself in the familiar neighborhood. Part of her just wanted to go home and forget the whole thing.

But she had to see.

The house in front of her was larger than average, with tastefully trimmed flowerbeds and a well-manicured lawn.

It hadn't changed a bit, in the last two years. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

It felt like something should have changed. Something to indicate that this wasn't a friendly place anymore. That poison had seeped into the souls of the inhabitants.

She skulked around the side of the house, sticking close to the fence.

From there, it was easy to scale the brick wall. Even the non-existent handholds around the windows were sufficient, with the strength singing in her bones.

Taylor crouched low as she made her way across the roof. She was intimately familiar with the view from the inside of the specific window she was looking for, but it was a bit difficult to picture from the outside.

Gracefully swinging off the eave, she caught herself on the edge of the windowsill, gripping the brick with just the very ends of her fingers. She pulled herself up to look in through the gap in the blinds.

She had to see if Emma could sleep, after what she did.

Did her former best friend care at all?

The moonlight slid through the blinds in thin stripes. The sheets and blankets were a mess, tangled and intermingled with familiar stuffed animals and pillows.

Emma wasn't in her bed, though.

Huddled on the floor with her back against the wall, the crumpled form of her murderer rocked back and forth as her slim frame quivered with what Taylor could only assume were sobs.

Taylor didn't know what to do with that.

Emma's leaking eyes gleamed in the darkness, but she didn't seem to see anything. She gave no indication that she noticed anything amiss outside her window.

Something about it made her furious.

How dare Emma feel bad about what she did, when it was already far too late?

How dare she cry for what she did, after she hadn't given a fuck when Taylor cried.

Why would she decide to give a shit now, instead of back when Taylor was still fucking alive?

Why did Emma get to break, from the fruits of her cruelty, when Taylor just got to die?

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that her tormentor was broken, instead of reveling in her malice.

Emma's cracked gaze finally focused, seeing the shadow in the moonlight.

They both froze. Emma's shudders subsided, and Taylor couldn't bring herself to look away.

For a long moment, they both just stared.

Emma screamed.

Taylor dropped to the ground two stories below, bending slightly at the knees to absorb the impact with a dull thump. Without looking back, she took off across the backyard at a dead sprint, effortlessly leaping over the pool and then the fence with long, confident strides.

It should have made her happy, that some part of Emma was sorry for what she did.

But it didn't.

Taylor ran faster, the cold wind freezing the tears as they dripped into her scarf.

After all this time, and all the torture they put her through, it wasn't fair that Emma got to cry.

The moon just stared, overhead.

Taylor almost took the back door off its hinges, when she got home.

She gripped the edges of her workbench hard enough to risk tearing into the hardwood, knuckles white under the single bare lightbulb.

Her brand itched. She reached up and roughly pulled the bandage off, exposing the eldritch rune to the cool air. It stood out starkly on her forehead, angry red where it cut a vertical line down to her right eye.

She didn't know if she wanted to scream, break something, cry some more, or sleep. Maybe all of the above.

Instead, she threw the bloodstained gauze aside and stalked over to the remaining materials and tools from their shopping trip.

To the crate of saw blades and handles of varying sizes.

A Hunter must hunt.

But first, she needed a weapon.

…

Sparks flew off the angle grinder while she worked, casting flickering shadows all around her workshop.

The teeth of her saw cleaver sharpened with every pass.

The first of her workshop weapons was a brutal, savage thing. A product of her fury made steel, a crude but effective tool designed to draw blood and cultivate pain.

It was inelegant, but then again, so was she.

It was a heavy weapon, both in physical and metaphorical weight. She had quenched the cursed metal in her own blood and pain.

Taylor set the angle grinder down and admired her work.

The blade itself consisted of multiple saw blades bolted and bound together before having the teeth re-tooled to match up into a single serrated edge. The result was a half-inch thick slab of steel, with a curved handle running down the back.

At the head, a catch and release mechanism created a pivot point that would allow the cleaver to unfold for extra reach, when needed.

Taylor stretched the knots out of her back from the long hours hunched over her tools, standing and rolling her shoulders.

One long finger caressed the leather-wrapped handle of her new weapon.

Something deep within her itched to feel it rip and tear into the flesh of a deserving enemy. She could just imagine how the blood would flow in rivers over the jagged blade.

Her fingers closed around the handle.

The cleaver was too heavy for any normal person to swing reliably, but it felt perfect to her.

She was so close.

Just one more addition to her arsenal, and she would be ready.

She needed some finery, to offset the primal savagery of her saw.

Taylor put down the cleaver and began to hunt for the pieces of her next project, far more complicated from a technical standpoint.

It may have been frowned upon in the cape scene, but she didn't care. Her powers were never going to be palatable to the PRT or the Protectorate. Whether they lauded her as a hero or branded her a villain, their judgement meant nothing to her.

It was time to make a fucking gun.

…

Taylor drew more blood from her veins.

Her dreams were plagued with screams, calling to the uncaring moon.

Why couldn't she tell if they were crying, or screaming?

…

"Are you alright, Taylor?"

She sipped her tea while her dad watched her with worried eyes from across the shabby kitchen. Her bones felt heavy.

She wondered if she should tell him. Would he judge her?

It was a bit late to start keeping secrets from him.

"I went to Emma's, a few nights ago."

She didn't need to see his face. His sharp inhale was enough.

"I don't… I don't know if that's a good idea," he said hesitantly.

"Yeah, I know."

It was quiet, for a while. Taylor took a sip of her tea.

"She was crying," Taylor said.

"Oh."

She could tell that he understood, just a bit.

"It's not fair," she said finally.

"I know," he said.

"She doesn't… she shouldn't get to do everything she did, and then just… cry about it. Like she isn't a monster," Taylor clenched her jaw.

She also tightened her grip without thinking.

The mug shattered under her hands, burning liquid and jagged porcelain splashing across the table and the floor. Crimson ichor joined the spreading pool of tea as the broken shards sliced into her skin.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Then her father's hand was running over her back in soothing circles. It helped, somehow, that he didn't immediately jump to try to clean up the mess, or bandage her cuts.

"I know," he said, softly.

Tears joined the blood and the tea, dripping onto the floor.

Taylor pulled a piece of ceramic out of her hand and let it fall to the table.

It didn't even hurt, really. Not in the grand scheme of things.

"The world isn't separated into good people and monsters, unfortunately. Everyone has a little bit of the monster. Some are just buried deeper than others," Danny said.

"Doesn't make it better," Taylor said through gritted teeth.

"No. No, it doesn't," he said with a sigh.

For a long moment, they both just existed. Him still rubbing her back, and her still clenching her lacerated fists.

Eventually, her breathing evened out, and she felt a bit lighter.

That might have been the blood loss, though.

Such a waste of good blood.

"I have something to fix my cuts, downstairs. Can you… would you clean this up, please?" Taylor said. Her voice sounded strangely small, to her.

"Sure. Just let me know if you need help with anything," Danny said.

Taylor stood sharply and forced herself towards her lab while he grabbed a roll of paper towels.

The basement stairs creaked.

Her fingers left bloody streaks on the light switch.

Time to see if all the work on her quick injector was worth it.

Taylor loaded a blood vial into the injector. In theory, the contents should invigorate her cells and rapidly regenerate the wounded tissue.

In theory.

But she wasn't about to start second guessing herself now.

Taylor slammed the device down into her thigh, the long needle easily penetrating her clothes, skin and muscle. The impact triggered the pressurized release and drove the contents of the vial forcefully into her bloodstream.

Her eyes widened as the searing euphoria coursed through her.

Fuck. Yes.

She would have to be careful not to get addicted to this feeling. Whatever shit the Merchants handed out, she doubted that it had anything on this.

A manic laugh bubbled between her lips at the idea of putting the drug dealers out of business by dealing better drugs. Truly, a heroic pursuit if there ever was one.

She watched her hands curiously as the ministration went to work.

It was surprisingly effective.

The cuts began to close before her eyes. Wounds that should have required stitches, might have taken weeks to heal on their own. Within seconds, all that was left of the dripping gashes were angry red lines carved into her flesh.

She flexed her hands experimentally. No noticeable issues with motion, only a vague lingering ache.

Excellent.

Her eyes fell on the recently completed pistol, sitting innocently on the workbench despite the explosive potential hidden within.

Like everything her power provided, it was a brutal thing.

Single shot, and loaded from the top, it was unlike any modern gun she had ever seen. However, instead of firing standard bullets, it fired custom rounds composed of quicksilver, and blood.

She didn't quite understand how it worked, since there was no gunpowder involved, but her power filled in the gaps for her.

The bullets were over half an inch across, molded out of twisted, consecrated metal and a concentrated formula of her own blood. Every shot would carry both metaphorical and physical weight, with the potential to blow non-brutes into bloody pieces. She was only limited by how many bullets she could produce without becoming delirious from blood loss.

The plans for a rapid extractor floated in her mind, to let her draw blood from her veins and consecrate new bullets quickly, mid-combat.

Maybe later.

She did need some method for extraction, though. Her first hunt wouldn't just be for righteous justice; she needed more blood than she could reasonably draw from herself. For more bullets, more blood vials, and… other projects.

And if she ran across another parahuman, she needed to get her hands on a sample.

Her power was practically singing with the potential that parahuman blood could provide her.

Soon.

First, she had to reassure her father that she wasn't bleeding to death. Or going insane.

At least, she hoped she wasn't.

…

Chapter Text

Interlude 1

January 3rd, 2011.

"Wonder where the little shit fucked off to?"

Emma added the dressing to her salad before closing the container and shaking it to coat the lettuce evenly. Her parents certainly never forced her to endure Winslow cafeteria food.

Sophia was irritated at the loss of their usual entertainment. She got bored pretty easily.

"Probably hiding in a bathroom, as usual. So gross," Emma said. "Imagine eating on the toilet like that every day."

She shouldn't care where Taylor was. She didn't care.

"She wasn't in class this morning, either," Madison said from the other side of the table.

Emma speared a crouton with unnecessary force.

She felt like she was missing… something.

"Maybe she finally got the hint that nobody wanted her around, and dropped out or something" Emma said.

"Maybe the syphilis finally caught up with her," Madison snickered.

"Maybe she finally killed herself," Emma said, even though something in her gut twisted at the idea.

Taylor doesn't matter. Get over yourself.

"Whatever," Sophia said. "Good riddance, I guess."

Sophia stalked away to toss her empty cafeteria tray in the garbage.

"Yeah… good riddance," Emma said, even though Sophia was out of earshot.

Why did something about that set her pulse racing?

It doesn't matter.

…

January 6th, 2011.

Taylor was dead.

The police cordoned off the section of hallway, but Emma recognized the familiar dark curls. She knew which locker that was.

Students gathered as close as they were allowed to the gruesome spectacle, despite the warnings shouted by the teachers.

Her body was barely recognizable.

And the smell. Oh, God.

I did that.

Why hadn't anyone noticed that Taylor was still in the locker?

Why hadn't she told anyone?

It's just fucking Taylor. It doesn't matter.  She  doesn't matter.

So why was there salt water tracing lines down her cheeks?

I did that.

Taylor was weak. So weak that she went and fucking died from a stupid prank.

It wasn't Emma's fault that Taylor was pathetic.

Right?

A hand gripped her shoulder like a vice and Emma almost jumped out of her skin.

"Your house. Tonight," Sophia growled in her ear. "We need to talk. Get Madison on board."

Emma just stared at her friend for a long moment before nodding.

"And pull yourself together, Survivor," Sophia said lowly, leaning forward so no one else would hear. "It's just Hebert. Who gives a shit?"

Who, indeed?

"They'll expect me to be emotional," Emma justified automatically.

Sophia regarded her through narrowed eyes.

"Sure, I guess. Just keep the walls up, and we'll talk more tonight," Sophia said.

Her friend turned and slipped away through the crowd.

Just keep the walls up.

But she could feel the cracks, even if she didn't want to look.

I killed Taylor.

Emma walked away from the crime scene. Shards sliced at her veins with every heartbeat.

I killed my best friend.

…

"What do we do?" Madison asked, wringing her hands in front of her like a nervous kid who got caught in a lie.

Emma and Madison sat on Emma's bed, the door to the bedroom closed and locked tight. She even put a bunched-up blanket on the floor to cover the gap under the door, to keep any sounds from escaping.

Her parents hadn't questioned Madison or Sophia's presence. It was perfectly understandable, to want company after what happened.

Emma resisted the urge to huddle up under the blankets with her stuffed animals. Sophia said they were stupid, but she kept them anyway. She wasn't sure why.

Sophia paced back and forth in front of them.

"We don't do shit," Sophia said, although Emma could tell that she was worried, under the bravado. "We had nothing to do with it, as far as anyone else is concerned. There's no evidence, and they won't question us too hard."

Sophia caught Emma's eye. She knew that her friend would be feeding the PRT a heavily doctored version of events.

"What if they do ask questions?" Madison said.

She could be a bit stupid, sometimes. Still, it wasn't entirely her fault. Madison was soft. She hadn't been hardened by the world like Emma and Sophia.

"Same as when they were sniffing around yesterday. We never saw her. She didn't come to school, as far as we know. Keep the story simple, and consistent," Sophia said. She was being pretty patient with Madison, all things considered.

"But-"

"No fucking 'buts'!" Sophia snapped, turning on them. "This was a weird, tragic accident, nothing else. I'm not going to fucking prison because you couldn't keep your shit together."

Madison finally nodded. Slowly.

"Are we going to have any problems from your folks, Emma?" Sophia asked. "They know Hebert's family, right?"

Emma shook her head.

"It's just her dad, now, and he's pathetic, too. They'll probably want to go to the funeral, but I think I can talk them out of it. I'm too distraught, or whatever," Emma said.

"Do you think it would raise more suspicion if you don't go?" Sophia said.

"I doubt it. Besides I don't… want to," Emma said.

She wasn't sure why.

Sophia stared at her suspiciously for a long moment before shrugging.

"Sure, whatever," she sighed and flopped down on the bed between them. "Just… don't make this shit any worse. Leave it to fucking Hebert to die in the least convenient way possible."

Emma laughed at that. It wasn't even forced, or hysterical.

It wasn't.

…

Sophia Hess resisted the urge to cross her arms as she sat across from the deputy director.

It was funny, in a way. Armsmaster didn't want to deal with the Wards, so he passed the buck to Piggy. Piggy didn't feel like handling every little thing personally, so she tossed it down to Renick.

They were all pathetic. At least Armsmaster could be a badass, when he wanted to, but he spent too much time posturing and parading around for the media and polishing his beard.

"You don't remember anything unusual in the affected area?" Renick asked again.

"I already told you. I don't take attendance for every little shi… for every student, in the school," Sophia ground out. "One of the teachers asked me yesterday if I knew where Hebert was. Something about her father reporting her missing. I didn't, obviously, and I told them so. How was I supposed to know she got stuck in her locker and died?"

"I just want to make sure. It seems strange that no one noticed any sounds or smells," Renick said as he typed away at his asinine report.

"Maybe she was unconscious, I don't know," Sophia said. "And Winslow always smells like shit. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Sophia clenched her jaw. She needed to shut the fuck up. Everyone knew that talking was the worst thing you could do when getting questioned.

The deputy director pursed his lips.

"The inside of the locker and the autopsy report showed signs of significant distress," Renick said.

Sophia just shrugged.

The office was silent save for the ongoing clicking of computer keys.

"Alright. I appreciate you coming down to talk in person, Shadow Stalker," Renick finally said. "I've sent you an email to confirm your statement regarding the events. If you want to make any changes, just let me know."

More paperwork. Joy.

"Sure," Sophia said.

She stood and left the office as quickly as she could without arousing any suspicions.

Fucking Hebert.

…

January 25th, 2011.

"...just let us know if there's anything else you need," the nice officer said as he turned to walk down the front walkway.

She could tell that they didn't really believe her. At least the nice one pretended to care. His partner didn't even bother.

Emma wasn't imagining things. She wasn't.

She shuddered at the memory of the mysterious figure staring at her under the moonlight.

Nose… eye… mouth…

No. No, she was safe, here. She had to be.

So why was she still shivering?

Her family had been kind, even if they probably didn't believe her either. She kept herself wrapped up tightly in the offered blanket, and the hot chocolate helped to warm her shaking fingers.

Her father sat next to her on the couch, obviously unsure about what else he could do.

At least he tried.

It had to be a cape, right? No one else could peek into her second story window like that, and disappear before anyone else caught a glimpse of them. A flyer, or at least some kind of Mover.

Sophia would know what to do. Emma had already sent her a text, even if she hadn't opened it yet. Stalker wasn't on patrol tonight.

Emma's shivering intensified, despite her best efforts.

She hadn't told her parents what else she saw.

Hadn't told the police, either. They definitely wouldn't have believed her, if she had.

Because it was impossible.

But she would recognize those eyes anywhere. It didn't matter if they were wet with tears or hard and sharp with fury.

Those curls, as pitch black in the moonlight as they had been fanned across her bedsheets while Taylor laughed.

But Taylor was dead, rotted and gone forever. Emma would never hear her laugh or cry again.

I did that.

Then who was wandering the night, with Taylor's eyes?

Eat it, then pick.

She wasn't safe. Here, or anywhere.

…

"Do I have permission to heal you?"

Amy Dallon, known to the rest of the world as the miracle healer Panacea, barely bothered to listen to the response.

It was always the same. She had heard every response on the spectrum.

Presumption. Expectation. Like they were owed her magic touch.

Extreme gratitude. As if she could live with herself if she just stood by and let them die. As if she ever had a choice.

It didn't fucking matter.

She hated them so fucking much, sometimes.

Just another night of putting broken puzzles back together.

"Do I have permission to heal you?"

Would they let her touch them, if they knew the truth? If they knew how tempting it was to take all those little, fragile connections and just twist-

Don't think about it.

Amy let her mind wander and tried to distract herself from the mindless task of putting the car accident victim's bones back inside their body.

An image of long curls and sparkling eyes, shadowed under the brim of that stupid hat in the moonlight. Long coat and scarf flowing in the cold breeze as she stood confident and unafraid on the high railing.

Well… it was better than dreaming of mutilation. For the most part.

Amy didn't know what to make of the stranger on the roof. Hunter.

"I could give you cancer, you know."

It took an… unusual kind of person, to brush that kind of threat off. Not only because Amy could actually do it, but also because she believed her, for some reason. The dark woman truly didn't care if Amy violated her. She got the feeling that she would "prefer if she didn't", but nothing seemed to faze her.

There was something about her that itched in the back of Amy's mind. Obsidian eyes grinning at her from the shadows.

She didn't know why she decided to grab the supplies for the stranger. Temporary insanity. A moment of weakness, without truly terrible consequences.

The world just felt so gray and monotonous, sometimes. An endless parade of broken bodies with no end in sight.

"Do I have permission to heal you?"

Despite what she said, there was a part of her that wanted to see the mysterious woman again, even though she shouldn't. She had taken to spending even more of her breaks on the roof, just in case.

Not that she would admit that to anyone, let alone Hunter.

But so far, no one had seen any trace of the elusive hat girl.

Amy had also tried to listen more attentively to Carol's updates on cape activities, but her adoptive mother had made no mention of a new cape with a penchant for stealing medical supplies.

A Tinker, maybe? Or maybe she just knew somebody who was hurt, but couldn't come to the hospital for some reason. She was definitely a Mover of some kind, the way she ran and jumped from the roof without hesitation.

"See you around, Panacea."

Hopefully, she would.

Because Amy wanted answers.

No other reason.

…

In both timelines, Thomas Calvert allowed himself a tight smile as he scrolled through the information displayed on the computer screen.

In one, he sat in his comfortable office at the PRT headquarters. He even had his own window.

In the other, he sat in his base of operations under the guise of the supervillain, Coil.

There was a new Tinker in town.

They were careful, and they hadn't given the PRT much to work with, but they were there. Splitting up their purchases, paying in cash, changing clothes, parking outside of easy surveillance. No electronics purchases. But, they had bought enough wholesale materials and tools to show up if one knew where to look.

No one else had noticed, so far. And none of the official alerts had been tripped.

In fact, without the combination of his criminal contacts and PRT resources, he may not have noticed, either.

But he could have both simultaneously, thanks to his power, so he did.

In one timeline, he sent the information gathered by the PRT to his private databases before deleting it from the government system. He had long since compromised the local security to allow himself the necessary privileges.

In the other, he manually typed the relevant information into a new file in his lair computer. He wasn't sure which timeline he would keep today, so it was better to double up.

Thinker powers were highly underrated. Humanity hadn't become the planet's dominant species by being faster or stronger than their adversaries.

It didn't take long to locate his target. He didn't even have to call his Tattletale.

He still would, of course, before actually reaching out to his new potential asset. Whether or not she remembered the conversation would be irrelevant.

Daniel Hebert.

Old, for a new trigger. A hiring manager at a local union. He had taken some time off in the coinciding timeframe. Nothing that would draw attention, if one didn't hold all the cards.

His daughter had recently passed away in an unfortunate accident.

Even that was suspicious. Anyone with more than two functioning brain cells would see that the school was covering something up.

Regardless, there were significantly less traumatic events that had the potential to trigger new capes. It was more than plausible.

A man, angry at the system that failed his daughter. A man, who had worked for so many long years for the betterment of a failing city with very little to show for it. A man, now alone and possibly aching for direction, even if he didn't know it.

Thomas could definitely work with this. He may not even need to employ any… uncivilized… means of coercion.

He would make sure to keep those in his back pocket, of course. Just in case.

Coil reviewed the litany of purchases made by Mr. Hebert in the last week.

What are you up to, Daniel?

…

Chapter Text

Massacre 2.1

Everything was ready.

Her saw cleaver hung heavy in a leather loop hooked to one side of her belt.

Her pistol rested comfortably on the other, extra quicksilver bullets fastened to the leather.

In an easily accessible shoulder holster, her quick injector and a supply of blood vials were ready in case she needed them.

Arrayed on the workbench in front of her were several lengths of tubing, needles, and collection bags.

Taylor took a steadying breath and reviewed her objectives for her evening hunt.

She needed to find worthy targets. Beasts in human skin who preyed upon the innocent. People who deserved her brutal brand of heroism.

She needed as much of their blood as she could reasonably gather. Whether or not they needed to be alive for that to happen was… up for debate.

Her fingers caressed the wood and leather handle of her cleaver. It wasn't a weapon that lent itself to non-lethal engagements.

Part of her was worried about how little that bothered her. Was she already so far gone that thoughts of murder barely phased her?

It would have horrified her, before. But that was before she died, before everyone just walked past her coffin like she didn't matter, like they couldn't hear her begging for help.

She died, and she didn't deserve it. Why should she cry about the death of the evil and the monstrous?

Taylor shook off the momentary hesitation. Her power wasn't designed to be safe, and she wasn't going to shy away from what was necessary. She wouldn't hurt innocent people, and hopefully that would be enough to keep the weight of her sins from drowning her soul.

She would find monsters who deserved it.

A Hunter must hunt.

The Empire. Actual fucking Nazis. A blight upon both her city and the world in general.

The ABB. Formerly the Yakuza, and the Triads. Human traffickers and sex slavers.

It wasn't like she was going to start hacking up shoplifters. These were murderers and rapists who enabled widespread atrocities on an unacceptable scale.

And if they just happened to be filled with sweet, sweet blood, that was just a serendipitous coincidence. Their donation would probably do more good than they had done in the rest of their miserable lives.

At least, that's what she told herself.

And finally, she needed to avoid having too much information trickle back to the PRT or the gang's heavy hitters. She didn't need Armsmaster, Lung, or Kaiser breathing down her neck. Not before she had fully established her workshop, at least.

Taylor pulled on her long coat and tied her hair back, winding her scarf tightly around her neck and tugging it up to cover her face.

She grabbed her hat to complete the costume.

Was it even a costume, really? Taylor Hebert was dead. Her only identity was the Hunter, now.

She grabbed the tubes and blood bags off the table and began tucking them into the various pockets of her coat.

How would she even find her targets, though? Just wander the streets until she saw some suspicious activity? How did actual heroes patrol?

Her fingers brushed against something in one of her coat pockets.

What was in her pocket?

She hadn't thought to check those inside pockets at any point since her father bought the coat.

Taylor put down the blood bags and pulled out an annoyingly familiar folded piece of heavy, expensive paper.

"117 N Oakland Ave."

What.

She turned the paper over, holding it up to the light as if that would reveal some detail that she'd missed.

"Do not fear the Old Blood."

What the actual fuck.

Weird notes in hats left by her grave were one thing, but this was different.

She hadn't even been with her father when he had gone to pick out this coat. Whoever was leaving these notes had either known which coat the store attendant would recommend, or they were following her.

Taylor didn't know which was worse.

Someone was trying to pull her strings.

And the most irritating part was that it was going to work. The only path she had to finding her answers was to go to the damn address. Even if part of her wanted to just ignore it and avoid that address out of spite, she knew that she wasn't going to.

It didn't mean she had to like it.

Taylor ground her teeth as she shoved the note and the blood bags into her pockets.

She had beasts to hunt.

…

It was cloudy, tonight.

Taylor missed feeling the moonlight on her face, but it was good for moving through the city undetected.

Running across the rooftops was as satisfying as ever, although she was careful to stick close to walls or alleyways whenever possible. With the number of flying capes in the city, just being on a rooftop was no guarantee of anonymity.

The address from her mysterious hat provider was on the edge of downtown, in Empire territory. Hopefully, it would be worth the trip.

After all the drama, she would be pretty irritated if the cryptic note led to a 7-11 or something.

Maybe she should have googled it before heading out?

Probably not. She had been trying to stay off the web as much as possible. Tinkers could track web traffic much more easily than regular traffic, and something like a VPN wouldn't stand a chance against someone like Dragon.

Not that she expected to have someone like Dragon looking for her, but still. Better safe than sorry.

Taylor dropped down into an alley and skulked forward to check the nearest street sign.

Oakland Avenue.

She was close.

A few leaps later and she was back on the rooftops, finally approaching her destination.

It was a warehouse complex and storage facility, with several stacks of shipping containers in the wide concrete yard out back.

There was also a fair amount of activity, for this late at night.

Maybe her stalker was on to something.

Taylor worked her way slowly around the edge of the building next door, trying to make out more details in the dark.

Pallets of something, being unloaded off of trucks by a generic crew of workmen. Despite what the movies would have you think, most gang members don't publicly announce their affiliation while they're working.

She needed to get closer. There must have been a reason that this address was on the paper.

Sticking to the shadows as much as possible, Taylor crept across the roof of the warehouse itself and peaked into the skylight.

That's a lot of guns. And drugs. Lovely.

She was definitely in the right place, then.

Several crates near the middle of the warehouse floor were open while a group of men inspected and catalogued their contents. Taylor didn't know enough about specific firearms to identify the model, but they looked dangerous and very much illegal, especially in that quantity.

All that remained was to identify the organization responsible to ensure that they were viable targets.

Raised voices filtered out through the open bay doors, and Taylor risked another peak into the skylight.

A lean, muscular man wearing a red and black uniform and a mask was striding purposefully across the concrete.

Victor.

Well… shit.

At least that answered her question. This was definitely an Empire stash house and processing center.

It was also an opportunity. If Victor was the only Empire cape here, and she could catch him alone…

Her pulse quickened at the prospect of harvesting his blood.

She couldn't get ahead of herself, though. This needed to be quick, and quiet.

Taylor moved over to the other side of the warehouse as silently as she could, slipping down the side of the building until she found an unlocked window that led to the office section of the complex.

The first two windows that she tried were locked, but the third opened with just a small creak of protest.

She didn't have much time. Who knew how long Victor would actually stay here, if he was just checking the progress of the shipment.

Taylor eased herself into the dark conference room.

The slim window in the door showed a light on in the hallway outside, casting a thin beam of light onto the wall.

She pressed herself against the wall and listened carefully.

Muffled voices filtered down the corridor. Taylor drew her cleaver in her right hand and her pistol in her left. Things would never be the same, after this. Her soul would be quenched in violence and forged anew in the moonlight.

Let the hunt begin.

She flung the door open and raced down the hall.

The pair of guards walking towards her didn't even have time to scream.

Taylor dashed forward and raised her cleaver across her body, slashing downwards with a brutal twist that caught the guard on the left in the collarbone. The teeth of the sawblade shredded his skin, muscle, and bone as it cut a bloody fissure through the base of his neck and down into his chest.

Crimson rain showered the hallway as she ripped the saw free from his corpse.

The remaining Empire enforcer's face was slack at the sudden violence, his comrade's lifeblood painting his uniform and the wall behind him.

Taylor used her momentum to spin in a tight circle, ducking under the falling body and letting the saw unfold to take advantage of the centripetal force as she swung it across her body again.

It smashed into the side of her enemy's head with a sickening squelch, and he dropped bonelessly to the floor.

She took a moment to absorb the results of her work.

There was no going back, now. She was a Hunter, and she would take what she needed from those who deserved her fury. She would not be powerless. Not anymore.

Taylor dropped to one knee next to the guard with the ruined head. He had lost the least blood.

She tied a quick cuff around his upper arm and slid one of her needles into a vein.

Blood didn't fill the tube.

Right. No heartbeat.

She dragged his body into the nearest conference room and propped him up in a chair, arm falling slack down the side.

Blood started to slowly trickle into the bag, now that gravity could assist. Hopefully enough would be collected by the time she was done. In the event that she didn't manage to get ahold of Victor's blood, at least she would have a consolation prize.

After a moment's consideration, she dragged the other corpse into the conference room too. The bloodstains were an obvious giveaway, but this might slow down the alarm if her gristly work was discovered.

She was running out of time, though.

Forward.

…

Taylor entered the main warehouse on the balcony that overlooked the open floor.

There was no easy way to conceal her approach. Two guards with long rifles stood at either end of the balcony, which ran the entire length of the wall. The warehouse floor itself was filled with stacks of crates and containers of varying sizes, but she would be seen by the gunmen on the balcony before she made it halfway to the group congregated around Victor in the middle of the floor.

So she took the less risky of the two options, and entered on the balcony to deal with them first. Doing so would probably alert Victor to her presence, but the odds of getting the drop on him were slim to none anyway. This way, she wouldn't be trying to dodge bullets from above while she fought between the crates.

Her steps were quick and quiet as she raced down the balcony towards the first of the two guards, reaching him just as he realized that he suddenly wasn't alone.

He died quickly, her sawblade running red in a beautiful river.

Unfortunately, the gunman at the other end of the balcony heard the strangled death knell and spun to face her, rifle at the ready.

Her pistol was already raised. She could feel the line in her mind's eye, connecting her weapon to his forehead. She was a living weapon, and the bullets were part of her, molded from her blood.

A Hunter must hunt.

The thunderous boom of the gunshot crashed into her ears and the Nazi's head exploded like an overfilled water balloon. The recoil would have thrown her shoulder out of its socket if she had been a normal human. Luckily, she wasn't.

Victor definitely knew she was here now.

Panicked shouts and exclamations echoed across the open warehouse. Taylor leapt from the balcony and landed lightly on the balls of her feet behind a crate below.

Her heartbeat pounded an exhilarating staccato in her ears. She could feel the strength singing in her bones. Even through the heavy clouds, the silver island called to her.

This was what she had been craving. No more cowering in the shadows. Just her, and her prey.

She rocketed forward between the boxes, keeping low to avoid any stray gunfire.

Sliding around a corner, she swung her saw low and wide to tear into a lone Empire thug's knee. She flipped her sawblade closed while he toppled and finished him off with a casual blow to the head as she raced past.

More.

Taylor leapt up and over a tall row of crates, landing in the midst of four men on the other side.

The first two fell before they even registered her existence, agonized screams echoing in the open warehouse as the saw opened ragged wounds across their spines.

The third fired his automatic weapon blind, accidentally ripping apart the fourth man in his hurry.

Taylor ducked under the row of bullets and sent him tumbling to the ground with another low swing to the back of the knee.

Give me more!

She ended his screams and took a moment to reload her pistol.

This almost felt too easy.

Something deep within her mind twisted.

Acting on pure instinct, Taylor threw herself sideways with all the force and dexterity that her superhuman muscles could muster. Even so, she didn't quite manage to avoid the sniper round that would have pierced her heart. The high caliber bullet tore through the right side of her chest, barely missing her spine as it tunneled through a couple ribs and her right lung, exploding out of her back.

Victor wasn't playing around.

She wouldn't have it any other way, but fuck that hurt.

Taylor tumbled to the floor behind the nearest crate in a rapidly growing pool of crimson deep, gasping to draw breath into her single functioning lung. She coughed and a thick splatter of red coated the crate in front of her.

Huh. I don't remember drinking that much blood.

She was also a bit delirious.

More bullets ripped through the crates around her, wooden splinters flying like angry bees.

Her fingers fumbled slightly as she grabbed for her quick injection syringe, but she managed to get a grip and pull it free from its holster.

At least she had pre-loaded it with a blood vial. Good job, past-Taylor.

She slammed the injector into the intact side of her chest and groaned as the euphoria overtook her.

Or maybe that was just the absence of pain. Getting shot in the chest really fucking hurt.

She would try to avoid that in the future. Hopefully. At least she had a decent benchmark for the blood vials. Her chest felt pretty damn good despite the extensive damage, so she was reasonably sure that anything that didn't kill her could be repaired.

She would try not to lose any limbs, though. That could get messy.

Taylor assessed her situation. She couldn't easily move because of the constant barrage, but she obviously couldn't stay here.

Fortune favors the bold.

She took a deep breath into her newly repaired lungs, gathering her strength in her lanky legs like a tightly coiled spring. With an explosion of jarring movement, Taylor launched herself straight upwards and flipped high over the row of boxes, sighting her targets midair.

Victor was lying flat on top of a stack of crates more than fifty yards away.

Two more Empire goons flanked him, automatic assault rifles trained on her position.

Taylor saw Victor take aim at her flying form. She didn't doubt that he had the skill necessary to pick her out of the air.

But this time, she could see him coming. He wouldn't get lucky twice.

Victor's sniper rifle kicked.

Taylor twisted midair and fired her pistol.

Victor's sniper round missed by a hair, ripping a hole in her coat.

The consecrated quicksilver bullet took his left arm off at the shoulder in an explosion of shattered bone.

Taylor cursed as she landed between the crates and sprinted down the row. She had been aiming for his head, but the pistol really wasn't designed for that range.

I need to get closer.

She reloaded her pistol while she ran.

Victor's voice echoed off the metal roof, ordering the remaining guards to cover his retreat while he yelled into a cell phone.

She didn't have much more time, then. The rest of the Empire would be on their way shortly.

Taylor rocketed forward and slid low under the incoming gunfire. She unfolded her cleaver to catch one of the two remaining guards in the gut and ripped his body apart.

She was close, too close, to the final Empire enforcer. Her saw was still extended and lodged inside the guard to her right. The man on her left was turning, gun raised and ready to fire point blank into her center mass.

Taylor didn't hesitate. With a roar, she let go of the cleaver and shoved her hand into his chest just below the sternum, sliding through his flesh with worrying ease.

Her fingers closed around his spine.

His gun went off even as she ripped him apart, but at least the sudden motion of his vertebra exiting through the front of his chest sent his aim off and to her left. The bullets only tore into her shoulder rather than her heart.

Nothing another blood vial wouldn't fix.

The ruined corpse fell away from her, and she tossed his spine aside as she turned.

A door labeled Exit in bloody red light slammed.

Running away, Victor?

He had no trouble hunting those he considered inferior, but ran when he became the prey?

Pathetic.

Taylor wrenched her cleaver free and followed him into the night. It was all too easy to track the trail of crimson despite his attempts to staunch the bleeding.

He raced down the alleyway ahead of her, moving erratically in a vain attempt to throw off her shot.

Too slow.

The sound of thunder boomed again, and her enemy collapsed as his knee ruptured beneath him.

Still, he managed to turn his fall into a surprisingly graceful roll and kept moving, pulling himself forward with one leg and one hand.

Taylor reloaded her pistol and shot his other leg off.

Stupid. Wasting all his blood.

She strode forward quickly.

"You'll never get-"

Whatever he was about to say cut off sharply as she buried her cleaver in his skull.

Silence fell, for the first time since her hunt began.

Taylor took stock of her situation.

She had Victor and his precious blood, leaking onto the pavement in pieces.

There was a veritable smorgasbord of offerings back in the warehouse, including Victor's arm and the blood bag she had set up back in the office.

However, she was running short on time, and Victor's blood was the priority.

This hunt had been… messy. Sloppy. She would do better next time.

Taylor looked around the alleyway.

Surely, Victor's body would fit in a trash bag…

Right?

…

Taylor stopped for a moment and crouched behind an air conditioning unit several blocks away from the bloodbath.

She had decided not to risk going back for the one blood bag. Victor would provide enough for her to work with for a while, and she didn't want to risk being forced to leave his body behind while she fled from the Empire. It had taken longer than she expected to wrap his body in trash bags and gather his wayward limbs.

It would be counterproductive to leave a blood trail, for multiple reasons.

In the very corner of her vision, a shadow moved against the cloudy sky.

Taylor dropped the heavy package and turned, drawing her pistol and aiming it between the eyes of the dark figure that suddenly joined her on the rooftop.

A heavy black cloak and hood shrouded her features, but the crossbow pointed directly at Taylor's face gave away her identity.

Shadow Stalker.

They both stood frozen for a long moment, pistol and crossbow less than a foot apart. Each waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Who the fuck are you?" Shadow Stalker said.

Something about her voice was familiar, but it was too muffled by her mask for Taylor to put her finger on it.

"Hunter," Taylor said.

"Sure you are," the Ward scoffed derisively. "What are you up to, Hunter?"

Huh. Maybe she didn't know about the… incident, a few blocks over.

Still, Taylor couldn't quite bring herself to care enough to lie. It wasn't like her activities weren't obvious. Her shirt was shredded and soaked with blood, her own and her enemies'. Her coat was peppered with bullet holes. Everything from her hat to her scarf to her slacks was splattered liberally with the evidence of her revelry.

"Killing Nazis," Taylor said.

"No shit," Shadow Stalker snorted despite herself. "What'cha got in the bag?"

"Victor's dismembered corpse."

There was a long moment of silence. Neither of them lowered their weapons.

"You're fucking with me," Shadow Stalker said.

"Nope," Taylor said, shrugging as best she could without moving her gun. "Are we going to have a problem?"

She didn't necessarily want to kill a Ward, but Shadow Stalker didn't seem like she was messing around. That crossbow looked lethal.

The quiet was tense, and charged.

"No…" Shadow Stalker said eventually. "No, I don't think we will."

She didn't lower her crossbow, though.

"Good," Taylor said slowly. "In that case, would you mind fucking off? Victor and I have business to discuss."

"Sure you do," Shadow Stalker sounded like she was grinning behind the mask.

The cloaked cape slowly walked towards the edge of the roof, her crossbow never wavering.

Taylor tracked her with her eyes and her pistol at every step.

"See you around, Hunter," Shadow Stalker said.

A memory made Taylor smile.

"I hope not," Taylor said.

Shadow Stalker snorted again and dropped off the edge of the roof.

Taylor waited for a few more long seconds, just in case.

She wasn't actually sure whether Shadow Stalker would report her to the PRT or not. Something about the whole interaction seemed off, and the Ward made no mention of her superiors or legal repercussions. Hell, she left after Taylor admitted to murder, even if her victims were Nazis.

Only time would tell.

Taylor holstered her pistol, grabbed Victor's body, and resumed her trek home.

…

Chapter Text

Massacre 2.2

The slacks could probably be salvaged, and her coat.

And the hat, of course.

Her shirt was a lost cause, though.

Taylor stared into the bathroom mirror.

Her hair was disheveled and sweaty, wild after being let loose from the tie. Her shirt was a bloody pile of shredded fabric in the sink.

The right side of her chest was a mess of angry red lines spider-webbing from a ragged circle, the impact point of Victor's sniper shot. Her left shoulder was peppered with irregular scars, evidence of her rushed arrogance in the heat of the hunt.

Her eyes were bright, burning under her loose curls as she gripped the sink hard enough to risk the porcelain. Her mark stood out stark on her forehead, just peeking between the matted strands.

She had never felt so alive.

Part of her knew it was wrong. Victor's broken body was in a bag in the basement. A total of twelve men, ripped to bloody pieces by her saw and pistol and bare hands.

She should feel something, about that. Sorry, maybe, or sad. But all she felt was satisfaction, and a mild irritation at so much wasted blood.

It was too late to second guess herself now.

The sound of the shower turning on seemed too loud, in the quiet.

The hot water ran red and her hair hung heavy against her back as the evidence of her hunt was washed away.

…

"Morning, Taylor, I'm heading- Jesus Christ!"

In hindsight, she should have broached the topic to her father more gently. This was not the ideal way for him to find out about her activities.

Taylor looked up from where she was carefully arranging the necessary tubes and receptacles to harvest Victor's blood. In addition to the blood flowing from his veins, she put a plastic tub under him to catch the drips.

Hanging the corpse from the ceiling had been necessary, but she knew that it lent a macabre vibe to the entire affair.

His separated legs and arm were easier to manage, each draining into their own pans.

"Don't worry, he was a Nazi," Taylor said.

"That… you…" her father gripped the banister with white knuckles. "You killed him."

"Yes. This was Victor, one of the Empire's capes," Taylor said.

"You killed him."

"He probably wouldn't have agreed to give me all of his blood if I asked nicely," Taylor frowned.

"No, no, Taylor, we need… we need…" Danny trailed off, seeming unsure of what to say next.

Taylor understood. It was one thing for him to know that his daughter was a blood Tinker. It was quite another to see the work in progress.

Plus, she hadn't actually talked to him about her plans. Maybe she should have.

"I told you that I was going to-"

"You didn't tell me you were going to kill people!" Her father yelled, cutting her off.

"They killed me! Who cares if some of the scum of the earth dies with me," Taylor slammed her hand down on the workbench and the glassware clinked ominously.

"I care! And not because they died, but because you're the one who killed them," Danny ranted. "You can't just… it's not…"

"If not me, then who? He's a fucking Nazi! Who knows how many countless lives he and his gang have ruined? At least this way, his death is useful," Taylor said, gesturing at pieces of Victor scattered around the lab.

"That doesn't make it better! You can't justify murder just because you want blood for your experiments!" He exclaimed.

"We'll have to agree to disagree, because I'm justifying it just fine," Taylor said.

"Taylor-"

"No, Dad, I know. I know it's gruesome, and horrible. But I need to figure out the designs in my head. I need to understand my dreams. And this is the only way. I'm limiting myself to hunting monsters, beasts, like the Empire and the ABB. Isn't that enough?" She was shouting by the end.

"I just… it's…" Danny closed his eyes and clenched his fists, taking several deep breaths as the silence stretched between them.

"I don't want this for you, Taylor… you shouldn't have to do any of this," he said eventually.

"I shouldn't have died either," she said coldly. "But it still happened."

It was a low blow, but she wasn't going to stop on his account.

His lips thinned, but he nodded. His eyes kept getting drawn back to the hanging corpse.

"Is he the only one?" He asked sadly.

"No."

"How many?"

"Twelve."

His breath hitched again.

"I'm worried about you, Taylor," he sighed.

Now, it was her turn to nod.

"I'm… I'm a bit worried about me, too," she said.

"Can we talk more when I get home?" he asked warily.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think that's okay," Taylor said.

Her father turned and started back up the stairs.

He glanced down at her over his shoulder.

"No running away?" Danny said softly.

Taylor cracked a grin.

"No calling the PRT," she said.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay," she replied.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Taylor turned back to her project. The blood continued to drain and fill her various beakers and buckets.

"I think he'll come around, don't you, Victor?" she asked idly while she worked.

The corpse didn't answer. Obviously.

She would be even more worried if it had.

…

It took a while, to fully drain, process, and catalogue the body.

Taylor didn't know for sure if every part would be useful to her, but her power was a bit vague on the details in regards to future projects.

So she saved… most of him.

The basement took on an even more disturbing atmosphere, with the jars of preserved organs lining the walls.

Her focus, though, was on the blood.

It dripped, concentrated and twisted by her devices, into the waiting vial.

This concoction was a sizable investment. Almost half of the parahuman blood she had collected, into this single vial.

She hoped that it would be worth it. Her power didn't tell her everything.

It should enhance her. Enlighten her. Bring her that much closer to realizing her goals. Unlock and clarify more complex designs, like a trade, as her humanity slipped.

In theory.

A sharp click sounded over the quiet and the drips as Taylor slid the vial home in her injector.

She tugged her shirt back, exposing the lattice of scars on her chest.

It felt fitting, for some reason.

Before she could lose her nerve, Taylor slammed the injector into her heart, driving the concentrated ichor through her bloodstream.

Silver stars exploded behind her eyes and she gasped as the tempered blood coursed through her. It burned with every stuttering heartbeat, becoming part of her.

Her mind expanded, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Our eyes are yet to open.

She could feel something, on the very edge of her awareness. Something unknowable, and alien.

Taylor slumped forward into the workbench, barely catching herself on the edge. Her injector clattered to the floor, the empty vial shattering against the concrete. Her breath came in sharp pants between clenched teeth.

Eventually, slowly but surely, the shudders began to subside.

Breathing became easier. The knot in her stomach loosened.

It was difficult to parse the sensations sparking within her mind, but she was finally able to begin to pick apart the strange experience.

She could feel pieces of her that hadn't been present before. Just the barest hints of a remembrance, a ghost that left bits and pieces of lessons behind without the actual memories that learned them.

Martial arts. Firearms. PRT procedures. Espionage.

Cordon Bleu cooking?

It may have been a shadow of what Victor had, but it was far better than nothing.

Additionally, the unholy designs and ministrations that danced behind her eyes were clearer, some of the fog starting to drift away.

Her power wanted to be used.

Taylor opened her eyes and looked around the dim room.

I'm going to need a bigger workshop.

Maybe her dad would be less concerned about her tinkering if it wasn't happening in his basement?

Her eyes fell on the remaining supply of Victor's blood.

The process to induce crystallization was lengthy, and she didn't have all of the necessary equipment yet.

I wonder if Panacea would steal a centrifuge for me?

Probably not.

She could ask, though. At the very least, the healer might know where to buy one.

Or steal one from someone who wouldn't miss it. She had mentioned Medhall, last time.

That's an idea.

Taylor returned to her work as her plan started to take shape.

She would still make a trip to visit Panacea, though. She was fun to talk to.

…

Taylor hummed while she worked. Things didn't seem as worrying, with the evening sun filtering through the blinds.

The front door opened and she heard the floorboards creak as her father made his way down the hall.

"Hey, Taylor," he said, surprise coloring his tone. "That smells really good. Did your powers come with a cooking component?"

Taylor laughed while he turned to hang his coat up. He was more right than he knew.

"Actually, yes, in a way," she smiled and stirred the sauce currently simmering on the stove. "Although I resent the implication."

He smiled back for a moment before his expression dropped.

"Is our… um… guest… still downstairs," he asked hesitantly.

"Some of him. Just the useful bits. I got rid of the rest," Taylor said casually.

"Do I even want to know?" Danny pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Probably not," Taylor admitted.

"Okay."

He sat down at the table and ran a hand over his face.

"Okay. Just… warn me next time, please? I'd rather talk about it before I find bodies hanging from the ceiling. Even if it's necessary… sometimes," he said.

That was pretty reasonable, all things considered.

"I've been thinking about trying to find a bigger lab," Taylor said, then hurried to continue when her father's eyes snapped over to her. "Not leaving, I promise, I just might need more space. I want to build a forge, and the basement isn't exactly a great place for it. Ventilation, and whatnot."

Danny raised an eyebrow.

"A forge?" he said.

"Yeah. To make bigger and better weapons. Plus, it will make it easier to make some of my own equipment," Taylor said as she checked the progress of the tenderloin in the oven.

"You're making weapons? I thought that blood was your thing."

"I can have multiple things," Taylor grinned. "But yeah, I made my weapons, too. How do you think I took care of our… guest?"

"I've been trying my best not to think about it, thanks for asking," her father said wryly.

"Well, so far I've just made my saw cleaver, and my pistol," Taylor continued.

"You made a gun? Also… a saw… you know what, I actually don't want to know," Danny shook his head.

Taylor chuckled while she got their plates ready.

"Anything exciting at work?" She asked, mainly just to keep him talking. She didn't want him to retreat back into his shell, or start freaking out about her murder spree.

"Now that you mention it, everyone was gossiping about a terrible cape brawl near downtown," Her father shot her a look. "Apparently, it looked like a wild animal ripped a bunch of Empire guys to pieces."

"Weird," Taylor said, mimicking his mild tone. "Couldn't have happened to better people."

"I know I'm going to regret this, but you didn't leave any evidence behind, did you?" Danny asked.

Taylor shrugged.

"I wore gloves, and my bullets are made of my own blood-"

"I'm sorry, what-"

"-so the only thing I left behind was one of my blood bags," Taylor continued despite the interruption. "And a bunch of my blood, I guess."

Her father just stared at her across the table.

"Why… a bunch of your blood?" He asked warily.

"I got shot a few times," Taylor said as she chewed her roast beef.

"You got-"

"It's fine, I fixed it. It barely even scarred."

That part was a lie, but he didn't need to know that. Besides, she liked the scars.

He didn't seem to know what to say. That was better than yelling, at least.

"Speaking of which, I need a couple new shirts. Because, you know, bullet holes."

Danny sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot, recently.

…

Amy rummaged through the fridge for something quick and easy to throw together before her evening shift at the hospital.

It was always hit or miss. Some days, Carol was big into the whole 'we eat dinner as a family' idea, and others it would be takeout for weeks at a time. Not that she would ever acknowledge the inconsistency. That would require a smidge of self-reflection, which was not in Carol's vocabulary.

Whole wheat bread, which didn't even belong in the fridge, and an entire head of broccoli. Joy.

Maybe Vicky would be willing to stop for fast food on the way.

"...Sarah's worried. A new arrival or trigger murdered eleven Empire members downtown, and…"

Carol's words drifted in from the living room, catching Amy's attention as she closed the fridge.

She wandered closer to the open archway leading into the next room, hoping to hear more without Carol noticing her.

"...according to the report, the victims were violently maimed, premortem. The PRT is assuming parahuman involvement, given the nature of the injuries," Carol continued. "They're still processing all the evidence, but apparently the perpetrator left a generic blood donation bag hooked up to one of the victims? Unusual…"

Amy backed away as ice ran through her.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

Was Hunter… hunting Nazis?

It shouldn't be a surprise, in hindsight. Despite her playful demeanor, the hat girl was entirely too confident.

She was dangerous.

And a villain, to boot. She promised Amy that the equipment wasn't for villainous activity, and then she goes on a killing spree?

Amy ground her teeth as she made her way quickly upstairs. She didn't want to talk to Carol right now.

Not that that was an unusual occurrence. It wasn't like she ever really wanted to talk to Carol.

There was one person she wanted to talk to right now, even though she shouldn't.

Well, two people. As usual.

Why did shit like this always happen to her?

She could barely make it through a normal conversation with her favorite person without her pervasive obsession raising its ugly head.

And now the only other decently interesting distraction she had was probably a mass-fucking-murderer.

Fuck.

Amy flopped down on her unmade bed and stared at the ceiling.

She was definitely taking her breaks on the roof tonight. She needed a cigarette, or ten. And maybe, Hunter would stop by, and Amy could give her a piece of her mind. Or cancer.

Yeah. Great plan, Amy.

Shut up.

…

Taylor wandered through the Trainyards under the waning moon. It was still fairly early in the evening, so she wasn't alone in the broken streets. But no one really paid attention to a lone figure in a long coat and scarf, hat pulled low over her eyes.

Even if the coat had bullet holes in it.

She wore a dark sweater and black jeans under the tattered overcoat since she was out of white shirts and her slacks were still in the wash. Her scarf was mostly clean, although the blood splatter left irregular stains all along it.

For now, Taylor was just scoping out potential workshop locations. There were an abundance of abandoned buildings left to rot when the shipping industry dried up, but she didn't want to just pick a random shell and start working.

She needed somewhere big enough that her modifications wouldn't be immediately noticed, and sturdy enough that it wouldn't collapse on her head in a storm.

Taylor didn't want to take too long on her walk, though. She still wanted to drop by and see Panacea before the moon rose too high.

The winter wind whipped down the cracked, industrial roads. She put her hands in her pockets while she walked.

After two more turns, she smiled behind her scarf.

Set back from the road, behind a desiccated lawn covered in decaying cars, sat the remains of an abandoned hospital.

It was perfect.

I'll be back for you later.

…

Luck was on her side. A robed figure in red and white already leaned against the railing of Brockton General when she landed lightly on the rooftop.

"So… come here often?"

Okay, that was definitely lame, but Panacea had opened their last conversation by insulting her hat. This was tame by comparison.

The healer's shoulders tensed and she turned halfway towards her, frizzy curls spilling out from under her hood.

"Was it you?" Panacea asked flatly.

Straight to the point, then.

"Yes."

The silence stretched.

"You lied to me," she said.

That wasn't what Taylor was expecting her to say.

"I didn't. Not that I remember, anyway," Taylor pursed her lips behind her scarf.

Panacea scoffed and finally turned around, leaning back against the railing. The orange tip of her lit cigarette dangled between her fingers.

"You said you weren't a villain," the healer said. "You promised."

"I'm not."

"I'm pretty sure there's a pile of bodies in the morgue that would disagree," Panacea snorted.

"They were Nazis," Taylor said with a shrug, even though she knew where this was going.

"That doesn't make it okay!" Panacea hissed, taking a step forward. "We're supposed to be better than them. That's the whole fucking point!"

"We are!" Taylor said, matching her. "Kill one murderer, and the number of murderers in the world stays the same. Kill twelve murderers, and the number goes down by eleven."

"That's not how it works, and you know it!"

"Do I?" Taylor raised an eyebrow under her hat. "I find it distinctly difficult to feel bad about hunting monsters. If I had killed them while defending an innocent they were trying to murder, would it still be so wrong?"

"Don't…" Panacea's voice was low and poisonous. "Don't try to justify your own murders to me."

"Fine. Then what if their deaths could mean something, bring about something good?" Taylor said.

She hadn't intended to bring this up, but for some reason she really wanted Panacea to believe her.

Taylor held up a blood vial.

"I need blood for my work. And it's better to take it from Nazis than innocents, or donations intended for victims," Taylor said.

"What is that?" Panacea said, stepping forward again, almost involuntarily.

"A present. I figured that the world's best healer should double check my work."

Taylor held it out to her. They were close, now.

Panacea reached for it, looking up at her with her hand outstretched. Taylor caught her eyes, under the hood.

She had always thought that brown was a boring color, but she had always been wrong. The eyes under the hood were anything but boring.

Sad, and tired, but also alight with inner fire and acid. Conflicted, unresolved chocolate depths.

She was lost, for a moment.

Long enough to miss that Panacea didn't take the vial, and instead reached up her coat sleeve to grip her wrist, above the glove.

Touching her skin.

Her body froze, muscles and tendons going taught against her will.

"I should hand you over to the PRT," Panacea hissed, stepping into her until their faces were only a foot apart. "I should shut down your organs or cut off the nerves to your arms and legs so you can't hurt anyone else."

Taylor kept her stare level, burning onyx boring into unsteady chocolate.

She could still speak, despite Panacea's control over her.

"Do it, then," Taylor said lowly, steady and resolute. "Take what you want, and make no apologies."

"I can't," Panacea said, her voice strangely broken despite technically being in control of the situation. "I'm not like you."

"You could be."

They stood in silence for a long time.

"FUCK!" Panacea suddenly yelled, releasing her and turning sharply to pace across the rooftop. "Why are you like this? How can you just stand there knowing that I could melt your fucking organs? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Taylor couldn't help but smile.

"I'll tell you if you get me a centrifuge," she said.

"No! No, I'm not stealing any more shit for you, you… villainous… murdering… fuck," Panacea shouted again turning around the grip the railing with unnecessary force.

Taylor wandered over and leaned against the railing next to her. The quiet stretched.

"Did you feel the scars?" Taylor asked softly.

Panacea glanced sideways at her with narrowed eyes.

"Sure. You enjoy carving shit into your forehead?"

"Not that scar," Taylor chuckled.

"Whatever. Yeah, you got shot, right? In the lung? I'm surprised you're walking," Panacea said.

"I got shot yesterday evening, fighting the Empire."

"So you heal quickly. Brute rating. Nothing too crazy about that," Panacea said. She pulled out another cigarette.

"I'm not a Brute. I'm a Tinker."

It took a moment, for the pieces to click. Taylor saw the moment that her eyes widened.

"Your tech… the needles… that vial…" Panacea floundered.

"Yeah," Taylor said. "My work can heal people. It can fix pretty much anything, from what I can tell. It's not perfect, and it leaves scars, but…"

"Why…" Panacea lowered her head, her face hidden by her hood and her hair. "Why couldn't you just be a hero, then? Just help people? Why all the…"

She trailed off again.

"It's not that simple."

"The fuck it is!" Panacea growled, raising her head to stare into Taylor's eyes again. "You don't get to take something like that, a power like that, and just… fucking waste it!"

The healer stormed away, pacing back and forth across the dim rooftop.

"You don't-" Taylor started.

"Shut up!" Panacea yelled. "It's not fucking fair!"

Taylor stayed silent and let her pace until she ran out of steam.

They stood facing each other, in the night. Red and white and black.

"My life is my own," Taylor said quietly. "And I'm not asking you to agree with everything I do with it."

"That's good, because I don't," Panacea said. She sounded a bit petulant, even to Taylor.

"Do you want the vial, then? I certainly won't force you to take it," Taylor said.

Panacea just glared at her for a long moment.

"Fine," she bit out, even though it seemed painful for her.

Taylor held it out to her again, and this time the healer took it without issue.

She held it up to the moonlight, and Taylor saw something spark behind her eyes.

Taylor couldn't help but smile under her scarf again. The healer's face was captivating, framed in wild curls, whether she was glaring daggers at her or staring at her work with wonder.

"Do you need to hook it up to an IV, or is a muscular injection sufficient?" Panacea said eventually.

"Either will work, but IV is probably faster. I use a custom rapid diffuser that-"

"I don't care."

Taylor laughed. So prickly.

Panacea glared at her.

"I'm still not happy about the murders. I really should tell the PRT," the healer said. "They're probably going to ask where this blood came from."

"Maybe don't tell them about it, then?" Taylor shrugged. "Again, I can't really stop you, but I'd prefer if you didn't. I want to do more research before I have the Protectorate kicking down my door."

"And by research, you mean killing people."

"Nazis and sex slavers. They barely count. But yeah, killing them, stealing all of their blood, and figuring out what interesting stuff I can do with it," Taylor said. "It'd go faster if you got me a centrifuge."

"No."

"You're no fun," Taylor grinned. She was lying, anyway. Talking to Panacea was the most fun she'd had since she came back from the dead. And for a long while before that, if she was being honest.

"You're a mass-murderer. Don't fucking push me."

"Touchy, touchy."

Panacea just groaned. That was an improvement from yelling and death threats, though.

They both stood there for a while. The wind ruffled Taylor's scarf and Panacea's robe.

"I… need to get back to work," Panacea said eventually. Grudgingly.

"I'm going to go rob Medhall," Taylor said.

"You shouldn't… you… you know what? I'm not even going to bother. Don't fucking kill any janitors, or whatever," Panacea grumbled.

Taylor's smile widened behind her scarf. She hopped up on the railing and enjoyed the chilly breeze flowing through her tattered coat.

"Tomorrow night, then?" Taylor asked.

"Fine," Panacea bit out, but she didn't actually seem all that annoyed about it.

With one last view of conflicted chocolate, Taylor let herself fall backwards and left the healer alone in the dark.

…

Chapter Text

Massacre 2.3

Taylor crouched behind the low wall on the top level of the parking garage across the road from the main Medhall building.

This might be tougher than she originally thought.

The buildings in the nicer parts of downtown were more difficult for her to traverse. Less fire escapes and brick siding for easy scaling, and more variation between the buildings. Being able to jump one or two stories up didn't exactly help much with skyscrapers.

Additionally, the exterior of the Medhall building didn't give her much to go on. Flat sides of reflective glass, only tapering in at a level much higher than any of the surrounding buildings.

At least it didn't seem like the main building had any twenty-four-hour inpatient sections. The multi-lane drop-off area in front was empty.

Even with Victor's knowledge of breaking and entering, she couldn't really know what she would find until she got inside.

Which begged the question…

Should she go in slow and silent, or quick and loud?

Slow and silent was obviously preferable, but it might be impossible. She didn't have any means of dodging security cameras outside of skilled observation, and she doubted that a professional setup like Medhall would have very many blind spots. They would have security guards watching for suspicious activity, so she probably wouldn't remain undetected for long.

Her costume was pretty much the definition of suspicious.

Victor's knowledge hinted at methods of disguising herself, basic security uniforms or maintenance outfits.

Probably not worth it. She may be tall for her age, but anyone who looked too closely would see a teenager pretending. Plus, she didn't want to show her face.

Loud and proud it is, then.

Or, at least, as fast as possible without significant regard for stealth.

Taylor still didn't like the idea of going in blind, but she didn't exactly have a better option. They didn't do guided tours of the floors she wanted to pilfer.

Giving up on getting any additional information from watching the exterior, Taylor carefully worked her way around to the back of the tall building and dropped down into the alley between it and the bank office next door.

She already saw three different security cameras trained on the alley and maintenance entrances. It would have to be a quick visit.

The double doors at the maintenance entrance were sturdy and, predictably, locked. In one smooth movement, Taylor drew her pistol and fired.

The consecrated blood bullet put a fist sized hole where the lock used to be.

She fully expected an alarm to go off, but there was no obvious response to the ringing gunshot. Weird, but she wasn't complaining.

Taylor took off down the hall at a dead sprint. Various pipes and valves were exposed along the ceiling.

She needed to locate the research labs as quickly as possible.

I wonder if they have a map around here anywhere?

She found a staircase and took the steps three at a time, rocketing up several floors before exiting to get her bearings.

At least she was in a more professional part of the building now. Instead of exposing pipeworks, the walls were lined with generic office decorations.

Still not what she wanted.

Several turns later, she got her first stroke of luck.

A bank of elevators sat dark and silent, but beside them was a directory of different floors and departments.

Unfortunately, the labs and research areas were in the basement. Back the way she came.

Irritating.

Additionally, she could hear raised voices filtering through the network of hallways and offices.

Part of her considered just taking the elevator.

But no, that would be a stupid idea. They could just trigger the emergency stop and she'd be in even more trouble.

Back to the stairs it was, then.

Taylor raced back down the hallway.

Just as it looked like she might make it to the stairway unimpeded, two security guards ran into the corridor from the left.

Shit.

She really didn't want to kill any innocent security guards. They were just doing their jobs, and she was unarguably the criminal here.

But she had some of Victor's hand to hand skills now, and she was still much faster than a normal human. She could get past these two without ripping out their spines.

Probably.

She was only ten feet away when they saw her, but they were both quick to raise their pistols.

Not even tasers. Medhall didn't skimp on the security, apparently. Was that even legal?

Taylor twisted sideways and caught the shooting arm of the guard on the right, forcing his aim wide and slamming his gun into the other guard's face. She winced at the crunch of his nose breaking under the metal.

She ducked under the arm she was holding and kicked backwards at the guard's knee, wincing again at the sickening snap.

"Sorry, sorry," she said automatically, relieving them both of their firearms before heading into the stairwell.

This was already messier than she had hoped for.

Taylor bounded down the stairs a full flight at a time, quickly passing the maintenance floor where she started and making her way to the basements.

I probably should have brought a duffel bag or something.

Hindsight was twenty-twenty.

She raced through the maze of generic beige corridors until a sign caught her eye.

"Advanced radiology and toxicology: Area 3."

Good enough for her.

The door was locked.

The gunshot sounded even louder than usual, in the confined space.

Do blood vials repair hearing damage?

Her power's answer was inconclusive.

Taylor threw open the door and stumbled to a stop.

It was like the most enticing buffet she had ever laid eyes on.

There was just so… much… equipment!

And she didn't even have a good way to carry it all. Damn.

Luckily, there were some plastic tubs under one of the lab tables. That was better than nothing.

She really didn't have any more time, so she grabbed a centrifuge and a few other pieces of specialized equipment that made her power buzz pleasantly. They were pretty heavy, but it wasn't an issue with the power and adrenaline singing in her veins.

No more time.

Taylor returned to her mad dash through the corridors, now awkwardly carrying a plastic tub full of laboratory equipment.

She definitely should have planned this better. This was ridiculous.

Victor's instincts told her that the way she came in would already be blocked by security, so she headed towards what she hoped was the front of the building.

She found another bank of elevators and a set of stairs nearby. Perfect.

The main lobby was probably a bad idea. She went up one extra level before exiting the staircase and sprinting down the hallway.

Unfortunately, the level one hallway still overlooked the open atrium with only a glass divider between her and a sizable group of guards and police in the entrance hall below.

Gunshots and shattered glass exploded around her as the guards in the lobby open fired without hesitation. Again, they seemed awfully quick to resort to lethal aggression, but Taylor had more important things to focus on. It was difficult to dodge bullets while holding a crate of delicate lab equipment.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

A bullet nicked the back of her calf, carving out a painful furrow in the muscle. At least it wasn't deep enough to significantly slow her down. Nothing a blood vial wouldn't fix, once she wasn't actively being shot at.

She was never doing anything like this again. Clearly, her power was designed for hunting. This cops and robbers bullshit was obviously cursed.

Four more security guards rounded the corner in front of her.

Shit.

Did Medhall have a private army or something? What kind of ridiculous Die Hard crap was this?

Acting on instinct and Victor's muscle memory, Taylor slid the plastic tub along the floor and leapt. She ran sideways up the right-hand wall at maximum speed until she was briefly horizontal, perpendicular to the hallway.

Bullets tore through the space under her, putting even more holes in her coat as it flared behind her.

She kicked off the wall and brought her knee down on the collarbone of the closest guard. He and his collarbone both collapsed under her weight and momentum.

On the way down, Taylor grabbed the wrist of the guard next to her and twisted the gun out of his hand.

As it fell, she snatched the rogue firearm out of the air and flung it at the guard farthest down the hall, still trying to get a clean shot at her.

The heavy metal hit him in the face with a dull thud and he toppled.

She and the man under her landed hard and she rolled quickly to avoid a shot from the last armed guard. Using her remaining momentum, she twisted on the ground and kicked at his knee, wincing as this one, too, snapped like a twig.

"Sorry," she said again, for all the good it did.

Taylor pushed herself back up to her feet and snagged the tub as it slid past, continuing her frantic search for an exit.

She could see the red and blue lights flashing from the main entrance. Not there, then.

I'll just have to make my own exit.

Taylor turned hard at the next hallway juncture, wincing as the motion tugged at her wounded leg.

Just a simple B & E to get tinkering supplies. No big deal. Sure.

She shifted the tub under her arm and shot the window at the end of the hallway. The wide glass pane shattered and fell to the street below.

I can probably jump that far.

Hopefully.

Taylor braced her good leg on the metal sill and leapt across the street to the first floor of the parking garage on the other side.

Her breath came a bit easier as she sprinted away in the fresh night air, stolen equipment in tow.

Easy-peasy.

She really needed to sleep.

…

Amy really needed to sleep.

Instead she locked the door to her bedroom behind her and tossed her Panacea robe onto the floor with the rest of the accumulated laundry. She would do it… at some point. Maybe.

She flopped down in her desk chair and spun idly in a circle for a moment.

Hunter was just so… goddamn… frustrating.

For someone so wrong, she sure seemed pretty damn pleased with herself. And yet, she was also more than willing to die for her broken convictions.

Amy didn't know what to think about her. The way those black eyes stared into her soul even though Amy's power held her firmly in place. The way her words rang with truth and sincerity, while Amy could feel every beat of her pulse and the chemical reactions in her brain.

"Do it, then. Take what you want, and make no apologies."

As if Amy could ever do that.

She didn't even know what she wanted.

That thought made her sit up straighter.

Last week, she would have known exactly what she would take, but could never, ever have. Was it better or worse, that she wasn't sure anymore? What did that even mean?

Amy pulled out the blood vial and stared at it for a long time.

A present.

She carefully unscrewed the top.

If I'm going to hell, I might as well enjoy the ride.

Amy took a deep breath and dipped her finger in the congealed, concentrated blood.

Her eyes widened involuntarily and she gripped the arm of the chair with scrabbling fingers.

It was like nothing she had ever seen before. Her power didn't know what to make of it. She could barely comprehend it, let alone change it, even if she wanted to.

No living thing had blood like this. She wasn't even sure that it was still blood at all.

The closest equivalent would be some kind of alien stem cell, if stem cells were forced to do a shit ton of coke and then got hooked up to a car battery. Even that didn't do the crimson ichor justice.

Hunter made this?

Hunter had been putting this into her body?

Amy lost track of time as she stared into the ever changing lattice that was the perfect humor, both fiery ambrosia and soothing tonic to her biosenses.

When she finally pulled her hand away, she had the strangest urge to lick her finger clean.

She didn't, though, because that was a terrible idea.

After re-stoppering the vial and washing her hands, Amy sat back down at her desk and stared at the deceptively unobtrusive glass.

She needed to talk to Hunter again. Even if she shouldn't. Even if the girl in the stupid hat was a violent murderer.

Tomorrow night couldn't come soon enough, and she didn't even really know why.

But everything seemed just a little bit less gray, and that was… good.

She really needed to sleep.

For once, sleep came quickly and easily. Amy dreamed of soft, silver light, afloat in a glass-calm crimson sea.

…

Instead of heading straight home, Taylor made her way back to the abandoned hospital in the Trainyards.

The electricity had long since been shut off, but that was alright. Nothing she couldn't work around.

She carefully picked her way over the shattered glass and debris covering the floor of the empty lobby.

Ironically, the atmosphere seemed to be preventing any homeless people from camping here, despite the relatively secure environment. Something about the eerie, empty exam rooms and surgical suites.

Taylor liked it, though.

It seemed well and truly abandoned. If there was anyone here, they were doing a damn good job of hiding.

Taylor spent a solid thirty minutes working her way through the myriad of different rooms and offices before she found what she was looking for.

The ruined research lab was a large room, longer than it was wide. Anything even vaguely valuable had been either broken or taken, including the copper wiring in the walls. Still, the bones of a professional grade HVAC system were still present, and several of the lab tables were intact.

Once she got everything up and running, she could set up a forge here and pump the smoke outside. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too obvious. Plus, there was more than enough space for her other gear and equipment.

She didn't have the energy to do any cleanup right now, though. The long night last night and the events of this evening were finally catching up with her. Getting shot multiple times wasn't a walk in the park, apparently.

Recipes for a blood-based stimulant danced in front of her eyes, but it would have to wait.

The Medhall incident had been an absolute fiasco. Running in blind, getting lost, trying to dodge bullets while carrying a plastic tub of temperamental laboratory equipment. Non-lethal takedowns. All of it was a huge fucking mess that she was never, ever doing again.

She should just stick to killing beasts.

It also dawned on her that she left her blood at the scene, so the PRT would be able to put two and two together and figure out that the woman in the fedora on the Medhall security tapes was also the one who killed all those Empire thugs.

God. Dammit.

She needed to go home, shower, and sleep until her meeting with Panacea tomorrow night. That sounded like an excellent plan.

She'd have to apologize to the healer, tomorrow. The Medhall thing was definitely villainous behavior, no matter how much she wanted that equipment.

Taylor left her ill-gotten gains in her new lair and began the long walk back to the Docks.

…

She knew that something was amiss as soon as she snuck in the back door.

Just a vague feeling. Like everything had been shifted ever so slightly while she was gone.

Taylor stopped in the living room and glanced around, trying to figure out what the source of her malcontent was.

Maybe she was just tired. And paranoid.

It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you.

The basement door was open. She definitely closed it before she left, and her father wouldn't go down there on his own. And he would know better than to leave it open, what with the human organs on display.

Someone was in my lab.

Or still is.

Taylor drew her pistol and cleaver, creeping down the wooden stairs as lightly as she could.

It was still dark, in the basement.

She made it to the base of the stairs and peered into the pitch black ink.

Her senses twitched.

Taylor spun on her heel and leveled her gun at the figure in the dark at the same moment they raised their crossbow.

A slim form in black combat armor and a white hockey mask stared at her. The costume may be different, but the weapon gave her away.

Shadow Stalker.

How did she find me?

"You're supposed to be dead, Hebert."

What the fuck.

That voice…

"Hess. What the fuck are you doing in my house?" Taylor said, her voice colder than she had ever heard from her own lips before.

Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker.

The pieces clicked into place.

It explained so much.

Why the school officials never took her complaints seriously. Why the trio always got away with their crimes. Why Emma latched onto her. How Sophia was so much stronger than the other children at the school, so much rougher around the edges.

She was a parahuman, the whole time. A Ward. A superhero.

What a fucking joke.

Taylor's blood should have been boiling, but she felt strangely cold. Detached.

This was different from the Nazis. That had been a hunt, a means to an end.

This time, it was personal.

Sophia Hess would not be leaving this house alive.

"Emma told me a funny story," Sophia said mockingly. "And I just had to come check for myself. Good thing I did, huh, Hunter?"

Taylor didn't bother to answer. She took one careful step to the left, circling her target. Sophia matched her exactly. Their weapons never strayed from the other's face.

"How'd a monster like you end up in the Wards?" Taylor asked. It didn't really matter, but she was curious.

She took another step.

So did her enemy.

"Fuck off." Sophia spat. "You think you're tough shit just because you snuffed out a couple Nazis?"

Taylor smiled.

"Twelve Nazis," Taylor corrected. "And one Ward."

"You don't have the-"

"They don't know you're here, do they?" Taylor cut her off, her voice hissing in the darkness. "I can't imagine that you'd tell them what you did to me. Are you all… alone… Sophia?"

"Fuck you-"

"I remember what it was like, to be alone," Taylor continued. "Trapped in that metal box, with the blood. Do you remember, Sophia? You're the one who put me in there, after all."

She saw Sophia shiver before straightening her spine.

"I put you in the ground once, Hebert," she growled. "I think I'm going to enjoy doing it again."

No shallow grave will hold me. Not while I can dream.

"I'm sure you'll try," Taylor grinned. It was not a happy expression. "Come with me, then, into the dark."

They both pulled the trigger, and the night was no longer quiet.

Chapter Text

Interlude 2

PRT ENE Director Emily Piggot clicked through the photos attached to the most recent report.

A gruesome scene at an Empire stash house downtown. Not entirely out of the ordinary, but villain conflicts rarely involved so many unpowered casualties. The general etiquette between villains was to fight parahumans with parahumans, and minions with minions. Otherwise, both sides would end up decimated and unable to hold their own against the heroes.

And heroes rarely went on murderous rampages.

There were some exceptions, of course. The Gavels and Lustrums of the world. Capes who believed in their cause to the point of extreme violence, and saw themselves as heroes who had the stomach to do what was necessary to enact change.

They were often the most irritating kind of capes to deal with. At least the regular villains weren't so self-righteous about it.

Still, this was looking more and more like an amateur vigilante with aspirations of heroism. It was unlikely that a rival villain would have left the guns and drugs undisturbed.

Actually, aside from the overall death and destruction, Emily wasn't sure what the murderer accomplished with the whole affair.

The intercom next to her monitor chimed.

"Armsmaster is here, Director."

Her current assistant was unusually competent and straight to the point. It was a welcome change of pace from the usual bureaucratic sycophants. Hopefully, he would last longer than the others.

"Send him in," Emily ordered.

Her office door hissed open and the well-known blue and silver hero strode in.

Armsmaster was a tall, conventionally attractive man. His interlocking power armor cut an imposing figure, and his beard was perfectly trimmed under his visor.

It was only due to years of familiarity that Emily could see the stiffness in his posture, the tensing of his jaw.

The hero was not happy to be here. Most likely because it took him away from his workshop. The Protectorate HQ was a decent fortress, but it wasn't exactly conveniently placed for commuting. Also, he deemed face-to-face meetings to be unnecessary, in general.

Emily begged to differ. There was a lot that you could only tell about a person when they were sitting in front of you.

"Have a seat, Armsmaster. I've been reviewing the incident report from last night," Emily said.

"The massacre downtown," he said. It didn't sound like a question.

"Quite. What are your takeaways?" Emily asked. Despite his demeanor, Armsmaster was insightful when it came to investigations and crime scenes.

"A single assailant, almost certainly a parahuman, either utilizing Tinkertech weaponry or a Tinker themselves."

Emily hummed in agreement and pulled up the page detailing the recovered bullets.

"The report is… unclear. What is so special about the ammunition?"

"I have been unable to fully analyze the samples, but they are… charged, somehow," Armsmaster said. "The closest approximation I can compare it to is Dauntless' abilities. The metal is not an alloy that I'm familiar with, and there is a lingering anomalous effect that interferes with my scanners."

He seemed distinctly irritated by this fact.

"And the blood found at the scene?" Emily asked.

"Two samples that do not match any of the victims. From the locations of the bloodstains, I am working under the impression that one was an Empire member and the other was their assailant.

"There's quite a lot of it, at marker 13," Emily said musingly, pulling up one of the attached images.

"Yes. And very little leading away. Most likely a regenerator of some kind," Armsmaster said.

Perfect. Just what they needed.

"Have you made any progress in identifying the cause of the injuries?" Emily asked. The report had been compiled before all of the wounds were analyzed.

"I believe that the assailant used a custom weapon of some kind. The closest match I could find was a wide-toothed saw."

"A saw," Emily deadpanned.

"Or a similar large, serrated blade. Also, quite a bit thicker than my test instrument," Armsmaster said.

Emily allowed herself a moment to sigh and lean back in her custom-molded chair.

"So, we have a violent vigilante running around murdering villains with a saw," Emily said eventually. "I never thought I'd feel nostalgic for crossbow bolts."

Armsmaster didn't laugh, but his lips did quirk upwards at the corner.

"There's also the blood donation bag to consider," he said.

"Right, of course. I misspoke. A violent vigilante running around murdering villains with a saw and harvesting their blood," Emily said.

That was even closer to a smile. Clearly, the psych evaluation stating she had 'difficulty building rapport with operatives' wasn't entirely correct.

"How would you prefer to pursue this, Director?" Armsmaster asked after a moment.

"We keep our involvement minimal, from a PR standpoint. This was a minor clash between villains, nothing more. Make no mention of the weapon or the abandoned blood bag," Emily said.

"And internally?"

"Find this rogue hunter and get them off the streets," Emily continued. "Quietly, if possible. We can't afford to escalate the terms of engagement with the Empire, not when they outnumber us two to one. We either bring our new vigilante into the fold and rebrand them before they cause more of a mess, or we ship them to prison somewhere far away and hope that Kaiser doesn't take his pound of blood from us."

Armsmaster nodded. He was difficult to work with, sometimes, but at least he appreciated a pragmatic approach.

Emily sighed again.

"Do we have a temporary designation for them, yet?"

"Assault suggested 'Sawbones', but we decided that was… ill-advised. They are being internally referred to as Carpenter, until we get more information."

Armsmaster left to return to his precious lab, and Emily steepled her fingers in front of her on the desk.

Maybe, the incentive of getting to pick a better name would draw this wayward vigilante out of the woodwork.

Emily almost smiled at that.

But she didn't. Instead, she got back to work.

…

Thomas Calvert found himself becoming frustrated.

That didn't actually happen all that often.

With access to multiple attempts at any interaction, he considered himself extremely proficient at getting what he wanted.

"You know, all you have to do to get the pain to stop is work for me. It's really not such an arduous ask," Coil said, leaning forward in his chair.

Daniel Hebert was quite possibly the most stubborn man he had ever met.

Luckily, he had only utilized one of his timelines to approach Mr. Hebert. It was lucky, because not a single one of them worked, and he was able to close them without incident.

It was still an irritating waste of time.

No matter what manner he approached the difficult hiring manager, Thomas found himself rebuffed with varying degrees of politeness. He had long since given up on a diplomatic solution, and began employing more… forceful… means of coercion.

Any and all agents he sent to Daniel's house never came back. The Tinker must have extensive defenses at his base of operations. It was common sense not to attack a Tinker in their lab, regardless. In light of this information, Thomas had taken to abducting him from work.

But still, no significant progress was made. Daniel Hebert refused to even pretend to help him in any way, shape, or form.

"Surely you must see that this is an exercise in futility," Coil said, raising the hammer and bringing it crashing down on one of Daniel's remaining fingers.

The man just laughed.

"You might as well kill me," Mr. Hebert spat between broken teeth. "Because I'll die happy before giving you anything you want."

Frustrating.

"Why? Why are you so adamantly opposed to even the barest hint of a compromise? Surely this isn't necessary," Coil said tiredly. If this continued for much longer, he would have to call his Tattletale here to personally observe the interrogation.

This timeline had been the longest split so far. He hoped to find some kind of lever, some price that he could exact to get Daniel on his side without going through this painstaking process of capture and torture over and over again.

Coil paused as a muffled commotion filtered down from the upper levels.

He and Daniel both looked up at the ceiling of the cell.

A gunshot rang out, and the distant screaming began.

Mr. Hebert smiled through his broken teeth.

"I'd offer… my sympathy," Daniel said. His words sounded a bit mushy, due to his injuries. "But it won't do you any good."

"What do you mean? What's happening, Daniel?" Coil asked as the gunshots and cries of agony drifted closer.

"She's here. It's already too late, for you," Mr. Hebert said.

Finally, some information, even if this made no sense.

Thomas grabbed his radio and turned it to the base mercenary channel.

"Status report," he said firmly.

There was a long beat of silence before the radio crackled again.

"Your men are dead, Thomas."

The voice didn't sound human. Somehow both too low and too high at the same time.

Well. That was certainly more interesting than any of his other attempts.

"Who am I speaking to?" he asked.

"Release Daniel Hebert, and I will consider allowing you to leave the city. Fail to do so, and I will kill you."

"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll consider it. If not, I'll kill him," Thomas said.

This person knew his name. He needed to know who they were, and why Daniel was important to them.

"You fail, then."

They should still be fairly secure here, so he didn't give up hope of getting more information out of his mysterious enemy. The cell doors were several inches thick and rated for Brute containment. Surely it would slow down their assailant enough for them to chat some more.

Something huge, roughly square, and ridiculously heavy struck the door of the cell with a cacophonous crash. It left an incongruently large dent in the metal.

Perhaps not.

Thomas drew his sidearm and shot Daniel Hebert in the head, just because this whole situation was far more trouble than it was worth and the action made him feel better.

He decided to keep the timeline running for as long as possible, though.

The next blow knocked the door clean off its hinges. The sound was deafening as the twisted metal bounced against the far wall, narrowly missing Thomas on the way past.

And in the doorway, framed by the emergency lighting…

No. It can't be-

He got one very brief glimpse of an old-fashioned pistol and a wide brimmed fedora before his head exploded and the timeline dropped.

In his office at the PRT headquarters, Thomas broke out into a cold sweat.

No, no, it wasn't her. No need to panic.

The outfit wasn't quite right, or the hat. And she wouldn't need to use a comically large hammer to break down his door.

But then… what the hell was that?

Surely, he was missing something.

Thomas sighed and continued with his paperwork.

He would need to be more careful approaching Daniel Hebert, in the future. Perhaps he would assign Tattletale to gather more information before he wasted yet another timeline on the troublesome Tinker.

…

Despite the nature of their meeting, Max Anders allowed himself a moment to look out over the city and enjoy his drink.

His office on the top floor of the Medhall building was an easy location to anonymously meet with his lieutenants in their civilian identities, arriving as visitors to Medhall or directly to the private roof access via helicopter.

At his shoulders, his faithful Valkyries stood guard. It was unnecessary, but image and tradition were important. Plus, subordinates that felt valued were more likely to remain loyal.

He still hadn't received any word from Victor.

James and Brad sat at his desk across from him. Krieg and Hookwolf, respectively.

It galled him that Purity had not answered his summons, but that was not unexpected. He would need to put a more concentrated effort into bringing Kayden back into the fold. Until now, her rebellion could be tolerated.

"Do we have any updates regarding Victor?" Max asked.

"I confirmed with my contacts at the BBPD that his body was not among the victims of the assault on the Oakland warehouse," James said.

"Probably snatched him up," Brad grunted.

"Either the hit was done by an amateur, in which case Victor will likely drain them of all useful skills before escaping, or it was an organized strike. If that's the case, he may be in serious danger, if he isn't already dead," James said.

Max's lips thinned thoughtfully.

"If he were killed on site, they would have no reason to take him. It would have been more useful to leave his body as a message. We will operate under the assumption that he was alive at the point of abduction."

James nodded. Brad just shrugged.

"Keep track of the PRT's investigation. If their Thinkers come up with anything, I want to know immediately," Max said. "How is Othala?"

"She is… concerned. I don't doubt her conviction, but without Victor we lose a solid connection to the Herrens."

"We'll find him," Max reassured.

If only to figure out just what the hell happened at the Oakland warehouse last night. And to keep Othala happy. Victor may have his uses, but he was nowhere near as versatile as his wife. Healers were rare, and not to be underestimated.

"What is the status of re-acquiring the seized product and resources?" Max glanced at James.

James' phone vibrated, and he looked down at it instead of answering immediately.

Max tried not to take that personally.

"I apologize for the interruption, but we're being robbed," James said in a perplexed tone.

"Where?" Max asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Here. Downstairs," James said.

Brad chuckled.

That was absurd.

Max sighed.

"It would be difficult to explain the Empire arriving to divert a robbery at Medhall. I won't risk the chance of affiliating our organizations over a random break in. Ignore it. Just get the police here, preferably our officers," Max said.

Now he would need to doctor the security camera footage of the top floors just in case the police or PRT requested copies. Irritating.

"Let's continue."

He would follow up on this inconveniently timed robbery later.

…

Emma bounced her leg restlessly, sitting on the side of her unmade bed.

The evening light was growing dim, and the anxiety had already started to set in again.

She hated it. Hated feeling like this, hated being so fucking scared all the time. It wasn't fair. She was supposed to be strong. A survivor. Why was she so fucking pathetic that she couldn't even-

Emma reached for her phone. She couldn't help herself.

E: Can you come stay the night after work?

S: Again?

E: Yeah

S: You know I have other shit to do, right?

S: Like sleeping in my own fcking bed

S: In my own fcking house

E: Please?

S: Fine.

Emma hated feeling like she was begging Sophia for her company, but it was better than being alone in the dark. When Sophia was here, Emma didn't see the glaring black eyes everywhere she looked.

Or not as often, at least.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that Taylor was following her. That there was some sort of reckoning for what she did, hanging over her.

I killed my best friend.

Don't think about it.

Sophia would be here soon.

…

"Can I tell you something?"

Sophia glanced up from her phone, leaning back against the wall on the bed next to her. It was pretty late, but neither of them were ready to sleep yet.

"What kind of dumbass question is that? You need my permission or something?" Sophia scoffed.

"Don't be a bitch. I… okay, this is going to sound insane, but I need to tell someone before I go insane," Emma said.

Sophia just raised her eyebrows.

Emma took a deep breath.

"I think it was Taylor."

Sophia blinked.

"What?"

"I think that the stranger in my window the other night was Taylor," Emma said. It didn't sound any less crazy outside her head.

Sophia just looked at her.

"Taylor's dead," Sophia said.

Emma gave her a look.

"Yes, I know. That's why it's insane. But even under the hat I swear I could see-"

"Wait, did you say a hat?" Sophia cut her off with a weird expression.

What?

"I mean, yeah, I told you before. They were wearing a hat and a scarf-" Emma said before Sophia cut her off again.

"Like, an old mobster kind of hat? With a flat brim?" Sophia's voice still had the same strange inflection.

"Yeah?" Emma said, confused.

"And she had a scarf covering the lower half of her face, and curly hair?"

"Yeeeaaaah," Emma said slowly.

"Son of a bitch," Sophia whispered.

"What? What do you mean?" Emma asked, bewildered.

"I just…" Sophia trailed off, brows furrowed. She pushed herself off the bed and started hunting for the spare costume Emma kept stashed at the back of her closet. "I need to check something. Just a hunch. What's Hebert's address?"

"What? Why?" Emma asked again.

"Because I think you might be right."

…

Chapter Text

Ignition 3.1

The booming gunshot reverberated in the cramped basement.

Taylor threw herself forward and to her left, even as she fired. The incoming crossbow bolt cut a deep gash into her right cheekbone and clipped her ear on the way past, but she was fast enough to avoid being impaled.

Sophia turned to smoke, the bullet passing straight through her and hitting one of Taylor's burettes with a crash and a shower of shattered glass.

Damn.

Part of her had been hoping that the consecrated quicksilver would harm Sophia in her shadow state, but that would apparently be too easy.

It was a vain hope, but Taylor swung her cleaver at the mist anyway.

That, too, passed straight through, but as Taylor's momentum carried her to the other side of the shadow, Sophia reformed with a strangled cough.

"What the fuck-" Sophia growled. Taylor pivoted on her heel and refused to give her any respite.

She swung again, unfolding the cleaver as she spun to reach her enemy's now solid body.

Unfortunately, Sophia was fast. Even while recovering from whatever interaction the blood-quenched sawblade had with her Breaker state, she dove forward and turned back to smoke, the barely visible cloud sliding along the ground.

Taylor used the opportunity to reload her pistol.

The distraction proved to be a mistake.

Her senses flared and Taylor twitched to the side, but the intangible crossbow bolt still hit her chest and reformed inside her body.

Without thinking, Taylor tried to tug the bolt free so she could use a blood vial. Agony flared across her ribcage and exploded behind her eyes in a burst of stars. The bolt didn't budge.

Fuck.

That hurt more than getting shot with a sniper rifle. What the fuck was that?

Luckily, the bolt hit just to the right of center and missed her heart, but the downside was that it seemed to have fused with her sternum. She would have to figure out how the hell to repair that later. Would a blood vial even fix weird Breaker molecular fusion?

Taylor gritted her teeth. Sophia was going to die, even if it killed her.

Her enemy resolidified on the other side of the basement, moving to reload her crossbow.

Rough hands gripping her neck and shoving her into the reeking-

Flipping the sawblade closed, Taylor ignored the excruciating tugging in her chest and leapt across her workshop table, crashing through the glass and swinging her cleaver wildly.

Sophia threw herself sideways and turned to shadow again. Taylor tracked the floating smoke as it flew through the dark.

Momentum seemed to work strangely for Sophia's breaker state. She needed to push off before becoming incorporeal.

Interesting, but not especially useful. Taylor needed to find a way to keep her solid so she could rip her to pieces.

Sophia reformed and landed in a crouch on top of one of the workbenches, crossbow raised.

"Is that all you got, Hunter?" Sophia called mockingly.

Taylor hurled a heavy jar containing Victor's liver at her head.

Sophia turned to shadow and fired again, Taylor's organic projectile passing through her and smashing against the wall.

Taylor dodged the intangible bolt. As it reformed, she caught a brief glimpse of Sophia flickering back to reality for just a moment when the bolt struck the workbench behind her.

That's something.

Diving low behind the table, Taylor rolled and kicked upwards with as much force as her legs could muster, pushing off the dusty concrete and tossing the heavy wooden table covered in lab equipment across the basement. Sophia turned back into mist to avoid it.

The crash echoed in the dark, all too loud but somehow strangely muted at the same time.

Sophia solidified and reloaded, even as Taylor pushed herself back to her feet and rushed towards her again.

Taylor relied on Victor's hand-to-hand training as best she could against an enemy that could become intangible. She slashed through the smoke with her cleaver and threw an elbow towards where she hoped Sophia's head would be.

Sophia reformed just in time to catch a bony elbow to the hockey mask.

Progress.

And fuck if that wasn't satisfying. All those times being pushed in the hallways, tripped and kicked and pinned-

Cursing and returning to shadow, Sophia drifted backwards towards the stairs.

"Running away so soon?" Taylor coughed around the bolt in her chest. Sophia could probably escape anytime she wanted, but Taylor would find her. She knew where the monster lived, and she wouldn't stay in the ground for long even if Sophia got the better of her. She would keep coming back, wearing her down, until she got her satisfaction.

Sophia resolidified and stared at her, expression unreadable behind the mask.

"You wish," she ground out before raising the crossbow again.

Luckily, Sophia was also easy to manipulate. Whatever drove her to come here and wait for Taylor would also keep her here until it was too late.

Taylor dove aside as Sophia turned to shadow and fired, but it was difficult to see the ghostly projectiles in the dark and Sophia led her shot this time.

Her enemy flickered back into existence and the bolt re-solidified inside Taylor's leg, just above her left knee.

Shit, fuck, that burns.

Taylor didn't bother trying to remove it, this time. Whatever Sophia's power did to her bolts, it caused strange things to happen when they reformed inside a target.

But Taylor couldn't help the savage smile that spread across her face.

Sophia could fire the bolts while in her Breaker state, but she needed to switch back in order to have them solidify inside her target. Otherwise, they would just fly straight through as smoke.

Taylor knew what she had to do now. It was just a matter of pulling off the timing.

And possibly getting shot again.

Taylor pushed off her good leg and threw herself towards her enemy, alternating swings with the cleaver and her elbows.

She winced as the motions pulled at the bolts bonded with her bones.

Sophia was good, far better at fighting than Taylor would have been without Victor's skills, but she was also predictable.

Swing, smoke, counter.

Taylor swayed sideways to avoid a punch and threw another elbow, which Sophia turned to shadow to avoid.

Swing, smoke, counter.

Sophia reformed and kicked at Taylor's wounded leg, but Taylor spun despite the wrenching agony and slashed horizontally with the cleaver.

Swing, smoke, counter.

Her enemy returned to intangibility to avoid it, although the consecrated metal still seemed to distract her with every pass. It wasn't enough to predictably force her back into corporeality, but it was better than nothing. She reformed and Taylor tried to throw another elbow, but Sophia knocked the attack aside and head-butted her in the nose.

Taylor's world flashed white for a moment from the impact and Sophia pushed herself out of melee range.

The timing would be crucial.

Sophia reloaded.

Taylor pretended to stumble sideways, as if her bad leg and the blow to the head had disoriented her.

Sophia raised her crossbow and turned to shadow.

Swing, smoke, counter.

Sophia fired.

Taylor raised her pistol.

The intangible crossbow bolt hit Taylor in the stomach.

Sophia and the bolt returned to tangibility and the bolt fused with Taylor's internal organs, lodged in her spine.

Taylor pulled the trigger and Sophia's head exploded.

Ahhh, the sweet blood… it sings to me.

Taylor fell to one knee at the same time that Sophia's headless corpse slumped to the concrete.

Pain radiated throughout her body, burning and blinding her with the intensity.

Shattered glass cut her palms as she landed on her hands and knees. The multiple bolts stuck within her didn't bleed, but she could feel them tearing at her insides and disrupting her body's natural processes with every heartbeat.

Taylor began to laugh. The choking cackles hurt so fucking much, but she couldn't stop.

Sophia was dead.

I did that.

Emma was cruel, but she could only use her words. Sophia was the backbone, the one who made sure Taylor couldn't just walk away.

And now she was dead.

Taylor's smile was wide and manic, even while blood dripped from her lips.

Twelve Nazis, and one Ward.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else.

Should I die, now?

Return to my dream, to be reborn anew?

She could feel the presence of her rune, branded into her mind and body.

She could do it. Focus on the rune and slip away, to reform fresh at the next full moon.

Taylor clenched her fists around the jagged glass shards and set her jaw.

That felt like giving up.

Sophia was dead.

And she was alive.

Taylor dragged her good leg under her, the pain spiking as the movement jostled the bolt in her belly.

She needed to find her father. She needed to hide Sophia's body so she could harvest her blood later.

Taylor hauled herself to her feet, vision flickering and body protesting. The metal bolts stuck out of her at odd angles like a macabre pincushion.

The light flicked on, overwhelmingly bright after focusing so hard to see the smoke in the dark.

"Taylor, what's- oh God, Taylor!"

Her father rushed down the stairs, pushing aside the overturned table to get to her.

"What the- who- Taylor, are you alright?" He stammered, catching sight of Sophia's body on the ruined, bloodstained floor.

She took a step forward and stumbled, catching herself on his shoulder.

"-'m glad you're okay," she mumbled through the haze. "Thought she might've gotten you first."

"No, I was asleep," he said distractedly "Jesus, what… Taylor, what happened?"

"Sophia happened," Taylor said.

"Sophia, from school? What-"

"She's Shadow Stalker. The Ward. I got murdered by a superhero," Taylor said deliriously. "Well, she was Shadow Stalker…"

This didn't feel like it was important. There was something else…

Lucidity returned for a brief moment.

"Dad! We need… the cops are probably on their way. Someone would have heard the gunshots. We need…"

They both looked around at the blood-splattered remnants of her lab, organs in jars lining the walls. Victor's liver was flopped on one of the workbenches where it fell after its brief flight.

And, of course, the dead body of her tormentor.

How the fuck did they fix this?

Unfortunately (or fortunately, for those who weren't murderous blood Tinkers), their house was in the part of the Docks that the police still responded to. The response time might be a bit lacking compared to the nicer areas, but they weren't abandoned to the gangs. The gunshots would have certainly drawn attention.

Which meant that they were on a timer, and their options were limited. Her power provided a potential solution, but it was… extreme.

"Dad… Dad, you have to decide now," Taylor wheezed around the bolt in her chest. "Come clean to the PRT, and blame me for everything, I forced you, you had no choice… or…"

She ran out of breath.

"Or?" He asked, bewildered.

"We burn it. We burn it all, and I stay dead."

He looked confused for a moment before he caught up with her.

His eyes hardened.

"It's just a house," he said.

Good enough for her.

"Grab the gasoline and any flammable or pressurized cleaning supplies you can find. And hand me Victor's leg," Taylor said, stumbling over to her workbench and grabbing the angle grinder.

"What?"

"Big leg bone. The femur. No time to explain."

At least he moved quickly once he made up his mind.

She began grinding the bone to dust and shards, every vibration sending spiderwebs of pain from the metal lodged inside her. Bone marrow ash was designed to enhance the effect of her quicksilver bullets, but it also worked just fine on explosives.

And Victor knew quite a bit about improvised explosives.

She was also on a different kind of timer. She didn't know how long she would be able to function in this state.

Hopefully long enough.

She quickly injected herself with one of her last blood vials, just in case.

The euphoria helped to distract her from the pain, but it did nothing to fix the bolts bonded with her bones and organs. It did fix her face and her ear, though. She had honestly forgotten about those cuts.

Taylor gathered the shards of bone and moved them to her mortar and pestle.

She heard the sound of splashing liquid as Danny poured the gasoline usually reserved for the lawnmower over the floor and along the walls.

He was taking initiative. That was nice.

"Save some for me. Also, fertilizer," she coughed. "And aluminum foil."

He ran to fetch her the supplies.

When he got back, she ground the necessary ingredients in with the bone powder, along with some of her blood. For seasoning.

"Microwave," she wheezed. "And wrap Sophia's body in garbage bags, please."

He didn't question her, just ran upstairs then got to work packaging the corpse.

Taylor ripped open the back of the microwave and removed the surge inhibitor.

"Duct tape."

She loaded the bone marrow ash, the cleaning supplies, crumpled up aluminum foil, and the remaining fertilizer mix into the microwave.

Her father handed her the tape.

She duct taped the microwave shut, wrapping several loops around the metal box.

"You ready to go?" Taylor asked, grabbing the surviving syringes and anything else she could salvage and shoving them in her coat pockets.

She also picked up Sophia's corpse. The motion tugged at her wounds and she winced, new drips of crimson staining her sweater.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Danny said, glancing around the blood and gasoline soaked basement.

"Go. I'll be right behind you," Taylor said.

He took the stairs two at a time.

Taylor plugged the microwave in and hit the Popcorn button.

She flew up the stairs after him, stumbling under the weight of Sophia's body and her wounds. Danny grabbed the back of her coat and helped haul them both down the front steps and out towards the street.

They made it about thirty feet before the house exploded.

The force of the blast knocked them both to the pavement, pushing against the bolts and making Taylor hiss in pain as Sophia's corpse tumbled across the ground.

Danny rolled to cover her as burning chunks of wood and plaster rained down around them. It was a sweet gesture, but it also drove the metal bolts deeper and set off another round of spasms.

After a long moment, the night finally went quiet again, except for the dull roar of the fire.

Taylor and Danny both dragged themselves back to their feet. Taylor turned to look at the broken remains of the house she grew up in.

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"It's just a house," she said, mostly to herself.

"I wonder if the insurance will cover it," Danny said. "Maybe I can convince them it was an accident."

It hurt to laugh. A lot. But she couldn't help herself.

"My cape career is destined to be funded by insurance fraud," Taylor coughed.

And now Danny was laughing too.

Sirens approached, in the distance.

"Go," Danny said. "I'll stay with Kurt and Lacey for a while. You know where to find me if you need anything, or when you… come back."

"Okay. I'm going to try to find a solution to… all of this," Taylor gestured to the crossbow bolts sticking out of her. "But if I don't, I'll see you in a couple weeks."

Danny chuckled sadly.

"Sounds like a plan, kiddo."

Taylor hefted Sophia's headless corpse onto her shoulder, and ran towards the Trainyards as quickly as her broken body could manage.

…

The trip back to the Hospital felt much longer than it had on her way home.

Was that really only thirty minutes ago?

Thirty minutes felt like a lot longer while dying.

Fucking Sophia. Fucking Emma. Fucking crossbow bolts fused with her-

She hadn't even gotten to sleep yet. The weariness dragged at her bones.

Although that might have been the metal. Or the blood loss.

Taylor sighed heavily and winced as she dropped Sophia's body on the floor of the research lab in the abandoned hospital.

The majority of her equipment was gone. She had the centrifuge and other bits and pieces from Medhall, plus the surviving needles and some metal parts from her original lab, but most of the beakers, flasks, burettes, and vials were shattered. She only had a couple blood vials left.

She leaned backwards against one of the cabinets and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, legs splayed so she didn't jostle any of the bolts lodged in her body.

Everything hurt.

Maybe dying would be a mercy, at this point.

Taylor took a deep breath and immediately regretted it.

She had three options available to her, as far as she could tell.

She could die, and hope that her power worked the way she thought it did. In theory, she should come back at her grave, on the next full moon. Hopefully without the metal bolts in her organs.

Although, they seemed to have fused with her. Would they stick around and show back up when she returned?

Wouldn't that be a kick in the teeth.

Okay. Dying was her last resort. If she died while trying to fix herself, that was that, but she wouldn't give up. Yet.

Option 2: fixing herself.

The blood vials could heal almost anything, but they clearly didn't work well with whatever Sophia's power did to the bolts. They didn't register as injuries, even as they killed her.

She would have to cut them out, somehow.

That was… problematic, at best. The bolt in her chest was bonded with her ribcage, and she could feel it scraping against her lungs with every breath. She would need to break her ribs and remove her sternum before using the blood vial.

Not exactly appealing.

The bolt lodged in her gut was worse. She had no idea what organs it had bonded with, and its tip was buried in her spine. Luckily, it didn't seem to have severed any nerves, but it was fused into the bone.

Luckily. Ha.

Taylor honestly didn't think she could cut them out and use a blood vial before she died from… well, everything. The only tool she had that could cut bone was her cleaver, and it was not exactly designed for surgery.

Which only left option three.

Find Panacea.

Not that she knew where the healer lived. And she definitely wouldn't appreciate a house call.

But, the only alternatives were death, or horrific self-surgery, followed immediately by death.

So it was worth a try.

Maybe she could break into a house and Google her address? New Wave was public, right?

Taylor pulled herself to her feet with a groan.

As she turned to leave, something out of place caught her eye.

Tucked in between the centrifuge and the spectrophotometer she stole from Medhall was a folded piece of heavy, high-quality paper.

You've got to be shitting me.

Taylor grabbed it and unfolded it.

There was an address written in perfect black script.

If this isn't Panacea's house, I am never following your shady hints again, Hat-Giver.

…

Taylor really hoped that this was Panacea's house, considering that the alternative was peeking in a random person's windows.

She was also getting more delirious by the second. The world seemed to be turning gray around the edges. She had used her last blood vial two blocks ago to stave off the internal bleeding.

The bolt in her leg was also starting to grind at the joint with every step, on top of the pain in her chest and the burning acid in her guts.

It would be incredibly ironic, but also hilarious, if she died on Panacea's front porch. She could just imagine the healer's horror in the morning.

It also begged the question: what happened to her body when she came back? Was there another version of her still dead in her grave, or did her alive body replace the dead one?

Depending on how the next five minutes went, she might just find out.

The house was nice without being overly grand. Bigger than the Barnes', but not obscene. The lawns were neatly kept, and sparkled with frost in the moonlight.

Taylor took a similar approach to her last round of stalking, limping up the side yard and making her way to the back windows to peek in.

Climbing the brick exterior was much more difficult with a bad leg and two bolts sticking out of her front, but she managed.

First bedroom…

Nope, blonde hair. Panacea's sister was blonde though, right?

Second bedroom…

Red and white robe on the floor, check. Frizzy brown hair poking out from under a mountain of blankets and pillows, check.

Fantastic.

Hopefully Panacea forgave her for the intrusion.

She knocked on the window.

…

Amy woke up slowly, shaking off the comforting dreams of the moon and the lake of blood.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It was still dark outside, the moonlight throwing strange patterns on the walls.

There was a knock at the window.

Amy jumped and got tangled in the blankets. She frantically tried to both look at the window and get away from it at the same time, and ended up falling off the bed.

If this was just Vicky out for a midnight flight or something, she was going to kill her.

Probably not, but still.

What time is it?

The clock on her desk said 4:12 AM.

And the figure in the window…

That fucking hat…

What the hell was Hunter doing here? How? Why?

Anger and anxiety curdled in her gut as she got to her feet.

There had better be a damn good reason for this, or she was going to sic the PRT on the blood-obsessed menace for sure. She might even yell for Carol.

Amy opened the window.

"What are you doing?" She hissed. "You can't be here! Why…"

Hunter was perched on the half-inch lip by the tips of her toes, fingers reaching up to grip the brick above the window. She looked ridiculous, honestly.

Except for all the arrows stuck in her, of course.

"Hey, Doc, I know I'm early for my appointment," Hunter said, a bit slurred and muddled. "But there've been some… complications."

Then she collapsed into the room, dead weight falling onto Amy and knocking them both back to the floor.

…

Chapter Text

Ignition 3.2

The conflicting combination of being absolutely livid, worried, anxious, intrigued, and (for some reason) excited, was overwhelming and generally distracting, so Amy shoved all of that into a metaphorical 'think about it later' box and settled for 'mildly irritated'.

Dammit Hunter, don't bleed on anything important.

Amy struggled to disentangle herself from the gangly girl's unresponsive limbs while also avoiding the arrows sticking out of her. She hauled the dead weight off of her and knelt next to the Tinker's unconscious body.

What the fuck, Hunter?

Part of her still wanted to scream for Carol, but she couldn't quite bring herself to go through with it. This weird… thing… with the murderous vigilante was hers, and it was one of the few parts of her life that existed outside of her normal obligations. She didn't want to hand it over to Carol, like everything else.

So, instead, she reached up and touched the exposed skin of Hunter's face. She normally asked permission, but Hunter had already dared her to shut down her organs, so Amy assumed that she wouldn't mind.

Holy shit.

The arrows weren't just stuck into Hunter the mundane way, they were fused with her bones at a molecular level. No wonder she had come to her, despite the Tinker's access to miraculous and horrifying concoctions.

There was also a ridiculous amount of scar tissue around the metal, like Hunter had ripped open and then re-healed the same areas over and over. Which was probably exactly what happened, considering the effects of the blood vials and what Amy had seen the last time she took a peek at the girl's biology.

Of course Hunter wouldn't bring her anything that was easy to fix, but something in Amy was thrilled about the challenge.

Since she couldn't affect the metal directly, Amy began to work her biokinesis on the areas just outside of the strange bonded bits. She also forced Hunter's heart to keep beating, even though it kept stubbornly trying to fail.

She carefully separated the tissue and bone surrounding the arrows from the rest of Hunter's body, until there were three cylinders of flesh that weren't actually attached to her.

It was a bizarre experience, but Amy reached down and pulled out the three tubes of tissue and metal. They were grotesque cross sections of anatomy, with all of the layers exposed. Like an ant farm, or something. Weird.

For lack of anything better to do with the arrows and accompanying tubes of meat, Amy threw them into the trash can next to her desk.

Once the arrows were gone, it was child's play to reform and regrow the empty areas. Hunter didn't exactly have much body mass to spare, but it was better than being riddled with holes.

Finally, the repairs were complete and Amy sat back on her heels.

She took a couple deep breaths and made sure the 'think about it later' box was tightly closed, then reached out one more time and woke Hunter up.

Her black eyes blinked spastically above her scarf.

"Oh, that's much better," Hunter said dazedly. "You know, I considered dying on your front porch, just to see your face when you opened the door in the morning."

"You're actually insane," Amy said.

"Just a smidge. It's a side effect of dying. I feel pretty great, though. Coming an inch and a half from death is a hell of an endorphin rush."

Hunter dragged herself into a sitting position against the bed and took off her hat. Her hair was a mess, wild curls draped in every direction.

"You still shouldn't have come here. Showing up at my civilian house is a huge breach of the rules," Amy grumbled.

"Well, it was that, or try to cut those bolts out of myself with my saw cleaver," Hunter said "I didn't like my odds of surviving that, so I figured I would risk the impropriety,"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it's just… I'm not supposed to be Panacea here," Amy groaned. "Can you imagine if every sick and dying person came knocking on my window?"

Hunter's face fell, behind the scarf.

"Wow, okay, I didn't really consider that. Sorry. Really. Look, I just…" Hunter seemed at a loss for words, for once.

There was something different now, whispering back and forth in her moonlit bedroom. It wasn't the same as yelling at each other on the hospital roof, especially after Hunter almost died on her carpet.

"It's been a very, very long night," Hunter finally said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "I wasn't really thinking straight. Not sure if I am now, either, come to think of it."

Amy sighed and turned, pushing herself backwards until she was sitting braced against the bed next to her unexpected guest.

"What the hell happened, anyway?" Amy asked after a moment.

Hunter looked over at her appraisingly.

"Shadow Stalker broke into my house and tried to kill me."

"What? The Ward? Why the fuck…" Amy tried to wrap her mind around that.

She hadn't personally exchanged more than a word or two with the dark cape, although she knew that some of the other Wards complained about her attitude.

"I knew her, in our civilian identities. She tried to kill me before, out of costume. Before I got my powers. She was a monster," Hunter said, her voice twisting around the word.

"That's… no, that's insane. You're lying, or something," Amy shook her head. Heroes didn't go around murdering people out of costume.

Hunter just shrugged.

"Believe me, or don't. Doesn't really change anything, now."

It took a moment for the wording to catch up with her.

"Wait, you knew her, past tense. Did you…" Amy trailed off.

Hunter just stared at her.

"You killed her," Amy whispered in horror. "You killed a Ward."

"Yes," Hunter said. Her tone was carefully neutral.

Amy knew that should terrify her, or make her even angrier, but… she just couldn't quite manage to muster her righteous indignation. All of this was just… too much, to worry about all at once. She felt like a wrung out sponge.

Hunter may have implied that Shadow Stalker tried to kill her first, but she didn't directly say it outright. And Amy didn't have any way of knowing if it would have mattered. Hunter hunted people, at her own admission.

Still, the frustrating blood Tinker didn't seem like the type to kill innocent people in cold blood. She went out of her way to avoid it. But…

Killing a Ward was… a lot. And Amy didn't know what to do about it.

Carol would be losing her mind right now, but Carol was also a bitch.

It was quiet in the dark, for a while. Hunter let her head fall back against the bed and closed her eyes again. Her breathing was slow and even.

"What does it feel like?" Amy asked suddenly, in spite of her better judgment.

"You'll have to be more specific," Hunter said, not opening her eyes.

"Killing someone."

"It's… it depends," Hunter said. "The Nazis were my first hunt. It was… all too easy, actually. I thought that things would never be the same, that tearing their lives from them would change me, but… it didn't, not really. It was… exciting, but the actual killing itself, in the moment, didn't feel important."

Hunter pulled her long legs up to her chest and wrapped her skinny arms around her shins.

"Sophia was different. She hurt me, so fucking much, for so long, and now she's gone, forever. Because of me. She'll never hurt me, or anyone else, ever again. It was personal, and it feels… really fucking good, if I'm honest."

Amy nodded slowly.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The question popped out of Amy's mouth before she could stop herself. It was a stupid question. Even a murderer wouldn't just tell their victim in advance. Besides, she wasn't defenseless. If she could get a hand on Hunter, it would be over in a heartbeat.

Hunter opened her eyes and stared at her with a strange expression.

"Of course not," Hunter scoffed. "I don't… look, I know I said I'm not a villain, even if that's not technically true, anymore. And I'm sorry for lying to you, for what it's worth. I didn't mean to. But I… my work, my Tinkering… I need blood. Normal, parahuman, my own, all of the above. I can't do what I need to do without it. And I really do think that it's better to take it from monsters, beasts, who deserve it."

Amy looked up at the ceiling, pale strips of moonlight filtering through the window. The 'not thinking about it' box was leaking.

"What if I deserved it?" Amy whispered. She didn't know why she was saying any of this. Who cared what this bloodstained vigilante thought of her?

"Probably not, still," Hunter said. Dark curls and darker eyes looked down at her. "I enjoy our little chats, and I'm not above some selfish indulgence. Plus, you did just save my life."

Right. Amy had already forgotten about that.

"That doesn't make sense, though. Your whole justification for killing villains is that they deserve it, so why does it matter if you like me?" Amy said.

Hunter shook her head.

"It's not some hard and fast rule. I need blood, and my powers want to be used. I want to figure out what my dreams mean, and realize more of the designs in my head. I would just rather kill bad people than good people, when I have the choice," Hunter said.

Amy didn't know what possessed her to bring this up at all. She should have just healed Hunter and made her leave. Or not healed her at all and called the PRT.

Why was she sitting here opening up to an unrepentant killer who, by all accounts, just murdered a Ward?

She still couldn't help herself, though.

"So your reasoning is just… because you want to?" Amy said, sarcasm seeping back into her tone.

"That's the only reason anyone does anything. They just pretend otherwise because it's easier," Hunter said.

"Don't bother with that freshman year philosophy bullshit, it doesn't work on me," Amy rolled her eyes.

"You're the one who asked," Hunter grinned behind her scarf.

"Shut up."

Hunter just laughed at her before turning serious again.

"Do you think you deserve it?" Hunter asked softly. "You seem like a decent person to me, but I don't actually know you all that well."

Amy snorted.

"I threatened to melt your organs," she said.

"Everyone does that occasionally. Nothing to get hung up on," Hunter chuckled.

Amy glared at her. Something about her uncaring attitude just made Amy want to prove herself right.

"I think about using my powers to hurt people, like, all the time," Amy admitted. She had never told anyone that, but… what was Hunter going to do? Tell the PRT? Tell Carol?

"I kill actual people and steal their blood," Hunter shrugged, "and their organs and bones, too, sometimes. If I have time."

"I am not using you as a barometer for moral authenticity! You're a villainous mad scientist or whatever, you don't count," Amy said, smiling despite herself.

"I'll have you know… actually, you know what, never mind, that's fair," Hunter said, laughing quietly with her.

Then her dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"I guess… you can only really decide if you think you deserve it. You can't speak for anyone else, and that doesn't make it true."

"I told you, no bullshit philosophy-"

"Sorry, sorry," Hunter said. "Apparently, I can't help myself."

It was quiet again. For some reason, Amy didn't want this strange conversation to end. It was like they were tucked away in their own little bubble, and the rest of the world had stopped being important, for a while.

So much of her life was public, or ruled by Carol and her bullshit, or subject to Victoria's whims, or locked up in that fucking hospital…

This one part, hidden away behind a curtain of blood and secrecy, felt… nice, even if it shouldn't.

Something else Hunter just said caught up with her.

"What did you say about dreams?" Amy asked suddenly.

Hunter looked a bit uncomfortable, but she answered anyway.

"Ever since I got my powers, I've been dreaming about the moon, and peaceful seas of blood. It feels like the answer is always just beyond my reach, and I don't know why," Hunter said.

That was too big a coincidence to ignore.

"I dreamed… tonight, after analyzing the blood vial you gave me, I had a dream about a full moon, floating in a calm blood lake," Amy said. The words felt strange in her mouth.

Hunter's eyes widened.

"That's…"

Whatever Hunter was about to say was cut off by the sudden knock at the door.

Amy's blood ran cold. They had been getting steadily louder, uncaring of the fact that it was after four in the morning and the rest of her family was asleep. Her parents' bedroom was on the ground floor, but Victoria's bedroom was right next door.

Please let it be Vicky and not Carol…

"Amy? Is everything okay? Who are you talking to?" Her sister's voice filtered through the door.

Better than the alternative, but still. Fuck.

…

Adrenaline fired through Taylor's veins like an electric shock.

How had she forgotten that she was still in New Wave's house? There were three other very dangerous capes within a hundred feet, and she was sitting and talking with Panacea like they had all the time in the world. It would be irritating to die on Brandish's blade after going through so much trouble to survive.

The healer's eyes were wide and terrified as she scrambled to her feet.

"I'm fine, go back to bed," Panacea called.

She couldn't even bother to come up with an excuse?

"I'm coming in," the voice at the door said.

There were really only two outcomes, here.

Either Panacea was meeting with Hunter, the villain who recently killed a bunch of Empire thugs and robbed Medhall, or Amy was meeting with Taylor, who definitely hadn't killed anyone, ever.

Taylor made a very quick and possibly very stupid decision.

Amy and whoever was at the door had no way of connecting Taylor's face back to the dead girl from Winslow. It would probably be fine. Just to keep their cover intact, for the time being. She owed Panacea that much, since the healer still went to the trouble of getting those arrows out of her even after Taylor had invaded her private space.

Taylor moved as quickly as her superhuman reflexes would allow, pulling off her tattered coat and bloodstained scarf. She shoved the coat, scarf, gloves, injector holster, and hat under the bed.

She also kicked the trash can with the arrows in it under Amy's desk. There wasn't much else she could do about that.

Her sweater had multiple holes in it from the crossbow bolts, and her jeans were similarly bloodstained and holey from the Medhall trip, but they were both black and probably wouldn't be obvious in the dark.

Hopefully.

Taylor forgot about the rune on her forehead until the last moment, quickly pulling her hair forward to cover it.

By the time Victoria Dallon finished opening the door, all evidence of their clandestine activity was hidden, for the most part.

Of course, Panacea was busy turning towards the door while stumbling to stand up, so she didn't actually see any of this.

"It's not what it looks like," Panacea said shrilly, holding out her hands like she could ward off her sister's judgement.

The floating blonde girl framed in the doorway blinked in surprise.

"Well… shit, Ames," she said. "You should have just told me you were sneaking a girl over, I would have covered for you. I was worried a villain had come after you or something."

"What?" Panacea said in bewilderment.

Taylor decided to head her off before she gave away the ruse.

"Sorry about waking you up," Taylor said quietly, standing up behind her. "We got a bit carried away."

That was even true. She hadn't meant to be so loud, but talking to Panacea was very distracting.

The healer looked back at her and did a spastic double take. She really needed to work on her poker face.

"It's okay," the girl in the doorway said. "I'm Victoria, Amy's sister. Although, you probably already knew that."

Taylor made the snap decision not to give her real name. Neither of them would know the difference, and it would buy her time if they decided to research her.

"I'm Anne," Taylor said with a smile. "Amy's… friend."

Were they friends? Slightly unwilling colleagues? Confidants with socially dubious healing powers?

Panacea still hadn't managed to close her mouth, so Taylor probably wouldn't be getting any clarification any time soon.

"That's awesome!" Victoria said, turning back to her sister. "Why didn't you tell me about her?"

Panacea managed to pull herself together enough to answer, at least.

"I just… you know how Carol is, and the New Wave stuff…"

That wasn't the most articulate answer, but Taylor supposed that it was better than nothing.

"I mean, yeah, sure, but you could have told me!" Victoria said, shaking her head. "Whatever. It's super late… or early? I don't know, but I'm going back to bed. But we will be talking about this tomorrow."

Victoria gave Panacea a look and then flew back down the hallway.

Panacea closed the door in a daze before spinning to face her.

"What the fuck was that?" Panacea… Amy? Hissed at her.

"I figured that it would be better if you weren't seen with a villainous mad scientist," Taylor whispered back.

"I don't… I just…" Amy spluttered. "I mean, yes, but… you shouldn't have…"

"If it makes you feel better, my name isn't actually Anne," Taylor said.

"It doesn't. It really doesn't. Jesus… fuck," Amy flopped down on the bed and groaned into the blankets.

Taylor let her wallow in whatever this emotion was for a few minutes. She didn't really see what the big deal was.

"So, your sister seems pretty cool," Taylor said eventually, lacking anything else to break the silence.

"I hate you so much," Amy's voice was muffled by the blankets. It was entirely possible that she was trying to suffocate herself.

Taylor chuckled in spite of the situation.

"Also, my lab kind of got destroyed when I was fighting Shadow Stalker. Any chance you would be willing to help me get set back up?" Taylor asked.

Amy rolled over and stared at the ceiling for a long moment before looking up at her.

"I… you know what, let me think about it. I don't know if I really want to get involved with your bloody business," Amy said, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"Come on, it will be tons of fun. You can check out all my weird concoctions and make sure my next experiment isn't going to turn me into a nightmare monster or something," Taylor said, mostly joking.

Amy glared at her.

"Still not happy about the mass murdering thing," Amy said.

"Look, you can help point me towards people who deserve it. That's fun, right?"

"That is not fun. That is the very definition of not fun."

"I'll get you your own cool hat and edgy coat," Taylor offered.

"Absolutely fucking not."

Taylor couldn't keep a straight face, but Amy was also smiling grudgingly so it was worth it.

"Do you mind if I call you Amy? When you aren't in costume?" It occurred to Taylor that she should probably ask. It seemed like the polite thing to do, or something.

Amy snorted.

"I don't exactly have a secret identity to worry about," she said bitterly. "Knock yourself out."

"Cool."

Amy looked up at her, and for some reason Taylor couldn't bring herself to look away. She should probably leave. Or say something else.

But she didn't, and Amy didn't, either.

Maybe she didn't know what to say, either.

Maybe she didn't want this weird, separated, in-between space to end, either.

Finally, Taylor blinked and took a moment to recenter herself. It had been a really long night, and her emotions were all kinds of unbalanced. She desperately needed to sleep.

"I should probably go," Taylor said softly.

"Yeah," Amy said, before her eyes widened. "Wait, I got distracted! We need to talk about your blood vials!"

Right. That was the original reason for their scheduled meeting tomorrow. Tonight?

"Oh yeah. I actually ran out on the way over here. I need to fix that," Taylor mused. "So, are they safe for human consumption?"

"I have no idea!" Amy exclaimed, walking over to her desk drawer and grabbing the gifted vial. "My powers can't make heads or tails of this crap, but I don't think it's actually blood and I don't think it's still human. I don't know what the hell you do to it, but it's totally fucked."

Huh.

Taylor shrugged.

"I know what I do, but not why it works, if that makes sense. It just… works?" Taylor said.

"It's some kind of hyper-reactive cellular fluid, but it makes no sense at all to my power. Like it's constantly shifting and warping itself and the space around it and inside it. I don't even know if it's safe for you to put in your body, let alone anyone else's," Amy said. "I'm sort of surprised it hasn't mutated you into some kind of Nilbog monster."

That was… concerning.

"Well, it's a good thing I have you to keep an eye on me, then," Taylor grinned. "Make sure to let me know if I start growing extra limbs or eyes or something."

"Not funny," Amy glared at her.

It was kind of funny.

"I'll bring you more samples to work with once I get my lab set back up," Taylor said. "I'm probably going to lie low for a while. Or try to, at least."

Amy nodded, still staring absent-mindedly at the blood vial.

Taylor still didn't want to leave.

"What's your phone number?" Amy asked eventually.

"I don't have a phone," Taylor said. She hadn't even thought about that.

"Why am I not surprised," Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, you should get one. So you can just call the next time you get filled with arrows instead of showing up at my window and collapsing on top of me."

Had that happened? Taylor's memory was a bit fuzzy, there at the end.

Amy scrawled her phone number on a post-it note and handed it over. Her handwriting was atrocious.

"If you give this out to anyone else, I'll give you those extra limbs and eyes myself," she threatened.

"Sure, you know the violent vigilante business has a thriving social scene," Taylor said sarcastically.

"I can put those arrows back where they came from, if you want," Amy snapped, but Taylor could tell she was trying not to smile.

Speaking of which…

"Oh, I should probably take those with me. It might be a bit difficult to explain where you got them," Taylor said.

She reached down and grabbed the bolts out of the trash can. They had strange cylinders of flesh and bone wrapped around the last few inches, like the world's grossest marshmallow on a stick.

Taylor would experiment with that when she got back to the Hospital.

She also grabbed her various costume articles from under the bed, throwing her coat on and wrapping the scarf under her hair.

Taylor pulled her favorite hat back into place, and all was right with the world once again.

"Right," Taylor said, looking back at Amy. The healer was staring at her with an unreadable expression. "I guess I'll call you?"

"You better. Are we still on for tonight?" Amy asked, somehow still acidic despite her words.

"If you want," Taylor said.

"You owe me a pack of cigarettes," Amy said. "For the healing. And not turning you over to the PRT for killing a Ward."

"I guess that could be arranged," Taylor smiled. What was stealing one pack of cigarettes, after all the murder?

"Good," Amy said.

"Fine," Taylor said.

They stared at each other for another long moment.

Taylor still didn't want to leave.

But she really, really needed to sleep. Even the lab tables at the Hospital sounded comfortable right now.

Taylor walked over and opened the window.

"See you around, Amy," she said, looking over her shoulder at the frazzled healer.

"Later, Hunter," Amy said.

It was incredibly, mind-numbingly stupid, and short-sighted, but… Amy hadn't told the PRT about her activities, despite having plenty of reasons to do so. She could probably be trusted. Plus, it felt… unfair. She let Taylor call her by name, and she had saved her life.

No matter how much Taylor wanted to deny it, there was a part of her that craved a real connection with someone aside from her father, after being alone for so long. And maybe… it seemed like Amy wanted the same thing, however much she complained about Taylor's antics.

"Taylor," she said quietly.

"What?" Amy asked.

"My name is Taylor."

"Oh."

There was another long beat of silence in the moonlight.

"Goodnight, Taylor," Amy said eventually.

"Goodnight, Amy," Taylor replied.

And then she left.

…

Chapter Text

Ignition 3.3

Compared to running with multiple bits of metal fused into her, the jog back to the Hospital was invigorating.

Taylor was still exhausted, though.

When was the last time she slept? Almost forty-eight hours ago?

No wonder she was borderline delusional.

She probably shouldn't have told Amy her name, but she was too tired for self-recriminations. Maybe later.

Taylor's feet dragged over the shattered glass and debris covering the research lab floor.

There was so much to do…

It was incredibly frustrating, being back at square one. And this time, she didn't even have the luxury of an actual house to work out of, with electricity and running water.

And heat. The winter night was cold, even sheltered from the wind.

One last fuck-you from Sophia.

Speaking of which…

Taylor groaned and grabbed the trash bag wrapped corpse off the floor.

She needed to drain the body before the blood coagulated any further.

Taylor emptied the equipment out of the tub that she stole from Medhall and positioned it in an open area of the floor, kicking aside the broken tile. Lacking any better options, she wedged her saw cleaver into Sophia's ankles and hooked the handle over the exposed metal rafters so the corpse could drain into the plastic tub. She slashed Sophia's forearms vertically with her scalpel, for good measure.

She sighed and looked around her new, broken lab.

A few pieces of admittedly high quality equipment that she didn't have the means to power.

Some clay sculpting tools that survived the fight, along with her needles, rubber tubing, blood donation bags, and empty blood vials. A Bunsen burner that she didn't have gas to use.

She had her quick injector, her cleaver, and her pistol, of course. Plus a handful of quicksilver bullets. At least she wasn't starting completely from scratch.

It was still frustrating, though.

Taylor cleared the debris off one of the wide lab tables and hopped up onto it, stretching out on the cold resin tabletop with an involuntary groan.

She pulled her arms into her long coat and huddled up under it, tugging her hat down over her eyes.

It was decidedly uncomfortable, and cold.

Taylor fell asleep almost immediately.

And for once, she didn't dream.

…

"Okay, spill."

Victoria's demand was almost threatening in its intensity.

It was entirely too early for this bullshit. Especially after having her sleep schedule interrupted by Hunter's fuckery.

Taylor.

Amy scowled up at her sister's smug face, floating above her bed like an annoyingly attractive fairy godmother or something. It was a Saturday, for fuck's sake. Getting to sleep in on weekends was a basic human right.

"I refuse to answer any questions until I get coffee," Amy grumbled as she tried to escape her blanket burrito.

"I knew you'd say that, so I brought you some," Victoria said, pointing at the steaming cup on the bedside table.

"I hate you," Amy said. She didn't, though.

"Shut up, drink your bitter bean juice, and spill!" Victoria chirped. Morning people were an affront to God.

Amy took a sip of her bitter bean juice.

"Fine. What do you want to know?" Amy asked, already dreading this conversation. She should have asked Taylor what the cover story was. Clearly, the villain was better than her at this cloak and dagger shit.

"Everything! Who is she, how did you meet, what's the… status?" Victoria babbled excitedly.

"Um… well…"

Shit. What fake name did Taylor give?

She should have been paying closer attention, but she had been a bit busy watching her life collapse around her in existential terror.

"She's… we met at the hospital," Amy said. That was technically true.

"She was a patient of yours?" Victoria asked, idly circling the room on her back.

Sort of?

"No, she's… volunteering there. We started talking during my breaks," Amy said slowly.

That was good. She could keep up with that much.

"Oh, that's cool! I'm glad you made a… friend. I worry about you, you know," Victoria said.

Amy just scowled at her.

"Well, now I know why none of the guys I got for our double dates stuck around. At least I won't have to keep trying to find new fodder to throw at you; you can just bring Anne instead," Victoria said.

Anne! That was it! Ha, take that, shitty short-term memory.

The rest of what Vicky said caught up to her a moment later.

"Wait, no, no, I am not bringing her on our… outings," Amy said. She refused to call them dates. For multiple reasons. "And what do you mean 'fodder'?"

"I mean, I could tell you weren't into any of them. It should have been more obvious, in hindsight."

Oh God, she thinks I'm gay.

She absolutely was, but that wasn't the point.

God. Dammit.

She certainly wasn't gay for Hunter.

Probably.

Definitely. Also, shut up.

She just needed to survive this conversation, and then she could go kill Taylor for getting her into this situation.

Priorities.

"First off, we are not together, or whatever you're thinking," Amy said, glaring up at her sister. "And secondly, do not tell anyone about her."

Victoria smirked down at her.

"Right. And just why is it so important that I not tell anyone about her? The totally normal friend who you snuck into the house at 4:00 AM?" Victoria raised an eyebrow.

Amy groaned. She wanted to pull her hair out, but that would look suspicious.

Why do things like this keep happening to me?

First, she went and fell in love with the only person in her life who actually gave a flying fuck about her, who she absolutely, 100% was not allowed to love like that. And then, in an attempt to distract herself from her unhealthy obsession, she got involved with a mysteriously snarky cape hanging out on rooftops, who turned out to be a mass murdering blood Tinker.

And now Vicky, the target of her aforementioned obsession, thought she was dating the aforementioned blood Tinker.

I need a cigarette.

Plus, she couldn't exactly protest too much, because that would look even more suspicious, and it was technically better to be gay than cavorting with a villain in the dead of night.

Amy hated her life, sometimes.

Most of the time.

When this whole ridiculous house of cards came crashing down, the only silver lining would be that Carol would probably die from a spontaneous brain aneurysm before she could get around to murdering her.

"So, when are you seeing her again? Is she going to be at the hospital tonight?" Victoria asked, interrupting Amy's sulking.

"Yeah, but…"

Fuck, why did she say that?

Victoria's grin grew even more smug. Amy hadn't thought that was possible.

"You are not allowed to interfere," Amy said sternly. Just the thought of Vicky and Taylor being in the same room for any length of time was enough to give her conniptions. If nothing else, this misunderstanding should at least be sufficient to keep her sister from sticking her nose in too far. Even Vicky understood not to out people, especially with all the publicity surrounding New Wave.

"Sure, sure," Victoria said easily, retaining every bit of smugness. "I'm just so… is proud the right word? I think so. Look at you, sneaking people into the house and messing around at work. I had almost given up hope of you ever doing anything fun."

"I hate you so much."

She didn't, though. For better or worse.

"Uh huh. You should still reconsider the double date thing. It doesn't have to be official, or whatever. Or public," Victoria said.

"I'll pass, thanks. I'm not exposing Anne to your self-righteous boy-toy," Amy said acidically.

The idea of Dean, the perfect Ward extraordinaire, who could sense emotions, being in the same room as Taylor, who killed a Ward yesterday, was also absolutely horrific and could never, ever be allowed to happen.

Hopefully, an insult to the condescending douche-nozzle would distract Vicky from her inquisition.

"He's not that bad! He tries his best. It's not his fault that emotions are tricky sometimes," Vicky defended.

"I beg to differ. If he wants to be a therapist, he should go to school for it before he opens his mouth," Amy said. This was familiar territory for them, although her previous jabs at Dean stemmed from a very different goal. Namely, getting Victoria to see that he was the human equivalent of a bad toupée and break up with him.

Well, that was still one of the goals. She could multitask.

"I just wish you would…" Victoria whined.

And just like that, Victoria was sufficiently misdirected. Perfect.

…

Taylor woke up slowly, confused at the horrible crick in her neck.

Why was her bed so uncomfortable?

Oh. Right.

What time was it?

She had no idea, and no easy way of finding out. Strange.

Taylor sat up, shrugging off her coat and hanging her legs over the edge of her lab table while she stretched the kinks out of her back.

Apparently, sleeping on a lab table with nothing but a coat for comfort wasn't ideal.

She took a deep breath, reveling in the fact that it didn't hurt like she was being stabbed over and over.

Things may be shitty, but they were objectively less shitty than they had been the last time she stumbled her way into the Hospital, so that was something.

The grass is always greener, and all that.

Even better, she didn't regret going to Amy's house. She didn't even regret telling the healer her name. It was… good, in the grand scheme of things. Things weren't great at the moment, and it was nice to have something to look forward to.

Taylor hopped off the table and put her coat back on. After a moment's hesitation, she took off her hat and bloodstained scarf, bundling them up by the centrifuge. As much as she liked her look, she needed to fly under the radar until she was ready to act. It was probably still daylight, so it would have to be Taylor, rather than Hunter, that went out to run errands.

She had a lot to do.

She made her way down the aisle, over the shattered tile, and out into the main hospital while she brooded.

She needed to re-acquire access to the basic necessities of life. A shower, food, etc.

That could feasibly be done by sneaking over to Kurt and Lacey's house and finding her father. She was reasonably sure that she remembered where they lived. It would require bringing them in on the secret, though.

That being said, her dad may have already told them. She had no idea what his story was, or how he handled the cops. If he handled them at all. He might have just left.

Speaking of which, she needed to figure out what the status of the investigation was. Had anyone figured out that Sophia was there? Had any evidence of her tinkering survived the blast?

If the site was under surveillance, could she even monitor it without attracting attention?

The house issue was a lower priority than the shower issue, though.

The sunlight was startlingly bright as Taylor made her way out the side entrance of the Hospital, carefully checking for anyone in sight. It seemed like… mid-afternoon?

Not having a way to tell time was strange.

She began jogging in the general direction of the Docks.

She needed to rebuild her lab. That killed multiple metaphorical birds, but also required multiple metaphorical stones. She needed a generator for power, and propane tanks for direct gas hookup. She also needed to replace all of the basic equipment that she lost with the house. Beakers, flasks, burettes, titration and distillation apparatuses, etc.

The good news was that she didn't need to hide her activity anymore. The Medhall robbery had thoroughly blown her anonymity out of the water, and no one would be surprised that the cape stealing medical research equipment was also stealing hardware materials and glassware.

So. Planning some more robberies.

She remembered making a promise to herself to not do that again, after the Medhall fiasco, but surely robbing a Home Depot was different. It couldn't be that hard, right?

She needed to steal a pack of cigarettes for Amy as well. High priority.

She also needed a phone, for multiple reasons. Now that she and her father were separated, they needed a way to get a hold of each other. He didn't even know where the Hospital was. She knew that he would fight her on it, but it had to be done.

A part of her twisted at the idea of what her mother would think of her actions. The cell phone was probably the least of her worries.

Sorry, Mom. I'm doing my best.

First stop, check in with Dad.

…

Luckily, it was the weekend, so her father wouldn't be at work. Taylor didn't like her odds of getting into the Dockworkers Union office without being seen in broad daylight.

Kurt and Lacey's house was farther north in the Docks. Technically in ABB territory, but near the edge. Not necessarily high risk, and it actually made it less likely that any random police or PRT patrols would see her.

Of course, there was always the slight risk of running into the ABB themselves, but they didn't really come out into these neighborhoods unless they were collecting their monthly protection money.

Taylor waited for a few minutes to make sure there were no surveillance crews monitoring the address. So far, everything looked clear. The streets were deserted. It was still chilly, so everyone with actual working heat was inside.

All these lucky people who hadn't been forced to blow up their own houses to avoid being arrested for murder.

It wasn't necessarily ideal, but Taylor decided that she would need to tell Kurt and Lacey about her continued survival. Maybe not all the gory details, but she really needed to shower and warm up. The alternative was to break into a Planet Fitness or something, and that was less appealing than giving up a bit of her anonymity.

Taylor circled the neighborhood one more time just to be sure, then approached the front door and knocked.

Kurt answered the door. He looked pretty similar to the last time she saw him, even though it had probably been at Mom's funeral. Tall, broad shouldered, with a shaved head and a thick beard that may have been well-trimmed a few weeks ago.

He stared at her for a brief moment before his eyes widened comically.

"Hey, Kurt," she said. She couldn't think of anything else, and just standing here while he stared was worse.

"Danny," he yelled over his shoulder, eyes never leaving her. "Come make sure I'm not losing my mind."

So her dad hadn't told them, then. This would be fun.

"What are you… oh," Danny trailed off when he caught sight of her. There was a strange moment where they just looked at each other, the awkwardness that plagued their interactions prior to her untimely demise returning.

Then he smiled, eyes crinkling behind his glasses, and the easy camaraderie they had yesterday while staring at their burning house came back like it had never left.

"I'm glad you figured out how to fix the… uh… damages," he said.

"I got some help from a friend," Taylor smiled back.

He raised an eyebrow at that before glancing at Kurt.

"It's a long story. Let's talk inside, before anyone notices the walking corpse on the porch," Danny said.

Taylor snorted. He hadn't been so blasé about it before. Maybe burning down the house also knocked a few screws loose?

Kurt just nodded mutely and stepped back so Taylor could pass into the hallway.

She walked in and kicked her boots off before her father pulled her in for a one armed hug. The physical contact didn't feel quite as awkward as it had before he helped her build a bomb while riddled with crossbow bolts.

She doubted they included that in any family bonding guides.

"It's good to see you, kiddo," Danny whispered. "I trust you, but it still goes against the grain to let you run off alone like that."

"Yeah, I know. We should talk," she said lowly to him. They needed to get on the same page before they tried to explain anything.

"Yeah, they have a guest bedroom," he said. "Let me just-"

"What are you boys whispering- holy shit, Taylor?"

Lacey turned the corner and almost dropped her drink in surprise.

Coming back from the dead was both awkward and a bit satisfying, in a schadenfreude kind of way.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced," Taylor grinned at her.

"Let me get up to speed real quick and then we'll talk, I promise," Danny said to the dumbstruck couple, leading Taylor down the hallway and into the guest bedroom that also seemed to serve as an office.

He closed the door behind them and turned to her.

"So…" they both seemed a bit at a loss. It had been a very chaotic couple days. "What's the story?"

There was a lot, but Taylor decided to fill him in on some of the details first.

"So, Sophia was Shadow Stalker, and I ran into her in costume after killing those Nazis. I didn't know she was Sophia, at that point. I guess she talked to Emma about my visit, and put two and two together. So she broke in and found my lab, and waited for me to get home. We fought, she lost," Taylor summarized.

"Do you think Emma knows, then?" Danny said, sitting down in the threadbare desk chair.

"Probably? Unless Sophia came over without telling her. It seems likely that she knows about Sophia's cape identity, but it's not a guarantee. I'll have to pay her another visit," Taylor mused.

Her father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"As Taylor? Or as Hunter?" He asked.

"Hunter. But if she knows, she knows," Taylor said.

Danny nodded.

"Are you going to kill her, too?"

He didn't sound judgmental, just honestly curious.

"Maybe. It depends on how sure I am that she won't tell the PRT my identity," Taylor said honestly.

"I know what she did to you was… unforgivable, but just… be careful, about becoming too willing to kill everyone and anyone in your way," her dad said.

Probably good advice, despite her power's whispers to the contrary.

A Hunter must hunt.

"I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, I'm in the process of setting up a new lab, but I need a place to shower and maybe some food until I get a chance to snag the basics. And maybe some money?" Taylor said.

It felt weird, asking him for money. Weirder than asking him to buy her hardware supplies.

"We still have a decent amount stashed away from the life insurance. You don't want me to just buy everything for you again?" He asked.

Taylor shook her head.

"I don't think we could hide it, even if we did a dead drop or something. Eventually, someone would notice me coming to get it and trace it back here. If I get it myself, as Hunter, then in the worst case scenario they find my base, and I'll set up defenses this time."

Her father nodded thoughtfully again.

"I'm sure Kurt and Lacey are going crazy, so what's the story there?" He said. "How much do you want to tell them?"

"Unless they're unwilling to accept it, I think we just tell them that I didn't actually die, but it's a secret. If they require more details in order to help us, we can tell them about getting attacked by a Ward. That explains the house explosion, sort of, and the need for secrecy. Speaking of which, what happened to you last night?" Taylor asked.

Danny chuckled and shook his head.

"Not much, actually. I couldn't think of a good excuse for all the craziness, so I left before the police arrived. Came over here and convinced Kurt and Lacey to stick to the story that we'd been up drinking after work and I decided to crash here," he said.

He shot her a crooked grin and suddenly looked about ten years younger.

"I went back to the house this morning and acted as surprised as anyone. The police didn't ask too many questions; after all, who in their right mind would blow up their own house?"

Taylor couldn't help but smile with him.

"Any hints about their investigation?" She asked.

"They mentioned that they were sending the details over to the PRT in case they determined that any of the gang's parahumans were involved, but nothing substantial. No mention of any surviving bloodstains in the basement, at least," Danny said.

Huh. That wasn't as bad as she expected. She had been ready to hear about Armsmaster going over the wreckage with a fine tooth comb or something.

"Alright. Let's get Kurt and Lacey on board, and then I really need to shower. Oh! I forgot to mention it before, but I also stole a bunch of lab equipment from Medhall," Taylor added as an afterthought.

Her father blinked at her.

"I don't know why I'm surprised by anything, anymore," he muttered, mostly to himself.

…

Taylor made her way back downstairs in a pair of borrowed sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. A hot shower and some fresh clothes made a huge difference. She hadn't realized just how grimy that sweater had gotten.

She probably needed a new coat, too. Her current one was getting to be more bullet holes than coat, at this point.

"Feel better?" Kurt asked as she walked into the kitchen, handing her a plate of microwaved spaghetti.

"Much, thanks," she said. "I appreciate all the help. It's… a lot."

Kurt just shrugged and leaned against the counter.

"Whatever trouble you and Danny are up to, it's the least we can do. I know when it's better to keep my nose out of it. Call it 'plausible deniability'," Kurt said.

He and Lacey had been remarkably understanding about the whole affair. All they knew was that Taylor didn't actually die, and it was complicated. Apparently, they didn't need or want to know anything else.

Her dad chose some pretty decent friends. She didn't give him enough credit, sometimes.

Taylor finished her food just as her dad arrived home from his trip to the bank.

"I got as much as I could without raising any red flags," Danny said, handing her a few wrapped stacks of bills.

"Thanks, Dad," Taylor stashed away the money. She was still planning to steal what she needed for her lab, but having some extra funds wouldn't go amiss. At least she could get fast food, and some blankets. And some new clothes that actually fit.

Kurt and Lacey would probably be fine to let her stay here, but she didn't want to put them in any more danger than they already were. Besides, she had work to do.

Kurt raised his eyebrows at the bullet holes in her coat, but didn't comment.

"I'll be back tomorrow night, unless I run into more complications," Taylor gave her dad a quick hug.

"Watch out for rogue microwaves," Danny grinned.

…

Amy took another long drag of her cigarette and stared out over the gray skyline.

Hunter sure was taking her time, tonight.

Amy's schedule was flexible, but she didn't exactly get that many breaks. It was almost time for her to head home, and she hadn't seen any sign of the vigilante.

Part of her wondered if she would actually come back. Maybe Taylor would take the healing, throw a wrench into Amy's routine, and then disappear into the night forever.

It would be par for the course. Nothing she wanted ever went her way.

But since when was this… thing… something she wanted, though?

Amy sighed.

Realistically, she couldn't pretend that this wasn't voluntary, anymore. Talking to Taylor last night had been nice, better than she'd felt in a long time. Even with Vicky's interruption and the almost dying thing.

In for a penny…

She was still going to give Hunter a piece of her mind for making Vicky think they were dating. If she came back.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke the silence behind her.

Despite hoping she would show up, Amy still jumped a bit.

"Took you long enough. It's cold up here," Amy said, but her lips curved up under her hood.

"Sorry. It's surprisingly difficult to steal cigarettes," Hunter said, leaning against the railing next to her.

Amy snorted and turned away from the city lights to look at her… friend?

Hunter said that to Vicky, but that was probably part of the ruse to hide their villainous association.

She did tell Amy her name though, even when she didn't have to.

"Harder than robbing Medhall?" Amy asked sarcastically.

"Well, no, but that was a royal clusterfuck. I got shot again, it was a mess," Hunter said, shaking her head.

It took a moment for Amy to realize that Hunter had a new costume.

Well, new in the context that it wasn't covered in bloodstains and bullet holes.

She wore a new black overcoat with gray trim and squared shoulders. Underneath, a dark vest was buttoned over a white shirt, with a lighter gray scarf to cover her face.

Of course, the hat remained the same as always.

"Did you decide to raid a department store as well?" Amy said, glancing over the new attire.

"For the record, I bought this stuff the normal way," Hunter looked like she was smiling behind the scarf. "My last costume was a bit worse for wear. I don't know how regular capes keep everything so clean."

Amy snorted again.

"Most of us don't get shot every other night," she said.

Hunter just laughed and pulled a box of cigarettes out of her pocket.

They were the wrong brand, but Amy didn't mention it. She hadn't exactly told her which ones to get, and it would still save her the trouble of convincing a sympathetic cashier to help her out. Plus, less risk of scandal for New Wave, or whatever.

Well, aside from the risk of being associated with all the murders, of course.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Amy said as she grabbed the unassuming carton.

"Is it?" Taylor looked at her with an unreadable expression from under her hat.

Amy glared at her for a long moment before rolling her eyes.

"Fine. Yes, despite the murders and the edgy style choices, I also… how did you put it? I enjoy our little chats. Happy?" Amy said.

"Yes, thanks," Hunter's eyes crinkled over her scarf.

Amy liked it better when she could see her face.

"Don't get used to it. I still haven't forgiven you for pulling that stunt with Vicky. She thinks we're dating, by the way. Kept trying to get me to bring 'Anne' on double dates with her obnoxious boyfriend," Amy complained.

"Oh," Hunter seemed genuinely surprised by that. Served her right. "I didn't… wow, okay, yeah, I get it. Whoops."

"Mmmmhmmmm," Amy hummed in general irritation.

It was quiet, aside from the sounds of the city below. The weird, separated bubble was back. Amy almost forgot they were still in costume, on the hospital roof.

"What dastardly villainy is on the agenda for tonight, then?" Amy asked eventually.

"I'm going to do a Home Depot run, I think. I need basic materials for my lab. And a generator. And some propane," Hunter said absent-mindedly.

"Wait, you don't have power?" Amy asked. Taylor had mentioned her lab getting destroyed, but not quite to that extent.

"I'm setting up a new lab in an abandoned hospital in the Trainyards," Hunter said.

"Oh my God, you couldn't be any more creepy if you tried! And I don't think you're actually trying, which is somehow worse! An abandoned hospital? Really?" Amy laughed incredulously.

"It's in decent shape structurally and already has lab tables and an HVAC system," Hunter defended.

"Abandoned. Hospital."

Hunter laughed at that.

"Okay, you might have a point," she said.

Amy couldn't help but smile until a thought occurred to her.

"You don't… live there, do you? At the hospital?" She asked.

Hunter shrugged and looked out over the city.

"Kind of. It's a long story," Hunter said. She sounded… resigned? Not really sad. It was hard to place.

"It sounds… cold," Amy said quietly.

"Yeah. I guess it is," Hunter replied.

Is she… lonely?

The idea hadn't really occurred to her before, but Hunter… Taylor went out of her way to talk to her, taking the risk of showing up the same way Amy kept coming back for more even when she should have turned the vigilante in at their first meeting.

"If you wanted to tell me that long story, I won't actually tell the PRT," Amy said finally. "I think that ship has sailed."

Taylor stared at her for a long moment.

"Maybe someday. Once you get your own coat and hat," Hunter grinned.

"You… I was trying to be nice, dammit," Amy snapped, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling too.

Hunter laughed again, leaning against the railing, and the tension broke.

Amy liked hearing her laugh. She felt lighter than she had in ages, like an iron weight constantly slung over her shoulders suddenly got easier to manage.

Something about these strange, isolated moments was somehow making the rest of the bullshit more bearable, and she didn't want it to stop.

Part of her knew that this whole thing was majorly fucked up, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care. Anything to escape the endless fog.

"When you get set back up, I want to see more of your work," Amy said, looking up into crystalized onyx.

Hunter raised an eyebrow at her.

"You made up your mind, then?" She asked.

Amy nodded.

"Are you sure?" Taylor's eyes were unwavering and dark as they stared through her.

Sure that she wanted to go further down this rabbit hole. Sure that she wanted to risk staining her heroic image with cursed blood.

"It's a long story," Amy said.

…

Chapter Text

Interlude 3

Emma didn't know if she would ever sleep again.

After Sophia left last night, she had been an anxious wreck, but there was some level of comfort in it. She had finally told someone the truth. Told them about seeing Taylor's eyes in her window.

And Sophia hadn't even thought she was crazy! Sophia had also met a new cape in a hat and scarf that looked and sounded like Taylor. Maybe Taylor didn't die; she just triggered instead.

Sophia had told her what it took to trigger, a long time ago, and dying in that locker definitely had the potential.

Emma hadn't been able to tell if that was a good thing or not. Maybe she didn't kill Taylor after all.

But Taylor might still kill her. Sophia had also told her what she did to Stephen.

It hadn't mattered, though, because Sophia was going to fix it. Going to figure out what to do. As long as she was around, Emma could trust her judgement.

Then Sophia didn't come back.

Sophia was supposed to be the strong one. She was strong. If something happened to her…

What chance did Emma have?

Should she tell anyone?

That would mean coming clean about so many things. Sophia's extracurricular activities. The crossbow bolts that killed rather than captured. What they did to Taylor.

She might be able to keep Taylor out of it. Just tell them that Sophia left and she didn't know where.

But… if Sophia was okay, and something just came up, or she was indisposed and couldn't answer…

Emma couldn't make up her mind.

She couldn't even text her. If the PRT investigated, they would pull the text message logs for sure. Sophia had drilled it into her never to put anything incriminating in writing.

All she could do was wait.

The panic had been somewhat manageable, while the sun was up.

But now, alone in the dark, Emma started to crack.

Keep the walls up, Survivor.

The walls were nothing but a crumbling, fissured mess.

Her heart hammered in her ears.

She curled up under multiple layers of blankets, but she was still so cold.

Why is it so cold?

The door to her bedroom opened, and Emma couldn't even bring herself to look. She just huddled deeper, as if the covers would keep the demons away. Maybe, if she didn't look, it wouldn't be real.

Maybe it was Sophia coming back.

She knew it wasn't.

The blankets were ripped away and the cold washed over her.

Long, slender fingers held her face like a vice, pointing her towards the ceiling. The frozen steel of a gun barrel pressed against her forehead.

"Scream, and die," a familiar voice hissed in the darkness.

She had been right. Sophia had been right.

Emma stared up along the line of metal and into the frigid black eyes of her best friend.

Even shadowed under the brim of her hat, her face covered in a layer of silver silk, Emma would know her anywhere.

"Taylor," she whispered.

Emma still didn't know if this was horrifying or wonderful. It was certainly terrifying, but underneath it was a strange warmth at the knowledge, the confirmation, that Taylor was still alive.

That Taylor was strong, somehow.

Emma could see it in her eyes. This version of her best friend was hardened and tempered, a core of steel and an aura of blood that even she and Sophia never quite achieved.

I did that.

"Hello, Emma," the ghost in the night said, pulling down her scarf and revealing her familiar face.

Either Taylor would kill her, or she wouldn't. If Taylor was here, and Sophia wasn't…

"Sophia's dead, isn't she?" Emma whispered.

"Yes."

The dark eyes didn't even flicker.

Emma knew that she wouldn't be able to drag any of Taylor's pain to the surface, not anymore. She would never twist and tug at Taylor's psyche with her words ever again. Taylor had crystalized into a sharp and jagged weapon, and if Emma tried to play her games, Taylor would just kill her.

It was terrifying, and it was invigorating.

I did that.

"Are you going to kill me, too?" Emma asked softly. It would be over quickly, one way or the other. Taylor wasn't the type to play with her prey.

"I haven't decided yet. What did Sophia tell you?" Taylor said, the gun rock steady against her skin.

"Everything," Emma breathed.

Do it. Make the pain and the fear and the cold drift away forever…

"Are you going to tell anyone?" Taylor asked, her voice flat and empty in the dark.

Part of her wanted to say yes, just to make Taylor pull the trigger. Complete the circle.

Emma killed Taylor, so it was only fitting that she kill her in return. They were locked to the bloody wheel together, breaking as they spun round and round.

But she couldn't lie to her best friend. Not right now, not like this.

"No," Emma whispered.

There was another long moment of silence, then the cold steel finally moved.

"I should kill you, for what you did," Taylor said, still standing over her in the moonlight. "You deserve it. You're a monster."

"I know," Emma said.

"If you tell anyone, I will find you. There won't be a hole deep enough to hide you from me. And when I do, I'll make you wish I killed you here and now," Taylor ground out through a clenched jaw.

"Okay," Emma whispered. She had already known that. She knew the black eyed hunter wouldn't hesitate.

Taylor turned to leave.

"They're probably tracking Sophia's phone," Emma said suddenly. She couldn't help herself. "I know you don't… use them. So you might not have thought of it."

Taylor slowly turned and the dead onyx once again pinned her in place like a bug.

It was quiet for a long time.

"Goodbye, Emma," Taylor said softly.

And then she left.

…

Colin Wallis, known to most of the world as Armsmaster, never did just one thing at a time.

Several different rotating monitors displayed his ongoing projects while he toiled at his workbench.

On one screen, a progress bar and a constantly updating breakdown showed the ongoing additions to his combat prediction algorithm.

On another, the security camera footage from the Medhall building played, split into several different angles.

"We're missing something here," Colin mused aloud. "An experienced villain wouldn't have stumbled their way through a heist like that. And a new trigger wouldn't have jumped right into stealing from Medhall."

"I'm running a database comparison on the firearm used to bypass the doors, but I haven't found any matches yet," a disembodied female voice replied.

The final monitor showed the digitally generated avatar of his closest coworker and confidant.

Dragon.

"You don't have to worry about this, you know," Colin said. He continued working to downsize the power source for his visor. He didn't want to be limited to only using it while in his power armor. "I'm sure you have better things to do."

"Everything is fairly quiet at the moment, in the grand scheme of things," Dragon said. "Looking at local problems occasionally helps keep me from becoming detached."

Colin nodded and returned his focus to the footage.

Reaching up to manipulate the video feed, he zoomed in on the firearm in question just as the intruder used it to blow a sizable hole in the maintenance door.

An incongruously large hole, compared to the size of the gun.

"Did they recover any bullets? That gun seems like tinkertech, despite the antiquated aesthetic," Dragon said.

Great minds think alike. Colin was already looking through the forensic reports.

A tinkertech ballistic firearm that caused more damage than the size of the projectile would suggest. That was familiar.

Sure enough, the forensic image of the ruined bullet was undoubtedly similar to the samples he had tested from the massacre at the Empire stash house.

Found you.

If he compared the blood sample, he was sure it would corroborate his analysis. He put in an order to have the sample transferred.

"It's Carpenter," Colin said. "The vigilante that killed the eleven unpowered Empire members at the warehouse on Thursday. At least we have a costume to go with the crime."

"A Mover, and possibly a combat Thinker of some kind?" Dragon said.

"That would definitely explain how they overpowered the Empire foot soldiers. I'm curious about why they stuck to non-lethal takedowns at Medhall, but left the warehouse swimming in blood," Colin said.

"An idealist?" Dragon speculated. "Someone with a personal grudge against the Empire, or just doesn't want to kill people who aren't part of the gangs?"

"Murder is still murder," Colin grumbled, even if he understood the sentiment.

"People come up with all kinds of justifications. Everyone is the hero of their own story," Dragon said.

Colin nodded thoughtfully while he reviewed the evidence from the Oakland warehouse.

"They're either a Tinker on top of being a Mover, or they're working with one," he put his thoughts into words while he read. "I agree with the combat Thinker part, as well. From what I can piece together, they never missed a shot. Impressive, if they were using the pistol from the Medhall footage."

"Have you made any progress analyzing the bullet fragments?" Dragon asked. He knew that she had access to all of his data, but she liked to talk about it. It helped to articulate theories aloud, and he wasn't going to complain about the conversation.

"Very little. The metal itself is some kind of amalgam, but the ratio of mercury is too high for the metal to be solid at room temperature without some kind of stabilizing agent. Other than that, the anomalous properties continue to interfere with my equipment," Colin grumbled.

"So you're either looking at a new team forming, or at least a duo, or you have a very versatile new cape in the Bay," Dragon said. "A grab bag?"

"Possibly," Colin said, pulling up Carpenter's PRT database entry. "For now, we will operate under the assumption that Carpenter is a Tinker in addition to their other abilities. That leaves us with an obvious Mover rating, a Thinker rating, a Tinker rating, and I believe a Brute rating as well. Too much blood was found at the warehouse for a baseline human to recover that quickly, and they seem unconcerned about the gunshot wound sustained at Medhall."

"They could have tinkertech that enhances their durability or regeneration," Dragon suggested.

"The outcome remains the same," Colin said. "Until we have more details, we may as well include it. As for a threat assessment… Mover 5? Possibly 6. They made short work of the security guards, but an armored squad with parahuman support should be sufficient."

"They only utilized non-lethal methods at Medhall. We have no way of knowing how much more dangerous they would be with Tinkertech weaponry, or whether they would be willing to use it against us," Dragon reminded him.

"I'll go with Mover 6. Add on a Thinker 2, Brute 2 for the additional perception and regeneration. As for the Tinker rating…" Colin tapped the display thoughtfully.

"We really don't have enough data to accurately measure that," Dragon said. "The threat level can vary dramatically depending on preparation and available resources. It looks like they put that pistol together in a garage with a screwdriver."

"Hopefully we can bring them in without significant incident," Colin sighed. "We need more Tinkers, and Carpenter is going to get themselves killed going after the Empire on their own."

Colin took a brief moment to scroll through the most recent police reports. Nothing really jumped out at him.

Several clearly unpowered robberies, a mugging, a drunken assault, a domestic violence report.

There was a potentially gang-related bombing reported in the Docks, targeting the hiring manager of the local Dockworkers Union.

Slightly unusual, but ultimately irrelevant. Nothing that screamed parahuman involvement.

"We'll go with a Tinker 4, for now. The pistol and saw based weapon are dangerous, but nothing extraordinary. If they have tech that can boost regeneration, we can reconsider," Colin said.

"If it is Tinkertech, it makes it all the more imperative that we find them," Dragon mused. "Tech that can heal or regenerate biology is limited. It's a bit outside Blasto's wheelhouse, and obvious examples like Nilbog and Bonesaw are self-explanatory. I'll see what I can dig up."

"Thanks, Dragon," Colin smiled at her avatar. He was about to continue down that train of thought when his phone rang.

Aegis knew not to disturb him unless it was important.

"Armsmaster," Colin answered.

"Shadow Stalker didn't report for patrol, and we haven't been able to contact her," Aegis said. "I've submitted the necessary forms through the console, but I thought you may want to know."

Carlos was always straight to the point. He would be a good addition to the Protectorate, but Colin was going to miss having him in charge of the Wards. He dreaded the inevitable period of Dennis' leadership.

"Any word from her mother?" Colin asked. He didn't have time for Shadow Stalker's frequent rebellions.

"She never came home last night. Apparently that's not uncommon, though."

Of course it wasn't.

"Check in with Renick and see if they can reach any of her other contacts. Let's not fly off the handle because Shadow Stalker decided to play hooky," Colin grumbled.

"Yes, sir. I'll keep you in the loop," Aegis said.

"Good luck," Colin hung up the call.

Carlos would probably need it. Sophia Hess was a handful on a good day, and he wouldn't put it past her to pull a runner.

Still, he wasn't going to waste resources tracking her until they knew for sure. She probably just decided that this patrol wasn't important enough to show up to. He would let Emily handle the disciplinary action. She was better at it, anyway.

Besides, he had more important things to do.

…

Daniel Hebert blew up his own house.

That was not on the list of things that Thomas had expected to happen.

He reviewed the multiple gunshot reports prior to the explosion.

Someone had clearly attempted to invade the Tinker's lab. Did the intruder fire the shots, only to trigger the lab's defenses, or was it something else?

The Cape that assaulted his base to free Daniel used a pistol. Both the pistol and hammer they used could have been tinkertech.

That's if they were even a cape at all, and not an autonomous creation of Daniel's.

They had known his name. Did that mean that Daniel did, too?

In one timeline, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hey, Boss," an overly enthusiastic voice chirped.

Sarah knew that it annoyed him.

"Tattletale. Please analyze the police report sent to your email and provide any inferences that are not immediately apparent."

"So impatient. Can't I finish my croissant first?" Tattletale whined.

"I am confident in your ability to multitask."

"Fine, fine, one moment."

Thomas studiously ignored the obnoxious chewing sounds on the other end of the line. He could set up a timeline to kill her for his own amusement later.

"Huh. Weird. Well, it's not actually gang-related, but you probably already knew that. Best I can tell, this Hebert guy blew up his own house. Maybe tinkertech explosives? Probably hiding something." Tattletale speculated.

Thomas already knew that, too. Unproductive.

"Reports of gunfire. Dude shot someone and blew up the house to hide the evidence. No, something else. He shot someone, was worried that the gunshots would draw attention, then preemptively blew up the house to cover whatever was inside. That's… certainly a course of action."

Again, nothing that Thomas hadn't already put together on his own. Although it was nice to have his inferences corroborated.

"Anything else?" Coil asked.

"I doubt the explosion would have completely destroyed the body, so he must have stashed it somewhere," Tattletale said. He heard her take a sip of coffee.

That was something, at least. Daniel probably had a secondary lab, even though Thomas had never seen him go there. That would also explain why he was willing to destroy his primary residence.

He would have to reassign his surveillance teams, now that the Tinker's previous routine was disrupted.

Thomas closed the timeline without saying goodbye. Interacting with Tattletale exacerbated his violent tenancies and he needed to be level headed when planning his approach.

Someday, he would figure out the nature of Daniel's powers and his relationship with the Cape who knew his name. He had all the time in the world, after all.

…

Victoria Dallon found herself feeling strangely excited as she landed carefully in the hospital parking lot.

Her sister had been in the same rut for such a long time that any improvement was cause for celebration. Vicky did her best, but nothing she did seemed to drag Amy out of her perpetual funk.

Of course, the double dates weren't a fantastic idea in hindsight, but that wasn't her fault!

Victoria could understand why Amy wanted to keep this on the down low, though. The publicity surrounding New Wave was a constant factor to consider, even if their mother went a bit overboard with the image. They relied on public support, and every aspect of their lives were potentially open to scrutiny.

There was also the Empire to consider. Fucking Nazis.

Still, Amy could have told her.

The girl with the messy black curls and mischievous smile seemed nice, from their very short interaction last night. Less immediately spikey than Amy, at least.

Maybe Victoria could convince Anne that the double date idea had merit, and then she could stop Amy from being so critical of Dean.

She'd work out the details later.

Victoria spotted the red and white hood leaving the main doors. She floated over as Amy made her way across the parking lot.

Her little sister looked… relaxed, in a way she hadn't been in a long time. Amy normally kept her shell of spikes and acid up all the time, hunched in on herself and glaring at the world like she dared it to try to get any closer.

Tonight, Amy looked calm. Centered. Her shoulders didn't hunch and she didn't hide under her hood.

She even smiled when she got close. Not a real smile, but an ever-so-slightly upwards smirk on one side of her lips.

Which was basically jumping for joy, in Amy-land.

"Did you have a good time with Anne?" Victoria asked with a smirk of her own.

And the scowl and narrowed eyes were back, right on queue.

"I told you not to talk about her. It's none of your business anyway," Amy snapped.

Hmmmm. Trouble in paradise?

No, no, Amy was happy before, when she wasn't thinking about it too hard. The totally-not-a-thing was going well, and Amy just didn't know what to do with that, and didn't want to talk about it.

"I'm your sister. Your business is my business. It's in the contract," Victoria said lightly.

"I don't recall signing anything," Amy rolled her eyes.

"It's informal. Besides, I want to know! You've never done anything gossip worthy, ever. I'm starving over here," Victoria whined.

It sounded like whining even to her, but she really did want to know. Both because Amy needed to learn how to open up about this stuff to someone who actually cared, and because she really wanted to know.

"Fine," Amy kept up the scowl, but it didn't seem as rough around the edges. Victoria hadn't actually expected her to agree. "We hung out on one of our breaks. She talked about her plans for the evening, and her work. Are you happy now?"

Yes and no. That was more than she had ever gotten out of Amy about anything even slightly approaching a love-life before, but it was also depressingly bland. Obviously Amy was leaving out the interesting parts specifically to drive her insane.

"Come on, that's boring! I mean, I'm glad you're talking to people other than me, but still! Give me something!" Victoria pleaded.

Amy glanced over at her with a strange expression, like she couldn't decide whether to give into her demands or not.

Progress!

"Do you promise to shut up about her for at least a few days?" Amy asked, raising an eyebrow under her hood.

That was… probably worth it. She could control herself for the rest of the weekend.

"Deal," Victoria smiled.

"She brought me more cigarettes. They're the wrong brand, but they're not terrible," Amy said, the hint of a smile returning.

"Amy! I thought you quit! You told me you did!"

"I lied. Deal with it," Amy said casually.

Victoria frowned at her.

"She shouldn't be aiding and abetting your crappy coping mechanisms," Vicky said.

Something about that made Amy laugh harder than Victoria had heard in a while.

"Oh, Vicky, you have no idea," Amy said, shaking her head.

That was a bit concerning.

"Come on, let's go home. It's cold," Amy said, the ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips.

"I just-"

"Nope, you promised not to talk about her for a few days. That's at least three. I'm holding you to it," Amy said.

Now it was Victoria's turn to glare.

"Fine. But we're not done talking about the smoking thing," Vicky said.

Amy waved away her concerns like she was batting at an annoying fly.

Vicky wasn't sure if this newfound confidence was a good thing or not.

…

Chapter Text

Armory 4.1

The cacophony echoed eerily in the empty hospital, the mechanical roaring bouncing down the abandoned hallways and through the ruined waiting rooms until it became a strange sort of wail.

In Taylor's workshop, the candles flickered and cast dancing shadows on the comparatively clean walls. A wide matrix of glass instruments, beakers, and flasks dominated one of the epoxy resin tabletops, and a homemade forge hooked up to a large propane tank sat in one corner. It was currently dark and cold.

Taylor herself monitored the progress of her centrifuge in the candlelight. She had switched to using candles and the forge for light and heat to minimize her generator requirements. The HVAC system and her more advanced lab equipment used enough electricity as it was.

On the other side of the forge, one of the lab tables was covered in a mess of blankets and pillows.

Taylor took a moment to wind the mechanical watch she picked up on one of her nighttime pilfering expeditions.

It had been almost a week since the tragic demise of her father's house. Taylor's daily routine had fallen into a strange sort of schedule. It would be bizarre to anyone else, but it was satisfying to her.

She woke up around sundown and dressed in her 'undercover' outfit. It wasn't quite a civilian identity, since she was still very much dead. It was ironic that Amy had called her a vampire, since she had essentially become nocturnal.

She made her daily trip to Kurt and Lacey's, checked for surveillance or any suspicious activity, and then snuck inside to shower and grab some clean clothes and actual food.

Then she would retreat to the Hospital, taking random and often circuitous routes to avoid being followed.

She tinkered for a while and planned her nightly haunting.

And when the moon rose, she donned her hat and went for a walk.

Most of her walks took her to the Brockton General hospital roof to say hello to Amy before moving on to more nefarious ends. It was always the highlight of her evening.

After Amy went home to sleep like a normal person, Taylor would begin her nightly shopping trips.

She hadn't gone on any more hunts, yet. There was more than enough to do even without fresh blood to work with.

Part of her craved it, but she set that voice aside for now. She needed to restore her workshop.

And restore it, she had.

Taylor was privately proud of her current setup. Amy might insist that the Hospital was "creepy" and "so cliche it's physically painful", but Taylor liked it. It was her domain, her workshop, her lair. Besides, Amy hadn't even been there yet. What did she know?

She had stolen the basic necessities first. A generator, propane tanks, and generic materials. Then she stole new tools, taking hand tools whenever possible to cut down on the electricity requirements.

And candles. For light, heat, and atmosphere.

It took a few days to recreate her glass lab equipment, but soon her titration and distillation apparatuses were up and running once again. They were currently hard at work concentrating and processing Sophia's blood.

Taylor had also harvested more of her own blood to be turned into basic blood vials and quicksilver bullets. Her stockpile wasn't as robust as she would like, but she wasn't at risk of running out again.

Not unless she was forced to burn this lab down, as well, that is.

She turned her focus back to the centrifuge and hit 'stop', letting the rapidly spinning test tubes slow before turning off the generator.

It was quiet again, in the workshop.

Taylor peered into the test tube that had previously contained a concentrated dose of Victor's remaining blood.

Now, it contained only a clear fluid, and a single, solid crystal at the bottom.

Blood Stone.

The pale red lattice was beautiful, in a way. Delicate. But despite its appearance, the remnant of parahuman ichor was harder than steel and carried significantly more conceptual weight.

It would enhance her weapons to a degree that mere mundane metal could never reach.

Taylor glanced at the far wall, over the forge.

The only question was… which one to upgrade?

Her saw cleaver was familiar, and vaguely comforting in her hand, but she had been eager to use her new forge and belt grinder. The designs in her head called to her.

So she had made more tools of violence, along with her blood tinkering.

A hunter's axe with a brutal blade that could extend to a long, two handed haft.

The bladed cane that could be unleashed as a savage whip, threaded with flexible wire to allow its edge to become many.

Versatility was key. Taylor didn't want to become limited to a single strategy, not when her enemies threatened to outpace her. She wasn't as innately powerful as someone like Lung or Kaiser, but she could prepare and out-maneuver them. Tinkers were tricky to fight if given time to prepare, and she wouldn't squander it.

Still, she didn't want to try to integrate the blood stone into any of them. She wanted something new.

Idly pondering the blueprints that floated in her mind's eye, Taylor sat on the stool in front of the forge and ran her fingers over the twisting helix of the blood stone.

Versatility.

A weapon of both deadly grace and brutal force, when each was necessary.

A powerhouse to challenge her enemies, while also slipping between the plates of their armor.

The perfect weapon flitted through her mind, her fingers itching to grasp the hilt.

Taylor smiled.

Amy was going to make fun of her, but she didn't care.

It was time to make a sword.

…

Sweat ran in rivers down her forehead and her hair was damp against the back of her neck when Taylor took a break.

The sword was definitely a step up from her previous projects. Just bolting a bunch of saw blades together and grinding in some teeth wouldn't cut it for this design. It required metaphorical finesse as well as physical. The metal must be heated and hammered and cut and folded before hammering again. In each layer, she added more and more of her own blood to fuel the fire. Rinse and repeat.

Even with her strength, it was tiring work. The Hospital rang with the hammerblows.

She stretched the aches from her bones and walked over to the complex lattice of glass instruments.

In the center, the finished blood vial called to her.

The blood inside looked the same as any of her other vials, but she could tell that it held an unknowable potential. Something that sang to her, itched in the back of her mind like a dream she had already forgotten.

Taylor took it and loaded it into her injector.

We are born, of the blood.

Some part of her protested at the idea of having anything from Sophia inside her, becoming one with her. Like she would be sullying herself with her tormentor's malice.

But she would persevere, nonetheless.

Undone, by the blood.

Taylor stared into the bubbling concoction and felt the presence of the moon far overhead, just now nearing its first quarter. Still, the silver light called to her, blood leaking into its radiance with every heartbeat.

Do not fear the Old Blood.

Taylor slammed the injector into her thigh with violent intensity, gasping as the contents of the vial were forced into her veins.

Just as it had been with Victor, Sophia's blood flowed through her and her mind screamed as it was enhanced.

Taylor screamed along with it, her voice echoing through the empty exam rooms of her domain.

Something akin to radio static crackled in the back of her brain and for a moment, the candles in her workshop burned a ghostly white.

And then her vision returned to normal, and her heartbeat slowly stopped ringing in her ears.

Taylor placed the empty vial and her injector on the tabletop in front of her and worked to calm her breathing.

She had taken the very power that allowed Sophia to torment her, and made it her own.

She would never be so helpless again.

Just as she could feel the strange skills that remained of Victor, she could now feel a latent echo of Shadow Stalker's power. Just a memory of a memory, a dream of a dream.

But it was far better than nothing.

Taylor focused on the area by her forge and pushed, both with her legs and her mind.

It was disorienting, to put it lightly.

She felt her body turn to smoke, to shadow, to ash, and then reform from nothing a split second later.

For the briefest of moments, she became nothing at all. A ghost with no shell. It was both terrifying and invigorating.

Taylor smiled widely.

She did it again.

And again.

And again.

She couldn't go all that far, just a rough lunge forward, maybe seven or eight feet.

But it was fast, and it was exciting.

If she paid attention, if she was quick enough, she could use this to avoid attacks like Victor's sniper shots and Shadow Stalker's bolts.

Taylor panted for breath, despite her manic grin.

The quickstepping took quite a lot out of her, but it was an excellent addition to her toolkit.

A final, unwilling gift from Sophia. Taylor hoped that it infuriated her, if she could somehow see from the beyond.

It couldn't exactly make her roll over in her grave, because, well…

Taylor glanced at the jars along the far workbench.

No movement from what remained of Sophia.

Taylor pursed her lips thoughtfully and eyed the empty stretch of wall beside the table.

Sophia could go through walls and objects in her shadow state. Could Taylor quickstep through walls, too?

Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Taylor walked over and lunged forward, becoming nothing as she sought to reappear-

She hit the concrete headfirst with a dull thud and stumbled backwards, almost crashing through her forge as the pain momentarily blinded her.

Fuck.

Taylor quickly injected herself with a normal blood vial to heal her fractured skull.

Right. Can't quickstep through walls. Good to know.

…

She barely heard the screams over the roar of the forge and the drumbeat of her hammer.

For a moment, Taylor thought that they were just the bouncing echoes of the hospital hallways.

But no, faintly, in the distance, she heard shrill screams of distress.

She put down the hammer and the white hot metal and considered.

It wasn't ideal to get involved with anything so close to her workshop. If she were discovered, or left any evidence, it could draw the heroes or the gangs right to her, and she hadn't had time to set up any significant defenses.

Another cry bounced down the endless corridors.

Taylor stood and brushed the ash from her clothes.

She wouldn't be like everyone that walked past her metal coffin. She refused to sit idly by, when she had the opportunity to act. She was not one of the monsters, for all that she committed monstrous deeds.

She would be better.

Surely, if she helped those that she could when the opportunity arose, she could avoid sinking to their level.

But she would need to be quiet about it. No gunshots, and no evidence.

Taylor grabbed her hat and her cane, and went for a walk.

…

She didn't have to go far to find the beasts in human skin.

Between the rusted and run down cars that lined the lawns of her Hospital, she saw them.

Drunk, or high, or some combination thereof, they dragged and pawed at the screaming woman who they hoped to make their own prey.

Taylor felt nothing but cold fury at their expense. Their blood would not leave a stain on her soul.

They never even saw her coming.

Taylor landed lightly on the frame of the car above them, coat flaring from her leap.

She didn't want to spill too much of their blood onto the ground or their victim, so her bladed cane found the back of the first monster's neck and cut deep into the base of his skull, severing the nerves and leaving him to collapse in a limp pile of limbs.

For the second, she flicked the cane up into a forehand grip and drove the blunted tip deftly through his left eye and into his brain. She gave it a quick twirl to make sure the lights went out.

She quickstepped down from her metal perch and flowed easily around a wild punch from the third, catching her bloody cane in the crook of her arm so that she could reach out with both hands and twist his head a hundred and eighty degrees with a sickening snap.

Unfortunately, the final member of their pack was smarter than the rest. He drew a knife and pointed it not at her, but the half-dressed woman screaming in the dirt.

He reached for his victim, trying to get ahold of a human shield to ward off his inevitable death.

Taylor grabbed the handle of her cane, flipped it into a backhand grip, and released the lock.

With a controlled twist, the blade became segmented and whipped out in a lightning fast lash, wrapping around his reaching arm several times in quick succession. The threaded cane sliced into his flesh like a chainsaw loaded with barbed wire. Taylor wrenched the whip taught and his screams joined those of his victim as his arm was torn to bloody pieces. Crimson rain splattered over the woman while she floundered against the rusted metal.

Whoops.

Taylor retracted the cane and ended his suffering with a quick jab.

So, that was messier than she intended. She got a bit carried away.

Hopefully the blood would soak into the grass by morning.

Taylor eyed the cloudy sky overhead. Maybe she would get lucky and it would rain.

Twelve Nazis, four rapists, and one Ward.

The woman was still screaming.

Taylor stood still and silent, waiting for her to get it out of her system.

Eventually, the woman ran out of breath and subsided into gasping sobs.

She looked up at Taylor with wide, terrified eyes.

It was a bit unfortunate that she couldn't enjoy altruistic heroism. Part of her wanted to comfort this victim of circumstance, to reassure her that everything would be alright.

But she wasn't a hero, and she never would be. It didn't matter. She was a Hunter, and in this case the woman's fear would work in her favor.

"Go. And tell no one of what happened here," Taylor hissed, channeling the same cold anger she felt when faced with Emma's pitiable horror and longing.

The woman scrambled to all fours and crawled a few steps before stumbling to her feet and sprinting off into the night.

Taylor looked around at the new sources of blood to drain.

The cleanup wasn't necessarily fun, but it was worth it. Her lair had been lacking something in ambiance since she had finished with Sophia.

And she could never have enough blood.

…

Before the final fold of her steel, Taylor added the blood stone.

It didn't behave like any earthly metal. The crystalized remains of Victor's life melted and bonded with the brilliant yellow-orange steel. She couldn't see it now, with the metal still so hot from the forge, but she knew that it would cool into a shining silver finish.

Having so much extra blood to quench it helped, too. She had been worried about getting enough from herself to actually quench the sword.

Taylor glanced at the bodies hanging in the corner.

That wasn't really a problem anymore. She had more than enough to restock her blood vials and quicksilver bullets while still keeping enough for her forging.

She hummed while she worked, finishing the final fold and drawing out the blade with every strike of her hammer.

Maybe it was time to invite Amy to visit?

…

After a decent day's sleep, Taylor made her normal evening run to Kurt and Lacey's.

As she did every time, she carefully circled the block before approaching the house.

It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you.

She worked her way carefully through alleys and backyards, staying out of sight and looking for anything out of place.

A nondescript, dark green sedan circled the block.

Then it circled it again, although in a slightly different pattern.

Taylor waited, crouched in a tree at the back of Kurt's neighbor's property.

The same sedan passed the house again.

Gotcha.

Someone was monitoring her father.

The only question was who?

Was it one of the gangs?

The PRT?

What did they have to gain by watching him? What had they guessed?

It occurred to her that they could feasibly think that he was a parahuman.

Whoops.

What to do about that, then?

She could just kidnap them for a chat to see what they knew. But that would risk tipping off their employer.

She could do nothing, and just stop coming here for supplies. That idea grated on her, though. She was enjoying this newfound level of comfort between her and her father.

She could dig a tunnel under the backyard so she could sneak into the house undetected.

That was… a silly idea.

Taylor waited for the car to pass, then raced for the back door.

Kurt and her father looked up in surprise at her sudden entry.

"You've got company, unfortunately," Taylor said. "Someone's watching the house."

Kurt's eyebrows raised further but Danny just sighed.

"It's always something," he said. "How do you want to play this?"

"I'm not sure. I want to figure out who they work for, but I don't want to tip our hand," Taylor flopped down on the couch across from them.

"Short of trying to follow them home, I don't know how to do that. Do you have any… tricks that might work?" Her father asked, glancing at Kurt.

Kurt made a show of pointedly looking away and twiddling his thumbs.

"I don't know," Taylor said again in frustration. "It's not really my area of expertise. I'll see what I can cook up, though."

"In the meantime, we don't have to make it easy for them," Danny said, slapping his thighs and standing up. "I've got nothing better to do on a Thursday night. You want to go to that new driving range out past Captain's Hill, Kurt? We'll take the scenic route and see how well these hangers-on can stick with us."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Kurt grinned. "I've been wanting to put the new truck through its paces anyway."

Taylor couldn't help but laugh.

"Thanks, Dad," she said. "Sorry for all the trouble."

"No worries, Little Owl," he gave her a hug on the way past. "I'm just happy you're sticking around."

"No running away," she said jokingly.

"No calling the PRT," he gave her a mock salute.

Kurt just shook his head in confusion.

…

Taylor, once again clad in her Hunter uniform, pushed the bloodstained bills across the counter.

"Cigarettes," she said, staring through the nervous boy behind the register. "Please."

"Um. Okay. Uh, what kind?" He stammered, glancing down at the money.

"Whatever's fine," Taylor said. She had no idea what the difference between the various brands were.

"It doesn't… Um… usually work like that," the cashier said.

Taylor furiously tried to remember what the pack looked like the first time Amy took one out to smoke.

"Those ones. The blue box," she said. Was it this hard for everyone?

"American Spirit?"

"Yeah."

He grabbed the box and punched it into the cash register.

"Do you have… um… ID? It makes me put in a birthday," he said shakily.

She handed him one of the dead men's driver's licenses.

"You're… Anthony?" He asked, eyes flicking up to her scarf-covered face.

"I go by Tony," Taylor deadpanned.

"Right. um… sure. Okay. And you're… thirty-seven?"

"I drink a lot of water."

He gave her the cigarettes, and some change.

There. She didn't even have to steal them this time. Amy would probably like that.

…

"How's it going, Carpenter?"

"I hate you," Taylor whined.

Amy was annoyingly smug about it.

"I told you. I fucking told you that the PRT would come up with something stupid unless you picked an available name and left a calling card or something," Amy said snidely.

"I really thought they would do better than… Carpenter."

"Because of the saw-"

"Yes. Yes, I get it, thank you," Taylor glared up at where Amy sat on an air-conditioning unit jutting out of the roof, kicking her feet under her robe. "I don't want to talk about it."

Taylor fished the pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and hopped up to sit next to her.

"Oh shit, you even got the right brand this time," Amy said, her lips curling upwards ever so slightly. Amy never seemed to smile on purpose; it was more like she just forgot to frown for a while. It was nice, every single time.

"I didn't know that it mattered," Taylor said honestly. Last time, she just ran in, jumped the counter, grabbed a box and ran away.

"It's not the end of the world, but I like these ones. They hit different," Amy said, lighting one and taking a long drag.

Something about it suited her, the silver mist swirling around her red and white hood and chocolate curls.

Taylor smiled behind her scarf and they sat in companionable silence for a while.

"Do you want to come see my lab, later?" Taylor asked eventually.

"You're back in business?" Amy raised her eyebrows.

"More than that. It's been pretty great, since I got the basics set up again. The forge is awesome," Taylor grinned.

"You have a forge? Like, an actual blacksmith or something?" Amy asked.

"Yeah, that's one of the reasons I wanted a professional grade HVAC system. Gets a bit smoky otherwise," Taylor said. "I told you that I was making weapons. You made fun of my cane."

"It's still ridiculous. The cane, the hat, the forge," Amy shook her head.

"I'm nothing if not consistent," Taylor said.

"Consistently ridiculous."

"Whatever," Taylor glanced over at her. "Still, you want to come visit?"

Amy chewed her lip.

"What about tomorrow? That way I don't have to drag myself out of bed for school at six in the morning afterwards."

"Honestly, I forgot that you still go to school," Taylor said without thinking.

"Speaking of which, how do you not go to school?" Amy said, poking her in the arm. "You can't be much older than me."

"I'll be sixteen in June. And it's a long story," Taylor said, staring out over the skyline.

"Holy shit, you're younger than me! That's not fair at all," Amy said, glancing over at her as she exhaled gray smoke. "Also, you have a lot of long stories."

"I could say the same about you."

It was quiet for a while.

"Do you want to trade? One long story each, dealer's choice," Amy said. "Since we're already dramatically smoking on a rooftop, being all melancholic and shit.

Taylor didn't want to. Not really. She also didn't point out that Amy was the only one smoking.

But she did want to get a glimpse into Amy's tangled mess of scars. The healer still carried around a conflicting storm of pain and sadness behind her eyes, and it never really went away.

"Sure. You first, though," Taylor said.

"Fine, be that way," Amy snarked at her before taking a deep breath. "Okay, fine. My mom, my adopted mother, hates me."

"That sucks," Taylor said. "Isn't New Wave a whole…"

"Yeah, that's just the icing on the fucking cake. We have this whole public family of heroes team thing going, and she can barely pretend to tolerate me in public. Because I'm their miracle healer," Amy spat bitterly.

Shit. For all of Dad's faults, at least he never actively tore her down. Even at his worst, he was just… empty.

"But it's just… it's always something, you know? I'll never, ever be enough for her. It doesn't matter how hard I try. I really don't know why I bother," Amy sighed. "It doesn't matter whether it's healing; I'm always doing too much or not enough. Or school, or whatever. It's everything. I'm either staying in too often or going out too much, even though Victoria is the only one I ever go anywhere with. Trying too hard or not trying hard enough. It drives me crazy. I can't win."

Taylor just nodded along and hummed encouragingly in what she hoped were the right places.

"And it fucking sucks, because I know that I can't win. The only way I win is if she decides to start giving a fuck about me, and I know that she could do that anytime she felt like it, if she wanted to. It's not like it actually matters what I do… but I still end up trying anyway."

Amy trailed off and stared out over the city with her.

Taylor didn't know what to say. She wasn't any good at this kind of thing. It's not like she ever got a chance to practice, what with Emma and everything.

"It doesn't really compare, but… My mom was amazing. She was wonderful, and she loved me. And then she died," Taylor said quietly. "That's not my long story, there are lots of parents out there that shouldn't be dead, but… it still sucks."

"Yeah. Shit fucking sucks," Amy said.

"My long story…" Taylor tried to decide which one to start with. She remembered Emma's face, caught somewhere between terror and horror and worship. Beautiful, in the moonlight, even though she hated her so fucking much.

Hated that part of her still loved her. Maybe she should have pulled the trigger.

"My best friend, my favorite person in the world… she was perfect, and amazing, and I loved her… and she turned on me, out of nowhere. One day, I went to see her, and it was like there was a stranger staring at me out of her eyes. Her face was the same, but the expressions were twisted. Her voice was just like I remembered, but she was nothing but cruel and horrible," Taylor whispered.

Amy took another drag of her cigarette.

"And I still don't even know why. I don't know if it matters. She turned into a monster… and she, and Sophia, Shadow Stalker, made my life a living hell for a year and a half. Until I triggered."

"Shit," Amy said quietly.

"Yeah."

"And you… killed Shadow Stalker. Did you kill your… friend… too?" Amy asked.

"No. I put my gun to her head but I… couldn't. Wouldn't. I don't know," Taylor said.

"That's… good, I think," Amy said slowly.

Taylor shrugged.

"I don't know what I'd do if Vicky turned on me like that. I don't think I'd survive," Amy whispered. "I don't think I'd want to."

Taylor just nodded. There were some days that she didn't want to, either.

Less, now, though.

They sat in silence under the stars for a while longer.

"So, mad scientist lab, tomorrow?" Taylor asked.

"Sure," Amy said, pushing the heavy silence behind them. She bit her lip in thought for a moment. "Okay, this might be an awful idea, but hear me out."

"I love awful ideas," Taylor grinned.

"If I sneak out after my parents go to bed, then there's a not-zero chance that I get murdered by Brandish in the morning," Amy said ruefully. "But, if we get Vicky on board, then there's a much lower chance of getting caught. And if we do get caught, Vicky can vouch for me and make sure that I only get murdered for sneaking out with my friend 'Anne', rather than the wanted murderer."

"And by 'get Vicky on board,' you mean…" Taylor raised her eyebrows.

"I mean, she tells Carol that I'm out with her for the evening, but she knows that I'm actually going to see you. Well, 'Anne', at least," Amy said.

"I see zero ways that this could backfire horribly," Taylor said sarcastically.

"I said it was an awful idea! But I wouldn't put it past Carol to randomly check to see if I'm still in my room at night," Amy said.

"Yes, but you're not the one who might get ripped into little tiny pieces by Glory Girl if we're discovered," Taylor said.

Actually, that probably made it a better idea. Better that she end up on the receiving end of the Brute punishment than Amy. She could always come back, and she was already a villain anyway.

"Look, it was just a random thought, we don't have to-"

"Let's do it," Taylor grinned behind her scarf.

Amy narrowed her eyes at her.

"I'm suddenly even less sure about this," she said.

"No, it will be fun. Let's go for it. Undercover spy shit," Taylor said.

"I regret it already."

…

Chapter Text

Armory 4.2

Taylor decided to tidy up a bit, since Amy was coming over. It was basic manners.

That mainly consisted of sweeping up any remaining tile shards and wiping up the occasional blood splatter, but it was the principle of the thing.

When that was finished, she moved back to the forge and eyed her unfinished silver sword critically.

It still needed a cross guard, grip, and pommel. Plus, it wasn't fully sharpened.

She moved to the belt grinder and sparks lit up the lab.

…

Amy frowned at the closed door to her sister's bedroom and tried to work up the motivation to make herself knock.

She had already been standing here for an awkward amount of time.

Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea?

Oh right, she knew why. Because climbing back through her window with a villainous blood Tinker in tow and finding Carol standing in her room was easily in the top five worst things that could possibly happen, period.

The last time Taylor showed up at her window, Amy at least had the excuse that she had arrived uninvited.

It definitely had nothing to do with Vicky thinking that she and 'Anne' were dating. Why would she even think about that?

Amy knocked on the door.

"Sup, Ames?"

Victoria floated in the doorway, as always. Amy idly wondered if she ever touched the ground without being reminded.

Their poor, poor drywall.

"I have a… request, I guess. Can I…" she glanced into Victoria's room.

"Sure! Yeah, what do you need?" Victoria glided backwards and closed the door behind them.

Her room was always annoyingly clean. Amy wouldn't even recognize her own room without the piles of clothes and random shit everywhere.

It was absurd that she was about to ask Victoria this favor. It had literally always been the opposite.

The amount of time she spent sitting in random coffee shops while her sister was out messing around with that sanctimonious shitstain-

"So, you know how you owe me, for, like, a whole shit-ton of stuff," Amy started slowly.

"Uh huh…" Victoria said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm collecting. Just a bit. You still owe me," Amy said pointedly.

"Sure," Victoria floated over to her bed, still eyeing her curiously.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" Amy asked.

Oh God, why the fuck am I doing this to myself…

"I dunno. Probably go somewhere with Dean. It's Friday night. Why?" Vicky's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I'm hoping you could… um… I want to meet up with Anne, and I don't want Carol or anyone else to know," Amy finally said.

Victoria's smile grew both excited and smug, which was mildly infuriating. At least this time, her sister's vicarious meddling was helping Amy accomplish her goals.

Vicky may think those goals involved secret gay shit, but it was actually experimental blood tinkering in an abandoned hospital.

Although, technically, Amy was involved, and it was secret, so that kind of made it secret gay shit by definition. She wondered if Taylor-

Shut up.

"Oh my God, I thought you would never ask. Yes, yes, I will absolutely, 100% cover for you while you go 'meet up' with Anne," Victoria said, probably louder than was advisable given the subject.

Also, Amy didn't need to hear the quotation marks, because Vicky made an obvious gesture with her fingers to make sure it was clear just what she thought of their 'meet up'.

Amy managed to avoid grinding her teeth, since Vicky was agreeing to this stupid plan, but it was a close thing.

"Don't get a big head over it," Amy grumbled.

"I just… this is so exciting. Going on an actual… um… totally not-date! Ah! They grow up so fast. What are you going to wear?" Victoria buzzed around the room like an overexcited hummingbird.

Hunter will probably bring me a stupid hat and overly edgy cloak or something.

"I was thinking something along the lines of 'clothes'," Amy deadpanned.

"No. No, you are not allowed to take this away from me. We are finding at least one cute outfit for you," Victoria said sternly.

Amy groaned but followed Vicky out of the room and into her own bedroom to raid her meager closet anyway.

I should have just risked my neck with Carol.

…

The unwanted surveillance issue irritated Taylor. Who was trying to monitor her father?

And what was the best path to resolve it? How could she get the information that she needed without giving up the advantage?

Maybe she could bug their car? Victor knew a decent amount about basic wiring and electronics. It had certainly helped her wire up the HVAC system and lab equipment.

But that introduced its own problems. Bugs could be found and tracked. She would need to place them without being seen, and she wouldn't know if the information was accurate. If they noticed her or the bug, then they could feed her false information and she would never know.

Victor was well versed in espionage and counter-espionage tactics. It was one of the reasons that she had purposely bought the most basic flip phone available, despite Amy's amusement. The more simple the technology, the less likely that a more advanced Tinker could out-maneuver her.

Her specialty lay in the arcane, in blood and steel and pain. She couldn't rely on mundane electronics.

Taylor tapped her finger against the table in frustration.

Her gaze fell on Sophia's remaining bones and her power buzzed behind her brain.

A new pattern, a new idea. Something that hadn't been available to her before consuming the essence of her tormentor. A way to get what she needed, without the risk of being given bad information.

Also, a different kind of problematic, from a moral standpoint. How deep was she willing to go?

But she needed to know who was after her father. Needed to find out who had discovered a gap in their armor of secrets.

It was worth it.

She would need a few of them. She didn't know how many hostiles would be in the car.

Taylor grabbed two tibias, a humerus, a few vertebrae and a bottle of spinal fluid, and got to work.

…

The sun was just starting to set when Taylor carefully picked her way through the graveyard of rusted cars in front of her factory.

She had gone to Kurt and Lacey's early today, once again dodging the annoying surveillance team. Her solution wasn't quite ready yet. Maybe tomorrow.

She was heading out to meet Amy and Victoria on the Boardwalk. Taylor wore her civilian clothes, just a thick burgundy sweater and black slacks. Her hat, coat, and scarf were tucked in a backpack along with a bundle of clothes intended for Amy.

All of which meant that it was an extremely inconvenient time for three massive, hulking beasts to slink out from between the buildings and block the street in front of her.

Well… Shit.

The monsters were enormous and brutish, each easily the size of an SUV. Thick plates of bone and wicked spikes lined their bodies, and long prehensile tails whipped back and forth behind them.

A Cape in a heavy jacket and a cheap plastic dog mask rode the largest of the creatures with confident ease.

Taylor sighed and straightened from behind the crumbling cars, walking until she stood tall in the middle of the road. The stranger obviously knew she was here, so there wasn't really a point in hiding. Part of her wanted to make a break for her workshop and get her sword, but she resisted the temptation. She didn't want these beasts destroying her lab if she could help it, even though she hated being unarmed.

The street was silent except for the evening wind.

"Who're you?" The Cape called, her voice rough and standoffish.

Taylor kept her gaze level, never taking her eyes off any of the beasts. She might need to quickstep at a moment's notice.

"Hunter. You?" She called back. Hopefully no one else was within earshot. It didn't seem like it.

"Bitch."

Taylor couldn't tell if that was the Cape's name or if she was insulting her. It didn't really matter.

"How did you find me?" Taylor asked. She would need to be more careful in the future.

"Dogs," Bitch grunted.

Oh. Yeah, that would do it.

Also, those things were dogs?

"Why're you here?" Bitch asked, glaring down at her from behind the mask.

"I live here," Taylor said honestly. "You?"

"Dog shelter," Bitch jerked her chin to the west.

Huh.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"You the one who fucked up those Empire assholes last week?" Bitch said.

"Yes."

"You want to fight me?" Bitch asked. It really did sound like she was asking.

"No. Do you want to die?" Taylor said coldly.

Bitch didn't answer.

"You gonna fuck with my dogs?" She said eventually.

"No. Are your dogs going to fuck with my workshop?" Taylor demanded in return.

"No."

The wind whistled between the buildings. Stray trash tumbled down the broken sidewalk.

"Animals, or people?" Bitch said suddenly.

"What?"

"You hunt animals, or people?" She clarified gruffly.

Taylor raised her eyebrows.

"People."

"I got some Empire fucks that need killing," Bitch said.

Taylor smiled savagely. Bitch and the demon dogs growled menacingly at her in response, but she didn't care.

"When and where?" Taylor asked.

…

Taylor left the knapsack in an empty parking garage a couple blocks from the boardwalk. No reason to give Victoria a reason to ask questions.

She seemed like the type who would definitely ask questions.

Running her fingers through her hair to work out the worst of the knots from the run over, Taylor slipped between two buildings and made her way to the meeting spot.

They had agreed to meet at one of Victoria's favorite boutiques. Apparently, the manager let Victoria and Amy come and go through the back door to avoid any especially avid fans. One of the many problems with being a public hero, according to Amy.

Since she wasn't a public hero, Taylor just wandered in through the front door.

She caught sight of the sisters near the back of the store and picked her way over. This definitely wasn't the type of store she would have ever gone to, even before she died. It was a strange experience, wandering through the shop in civilian clothes after so many late-night 'shopping trips' in her costume.

It was also strange seeing Amy out of her Panacea robes.

Her… friend? Yes, she was reasonably confident that they were actually friends now, was wearing a light gray jacket over a black sweater and jeans. It was a totally normal outfit that wouldn't have stood out under any other circumstances, except that Taylor had only ever seen her in hooded robes or pajamas.

And she'd been pretty delirious from sleep deprivation and blood loss during the whole pajamas incident.

Taylor couldn't help but smile as she approached. There was something weirdly satisfying about meeting friends somewhere other than a rooftop. She hadn't really planned on ever doing that again, after she died. Not that she got a chance to do anything like this before, either.

Fucking Emma.

"Hey, Amy," Taylor said once she made it past the last of the racks.

"Hey, Anne," Amy said. It was a good thing Amy remembered, because Taylor had momentarily forgotten about her fake name.

Amy had that forgetting-to-frown smile, again. Her face was even more perfect when it wasn't shaded by her heavy hood, freckles and-

"Holy shit, what the fuck happened to your face?"

Oh right, Victoria was also here.

And Taylor had definitely forgotten about her Hunter's Mark. And the scar from Sophia's first crossbow shot.

Whoops.

From the expression on Amy's face, she had forgotten about them as well. Since she was the one who actually had to look at the scars, Taylor didn't feel all that bad. It's not like she had a mirror.

Maybe she should steal one next time.

"I ritually branded myself. Like a tattoo, but cooler," Taylor said casually. "And this one was an archery accident."

It wasn't like she could think of any better reasons.

Amy pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

Victoria looked like her face couldn't decide what expression to go with. It was kind of funny.

"That's… um… well, maybe Amy could…" Victoria stammered.

"Hey! Don't go offering my services to every idiot who fucks up their own face," Amy snapped.

"I just-"

"It would kind of defeat the purpose anyway," Taylor shrugged. "I'd hate to have to go through the pain again to put it back."

Victoria gaped like a goldfish for another long moment before closing her mouth and glancing sideways at her sister.

"Is this what you meant about her enabling your unhealthy coping mechanisms?" She asked Amy seriously.

Taylor snorted. That was ironic.

"No." Amy said, straight-faced.

The silence was definitely awkward. Taylor was enjoying it immensely.

It looked like Amy was too, so that made it even better.

"Right! So, um, yeah, I'm gonna go…" Victoria said uncertainly.

"Thank you for helping us out with this, I really appreciate it!" Taylor smiled at her, both because she was actually appreciative and because she apparently enjoyed throwing people off their rhythm.

"See you at eleven, Vicky," Amy said.

"Okay, just text me if you need any-"

"Bye, Vicky" Amy cut her off.

Victoria glared at her sister and shot Taylor an unsure look before making her way out of the store.

"So…" Amy said once her sister was definitely out of earshot. "Why'd you actually carve up your face, anyway?"

Taylor smirked at her.

"It's a long story," she said.

"I hate you sometimes, you know that?" Amy turned and started walking towards the staff exit, uncaring if Taylor was following.

"I don't think you do, actually," Taylor fell into step beside her.

"Lies. You are an especially unique blend of irritating," Amy said, but she glanced over and the half-smile was back, so Taylor didn't mind.

They made it out the back and walked down the alley. Taylor was just starting to head towards the parking garage when her enhanced perception caught a flicker of movement that briefly blocked a few stars near the horizon.

"One slight problem with this plan is that your sister is definitely following us," Taylor said casually.

"What? She promised not to interfere… oh who am I kidding, this is Vicky, I should have expected this from the start," Amy scowled and stopped, turning to glare up at the sky.

She pulled out her phone and hit the top contact.

"Vicky. Uh huh… Yeah, don't bullshit me. I can see you… I can to. We had a deal… Well, I don't care. I'm perfectly safe… Go hook up with Dean in the back of his Audi or whatever… Sure you don't… Uh huh… Yeah, love you too. Bye."

Amy hung up the phone and groaned.

"Okay, keep an eye on the sky, but I think she's actually going to leave us alone now.

It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you.

Taylor didn't quite get how Amy and Victoria's relationship functioned, but it wasn't her problem.

She scanned the sky one more time and didn't see any sign of fliers, so she led the way over to the parking garage where she stashed the extra clothes.

"Okay, so, your outfit is nice, but we need to make sure that no one accidentally recognizes you," Taylor said.

"You brought me an overdramatic coat, didn't you?" Amy sighed.

"Even better. I brought you an overdramatic cloak." Taylor grinned at her expression.

"Remember what I said about hating you?"

"I also brought you this hat!" Taylor pulled out a classic black top hat.

Amy looked physically repulsed. It was fantastic.

"Absolutely fucking not, what the fuck is wrong with-"

Taylor couldn't keep her expression straight any longer and lost it, her laughter echoing in the empty parking garage.

"You're fucking with me, aren't you," Amy deadpanned after a moment.

"Yeah, sorry, I saw it when I was buying my coat and I just couldn't help it," Taylor tossed the hat off the edge of the parking garage.

"That's it, I'm going home-"

"No, you're stuck with me until eleven," Taylor headed her off at the pass. "Sorry, really. I thought it was funny."

Amy just glared at her for a moment before rolling her eyes.

"I was promised a tour of a super creepy mad Tinker lab, but you owe me for putting up with this insanity," Amy said.

"Obviously," Taylor agreed seriously, handing over the cloak.

She hadn't been kidding about that bit.

"The cloak has a hood, don't worry," Taylor said.

Amy looked pretty good in a mysterious black cloak.

"I feel ridiculous. Is this what you feel like all the time?" Amy swished the cloak back and forth around her.

"Probably," Taylor shrugged. "If by ridiculous, you mean ready to confidently spread terror amongst the populace-"

"Oh my God, can we just go?" Amy whined, even though the smile was back again.

"Yes, although… it might take a while at your pace…" Taylor said, pulling on her coat over her sweater before grabbing her hat and scarf out of the bag.

"I live with Glory Girl, don't worry. I'm used to being the slow, squishy human," Amy said.

"Sure, sure," Taylor said. "So… um… piggy-back or princess carry?"

Amy looked conflicted for a moment.

"Piggy-back, please."

Once her precious cargo was secured, Taylor leapt from the edge of the parking garage and sprinted off through the night.

…

"You really weren't kidding," Amy said, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallways.

"No? It would be weird to lie about where I live and then invite you here anyway," Taylor glanced over at her.

"Well, yeah, but when someone says 'I live in an abandoned hospital', there's at least some part of any rational person that would think 'they're probably full of shit'," Amy said. Her eyes traced the broken and ruined exam rooms warily as they passed.

Amy suppressed an involuntary shiver.

There was something decidedly off about this place. Maybe it was just because she spent so much of her time in an actual hospital, seeing one desolated like this was… eerie.

Taylor seemed entirely at ease. Because of course she did. This was her home, her workshop.

Amy was both excited and apprehensive in equal measure. Would seeing Hunter in her element be the straw that broke the camel's back and pushed Amy back into her box of stagnation and endless torment?

No, no, she could do this. Even if Taylor…

Taylor opened the double doors at the end of the hall.

The first thing that Amy noticed were the candles.

There was something strangely mesmerizing about hundreds of little flames dancing in the dim haze. Taylor hadn't mentioned using candles. Amy knew that she had to steal a generator, but she hadn't thought…

Whatever she had pictured when she imagined Taylor's workshop, it wasn't this.

The complex maze of glass tubing and flasks reflected and multiplied the candlelight, crystal spires and interconnected webs branching over one of the wide lab tables.

It was weirdly… warm. And beautiful.

Even with the crimson liquid slowly working its way through a number of the cylinders. Maybe because of it.

Her eyes jumped to the forge, a rough box of paving slabs hooked up to a huge propane tank and surrounded by tools and metal. Even that fit here, somehow.

And, of course, the dead bodies.

Amy had expected it, but it still made her stomach clench. Here was all the concrete evidence she could ever ask for that her new friend was a murderer.

The corpses hung upside down, stripped to the waist, over large plastic tubs. Tubes ran over the edges into smaller receptacles to gather and consolidate the dripping blood.

Amy tried to look away. She didn't want to see the sunken, empty eyes…

Oh God, that one's eye socket is actually empty.

Did Taylor cut out his eye?

Amy ripped her gaze away from the spectacle and found the lab table covered in blankets and pillows.

Oh.

She knew that Taylor lived here, objectively. But there was just something… very, very broken, about imagining Taylor sleeping here. Waking up here, on a lab table, instead of in a normal bedroom in a house with a kitchen and a bathroom, with people downstairs and…

Something in Amy's chest twisted. She couldn't decide if it was unpleasant or not.

Her eyes continued their circuit of the room, moving to the weapons hanging on the wall above the forge.

Amy glanced over at Taylor. The blood Tinker was just watching her, her expression unreadable even though she had pulled down her scarf.

"Is that a sword?" Amy asked incredulously.

Taylor's serious expression cracked and she chuckled.

"Yes, yes, I know. It's ridiculous," Taylor grinned.

"No, your cane is ridiculous. Your hat is ridiculous. Swords are cool," Amy said seriously. "You made that?"

Taylor snorted, but her smile widened and she nodded.

Good.

"So, this is the dastardly blood Tinker's lair?" Amy said, wandering between the lab tables and eying the complicated glass apparatuses slowly dripping ruby stars in a constant rhythm.

"The one and only," Taylor answered.

Amy reached out to catch a drop of concentrated ichor on her finger, then thought better of it at the last moment.

"I like the candles," she said softly.

"Me, too," Taylor replied.

It was quiet for a while longer, as she took in the ethereal space.

The feeling of separation was even stronger here, like they had stepped into another world. Like the workshop was real, and everything outside was a dream.

Or maybe this was the dream, floating far away from the cold beyond the hospital doors.

Taylor wandered over to one of the many unoccupied tables and took off her hat and coat, running long thin fingers through her midnight curls.

Amy's eyes caught on her willowy figure for a moment before flicking away to examine the rest of the lab.

One of the workbenches was up against a wall lined with shelves holding jars of various sizes and shapes. Even in the hazy liquid, Amy could see the remains of organs extracted and preserved for whatever Taylor's tinkering required.

Bottles of various bodily fluids. Organized stacks of dried bones.

It was the stuff of nightmares.

But it also wasn't. For some reason Amy couldn't quite place, this dream didn't feel like a nightmare.

"What's first on the agenda, then," Amy asked, breaking the silence and turning back to the blood Tinker.

Taylor leaned casually against the counter, eyeing her with a strange expression.

"I'm not sure. I kind of expected you to run away screaming," Taylor said. She grinned, but there were cracks underneath.

"I've seen worse in the ER," Amy waved her hand dismissively. "And those bodies were still screaming."

"Whatever you say," Taylor shook her head. "Well, okay, I wanted to talk to you about how your power works, if that's alright."

Amy was instantly on her guard. She had implied to Taylor that she could do more than heal, but she hadn't necessarily stated it outright, aside from the whole 'melting her organs' thing. At the very least, Taylor knew that she could perceive biology and cause harm just as easily as she could heal.

"Are you limited to just regenerating and damaging tissue, or can you change it? It occurred to me that both treating and inflicting cancer isn't quite as simple as just healing," Taylor said.

Fuck.

Did she want to tell Taylor the truth?

Taylor, the unrepentant murderer who extracted and tinkered with blood and organs and bones?

Amy didn't even know what her rules were, anymore. They had gotten twisted and bent and broken somewhere along the way.

What did it even matter?

"I can do anything," she whispered into the quiet workshop.

"Oh," Taylor said.

Oh, indeed.

"Well, that's neat. And quite helpful. So I was thinking-" Taylor started again.

"Wait, I don't think you get it," Amy cut her off. Taylor needed to know what she was getting herself into. "I have complete control over any living organism I come into contact with. I can manipulate it anyway I want. I wasn't kidding when I threatened to melt your organs. I can turn you into goop or a monstrosity with a touch."

"I know," Taylor said, looking at her strangely. "I got it. Biokinesis and comprehensive manipulation. Very fun stuff. Now-"

"No, I really don't think you 'got it', Taylor!" Amy snapped, trying to find the right words. How could she make her understand?

"I could create a plague that would consume all life on Earth before eating itself and leaving the planet a barren, lifeless chunk of metal floating through space. I could invent new, self-replicating organisms that would decimate the biosphere just by existing. I could twist and change and mutilate people until they're some kind of new, thinking, sentient creature like nothing we've ever even imagined before. And I could do it all in a million different ways and still find a million more afterwards!" Amy was shouting by the end, her voice echoing through the empty hospital.

Taylor stared at her for a long five seconds and then shrugged.

"I'd prefer if you didn't do the first one, since, you know, I live here," Taylor said casually.

Amy screamed unintelligibly and tried to resist the urge to smash Taylor's delicate glass equipment.

She didn't succeed, and swung her arms forward to sweep the shining, candlelit lattice off the table, as if smashing it would help drive away the knives.

Thin fingers with bones of iron caught her wrists before they could make contact with the glass.

Taylor's biology exploded in her mind's eye involuntarily, unbidden as always.

The scars… her forehead, her cheek, the right side of her chest, her left shoulder, her hands…

And even deeper… There was something fundamentally wrong with her blood. Something that hadn't been half as pronounced when Amy had taken out those crossbow bolts last week.

"I'd also prefer if you didn't break my equipment, please," Taylor said quietly, her lips inches above Amy's ear. Midnight hair fell in waves around her face as Taylor loomed over her, gently lowering her manacled hands to her sides before letting go.

And just like that, the incandescent luminescence in her biosenses faded. Amy was left frozen and breathing heavily as the churning hurricane thundered in her chest.

She knew she should probably apologize.

She didn't.

Taylor was still far too close. It felt like heat was radiating off her body in waves, crashing into Amy and fueling the unpredictable storm.

Amy turned away and gripped the edge of the nearest lab table behind her hard enough to turn her knuckles white. One without spindly glass instruments.

It was silent, except for the endless drip drip drip.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Taylor asked eventually.

"No," Amy said. She sounded petulant, even to herself.

So she sighed heavily and decided to talk about it anyway.

"I have to stick to just healing," Amy said, turning back around to face Taylor, although several feet away now. She leaned back against the tabletop. "If I do anything else… I don't know what will happen. How do I keep from fucking everything up, when one wrong move could set off the chain reaction that kills everything?"

Taylor nodded slowly, black eyes burning into her own.

"But healing isn't enough. I can feel it, this urge, this poison, getting stronger every day. I want to hurt them, my patients. Twist them and change them, something, anything, other than just restoring them over and over. But I can't," Amy clenched her fists.

"That's why you're here," Taylor said, understanding dawning on her face.

"I need something more, and I didn't know how to get it until you came along. Something about the concoctions you create dampens the itch, even if it doesn't get rid of it completely," Amy said.

Something in Taylor's expression fell, even though she was clearly trying to hide it.

"I also enjoy our little chats, as well," Amy let her lips curve up at the corner. She didn't want Taylor to think that she was just using her for her blood.

That helped. Taylor's eyes lightened and the atmosphere became less tense.

"I guess… we should probably do some tinkering, then?" Taylor said, holding up her hands helplessly after Amy's tirade.

Oh, right. That's what Taylor had been trying to suggest before Amy started yelling and trying to break stuff.

"Yeah," she smiled back sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess we should."

…

The time passed more quickly than Amy could imagine, once they got started.

Taylor had several different types of blood cocktails that she was testing. Solutions that should heal more slowly than her standard blood vials, but leave fewer scars. Stimulants that would enhance and sharpen the mind, at the risk of damaging the body. Sedatives that had the potential to slow down, calm, or knock out even the toughest Brutes.

Amy felt like her presence wasn't strictly necessary, though. All of Taylor's concoctions had that underlying unnatural structure, an ever-changing cellular framework that was somehow alive and not at the same time.

Still, just watching and touching the various liquids soothed the restless ache in the back of her mind. It didn't matter that she couldn't truly enhance or change any of Taylor's inventions.

The only thing she could actually change was Taylor herself, and Amy had steadfastly refused to do so.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't turn down some improvements," Taylor grinned across the table from her. "Maybe just some claws or something?"

She could never be allowed to find out how tempting that was.

"Absolutely not. The goal is to avoid turning you into a nightmare monster," Amy said.

It was also unfortunate that Amy couldn't work on dead tissue. The line between living and dead was a bit blurry, since all multicellular organisms were really millions of different organisms mashed together until there wasn't really a difference. Humans were covered in bacteria inside and out, and when she got right down to it, each cell wasn't so functionally different from a hyper-specialized, single cell organism that just couldn't survive outside of its designated environment.

However, the bodies in Taylor's lab were very dead.

Taylor told her that she would let her know when she got fresh ones.

When, not if.

Amy wasn't quite sure what to do about that, so she decided not to think about it.

Ten-thirty arrived all too soon, and it was time to leave their little slice of dreamland.

I wish I could stay.

The rogue thought caught Amy off guard. The workshop had its own unique type of charm, but she really did want to sleep in her bed rather than on a lab table.

Taylor smiled at her as she put her hat back on, black eyes glittering in the candlelight. Amy suddenly realized that it wasn't really that she wanted to stay in the workshop, but more that she just wanted to stay with Taylor. Something in Amy's stomach twisted pleasantly and her chest tightened.

Oh no.

Not again.

…

Chapter Text

Armory 4.3

Victoria was practically vibrating with excitement as she followed Amy into her room without even asking.

Amy just didn't have the energy to protest. The after-action debrief was inevitable, and Vicky was pretty much a force of nature when she wanted something.

Even though Amy really didn't want to talk about it, right now. She was tired, and the idea of trying to come up with a whole fake evening of events sounded exhausting.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Vicky whirled around to face her with an expectant expression.

"So, how'd it go?" She asked eagerly.

Amy groaned and flopped down onto her unmade bed.

"I don't know what you want from me, Vicky. I told you that we're not together, however you're thinking," Amy grumbled.

Even though I-

No. Shut up. Not going there.

"Look, we just… talked, okay? And she showed me her projects. She's doing research for school, and it's some pretty neat biology," Amy said, trying to find a safe way to talk about her evening without telling too many obvious lies.

"You went back to her place?" Vicky said shrewdly.

Damn.

"Yeah. But get your head out of the gutter. I know what you get up to with your unnecessarily talkative ATM," Amy hoped she could distract Vicky again. It had worked last time.

"You're getting repetitive. I think you used that one last month," Vicky rolled her eyes. "Does she have her own place or did you meet her parents?"

Amy knew that Taylor didn't have parents, plural, and she hadn't mentioned her dad.

"She has her own place," Amy cringed, knowing that would set off more questions.

"Ooooh, she's older, then? I know she's tall, and she does have a kind of-" Vicky cut off and bobbed in the air as she changed tracks. "Wait, what the fuck was with the scars? She likes to draw, what, old runes on her face with a branding iron? That's some seriously messed up shit, Ames."

That, at least, Amy could handle. She also didn't know what to make of Taylor's fascination with the rune and her scars.

Not that it wasn't a striking look, but still.

"I don't know what to tell you," Amy sat up and shrugged. "I guess she's just cooler than you."

Victoria's face twitched and she frowned.

"Are you sure? Because that seems like some kind of Empire shit or something. They do the old Norse thing, right?"

Amy laughed. She just couldn't help it.

Taylor would get a kick out of that when she got a chance to tell her. Hunter, Carpenter, the murderous Nazi wood-chipping machine, was actually an Empire recruit in her civilian identity. Brilliant.

"Yeah, Vicky, you caught me. I'm secretly dating one of the Valkyrie twins," sarcasm dripped from her tone.

"Ha! So you are dating her," Vicky crowed triumphantly, all accusations of racist fascism forgotten.

Shit.

She wasn't. She really, really wasn't.

"Sarcasm, Vicky. It's not the highest form of wit, but it's all I've got," Amy sighed.

"Hmmmm. No, I think the sarcastic part of that statement was the Valkyrie bit, and I do believe you there. I don't believe the other bit for a second," Victoria was insufferably smug.

"Well, if we are dating, someone might want to let her know," Amy said without thinking.

Fuck. Why did I say that? Shit, shit…

That wasn't even remotely fair to Taylor, and Amy knew it. Taylor had no idea what a tangled knot of bullshit Amy was, even with everything they had talked about.

Now it was Vicky's turn to shrug, except midair.

"Ohhh, now I get it. Well, maybe. Sorta. Boys might be annoying about the whole communication thing, but they're also a bit stupid, so it's never that hard to figure out. I have no idea how to handle it with girls. That sounds… complicated," her sister said.

Amy just glared at her.

Vicky didn't get it at all, and while that was probably a good thing, it was also infuriating.

She couldn't… do this again. Couldn't end up pining for the only other decent person in her entire fucking life. Especially because said person was a villain. Who lived in an abandoned hospital. And killed people.

It was like she was cursed to end up wanting anyone who gave a shit about her. Or maybe it was just that the only people who did were problematic, unavailable, annoyingly attractive-

Fuck!

No, no, she could manage this. She could be friends with Hunter, enjoy her company and her strange blood concoctions, without becoming an overdramatic, desperate, needy sack of shit-

Yeah, right.

Amy ran her hands over her face in frustration, ignoring Victoria's concerned look.

"Yeah. You have no idea," Amy's voice came out in a broken whisper.

Taylor even offered to let me improve her-

Shut the fuck up.

She could do this. She wasn't giving up what she currently had with either Vicky or Taylor, even if her stupid bullshit brain wouldn't stop whispering to her. With Taylor's tinkering to take the edge off of her power problems, she could make it work.

It would be enough, for her.

It has to be.

…

Taylor did her best not to scratch the epoxy as she carefully set the ridiculously heavy block of gray granite on an unoccupied lab table.

Even with her strength, it took two hands.

She grabbed her stool and her tools and dragged them over to the workbench with a spring in her step.

Amy hadn't run to New Wave or the PRT even when confronted with her villain lair!

There was a part of her that actually worried about that, now. When they first met, she hadn't really cared if Panacea decided to try to turn her in. Worst case scenario, she could just die.

Now, that would mean losing Amy, which was… unpleasant, to imagine.

When had that happened?

Taylor could still feel her soft skin and delicate bones under her fingertips.

Shrugging to herself and prepping a large flat tray, Taylor moved the block of granite over and into it so she could get to work.

She didn't really understand why this part worked, but she knew that it would as long as she did it right.

Using a chisel and a small mallet, she began to chip precise, controlled lines into the stone.

After each glyph was done, she stopped and washed the stone with blood gathered from her guests in the corner. With every mark, she could feel the conceptual weight of the hammerhead growing.

Over and over she chipped eldritch symbols into her weapon, cleaning and tempering it with the blood of her prey. The crimson fluid seemed to cling to the glyphs, leaving them dull ruby compared to the surrounding stone.

It took over an hour, but she finally finished preparing the block.

Standing up from her stool and stretching, Taylor grabbed a water bottle and checked her watch.

Just after two in the morning.

Plenty of time.

Taylor walked over to see how her other ongoing project was coming along, carefully pulling one of the fragile blades out of the soaking solution.

Still sitting suspended in a mixture of spinal fluid and blood, the other two bone blades glistened with an eerie green sheen.

These were by far her most questionable creation to date. All of her other weapons would merely kill her enemies.

The eldritch bone blades would Master them.

She was glad that Amy hadn't asked about them. She wouldn't have lied, but Taylor didn't want to see the horrified condemnation in those dark chocolate eyes.

The bone blades were designed to break off inside a target, and the victim would remain under her thrall until the bone was removed, or they died. Whichever came first.

And with her blood vials, she could ensure they stayed alive. Not only to answer her questions, but to return to their former master as if nothing was wrong.

She couldn't think of any other way to find out who was stalking her father without tipping them off.

Still, it worried her. She could see the darkness encroaching, and wondered if this wasn't how monsters were made.

One necessity at a time. One compromise at a time. One convenience at a time.

For better or worse, the blades were difficult and costly to make. She barely had enough parahuman spinal fluid for three. Hopefully there weren't four enemies in the car.

She would double check before she played her hand.

Taylor placed the blade back in the cloudy fluid.

Almost ready.

…

The hammerhead was finally done.

Taylor checked the time.

Not even seven o'clock yet.

She usually went to bed around ten in the morning, give or take an hour.

Taylor looked down at her creation.

The alternate form of her newest weapon was a brutal thing. Roughly rectangular, a foot and a half long and almost a foot wide, the head of her great hammer would strike with the physical and conceptual weight of a truck. Filled with bowling balls.

All that remained was to see if the docking mechanism worked correctly.

On the top of the hammerhead, a sheath jutted out an extra two feet. Between the sheath and the block of granite, it was the same length as her silver sword's blade.

Taylor grabbed her masterpiece off the wall and swung it experimentally. Her lips curved into an unconscious smile.

Amy was right. Swords were definitely cool.

So were giant fucking hammers, though.

Taylor drove the sword downward into the sheath at an angle, then slid the blade forward until it clicked into place with a very satisfying snap.

She hefted the unwieldy weapon and spun it in two hands.

Fuck. Yes.

This was going to be fun.

…

Taylor crouched on the roof of one of the many failing businesses along the surveillance car's route, clad in her classic Hunter uniform.

It was just after sunset. She didn't want to wait too long, but she also didn't want anyone to see her attack.

The car only had two passengers, unless there was a hidden agent lying in the backseat or something.

Not impossible, but it was worth the risk.

She probably wouldn't get a better shot at this.

Despite her misgivings, she had left her standard tools of violence at the workshop. In the tight space of the car's interior, her usual weapons would all be a hindrance. Besides, her goal wasn't to kill these enemies.

She did palm a fist sized rock, though. She wasn't entirely sure how much momentum was required to break a car window, and she didn't want to err on the side of 'not enough'. That would just be embarrassing.

The car stopped at a stop sign with a burnt out streetlight, and she made her move.

Taylor took three long strides and pushed off the edge of the building with all of her considerable strength, rocketing through the cold night air towards the surveillance car.

As she flew, she flung the rock at the back window as hard as she could and drew two cursed bone blades, one in each hand.

The rock punched straight through the back window, sending a fine milky spider-web across the safety glass.

Taylor followed the rock feet first within the same second.

The men in the car were already reacting. They were professionally trained, and fast.

But she was faster.

Taylor crashed into the back seat of the car, her knees hitting the backs of the front seats hard enough to crack her kneecaps and bend the metal under the fabric. Despite the pain, she lunged forward and stabbed both men in the chest simultaneously, the brittle bone blades breaking off inside their bodies.

Before they could die on her, she whipped out her quick injector and slammed a blood vial into each of them. She also went ahead and took one herself to fix her knees and the multitude of abrasions from her rough entry.

The car was quiet after the sudden surge of violence.

"Drive," Taylor commanded, handing the driver a slip of paper with an address on it. "Here."

The car pulled smoothly away from the stop sign.

Taylor turned her attention to the man in the passenger seat. He stared straight out the front windshield with dead eyes.

Well, not technically dead, although he may wish that he was.

She honestly didn't know if the bone blade's victims were still conscious under the madness. She didn't know if she wanted to know.

"Who do you work for?" Taylor asked. She didn't know how much time she would have to question them.

"Coil."

Coil?

She hadn't even considered him. All she knew about his organization was that he employed mercenaries and technically controlled a chunk of territory downtown, but he hadn't been on her radar as a hunting target. From what she could tell, it was barely a gang. More like a private army or something.

"Why are you watching Daniel Hebert?" Taylor demanded.

"We aren't. We are the bait," the man said.

Taylor's blood ran cold.

"Explain."

"Coil has already identified you arriving and leaving the temporary residence of Daniel Hebert. He is aware that you are Taylor Hebert, the supposedly dead daughter of Daniel. The only thing he is uncertain of is whether you are also Carpenter," the mercenary said tonelessly. "He is no longer uncertain. The primary surveillance team was monitoring our route and is undoubtedly aware of your intervention."

Fuck.

But, at least she knew, now. If this Coil had already seen her in her civilian identity, then she hadn't lost anything of true value yet tonight.

And he had no way of knowing that she could Master his men.

"Why would you agree to a mission like this? Doesn't he know that I would kill you?" she asked.

"Coil has the power to alter probability. He promised to utilize this ability to ensure that we survived our encounter," the man said.

That was… actually feasible. She didn't plan on killing these men. It was possible that Coil's power didn't take potential Mastering into account.

"And you believed him?"

"No. I was confident that I could kill or escape from you. Also, the pay is excellent."

Taylor snorted involuntarily.

The car pulled into the empty parking garage at the address she had provided.

"What other plans of Coil's are you aware of?" Taylor asked.

"The car is rigged to explode. There is a dead man's switch linked to the heart rate monitors under our clothes. Insurance, in case his power failed or we betrayed him."

Holy shit.

She had gotten lucky. If she had messed up any step of her plan, she might have woken up at her grave again.

She still might. Coil would probably detonate the explosives remotely if he got too suspicious.

"What were you supposed to tell me if questioned?" She asked quickly.

"We are to pretend to be Empire members who suspect your father is a parahuman. Coil benefits from the destabilization of the other criminal organizations within the city. He also wants to gather as much information on you as possible. He is content with either outcome. We either provide you with false information and report back to him, or we die along with you."

Taylor wracked her brain for anything else she needed. She needed to get out of this death trap as quickly as possible.

"What does Coil want with Daniel Hebert and I?"

"He wants you to work exclusively for him as either a Tinker or a soldier. If he cannot convince you by diplomatic means, he will kidnap your father to enforce your compliance. If that does not work, he will kidnap you and attempt to directly force your subservience."

God dammit.

She had been expecting that, but it still sucked.

"Return to Coil. Act exactly as you would normally if the mission were a success. You fed me the Empire line, and I bought it. Tell him that I am planning to attack an Empire gathering tonight as a result. Do not tell him anything else about me aside from what he already expects to hear," Taylor rattled off quickly.

Taylor pulled out another sheet of paper and scribbled her phone number on it.

"When you are able to contact me discreetly, without any chance that Coil can track the communication, call me at this number. If Coil moves to murder or kidnap Daniel Hebert or myself, inform me immediately as long as there is a way to do so without blowing your cover. If there isn't, try to get me a message as soon as possible afterwards."

Taylor took another long three seconds to think of anything else she could possibly require from her unwilling servants. It was hard to think while sitting on a live bomb, even for someone who could come back from the dead.

"Give no indication of your new allegiance and act in my best interests to the best of your ability," she said, just to cover her bases.

"Yes, Hunter," they said in unison.

Okay. That's seriously creepy. Fuck.

Taylor got out of the car and watched them drive out of the parking garage.

Am I a monster?

She wasn't quite sure anymore.

But she had bigger things to worry about. Her father was in danger, and she still didn't know what to do about it.

What would Coil expect her to do?

She sprinted for Kurt and Lacey's house.

…

"Well… damn," her father said when she finished relaying the events of the evening in a low hiss.

Taylor specifically didn't mention exactly how she got the information, just in case. She didn't know how sensitive Coil's monitoring equipment was.

She wasn't even entirely sure she trusted Kurt and Lacey, anymore. It hadn't escaped her that the one piece of information Coil hadn't known was also the one she had hidden from them.

They sat in the office that also served as her dad's temporary bedroom, talking in low voices with the door closed.

"What do we do?" Taylor whispered. For once, she didn't have a good answer. Maybe he would think of something she hadn't.

Aside from bringing him to live 24/7 at her workshop, she couldn't think of any way to keep him safe.

Her stomach churned with worry.

If Coil had seen this, what else had he seen?

She needed to bring his whole organization down around his ears as quickly as possible. And she needed to do it quietly, or he might decide to kill her dad just to spite her.

But until then…

Her father took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt thoughtfully.

"I don't think there's anything we can do, short of putting me in a deep dark hole somewhere. I don't exactly like the idea of becoming a prisoner in order to avoid becoming a prisoner," he grinned at her with morbid humor.

"There has to be something," Taylor muttered.

Danny shrugged.

"I'll buy a pistol, and some pepper spray. I'm pretty handy with a tire iron. You said this Coil guy uses mercenaries, right? If they come for me, I'll do my best to buy time until you get there," he said. "Until you finish dismantling his gang, I can't really think of anything else. I do know that there's a reason we don't negotiate with terrorists. Hostage situations have no good answers."

"I don't like this," Taylor said.

"I don't either, kiddo. We'll figure it out," her father said with a tired smile. "But, if he does get a hold of me, don't you dare give in to anything he demands. I don't care what he does to me. You bring the hammer of God down on him, and don't stop until he's in the ground."

Taylor hugged him tightly and nodded into his chest.

She pulled back and gave him a watery smile.

"It's funny you should mention hammers…"

…

Taylor landed heavily in the designated alleyway.

Heavy due to the massive slab of granite strapped to her back.

"The fuck is that?"

Bitch was already here.

"Kirkhammer," Taylor said.

The other villain just shrugged. Her dogs were already massive, sitting patiently on the cracked pavement like breathing mountains of spikes and meat.

Taylor had to admit that she was intrigued by the idea of… hunting hounds.

Perhaps Bitch would be open to a longer-term alliance, if this went well.

The tall, muscular woman had a gruff attitude, but Taylor appreciated her straightforward approach. It was refreshing, especially after dealing with Coil's bullshit machinations.

She was definitely ready to blow off some steam.

Plus, it worked into her other plans nicely. This would sell the ruse that she was targeting the Empire.

Well, it wasn't really a ruse. She was targeting the Empire. Just not because of Coil. She didn't need an excuse. They were fucking Nazis.

"Plan?" Taylor asked.

"Bust down the wall. Kill the assholes. Take the dogs."

See? Refreshingly simple.

"Want to go first or second?" Taylor asked.

Bitch looked at her for a long moment.

"Second. Go," she barked.

Taylor smiled and the other villain tensed. She really didn't like Taylor's smiles, for some reason.

And then Taylor was running.

At the end of the road, an enormous warehouse was lit up with flickering orange light from within.

One of Hookwolf's dog fighting rings. A big one.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Adrenaline flooded her veins.

This was exactly what she needed.

No more hiding. No more worrying. No games. It was time to hunt.

Just her, a big-ass hammer, and a bunch of animal-abusing Nazis who deserved her wrath.

The pavement shook under her.

Oh. And a bunch of giant monster dogs, too. Even better.

The Empire thug on lookout screamed in alarm and ran through the door.

Taylor reached back and slid her sword into the hammerhead, locking it into place with the ever-satisfying metallic click.

Time to go to work.

She leapt forward and swung the massive stone mallet in a full counterclockwise rotation horizontally, spinning with it as the weight of the hammerhead threw her body through the air.

The Kirkhammer hit the side of the warehouse with meteoric force, buckling the wall and sending a huge chunk of sheet metal bouncing through the crowd of Empire members, leaving a bloody path of screaming bodies in its wake.

That's the good stuff.

The dogs barreled into the crowd around her even as she landed in the midst of the chaos.

She could feel the blood calling to her.

Terrified Nazis scrambled in every direction. They were like ants. Or rats.

Her smile was wide and terrifying.

Beasts all over the shop.

Taylor leapt into the fray, sweet crimson washing over her.

It was glorious.

She brought the hammer down in a wide, brutal arc, crushing two fleeing Nazis in one swing.

More.

With a wild uppercut, the remains of another beast flew through the air over the crowd and rained down in bloody pieces.

More!

The hammer was too slow, and her prey too weak. She unsheathed her sword and put the hammerhead onto her back, her blade making quick work of the surrounding Nazis before she moved on.

Blood ran in rivers off of the silver sword.

Slash, bleed, stab, scream, more, more, MORE!

She lost count of how many she ended. She wouldn't be able to keep her tally going.

A lot of Nazis. Four rapists. One Ward.

The thought made Taylor laugh.

For some reason, that just made the Empire scum run faster.

"CARPENTER!"

Taylor looked up at the challenge, a booming voice emanating from the catwalk over the arena.

A shirtless man in a crude wolf mask held his arms wide to her.

Hookwolf.

Fuck yes.

Taylor re-sheathed her sword and drew forth the Kirkhammer once again. Behind Hookwolf, another costumed villain waited in the shadows. Taylor could just make out a cage mask with her enhanced perception. Cricket was here, too. Excellent.

"My name is Hunter!" She yelled up to him.

He gave a deep, thunderous laugh. She thought he might be genuinely enjoying this.

"Alright then, Hunter," he called down to her. "You and me. No bullshit. Like fucking warriors of old."

Bitch arrived next to her, astride her largest beast. Taylor hadn't even realized that the warehouse floor was empty except for her and the corpses. She could hear the caged dogs howling from a doorway on the far wall.

"Get the dogs," Taylor said lowly.

Bitch hesitated for a moment, then nodded and bounded away.

"Nazi blood runs just as red as everyone else's, Hookwolf," she yelled up to him, her voice echoing in the crimson arena as she ran her tongue over her lips. "But it tastes a whole lot fucking sweeter."

He laughed again, even louder and more manic.

"Then make me bleed, little Hunter, if you can!"

Taylor leapt for the catwalk. Hookwolf exploded into a giant mass of raging metal.

She didn't bother aiming for him at first, instead striking the walkway itself and crumpling it like tissue paper. Taylor used the momentum from the impact to throw herself free of the collapsing wreckage, dodging a jagged spear of hooks and barbs that shot out of her enemy's center mass.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Cricket jump free and land on a raised portion of the spectator stands.

Hookwolf tumbled into the arena itself, no worse for wear.

That was fine. She just wanted to fight him on the ground, where there was less risk of getting caught in the cables and grates of the catwalk.

Taylor skidded to a stop amongst the empty chairs, slamming her hammer into the ground to slow her momentum in an explosion of shattered wood and concrete.

Then, pulling on the handle and pushing with her legs, she vaulted over her weapon and sent the Kirkhammer spinning up and around in a wide vertical circle with her body as the fulcrum.

Not a moment too soon, either.

A massive claw of metal barbs raked through the spot she had just been standing, but she was already gone.

Her smile tugged at her cheeks as she flipped up and over her enemy and brought her hammer down into his center mass with all of her strength.

The screaming metal against stone and the Nazi beast's roars of agony were sweet music to her ears.

Hookwolf's hulking canine form left a cracked crater in the concrete under the physical and metaphorical weight of the Kirkhammer. Unfortunately, he recovered quickly. His malleable body shifted to capitalize on her proximity.

Fuck.

Taylor ripped the hammer free and tried to leap backwards, but she was pushing off of Hookwolf's 'shoulder', for lack of a better equivalent. The metal under her foot became a crushing whirlwind of spinning blades.

By attempting to jump away, Taylor accidentally shoved her foot into the blender.

Holy fuck, that hurts.

It turns out, having one's left foot reduced to a fine red paste is exactly as painful as it sounds. Go figure.

Luckily, her other leg was still free. As she fell backwards, Taylor was able to find purchase on the nearest concrete step and shove herself away wildly, hammer in tow and one foot left behind.

She didn't land neatly. It was pretty fucking difficult to land on her feet when she only had one, so she ended up bouncing through the chairs and broken bodies until she came to a stop sprawled on the damp ground.

Hard to land on her foot. Ha.

Taylor injected herself with a blood vial. It healed her leg, but it didn't bring back her wayward foot. Her left leg now ended halfway down her shin.

Unfortunate. She'd have to figure out a better solution for that in the future.

She idly wondered if she was about to die.

Taylor braced her hammer against the ground and used it to pull herself upright.

Hookwolf bared his metal teeth at her, his writhing canine form hunkered on the concrete risers across the arena from her. A significant section of his back was still bent out of shape, so that was something.

Taylor loaded her injector with a new experimental stimulant. If there was ever a time to push her limits, it was now.

She brought the needle down.

Her vision sharpened. Her mind accelerated.

I forgot that I can quickstep.

What the fuck was wrong with her? She could have quickstepped out of range and not gotten her foot eaten by a giant Nazi garbage disposal.

Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

Hookwolf charged.

Taylor swung her hammer as if she were aiming to clock him in a golf-swing when he reached her.

He dodged to the side as he ran, digging his multitude of hooks into the ground. He redirected his charge with practiced precision until his trajectory would avoid the incoming blow and still shred her into table scraps.

Mid swing, Taylor quickstepped towards him at an angle. When she returned from the shadow, she braced her remaining foot against the nearest stair and heaved on the handle of her Kirkhammer with all the momentum she could muster. She brought the stone block singing upwards in a powerful uppercut that hit right under the monster's front legs.

Hookwolf let out a strange, metallic cough as the impact bent him in half and launched his broken body clear through the roof.

A skylight is exactly what this place needed. Bring in some natural light.

Maybe she was actually going insane, like Amy had suggested.

Through the new hole in the ceiling, the moon called to her.

Her enhanced perception flashed with danger. She stumbled backwards just as a curved blade passed through where her head had been a split second earlier.

Cricket was cheating.

The woman wielded two scythe-like weapons. They probably had an official name, but Taylor didn't know what it was.

Oh. Victor did. Kamas.

Interesting, but not exactly relevant.

Taylor had learned a valuable lesson from fighting Sophia.

Most people didn't expect an enemy to let an attack hit them, but she could afford to take the hit. She could even afford to die, if she messed up badly enough. Not everyone had that luxury.

She could use that to her advantage. Especially since she didn't have time to dance with Cricket properly. Hookwolf could be back any second.

The Empire fighter was supernaturally agile. There was a strange ringing in Taylor's ears that threw her off balance. Well, more off balance than she already was, due to only having one foot. She braced her hammer on the ground with one hand to stay upright.

Her other hand held her pistol, under her bloody coat.

Cricket spun and closed the gap between them, blades flying with perfect speed and accuracy.

Taylor shifted just enough that the Kamas buried themselves in her chest without piercing her heart. As it was, the impact drove the breath from her lungs and shattered half of her ribcage.

Cricket seemed almost surprised that it worked.

Then Taylor pulled the trigger and shot her through the heart.

The consecrated quicksilver blew a fist sized hole in the villain's chest, sending her stumbling backwards in a heap.

Taylor quickly reloaded a new blood vial, pulled the blades out of her chest, and injected herself with the beautiful concoction.

Ah. That's better.

The euphoria of the sweet blood never got old.

Taylor looked up at the sound of thunderous footfalls, wondering if Hookwolf had returned to finish the job already.

Instead, she saw a plastic dog mask peeking over the edge of a significantly less metallic beast.

"The fuck happened to your leg?" Bitch asked.

"Hookwolf ate it," Taylor grunted. "Can I catch a ride? We should probably go, and I don't think I can hop fast enough."

Bitch stared down at her for a long moment, and Taylor briefly wondered if she was going to kill her.

Do it.

"Fine. Hop on."

Taylor reached down and threw Cricket's corpse over her shoulder, then leapt off of her good leg and landed behind Bitch on the back of her monster dog.

Bitch didn't even question the dead body. That was pretty cool of her.

With a whistle, Bitch, the dogs, Cricket's body, and most of Taylor sped away into the night.

Taylor liked to imagine she could hear Hookwolf's screams of rage behind them, but she was probably imagining it.

…

Chapter Text

Interlude 4

Colin pulled up to the crime scene at the same time as the first three PRT squad vans. Even with the speed of his signature motorcycle, the PHQ was inconveniently placed.

A flying motorcycle would fix that problem. He made a mental note to discuss a possible collaboration with Dragon when he had time.

'Crime Scene' really didn't do this massacre justice.

The wall of the warehouse looked like it had been hit by a bus, although the piece of crumpled metal on the far side of the carnage showed an impact point less than two feet wide. Twisted metal littered the ground from where the overhead catwalk had been broken and scattered across the arena.

And then there were the bodies. So many bodies.

And the blood.

Colin barely knew where to start.

Was this Carpenter again? It seemed likely, given the wanton murder, but… even when compared to the carnage that she left in the Oakland warehouse, this was a serious escalation.

It might not be her. He didn't immediately see any wounds that matched her sawblade or pistol, and whatever hit the door wasn't necessarily part of her previous M.O.

But what were the odds that there were two different murderous vigilantes targeting the Empire?

His mind drifted back to Shadow Stalker.

They still hadn't found any sign of her. From what he could put together, she finished her patrol, stayed the night at her friend's house, then disappeared.

Emma Barnes had been cooperative and appropriately distraught. Whatever happened to Sophia Hess, he doubted that she was involved.

He personally subscribed to the theory that she had run away to avoid the terms of her probation. Shadow Stalker had always chafed even under the most basic restrictions. A Cape with a different name and a similar power set would probably pop up in another city in a few months.

Would she be brazen enough to return to vigilantism in the same city and stage a massacre with new weapons?

Maybe. Sophia Hess wasn't known for her caution or self-preservation.

He doubted it, though. Still, he would keep an eye out for the molecular distortion caused by objects fusing when she exited her Breaker state.

The head forensic agent on the scene waved to get his attention, and Colin shook himself from his thoughts to go and assist with the processing.

…

Max stood at the head of the table and surveyed his forces.

There was something deeply satisfying about bringing the army of the Empire together, even under these circumstances.

In the main conference room on the top floor of the Medhall building, he gathered his parahuman soldiers. The righteous and powerful, those who were blessed with supernatural gifts and chose to fight for a better world.

On the right side of the table, Krieg sat next to the pale and withdrawn form of Othala. They never had found Victor, and she wasn't taking it well.

Down the row, Crusader stood behind Rune, his shining armor contrasting nicely with her black and crimson robes.

To Max's left, Hookwolf bounced on his toes with restless energy. He was dissatisfied with the outcome of the evening, and Cricket's failure was harder on him than he would admit. Next to him, Stormtiger mirrored his anxious frustration.

His faithful Valkyries stood at the end of the table, one on each side. Perfection.

Alabaster looked bored, but then again, he always looked bored. It was something of a default setting, for him.

And finally, most notably, Kayden had decided to join them. Unofficially, and only on a temporary basis, but she was here nonetheless. It was only a matter of time before Purity took to the skies under the Empire's banner once more.

Max had lots of practice finding the correct buttons to push.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the room quieted at his words. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. We are here because we have… a problem."

Hookwolf grumbled unintelligibly next to him.

"This evening, the new vigilante calling herself Hunter killed thirty-six of our members and kidnapped Cricket. She is also responsible for the assault on the Oakland warehouse and the kidnapping of Victor," Max said.

The Empire capes looked around the table at each other with varying levels of uncertainty.

"This, obviously, cannot be allowed to stand unaddressed. Hookwolf, what is your assessment of our enemy?" Max glanced at his lieutenant.

"That little bitch is a fighter, for sure," Brad said. Max didn't bother to chastise him for his crudeness. It was a lost cause. "And that big fuck-off hammer hits hard."

"A big… hammer…" Justin said sarcastically. Max got the impression that he was raising his eyebrows behind his helmet.

"She's fucking fast, too," Brad continued as if Justin hadn't spoken. "I only got a hit in on her because she fucked up and let me chew on her leg. Even running around on one foot, she got in a good hit. Didn't expect the bitch to teleport."

"A concise assessment, please," Max said.

Hookwolf glared at him but refocused regardless.

"Hunter's some kind of grab bag. Moves faster than she should, hits harder, jumps higher. On top of that, she's either a weird-ass Tinker, or she's got one stashed away somewhere. Carried a huge hammer that was also a sword. I didn't see exactly how it worked. She used a drug or something to heal herself after she lost her foot, slammed a needle right into her leg."

Brad was getting into it now, leaning forward onto the table as he recounted his brawl.

"She's a hot-blooded killer. I swear she was having the time of her life slaughtering our guys. Busted down the wall and started cutting her way through anything she could get her blade into. Didn't matter that they were running scared, she fucking hunted them. I'm pretty sure she hit one guy so hard he exploded like something out of a fucking Tarantino movie. I called her out and she told me she was gonna drink my blood. It was fucking awesome."

"Not to sound ridiculous, but do you think she does drink blood? Maybe that's why she kidnapped Victor and Cricket?" James asked levelly. Othala paled even further.

The idea was absurd, but stranger capes existed.

"It's not impossible, although I think it's more likely that she is keeping them for leverage in case we retaliate," Max said.

Either that, or they were already dead. He didn't say that part out loud though. No need to lower morale further.

"You said she teleported?" Max asked, bringing the conversation back on track.

"Yeah. Turned to smoke right when I was about to hit her and popped up beside me. Didn't see exactly what happened, but next thing I knew I was half a block away," Brad said.

"She teleported you?" James asked. Any cape that could teleport others over distance was a powerful force multiplier.

"Naw, she hit me really fucking hard with that hammer of hers," Brad laughed darkly.

Rune snorted under her hood.

"So, in summary," Max took control of his meeting. "We have an actively hostile enemy who has no issues with killing our forces, kidnapping our capes, and generally making a nuisance of herself. We need to respond soon, and decisively."

"What do you have in mind?" James asked.

"We will need a general, unrelated showing of strength, to ensure our unpowered forces do not lose faith. In the meantime, we may not know where Hunter operates from, but we know that she's been in contact with Bitch."

Max hated Rachel Lindt for picking a name like that. It made him sound unprofessional anytime he was forced to discuss her antics.

"If she wants to take our people, maybe it's time we took some of hers in return."

…

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Lisa Wilbourn, also known as the villain Tattletale, paced back and forth across the Undersiders' lair, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to stave off the beginnings of a headache. She legitimately couldn't tell if it was from her power or from her teammate's overzealous stupidity.

Rachel stood casually against one wall, arms crossed and looking at Lisa as if she was the one overreacting.

"Fuckers were hurting the dogs. Decided to do something about it," Rachel shrugged.

"You killed thirty-six people!" Lisa yelled.

Considers the death of animal abusers to be morally justifiable. Did not personally murder anyone. Does not consider resulting deaths her fault.

Like she couldn't have figured that out on her own. Fucking power. It always slipped the leash when she was agitated like this.

Alec whistled appreciatively from his recliner.

Asshole.

"Thirty-seven people. And Hunter killed them," Rachel said, staring at Lisa like she was stupid.

She wasn't fucking stupid.

"You partnered up with a mass murderer and tossed them into a crowd of unpowered spectators! I saw the PRT evidence photos; it looked like Jack Slash went to town in there!" Lisa exclaimed.

Brian sat hunched over on the couch, rubbing his forehead. Lisa could tell that he was just as irritated as her, he just couldn't decide what to do about it.

"Hunter used a sword, not a knife," Rachel said.

"Badass," Alec said, booting up his latest gaming acquisition.

Several injuries in PRT documentation incongruent with bladed weapon. Large blunt object. Hunter uses multiple different weapons, or one weapon with multiple forms.

"It doesn't fucking-" Lisa cut herself off before she made the situation worse and started pacing again.

"Rachel, we can't afford to draw that kind of attention, from the Empire or the PRT. You know that," Brian said sternly.

Rachel stuck her chin out and glared at him.

"Not gonna sit back and let them keep doing that shit," she said.

Brian sighed.

"We're a team, Rachel. That's why we're here. We could have helped. Made sure it didn't become a bloodbath," he said.

"Would'a tried to stop me," she grunted.

"You should have been stopped!" Lisa couldn't help herself. "We're going to have the Empire breathing down our necks for the next year unless we hand you over to them on a silver platter!"

"Which isn't happening," Brian said quickly, giving Lisa a look while Bitch growled at her, "But this is a tough situation. Has the boss called yet?"

"No," Lisa said, her headache spiking. "I honestly don't know what he's going to say about this."

Lisa looked over at Rachel again.

"Where did you even find Hunter, anyway? I've been looking all over for her, but aside from a few random pictures of her running over rooftops and robbing hardware stores, I haven't managed to pin anything down," Lisa said. "I don't even think she has a phone, let alone a computer."

Rachel glared at her.

"Not my shit to tell."

Feels a sense of kinship with Hunter. Considers willingness to kill one's enemies to be a sign of strength. Is impressed with Hunter's power and attitude.

Lisa wanted to scream.

Her phone rang.

The one she kept specifically for talking to Coil.

Fuck.

She mouthed 'Boss' to Brian and strode into the kitchen.

"Hey, Boss," Lisa said into the phone. She didn't even have the energy to annoy him with her usual snarky facade.

"Tattletale. I assume you've heard the news?" Coil's smooth voice was as unconcerned as ever.

"Yup. Do you have any plans or are we on our own?" Lisa asked. She didn't need her power to tell her that they were out in the cold on this one.

"In a manner of speaking," Coil said. He might have actually been smiling. That didn't bode well for her. "Miss Lindt has succeeded in something that I have been working towards for some time, entirely by accident."

Oh no.

"Your new assignment, Tattletale, is to recruit Carpenter."

I'm going to die.

…

Emily resisted the urge to throw her desk computer across the room.

Barely. And only because she had a video call with the Chief Director in three minutes.

This was the last thing she needed.

It wasn't enough that the city was carved up into barely controlled cape fiefdoms which included both neo-Nazis and Lung. No, on top of being understaffed and outgunned by any and all of their opponents, they now had some unholy combination of Shadow Stalker and Gavel running around massacring unpowered criminals.

Emily hated her job, some days.

Not to mention that Shadow Stalker herself had flown the coop. Or possibly gotten herself killed by Carpenter. Emily didn't really have any evidence for that, but it seemed fitting. Sophia Hess was insufferable. Carpenter might have just shot her out of sheer irritation.

Good riddance.

The incoming call alert popped up on her screen at the exact second the clock rolled over to 11:00.

Emily took a breath to steady herself, ignored the constantly-present pain in her side, and answered the call.

"Good morning, Chief Director," she said.

"Hello, Emily," Chief PRT Director Rebecca Costa-Brown's face appeared.

Talking to the Chief Director was always a nerve-wracking experience.

Not because she was overly antagonistic, but because Rebecca was the single most competent person that Emily had ever met.

The downside to that competence was a complete and total lack of authenticity.

Every single thing Rebecca did was intentional. It had taken a long time for Emily to realize it, but the Chief Director's every word and action were calculated and planned. Her expressions, her tone, her appearance, everything. If Rebecca smiled, it was purposeful. If she let a tiny bit of irritation leak through her supposed facade, rolled her eyes, scratched her nose, blinked, shifted, pursed her lips, tensed her shoulders, anything and everything, it was undoubtedly a calculated gesture to ensure a certain outcome was achieved.

And she knew that Emily knew it. And Emily knew that Rebecca knew that she knew it. All of which didn't make it any less effective. It was infuriating.

And Rebecca knew that, as well. Because of course she did.

"Brockton Bay is as lively as ever, I see," Rebecca said.

A casual opening, reassuring her that some level of irregularity is expected in the ENE while also drawing attention to the current issue and subtly reminding her that she had allowed the status quo to become disrupted.

She really needed to stop analyzing. It was distracting, and unhelpful.

"Yes. I just emailed you the documentation and several release forms that require your signature to be validated," Emily said.

"I saw that. I think we should discuss them further before I give my approval," Rebecca replied. "A Baumann request without prior convictions?"

"A potential Baumann submission, pending conviction. Just to impart how serious the offenses are. If Carpenter is captured and found guilty of the suspected offenses, it would greatly speed up sentencing and processing," Emily reasoned.

It would also lower the chance of the Empire attacking the PRT directly in retaliation. Not by much, but it would help sway public opinion if they did. After all, Hookwolf had his own Birdcage order.

Rebecca pursed her lips as if she were considering it. Emily knew she had already made her decision before the call started.

"We have the three strikes convention for a reason. Both vigilantes and villains don't respond well when backed into a corner," Rebecca said.

Damn.

"By that logic, Carpenter has forty-seven strikes," Emily said.

"Even if the strike system were actual policy, it isn't one strike per crime. Regardless, I am reluctant to determine sentencing prior to even coming into contact with the parahuman in question," Rebecca idly tapped her finger on the desk like she was conflicted about the situation.

Bullshit. Emily knew that Rebecca would happily throw an innocent child in the Birdcage if it served her larger goals. Which meant that she wanted Carpenter to remain a low priority, in the grand scheme of things.

But why?

Emily sighed. She highly doubted that she would be getting any additional support on this issue.

"If we aren't going to prioritize our pursuit of Carpenter, what other options do you think would be beneficial?" Emily asked dully.

"We stay the course, Emily," Rebecca said. "Carpenter hasn't shown any inclination to hurt innocent people or heroes. The situation may still be salvageable."

Emily didn't roll her eyes, but it was a close thing. Rebecca probably knew it, too.

Any inclination aside from the forty-seven brutalized bodies in the morgue.

"The Empire won't stand for this insult. They'll be out for blood," Emily said.

"I trust that you and the Protectorate ENE will handle any altercations admirably, as always," Rebecca said, her lips curving up at the corners.

Damn her.

Emily desperately wished that she could just hang up, but that would be uncouth. She tolerated a few more platitudes before officially signing off.

Maybe next time (and Emily knew there would be a next time) Carpenter rolled out the body bags, she could get some actual help.

…

The air pressure changed by a minute degree, and Rebecca knew that she was no longer alone in her office.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked the silent room.

She knew that it was an unnecessary question. Contessa was always sure.

"Yes. It isn't time, yet," a low voice answered.

Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the PRT, the hero Alexandria, second-in-command of the Protectorate and executive member of Cauldron, turned to face her uninvited visitor.

"Am I allowed to ask why?" Rebecca asked the woman in the fedora.

"The Hunter is an unparalleled weapon, but she must be forged before she can be sharpened," Contessa said.

"Should I guess, then?" Rebecca said dryly.

"The Terminus project remains unchanged," Contessa said. "It just won't be Thomas holding the reins when the dust settles."

"I thought the whole point was that we weren't going to interfere?" Rebecca asked.

"The point is to determine whether parahuman feudalism is a viable societal structure under the right circumstances," Contessa said. "I am simply setting the optimal dominoes upright."

Rebecca narrowed her eyes.

"I think you're up to something," she accused. "Something else, that you're not telling the rest of us."

"I am 'up to' a great many things, at any given time," Contessa said. "It's my job, after all."

…

"Team meeting, living room," her mother yelled up the stairs. "Now!"

Victoria groaned and pocketed her phone.

Mom was using the Brandish voice. That was never a good sign.

She floated out the door just in time to see Amy coming out of her room with a similarly annoyed expression.

Then again, Amy's expression was annoyed most of the time.

Victoria couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something had been off about Amy since Friday night. She wasn't moping or anything, but just… stuck in her head, or something.

Maybe having to deal with actual relationship drama wasn't good for her after all.

Part of Vicky wanted to pop over to the hospital to find Anne and see if she could chat with her about it, but Amy would probably never forgive her if she did that behind her back.

Still, there had to be something she could do to help.

"Wonder who pissed in Carol's corn flakes this time," Amy grumbled as they headed down the hallway.

Victoria laughed. Amy might be prickly, but she was creative with her snide commentary.

"It could actually be important," Vicky offered.

Amy rolled her eyes.

It was usually important… Well, sometimes.

Sometimes their mother just got a bit… overenthusiastic. But, better safe than sorry, right?

Victoria landed on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. She didn't want to get in trouble for flying in the house when Mom was already in a mood.

She heard the front door open as she walked into the living room.

Huh. If Aunt Sarah is here, then it must be something actually important.

Sure enough, the rest of the team filed into the room through the kitchen.

Vicky grinned at Crystal and Eric and went to sit on the couch beside them, shifting over so Amy could tuck in with her.

Amy looked uncomfortable, but she always looked like that at team meetings. She still felt like the odd one out, no matter what Vicky did.

"Do you know what this is about?" Victoria asked Crystal quietly.

"Yeah," Crystal looked troubled, which didn't bode well either. "I'll let Mom explain, though."

Uh oh.

"Alright everyone," Aunt Sarah, known to her adoring public as Lady Photon, stood in front of the fireplace. "We've finally gotten some official updates that everyone needs to be aware of."

Brandish sat in the nearest armchair to her sister, leaving Manpower and Flashbang to sprawl on the other couch.

"There's a new villain running around, designated by the PRT as Carpenter. They are now confirmed to be responsible for a large number of recent robberies, stealing everything from medical supplies to candles,"

Amy snorted quietly from beside her.

"They are also, as of last night, suspected of a total of forty-seven murders."

Holy shit.

"What?" Vicky and Amy exclaimed at the same time.

Victoria glanced over at her sister. She didn't usually talk during the meetings, but she was focused on Aunt Sarah with unusual intensity.

"Last night, Carpenter assaulted an Empire gathering and killed thirty-six people. That's in addition to the eleven she killed at a different Empire warehouse last week," Aunt Sarah continued. "The PRT is still keeping everything close to the chest, but at least they confirmed that the killings were both done by the same cape."

Amy met Victoria's curious stare and seemed to shut down, her face going blank as she leaned back into the couch.

Weird.

"We don't know all the details, but it goes without saying that you have to report any sign of Carpenter immediately. She wears a flat brimmed fedora, a scarf, and a long coat over black and white formalwear."

"What's the game plan if we do run into her?" Victoria asked.

"Carpenter is currently rated as a Mover 6, Tinker 4, Brute 2, and Thinker 2. I am reasonably sure that the PRT inflated her threat rating on purpose to avoid any of their squads getting killed unnecessarily. So far, she has only killed suspected Empire members. However, she is obviously dangerous. She uses tinkertech weapons, including firearms, so don't ever assume that you're out of range," Aunt Sarah said.

Well… at least Carpenter was just killing Nazis…

Victoria pushed down the memories of their bones breaking under her hands.

"We should try to bring her in though, right?" Victoria asked, even though she already knew the answer. Her mother shot her a look.

"Not without backup," Aunt Sarah said seriously. "Even a two hero team might not walk away from a fight with her unscathed, and we can't afford to underestimate her. Tinkers always have tricks up their sleeve, and Carpenter has that on top of her other abilities. The photos from the crime scene last night were… unsettling."

It took a lot to shake Lady Photon, but thirty-six bodies was a lot.

"What kind of weapons does she use?" Eric asked.

"Armsmaster said that the majority of the victims last night were either killed by a long bladed weapon or massive blunt force trauma," Aunt Sarah said. "Whatever she was using, it was strong enough to break down a metal wall. I don't know if it would knock out our shields or not."

Victoria glanced over at her cousins. There was a mix of nervousness and excitement on their faces.

Victoria knew the feeling. Any time a new villain showed up, it was always a new challenge to face. But… this felt… different. Carpenter had already killed a lot of people. Most villains still nominally played by the rules, even if they broke them occasionally.

She looked back at Amy.

The flat mask was still in place, but her sister's eyes were more tumultuous than ever.

Was Amy worried that she would get stuck healing Carpenter's victims? Or that the murderous villain would hurt one of their family?

Amy glared at her when she saw Victoria staring.

Touchy.

"Just… be ready for anything," Aunt Sarah continued. "Things are going to get worse before they get better. The Empire is out for blood, and they'll probably find it."

Damn right they will.

Victoria would make sure it was their own, though. Them, or Carpenter. Whichever she found first.

…

Thomas Calvert sat in two different offices, in two timelines, and pondered.

He steepled his fingers thoughtfully on the desk before him. The gesture was unnecessary, but it helped him think. The power of the placebo effect was not to be underestimated.

The game was officially afoot. Carpenter was aware, on some level, of his interest.

Or someone's interest, at least. According to his decoy team, she believed that the Empire was watching her father. This was further corroborated by her violent attack on Hookwolf's dog fighting ring.

But she could have been already planning that. He still didn't know how Bitch had located her.

He would have to bring Rachel in for questioning, and soon. Not that she would remember.

Thomas wasn't entirely sure that he believed his men. Taylor Hebert may have let them think that she fell for the ruse, but she was more than canny enough to lie by omission.

It hadn't been difficult to put the pieces together, once he had a string to pull. Daniel Hebert went to live with friends. Friends who weren't quite as frustratingly stubborn as he was.

They may have been loyal to him, but not more loyal than they were to each other.

Everyone had a lever that could break them, and Thomas had infinite chances to find it.

He had found Kurt's. He had finally found Daniel's, not that it mattered.

Daniel didn't have any powers at all. Thomas felt a bit silly, after expending so much effort barking up the wrong tree.

At least no one else knew about that.

Taylor Hebert was very much alive.

The puzzle came together quickly, with that revelation. It was easy to research a supposedly dead girl.

Taylor Hebert triggered, and Daniel covered for her while they set up her lab. Through unknown and ultimately irrelevant circumstances, Taylor killed her long-time bully Sophia Hess, who was also Shadow Stalker, and then blew up the house to obscure her tracks.

She set up a new lab, which Thomas hadn't yet located, and began her nightly work. At some point, she met Rachel Lindt and agreed to help her fight the Empire.

However, he still hadn't found Taylor Hebert's lever. In every timeline where he kidnapped Daniel, she somehow learned his name, located his base, and killed him. Sometimes in especially creative and painful ways. It didn't matter what he did to Daniel.

It was irritating. This family was ridiculously tenacious.

Maybe his Tattletale would have better luck. It was supposedly her area of expertise.

And if Taylor Hebert killed her, too…

Well, at least he wouldn't have to listen to her speak ever again.

Always a silver lining.

…

Chapter Text

Modification 5.1

Taylor dropped Cricket's body on an unoccupied lab table and collapsed onto a stool with a relieved sigh.

Even with her enhanced strength and dexterity, traveling on foot was difficult when she only had one of them. Especially with her cargo.

Bitch had taken the dogs to her shelter and left Taylor where they first met outside the Hospital.

Taylor grabbed a water bottle and chugged half of it in one go.

She was back to having a lot of things to do. The rush of battle had helped to dampen the restlessness, but it introduced new complications along with it.

Taylor looked down at what remained of her leg critically.

Fashioning a temporary solution wouldn't be difficult, but it would be temporary. She needed to decide on a permanent solution, and she found herself… conflicted.

The two most obvious answers were to just ask Amy to regrow it or to kill herself right before the next full moon and be reborn anew.

Both of those options felt… unacceptable. It wasn't logical at all, but she didn't want to use her ability to cheat death for such a petty thing. It felt… irreverent. The moon sang to her, and offered her this second chance, this dream of hers… it would be wrong to abuse its sweet lullaby.

No, Taylor decided. When and if she died again, it would not be for her own meager convenience. It might be unavoidable eventually, either in battle or due to capture. She wouldn't necessarily run from death, or fear it like a mortal, but…

The Hunter's Mark was her last resort. She wouldn't use it when she had other options available to her. It felt different than risking death in combat, even as a result of dubious decisions like letting Cricket stab her or throwing herself against Hookwolf with no regard for her own safety.

Killing herself for the sole purpose of restoring her foot felt like… cheating. She liked her scars, her battle wounds. It was hard, visible evidence that she wasn't the same girl who ate lunch in the bathroom to avoid her tormentors. She would never be so weak, ever again. She had earned her scars.

Death would have to earn her, too.

In a similar vein, she didn't want to ask Amy to heal her unless she had no other option. In hindsight, she felt bad about essentially forcing Amy to heal her on the night of the exploding house.

"Can you imagine if every sick and dying person came knocking on my window?"

It wasn't fair to take advantage of Amy like that. Just because she knew her personally, or maybe especially because she did, it didn't give her the right to ask for healing. Taylor would stand on her own, literally and metaphorically. She didn't deserve Amy's respect if she used her as a crutch.

"Healing isn't enough. I can feel it, this urge, this poison, getting stronger every day."

Taylor wanted to be Amy's escape from her troubles, not the cause of them. She hated the deep, tortured sadness that sometimes flared in her friend's eyes. She may not be able to fix everything, but she would do what she could to take the load off.

So.

That left turning to her tinkering for a solution.

One of the concoctions that she whipped up with Amy yesterday might have done the trick, if she had thought of it sooner. A slower regenerative solution that actually rebuilt the tissue as it originally was, rather than rapidly filling in the gaps the way her standard vials did.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't work at this point. By using her regular blood vial to heal the wound, she had reset the template that the regeneration vial would use. Even if she cut off more of her leg and then used it, it would only regrow her leg to its current state.

Which only left her final option: prosthetics.

Now that had the potential to be very fun.

But, she couldn't build a badass prosthetic without being able to walk, and she also needed to process Cricket's corpse.

First things first, then. A temporary solution.

Taylor grabbed a length of two inch thick wooden dowel rod that she had been keeping for future weapon development.

Pirates also got to wear cool hats, right?

Maybe she would get one. Amy would probably get a kick out of it. Or threaten to kill her. Either one was fine.

Taylor hummed while she grabbed her saw and got to work.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…

…

Taylor stood carefully and walked a couple laps of her workshop.

It would definitely be tough to fight like this, but it was manageable.

The basic wooden peg prosthetic wrapped around the end of her calf and included a metal cup that came up to just under her knee, leather straps holding the post straight and secure.

She wasn't going to be running any marathons, but it would allow her to navigate her workshop with some level of normalcy.

After stretching and getting some more water, Taylor glanced over at Cricket's hanging corpse.

Almost time for another injection. She could feel her powers buzzing happily in the back of her mind. More blueprints, more arcane knowledge, just out of reach in the fog.

Soon.

In the meantime, Taylor examined her pistol.

It was a classic weapon, and one that she had leveraged to great effect, but her power whispered that it could be improved.

She had the resources, and didn't have much else to do until Cricket's blood was done concentrating. She wanted to imbibe the next parahuman cocktail before deciding on a prosthetic. There may be new blueprints that worked better than her current roster.

Taylor sat down at her workbench and selected her tools.

Two barrels had to be better than one, right?

…

The next enhancement was finally ready.

Taylor could feel the moon's light fading as the sun rose.

She loaded the concentrated dose of parahuman essence into her injector. What new insight would it impart this time? What secrets would she unlock?

No time like the present to find out.

Taylor slammed the vial into her thigh and the visions overtook her once more.

As flesh is flayed and blood is sprayed, the beast within awakens.

She screamed as the bloodlust that had overtaken her during the slaughter returned and something deep within her awoke.

Her blood sang for more death and glorious violence as the sun rose, the soothing tranquility of the moon's silver light replaced by raging fire.

Give me more.

Taylor's screams reached a fever pitch and she stumbled away from her lab table, her missing leg throwing off her stride as she clutched at her face and keened.

Her hair fell around her face in a matted, sweaty curtain. Her fingernails carved burning furrows in her cheeks that drip, drip, dripped ruby tears.

She dragged herself into the ruined Hospital so she wouldn't break any of her delicate equipment.

And once she was free of her civilities, Taylor roared.

The primal, bestial sound tore at her vocal cords, thundered deep in her chest and inflicted her terrible hunger for violence on the world around her.

Dust fell from the ceiling. The crumbling concrete and drywall vibrated and groaned, shards coming free and crashing to the cracked tile around her.

Taylor fell to her hands and knees and panted for breath as the bloodlust surged, red encroaching on the edges of her vision. The broken floor pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

She clenched her fists and held herself as still as she could, vibrating and twitching as she fought off the unnatural urge to sink her teeth into living flesh.

Slowly, sanity returned.

Her heartbeat eventually receded from her ears and her breathing calmed.

That had been… more intense, than last time.

Am I going insane?

She knew that her attitude towards violence was abnormal. Murder affected other people differently than her. There was nothing inherently horrifying about it to her, only the ways that the consequences impacted her.

A Hunter must hunt.

That was the crux of the issue, wasn't it?

Taylor stood slowly and forced her thoughts away from the concerning bloodlust.

She could feel another addition within her mind, another instinctual ability that was an echo of Cricket's, a memory of a dream.

Taylor knew that she could call forth the bloodlust again, and scream with an unnatural ferocity and tenor that was heavy upon the world. Her voice would grate against the consciousness of her enemies like nails on a chalkboard. From a distance, her bestial roar would only disorient them, but from close-range it would throw them aside with the force of her rage.

Additionally, new knowledge danced behind her eyes, as she hoped it would.

More complex weapons. More intricate designs.

Deeper understanding of the eldritch and arcane powers she delved into.

As she made her way back to the lab, she reviewed a blueprint that offered exactly what she needed. A complex mechanism that was originally designed for a weapon, but could be adapted into a highly versatile prosthesis.

Perfect.

Taylor sat at the stool next to her forge and stretched out her damaged leg. Walking around on a peg for half the night left her stump aching and chafing under the temporary prosthetic. She injected herself with a normal blood vial, fixing the scratches on her face and the ache in her leg.

She would have a better replacement, soon.

What time is it?

Just after eight in the morning, according to her watch. Had she remembered to wind it?

Still time to do some work before she slept.

Taylor turned on the gas to her forge, and shadows danced on the walls of her workshop as she began her next project.

…

Amy gripped the railing of the hospital roof harder than was strictly necessary and grabbed another cigarette.

She was starting to run low. When had Taylor given her these? Thursday night?

Three days.

Was one pack a lot to smoke in three days? Probably not, right? Some people smoked a pack a day.

Still, she was going through more than she used to.

It was probably Hunter's fault, somehow.

Damn her.

Amy ground her teeth in frustration.

Thirty-six people. Taylor had given her a tour of her workshop, laughed with her about stupid hats, forgiven her for being a ticking time bomb and for trying to destroy her precious equipment.

And then she murdered thirty-six people with the sword Amy had said was cool.

Fuck.

What was she even doing?

Amy could almost hear Hunter saying that they were Nazis. That they didn't count.

Bullshit. No matter how awful the victims themselves were, they still became victims when their blood flowed. How many rivers and oceans of red would Hunter spill? Would she ever stop?

Did Amy want her to?

She still had the original blood vial in her bedroom. Still dipped her finger in the otherworldly ichor to calm the itch, the need to inflict monstrosities on the world.

Would she be half as drawn to Taylor, if she weren't the source of the soothing balm?

Amy honestly didn't know. She didn't know if it mattered. Taylor did what she wanted, and made no apologies.

"I'm not like you."

"You could be."

Amy gripped the railing tighter and closed her eyes. Crystalized onyx stared at her out of the dark.

She couldn't do that. Couldn't let herself fall to temptation and risk breaking everything. All it would take was one wrong step, one creation of hers that got away or became something monstrous, and the world would crumble underneath her. More so than it already was, anyway.

Taylor would forgive me, though.

Fuck.

Amy opened her eyes and stared up at the moon, silver and shining in the sky.

Almost full.

It called to her.

Why did she feel its soothing light singing in her bones?

More of Taylor's unnatural influence. Maybe she should check herself into Master/Stranger confinement. It was as good an explanation as any for why she couldn't bring herself to turn Hunter away.

But she already knew she wouldn't do that.

Where the hell is she?

Hunter had to come visit her tonight. She wasn't allowed to run off, kill a fuck-ton of people, and not let Amy give her a piece of her mind.

But it was almost time to leave the hospital for the evening, and there was no sign of her murderous friend.

Amy pulled out her phone and was halfway through typing an irritated tirade when she remembered that Taylor's phone didn't have texting capability. Or if it did, Taylor didn't know how to use it.

With a put-upon sigh, Amy dialed her number the old fashioned way.

…

Taylor wound the spring tightly around a dowel and then quenched it so that the metal would hold its shape.

The prosthetic's mechanisms were more complicated than her pistol or her hammerhead's locking joint, but it would be worth it.

She bobbed her head to the music while she worked.

Wait, music?

Since when did she have music in her lab?

Taylor looked around.

Oh, right. My phone.

She kind of forgot that she had it, most of the time. Had the mercenaries managed to find an opening to contact her?

She walked over to her nest and checked the tiny display.

Amy was calling!

She was probably mad about the murders.

Taylor answered the phone.

"Hey, Amy," she said, a smile sneaking onto her face unconsciously.

"Don't 'hey Amy' me, where the fuck are you?" Amy snapped.

Yup. Definitely mad about the murders.

"I'm in my workshop. Um… where are you?" Taylor didn't know what else to say.

"I'm at the hospital. Well, my hospital. You know what I mean. And you aren't here!" Amy said, volume slowly raising. "Why the fuck did I have to hear about you killing thirty-six people from my aunt? You didn't think to tell me that you were planning to go on a rampage?"

Oh. Taylor had kind of forgotten to tell Amy about that. Maybe she should have.

"I just-" she started before Amy cut her off.

"Do you know how fucked it is to have to sit in New Wave meetings and listen to them talk about how dangerous it is to fight you? About how they'll coordinate patrols and backup so that you don't kill my fucking family?"

"I won't kill your family," Taylor said quietly.

"Shut up. I'm not finished. And then, after I have to deal with all that bullshit, you don't even have the fucking decency to show up and let me yell at you in person? Fuck you, Taylor, why aren't you here?" Amy yelled.

"Hookwolf ate my foot," Taylor said.

"That's no excuse- wait, what?" Amy choked.

"I don't know how much information the PRT has, but I attacked an Empire dog-fighting ring. Hookwolf and Cricket were there, and I fought them. I killed Cricket, but Hookwolf got a hold of my foot in the process," Taylor summarized.

"Oh."

Amy's tone was strange. Taylor couldn't quite place it.

"And it turns out that my blood vials can't replace limbs. Well, not the fast acting ones, anyway. The slow regeneration sample I showed you might have worked, if I had had time to let it do its thing. But I didn't, because, well, giant metal Nazi monster," Taylor said.

"They didn't…" Amy swallowed before continuing. "They didn't mention that part. I don't think they know that Hookwolf was there. Or at least, the PRT didn't include that in the info they gave Aunt Sarah."

That made sense. Hookwolf would have left before the Protectorate arrived, and even if they guessed from the ruined concrete, they wouldn't know for sure.

"Well," Taylor was about to say 'we' before reconsidering. She didn't want to give away Bitch's secrets without her permission. "I saved all the dogs though! Got them to a shelter and everything."

Bitch said she ran a dog shelter. That counted. She seemed really good with the dogs, if not people.

"You… you fought Hookwolf. And saved a bunch of dogs," Amy said flatly. It didn't sound like a question.

Taylor hopped up and sat on the lab table that also served as her bed. Standing on the peg leg got uncomfortable after a while.

"Yeah. But I messed up. Accidentally got my foot too close, so I had to run before I got a chance to kill him. I don't think I could have beaten him on one leg.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Amy? You still there?"

"Yes. Shut up."

Taylor shut up.

Eventually, she heard Amy sigh.

"You're going to be the death of me," Amy grumbled.

Taylor certainly hoped not, but it was better than the yelling.

"That still doesn't explain why you aren't here, though," Amy said. At least she didn't sound angry anymore. Just tired. "I don't know if you have enough spare biomass, but I can probably figure out something to replace your foot."

"I don't want you to replace my foot."

That seemed to throw Amy for a loop.

"I… what? Why?" Amy floundered.

"Healing messes with you, right? You aren't a healing machine. Not for me, anyway. I can fix myself," Taylor said. "Save your healing for people who deserve it. I've earned my scars. You aren't allowed to take them from me."

Taylor laughed at the incoherent spluttering from the other end of the phone.

"Besides, I have a super cool replacement foot already in the works. It's going to be awesome," Taylor grinned.

"If you've chopped off Cricket's foot and sewn it onto your body like a fucking Frankenstein monster, I'm going to heal you whether you like it or not," Amy threatened.

"Naw, it's much better than that. It will probably take another day or two to finish, though," Taylor said.

"One day is… acceptable," Amy said. Taylor could hear the forgetting-to-frown smile in her voice. "I'm almost out of cigarettes, though, so you can't take any longer than that."

"I suppose that's agreeable," Taylor's smile widened.

"Good," Amy said.

"Okay."

It was quiet for a while. Even over the phone, the little dream bubble that always formed around her and Amy was present, like the rest of the world was drifting away.

She didn't want to hang up.

Maybe Amy didn't either, since she was still on the line.

"I should probably go. Vicky will be arriving to pick me up, soon," Amy said.

"Yeah. I need to keep working on my prosthesis if I'm going to be done by tomorrow night," Taylor said.

Neither of them hung up.

Taylor lost track of time, sitting on the edge of her nest and swinging her feet. Well, foot. And peg.

"I'm going to buy a pirate hat," Taylor said suddenly.

"What?"

"I had to make a temporary prosthetic to get around my lab and-"

"Oh my God, do you have a wooden peg leg right now?"

"Maybe," Taylor said.

Amy giggled. Taylor hadn't heard her laugh like that before, without the sarcastic edge to it.

It was nice.

"You're ridiculous," Amy finally wheezed.

"Ridiculously cool."

"Maybe. Just a bit. Don't let it go to your head," Amy said.

Taylor did let it go to her head. Just a bit.

Why couldn't she stop smiling?

The silence stretched again, but it felt… content, this time.

She really did need to get back to work.

"Goodnight, Amy," Taylor said.

"Goodnight, Taylor," Amy replied.

And finally, Taylor hung up.

…

A piercing howl echoed through the empty hallways of the Hospital.

Taylor looked up from her work and carefully set the complex mechanisms aside.

Bitch was back?

It wasn't all that late yet. Just after midnight.

Her footsteps bounced off the crumbling walls as she made her way to the front entrance. Every other step clicked with the sound of her peg hitting the shattered tile.

Taylor walked between the rusted cars and saw a tall woman who could easily be Bitch, but no mask or monster dogs. Next to her sat a large Rottweiler, still and watchful despite not being on a leash.

"Leg looks like shit," the woman said.

Yup. Definitely Bitch.

"I'm working on a better one," Taylor replied.

Bitch nodded absently, staring at her with a strange expression.

"Got someone who wants to meet you," Bitch said. "Teammate."

She didn't seem happy about it. Taylor narrowed her eyes.

"Why?" She asked.

Bitch shrugged.

"Talk. I dunno."

Unhelpful.

"Who?"

"Tattletale," Bitch said. The word twisted on her lips.

Taylor wracked her brain to remember Tattletale. She had mostly paid attention to Empire and ABB capes when looking for hunting targets.

"She knows that I'll kill her if she tries to fuck me over, right?" Taylor said.

Bitch's lips quirked up at the edges. Not a real smile, but closer than any other expression Taylor had seen so far.

"Yeah, she knows," Bitch said.

Good.

Taylor thought for a moment. She wanted to finish her prosthetic, and then see Amy tomorrow evening. Technically this evening.

There was also another… procedure… she wanted to try, tomorrow night. Her Hospital was still undefended. She needed to secure her workshop, especially since Bitch knew where it was. It wouldn't remain a secret forever.

But she could make it hard to find.

Taylor refocused on the problem at hand.

Should she meet with this Tattletale in costume, or in public?

There were pros and cons to both. Meeting on a dark rooftop in costume would preserve her anonymity, but Tattletale had no way to connect her face to the dead girl from Winslow, and Bitch had already seen her face.

It would make it easier to kill her if Taylor needed to, but it would also make it easier for Tattletale to set up a trap.

"Boardwalk. Tuesday morning, in front of Tipton's. 9:00 AM. No masks."

Taylor could stay up a little later than usual to put Tattletale on the back foot. She probably cared about her identity more than Taylor did. She wasn't dead, after all.

"She won't like that," Bitch grunted. She didn't seem mad about it, though.

"Don't care."

Bitch coughed out something that might have been a laugh. If she squinted.

"Do you have a phone?" Taylor asked after briefly debating with herself.

"Course," Bitch said, glaring at her. Taylor wasn't sure why that annoyed her, but she didn't ask.

"Do you want my number?" Taylor said.

Bitch stared at her for a long moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a basic flip phone.

Taylor almost laughed. It was the same kind she had.

Taylor put her number in the phone under Hunter.

"Don't give it to anyone else," she warned. It reminded her of Amy's threat on the hospital roof, and she suppressed a grin.

"Won't," Bitch said gruffly.

"Good."

They stared at each other for a few long seconds, under the moon.

"I owe you one, for getting me out of that mess last night," Taylor said. "You could have just left with the dogs. If you need me, call, and I'll be there."

Bitch nodded slowly.

Taylor needed to get back to work.

"See you around, Bitch."

She turned to head back into the Hospital.

"Rachel."

Taylor looked back at her in surprise.

"Name's Rachel," she said.

Taylor considered for a long moment.

"Taylor."

Rachel nodded again.

Taylor went inside, and Rachel left.

…

Chapter Text

Modification 5.2

It was getting late, or early, depending on the perspective, but she was finally done with her prosthesis.

All that was left was to hook everything up.

Taylor unlatched the buckles on her peg leg and set it aside. She would keep it as a backup, and for posterity. It might also end up being easier to use around the workshop, compared to the sturdy metal apparatus in front of her.

It may be heavy, but she was strong. The extra weight was worth it.

A thick steel shaft ran up the middle of two brutal piston arms, powered by a highly torqued spring inside the pressurized chamber on one side of the device. A sturdy lever on the other side would allow her to prime the weapon that would also serve as her prosthetic leg.

The stake driver emanated a violent sense of purpose. It held none of the graceful elegance of her silver sword, or the savage fury of her saw cleaver. It was a device of solid steel and brutal efficiency, and she loved it.

Not quite as much as her Kirkhammer, but she could love two things. Besides, this tool of bloodshed would be strapped to her leg, so she could carry both at the same time.

They would even work well together, in tandem.

Taylor was so excited.

She had made several modifications to the original blueprint in her head, by necessity. The weapon wasn't designed to be a prosthesis, after all.

The biggest change was the spike on the end of the piston rod. She had forged and sharpened a blade for it, but she attached it to a hinged mechanism at the bottom of the heavy cylinder. From there, the bladed spike was hooked into a secondary lever near the top of the device that would allow her to engage the sharpened edge or fold it back and away from the blunt rod itself.

In theory, she would be able to either engage the bladed spike and stab downwards with sharpened steel, or leave it folded backwards and plow the blunted rod directly into the earth instead. Both could be useful, for different reasons, and she didn't want to give up either option if she could help it.

The spike would kill her enemies or slide into the earth to ground and anchor her. The blunt rod would spread out the impact and (hopefully) throw her body into the air.

Maybe. If it worked correctly. She might just shatter her leg, but she had blood vials to fix that.

Speaking of which…

In addition to the adjustable spike, Taylor had added a built-in injector at the top of the prosthesis. Her experience with the peg leg had highlighted just how uncomfortable prosthetics were, and she didn't want to deal with the constant chafing and raw skin.

Especially not with the weight of her stake driver.

To solve the problem, she rigged up a slow drip of her new regeneration solution that would cycle through the chambers of the prosthesis. If it worked the way she intended, the device would constantly and very slowly draw her blood, process it into the regeneration solution, and then cycle it back into her stump to heal any ongoing tissue damage.

She was reasonably sure that the slow blood draw wouldn't affect her. There was a slot in the side of the prosthesis to load an initial regeneration vial that would kick-start the process, and it really didn't take very much. The blood was also technically being injected back into her, so…

She would keep an eye on it. And have Amy check her if she started feeling woozy.

Taylor gripped the heavy steel prosthesis and slid her leg into the waiting receptacle. Once she got herself aligned correctly, she grabbed one of the steel levers and locked it in place with a heavy snap.

Shit, that's unpleasant.

The pain of the prosthesis clamping down into her ruined calf slowly ebbed away as the regeneration solution went to work, healing and rebuilding her flesh around the sturdy metal spikes that anchored the device to her body.

Taylor stood up slowly and swung her leg experimentally.

Fuck yes.

This was going to work perfectly.

…

Taylor bounced restlessly on her toes and springs in the middle of a ruined street a few blocks from her Hospital. It was almost time to meet Amy, but she wanted to test her newest creation first.

It would be embarrassing if she broke her own leg in front of Amy. Especially after refusing her offer of healing.

When the piston rod wasn't locked and loaded, the heavy cylinder could move freely on the spring. The complex mechanism was designed to adjust the tension in response to the amount of force applied to it, so it cushioned her steps and allowed her to walk and run much more easily than an unmoving peg leg.

But that wasn't what she was here to test. She wanted to fly.

Taylor double checked the levers and connection points on the side of her prosthesis.

Blunt impact test first.

She primed the spring, heaving back on the main, vertical lever and locking the release mechanism in place.

Three…

Taylor remembered to bend her knee. She didn't want her leg to snap the wrong way when the weapon fired.

Two…

She looked at the roof of the four story building at the end of the block that was her landing zone.

One…

She held onto her hat, just in case.

Fire.

Taylor swung her stake driver down into the pavement and triggered the torque release. In the same moment that the steel rod shot downward with crushing force, she leapt with her good leg and pushed off with her left thigh.

The blunt end of the piston rod shattered the pavement under her and sent her spiraling into the sky.

A month ago, on her very first empowered leap over the graveyard fence, Taylor had resisted the urge to whoop madly into the empty air. This time, she didn't resist. Her joyous laughter echoed over the empty Trainyards.

The cold wind whistled past her as she flew, coat flapping wildly behind her while she tumbled through space. It was a good thing she thought to hold her hat in place, because it definitely would have been lost otherwise.

The roof of her target rapidly approached, but the combination of her own supernatural awareness and Victor's skills let her twist her body and land heavily on her feet, bending her knees to absorb the heavy impact.

Well, land on her foot.

The now unlocked spring did an excellent job of absorbing the excess force. The roof might be slightly worse for wear from the impact of the stake driver hitting it at high velocity, but that was fine. It was falling apart anyway.

She would be more careful when landing on important buildings, like Amy's hospital. And her workshop.

Speaking of which, Amy was waiting.

Taylor took off across the rooftops, every other step echoing through the evening air.

…

"What the fuck have you done to yourself now?" Amy exclaimed, leaning down to examine the metal monstrosity that Hunter had welded to her leg.

"Isn't it awesome? When it's primed, the torqued piston drives the rod into the ground and I can fly. Well, not really fly… But fall with style!" Taylor said, looking at her eagerly from under her signature hat.

Amy had no idea what to make of this… development.

Taylor continued to be an enigma.

First, she killed a stupid amount of people, even if they were Nazis.

Then, it turned out she was fighting a villain with a Birdcage sentence and rescuing fucking puppies, of all things, losing her foot in the process.

Then, she refused the obvious offer of healing with the whole over-dramatic 'I've earned my scars' bullshit.

And now, she shows up with an insane metal jackhammer fused to her leg, looking like something halfway between a horror movie victim and a Bonesaw creation.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

"This… is your solution to getting your foot cut off?" Amy said, the sound of her own voice seeming strangely distant as she stared at the thing her friend had attached to her body.

"It didn't so much get 'cut off' as it was blended into a flesh smoothie, but yeah. I call it the stake driver," Taylor said.

Flesh smoothie. What the fuck, Taylor.

"Is it… safe?" Amy asked. She couldn't think of anything better to say. This was ridiculous.

"Yup! I have it hooked up to the regeneration solution so that it constantly heals the contact points between the prosthesis and my leg," Taylor said. "Do you want to see what it looks like on the inside?"

Taylor took off a glove and held out her bare hand. Amy just stared at her.

The idea that Taylor was still willing to touch her after everything was… insane. Self-destructive. Borderline suicidal.

Amy had told her that she could alter her body and mind. She had been very clear about that fact. She had told her that it was difficult to resist the temptation not to.

And Taylor just didn't care.

Not even in an 'oh, I know you would never do anything evil, you're such a good person, Amy,' kind of way. She had threatened to melt Taylor's organs, and Taylor told her to do it. Taylor asked her to change and warp her body, give her claws and reinforced bones and enhanced senses and-

Well, technically she had only asked about the claws. But the point was still valid.

Maybe Taylor was suicidal. That would certainly explain some things.

Regardless, Taylor was definitely insane.

That should probably bother her more than it actually did.

Amy stood up and took her hand.

The swirling starlight that was Taylor's biology lit up in her biosenses like a maelstrom. Amy gasped involuntarily and was briefly overwhelmed by the spiraling storm.

Taylor's biochemistry had somehow changed even further since Amy's visit to the workshop. Her blood sang and twisted in the same way that the blood vials did, although still fundamentally different. Taylor was alive, so Amy could still potentially change her in ways that she couldn't influence the stagnant concoctions.

"Wow…" Amy whispered without meaning to.

"It's pretty cool, right?" Taylor said with a smile.

She hadn't even gotten around to looking at the prosthetic connection yet.

Amy tried to focus on the specific area in question. It was a bit like staring at the sun. If the sun were made of unholy demon blood.

Actually, the junction between Taylor's leg and the prosthesis was even worse, somehow. Or better, depending on the perspective.

Amy still hadn't decided.

She could see the blood cocktail entering and interacting with Taylor's biology. She had never actually watched the action happen, so to speak.

It was mesmerizing.

The ethereal stem cells constantly warped and changed within Taylor's body, becoming part of her and yet also twisting her simultaneously. And, because Taylor's blood was being siphoned into the device, Amy could see it flow through the chambers and change from being part of Taylor into something other, then back into Taylor again.

It was bizarre. It was horrifying. It was beautiful.

"You okay there, Amy?"

Amy blinked and stared up at Taylor's face, both with her eyes and her biosenses.

How long had she been standing here gaping like an idiot?

From the concerned look on Taylor's face… probably a while.

"I'm not sure…" Amy said dazedly before refocusing. She took a moment to figure out how to phrase her question. "Taylor… have you been… modifying yourself, somehow? And I don't mean the prosthetic leg. I mean… your blood is strange… different. Heavier, somehow, than it was on Friday. Not literally, but… And even then, it was different than it was when I first healed you."

Taylor's black eyes stared through her for a long moment. Obsidian shards, hard and jagged in the dark.

When did she stop wearing her scarf?

Amy hadn't realized why she could see Taylor's smiles until now.

"Yes," Taylor said lowly.

Amy couldn't look away, from her face or from the entrancing stars that danced in time with Taylor's heartbeat.

"Will you tell me?" Amy asked quietly.

It was quiet, for a while.

"I am able to condense and consolidate aspects of parahuman blood. I can create unique blood vials that permanently enhance my mind and body when I imbibe them. It allows me to gain a shadow of the parahuman's power, twisted by my own blood and soul," Taylor said.

It took Amy a moment to process the depth of that revelation.

Her heart rate quickened further, and she could see the look of awe and horror on her face, reflected in Taylor's eyes.

"You… you are… you're like the Faerie Queen, except…" Amy whispered. "You… that's why you need… that's… Shadow Stalker, and Cricket…"

Taylor nodded.

"And Victor, before that. From the first night," Taylor said.

Amy was at a loss for words. This was… too much, for her to process. Too much for anyone to process.

Taylor's biology still sang for her.

Amy should end her, here and now. Twist and destroy her unholy existence at its core before she evolved into something inhuman and monstrous. Before she consumed anyone else, before she became so powerful that no one could stop her from drowning the world in a sea of crimson deep.

Her dreams flashed before her eyes, the endless, serene lake of blood, bathed in moonlight.

She just… couldn't… do it.

"Do you…" Amy's words caught in her throat. "Do you have to kill them?"

Taylor blinked.

"I don't know."

Amy laughed. She couldn't help it. It was a mad, manic cackle that sounded strange on her lips. Like it was coming from someone else.

Taylor looked concerned.

"You are… you have this insane power… you can copy other capes' abilities permanently, and you didn't even think that you might have willing donations?" Amy said, half laughing and half screaming.

Taylor bit her lip thoughtfully. She was entirely too calm about this. It was absurd.

"I need a lot, to make it work. At least… 6 pints? Ish? I still have some of Sophia's blood. And Cricket's. I used the leftovers from Victor to empower my sword," Taylor said.

That was a fairly large amount to gather from one person. The random tidbits from her basic hospital training flashed in Amy's mind, despite her current distractions. One pint per donation session, one session every two weeks.

Within three months, Taylor could have had half the powers in the Protectorate, if she weren't so fucking stubborn.

And murderous. The heroes tended to disapprove of killing, even if it was villains. Although they may look the other way, if they got a knock off Glaistig Uaine in exchange.

Why had she stopped including herself with the heroes?

She still couldn't look away from the onyx stars.

She knew why.

And just as she couldn't bring herself to kill Taylor, she couldn't bring herself to stop, either.

Did Taylor want her blood?

Amy clamped down on that thought. She was not giving her villainous friend any kind of biokinesis, even if she might not be a real hero anymore. The number of people who could do what she could was already too damn high.

One was more than enough. She often wondered if she would be better off dead, or in the Cage.

Well, she wouldn't be better off. But the world might be.

"What can you… do, now?" Amy asked. Anything to distract herself, anything to drive away the knives.

"From Victor, I gained a number of useful skills that he had absorbed from others over his life. Fighting styles, tactics, engineering, fancy cooking," Taylor grinned at her. "From Sophia, I gained quickening, quickstepping. I can very briefly turn to shadow and move faster than my physical body would normally allow. It's tiring, but it let me stall Hookwolf long enough to escape."

Amy nodded mutely, still not quite up to speaking again if she didn't have to.

"And from Cricket, last night, I gained the ability to imbue my voice with my fury, turning my bloodlust and anger into a physical and mental effect to harm my enemies. I haven't actually tested it, yet."

"That's… Taylor, that's amazing, but it's also insane. I can't…" Amy trailed off again. Where did she even start?

Taylor nodded. Finally, some acknowledgment that Taylor knew her power was crazy.

"It's more than that, even. When I inject the parahuman vials… my own Tinker power expands. I unlock more designs, more concepts that I didn't understand before. Things that I couldn't see, in the fog. I didn't know how to make my stake driver, until I consumed Cricket's essence. I didn't know how to make my sword before I imbibed Victor's blood."

"That's…" Amy closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She could still see Taylor's incandescent biology in her biosenses, but it was almost soothing. A cascade of circulating light, to keep her from thinking too hard about anything.

"That's why you hunt," Amy whispered. "You said your powers want to be used. You need to consume more blood, more… essence… more quickly than it could be donated."

"Yes. A Hunter must hunt."

Amy opened her eyes.

"Where did you hear that?" Amy asked. It had the ring of something Taylor had heard before, not just something she had come up with herself.

"A dream, I think," Taylor said. "I told you about those. Are you still having them, too?"

Amy nodded.

She still hadn't let go of Taylor's hand.

"Do you know what they mean?" Amy said softly, into the cold night.

How long had they been standing here? The aura of solitude was stronger than ever. She had forgotten they were on the hospital roof. She was probably supposed to be downstairs healing people right now.

"No," Taylor answered. "I think I have to keep going to find out, though. The deeper I go, the clearer it will get. Hopefully."

Amy swallowed. Her throat was weirdly dry.

"What if you're wrong? What if everything just gets darker, the further you fall?" Amy whispered.

Taylor stared into her, her eyes somehow ice cold and burning at the same time.

"In that case, I don't think it will matter anymore," Taylor finally said.

Maybe Taylor couldn't quite bring herself to stop, either.

Taylor looked down at their hands as if she had forgotten they were still touching.

She gave Amy's hand a gentle squeeze, and it was like a jolt of lightning through her nervous system, driving away the heavy haze that seemed to hang over them.

"But! In the meantime, I've got ideas," Taylor said, letting go of Amy's hand and forcing her usual upbeat attitude back into her tone. "I think I found a way to protect the Hospital, but I'm not entirely sure it will work the way I'm hoping."

The spiraling galaxy of cursed blood dissipated. Amy took a deep breath and did her best to force away the… everything.

Everything with Taylor was somehow terrible and wonderful simultaneously. It was driving her crazy.

Well, crazier.

Maybe literally, with the dreams.

"Really? You're not sure? I thought your powers 'just worked'?" Amy said, letting a bit of her usual acid leak into her tone even though her lips curved up under her hood.

"Ha. Funny. Look, it's not really designed for protecting a place like this, but I think I can bend the rules enough to get the outcome I want. Either that, or I'll end up lost in the Labyrinth for the foreseeable future," Taylor shrugged.

That was… concerning.

"Well, if you do get lost, make sure to call and let me know," Amy said. "I've become accustomed to our nighttime chats. Healing is boring. I'm also out of cigarettes, did you bring more?"

Taylor looked legitimately aghast.

"I forgot! Sorry, I got excited about the prosthesis and didn't remember to stop on the way!"

Amy laughed at her expression. Of all the things for her to worry about…

"See? You can't get lost in the Labyrinth, or whatever bullshit you're going to dive into, because I can't go back to asking random cashiers to break the law to support their miracle healer's illegal habit," Amy smirked.

"Obviously," Taylor agreed seriously. "I couldn't imagine inflicting such an indignity on you."

Amy's chest tightened. She felt oddly warm, heat radiating off her face under her hood. She looked up into Taylor's black eyes and saw the mirth dancing there, under her faux stern expression.

It wasn't fair.

"Take what you want, and make no apologies."

Could she?

Amy knew exactly what she wanted, right this second. And it terrified her.

"I should go," she said instead. "I've been up here way too long. They'll probably send out search parties for me if I don't come back soon."

"Probably worried that you've been kidnapped by some dastardly villain," Taylor smiled at her.

The knot in her stomach tightened. It wasn't unpleasant at all, even though it probably should be.

"They're not exactly wrong, are they?" Amy said.

"Let me get my defenses set up before I have the Triumvirate hunting me for stealing their miracle healer," Taylor's smile turned crooked. Amy legitimately couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

She didn't know if she wanted her to be, either.

Liar.

Shut up.

"Okay," she said.

"Good," Taylor said.

The moon stared down at them in silence for a long time.

She really did need to leave, though.

"Goodnight, Taylor," Amy said.

"Goodnight, Amy," Taylor replied.

Amy turned towards the roof access doorway, looking back as Taylor took off across the rooftop. She didn't know how she moved that fast, with that metal monstrosity fused to her leg.

It worked for her, though. Somehow. Just like everything else.

Amy sighed. There were people that needed healing.

But everything seemed a bit more gray, without her.

…

Taylor arrived back at her workshop with a bundle of supplies under her arm.

And a pack of cigarettes. So she wouldn't forget again.

She re-lit and replaced the candles that had burned low in her absence.

Grabbing her axe from the wall, Taylor swung it a few times to get a feel for the weight.

She reached up and unhooked Cricket's body from the rack where she had hung it to drain.

The body was a bit difficult to maneuver across the shop, but she made it work.

Taylor positioned Cricket's head and shoulders over her anvil. It would do the job, as a headsman's block.

"Sorry about this, Cricket. But, I need your skull. And it's not like you're really using it anymore," Taylor said idly, to the corpse.

The corpse didn't answer, as usual.

"I did promise your boss I would drink some Nazi blood," Taylor continued. "Since I didn't get his, I guess yours will have to suffice."

She brought the heavy axe blade down, and Cricket's head rolled free across the workshop floor.

Taylor walked over and picked it up by the hair.

Her phone rang.

It was a strange contrast. Standing in her candle-lit workshop, holding the drained and decapitated head of her enemy, fumbling in her pocket while the upbeat tune echoed in the empty halls.

Taylor answered the phone.

"Hunter," she said, idly swinging Cricket's head while she paced between the tables.

"Coil gave every indication of believing our explanation of events," the flat voice of one of her Mastered mercenaries said. "Do you have any further orders, Hunter?"

Good help was always appreciated. Even if it was unwilling.

"Continue to monitor his organization while remaining discreet. I need to know everything there is to know about him and his gang," Taylor said.

"It is understood by the contracted mercenaries that Coil has capes in his employ who are not publicly known to be under his umbrella. I am not currently aware of their identities," he said.

"Try to find them. And if you can find out Coil's true identity, do so and relay the information as soon as you safely can," Taylor said.

Coil didn't play by the rules, so why should she?

"Yes, Hunter."

Taylor closed the phone with a snap and held up Cricket's wayward head, watching as it slowly rotated before her.

I'm a monster.

She could live with that, if she hunted those who were even worse.

…

Taylor stared into the hollow eyes of her fell creation.

I wonder if anyone ever actually drank from the skulls of their enemies, or if Hollywood made it up?

She didn't have access to Google anymore, so she couldn't even check easily.

Her chalice was as disturbing as it was powerful. She could feel the untapped potential in the gilded bone.

It had taken a few hours, to strip and prepare Cricket's skull. Another to attach it to the blood quenched metal neck of her cup, carved with spiraling runes. A long night's work to create the monstrosity that now sat on the altar before her.

It would be worth it, if it worked.

Her power was a bit vague on the details of how the cursed chalices functioned. It would open the door to the Labyrinth, a place of endless, ever-changing pathways that both existed and did not, simultaneously. A dream that wasn't a dream, a nightmare made real by blood and death.

Only those who had partaken in the ritual could unlock the seals. And only when the seals were unlocked could the Labyrinth be opened.

If she forced the Labyrinth into her Hospital, would she create an unassailable fortress, or an endless prison?

If she died in here, would she reappear at her grave outside, or become doomed to forever wander the infinite corridors with no means of escape?

Her immortality could so easily become a curse. A dream turned into a nightmare by her own hubris.

Taylor could feel the moon singing to her.

Do not fear the Old Blood.

She had come too far to second guess herself now.

Taylor set the chalice down and checked the progress of the ritual components themselves.

The most basic was an altered form of parahuman blood. She had the remainder of Sophia and Cricket's blood running through the distillation apparatus until it reached the desired consistency and purity.

She checked a sample with the spectrophotometer to ensure that the ritual blood was the correct quality, ruby light bouncing through the advanced machine.

It was perfect.

Taylor took the rest of the incoagulable ritual blood and added it to the chalice.

She placed the gruesome cup on the altar she had situated on an unused workbench, pushed up against the far wall of the workshop.

She lit three candles of varying heights on either side.

Taylor stared up at the bloodstained rune she had carved into the concrete.

A dangling, upside down rune. The symbol of a Hunter.

It mirrored the mark branded into her mind and her flesh.

Hopefully, the ritual would take her desires into account. Hopefully, she would place her workshop at the center of a Labyrinth that only she could navigate. Hopefully, the entrance would be sealed to all who hadn't partaken in unholy communion.

Hopefully.

If not, she may be lost.

Taylor stood before the altar, and began her fell ritual.

With her silver blade, she sliced open her palm and let her own blood drip into the chalice, melding with the ritual blood of her tormentor and her enemy. The palm wasn't the best place to draw blood, lots of little nerves and ligaments, but it was symbolic.

"Let the chalice reveal the tomb of the gods," Taylor intoned. Her voice echoed strangely in the eerie space.

The candles burned a ghostly white in her vision. She didn't know if it was real or not. It didn't matter.

"Let blood be the Hunter's nourishment."

Taylor picked up the chalice, the skull of her enemy, and held it high before the stained wine-dark rune.

"And let ye partake in communion."

Taylor drank, and the Hunter's Mark ignited with eldritch white light, both on the wall and on her forehead.

The blood was sweeter than she imagined. Before she knew it, the chalice was empty.

Her mind sang and screamed simultaneously as doors that were never meant to be opened were unsealed.

The world twisted around her.

Her perception of reality became strange, and unknowable. The world felt stretched, thin enough that the fabric of existence became almost translucent, like trying to peer through a frosted window.

From the shadows, the eyes stared at her.

And then reality reformed, and the world was solid, once again. The candles burned orange and the rune on the wall was red with dried blood.

The sweet taste of the ritual ichor lingered, though.

Taylor licked her lips, and felt a drop run down her chin.

She replaced the chalice and slowly backed away from the altar.

Once she got to her main workbench, she injected a normal blood vial to heal her hand.

Please let it work.

Taylor grabbed her gun and her sword, just in case.

She opened the door to the Hospital proper.

The hallways looked just as she remembered, which may or may not be a good sign.

She made her way towards the entrance.

The place felt… surreal, but then again, it always had. It was an abandoned hospital, after all.

When she made it to the front entrance, Taylor smiled.

At the threshold of the front door, a low barrier of white flame flickered in the moonlight.

Taylor reached out and let it grasp at the ends of her fingers.

She knew then, instinctively, what she had done.

The seal would not block entry. Only she could see the ghostly flame. Anyone could enter and explore the infinite corridors of her Hospital at their leisure.

But none would find her Workshop. Not without first taking communion.

They could wander forever in the now endless empty waiting rooms, the broken operating suites.

But they would never find what they were looking for, lost in the Labyrinth.

Not until she went to find them, anyway.

Taylor couldn't help it. She began to laugh.

Let them come. Let them try to take what is mine.

Her dream would be hidden away, a safe haven for her and her alone.

And Amy.

And her father.

And possibly Rachel.

Taylor looked back towards her workshop and pursed her lips.

She had to get a hold of more parahuman blood first, though.

And convince them to drink it.

Easy, right?

…

Chapter Text

Modification 5.3

Taylor rolled herself down the Boardwalk, her chair bouncing over the slightly uneven wooden planks, warped by the moisture from the bay.

She couldn't quite keep the grin off of her face, for multiple reasons.

For one, her workshop was undoubtedly secure. She would never have to deal with a night of exploding houses again. Maybe, if Dragon dropped a massive bomb on her and destroyed the entire Hospital or something, but she wasn't sure. The Labyrinth worked in strange ways.

Secondly, Amy still hadn't run away screaming, even after she revealed that she was hunting parahumans for their blood and powers. Taylor hadn't considered it likely at this point, but the risk was always there. A small part of her wanted it to happen, so Amy wouldn't get dragged down with her.

But not a very large or important part, in the grand scheme of things.

And finally, who would expect that Carpenter, Hunter, the mass murdering villain in the night, was the girl pushing herself around in a shitty old wheelchair? Every glance from a stranger, every stare that flickered away a bit too quickly, was hilarious to her. Their eyes didn't want to linger on the girl in the chair. That which was other was uncomfortable to them.

But it was a lot more comfortable for her, compared to walking around on the peg leg. She couldn't exactly wear her stake driver in public. That would definitely defeat the purpose.

She really did need to be more careful, though. She had totally forgotten her scarf last night, and the night before.

Taylor could feel herself getting more careless, in more ways than one. Was the blood affecting her judgement?

Obviously, it was. She hadn't been nearly this violent or reckless, before. The real question was whether she cared.

Maybe. Just a little.

Not enough to stop, though.

Taylor Hebert may be dead, but there were benefits to having an undercover identity. She didn't necessarily want to make it obvious to everyone that she was Hunter everywhere she went.

Meetings like this, for example.

Taylor wheeled her way towards the patio in front of Tipton's bar and grill, looking around for her contact.

A blonde girl in a purple jacket with cute freckles met her questioning gaze. The girl's eyes widened comically and her expression fell slack.

Tattletale.

Taylor pushed herself over and stopped her chair next to the stranger, locking the wheels and looking out over the bay.

"I heard you were looking for me," Taylor said casually.

Tattletale nodded.

"You're a tough person to find," the blonde said.

"I don't like very many people," Taylor replied.

Tattletale glanced down at her.

"That's… understandable. People can kind of suck, sometimes," she said.

It was quiet, except for the waves.

"You can call me Lisa, if you want."

"Anne."

"That's not your real name, is it?" Lisa raised an eyebrow.

"No. But I don't think Lisa is yours, either," Taylor said.

Tattletale wouldn't give up her real name that easily.

Lisa clicked her tongue but didn't answer.

"We all wear masks," Lisa said eventually. "Some are just harder to take off than others."

Taylor nodded. She understood that better than most.

"What do you want, Lisa?" Taylor asked. She was already tired of the games. Plus, she wanted to sleep. It had been a long night.

"My boss wants you to join our team. Rachel's and mine, I mean. The Undersiders," Lisa said.

Now it was Taylor's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"We both know that isn't going to happen," Taylor said.

Lisa nodded, eyes moving out over the sea.

Taylor chewed her lip as the gears turned in her mind.

Someone wanted her to work with the Undersiders. Their 'boss', who pulled the strings.

Someone who went to a lot of trouble to get in contact with her, but in a way she wouldn't be immediately suspicious of.

Someone who was playing games.

Her thrall said that Coil had unaffiliated capes under his employ.

"Your boss wouldn't happen to be Coil, would he?" Taylor asked.

Lisa flinched ever so slightly. She was good at controlling her reactions, but not good enough to escape Taylor's perception.

It was too big of a coincidence. The secretive gang boss had put together an elaborate plan to gather information about her, followed her father, uncovered her (other) civilian identity and set a trap to confirm his suspicions. He could manipulate probability, according to his men, at least. He wanted her to work for him. What were the odds that two shadowy parahuman organizations were trying to manipulate her?

Well, aside from her mysterious note-leaver. Couldn't forget about them.

"You're guessing. And you know I can't tell you that," Lisa said.

Taylor knew she was right, though.

"It doesn't really matter, anyway," Taylor said. "I don't have a team, and I don't want one. I'm neither a villain nor a hero."

"It's all a game, you know," Lisa replied. "The Protectorate. The gangs. They fight and they squabble, but everyone knows that they need capes for Endbringer fights. And powers need to be used, so they can't just force everyone to be friends and sing Kumbaya. Plus, they can't afford to have us turn on the unpowered people as a group, because the planet would end up glassed by nuclear fire. That's why the rules exist. To keep us in line, focused on each other, and from slaughtering each other wholesale."

That actually made a lot of sense, from a certain perspective.

"I don't care about the rules," Taylor said. "I have my own game to play, and I don't need you to do it."

"It doesn't hurt to have friends, though," Lisa replied. "You seem to like Rachel. And somehow, she seems to like you, too. You'll have to tell me how you managed that, because I can't figure her out even with my power to help."

"What is your power then?" Taylor asked.

"I'm psychic," Lisa shot her a crooked grin.

Taylor considered her shrewdly and thought as hard as she could about the unknowable nature of the Labyrinth, the eyes that followed her from the dark.

Lisa just stared back. No flashes of incomprehensible horror. No incoherent babbling or tortured screams.

"You're trying to test if I'm actually psychic right now, aren't you?" Lisa said.

"Yes," Taylor said.

"How's that going for you?" Lisa asked.

"Very well, thanks for asking," Taylor said dryly.

She wasn't psychic.

Lisa raised an eyebrow.

Taylor smiled.

"Now that we've established that, care to explain what your power actually is, or are you keeping that to yourself for now?" Taylor asked.

Lisa scowled at her. It was kind of cute. Like an angry cat without claws.

"I don't know why I should tell you, if you're so against joining the team," Lisa said. Pouted, really, even if she wouldn't admit it.

"You're the one who brought it up," Taylor pointed out. "Besides, I thought we were trying to be friends."

Lisa hummed noncommittally, still frowning. Her curiosity quickly overcame her irritation, though. "What's your power, then?"

Taylor's smile widened.

"I'm the Hunter."

Lisa blinked and took a breath to answer.

Taylor's phone rang.

So did Lisa's.

They both looked at each other and then down at their pockets.

"I have to take this," they both said at the same time.

Lisa grinned at her. A bit less sharp, and a bit less fake, than before.

Lisa flipped open the phone.

"Broccoli R," Lisa said.

Taylor answered her phone.

"Hunter," Taylor said.

She was met with heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

"-fuck. Empire, shit- Brutus-"

The call cut off.

Rachel.

Lisa's eyes widened. Taylor heard a male voice speaking quickly, but she couldn't make out the words.

"The Empire- oh, you already know," Lisa said.

"Where is she?" Taylor asked urgently.

"Dog shelter, the Trainyards," Lisa said.

"I know that, but where?" Taylor growled.

Lisa rattled off an address.

"You have a car?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah, but-" Lisa started, glancing towards the parking lot behind the building.

Taylor was already wheeling herself in that direction.

"Good, I'll drive," Taylor said as Lisa ran to catch up.

"You can't- oh, right, of course you can," Lisa muttered.

A nondescript black sedan with heavily tinted windows beeped as Lisa pulled out her keys.

"Could you be any more stereotypical?" Taylor chuckled as she threw herself into the driver's seat.

She left the chair behind. She could come back for it later.

Lisa got in the passenger seat.

"You know, it's polite to let-"

"Don't care," Taylor cut her off.

Victor was very good at driving.

Lisa didn't seem to appreciate it.

"Holy shit, fuck, fuck-"

"Calm down. I'm not going to actually hit anything," Taylor grumbled as she floored it down the narrow street and skidded around a corner.

Lisa screamed as they came very close to getting smeared by a semi-truck.

"Horseshoes and hand grenades," Taylor muttered.

Lisa obviously didn't agree, but that didn't matter right now.

"If you have a spare costume with you, you should probably change," Taylor said casually. They weaved through a red light and came out the other side at sixty miles per hour.

Taylor's enhanced perception caught the barest hint of crimson in the rearview mirror, but it was gone as soon as she looked back.

"As if I could change right- slow down, we're going to die," Lisa yelled.

So dramatic.

"Everyone dies eventually," Taylor said. "Some of us just go sooner than others."

"You're suicidal. Of course you are. Why am I not surprised? It's always-"

Lisa cut off as Taylor drifted around a corner. The momentum threw her yammering passenger against the window.

They pulled up outside the Hospital in record time.

Taylor wasn't exactly worried about Lisa or Coil learning about its location, now that it was wrapped in the Labyrinth's embrace.

"Put on your damn costume. I'll meet you there," Taylor called in Lisa's general direction before leaping from the driver's seat.

Hopping through the corridors wasn't exactly dignified, but there was no one around to see her.

Taylor shoved her leg into the stake driver and slammed the lock home.

She grabbed her repeating pistol and holstered it at her waist. Her quick injector and a few special cocktails went in her shoulder holster. She slung a leather bandolier of quicksilver bullets and blood vials over her chest and pulled on her coat.

The Kirkhammer went on her back, and her silver sword at her hip.

She tied her hair back, wrapped her scarf around her face, and put on her hat.

The Empire thought they could go after Rachel, since they couldn't find her.

She would make them pay in blood. With interest.

Fucking Nazis.

Taylor raced back through the broken hallways.

Hang in there, Bitch.

She reached the door and leapt off her good leg.

As she arched through the air, Taylor primed the stake driver.

I'm on my way.

The roof of one of the many destitute cars on the muddy lawn rushed towards her.

Something itched in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. She had more important things to worry about.

Bringing her left leg down with all her strength, Taylor released the coiled piston.

The blunt steel rod left a crater in the car roof and Taylor rocketed over the crumbling buildings with violent velocity.

Let the hunt… begin.

…

Luckily, the lightshow cast by Purity's bombing runs was easy to track.

Taylor slipped between the buildings as she approached, doing her best to stay out of sight of the Empire's flying laser artillery.

Several buildings lay in ruins, not from slow decay but from violent destruction.

Taylor carefully made her way up the fire escape and onto the roof of one of the taller abandoned apartment buildings. The main conflict was still a hundred yards away, but she kept low and pressed against the brick, just in case.

It looked like at least one of the other Undersiders had beaten her here. Patches of strange, pitch-black fog pockmarked the battlefield.

Overhead, the shining white star that was Purity flew in wide arcs, launching twisting blasts of searing light. Her burning rays cut away great swaths of rubble and debris with every shot. She circled and dove from hundreds of feet in the air in varying directions, likely trying to get a good angle on her target.

On the broken street, Bitch's dogs ran wild and attacked anyone they could get their teeth or prehensile tails into. Taylor couldn't see her friend anywhere, but that wasn't surprising. The toppled buildings and clouds of darkness made it difficult to see anything at all, even with her enhanced perception.

She could see a familiar monster, though, amid the chaos.

Hookwolf was in rare form, the metal monstrosity alive and ferocious. He twisted and churned with bladed death, leaping from building to building and throwing himself against Bitch's beasts with reckless abandon.

At the other end of the street, another shirtless man who could only be Stormtiger worked to remove the clouds of darkness with wide gusts of razor-sharp wind. He stood on top of a floating platform that looked like it had been ripped from the street itself, hovering twenty feet off the ground.

Next to Stormtiger, a hooded figure's black and red robe flapped in the unnatural breeze.

Rune.

That explained the floating platform and the flying bits of rubble.

Taylor put her back against the cold brick of the roof access doorway.

She needed to level the playing field, and fast. Even if Lisa arrived, there wouldn't be much she could do against so many heavy hitters.

Purity was the biggest immediate threat. She was fast enough to outrun Taylor, and could attack from a distance. Taylor knew that she couldn't let herself get tangled up with Hookwolf while being pelted by massive energy blasts.

The flying artillery needed to go before her enemies realized she was here. So far, it didn't seem like any of them had noticed her approach, but all it took was one lucky circle from Purity and her cover would be blown.

Taylor primed her stake driver and drew her pistol. The repeating pistol could fire both barrels simultaneously or separately, and Taylor switched it to double. She would only get one shot at this, and things would go downhill very quickly if she missed.

Purity could probably obliterate her body with one good shot. Taylor would come back, but Rachel wouldn't. Rachel's dogs wouldn't. She couldn't afford to fuck this up.

Purity swooped back down for another strafing run.

Taylor gripped her pistol in both hands and exhaled.

I won't miss.

The stake driver reduced the roof beneath her to rubble, and Taylor rocketed into the sky.

Purity twisted in surprise, raising her glowing hands at the new threat suddenly flying to meet her.

Taylor leveled her gun and sighted her target, leading the brilliant comet ever so slightly.

Power gathered in the Nazi Blaster's palms.

Taylor fired both barrels of her repeating pistol with a cacophonous BOOM, and Purity's head exploded.

One down. Three to go.

Taylor landed hard in the middle of the chaotic street, Purity's headless corpse plummeting to the ground beside her in a shower of crimson rain. The corpse hit the pavement with a sickening splat. It didn't bounce like they did in the movies.

Pain flared in her leg on impact and Taylor felt something tear around the prosthesis, but she ignored it. The regeneration solution would do its job, and the pain would fuel her fury.

Everything was still, for a long moment.

Taylor pulled a ragged breath into her lungs and called to the bloodlust that always simmered beneath the surface, the desire for violence that sang within her.

How dare these monsters presume to hunt her friend?

How dare they claim to be righteous while they poisoned the world?

How dare they think themselves civilized, when they were nothing but beasts?

Her blood pounded in her ears, and Taylor let the rage build until the need to rip and tear overwhelmed her, and she screamed.

"HOOKWOLF!"

The street shuddered and cracked with the force of her roar, the rubble and smoke thrown back in a wide circle around her as she primed the stake driver and brandished her Kirkhammer. Bitch's dogs howled with her in a harmony of savagery.

The steel beast landed across from her, skidding to a stop and carving deep gashes into the pavement.

Down the street, Taylor caught a flurry of movement as Rune almost stumbled off her platform. Stormtiger wasn't so lucky, and she saw him fall writhing to the concrete twenty feet below, clawing at his ears.

Some kind of enhanced senses?

Unfortunate, for him.

Hookwolf let out a horrible, metallic laugh. Like silverware going through a garburator.

"Badass leg, little Hunter," the monster coughed. "I'm impressed."

Taylor's bloodthirsty smile widened behind her scarf.

"If you liked the taste so much the first time, why don't you try for another bite?" Taylor growled through her teeth.

She could have sworn the beast smiled.

"Oh, I will, killer. Let's fucking GO!" Her enemy roared.

Taylor slammed the stake driver into the ground and launched herself forward at the same moment that he leapt for her.

Hookwolf was fast, and strong, but her senses and dexterity were better attuned than his. Especially with Victor's combat skills.

Taylor used the momentum generated by the torqued spring to twist sideways as she flew, bringing the Kirkhammer around in a wide, horizontal arc. The consecrated stone hammerhead smashed through the monster's outstretched claws and straight into his metal face.

Pieces of Hookwolf scattered across the street as the beast himself was thrown clear into one of the surrounding buildings.

Taylor let her inertia pull her around and yanked the other lever on her stake driver, locking the bladed spike on the bottom into place.

She landed hard and drove the steel prosthesis into the concrete, wrenching herself to a stop in a furrow of broken road.

The movement yanked at the metal spikes embedded into her flesh, but the constant regeneration solution would fix the damage shortly. In the meantime, blood dripped through the mechanisms and splashed onto the ruined street.

Taylor primed the weapon again with a deeply satisfying thunk.

She ducked automatically to avoid the piece of speeding rubble that would have taken her head off.

Fucking Rune.

Taylor would need to find a moment to deal with her soon. The floating platform was currently out of range of her pistol, and she still needed to reload anyway.

Hookwolf threw himself towards her from the depths of the crumbling building, his body reforming and expanding in a wide net of metal to ensure that she couldn't escape him.

She didn't intend to, this time.

Taylor triggered the stake driver early and let the bladed spike sink deep into the earth beneath her.

It would limit her mobility, but Hookwolf was expecting her to dodge. He had spread his metal thin to catch her when she tried.

Instead, she planted her foot with her prosthesis anchored to the pavement and hurled her Kirkhammer at him as hard as her considerable strength would allow.

Without the extra leverage, she could easily have thrown herself instead of her hammer, but she was unmovable in her current state. As it was, the rotating metal wrecking ball struck her enemy's center mass with the literal and conceptual force of a freight train.

Hookwolf's churning web of metal blades folded inwards on itself and he was driven back into the building again, this time with enough force to smash through several walls.

The building also collapsed on top of him. That was convenient.

Taylor pulled the lever and re-primed her stake driver, wrenching it free of the concrete.

She dodged another rock.

That was getting really annoying.

She reloaded her pistol.

Three more missiles flew at her from different angles, so Taylor quickstepped to the left to avoid them. Luckily, her prosthesis came with her into her shadow state. She hadn't even thought about that potential pitfall until now. It would have been embarrassing to quickstep and then fall over, missing a foot.

The building began to shift, but she still had time.

Taylor pulled another lever and switched back to her blunt piston, turning to survey her targets.

Stormtiger was pulling himself upright, looking battered but not beaten.

Rune still floated on her platform, charging more rocks to throw at her.

Taylor swayed sideways to dodge another missile.

It was like they weren't really used to their enemies shooting back.

Not that she was complaining.

Taylor launched herself down the street in another explosion of cracked pavement, rapidly closing the distance between her and her quarry.

Her mechanically empowered leap took her high enough to look down on Rune's platform.

As she flew, Taylor roared again, asserting her raging desire to see the Nazi scum bleeding at her feet.

Stormtiger stumbled, but not nearly as badly as the first time. Maybe he was learning.

Rune was also disoriented, the rubble quivering under her as she struggled to maintain her focus under the auditory assault.

Taylor switched her pistol to fire consecutively rather than simultaneously.

Two enemies. Two consecrated quicksilver bullets.

It was almost too easy.

Taylor leveled her pistol, and fired.

Rune's platform tumbled from the sky as a fist sized hole appeared in her chest, splattering the flying concrete crimson.

Two down, two to go.

Her momentum began to flag and she fell towards the rubble, coincidentally bringing herself closer to Stormtiger's disoriented form.

Taylor pulled the trigger again, and his head followed Purity's into non-existence.

Three down, one to go.

She landed with several running steps to bleed off her inertia before turning back towards her last enemy. She also reloaded her pistol and primed her stake driver.

Hookwolf managed to drag himself out of the wreckage, but he was looking quite a bit worse for wear. His fluctuating metal was badly bent, and his wolf form appeared misshapen and twisted.

Taylor stared down the street at him. She saw him look past her to the bodies of his comrades.

A car pulled up behind her. Tattletale had finally arrived. Better late than never.

Her enemy's sunken eyes met hers, and she couldn't figure out if it was hatred, fury, or admiration that burned within them. Maybe all three.

Taylor felt the pavement quake as Bitch's remaining dogs padded forward to stand at her shoulders. There were only two of them. She needed to end this and find Rachel, quickly.

It pained her to give him the option, but she didn't have time to go find her hammer while actively fighting, and the Protectorate were probably on their way. Even this far out, they couldn't ignore a massive brawl like this.

Taylor yelled to him, her voice echoing unnaturally in the broken street.

"Run, or die, Hookwolf," she roared, stepping towards him and slamming her stake driver into the ground with a heavy clang. "Run back to Kaiser, and tell him that if he goes after my people again, I'll mount his head in my workshop next to Cricket's."

That seemed to give the monster pause, and Taylor laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound.

"You didn't think they were still alive, did you?" She shouted through her mad cackles. "That's cute. I finished butchering Victor weeks ago, and I drank the last of Cricket's blood out of her empty skull last night. Run, Hookwolf, and tell Kaiser to fuck off, or he'll be next."

Hookwolf ran away.

Taylor heard uneven footsteps approaching, and turned to see Rachel's ragged form dragging her way over. She looked pretty torn up, and it didn't help that she was carrying the limp, bloodstained body of the Rottweiler that Taylor saw with her on Sunday night.

Behind her, a tall man in road leathers and a motorcycle helmet stood stiffly. She couldn't see his expression under the dark helmet.

From beside the car, Lisa was staring at Taylor with open-mouthed horror.

Huh.

Whatever Tattletale's power was, she knew that Taylor hadn't lied. Maybe that would keep Coil from going after her father.

Taylor looked away from the blonde's stunned terror. She still had a strange feeling of malcontent, like she was being watched.

First things first, though. Rachel was in rough shape.

"You look like shit," Taylor said.

"Fucking Nazis," Rachel growled.

"You want me to heal you?" Taylor asked.

Rachel stared at her for a long moment before finally nodding.

"Brutus first," she said.

Taylor strode over and slammed a blood vial into the dying dog's flank.

He whined, but the gaping wounds and broken bones healed under his matted fur.

Taylor reloaded another vial and healed Bitch, too.

She looked up at the dark, unknown man. Probably one of the other Undersiders. She didn't know all of their names. He looked tense. She couldn't imagine why.

"You hurt?" Taylor asked.

There was a long beat of silence aside from the wind blowing in the ruined street.

"You killed them," he said, his voice distorted by the mask and his black smoke.

"They tried to hurt Rachel. They asked for it," Taylor shrugged.

"The rules are there for a reason-" he started, but Taylor cut him off. It was late, and she was tired.

Well, early, for normal people. Whatever.

"I don't give a fuck about the rules. I'm the Hunter, and these monsters didn't deserve my restraint," Taylor growled.

He just stared at her.

Taylor shot him and Lisa a look, then stomped down the street to retrieve her Kirkhammer and grab Purity's body.

Hopefully the Blaster hadn't leaked too much. Taylor really wanted to experiment with her powers.

Digging through the collapsed building was annoying, but Taylor found her wayward hammer fairly easily.

As she dragged the corpse back towards the ragtag group, she caught a low argument between Lisa and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Stressed.

"She's fucking crazy, Tats-"

"You think I don't know that? But the boss wants-"

"I don't care what he wants, I'm not inviting her over to drink our blood while we sleep-"

"She doesn't… okay, she does, but not like that-"

"No. Veto. Fuck that-"

Taylor stopped listening. It didn't matter, anyway.

She walked over and threw Purity into the trunk of Lisa's car.

"Wait, what do you think you're-" Lisa yelled.

Taylor glared at her.

"I don't feel like carrying all three of them back to the Hospital on my shoulders, so you've been volunteered as the delivery service. Congratulations. I'll even let you drive this time, if you ask nicely," Taylor said, jagged onyx burning into bottle green.

"I don't think-" Lisa started, floundering and biting her lip.

"Wasn't asking," Taylor cut her off.

Bitch snorted. At least someone appreciated her.

Taylor stuffed Stormtiger's body beside Purity's.

She looked at the car critically.

There wasn't room in the trunk for Rune, so Taylor tossed her in the back seat along with her Kirkhammer. The car sagged on its suspension.

Lisa whined incoherently as the dripping blood from the ragged hole in Rune's chest got on the seats.

Taylor didn't care.

Rachel finished checking her dog's healed injuries and stood, walking over to her.

"Thanks," Rachel said.

Taylor nodded.

"We're square, now," Taylor said.

Rachel shook her head.

"Would'a killed Brutus and the others. I owe you," she said.

Taylor considered that. She still liked the idea of hunting hounds. Or guard dogs.

"I'll let you know, next time I go hunting," Taylor said.

Rachel nodded.

On a whim, Taylor held out her hand, and Rachel clasped it tightly for a moment.

Taylor turned back to the other two Undersiders. She couldn't see Biker-Guy's face, but Lisa looked concerned. And a bit terrified.

Good.

"You want to drive or not, Tattletale?" Taylor asked, grinning at the conflicted expression under Lisa's mask.

"Fine," Lisa eventually snapped. "But don't break the floor with that… thing."

Taylor looked down at the stake driver and then the passenger seat of Lisa's car.

With a shrug, Taylor reached down and released the lock, pulling her leg free from the prosthesis.

"Oh, God…"

Lisa wasn't accustomed to Taylor's brand of tinkering. She'd learn to get over a bit of blood and ragged skin eventually.

Apparently, the regeneration solution wasn't quite up to the task of holding her stump together under that much pressure. Taylor would have to fix that later.

In the meantime, she injected herself with a spare regeneration vial. She had time to let the torn flesh heal during the drive home, and she didn't actually want any more scars on her leg. It might interfere with the prosthesis junction.

She heard a distinctive engine roar approaching.

Time to go.

Taylor grabbed the detached stake driver and flopped into the passenger seat. The blood from her leg splattered the floor.

Lisa made another pitiful whining noise. It was pretty funny.

Taylor closed the door behind her and Lisa got in the driver's seat.

The car pulled away, bouncing over the cracked road.

"So…" Lisa started slowly.

"No talking," Taylor said. She was tired, and her leg hurt.

Lisa didn't say a word until they pulled up at the Hospital.

Her unwilling driver took a deep breath when they arrived.

"Thank you," Lisa said, even though Taylor could tell that the words irked her. "For saving Rachel. We may not always get along, but she's my teammate. Our teammate, if you change your mind."

"I didn't do it for you," Taylor said.

"I know. But she's… I'm glad she found someone like you, that's all," Lisa said quietly.

Taylor glanced over at her.

"I wasn't lying, about the friends thing," Lisa continued. "Everyone needs friends, in a city like this. In a world like this."

Taylor nodded slowly.

"I'll think about it," Taylor's eyes met hers. "In the meantime, tell Coil to stay away from me and mine, or I'll make sure to keep him alive and alert while I peel the flesh from his bones."

Lisa flinched and paled.

"Right. If I… run into him, I'll pass along the message," she said.

"Good."

They stared at each other for another long moment.

"See you around, Lisa," Taylor said.

"Okay, Anne," Lisa replied.

Taylor opened the passenger door, reattached her stake driver, grabbed the dead bodies, and headed back into her Hospital, her Labyrinth, her Workshop.

And Lisa drove away.

…

Amy's phone rang in the middle of class.

Luckily, she always kept her phone on silent. She couldn't remember the last time it wasn't on silent. What kind of psychopath actually used a ringtone?

She was one of the few students at Arcadia whose phone was capable of functioning under the faraday cage, for obvious reasons. The PRT always needed to be able to reach their miracle healer, just in case.

Amy decided to risk a glance down to see who it was.

Why the fuck is Taylor calling me at 10:00 in the morning?

This didn't bode well. Hopefully Taylor wasn't lost or whatever esoteric shit she had rambled about.

It was probably just another rampage. She had promised to let Amy know the next time that happened. Nothing to worry about.

Amy excused herself to the bathroom and ran to lock the stall door.

She missed the original call, but called back quickly.

"Hey, Amy," Taylor's voice sounded tired but generally pleased.

"Why are you calling me at school?" Amy whispered.

"Shit, sorry, I forgot you still go to school. Well, you told me to tell you the next time I killed a bunch of people," Taylor yawned.

Amy closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. How had her life reached this point?

"What did you do now?"

"I killed Purity, Stormtiger, and Rune," Taylor said.

Holy shit.

"That's… okay, that's insane, but I appreciate the heads up, I guess? Are you okay?" Amy asked.

"Yeah, all good. No misplaced limbs this time. No bullet wounds, either. I kinda kicked their ass, actually. Hookwolf made a run for it."

Hookwolf was there too? Again?

"Okay. I'm glad you're alright. Can you tell me more tonight?" Amy whispered.

"Sure. I'm probably gonna go to sleep now, though. It's been a long night," Taylor said.

Right. Taylor was functionally nocturnal.

Just another weird thing in her messed up life.

Amy couldn't help but smile.

"Did your thing work, then?"

"Yeah, yeah it did. The Workshop is secure. I'll… tell you more, tonight."

Something about that made Amy's heart beat faster.

Taylor had a safe haven. Somewhere Carol couldn't find her, somewhere-

Don't think about it.

"Okay," Amy said softly.

"I think I'm going to pass out now. That lab table is looking more and more comfortable by the second," Taylor said.

"Sleep well," Amy grinned.

"Have a good day, Amy," Taylor replied.

Amy hung up the phone and took several long breaths before she left the stall.

It was weird, and it was insane, but the world seemed a bit more colorful than it had before. She could live with this unstable house of cards, as long as it was allowed to remain upright.

And hopefully, if… when… it all came crashing down, Taylor would be there to catch her.

…

Chapter Text

Interlude 5

Robin Sawyer, known to most as the Protectorate hero Velocity, hummed to himself as he strolled casually down the street.

The life of a Mover was a lonely one. Well, his specific brand of Breaker/Mover, at any rate.

Robin's power sped his perception of the world while also removing him from it, in some esoteric way. It was a curse as much as it was a blessing.

He could jog on water. He could walk across the city in less actual time than it took Colin to make it half as far on his fancy bike.

He also couldn't touch anything, at this speed. His power kept him safe from the hazards of moving like this, but it also protected the world from him in turn.

Robin idly kicked a piece of crumbled brick as he passed. It did exactly jack-squat.

Still, there were benefits to existing like this. Even at a relaxed walk, he could barely be seen, unless he stopped for a few seconds. Around him, the world moved in slow motion, cars and people reduced to a silent movie with only one spectator in the audience.

Hence, the loneliness. And the boredom.

He couldn't even listen to music on his patrols. Electronics didn't play nicely with his Breaker state, and the sound came out all distorted and broken. He technically had a radio in his helmet, but it was set to automatically power off when he started moving out of necessity. Colin was still trying different methods, but every prototype so far had been fried by the incongruence between his power and the surrounding world.

He didn't mind the quiet, though, in general. It was as peaceful as it was boring.

Three intersections ahead, a black sedan with tinted windows ran the red light at reckless speed, even if they still moved at a crawl to him.

Car chases had the potential to get very bad, very quickly. He decided to take a moment to check in with the console.

The world sped up around him and the sounds of the city exploded in a raucous cacophony compared to the peaceful silence of his Breaker state.

"Velocity to Console. Just saw a high speed vehicle heading north on Market. Please advise," he spoke into the coms.

"Copy that, V. Tag along but stay back a ways, I'll have an update in thirty," Ethan's chipper voice replied. "Don't spend too long in dreamland and miss it."

Assault was stuck on console duty as punishment for… something. Robin had lost track of his transgressions. Still, he appreciated the upbeat attitude.

"Roger roger," Robin said, turning off the radio and returning to 'dreamland'.

He jogged ahead and around the corner. At least his powers helped keep him in shape.

He often wondered if they were killing him at the same time, though. Every day had the potential to be a week or more, from his point of view. His powers seemed to handle the heavy lifting, keeping him from having to sleep and eat constantly, but still… would he find himself going grey in a few years?

Probably better not to think about it.

It didn't take long to catch up to the speeding car, even though they were doing a stellar job at maintaining their velocity through the morning traffic. Probably a professional, then.

As instructed, he hung back a few blocks and returned to a walk to match their speed. He didn't want to tire himself out unnecessarily.

Keeping track of real time was difficult like this, but he had a lot of practice. He stepped into an alley, just in case, and returned to tangibility.

"Velocity to Console. What are we looking at?"

"We just got a report of a disturbance in the Trainyards, could be cape activity. The car might be headed that way. Continue to follow and provide reconnaissance. Low profile, you know the drill," Ethan said.

At least Assault could be serious when it was warranted.

"On it. I'll check in when I can. Velocity out," Robin said.

He continued his casual stroll through the silence, keeping the black car at the edge of his vision.

Sure enough, they drove into the abandoned Trainyards at a breakneck pace. Someone was definitely in a hurry.

They skidded to a stop in front of… was that an abandoned hospital?

Not exactly encouraging.

Robin hid behind a building and peaked out to monitor his target.

A skinny girl with long black hair jumped out of the driver's seat. She didn't look like she was old enough to be driving, especially like that. A parahuman? Or just a really good driver?

Then she pushed off the ground and flew ten feet in the air and thirty feet forward, and his question was answered.

It also seemed like she only had one foot? In this slowed reality, she moved like she was swimming through molasses. Even from this distance, Robin could see that she was missing her left foot.

Strange.

It definitely didn't slow her down much, though. She landed on her good leg and jumped again, the force carrying her into the desolate building.

Back in the car, he saw the passenger grab something out of the back and slide over into the driver's seat before they slowly pulled away.

Well, slowly to him. They were probably moving as fast as they could.

Robin stepped fully into the alley and returned to the normal timestream. He pressed one of the buttons on his visor to tag his position before reactivating his radio.

"Velocity to Console. The driver exited the vehicle and entered the old hospital at my current location. Driver is a parahuman, Mover or Brute. The car was driven away by a second passenger. Please advise."

"Roger that, V. Stick with the rogue cape, and see if they exit the building. We'll get backup ready to go just in case."

"Gotcha. I'll keep you posted," Robin said.

Reentering his Breaker state to glance at the hospital, Robin almost did a double take.

From the front door of the building, Carpenter appeared.

The pieces clicked together in his mind. The supernaturally skilled driving. The enhanced leap.

Carpenter, the murderer who had killed forty-seven people with some combination of saw, gun, sword, and hammer was… a kid?

Well… shit.

He watched carefully as she flew through the air, coat and scarf flowing in the morning breeze behind her.

That's a big hammer.

It roughly matched the indent on the busted warehouse wall from Saturday night, though. If it could do that to sheet metal, he didn't want to imagine what it could do to a person.

What it had done to a person. Multiple, from what he saw of the reports.

She also had a sword strapped to her side. Crazy.

And, where her previously absent foot had been…

What the hell is that?

She reached down and yanked back on one of the levers, the metal post in the middle of the device sliding back and clicking into place.

Was that…

Surely not.

Carpenter brought the contraption down on the roof of an abandoned car, and the cylinder slammed downwards to throw her up and over the surrounding buildings.

She had replaced one of her feet… with a pogo stick from hell.

That was a new one.

Robin stepped back again and took a couple breaths before he radioed it in.

Sound returned to the world.

"Velocity to Console. Driver has exited the building. It's Carpenter. Repeat, I have eyes on Carpenter."

There was a long moment of silence rather than an immediate reply. Not unexpected.

"Velocity," Armsmaster's voice was grave compared to Ethan's. "Do not engage. Follow at the maximum distance possible while retaining visual. Carpenter has an unknown Combat Thinker ability that may allow for enhanced senses; do not stop moving and do not exit your Breaker state within her line of sight. Militia and I are leaving PHQ now. ETA twelve minutes. Ping your location every thirty seconds if possible."

"Yes, sir," Robin confirmed before moving again.

The fast moving villain… vigilante? Was already out of sight by the time he rounded the corner, but he knew which direction she went. It only took a few minutes of jogging to catch up, keeping a wary eye on the dark figure bouncing over the ruined buildings. As instructed, he stayed far back and hid behind the crumbling structures whenever possible.

It soon became extremely apparent where she was heading. He could see the shining beacon that was Purity in the distance.

He stopped in an alcove to report again.

"Velocity to Console. I have eyes on Purity. Carpenter is after the E88 again," Robin said, glancing up from his current cover to see…

A gunshot echoed over the buildings and Purity fell from the sky.

"Update: Carpenter shot Purity. Repeat, Purity is down-"

An ungodly roar echoed through the air and his mic screeched briefly in his ear before shorting out.

"HOOKWOLF!"

The voice didn't sound human.

For a moment, Robin was frozen with instinctual terror. Some deeply ingrained part of him screamed that he was being hunted by a predator he had no hope of escaping.

What the hell was that?

It could only be Carpenter, but…

They hadn't included that bit in the briefing.

Robin sped up again and carefully made his way forward. He even climbed a fire escape the old fashioned way so that he could crouch on a rooftop a few hundred yards away from the action.

They really should have chosen a darker color for his costume. Even hiding like this, he didn't like being bright red when he was trying to keep a low profile.

Just in case, Robin moved to the left and back again every couple seconds. The rapid vibration helped to keep him invisible to normal perception. He kept his eyes focused on the battle far down the road.

Damn.

Carpenter took Hookwolf apart.

She can teleport?

Then she killed Rune.

And Stormtiger.

Jesus.

Were those Hellhound's dogs?

He could see Carpenter yelling at Hookwolf in slow motion, but he didn't dare return to tangibility to listen. He didn't want to end up on the receiving end of one of her bullets, and he had no idea what her range was. She had taken Purity out of the sky, after all.

Hookwolf turned and ran away.

Robin didn't know if that had ever happened before. Probably, but not without a fully coordinated Protectorate response.

He stayed to watch and see if he could gather any useful information, even if he didn't dare move any closer.

Carpenter walked over and huddled next to Hellhound, Grue, and one of the dogs, but he couldn't see what they were up to. Soon, she stood and headed back towards the wreckage to retrieve her hammer.

Carpenter was…

Was she stealing the bodies?

That was…

Not good. Extremely not good. Possibly Bonesaw or Nilbog levels of not good.

It might also explain the unmatched blood samples present at her last two massacres. If she was taking the parahuman corpses for Tinkering, or whatever she was doing with them…

Shit.

And the Undersiders were helping her?

He saw her clasp hands with Hellhound, and then get into the car with Tattletale.

When Tattletale and Carpenter finally pulled away, Robin ran another block down the street in the opposite direction and risked returning to normal speed.

"Velocity to Console. Carpenter killed Stormtiger and Rune, ran Hookwolf off, and took the bodies with her. She and the Undersiders are working together."

He was greeted with only static.

Oh. Right. Whatever Carpenter had done knocked out his mic.

Robin sighed. He was going to have to fill out a form for that. And everything else that he saw today.

So much paperwork.

At least he could hear Colin's bike getting closer, now that sound could reach him again.

Should he follow Carpenter, or stay here and wait for Colin and Hannah?

There was going to be a lot of cleanup, and he couldn't run off without a way to communicate. He decided to stay and debrief.

Also, being alone anywhere near Carpenter was terrifying.

Besides, they already knew where Carpenter's base of operations was, now. He could foresee lots of meetings in his future.

…

Public speaking wasn't necessarily his favorite part of running the largest gang in the city, but it was certainly a profound experience.

"You, each and every one of you, have the rare opportunity to be part of something greater than yourselves. Together, we provide one and other the means to rise, to become more than the sum of our parts."

People were easy to manipulate, when one found the right words and tone. Most people barely thought about anything for more than a few seconds, and making them feel the right things was more important than what was actually said. Invoke the correct emotional response, and people would fit the message into their previously established worldview.

"Together, we can cut away the poison that has infected our society. We are honor-bound to do so, to create a better and brighter tomorrow."

They were the same people who heard 'part of a balanced breakfast' in a commercial and assumed that meant the advertised product was healthy.

"Join us, in this righteous mission. Do your duty to both yourself and your kin, and do not shy away from what must be done."

Every army needed soldiers, and soldiers who were devoted to an idea were the most zealous and enthusiastic. Give them a target to blame for their hardship, the root of their suffering, the cause of their malcontent, and they could be aimed more effectively than any weapon.

"We will not falter in our pursuit of improvement. We are strong enough, brave enough, to stand up for what is just, even in the face of such adamant and evil adversity."

Max Anders stood clad in his shining steel armor, blades curling high behind him as he addressed his Empire.

Here, he was not just another member of high society. He wasn't just another faceless man in an expensive suit.

Here, he was Kaiser.

And his Empire roared their approval.

At his back, his Valkyries stood tall and armored, the perfect complement to his towering forest of steel.

To his left, Krieg was dark and menacing in his Nazi apparel. The necessary evil, to burn away the undesirable.

To his right, Crusader and his ghosts were resplendent in shining armor. The righteous hero; the counterpoint to the less palatable parts of their crusade.

Unfortunately, Othala wasn't present. The continued absence of Victor was wearing on her, and she refused to leave their safehouse. At least she would still heal anyone who needed it, but the loss of enthusiasm was concerning.

"Do not allow yourself to become complacent. Do not fall for the lie. Do not let others dictate the direction of our people. Only we can be the change that must occur. Only you can make that decision for yourself."

The crowd in the wide warehouse cheered. Max felt his phone vibrate in his pocket under the armor, but he ignored it.

"Go forth, soldiers of the Empire Eighty-Eight, and do not go quietly!"

The applause was music to his ears.

He and the rest of the capes stayed on the stage while the audience filed out. He would meet with his more competent and influential unpowered members shortly to ensure that the enthusiasm built during the rally would not be squandered.

Soon, Brad and Kayden would bring in the irritating Undersider, and he could begin his work to curtail Hunter. The loss of Victor and Cricket may not be seriously debilitating, but it was an insult that could not be tolerated.

Krieg hung up the phone and met him as he made his way off the stage. He leaned close to speak quietly into Max's ear.

"Hookwolf and Purity failed. Hunter intervened and… Max, Kayden is dead."

What?

Surely not.

Purity…

His Kayden…

It felt like a knife to the gut, twisting and tearing, but Max remained stoic. He was the leader for a reason.

"Are you certain?" He asked.

"Brad was, at least. Rune and Stormtiger are gone, too. And, according to Hunter, she already killed Victor and Cricket."

Shit.

This was… a serious blow. To both the Empire and his credibility.

Not to mention his emotional state. Max could feel himself becoming more compromised by the second as his iron grip on the helpless rage and encroaching grief slipped.

For all that he manipulated her out of necessity, he loved Kayden, in his own way. And that psychopath took her from him.

From Aster.

Hunter thought that she could hunt them like animals. Like beasts. Max's blood boiled at the idea.

He couldn't exactly call for help, though. If anyone found out how many of the Empire's roster had been cut down, they would eat him alive.

Calling a moot at Somer's Rock would be no use. Coil was a backstabbing snake, and Lung wouldn't give a single shit about a vigilante hunting the Empire. The less said about the Merchants, the better, and the Undersiders were working with Hunter. Faultline would have no vested interest in helping him, especially while Hunter gave no indication of gunning for her crew.

He couldn't even request assistance from Gesellschaft without admitting how weak his forces had become.

Five of his capes, some of his strongest, butchered in less than two weeks. It was abhorrent.

"She… Brad said she had a message for you," James continued.

Max raised his eyebrows behind his helmet.

"For me?" He asked warily.

"She said that if you go after her people again, she would 'mount your head in her workshop next to Cricket's'," James said.

That little…

How dare she presume to threaten him?

"That won't be a problem," Kaiser said coldly.

"Sir?" Krieg asked.

"Find her. No more games. We'll rip out this insidious, venomous weed by the root, and burn her for everyone to see," Max hissed.

"Yes, Kaiser."

…

Lisa flopped onto the recliner in the Undersiders' lair and groaned in frustration.

It was going to be impossible to get those stains out of the car. And the smell. She would probably just burn it and claim the insurance money or something. Blame it on the gangs.

Most effective methods of car insurance fraud include-

Not now, power.

"Wow, you look like shit. What'd I miss? Also, you're in my chair," Alec said, returning from the kitchen with a plate of pizza rolls.

"Haven't you looked at your phone? Rachel's shelter got attacked by the Empire," Lisa said, closing her eyes and making no move to get out of 'his' chair.

Phone located on bedside table. Power induced apathy affecting necessary motivation required for retrieval.

"There's no pause button in ranked mode."

Lisa sighed.

"It wouldn't have made a difference anyway. Hunter dropped in and killed them all before I even got there. Well, not all of them. She let Hookwolf live because she didn't feel like talking to the Protectorate."

"Damn," Alec said with a low whistle. "This is who we're supposed to be recruiting? Not that I mind a little bit of bloody murder to spice up the group dynamic, but it's a wee bit high key for my tastes."

Has no moral objections to murder. Has killed before. Prefers not to kill for practical purposes.

"Brian vetoed the recruitment anyway. Not that Hunter would have accepted. She shot me down from the get-go. Was kind of a bitch about it, too," Lisa complained.

"You're just mad that she didn't fall for your charms," Alec grinned.

Lisa opened her eyes to glare at him.

"No, I'm mad because she refused to even consider joining, then she stole my car and got blood on my seats. And in my trunk," Lisa said.

"That's rough, buddy."

"I hate you so much."

"I'm wounded, truly," Alec deadpanned. "I don't think I'll ever emotionally recover from the sting of your disapproval."

Lisa's phone rang.

Of course, Coil decided to call now. She wondered how much random bullshit he magically already knew this time.

Lisa flipped Alec off in lieu of a response and went to her bedroom to take the call.

"Sup, Boss?" She chirped with false bravado.

"Tattletale. I hear you had an exciting morning," Coil said.

"Yep. You want the good news or the bad news?" Lisa asked.

"I would be surprised if you have even worse news, considering the fact that the Protectorate saw your entire little escapade, and now believes you are partnered with Carpenter."

Lisa's blood ran cold. How had she missed that?

"Velocity caught wind of your little morning drive through downtown and tagged along," Coil said, as if answering her question.

She changed tactics on the fly.

"All part of the recruitment effort. Shared conflict creates instinctual bonds. I've already moved us from being 'strangers' to being 'comrades-in-arms'," Lisa said.

Coil hummed doubtfully, the bastard.

Does not expect recruitment to succeed. Recruitment is a cover for gathering information. Wishes to blackmail Hunter. Believes this is the only method that will ensure her compliance. Does not currently possess the necessary blackmail material.

That made sense. Hunter would never work for Coil willingly, and he had to know that.

"See that you continue, then. Just don't let Carpenter drag you down to her level. You're supposed to be drawing her in, not the other way around."

As if she ever had any chance of that.

"Sure, sure. I'll make sure to resist the temptation to go on any murderous rampages," Lisa snapped.

"See that you do."

He hung up on her. Asshole.

She allowed herself a small smile, though.

No need to tell Coil that Carpenter knew he was their boss.

No need to tell him that she would drink his blood and harvest his organs while he screamed.

With any luck, Hunter would remove Coil in a delightfully violent manner and Lisa could step in to take over his organization. Hunter didn't seem like the type to worry about petty things like finances. She was too busy drinking blood from the skulls of her enemies and shooting Nazis.

Hunter was an enigma, both to Lisa's power and to Lisa herself. Her power's feedback had been… conflicting, at best.

She really wanted to know what Hunter was thinking about that made her so certain that Lisa wasn't actually psychic.

As for the rest…

Hunter is suicidal.

Hunter is not suicidal.

Hunter wants to die.

Hunter does not want to die.

Hunter does not believe that death is permanent.

Hunter knows that death is not permanent.

Hunter has died before.

Hunter is not dead.

Lisa shook her head and fell backwards onto her bed.

Whatever the hell Hunter was, she just might be the perfect wrecking ball to throw into Coil's house of cards.

Lisa just had to make sure that her skull didn't end up in Hunter's collection in the process.

…

Emily Piggot hung up the phone and clenched her fists hard enough to draw blood from her palms.

The Empire were out in force, pushing to take territory in both the Docks and Downtown. For now, the damage was limited to unpowered scuffles between them and foot-soldiers of the ABB and Coil's mercenaries, but it wouldn't stay like that for long. They hadn't done anything like this in months, and certainly not in broad daylight.

She knew why they didn't try to hunt at night, though. Not that it would save them from her.

Emily had already known that she was being stonewalled, but she thought that the Chief Director would have some decency.

There was a murderous tinker in her city, with a lair in an abandoned hospital, killing capes and stealing their bodies for her experiments, and no one wanted to do anything about it.

"Establish contact, Emily."

"Forcing an escalation will only lead to further bloodshed, Emily."

"For all her faults, Carpenter continues to target exclusively villains. Surely that should allow her the benefit of the doubt?"

Emily wanted to scream.

No Kill Order. That request had been a bit of a stretch, but multiple parahuman homicide had certainly earned one before. There was more than sufficient precedent.

No Birdcage order. Clearly, Carpenter meant something to someone. Fifty people was a lot of bodies to ignore.

No blowing that accursed hospital to smithereens.

No walling it off and throwing away the key.

No publicizing the true extent of her crimes.

Just a… warrant for Carpenter's arrest, under suspicion of murder.

As if Velocity hadn't seen her kill three people with his own eyes.

Emily hated capes. And, currently, Rebecca Costa-Brown.

She dialed the phone.

"Director. Any updates?" Armsmaster's voice was tense. She knew he was dealing with conflicts on a number of different fronts in addition to Carpenter, and the idea of attacking a Tinker's lair was not to be taken lightly.

Unfortunately, he wasn't going to get that order. Not today.

"Find someone who isn't busy with the Empire and isn't likely to get themselves killed by Carpenter while attempting a diplomatic approach. We must establish contact to determine both the veracity and the severity of the threat before we decide on a course of action," Emily ground out.

There was a long pause.

"Yes, ma'am," Armsmaster's voice was conflicted. "I would advise forming a defended isolation perimeter around the area, in the meantime."

Emily very much agreed. Rebecca did not, and they definitely didn't have the manpower to maintain an isolation zone without out-of-town support.

"I appreciate the insight. At this time, please maintain the current level of surveillance and attempt to make non-violent contact. That is all."

The words felt like ash in her mouth.

"Are you sure, Director?" Armsmaster asked.

"Yes. Thank you for your concern," Emily snapped.

She hung up and hurled the phone against the wall.

When Carpenter killed them all, she was going to allow herself the pleasure of saying 'I told you so'.

…

"I know that we all have more than enough on our plates, so let's move through this quickly. Velocity, you have the floor," Colin said.

The current protectorate roster stood around one of the large conference tables at the PRT headquarters. With the Empire on the move, they decided to meet here instead of the PHQ.

The Wards were not present. The Wards had a single, very simple standing order when it came to interacting with Carpenter, which was simply, "Don't."

"Carpenter is more versatile and better equipped than our original estimates indicated. I observed several abilities and Tinkertech armaments that were absent from Sunday's report."

Even Assault didn't interrupt.

"At some point since the Medhall break in, Carpenter either lost or amputated her left foot. She has replaced it with a Tinkertech prosthesis that functions as both a weapon and a mechanical means of transportation, increasing her Mover abilities substantially."

That got some raised eyebrows.

"Wouldn't a prosthesis function as a mechanical means of transportation by definition? It wouldn't be much of a prosthesis if it didn't," Dauntless said.

"The combination of her natural mover abilities and the prosthesis allowed her to clear a four story building and leap at least 150 feet laterally," Velocity said.

"So… she strapped a Tinkertech pogo stick to her leg?" Assault asked.

Velocity shrugged but didn't comment.

"Her other new piece of tech matches the blunt damages from Saturday night. She fought Hookwolf with a giant hammer made of metal or stone, the head of which lines up with the dent on the warehouse wall."

Assault whistled appreciatively.

"Next, she can teleport."

Several groans sounded from around the table. Teleporters were irritating to fight when they didn't also have a grab bag of other deadly treats.

"I'm assuming that it's close range only, since she didn't use it to close the gap between herself and Rune or Purity. She only used it to dodge Rune's projectiles, but she definitely turned to smoke for a split second and reappeared a couple yards away," Velocity continued.

"It might be reactive," Miss Militia added.

"Possibly. Finally, she has a sonic ability that has some type of mental effect, similar to Glory Girl's aura. Her scream shorted out my microphone and was distinctly unpleasant and disorienting. I felt… afraid, although I had no reason to. Aside from the obvious, of course."

Colin added the items to the whiteboard as Velocity talked.

"Master? Or Shaker?" Battery said.

"I don't know. They checked me over when I got back and decided I didn't need confinement, but it was… unsettling. Like I was a bug under a microscope or something," Velocity seemed to suppress a shiver at the memory. None of them mentioned the obvious similarities to… her.

They all looked at the list.

"That's… a lot of powers," Assault said.

Enhanced strength.

Enhanced durability/regeneration.

Enhanced speed.

Enhanced perception.

Short range teleportation.

Hazardous scream.

Tinkertech:

-Prosthesis.

-Hammer.

-Sword.

-Saw.

-Pistol.

"At least we know that her regeneration ability or tech can't regrow limbs," Colin sighed. "Unless, of course, she amputated it herself to allow for more effective use of the Tinkertech prosthesis. It's not unheard of."

"Been thinking about lopping some bits off and installing more efficient replacements?" Assault asked with a grin.

Colin didn't dignify that with an answer. He had obviously considered it, but the degradation of the Tinkertech over time could leave him stranded at an inopportune moment. Plus, he hadn't managed to program an artificial intelligence powerful enough to handle a comprehensive neural interface. It wasn't exactly his area of expertise.

"Plus, we still don't know what she's doing with the bodies," Miss Militia pointed out.

Everyone looked uncomfortable at the reminder. Colin decided to move on.

"Velocity has identified what is likely her lair: an abandoned hospital in the Trainyards. We have been tasked with establishing non-violent contact with Carpenter."

"They don't want us to go after her?" Battery said in surprise.

"Not yet. Direct conflict with her could turn lethal at the drop of a hat, and, despite her suspected crimes, she has still only ever targeted the Empire. There could be mitigating circumstances," Colin said. "Also, Velocity reported that she's young, potentially Wards age. Without an active Birdcage order, she is still technically a candidate for probational recruitment."

"You still want to recruit her?" Triumph asked in surprise. "After the… what? Fifty murders? That's… a lot of dead bodies, boss. For anyone, even a teenager."

Colin resisted the urge to grind his teeth. He certainly didn't want to recruit the murderous vigilante, but Emily had her orders from on high.

"Until she turns on innocent people or heroes, we'll have a leg to stand on," Colin said.

"That's more than Carpenter has, metaphorically and literally," Assault said.

Battery smacked him on the back of the head.

Colin sighed.

"All of which brings us to the most immediately pressing question. How do we establish contact, and who do we send? I'm open to ideas."

"I can't believe I'm about to suggest this," Dauntless said. "But Assault may be the best candidate. He's the most bulletproof out of any of us, and his attitude may… defuse… what would otherwise be a tense situation."

"I volunteer as tribute," Assault deadpanned.

Ethan's previous occupation as the villain Madcap also gave him a unique perspective when it came to bringing in well-intentioned vigilantes.

Colin still didn't like it, for multiple reasons. Assault wasn't the best negotiator, and it felt… cowardly, to allow his team to go into a dangerous situation while he sat back and watched.

Battery didn't look happy about this turn of events either.

"How do we know she won't assume we're there to fight her and come out guns blazing?" Battery demanded.

"I could make a PowerPoint presentation," Assault offered.

Battery looked like she wanted to hit him again, but resisted this time.

"It's a valid question. It seems needlessly risky to enter her hospital. Wandering into a violent Tinker's lair is a bad idea across the board," Colin said.

He was loath to admit that his best idea was to just… stand outside, in plain view, until she came out to talk to them.

Maybe the PowerPoint wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

"We'll maintain surveillance on all sides of the building from a safe distance. Assault, you'll be on standby starting at 5:00 tonight. Hopefully, when she leaves for the evening, we can make contact," Colin continued.

"Not to prod the elephant in the room but… what exactly am I aiming for, here? Pitch the Wards and a potentially clean slate to an edgy teenager who, by all accounts, hunts Nazis for shits and giggles?" Assault said.

"That, and provide additional reconnaissance. We don't know what she's doing with the parahuman bodies or why she's targeting the Empire. We don't even know what her Tinker power actually does, aside from apparently creating… unique… weaponry and prosthetics," Colin replied. "We also don't know the nature of her relationship with the Undersiders. She may be part of their team, or the incident today could be a fluke."

"I can probably manage to ask without getting shot," Assault said. "But she doesn't exactly have a reason to answer."

"Depending on the tone of the interaction, advise her that every further escalation will put more pressure on us to pursue her. We are being more than reasonable with this approach," Colin said.

Even if it grated on him to do it.

"I'll do my best, boss," Assault grinned at him. "I have it on good authority that my mouth is one of my better features."

Battery smacked him again.

…

In one timeline, Thomas Calvert reviewed the reports from the morning's mayhem.

When he tasked Tattletale to recruit Hunter, he hadn't expected it to blow up so spectacularly in her face. Not that he was complaining. The current conflicts with the Empire across the city were perfect for his goals, and the PRT's limp-wristed approach would only make it easier to eventually depose Emily.

He would bring Tattletale in later to get all the information that she failed to include in her report. She wasn't as slick as she thought she was.

For now, he had a better use for his other timeline.

Namely, figuring out what the hell Carpenter had done to this damn hospital.

He and a select group of four men walked warily through the hallways, but they never seemed to end. By all logic, they should have hit the side wall of the building ages ago. It felt like the hospital went on for miles in every direction.

Just endless corridors, broken waiting rooms, offices, exam rooms and surgical suites. None identical, and yet all eerily similar nonetheless.

Some kind of Shaker effect? It had to be Tinkertech of some kind. No parahuman power could do this, especially not as part of whatever grab bag Hunter acquired.

In a way, it reminded him of a very different set of endless corridors and pristine white rooms-

He shook those thoughts from his mind.

Something in the stagnant air changed. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, until…

He heard it, then. A repeated and rhythmic beat of metal on tile.

His men raised their weapons, but Thomas knew that it was futile. This reconnaissance mission was never meant to succeed, and he had no doubt that the spider would know when flies entered her web.

There was a very different metallic thunk, like a vault door locking into place.

Thomas turned just in time to see the vague ripple of living darkness rocket down the hallway before his men began screaming.

And then suddenly went silent.

"Good afternoon, Coil," a cold voice hissed in the dark. "I didn't think I would get to make good on my promise so soon. This is exciting."

It didn't take long for Thomas to drop the timeline. No amount of information was worth… that.

…

Chapter Text

Enlightenment 6.1

A sudden upbeat electronic tune interrupted what had previously been a wonderful day's sleep.

Taylor blinked blearily and pulled herself upright in her nest atop one of her lab tables. She really needed to steal a mattress at some point.

The lab was dim without the candles lit. She didn't want to accidentally set fire to her Hospital while she slept. She honestly didn't know what would happen if the Labyrinth caught fire, or if that was even possible.

The only light came from the candles beside her ritual altar. They hadn't gone out or burned any lower since she had unsealed the Labyrinth. Her brain twitched when she tried to think about it too hard.

The music continued.

Oh, right. Phone.

Taylor checked the time before answering. Just after 5:00 in the evening. Perfect.

Her father was calling her.

Something inside her tensed strangely. He had never actually called her before, because they had never both had phones. Not since her mother was alive.

It had also been a long time since her last visit to Kurt and Lacey's. She had been a bit busy with the prosthesis and killing Nazis. Public restrooms allowed for the most basic of cleanliness requirements, but she was still in desperate need of a real shower.

Especially before she went to see Amy.

Taylor smiled at that before answering the phone.

"Hey, Dad," she said, getting up and starting her evening routine. There were new bodies to be processed, after all.

"Good morning, Taylor," she could hear the grin in his voice. That was nice. "I was getting a bit worried, after our conversation on Saturday and everything. No sign of anything suspicious on my end, though. How's it going over there?"

Taylor sat down in one of the many wheelchairs she had scavenged from the Hospital. Turns out, they were also endless, now. Go figure. She could probably go into business, if they weren't all rusted and rickety.

"Nothing too crazy. Coil got one of his proxy capes to try to recruit me, but it was a pretty soft sell, all things considered. I'm sure he has other plans going behind the scenes. I'll do another check for surveillance when I come over in a bit. Oh! And Hookwolf ate my foot!" Taylor rambled while she worked, checking the draining process with one hand.

There was a brief moment of silence followed by a heavy sigh.

"Sorry, kiddo, but you'll have to run that one by me again," Danny said.

"So, I told you about my Kirkhammer and my plan to go fight the Empire with Bitch, right?" Taylor asked, mostly rhetorically.

"Still not crazy about that name. Feels… disrespectful," he mumbled.

"She chose it, and she owns it, so…" Taylor shrugged. "Anyway, Hookwolf was there and we got into a little bit of a death-match and I accidentally shoved my foot into his shoulder and he blended it into soup."

"...can your Tinkering fix that?" Her father asked after another awkward amount of silence.

"Yep!" Taylor said, wheeling herself to the other side of the lab. "I made a pretty badass prosthesis, in my opinion. And Hookwolf's opinion, apparently, but I don't think his opinion counts for much, what with the Nazi-ism."

"You ran into Hookwolf again?"

"He wasn't very happy that Bitch attacked his dog fighting ring, so he tried to attack her dog shelter in retaliation, along with Purity, Stormtiger, and Rune. Unfortunately, he got away before I could finish the job. I killed the rest, though," Taylor said.

"You killed… three more Empire capes?" Her father's voice sounded tired.

"Mmmmhmmmm," Taylor hummed in affirmative, measuring the amount of blood collected from each. "And Cricket, on Saturday."

She barely had the necessary six pints from Purity, but her body had been a bit worse for wear from the fall. And the lack of a head. Two quicksilver bullets at the same time really made a mess of things. It didn't help that she had been flying horizontally, so the bullets had traveled into her chest cavity. Nasty stuff.

"I know I sound like a broken record, but just… be careful, Taylor," he said.

"I'm always careful. The epitome of caution and restraint," Taylor said seriously.

He laughed at that. At least he wasn't spiraling, again.

"You blew up our house with a microwave," he chuckled.

"I stand by that decision. It was the most careful thing to do, to cover up the evidence of all the murder. Also, I seem to remember it being a joint effort. We blew up our house, comrade," Taylor laughed with him.

It was good that he wasn't running away. She just had to remember to talk to him more often.

"Speaking of which," Taylor continued, "I figured out how to secure my workshop, but the defenses are a bit… hazardous, to humans. I have a… procedure… I need you to undergo so that you can come here in case of an emergency."

"For the record, I don't like it when you call people 'humans' as if you aren't one. Like, I know, I know, but still. It's the idea," Danny said. She could feel him shaking his head. "But… yeah, I guess. What's this procedure? You aren't going to cut out my spleen or something, right?"

"No, nothing like that," Taylor said. Better to rip the band-aid off in one go. "I need you to drink some special juice out of a special cup. Also, it's blood. Not like, a lot of blood, though. Comparatively. And I have to process it so that it's incoagulable, so you can't get diseases or anything from it. It even tastes pretty good."

The silence lasted a lot longer this time.

"Are you okay, Taylor?"

Taylor laughed.

"Yeah, actually. I know it sounds awful, but… my Workshop is safe. I took down two of the most powerful capes in the city at the same time. I'm feeling… pretty great, right now, actually."

"And the blood drinking?"

"An unfortunate necessity," Taylor said, even though she didn't really mind the fell rituals. It was kind of cool, in an edgy sort of way. Especially because they actually worked. "My powers may not be palatable, but they are potent."

"I just… this sounds like quite a step up from basic blood Tinkering, is all," her father said.

"This was always the path laid for me. I need to understand my powers, and uncover what lies beyond the fog. You don't have to drink it, if you don't want to. It just means you'll never be able to enter my Workshop without my help," Taylor said in a more serious tone.

Another pause. She let him think. It was understandable, since he wasn't nearly as desensitized to her power's proclivities.

"I… yeah, I guess. But I want to formally submit my suggestion that there must be some way to accomplish the same things without cannibalism," Danny said.

There… might have been. Maybe. Probably not. But she wasn't going to let a bit of squeamishness handicap her.

"Alright, I'll bring you back here at some point. I think I'll have to lead you through the Labyrinth to the altar the first time, and then once you drink you'll be able to find your way on your own," Taylor began the process of distilling and concentrating her customized blood vials. She didn't have the equipment to do all three at once, so she started with Stormtiger and Rune. She had a vague feeling that Purity should be last, for some reason.

"You know all of that sounds like fantasy nonsense to me, right? The Labyrinth? Did you build a maze around your lab?" Her father asked, still vaguely incredulous.

"Even better. I built an infinite maze, with no center. If you wandered in here without me, you'd be lost until you starved or I found you. It's awesome."

"That sounds… you know what, I'm not going to question it. Sure, Little Owl. Have at it," he chuckled.

"Thanks, Dad. I'll be over in a bit, I just have to finish up a couple things before I come shower and whatnot," Taylor smiled again. Had he always been this cool, and she just never noticed?

They said goodbye and hung up. Taylor gave her workshop one last once-over before packing up to leave.

Purity's blood was bottled and stored for future projects. Rune and Stormtiger's blood was currently being processed, and she should have enough left over for the other rituals. The bodies were still hanging, but they could wait a bit longer before she harvested everything else.

She would need to make more weapons soon, too. Her Kirkhammer and sword were versatile, but there were more designs that begged to be built.

But first, she had to clean up and go see Amy. She had cigarettes to deliver, after all.

She would travel as Hunter, though. The incident on the Boardwalk had taught her how important it was to have her gear nearby. If Lisa hadn't been there with her car, she would have been stuck hopping all the way back, or taking the bus like a normal person.

Taylor locked the stake driver into place, grabbed her sword and pistol just in case, and threw on her coat, scarf and hat. She also put a folding wheelchair, a change of clothes, and the box of cigarettes into a duffle bag.

Ready to face the fresh evening, Taylor strolled through the endless corridors of her hospital with an air of contentment.

As soon as she stepped outside, though, she realized that something was wrong.

The feeling of being watched was back.

She scanned the surrounding buildings over the roofs of the abandoned cars on her lawn.

There.

They were being sneaky, but she could see a camouflaged surveillance team easily three hundred yards away, stationed on the top floor of an old apartment building.

Someone had found her. That was quicker than she expected. All that remained to be seen was who.

She put down the bag and leapt onto the roof of one of the decaying cars. If they wanted to hit her with a sniper round, they would have already tried before she saw them.

Taylor drew her sword and pistol anyway, though. No need to let them think she was harmless.

A flash of red caught her eye and she turned, pistol raised.

"Wait! Don't shoot, I come in peace!" The crimson clad hero landed on the cracked road in front of her with practiced ease.

Assault.

So it was the PRT, then. Irritating. She almost would have preferred it to be Coil. That would be less complicated.

Taylor lowered the gun. If the Protectorate wanted to play nice even after all the murder, she wasn't going to force their hand. Amy would be sad if she started hunting heroes.

"What do you want?" Taylor asked. She allowed just the smallest amount of the beast into her words. Just enough to make the air tremble at her presence.

"Just here to talk, now that we know how to reach you. You're a hard person to find," Assault said. He had one hand behind his back, though, which was suspicious.

Taylor gave him the same answer she gave Lisa.

"I don't like very many people."

"Want to know a secret? I don't, really, either," he grinned at her. "But, since I'm bulletproof, I'm here to wine and dine you into heroism. I even brought you a present!"

She tensed as he revealed…

Is that a pirate hat?

It was, in fact, a pirate hat.

Taylor wasn't used to being the one nonplussed by chaotic events. She wasn't sure if she liked it on this side of the table.

She stared at him for a long moment.

"Because of the leg," Taylor said dryly.

"Because of the leg," Assault nodded solemnly.

Okay. Maybe this wouldn't be so terrible, after all. Did all the heroes actually have a sense of humor? Sophia obviously hadn't.

"Assault, you officially have my attention. Congratulations. What can I do for you?" Taylor said.

"Well, Carpenter-"

"Hunter."

"Hmmm?" He cut off at her interruption.

"My name is Hunter," she said.

"Oh, of course. I guess I should've asked. I think that one might be taken…" he scratched his chin.

"I don't care."

"Right. Of course you don't. Anyway, Hunter, it's lovely to make your acquaintance. I'll get right to the meat and potatoes here: have you ever considered giving up the life of murder and mayhem to become an underpaid government stooge instead?"

That was… not what she had been expecting. Was this a recruitment pitch? If so, it was a bad one.

"Benefits include medical (not that you need it), dental, vision, costumes designed by people who failed out of business school and went into marketing instead, and, most excitingly of all, paperwork," Assault continued.

Taylor just blinked at him under her hat.

That was apparently all the encouragement he needed to carry on monologuing. She thought only villains did that. Also, this was the strangest monologue ever.

"Now, I'm sure you're thinking, 'Assault, that sounds terrible. Why would I, the badass Nazi hunter, sell out for the hollow shell of a bureaucratic nightmare like that?"

That was actually fairly accurate.

"And the answer is… I don't know, honestly. I was hoping you'd have some suggestions for that one, because I got thrown in the deep end here and they didn't give me time to finish my PowerPoint presentation. Why do you think you should renounce your villainous ways and defect to the side of glorious heroism?" Assault asked earnestly.

Taylor stared at him for a while longer, but apparently this question wasn't rhetorical.

What the fuck is this conversation? Is this how the PRT always operates?

Maybe she was dreaming.

"I would assume… to not have heroes trying to arrest me for all the murder?" Taylor said helplessly.

"Oh, yeah, I guess that's a pretty good one," Assault nodded seriously. "Kind of hard to have a life when you're constantly forced to stay one step ahead of all the pesky murder allegations. What else?"

Why was she even still talking to this idiot? Although… he might not actually be an idiot. He had already made more progress in getting under her armor than she expected him to. What the hell?

"I guess, um, a true civilian identity?" Taylor said. "That isn't at risk of being discovered by said heroes?"

"For sure. Much easier to go about your daily business with a government sponsored fake ID. Is it even a fake ID at that point? A real fake ID," he said.

Taylor narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Just a smidge," he shrugged. "But, for real, life is just more straightforward on the heroic side. No living in abandoned hospitals, building your own prosthetics and swords out of scrap metal. You can have, like, heat, and working plumbing. And, again, it seems obvious, but it can't be understated, the whole 'not going to prison for murder' thing."

Taylor decided to humor him.

"Do I need to stop killing people, then, if I sign up?"

"I don't know," Assault shrugged again. "Probably, but maybe not. There are people out there who need killing, after all. But, I don't choose the assignments. I'm just the bulletproof messenger. I'd still prefer it if you didn't shoot me, though."

Taylor found herself smiling, despite the situation.

"I genuinely appreciate the offer, Assault, but I'm going to have to politely decline. I have things to do, and being chained to the hollow shell of a bureaucratic machine sounds like far too much of a hassle."

He nodded as if he expected that. He probably did, given how terrible his pitch had been. She wondered if this whole charade was just designed to put her at ease.

"Any chance you'd be willing to fill in some of the gaps for me? It might make the big wigs less likely to throw the book at you, now that you've officially turned us down," he said.

Yup, there it is. Reconnaissance disguised as recruitment. Clever.

Assault was more intelligent than he acted. She would have to be careful around him.

That being said, he still seemed almost painfully authentic. He would probably happily admit to using self-deprecating humor in order to put her at ease so that she would be more willing to answer his questions. And, ironically, knowing that he was doing it didn't make it any less effective.

Sneaky little shit.

"You can ask. I can't promise to answer," Taylor said.

"Why'd you take the bodies?" Assault asked candidly.

Drat. They saw that? Well… the basic nature of her tinkering wouldn't remain a secret for long. She didn't have to tell them about the power-stealing. Give them a nugget of truth, to hide the secrets underneath.

"Tinkering. I'm a blood Tinker," she said.

"Ah. That's… metal. And also scary as hell," Assault said. "Um… on a related note, have you ever made, are currently making, or are planning to make, any type of bioweapon that could feasibly end all life on Earth?"

Taylor chuckled a bit despite herself. She wasn't. Amy might, if she got her to loosen up a bit.

"No, don't worry. I can make blood concoctions that heal, sedate, stimulate, and a variety of other effects. I can use blood to enhance my weapons. I'm not brewing up plagues," Taylor said.

"That's vaguely reassuring. But… you said your concoctions can heal?" Assault asked.

The heroes might be even more reluctant to actually come after her if they knew she could potentially help with healing in the future. It was worth a shot, anyway.

"Yes. I am a bit more sturdy than the average human, but I'm not bulletproof. These are the reason I'm still walking around," Taylor pulled out a blood vial. Amy hadn't technically cleared it for human consumption, but… what the hell. She had already given one to Rachel. And Brutus. And her Mastered mercenaries. "Catch."

Assault caught the vial dexterously and held it up to inspect it.

"This is going to sound like a stupid question, but… do you drink it?" He asked.

"No, you inject it. It's blood," Taylor said.

"Right… is it… safe?"

Taylor shrugged.

"Your Tinkers will have to determine that. I've been using it for weeks and haven't noticed any significant side effects, but that may be a product of my power," Taylor said. She was reasonably sure that the mental changes were the result of her parahuman blood vials, not the standard ones.

"Gotcha. Well, thanks, I suppose. I haven't gotten a jar of blood as a gift since my wedding, and I think that was meant to be a threat. The in-law's aren't exactly fans," he said.

Taylor smiled again.

"I don't often get pirate hats, either,"

They stared at each other for a moment. This conversation was so bizarre that Taylor had no idea what to say next.

"You sure you don't want to join the Wards?" Assault asked with a crooked grin. "I hear they have excellent parties on the weekends."

Taylor shook her head.

"I'm sure, thanks. My kind of party is better, anyway, and I don't think the Wards would like it."

"Because of all the murder," Assault said, entirely serious.

"Yeah."

The moon rose higher. It was almost full, now.

"What about the Undersiders?" Assault asked. "They usually stick to basic robberies, not… well, your kind of parties."

Taylor shrugged again.

"Bitch told me about the dog fighting ring, so I went and cleaned it up. Then the Empire went after her, so I killed them."

"Ah. And who is… Bitch?" Assault looked genuinely confused.

"Monster dogs?"

"Oh, Hellhound."

"Wait, you didn't like the name 'Bitch', so you picked… a different curse word?" Taylor said incredulously.

A slightly less problematic one, but still… what the hell.

"I didn't. You remember what I said about marketing people who failed out of business school?" Assault said with mild exasperation.

"Ah. Right."

"So… you aren't working with them? Or you are?"

"No. But I like… Hellhound… so if anyone comes after her, I'll probably stop you. I'll try to avoid killing any heroes, if that helps you sleep at night," Taylor said.

"Why bother? I mean, I know why, but I kinda want to hear it from you. Call it an old man's proclivities," Assault grinned.

"I may be a monster, but that doesn't mean I can't limit myself to hunting those who are even worse," Taylor said. "If I kill fifty monsters, the total number of beasts stalking the night goes down by forty-nine."

"That's… not the worst justification for mass murder I've ever heard."

They stared at each other for a bit longer.

"You're going to follow me if I leave, aren't you?" Taylor sighed.

"Yeah. I may not be too keen on the whole arresting you thing right now, but I am technically a hero," Assault said casually. "I can't let you just wander off to kill whatever monster you stumble across tonight."

"I suppose."

Taylor decided to take a risk and holstered her weapons before jumping down to land in front of him.

"I will take the hat, though," she grinned behind her scarf. Amy would get a kick out of it. The thought of her expression when Taylor told her that Assault had given it to her was fantastic.

Assault smiled back at her. That was nice. And he didn't try to kill or capture her, even though she was close enough that he might have managed it.

Assault handed her the hat.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill any of my friends," he said softly.

Taylor nodded.

"I won't kill them, but I'll die before I let them take me alive," she said seriously.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied.

The night was quiet, between them.

"Don't enter the Hospital, for your own safety." Taylor said slowly. "If you or any of the heroes get lost, I'll try to come find you before it's too late, but I can't make any guarantees."

"Not exactly filling me with confidence there, Hunter. Oh, by the way, what happened to your foot?" Assault asked. "Armsy thought you might have cut it off yourself just so you could attach the cool pogo stick."

How dare he. It wasn't a pogo stick. That would be stupid. It was a stake driver.

Taylor resisted the urge to shoot him. He said he was bulletproof, so it probably wouldn't kill him. Surely the rest of the heroes would forgive her, right? They actually had to interact with him on a daily basis. If he was like this all the time, they probably wished they could shoot him, too.

…

In the PRT forward observation outpost, Battery sneezed.

…

Taylor decided not to shoot him. She had done a good job keeping things level so far. No need to throw that away.

"Ha. No. Hookwolf ate it," she said instead.

"Ohhh. Gotcha. Neat," Assault replied casually.

Finally, a reasonable reaction to that revelation. Sometimes, limbs get eaten by Nazi werewolves. It could happen to anyone.

"Yeah."

Taylor didn't know how to end this ridiculous conversation.

"I'm gonna go back inside now. Nazi corpses to Tinker with, you know… just a normal Tuesday night…" Taylor said awkwardly.

Assault nodded.

"We're probably going to try to catch you, next time we see you. And we'll probably keep a watch on your Hospital. It'd be pretty cool of you to not hurt or kill our surveillance teams," Assault said. "I don't know them personally, but I'm reasonably sure they aren't monsters."

That was fair.

"I'll just have to find a way to sneak past, then," Taylor grinned at him.

"I'm sure you will," he smiled back.

Taylor didn't know what else to say, so she took her pirate hat and walked back into the Hospital. She picked up the discarded duffle bag and glanced back over her shoulder at the entrance. Assault waved.

She waved back.

What a strange man.

Taylor was happy that he hadn't forced her to kill him. She might have actually felt bad.

Chewing her lip thoughtfully, Taylor headed back through the endless hallways.

She had some phone calls to make. And plans to postpone. Hopefully Amy would forgive her for the lack of cigarettes and company, given the circumstances.

…

Amy hopped out of Victoria's arms with practiced ease as they landed in the hospital parking lot.

Her hospital. Not Taylor's. For obvious reasons.

"So, are you going to see Anne tonight?" Vicky raised an eyebrow.

"Probably," Amy shrugged. No need to get Victoria too curious. "Her schedule can be kind of all over the place."

Amy was looking forward to seeing her, though.

Victoria was about to reply when Amy's phone rang.

It was Taylor. Why was Taylor calling her again?

Hopefully it wasn't another rampage. That would be a lot for one day.

Although, that would still be better than Taylor getting lost or whatever she was worried about before. Hopefully nothing was wrong. Amy had told Taylor to call if she needed emergency healing…

"Ooh, is that her?" Victoria asked, looking down at the phone screen.

Amy was extremely relieved that she had saved Taylor's number under 'Anne', just in case. Her paranoia actually paid off, for once.

"Shut up," Amy said before answering the call. "Hey, Anne."

Hopefully Taylor would get the hint that she was with Vicky.

"Hey, Amy. Just wanted to give you a heads up that I won't be able to make it over there tonight. I… ran into someone outside my house. Everything is okay, for the most part, just… inconvenient timing," Taylor sighed.

Amy glared at Vicky as her sister tried to get close enough to hear Taylor's side of the conversation, turning to walk away across the parking lot just in case.

"Who? Are you alright?" Amy asked, even though Taylor just said it was okay.

Why am I like this?

She knew why.

"Are you free to talk?" Taylor asked. She must have picked up on the subtext. Well done, Taylor.

Vicky was now staring expectantly at her from the other side of the parking lot, but at least she wasn't trying to listen in anymore.

"Yeah, you're good. Who found you?" Amy asked.

"The PRT."

Oh no.

No no no no…

She didn't want this weird thing of theirs to end. If the PRT found out, everything would come crashing down and the world would be gray again.

"They can't get into my Workshop, and I don't think they're dumb enough to wander into the Hospital, but they're watching the building. I doubt I'll be able to leave without being followed. I can move pretty quickly, but not fast enough to outrun Velocity or Assault," Taylor continued.

That… wasn't as bad as Amy was expecting.

"Wait, they didn't try to capture you?" She asked.

"No, weirdly enough. Assault stopped by to chat. It was bizarre. He tried to convince me to join the Wards because they have fun parties on the weekends?" Taylor said helplessly.

Yeah, that sounded like him.

"Well… that's… wait, you didn't agree, right?"

Amy couldn't decide if that would be a good thing or not.

Taylor laughed.

"No, don't worry, I politely turned him down. We both know that my work isn't exactly suited for heroics, and I can't let my research get bogged down in bureaucracy. Also, PR would hate me," Taylor said. Amy could hear her grin through the phone.

"What are you planning, then?" Amy asked, trying to quash the disappointment of not seeing her now that the initial panic had dissipated.

"I need to find another way to navigate the Labyrinth and exit my Hospital without being seen," Taylor said. "I have a couple ideas, and I'll keep you posted, but I don't know if they'll work exactly as I'm hoping. I do have a few more powers to absorb, so I'll see if that offers any new insights."

"Okay. But those won't be ready tonight?" Amy asked. She tried not to sound too dejected. It was pathetic, honestly. How had she become so dependent on these little interruptions to her daily drudgery?

"I've got the blood condensing now, so… maybe?" Taylor said. "How late are you healing tonight?"

"I technically leave at 9:00, but it's usually closer to 10:00."

"I might be able to do 10:00. I'll let you know," Taylor hummed thoughtfully.

"Okay," Amy said.

"See you later then, hopefully," Taylor said.

"Sounds good. Bye," Amy replied.

The line went dead and Amy stared at the phone for a long moment.

The PRT found the Hospital, but Taylor said it was okay. Taylor would figure something out.

It would be okay.

It had to be.

…

Chapter Text

Enlightenment 6.2

The first of the new parahuman blood vials finished condensing just before 9:00.

Taylor had refined the process somewhat since her first work with Victor. Having more room to work and more equipment definitely helped. And, she was left with a decent amount of Rune's blood left over after the process was complete. Lovely.

It was ironic. She had infinite space to wander and yet still felt trapped.

Being confined to the Hospital was going to become extremely inconvenient, extremely quickly. She missed Amy, and she really didn't have the necessities of life set up here. Like, for example, running water.

She needed to fix that at some point. The Workshop would be much more useful as a base if it was self-sufficient.

But, for now, she would settle on finding a way to leave undetected. Her powers already offered a makeshift solution, but she wasn't all that pleased with it.

The blue elixir was an anesthetic that also imbued the drinker with a Master-esque effect. It would make her less noticeable, especially while standing still.

There were multiple problems with using it in this situation.

For one, she would need to move, and quickly, to escape the PRT's surveillance zone before the anesthetic wore off. Which made the anesthetic less effective, which in turn would mean that she would need to move faster. Round and round the circle went.

Additionally, she didn't like the idea of numbing her mind while trying to sneak past trained agents with cameras and tinkertech equipment. The last thing she needed was to cloud her judgement in a potentially hostile situation.

And finally, it might not even work at all. All that the elixir did was make her less noticeable, and Armsmaster's tech was probably more than a match for a bit of psychic distortion.

The ethereal blue liquid had the potential to be useful, and she was definitely going to keep some on hand, but it was designed for either staying still and hiding or slowly sneaking past enemies who didn't know you were there. It wasn't quite right for trying to sneak out of a static location that was actively under surveillance.

If she found herself truly trapped, she would give it a shot. But she wanted to see what other options she had, first.

There was something, in the fog… a hint of a dream, that called to her.

She needed more blood.

And Rune was finally ready to provide.

Taylor took the unique blood vial and walked out to the Hospital proper, finding a wide waiting room with a vaulted ceiling.

She had learned her lesson from Cricket's vial. No imbibing unknown, potentially volatile solutions anywhere near her fragile equipment.

Taylor stood in the center of the ruined space and took a deep breath.

Once more, unto the breach.

She slammed the vial into her good leg, and her eyes flew wide as light engulfed her vision.

Her mind stretched and twisted under the strange concoction's effects.

It wasn't as bad as Crickets, in some ways. The beast was quiet. This was not a vial of rage and fury.

But it was much, much worse, in other, stranger ways.

Wisdom allows one to serve a grander purpose, for posterity.

It reminded her of the infinite moment when reality thinned during the ritual, but within her own mind. She was both herself and not, outside herself while looking in simultaneously.

Might the cosmos be very near us, only just above our heads?

Reality was only real as she perceived it, and she had no idea if her experience was an accurate depiction of existence. Eyes stared at her in the dark. How could she possibly know if others saw the same world she did? The only person that she knew for certain was actually real was herself, and she didn't even know that, anymore.

Am I dreaming?

The Labyrinth warped around her, and she couldn't know if it was real or not.

Does it matter?

Taylor reached out through the unknowable tomb. In a strange moment of clarity, she focused on her current desire. A way to travel through physical space that was both real and not in this moment.

Her wish permeated both the Labyrinth and her mind, directing and becoming one with Rune's power.

She was struck by a sudden spark of inspiration, as wild and intense as lightning.

The part of Taylor that was still sane cursed that she had left her workshop, when Rune's power drove her to imbue her unknowable wisdom into a physical object.

She instinctively knew that this fever dream was a one-time event, rather than a repeatable ability. Powers worked in strange ways, especially hers, and she didn't want to squander the opportunity.

Taylor raced back to her workshop as quickly as her prosthetic would carry her.

The forge roared to life and she frantically grabbed for her various stockpiled pieces of scrap metal and hardware supplies.

She worked in a mad fervor as the world continued to warp and twist around her. The lantern slowly took shape under her hands.

As it did, she pushed this strange power of Rune's into it.

It was a bizarre experience, but she felt the power flow from her into the lantern, just as it had traveled from the vial into her. She felt the connection between the eldritch artifact and the Labyrinth build, and sing.

Rune's power had previously allowed the Empire cape to control the objects she marked. Filtered through Taylor's blood and eyes, it allowed the Hunter to imbue a single object with a singular purpose, of her choosing.

For posterity.

And she had chosen the lantern, to allow her to find new doors into and out of the Labyrinth. To prevent her from ever being confined or chained, ever again, and to guide her to the sparks of beautiful light she had cultivated within her dream.

Taylor finished just as the power and the crazed insight began to ebb. The lamp was simple and plain, a single chamber ringed with thin bars to contain the flame.

As the last of Rune's power faded, Taylor lit the lamp.

Purple-white light filled the workshop as an ethereal flame flared to life within the hallowed creation.

Taylor didn't know if it was blessed or cursed. She didn't know if it mattered.

Breathing heavily and setting the lantern aside, Taylor slumped against the workbench and put her forehead on the cool resin. It felt nice against her feverish skin.

That was certainly… an experience.

Was she going insane?

Does it matter?

The previous vials had been… grounded, by comparison. Victor's skills, Sophia's shadow, Cricket's scream…

This was… different. But somehow also similar, at the same time. Her mind had expanded. Her powers offered new designs and insights.

She looked at the lantern.

The new power itself had manifested differently. Empowering a creation rather than her own body.

That aligned with Rune's power expression, imbuing objects with her power. But the experience itself…

Taylor felt a bit like a wrung out dish towel. Like she had been saturated with something unknowable and otherworldly, only to be squeezed dry again.

Still, she had told Amy she would try to visit, if she could.

And now, she had the means to do so.

Despite her exhaustion, Taylor smiled.

…

Taylor walked through the endless hallways of the Labyrinth for what felt like a long time, ethereal lantern held high.

She checked her watch. It had been less than ten minutes.

9:52

Wandering the infinite corridors with the lantern in hand was a strange experience. She was profoundly lost, and yet she also knew exactly where she was.

Taylor turned one last corner and entered a room she had never seen before.

The destitute morgue was off-putting, even compared to the rest of the hospital. At least it didn't contain any… residents.

An eldritch white flame flickered gently around the door on the far wall. It looked eerily similar to the flame that lined the seal at the main entrance to her Hospital.

Taylor approached and tried the door.

It was unlocked.

She opened the door and stepped into…

An identical morgue, except… new. Unbroken, although luckily it too was currently deserted.

Taylor touched the ethereal flame around the door and she instinctively knew that she would be able to find this new entrance again, even without the lantern. Only those who had taken communion would be able to see it.

Perfect.

She could guess where she was, and it was perfect.

A wide smile spread over her face.

Stepping quickly back into the Labyrinth and closing the door, Taylor took off her coat and changed into the fresh set of clothes she had previously stuffed in her duffle bag to take to Kurt and Lacey's.

She left her coat, hat, scarf, and lantern in the Labyrinth. No one else would be able to find this place.

She also unhooked her stake driver and unfolded her wheelchair.

Five minutes later, Taylor carefully wheeled herself out of the morgue in Brockton General Hospital and took the elevator to the main lobby.

It occurred to her that Amy might be on the roof, and she didn't have an easy way to get there.

So she just called her, instead.

Amy answered on the first ring.

"Hey, are you coming?" Amy asked.

"I'm here," Taylor grinned. "I'm in the lobby."

"What?" Amy squawked.

"Come down and I'll show you," Taylor laughed.

"Okay, okay-"

Taylor could hear her echoing footsteps in the roof access stairway.

"I'm going to hang up, I'll see you in a sec," Taylor said.

"Right. Yeah, okay," Amy said again.

A minute later, the elevator dinged and Amy walked out. Well, Panacea, currently.

Taylor grinned crookedly at her from her wheelchair.

"Alright. You have some serious explaining to do," Amy hissed when she got close enough. She wasn't all that much taller than Taylor, even sitting down. "How? And also, why?"

"Let me show you! Come on," Taylor whispered.

"Vicky will be here any minute, you took your sweet fucking time-" Amy snapped.

"I was busy! I had to finish condensing the sample, imbibe it, build a new eldritch artifact-"

"What did you make now-"

"I'll show you if you can manage to stop complaining for long enough, now come on," Taylor still couldn't stop smiling despite Amy's glare.

The healer huffed in annoyance. It was kind of cute.

"Fine, but we need to be quick," Amy looked around nervously.

No one was paying close attention to them, yet. Amy was here almost every day, and even famous miracle healers blend into the background eventually.

"We need to go down to the basement. Follow me," Taylor said.

"I basically live here, and you want me to follow you?"

Taylor grinned over her shoulder as she wheeled herself into the elevator. Amy quickly followed behind her despite her griping. The doors closed, and they were finally alone again.

There was a strange moment of charged silence. The drifting, comfortable solitude that always formed around them came quicker every time.

"Hi, by the way," Taylor said.

Amy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Hi. So, how did you escape your unwelcome guests?" Amy said tiredly.

"I made a new exit. I'll show you," Taylor wheeled her way out of the elevator when it opened.

"Why are we going to the morgue?" Amy asked.

"Because my powers have a sense of humor," Taylor answered.

It was empty, at least of other living people.

"Just to double check, can you see the door?" Taylor asked, glancing between Amy and the door wreathed in white flame.

"Um… what? Like, the door we just came through?" Amy said in confusion.

"No, the other door," Taylor's grin was definitely self-satisfied.

"Are you fucking with me?" Amy glared at her.

"No, I promise. Okay, here, take my hand," Taylor reached out to her.

Amy hesitated for a moment.

Then her fingers interlaced with Taylor's, soft touch wrapping around wiry steel. Taylor took a moment to revel in the warmth. It hadn't been very long in the grand scheme of things, but she had missed Amy. Especially after worrying that she wouldn't be able to visit as easily, now that the PRT had found her.

Now, she had her own doorway, just for her.

"Oh," Amy said quietly.

She wasn't looking at the doorway.

Taylor glanced up at Amy's eyes under her hood and was briefly lost, deep chocolate staring at her in wonder with none of the usual weariness or conflict behind them.

"What?" Taylor asked, looking down at herself. Was she missing something?

"You're…" Amy cut off and cleared her throat. "I always forget, what your biology looks like. It's even more, now, than it was even yesterday. I knew that you imbibed another vial, but… it caught me off guard."

Huh. Interesting.

"What does it look like, to you? I know power senses don't really translate, but…" Taylor shrugged. She was curious.

Amy looked at her strangely, still holding her hand.

"It's like… stars. All the stars on a clear night, concentrated and pulsing with your heartbeat. Except, a million times more, because there are trillions of cells in your body, and they're all… shining. Dancing. With everyone else, it's just tiny sparks in the dark, but with you… it's an overwhelming lightshow. I can't describe…" Amy rambled, going red as she tried to find the right words. "It's… beautiful. And distracting."

"Uh," Taylor said. Very articulately.

No one had ever called her beautiful before. Even if it was just her weird parahuman biology. Her chest felt strangely tight and she didn't know what her face was doing.

"Sorry, I-" Amy tried to let go of her hand.

Taylor didn't let her. She was enjoying it, and Amy liked being able to see her, like this. She said so.

"Don't, please," Taylor said. "I… thank you."

"Okay."

There was a long moment before Taylor remembered that they were still in the hospital morgue.

"Can you see the door, now?" She asked quietly.

Amy refocused on her and then looked up at the wall.

"Holy shit, there's a door. Why is it on fire?" Amy blinked.

"My powers are just edgy like that. Assault said they were 'metal'. Come on, let's go."

Taylor opened the door and led her into the Labyrinth. It was a bit difficult with only one unoccupied hand and one remaining foot, but she managed. Having superhuman dexterity was nice.

"Don't let go of my hand, or you'll get lost. You haven't taken communion yet, and you aren't attuned to the lantern," Taylor whispered. It felt strange, to have someone else here.

"That sounds like nonsense, you know that, right? What are you talking about?" Amy hissed. "Where are we?"

"We're in my Hospital," Taylor couldn't help but grin smugly.

"What? Your Hospital? How?" Amy looked around and then back at the door.

"I used my power to wrap my Workshop in an infinite Labyrinth. The Hospital is now an endless maze, with my Workshop at the center. But only those who have taken communion can find it. That's what I was doing, last night," Taylor explained.

"That's… this is weird, Taylor, even for you," Amy said. "Powers don't normally work like that."

"Mine do. That's why I need to keep hunting, keep searching for answers in the fog. None of this makes sense, and yet… it does, to me. In a way."

Amy took a deep breath.

"So… you have a door straight from your Workshop, to the Brockton General morgue?"

"Yeah, although I can probably open other doors, too. I just need to focus on where I want to go. I think I need to be familiar with the place, though. Obviously I'm not familiar with the morgue in particular but… I've spent a fair bit of time at your hospital," Taylor said. "I could feel it, like a light in the distance. That's what my lantern is for. It lets me navigate the Labyrinth and open permanent doors. Although I'm honestly not sure if I was following the path to the hospital or… you."

Amy stared at her with an unreadable expression for a long moment, her face highlighted starkly with ghostly light.

"Your powers are really fucking weird, Taylor," Amy shook her head, but she had the forgetting-to-frown smile again.

"Being normal is boring," Taylor smiled back, in the dim gloom and ethereal lantern flame.

Amy's eyes softened and her hand that wasn't already holding Taylor's jerked strangely, like she was going to reach out and touch her but thought better of it.

Taylor wouldn't have minded.

Amy's phone buzzed in her pocket.

"Shit, Vicky is probably waiting," Amy said.

Taylor frowned. They never seemed to have enough time.

"Should she know I'm here? It's as good an excuse as any," Taylor said. "You told her that 'Anne' volunteers at the Hospital, right?"

"Um… yeah, okay, sure, let's head back upstairs," Amy said, replying to Vicky's text with rapid-fire typing.

Taylor was more happy than ever that her phone didn't have texting enabled. It seemed like a pain.

They snuck back out of the morgue. Unfortunately, Taylor had to let go of Amy's hand to push her chair. Irritating.

The front doors hissed open and Amy led the way out into the parking lot.

Victoria wasn't in costume since she was just playing air taxi for Amy, but she was still floating a few feet off the ground. Subtlety was not exactly prominent in Glory Girl's vocabulary.

"There you are! What took you so-" Victoria cut off when she saw Taylor. "Anne?"

"Hey, Victoria," Taylor said, trying to remember how 'Anne' had acted before. She had somehow ended up with three identities when she originally set out to only have one. How had she managed that?

"What happened to your leg?" Victoria asked, swooping down to land in front of them.

Shit.

Taylor and Amy both looked at each other. How had they forgotten about that?

"Car crash," they both said at the same time.

Ha! Take that, poor planning skills.

"Well… shit," Victoria said, glancing at Amy. "Are you going to…"

At least she had learned to stop offering Amy's services without asking.

Amy rolled her eyes in irritation. That part seemed authentic.

"No. Someone won't let me. Some bullshit about earning their scars," Amy grumbled.

Victoria looked confused.

"Won't let… what?" She refocused on Taylor.

"I don't like the idea of being an obligation to Amy. She has enough people who want healing. She shouldn't have to worry about that with me," Taylor tried to find a way to explain without including the whole 'I'm a villainous blood Tinker and I lost my foot fighting Hookwolf' part. "And besides, I like the look."

Victoria looked back and forth between them with concern.

Amy shrugged helplessly.

Taylor grinned up at her.

"Right, I guess… uh… to each her own?" Victoria said.

Amy laughed at her sister's expression and Taylor couldn't help but smile wider. Throwing off people's expectations was pretty enjoyable; she could see why Assault acted the way he did.

Victoria just shook her head.

"You guys are both weird, and I mean that objectively and not insultingly," Victoria said.

That was a fair assessment. Nothing about this was normal.

Taylor wouldn't have it any other way, though.

She reached up and gave Amy's hand a squeeze. For some reason that felt okay to do, now, knowing that Amy liked seeing her blood. Amy jumped a bit but didn't complain.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" Taylor asked. "I'll try to get here earlier."

"Okay," Amy said, staring down at her with that look of fascinated wonder again. Taylor decided that she could definitely get used to that.

It suddenly occurred to her that there was another reason she made the trip tonight.

"Oh! I have your cigarettes, too," Taylor dug the pack out of her pocket.

Victoria looked disapproving, but Amy did the soft-eyed half smile thing, so it was worth it.

Taylor glanced up at Victoria.

"See you around, Glory Girl," she grinned. It was just too much fun to mess with her.

Victoria still smiled back, though, even if she also looked unsure.

"Sounds good, Anne. Have a good night," Vicky said.

Taylor met Amy's eyes one more time before letting go of her hand to wheel herself back into the hospital.

It was only when she went through the Labyrinth door again that she realized she had forgotten to show Amy her new hat.

Next time.

For now, she had some exploring to do. And more blood to imbibe.

…

Amy flopped down face first on her unmade bed and groaned into one of the pillows.

Why did everything need to be so difficult?

She had just been getting used to this strange new routine of meeting with Taylor on the hospital roof, and now the mad blood Tinker went and made a weird-ass direct line to the Brockton General basement?

What the hell, Hunter?

Since when could she do shit like that? Making weird weapons and prosthetics, whatever. Basic Tinker bullshit. Blood concoctions that were biologically impossible? Fine, more Tinker bullshit.

Creating an infinite Labyrinth and using it to secretly navigate the city while also making her base of operations impossible to find?

That was some Toybox level bullshit, and they had a small army of Tinkers shitting things out in there.

But Taylor just… did it. Threw herself into strange and impossible phenomenon with zero regard for common decency or Amy's mental health.

Not to mention what Taylor was doing to herself. Her blood was more inhuman than ever, otherworldly in the way it twisted and sparked in her veins.

And Amy had told her it was beautiful…

She wanted to scream.

Why am I like this?

She could still feel Taylor's fingers clamping down when Amy tried to pull away in embarrassment, like the idea of losing her touch was painful.

Nope, that's not projecting at all.

This was why she couldn't have nice things.

Why did she insist on becoming obsessed with anyone who actually cared about her?

Why couldn't she stop?

There was a knock at the door and Amy groaned again.

At least Victoria knocked this time. Sometimes she just busted in like she owned the place.

Of course, Amy's lack of answer didn't stop her from opening the door.

"You alive over there?" Vicky's voice came from somewhere above her left shoulder. Probably floating over the bed.

"No," Amy said into the mattress.

"Cool, cool. So… your girlfriend lost her foot? How's that… going?" Victoria seemed at a loss for how to bring this up.

Which was fair. It was strange, and Amy knew it.

Taylor was weird, sometimes. Normal people didn't refuse free healing after being maimed by Hookwolf.

Not that Victoria knew about that part.

"It's fine… we talked about my healing, before, and I think she may have drawn the wrong conclusions," Amy grumbled, sitting up. That wasn't even a lie, really.

Victoria looked suspicious.

"How'd she really get hurt?" Her sister asked.

Shit.

Amy knew that she didn't manage to school her expression in time.

Shit shit shit.

"I… can't tell you that. It's not my secret to tell," Amy said.

Victoria raised her eyebrows.

"But you know… whatever it is, then?" She said slowly.

Amy didn't exactly have a better answer.

"Yeah."

"And you're… okay with it? Whatever it is?" Victoria asked carefully.

Was she?

"Yeah, I think so."

Her sister bit her lip but didn't continue her inquisition.

"Alright, I just… I trust you, Ames… make sure to let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Vicky," Amy sighed.

Victoria didn't understand, but she was trying her best.

Amy couldn't help herself. She needed to get some of this bullshit out of her head and into the outside world before she exploded.

"How do I… I like her, a lot, Vicky… and I don't know how to… do that," Amy mumbled. It didn't help that she couldn't, given the whole murderous blood Tinker bit. But Vicky didn't need to know all the gory details.

"Aww, Ames," Vicky plopped down on the bed next to her and gave her a one armed hug. "I don't know exactly what's going on between you and Anne, but… it can't be that bad, right? It sounds obvious, but maybe you should just talk about it?"

Amy shook her head and tried to think of a way to explain that wouldn't end with her being thrown in Master/Stranger confinement while Vicky went off and got herself killed trying to kill Taylor.

That was a strange and vaguely traitorous thought, but… Taylor would eat Victoria alive, possibly literally, if Vicky ever truly forced her hand.

"I won't kill your family."

After growing up around so many powerful heroes, it was weird to think that their safety was guaranteed by Amy's… thing… with Taylor, and not their own considerable strength.

The really fucked up part of her brain wondered what powers Taylor would get from consuming them.

The even more fucked up part was pretty sure Taylor would kill Carol, if Amy asked her nicely.

"It's complicated. Anne is… different. Special. She doesn't look at the world quite the same way as everyone else, and… it's refreshing, but it's also… hard, sometimes. I don't know," Amy rambled.

Victoria pursed her lips.

"It sounds like you don't really know what you want, maybe. That's probably something to figure out, before you actually start trying to get what you want, if that makes sense," Vicky said.

Her sister's arm was burning hot around her shoulders and Amy couldn't help but hunch in on herself. Those feelings hadn't exactly gone away, either. Just more chaos in her stupid brain.

Why am I doing this to myself?

Talking about the object of one self-destructive obsession, with the object of her other self-destructive obsession.

One day, Amy was going to spontaneously combust, and it would be all their fault. And her own. But also Taylor and Vicky's, somehow. She wouldn't be like this if they weren't so irresistibly-

Shut up.

Right. She was spiraling. Victoria was just trying to help.

And she was right, even if Amy didn't want to admit it. She really did need to figure out what she wanted, before she fucked everything up permanently.

But when had she ever known what she wanted? The only thing she ever wanted, for so long, was impossible. Nothing else seemed to matter, before, compared to that.

She suddenly realized that Taylor mattered, to her. Despite the chaos the mad Tinker brought with her, Amy didn't want to go back to the lifeless grayscale that encroached on the world when she didn't have their next 'chat' to look forward to.

Taylor added color, more so than even Vicky, these days. Victoria was part of her 'real' life, while her time with Taylor felt… separate. Hidden away and protected by necessity, behind the curtain of blood and death.

It occurred to her that she didn't quite know if the time with Taylor was her 'real' life, or if it was still her healing, and school, and everything else…

If she had to choose, she honestly didn't know which she would pick.

Which was terrifying, both because the idea of throwing away her whole fucking life for a random girl she ran into on a rooftop was insane, and because she might have to. The house of cards could only crumble in one direction.

And… she was spiraling again. Fantastic.

"Yeah, you're right," she finally said out loud. "I'll work on figuring out what I want, before I stress over possibly not getting it. I think… yeah. Thanks, Vicky."

Victoria squeezed her again and her heart beat erratically. That part never got any easier.

"I'm always right," Vicky said with faux seriousness before grinning at her. "Just make sure to let her know that I'll beat the snot out of her if she hurts you. I don't care if she's missing a foot."

Amy laughed a fair bit harder at that than she should.

"I'll make sure to pass along the message," Amy chuckled.

Taylor would probably get a kick out of it.

…

Taylor opened the door curiously and poked her head out.

The ruined basement was cold.

She stepped through the door of ethereal flame and found herself in the remains of her old house.

The Labyrinth worked in strange ways. She knew that she hadn't actually walked far enough to be here, and yet, here she was.

Overhead, she could see the tarps put up by the construction workers to protect the foundation from potential storms.

She honestly didn't know what the plan was, for the destroyed house. Was it in limbo while the insurance company investigated and paid the claim?

Taylor resolved to ask her father, the next time she saw him.

Speaking of which…

The lantern also worked in strange ways. It seemed like it did indeed draw her to people as much as places. She obviously found this house, but she could also feel the path to Kurt and Lacey's. And the path to Amy's house.

Would it make Amy happy if she opened a door into the Dallon's basement?

Maybe. She said Brandish hated her, so having an escape hatch might not be the worst thing in the world.

Taylor would ask, tomorrow.

For now… she really needed a shower. Hopefully Kurt and Lacey wouldn't mind her popping up unexpectedly in their basement. Did they even have a basement?

She would find out, one way or another.

…

Chapter Text

Enlightenment 6.3

Taylor examined her silver sword in the candlelight.

It was nice to feel put together, again. A hot shower and a check in with her father had helped to drive off the lingering mania from her recent battles and parahuman vial infusion.

The idea of the PRT spinning their wheels watching the front door while she wandered underneath the city in her Labyrinth was hilarious to her. She hoped Assault would get a kick out of it when they inevitably caught sight of her elsewhere in the city.

With the itch to hunt satiated for the moment, the urge to create was back in full force. She loved her Kirkhammer, and her stake driver was an excellent prosthesis and back-up weapon, but she had new designs bouncing around in her brain that demanded acknowledgement.

The good news was that she could double up, so to speak. The new blueprint that caught her eye also used a silver sword as its base form, and it was even the same length. Being able to make just the sheath would kill two beasts with one sword, or something like that. And, she could still pull out the hammerhead if she felt like crushing her enemies into a fine paste.

She could easily condense the remainder of Rune's blood into another blood stone. It would mean waiting a bit longer before her Father or Amy could partake in communion, but she could still lead them through the Labyrinth herself if necessary. It would be another excuse to hold Amy's hand, if nothing else.

Besides, she figured that Amy would approve. If her friend thought that the standard silver sword was cool, surely an even bigger sword was cooler, right?

Taylor put the sword back on the wall and started the generator, then loaded up the centrifuge.

While the sounds of machinery echoed through the Labyrinth, Taylor fired up the forge and picked over her supply of raw materials.

She would need to do another Home Depot run, soon.

Arms laden with rebar, Taylor got to work.

…

I really need to steal a power hammer.

And maybe a bigger generator.

Flattening and folding this amount of steel by hand was extremely tiring. The stone block that she used for her hammerhead had been quite a bit less trouble.

Taylor put the heavy mallet down and turned off the forge, walking over to grab another water bottle.

She had decided to wear her stake driver while forging. It was just impossible to move around the way she needed to in the chair, and the weight was tolerable.

I need to rethink the attachment point, though.

The clamp and spikes that she was currently using to hold the stake driver to her leg was crude, at best. It clearly wasn't up to the challenge of high speed impacts, and the regeneration solution was too slow to totally mitigate the damage. It definitely took the edge off, and made it comfortable to wear around, but it wasn't ideal.

She was reluctant to make the bracket any more damaging to her leg, though. She could add length and anchors to the spikes so that they would sink into her bones, but that would make it significantly more painful to take on and off, as well as increase the amount of regeneration fluid she would need to offset the damage.

A project for another time. Her forge was currently occupied by the massive blade that would also act as a sheath for her silver sword.

But she needed to take a break, and Stormtiger's blood was done condensing.

Taylor left her workshop again, heading back to the two-story waiting room that she had used for Rune's vial. From what she knew of Stormtiger's power, it didn't seem likely that the process would drive her back into her workshop again.

Well, it might. But it was still better to be safe than sorry.

Taylor shook the sweat and the tremors from her limbs and loaded the vial into her injector.

She could do this. Her powers wanted to be used, and the echoes in the back of her mind practically sung with praise as they gorged on the variety of parahuman blood she imbibed. The process itself was just a bit unpleasant. In the same way that an ice-pick lobotomy was unpleasant.

Before she could second guess herself, Taylor slammed the blood vial into her thigh and closed her eyes as her mind was enhanced once again. It was strangely familiar, by this point.

Her sense of self warped and twisted while the blood became one with her.

The hunt is a dirge of farewell.

The moon hung perfect and silver overhead, so very close to being full. It sang to her in a beautiful symphony of overlapping voices and unknowable instruments, a choir of stars and heavenly light.

Taylor got the distinct feeling that the hunt served a greater purpose. That there was a reason for everything, and for her peculiar brand of madness.

May your prey rest in peace, never again to awaken to another harrowing nightmare.

She was the first, and only Hunter. The responsibility fell heavy on her shoulders. She was the only one who could dream. The only one who could prevent the harrowing nightmare.

Power surged within her as the moon's light intensified, sinking deep into her flesh and permeating her bones.

The air stirred, in time with her ragged breaths.

Taylor reached out and took hold of the tapestry, accepting the obligation and the curse that the dream offered. The moon shone brightly in the night sky, a beacon in the sea of endless stars.

Howling wind spun around her in a deafening cyclone, pulling the cracked and ruined tile with it as she became the vortex of her own personal storm.

Taylor rose from the broken floor of her Hospital and hung suspended in the atrium, shining with stark silver light in the moon's radiance.

She was the first Hunter, and potentially the last.

The effects of the hallowed blood abruptly faded, and the moon's light along with it. Taylor screamed in surprise and plummeted ten feet to the floor when the cyclone suddenly ceased holding her aloft.

She landed hard and stumbled in an undignified manner, her usual grace failing her while her mind continued to recover from the ordeal.

Breathing heavily, Taylor slowly straightened and rolled her shoulders. She blinked the remaining stars from her eyes and looked down at her hands.

She could still feel the ebbs and eddies of the air around her.

A wide smile spread over her face.

I can fucking fly?

Not really. She could call to the air and empower her leaps even further, using the pressure to drive her into the sky and hold her there.

Taylor couldn't resist, leaping up again and summoning the cyclone to carry her as she hung fifteen feet above the ground.

Her heart stuttered erratically and her vision began to fade at the edges.

Shit.

She once again plummeted to the cold floor, and this time her legs refused to work correctly. Taylor collapsed into a heap and covered her head to avoid smashing her skull on the shattered tile.

Her breathing raced once again as she lay still for a long moment, body aching from the rough impact with the ground and the exertion of controlling the atmosphere with her will.

Okay. Flying is hard.

Another power to be used sparingly, along with her quickening. Annoying, but not the end of the world. She would practice. Maybe it was like a muscle, and got easier the more she did it.

Hopefully.

She also knew that she could wrap her weapon in her blades of wind, creating a razor-sharp scythe of air to fling at her enemies. That was a nice complement to the general aerokinesis. Another long range option was always appreciated.

Pulling herself slowly to her feet, Taylor began to trudge back to her workshop. She probably couldn't swing a hammer right now, but she could at least set up the condensing process for Purity's blood before she passed out. Maybe.

This infusion had been… less worrying, overall. She already felt the kinship with the moon, and her dreams had never stopped. The light and its song weren't all that different. The actual process hadn't been all that draining. If she hadn't gotten ahead of herself and tried to fly two seconds after putting her body and mind through the ringer for the second time in twelve hours, it would have been fine.

But no. Instead, she had burned through any and all remaining energy she had floating around and was now about three seconds away from just taking a nap here in the Labyrinth.

Brilliant plan, Taylor.

She did manage to drag herself through the doors of the Workshop, though. Her fingers felt numb as she hooked up Purity's blood jars. She barely made it to her nest before toppling onto the lab table and slipping into her dreams, the moon watching her with calm contentment as she slept.

…

Amy tossed her backpack into the corner of her room next to her desk that was its designated spot amongst the mess.

School was always a bit surreal, and had been for a long time. Even before she met Hunter. What was the point of doing bullshit tests and homework when she was the best healer in the world? It wasn't like she was ever going to do anything else.

The PRT and Carol all made excellent arguments about the importance of social interaction and building a general knowledge base to encourage critical thinking and shit, but it still felt pointless on a day to day basis.

It was nice to spend time with Vicky, but everyone they hung out with were Vicky's friends, not hers. It was inevitable.

She could go try to make her own friends, but that would decrease the amount of time she got to spend with Vicky, which would entirely defeat the point.

Exhibit A of why her obsession was definitely self-destructive. Well, actually probably Exhibit L or something. There were a lot of things that were even more fucked up about it.

Amy looked around her room and wallowed in the grips of executive dysfunction for a few minutes. She had an awkward amount of time. The Vicky Express was a lot faster than the bus, so she got home before 3:00 and didn't need to be at the hospital until 6:00.

Vicky had rocketed away after dropping her off. Something about getting ice cream with Dean. Amy didn't care.

And Taylor was probably still asleep. Fucking vampire. It wouldn't have surprised Amy if the weird Tinker slept hanging from the ceiling along with the dead bodies, except for the fact that she had seen Taylor's nest.

Which was, in itself, a bit strange and sad, even if it suited her.

Amy knew that Taylor must have somewhere she could go for the necessities. She had clean clothes and her hair was well kept, most of the time.

It still twisted something within her whenever she imagined Taylor wandering alone in the endless Hospital, though.

Amy's phone rang.

Only one person actually called her, these days. Taylor's refusal to interact with technology outside the bare minimum was silly, but kind of endearing. She called it op-sec, but Amy was pretty sure she was just stubborn.

"You're up early," Amy said in lieu of an actual greeting.

"I had an early night. Overdid it a bit with Stormtiger's vial and knocked myself out," Taylor said. Amy could hear the satisfied smile in her voice, though.

"You're really burning through those. Any cool powers this time?" Amy asked. Carol wasn't home yet and Mark was asleep, so there wasn't really a risk of being overheard.

"Yeah, actually. I can fly. For like, a second. And I can throw air scythes," Taylor said.

Holy shit.

"Your Tinkering is ridiculous. That's a strong-ass power just from shooting up with some magic blood. You're like… the Butcher, but without the pesky voices in your head," Amy couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

"Oh, I have those too, don't worry," Taylor said lightly.

Amy rolled her eyes.

"I honestly can't tell if you're joking or not," she said in exasperation.

"And I can feel you rolling your eyes at me. Anyway, I was mainly calling to see if you wanted to do something before your hospital shift," Taylor said.

Amy's stomach clenched and her heartbeat picked up.

Stop that.

"Um, I guess? Like what?" Amy asked.

"I don't know, I'm a villainous mad scientist, remember? I have no concept of what normal people do. Do you want to come hang out here while I work on my new sword?" Taylor asked.

Amy snickered. She couldn't help herself.

Only Taylor would unironically ask if she wanted to come 'hang out' in a cursed hospital and watch her make a fucking sword from scrap metal.

And maybe Amy was just as crazy, because that sounded fucking awesome. Infinitely more fun than any of the bullshit double dates that Vicky came up with.

"Yeah, yeah, actually, that sounds great," Amy said. "I've never seen how you actually make your weapons."

"Cool, cool. Follow-up question: do you want me to open a door to the Labyrinth in your basement?" Taylor asked.

It took Amy's brain a second to catch up.

"Wait, like, in my house?" Amy said in disbelief.

"Yeah. Just in case, you know. And it would make it easier to come visit."

Amy blinked. Something about that concept just did not compute.

"You want… to put a door, directly into your villainous blood Tinker workshop, with hanging bodies and shit, in Brandish's basement?" Amy said, her voice getting higher with every word. How was this her life?

"I mean, it sounds a bit stupid when you say it like that, but no one can perceive the Labyrinth gates without taking communion, and I doubt Brandish is going to be drinking blood from a ritual chalice anytime soon," Taylor said casually.

What.

"I'm sorry, I'm going to need you to back all the fuck up on that one. What the fuck are you talking about?" Amy said. She understood most of the individual words Taylor just lobbed into her brain like a bomb, but put together they just couldn't quite process.

"Okay, so I told you that the Labyrinth is the system of infinite hospital rooms and corridors that I initially set up to protect my Workshop, right?" Taylor said, as if she was teaching a class on being a bullshit mad scientist who apparently also dabbled in occult rituals.

"Sure, I'm with you so far," Amy played along.

"Well, I used Rune's blood to make a lantern that allows me to find and open new doors into the Labyrinth, like the one in the Brockton General morgue. In order to find a door, I just have to have a beacon to follow. As far as I can tell, those are either places I'm very familiar with, or people I'm attached to. So, since you're currently at your house, I could wander over there in the Labyrinth and open a door," Taylor lectured.

That was… comforting. And terrifying. Just a bit.

Also, Taylor was attached to her? What the fuck did that mean? It wasn't fair that she could do this to her with such casual ease.

"Wait, how do you know that I'm at my house?" Amy asked suddenly.

"I'm currently holding the lantern. I can feel which direction I would need to walk in order to find you, and it matches up with where I know your house is in the real world," Taylor said, as if that wasn't an absolutely insane thing to say.

Amy knew that it was objectively creepy, and probably problematic in a number of ways, but something about the idea of Taylor always being able to find her made her chest tighten pleasantly.

Maybe she wasn't the only one with a self-destructive obsession.

The other part of Taylor's comment caught up to her.

"And what was that about drinking blood?"

"Oh, yeah, so… the… um… procedure… that I used to create the Labyrinth may have involved drinking a… customized Tinkertech solution… out of a specialized vessel," Taylor said. Suspiciously.

"What kind of specialized vessel?" Amy narrowed her eyes, even though Taylor couldn't see her. Probably. That fucking lantern might do that too, how the fuck would she know?

"It's… definitely not Cricket's skull?" Taylor said.

"Hey, Taylor… what the fuck?" Amy pinched the bridge of her nose.

"My powers work in mysterious ways! It's not my fault I got some kind of Cthulhu grab bag!" Taylor laughed at her. Laughed. After telling her about the goddamn blood ritual she undertook to create some kind of reality-twisting hellscape.

A reality-twisting hellscape that could open a portal from Amy's basement to Taylor's workshop. She could be a couple flights of stairs away from Taylor's Hospital at any time.

It was absolutely, completely unfair how tempting that was. How was she supposed to say no to that?

Honestly, the idea of Carol's expression if she ever found out that her house had a direct line to Carpenter's workshop was… hilarious.

Amy smiled and laughed with Taylor despite herself.

"Alright, fine, you ridiculous abomination. Let's fucking do it, open a door to my basement," Amy headed down the stairs.

"Hell yeah. I'm on my way," Taylor said. Amy could hear the smile in her voice and the echo of her footsteps through the abandoned hallways of her infinite Hospital.

"See you soon, then," Amy said. Why couldn't she stop smiling?

She hung up and definitely didn't run to the basement stairs. Because that would be pathetic.

Amy's adopted family never really took advantage of the finished basement. They had a widescreen TV and some couches in the main open area, but it really only saw use if the Pelham's were over for a party or something. And that happened less and less, these days.

Aside from the open living area and an unused kitchenette, it also had an unfinished portion that housed the furnace and hot water heater.

Knowing Taylor's power and its need to do everything in the creepiest way possible, Amy assumed that it would pop up in the unfinished section, between the cobwebs.

Sure enough, she had barely made it through the door when Taylor, Hunter, the mad blood Tinker and Nazi killer extraordinaire, stepped through the wall and into Carol Dallon's basement, gruesome Tinkertech prosthesis, silly hat and all.

It was absurd. Amy couldn't believe she was here.

From the smile on Taylor's face, she liked it too. That was… encouraging.

"Hi," Amy said anticlimactically.

"Hey," Taylor replied, grinning even wider. "Ready for your first real trip through the Labyrinth? It's really not all that exciting."

"I don't have to ride on your back this time, right?" Amy raised an eyebrow.

"Only if you want to," Taylor laughed.

That was extremely tempting. But she wasn't quite that pathetic. Yet.

Shut up.

"No, I guess I can walk. How far is it?" Amy asked curiously. Distances obviously worked differently in Taylor's strange domain.

"Not exactly sure. It took me like two minutes to run here, but I do run pretty fast. I guess we'll see how it goes," Taylor shrugged.

"Okay," Amy said.

Taylor held out her hand.

Amy's heart did a weird double-thump thing that didn't sound healthy.

She took the offered hand and a door wreathed in eldritch flame appeared on her wall.

The tempest of impossible blood and biology exploded within her biosenses, and Amy was once again overwhelmed by the enormity of it.

Taylor was somehow more, again. Amy knew that she had imbibed another vial, but it still caught her off guard every time. Hunter was a thundering storm of barely contained power, a flickering galaxy of churning stars and lightning.

Amy blinked and noticed Taylor staring at her with a strangely pleased expression.

"What?" Amy snapped. Part of her was a bit embarrassed by her reaction, but that piece was getting smaller every day.

"I like that you like looking at me," Taylor said simply. "With your power, I mean."

Oh.

Amy really didn't know what to say to that.

Taylor opened the door into her Labyrinth, and pulled Amy along into the dark.

…

Amy hadn't been exactly sure what to expect, but she definitely wasn't disappointed.

"So, I'm working to get this bevel lined up so it matches the other side, since this gap running along the edge is where the current silver sword blade will slide into place…"

Listening to Taylor talk about this while sparks flew from her belt grinder was… nice. Not as intense as her work with the blood concoctions. Amy perched on the lab table that served as Taylor's nest and watched her do her thing.

It certainly didn't hurt that Taylor had taken off her signature coat and formalwear to work the forge. The corded muscles in her bare arms and shoulders stood out starkly under her black tank top as she held up the massive, five foot long great sword blade that was also somehow a sheath for her silver sword.

Amy forcibly wrenched her mind out of the gutter when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Shit, what time is it?

She checked the most recent message and sighed before replying.

V: Hey, I'm at the house to pick you up.

V: Where are you?

V: Is everything okay?

A: Yeah, I'm with Anne. She's going to take me to work.

V: Huh? How?

A: Her car?

V: She can drive?

"Hey, Taylor, you can drive, right?" Amy asked.

"Yeah," Taylor looked over at her in confusion. "Why?"

"Just curious," Amy hummed.

A: Yeah, why wouldn't she?

V: Her foot?

A: Vicky… do you use both feet when you drive?

V: Um, yeah? Gas and brake. Two pedals, two feet.

Amy snorted out loud. Taylor looked at her strangely but she just shook her head.

A: NO! No, bad Vicky. That's awful, who taught you to drive?

V: Crystal, why?

A: Oh God. I'm never driving anywhere with either of you ever again. Fucking flyers.

V: Back up though, you're with Anne?

A: Yeah, at her place now. Bout to head to the hospital.

V: Scandalous. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

A: I hate you. Also, too late.

V: WHAT?!

Amy put her phone back in her pocket and ignored it. She didn't know what possessed her to send the last message, but she was in a good fucking mood, dammit. Besides, she was sitting in a villain's lair next to Rune's half-harvested corpse. That was definitely something Vicky wouldn't do. It counted.

Taylor looked up at her as she sighed and hopped off the nest table.

"I need to go to the hospital. I didn't realize how late it was," Amy said.

Taylor checked her watch.

"Oh yeah, wow. Time flies, and all that," Taylor said. She put the heavy slab of half-finished metal down and rolled her shoulders.

Amy definitely didn't stare. At all.

"Ready to go for a walk?" Taylor grinned over at her and offered a hand.

"Don't get us lost, I'm already running late as it is," Amy smiled back without thinking, taking her hand and basking in the now familiar spiraling galaxy.

"I would never," Taylor said with faux seriousness. "And besides, travel by Labyrinth is quite a bit faster than the bus."

They left the Workshop and returned to the endless ruined hallways of the Labyrinth.

And Taylor did not, in fact, get lost.

…

Taylor hissed and bit down hard on the leather in between her teeth as the thick metal spikes sunk into her bones.

The pain only lasted a moment before the regeneration solution began to kick in, but damn that hurt.

She wiped the excess blood off of her stump.

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was better than anything else she could come up with. The current junction with her prosthesis was too unstable, but she couldn't go through this level of pain every time she took off the stake driver.

So, she installed a universal joint directly into the end of her leg, instead.

Rather than ending in scarred flesh, her left leg now ended halfway down her calf with a steel cap, about an inch long and cylindrical. The new equipment was fused directly into both her tibia and fibula, and wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

But that was alright, because now all she needed to do was adapt the stake driver junction to match. The regeneration fluid loop on the prosthesis could easily be adapted to connect to the new attachment point, and it would help to ensure that the cap never got knocked loose.

Much more elegant than just jamming metal spikes into her leg over and over. That was… not her best idea, in hindsight.

Lisa's expression had been funny, though.

Taylor idly wondered what the Undersiders were up to. Hopefully they didn't run into too much trouble because of their association with her. Even though she told the PRT they weren't working together, she wasn't entirely sure they would believe her.

A problem for another time. For now, she had a prosthesis to upgrade, and a sword to finish.

…

The cool February wind whipped over the roof of her Hospital as the sun shone overhead.

Taylor didn't come up here often enough.

Most of the buildings in the Trainyards weren't this tall, so she could see for miles in every direction. The spires of Downtown glittered in the distance, and the sea of warehouses and old processing plants that lined the Docks looked forlorn by comparison.

The Trainyards were almost completely abandoned, but that suited her just fine.

Taylor could see the current PRT surveillance team set up several blocks away, on the roof of a half-collapsed canning factory.

She waved at them. They didn't wave back. They never did.

Taylor caught just the faintest hint of dogs barking on the cold breeze. Hopefully Rachel was able to rebuild her shelter in peace.

The comforting weight of her new blade hung from the leather harness strapped over her shoulders. The great sword was a thing of both beauty and savagery, inlaid with intricate steel patterns and runes that would add conceptual weight to its strikes. Infused with the bloodstone made from Rune's remaining essence and quenched in Stormtiger's blood, the holy blade would cleave her enemies with righteous fervor.

It combined the raw power of her Kirkhammer and the lethal elegance of her silver sword into a weapon of glorious purpose. The holy blade was designed with greater enemies in mind, the embodiment of her responsibility and the ending of their suffering once and for all.

She was the first Hunter, and Hookwolf would not be leaving their next battle alive.

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was an itch in the back of her mind.

Still, something felt… heavy.

It was Friday. The full moon was tonight. She hadn't looked it up, but the knowledge was a part of her, somehow.

Taylor closed her eyes and let the late afternoon sun wash over her skin.

Purity's vial was complete, but she hadn't injected it yet. Her mind and body had been worn out from the two back to back infusions and all her forging.

Tonight would be perfect.

But…

She felt like something was coming. Some threat she wasn't seeing, yet.

And she didn't, couldn't know what it was.

Taylor opened her eyes and looked out over the city.

She would stop by the hospital and see Amy tonight, and then, if this feeling of approaching bloodshed hadn't abated, she would go hunting.

She might even give Rachel a call, and see if she wanted to tag along.

Taylor smiled.

The Empire had been entirely too precocious, pushing for territory across the city. She had been busy with her own problems and projects, but it was time for someone to push back.

She may have promised Kaiser that she would take his head if he messed with her friends, but she had left out the part where she was planning to take it anyway.

…

Chapter Text

Interlude 6

Colin drummed his fingers on the desk in agitation as he reread the results of his latest test battery.

Wetware really wasn't his specialty. However, he was still one of the most experienced Tinkers in the Protectorate, aside from Dragon, of course, and she was here, too.

And neither of them were making any significant headway.

"I just don't understand how it's stable in any way! The cellular structure mimics human blood, but the readings are more in line with something out of Professor Haywire's equations," Dragon complained. She wasn't normally so vocal about her irritation, but they had been at this for hours and she wasn't used to being stymied.

Colin ran a hand down his face.

"I think it's time to put aside any hope of replicating the sample and move to determining its viability," Colin grumbled. "Some Tinkertech will always be incomprehensible to anyone besides the Tinker in question."

"I can accept that with complex quantum mechanics and machinery, but this is just… blood! Blood that also, somehow, has microscopic interdimensional portals bouncing around in it!" Dragon said. "Everything in my calculations indicates that it should be ripping apart the fabric of reality in a hundred different ways, but it isn't. It's like using plutonium to make ibuprofen!"

Which was the primary reason they hadn't attempted to replicate it. Not that they could have, anyway.

Still, it was vindicating that Dragon had the same amount of luck he did in analyzing the frustrating substance. Namely, very little at all.

"Hunter said that she has been injecting herself with it regularly for weeks, and we have seen the evidence of its effectiveness, as long as she wasn't lying," Armsmaster said.

He had run her mildly infuriating conversation with Assault through his speech analysis algorithm. He was reasonably sure that she hadn't lied, but he couldn't be positive with the audio quality and her scarf.

Colin wished it weren't the case, but Ethan's approach had been… effective, if not advisable.

Dragon sighed and her voice became less sharp.

"By practical logic, injecting this into a person should turn them inside out, erase them from existence, and then rearrange all of the atomic particles within a hundred meters. It obviously doesn't do that, but I still don't know if we can clear it for human trials," Dragon said tiredly.

"We could try animals first," Colin suggested, even though the idea didn't appeal to him.

Dragon's avatar bit her lip.

"This substance either does what Hunter says it does, or it will kill everyone in the general vicinity when injected into a living subject. There isn't really anything in between. I don't know if it matters how or who we test it on."

"Maybe a terminal patient who is outside of Panacea's scope of practice?" Colin said. "Put them behind a whole bunch of blast shields, just in case?"

"That's not a terrible idea, although it sounds… a bit insensitively pragmatic. The patient may appreciate the opportunity, though," Dragon considered. "Speaking of which, have you sent over a request to have Panacea analyze the sample?"

"Not yet," Colin shook his head. "I wanted to make sure it wasn't a trap, first. I don't want to risk Panacea's safety around an unknown Tinkertech solution."

"I am… reasonably confident that it's not going to spontaneously lose its stability," Dragon said. "I don't know how Hunter achieved this in the first place, but it seems strangely placid now, given what it's made of."

"I agree, but as you said, I am sometimes… insensitively pragmatic, so I thought it may be better to be safe than sorry," Colin grinned at her avatar. "I appreciate the time and insight, Dragon."

She smiled back. Excellent.

"Anytime, Colin."

…

Thomas once again found himself frustrated. It was becoming a far too common occurrence, these days.

Carpenter, or Hunter, as Taylor Hebert apparently preferred to be called, was getting stronger.

It wasn't uncommon for Tinkers, and was one of the reasons that they were so highly sought after, but it was irritating. He still hadn't found any consistent method to ensure her compliance. And, in his most recent attempt to capture Daniel, the frustrating man managed to call her while barricaded in his office at the Dockworker's Union. Hunter had subsequently appeared out of nowhere within minutes and killed his men, even though she was ostensibly in her cursed Hospital under PRT surveillance on the other side of the city.

If Emily thought that Hunter was contained, she was in for a rude awakening. Hopefully at an especially inconvenient time.

But he was still missing something important, and he didn't have the means to easily figure out what it was. A novelty, for him, and not a welcome one.

It galled him to do it, but he may have to cut his losses and seek to profit off of Hunter's independent existence or downfall. There may not be a way to bring her under his umbrella directly.

The Undersiders still had a chance, at least by association. Somehow, Rachel Lindt had gained Hunter's allegiance, to the point that the vigilante was willing to kill to protect her and warned the PRT to stay away from her.

In the timeline where he overtly turned on Rachel, Hunter found him and killed him, as was par for the course.

And so, despite the blow to his pride, Thomas split the timeline again and sent an encoded instruction to one of his moles planted within the Empire.

If his enemies wanted to tear themselves to pieces against each other while discrediting Emily in the process, so be it. He would be there to pick up the pieces.

…

Vicky was practically bouncing with excitement as she swooped down to meet Amy in the hospital parking lot. She probably would have been, if she hadn't been flying.

Amy definitely looked more… relaxed, than usual. Whatever was going on with Anne had certainly taken the edge off.

Victoria repressed the urge to scream. Amy was doing rebellious teenager stuff! This was the most exciting thing that had happened all month! Her sister had gone to Anne's house without asking their mom, and was being snarkily coy about what they got up to!

It was unironically awesome. Amy had been slowly fading for so long, and nothing Vicky did seemed to help. Now, even if Amy's relationship with Anne was a bit rocky, not to mention weird, it was obviously helping somehow.

Probably whatever it was that Vicky wouldn't do. That probably applied to a lot of things, given that she was, well, straight, but still! The implications were exciting!

Had Amy taken her advice and actually talked to Anne about her feelings? Had it gone well?

She had to know, or she would die.

"Hey, Vicky," Amy smiled at her.

Smiled! Without schadenfreude or sarcasm!

"You have to spill, I'm dying over here," Vicky said as she landed in front of her. Amy wasn't allowed to take the air taxi home until she gave up the goods.

"About what?" Amy said.

And there's the schadenfreude, right on schedule.

"You know what!" Victoria said. "Going over to Anne's place? Doing things?"

Amy's smile was definitely a smirk now.

"Vicky, you should know that I would never kiss and tell," Amy said.

Amy was obviously evil. It was the only explanation.

…

"No, no, that's not even the best part. He didn't steal it from the Image department, he filed the necessary paperwork and requisitioned it as a mission critical asset!"

Dean Stansfield, otherwise known as the Ward, Gallant, glanced over at the cackling group sprawled on the couch of the Wards common area as he exited his private room. Dennis and Missy were laughing their asses off, while Carlos just shook his head.

"Did I miss anything exciting?" Dean asked, wandering over. He hadn't been on a patrol since Sunday.

The others just lost it again, but Carlos leaned back to look up at him.

"You haven't read your email yet? Velocity found Carpenter's lair, and for some reason they sent Assault to make contact with her," Carlos said. "He… well, you know how Assault is. He went for the… atypical approach."

This was going to be good.

"What did he do now?" Dean grinned with the rest of them. The emotions flaring within them were encouraging. They seemed to find this legitimately enjoyable. Given Carpenter's track record, that probably meant that she hadn't killed any of the heroes.

"He gave her a pirate hat that he claimed was a mission critical asset," Dennis cackled.

Dean didn't get the joke.

"She only has one leg because the other one got eaten by Hookwolf," Missy said.

Ah. That would do it.

That… was in poor taste. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it seemed… disrespectful? Ableist? Something like that.

"And, the best part is, it worked!" Dennis continued. "She agreed to play nice with the heroes and limit her killing to the gangs. She even promised not to kill or hurt the surveillance teams monitoring her Hospital. And, she warned us not to go in, because we'd get lost? Not sure if she means dead, or literally lost. She said that she'd try to find us and get us out, but that's not super clear either."

"That's…" Dean wasn't sure what to make of that. "I wonder why they aren't trying to bring her in. She's a murderer."

"She told Assault that she would limit herself to killing other 'monsters', as she calls them. But, I'm not sure. Armsmaster has the sample of her Tinkertech that she gave Assault, supposedly some kind of blood concoction that heals?" Carlos said with a shrug.

"Wait, what does she make? I thought she just made weird old fashioned weapons?" Dean asked.

"According to her, she's a blood Tinker. So yeah, we have our very own one-legged vampire Bonesaw running around. Or hopping around," Dennis said. "Assault tried to get her to join the Wards, but she said no because they'd probably make her stop killing people."

Dean choked slightly.

"They're still trying to recruit her? That's insane," Dean said.

"I don't know, it'd be nice to have someone who actually fucking did something around here for a change. Especially if she wasn't an absolute bitch like Sophia," Missy said.

Her cursing was getting worse. Dean thought it was probably a coping mechanism.

"That may be true, but I doubt replacing her with a Nazi-hunting blood Tinker would be better," Dean said.

"Oh! Right, also, she said her name was Hunter," Carlos said.

That didn't bode well for her intentions. Violent vigilantes could be almost as bad as true villains, and sometimes worse. Moral righteousness had the potential to be a strong motivator. The road to hell, and all that.

"Do you think they're playing nice because of the healing thing, or what?" Dennis said, glancing at Carlos. "I mean, normally Piggot would be coming down on her like a ton of bricks."

"I think she's being told to take a 'wait and see' approach," Carlos said. "If we make the first strike, it's entirely possible she won't keep her word to Assault and start killing our people. It's hard to justify the risk when she isn't going after us or innocent people directly. Enemy of our enemy, right?"

"Just as long as the Empire doesn't fly off the handle," Missy grumbled. "Not that they'd actually let us fight them."

"Also, she keeps waving at the surveillance teams," Dennis laughed again. "Hasn't left the building, but pops her head out every once in a while just so they know that she knows they're still there. They've upped her to a Thinker 4. It seems like she has a danger sense or something. It took her all of two seconds to identify the original team on Tuesday night, even though she couldn't have known we were there ahead of time."

That was also scary. Capes with mental enhancements were harder to counter than just standard physical boosts.

"Does her healing stuff work?" Dean asked curiously.

"They haven't tested it yet. I think they're going to call Amy to come take a look?" Carlos said.

Dean winced internally. Amy would definitely have something to say about that.

Maybe he should check with Victoria about her, actually. Vicky said something about her sister being off kilter recently, but he hadn't seen her to gauge her emotional state.

Still, any change was probably an improvement, when it came to Amy.

…

Max Anders once again stood before his Empire and spoke in the voice of Kaiser. His tone, however, was much different than the rally earlier in the week.

"I will not lie to you, loyal soldiers of our cause. We have been wounded. We have been threatened. Our safety and our honor have been spat on by those who seek the downfall of all that is good."

The crowd was quiet, aside from a low murmuring. No glorious applause yet, but Max knew how to coax out the necessary fervor.

"We have been attacked. Not by a worthy foe who stood to face us in battle, but a knife in the dark, who hides behind a curtain of anonymity. A coward, who even now hunkers in their hole and waits for the next opportunity to strike."

Hunter thought that she could take the high road while committing atrocities. He would show her how the game was played, and what the consequences for breaking the rules were.

"Fifty-two people should be in this room with us today, who aren't. I'm sure all of you know at least one member of our righteous movement that passed over the last two weeks. Friends. Coworkers. Mothers and fathers, sons and daughters. They died in the name of our cause, but they were denied the basic decency of a true fight. They were butchered by an animal, who hunted them in the night while they worked, or while they revelled with their brothers and sisters."

If the rules didn't apply, then he could break them, too.

"Tonight, we will prove to the fallen, and to ourselves that they did not die in vain. Fifty-two people, good people, and the authorities do nothing! They have the audacity to slander our great mission, while they turn a blind eye to the beast on their doorstep. We will not be so blinded. We will not allow these atrocities to go unpunished!"

The excitement was building now. Max could feel it. The anger, the hate. So easily summoned. So easily directed.

Aimed at the monster who stole Kayden from him.

"Tonight, we will march on the gates of our enemy and we will force them to stand and fight. We will stand tall and give them the battle that they denied our fellow soldiers. We will show them, and the rest of this city, that we will not be silenced!"

Max knew where to find her. The PRT leaked like a sieve, and it hadn't taken long to get his hands on the official report from Tuesday evening, including Hunter's warning. Max certainly wasn't stupid enough to wander into a murderous Tinker's lair.

Instead, he would force her to come out and face them. Her barbarism had provided him with the opportunity to maintain moral superiority while pushing the boundaries of normal decency. It opened up avenues of attack that would be too damaging to their public image if she hadn't opened the door first.

He would prove that the might of the Empire was still more than sufficient to hold their own. Hunter may be strong, but she wasn't bulletproof. She may be fast, but against all of them, along with their unpowered army, she would fall.

"Tonight, the Hunter will die!"

And his army roared their approval.

…

Emily Piggot reviewed the recently updated, highly confidential report.

The gangs weren't the only ones with moles. The PRT just called them informants.

Kaiser was finally on the move. The Empire capes had been noticeably absent from his push for territory, and Lung had been more than willing to sit on his ass and let the unpowered minions poke at each other. It was a game, to them.

This time, it wasn't a game. Not when Hunter had already flipped the board.

Kaiser's plan to force Hunter into a direct conflict was a clear violation of the standard rules of engagement, but Hunter had brought it on herself. Avoiding this kind of situation was exactly why the PRT paid lip service to the rules, even if they benefited villains more than the heroes.

But Hunter made her bed, and now she would have to lie in it. The Chief Director had been clear; stay the course. If they were supposed to leave Hunter alone, then they were going to leave Hunter alone.

The Empire still fielded eight capes, and that was only if they hadn't received reinforcements from Gesellschaft. That, along with several hundred angry foot soldiers with automatic weapons, would be a serious challenge for any organization to handle in a full assault.

And Hunter was just one cape. A teenager.

The public relations fallout from this would reflect negatively on the PRT, but it was worth the hit to their reputation. If the Empire won, then the status quo would be restored, with significantly less parahuman power under the Empire's control. Maintaining the peace would be straightforward until they recovered or splintered.

If Hunter won, then there wouldn't be an Empire to worry about anymore. The balance of power would shift to allow for Hunter on one side and Lung on the other. Two unstoppable forces. Two immovable objects.

They would either destroy the city, or they would reach an uneasy equilibrium of mutually assured destruction.

That was if Hunter won. Emily doubted she would. Fresh triggers were always overconfident, so certain that the world would bend to accommodate them. Hunter wouldn't be the first to think that the cape problem could be solved with a gun, and she wouldn't be the last.

Good riddance.

…

Chapter Text

Bloodmoon 7.1

Taylor unlocked her stake driver from the implanted docking joint and pulled her jeans down over the metal attachment. Setting the heavy prosthesis aside, she unstoppered a vial of the blue elixir and downed it in one swallow.

The Brockton General morgue wasn't always deserted. Even with Panacea on call, there were still new residents rolled in regularly. Luckily, this was the precise situation that the blue elixir was designed for.

Taylor opened the door from the Labyrinth and wheeled herself into the morgue. The technician filing paperwork at the desk in the corner didn't notice.

Her mind felt a bit foggy from the anesthetic, but it was tolerable. The effects would wear off by the time she got up to the main floors, anyway.

The staff walking through the hallways in the basement didn't notice anything amiss with the extremely forgettable girl in the wheelchair. Just another patient. The fact that living patients didn't usually visit this floor was irrelevant.

Taylor rolled herself out of the elevator and smiled at the familiar figure in red and white robes standing by the vending machines.

"So… come here often?" Taylor said. It was an extremely stupid line, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. Her brain was still a bit pleasantly foggy from the anesthetic.

"Jesus!" Amy jumped and focused on her. The elixir was kind of funny sometimes. Amy may have technically been able to see her before, but at the same time only just noticed that she was there. "Don't do that. Also, how the fuck did you do that?"

"I made an elixir that gives me a weak Stranger effect and makes people ignore me. It also numbs my mind. It should wear off in a couple minutes," Taylor said.

Amy blinked at her and then rolled her eyes dramatically.

"As if you weren't already creepy enough. I'm not even going to ask," Amy said. "Did you finish your oversized monster of a sword?"

"Oh yeah, I can't wait to introduce Hookwolf to it," Taylor grinned.

"Of course," Amy said dryly. "Just try not to make too much work for me. I hate it when they try to guilt me into healing Nazis."

"I'll do my best." Mainly because she didn't leave any survivors if she could help it. "In the meantime, want to grab some dinner? I'm getting a bit sick of fast food."

"You know, eventually someone is going to actually ask what you're doing here," Amy said as they headed to the main hospital cafeteria. It had a number of different options and the food was surprisingly good. "And why you're distracting their miracle healer."

Taylor smirked up at her.

"It's worth it. As much fun as talking on the roof is, it's nice to change it up. Besides, I like distracting you," Taylor said.

Amy scowled at her.

"Well, when Carol gets on my case for associating with a patient or something, I'm going to give her your phone number and let you deal with her bullshit," Amy said.

"I don't answer spam calls," Taylor laughed. Amy just frowned harder and Taylor softened. Amy was probably actually worried about this. "I'm kidding. I can handle Brandish. Her disapproval is irrelevant, and she isn't a threat. Besides, you said she already hates you."

Amy sighed as they sat down with their food. The private bubble that separated them from the real world was back in force. Even here, in the half-filled hospital cafeteria, it was like nothing else really mattered.

"It doesn't mean I'm looking forward to this inevitable shitshow. She's very concerned with team image and whatever. There's a reason I got Vicky to cover for us. If Carol finds out that I have a mysterious friend who doesn't actually exist on paper, shit will hit the fan," Amy said.

Now it was Taylor's turn to frown. She hadn't considered that.

Lisa probably knew how to make a fake person out of thin air. Taylor might even be able to convince her to help out without getting Coil involved.

"I'll work on it. The whole point of this thing," Taylor gestured to the wheelchair. "Is to make it possible to see people without everyone realizing who I am. I guess I should solidify a fake identity, otherwise things will fall apart quickly. That would kind of defeat the purpose."

Amy's expression was unreadable.

"You're going to… try to make 'Anne' real?" Amy said.

Taylor shrugged.

"I don't see why not. It would make it easier to spend time with you, and Victoria already knows me like this, so…" Taylor trailed off.

Amy just stared at her for a long moment.

"Why? Why do you go to so much trouble to come here?" Amy finally asked flatly. Taylor could tell that she was suppressing some kind of reaction, but she didn't know what.

Taylor decided that honesty would be the best policy. What did she have to lose? If Amy was going to run away, she probably would have done so already. Amy also went out of her way to see her. She liked looking at her and hanging out at the Workshop with her.

"I like you. I enjoy spending time with you. The idea of not being able to see you every day is… intolerable. When I used to worry that you would turn me over to the PRT, it wasn't because of the legal consequences. It was because it would mean you didn't want to talk to me anymore," Taylor said.

"That… I… the worst part about being stuck in a cell at the PHQ would be… that you couldn't see me?" Amy floundered, her expression twisting strangely.

"Sort of," Taylor replied. That didn't quite fit, but she wasn't sure how to explain. "There isn't a prison on earth that can hold me, so it's really just that you wouldn't want my company anymore. If you ever told me to leave you alone, for real, I would."

"I won't," Amy said automatically. Her face went weirdly red as she said it. It took a moment before the other part of Taylor's statement registered and Amy raised her eyebrows dramatically. "Wait, you think you could escape the Birdcage?"

Taylor smiled. It wasn't necessarily a nice expression, but she couldn't help it.

So many others had tried, but she would be the one to succeed, if it ever became necessary.

"No," Taylor said. "I know I can escape the Birdcage. I will never be chained, ever again."

Amy's expression was pretty funny.

In the silence while Amy recovered, Taylor's enhanced perception caught the low words emanating from a television on the other side of the room.

"-Kaiser, leader of the illegal parahuman organization known as the Empire Eighty Eight, has submitted the following recording to every major broadcasting station…"

"One moment, please, Amy," Taylor said.

Amy blinked again and stood up automatically as Taylor rolled herself over to the row of TV's on one wall of the cafeteria.

"-be advised that the subject matter may not be suitable for impressionable audiences…"

Taylor was tertiarily aware of Amy following her, but the majority of her focus was on the news report.

The metal mask of Kaiser filled the screen.

"I have a message for Hunter, the PRT, and the good people of Brockton Bay."

What the hell was Kaiser doing?

"To the people of this great city: those in which you have placed your trust are lying to you. They are covering up the truth of recent events in order to protect themselves and their pet murderer.

An uncontrolled parahuman calling themselves Hunter killed fifty-two people, and faces no consequences for their actions. The PRT capitulates with this unrepentant killer because they only target those that the establishment has deemed expendable. You must ask yourself if this is the type of administration you are willing to trust with your safety.

Fifty-two people were butchered for being considered enemies of the Hunter. How long will it be before you or your family are allowed to appear on that list?

Frigid ice crystalized in Taylor's chest. How dare this Nazi virus lecture her about the societal impact of her actions?

We at the Empire Eighty Eight will not stand for this injustice. If the authorities will not do what they have pledged, then we have no choice but to take action ourselves.

To the PRT and the Protectorate: do not interfere with our affirmative action. You allowed this travesty to come to pass. Standing in the way of righteous justice would only prove your willingness to turn a blind eye to the blatant murder in your city. Do not interfere.

And finally, I speak directly to Hunter: Tonight, at midnight, the Empire will give you the opportunity you have denied your victims. We will stand and face you as an honest enemy. At midnight, we will march on your Hospital, and you will come out from behind your cowardly barricades and defend what little of your honor remains. We are willing to stand behind our cause and our might. Are you?

Kaiser paused.

"If you do not, fifty-two more people will die, at random. One for every life you have stolen. If you are so adamant that everyone should live as equals, then it is only fair that they should die as equals.

Tonight, at midnight, Hunter. Do not be late."

…

Amy's hands and feet felt unnaturally cold as she listened to the broadcast.

Taylor's face looked like she was carved from stone, her scars standing out stark against pale skin.

Fuck.

Ice-water trickled down Amy's spine. When Taylor spoke, her voice was frozen and furious.

"I need to go," Taylor said.

Amy's heart rate spiked.

"You can't-" Amy hissed involuntarily, but Taylor was already wheeling herself away.

No, no, no, no…

Amy dashed after her, struggling to catch up despite Taylor's mode of transport.

"Taylor, don't fall for it, that's exactly what he wants," Amy whispered.

"I don't care," Taylor growled.

Shit.

They made it to the main lobby and Amy stopped talking to avoid drawing too much attention.

Instead of wheeling herself to the elevator, Taylor made her way to the front desk. Amy trailed behind in confusion.

"I need paper, a pen, and an envelope, please," Taylor said to the perplexed attendant.

Amy was also flummoxed, but Taylor grabbed the paper and wrote a short message in angry, deliberate strokes.

"Come on," Taylor said lowly. Amy followed along to the elevator, and two turns later they were in the Labyrinth. Luckily, the morgue was deserted now.

"Taylor, stop for a second, please," Amy gasped out. "What are you thinking?"

Taylor locked her brutal prosthesis into place with a solid snap and stood. Amy always forgot how tall she was, and right now her spine was straight as steel.

"Kaiser may think he's accomplished something with this stunt, but I was already planning to hunt him. Now, I know where he and the rest of the Empire will be, and it will make it all the easier to end them once and for all," Taylor said coldly.

A heavy rock formed in Amy's stomach at her words.

"You can't… Taylor, there's no point in dying for nothing! He's a fucking bastard, he'd kill those people anyway! Shit like that doesn't matter to him, you.."

Taylor's stare pinned her in place, black eyes piercing in the dim light of the lantern.

"Amy," Taylor said steadily. "Can I trust you?"

Her heart pounded in her chest, echoed in her ears.

"Yes."

Amy may not be looking forward to her house of cards collapsing, but she knew which way it would fall. She couldn't live with anything less.

Taylor held up the envelope.

"If I give you this, do you promise not to open it unless I die?" Taylor asked seriously.

No.

No, no, no…

Taylor was not allowed to do this. She couldn't throw her life away, couldn't leave Amy alone in a gray world again.

How dare she threaten to take her color from her?

She can't do this to me.

It wasn't fair.

Taylor wasn't allowed to show up out of nowhere and send her life into brilliant disarray just to die because Kaiser was an asshole.

Amy wouldn't go back to the endless drudgery.

What had Taylor called it? Intolerable?

That described this feeling nicely. Intolerable. Unbearable.

The thought was enough to light a fire in her chest. It was easier to be pissed the fuck off than it was to be pathetic.

She'd had enough of being pathetic, anyway.

She couldn't give in to her feelings for Victoria. It simply wasn't an option. Her sister would never return her twisted affections, and forcing her would be an unforgivable travesty.

With Taylor, it was different. Taylor cared about her. Taylor liked her. The only reason Amy couldn't be with her was because it would mean throwing away everything else, but what the fuck did that even matter, by comparison?

Victoria would probably forgive her, someday. Maybe. Everyone else could go fucking die for all she cared.

"You can't die," Amy hissed, stalking forward in the dark until she was looking up at Taylor from inches away, heat rolling off Taylor's long body in waves. "You aren't allowed to do that to me. You can't just run off and ruin everything-"

"I have to try," Taylor said. "You don't understand-"

"I don't give a fuck. I don't fucking care what Kaiser says, I don't fucking care if he kills…" Amy cut herself off and bit her lip hard enough to send a burning lance through her skin.

It was true, though. In that moment, Amy knew she would rather that fifty innocent people died instead of Taylor. A hundred. A thousand. She didn't fucking care.

Maybe she was never meant to be a hero.

It isn't fucking fair.

What did her useless rules matter, if she was forced to return to the gray drudgery and hopeless fog?

"Do I have permission to heal you?"

I can't go back.

She wouldn't.

Amy's furious glare bore into Taylor's crystalized onyx.

"Take what you want. And make no apologies."

She wouldn't lose the only decent part of her shitty fucking life because she was too afraid to reach out and take it.

"You aren't allowed to leave me," Amy spat venomously. "I won't let you."

Part of her knew that it was terribly, horribly wrong. That she should ask for permission. That they should talk about this, together. That she was probably fucking everything up, forever, in so many different ways.

"Do it, coward."

But Amy just didn't fucking care right now. Taylor was going to go kill herself, and then she would be alone.

Intolerable.

Reaching up and winding her fingers through Taylor's midnight curls was just as amazing as she'd always imagined, soft and warm against her cold skin. With a rough tug, Amy pulled Taylor down to her level as she rose onto her toes to close the gap between them.

The explosion of stars blinded her as it always did when she touched Taylor, but this time her eyes were already closed.

Amy kissed her hard, slamming their lips together angrily as the spiraling galaxy of fire and sensation thundered around her. She'd never kissed anyone before; she had no idea what she was doing, and it didn't fucking matter.

Nothing mattered, if Taylor left her all alone in the fog.

Taylor gasped in surprise and froze for a split second before kissing her back, lips moving together in a furious fervor. Amy felt one of Taylor's long arms wind around her lower back and crush her against Taylor's thin body with iron strength. Fire raced through her and her lips burned under Taylor's kiss as she felt Taylor's own obsessive need pouring into her.

She wants me, too.

Something within Amy shattered and she gave up on the last of her delusions in the face of this irrepressible adoration and frenzied madness.

The impossible storm of sparks danced in her biosenses, and it was entirely too easy to grab ahold of it in her power and twist-

As her lips slid over Taylor's and their kiss deepened, Amy gave in and changed her.

Taylor's body responded to her touch with involuntary enthusiasm and she gasped into her lips.

The stars rearranged themselves under her power.

Amy broke apart and remade the compounds within Taylor's bones, taking the already empowered nature of her otherworldly cells and weaving it into new and wondrous patterns. She formed an intricate lattice of carbon and calcium and something other that was unknowable, even to her. The new material rippled and multiplied until Taylor's skeleton was harder and stronger than tempered steel.

It wasn't enough. She needed more.

Amy's power raced down Taylor's nerves like wildfire, rewiring the shining network and strengthening her muscles into braided chords of hyper-dense iron. She threaded the indestructible matrix through the linings of Taylor's organs and changed the structure of her ribcage to close the unacceptable gaps. She wove Taylor's spinal column together so it couldn't be broken and wrapped her trachea and arteries in a web of flexible carbon nanotubes.

She could feel her power singing, finally unrestrained and triumphant as she gave into the mad urges even while she continued to drive her lips into Taylor's with reckless abandon.

Give me more.

Taylor's eyes were restructured and improved, her cells multiplying as the range of her vision expanded. Her cochlea was perfected and her nerves adjusted to allow her to hear everything without being overwhelmed by the sensation. Her ability to smell and taste and touch were augmented exponentially as her nerves were reformed and revised.

An insane memory crossed Amy's mind, but she decided not to actually give Taylor claws. If only because Taylor would probably shred her body to ribbons with the way her long fingers were currently running up Amy's back and pulling her hair to weld their lips together harder and-

Amy groaned into Taylor's mouth and bit down hard on her indestructible bottom lip as she reached into her and wrapped her heart in a cage of steel. No one was allowed to kill Taylor. No one was allowed to take Taylor away from her.

Least of all Taylor herself.

They finally separated and rapid, gasping breaths washed over her flushed face.

Amy opened her eyes and glared into Taylor's awed expression.

There would be a reckoning for this. For the atrocities she had committed. For finally taking what she wanted. There had to be.

Amy didn't care.

She pulled herself against Taylor again, rising up into her arms to whisper in her ear.

"Kill them all, and come back to me," Amy hissed. "Or I'll dig you up and bring you back so I can kill you again myself."

Taylor just stared at her in shock for a long moment before her smile spread wide and feral.

"I think I can manage that," Taylor laughed. "Since you asked so fucking nicely."

Then Taylor kissed her again, and Amy got lost in the perfect hurricane of stars and lips and Taylor's tongue forced its way into her mouth and-

Taylor pulled back and stood tall, her steel fingers twisting into Amy's hair and pulling her head back sharply to meet her eyes.

Jagged obsidian drilled through her and her mind went strangely blank as Taylor held her tightly.

"I'll always find my way back to you," Taylor said confidently, pressing the crumpled envelope into Amy's chest.

She took it automatically.

Somehow, Amy believed her, even though it was impossible.

But, maybe the Birdcage really couldn't hold her.

Maybe death can't, either.

Taylor reached behind her with one long arm and opened the door.

"Go. They'll be wondering where you went, and I have work to do," Taylor said.

Amy nodded numbly and stepped into the real world once again.

She looked back at Taylor, framed in the doorway as she pulled on her coat.

"Please don't die," Amy whispered. The sound slipped out far more broken and pleading than she intended.

Taylor put on her stupid hat.

"Death can have me when it earns me," Taylor said. For a moment, her cruel smile turned soft. "And in the meantime, I'll dream of you."

And then the door disappeared, and she was gone.

…

The Labyrinth sped past at frightening speeds as Taylor ran.

Whatever Amy had done to her, it was fucking awesome.

She could see everything as if it were broad daylight. She could hear her footsteps echoing in the hallways, building a map of the infinite rooms around her in her mind's eye.

In the distance, she could smell the burning candles of her Workshop.

Amy kissed me.

Taylor's smile was unapologetically joyous as she ran.

Amy wanted her.

Taylor hadn't even considered anything like that. Hadn't believed it was possible. After Emma, after the locker, and then the bloodstained path this new life had taken her on, she had completely put aside any futile desire for romantic companionship.

And then Amy kissed her, and threw all her assumptions into disarray.

Taylor wanted to scream with incredulous excitement. It was so much better than she had ever imagined.

That might have been the nerve enhancements, but still. Everything felt amazing, right now.

To anyone else, the changes that Amy wrought might have been a violation, but Taylor just couldn't bring herself to care. She trusted Amy. If Amy thought she was better this way, then she was probably right. She certainly wouldn't have said no if Amy had bothered to ask.

Plus, the new strength singing in her bones was phenomenal. Every step was an explosion of force and motion, throwing her through the endless hallways.

Taylor arrived back at her Workshop in record time.

Still, she needed to focus on the task at hand. It took herculean effort, but Taylor pushed the memory of kissing Amy to the back of her mind.

What time is it?

Her watch said 7:18.

Five hours to prepare. What could she get done in time?

Her eyes fell on Purity's blood vial.

Definitely that.

But she needed something to deal with the army of unpowered soldiers. She remembered how inefficient it was to kill normal people with her Kirkhammer.

Her repeating pistol could hit twice, but she would need to use her powerful shots on larger targets.

Taylor dug through her scrap metal and lit the forge.

Sometimes, a sea of flame is just what the doctor ordered.

…

Taylor stood from her forge when howls once again echoed in her Hospital.

Rachel was here?

Taylor had decided not to call her. No need to risk getting her or her dogs killed in the coming chaos. It was different than a hunt through the city.

Making her way to the entrance, Taylor looked up, and…

Holy shit. That's a big dog.

Rachel sat astride a massive monstrosity, even by her standards. Instead of the size of a large van, it was the size of a double-decker bus, easily twenty feet tall at the shoulder and twice as long. Its armor looked much more sleek, interlocking plates and spikes symmetrical and lethal. Three bladed tails flared behind its hulking form even as it stood still and obedient.

Behind their leader, the other two dogs remained their previous size, only ten feet tall.

Taylor didn't see any sign of the PRT surveillance team. Unsurprising. Despite Kaiser's words to slander the heroes, the Protectorate had no reason to defend her from the Empire.

Bitch stared down at her in silence for a moment.

"Heard the Empire is coming for you," Rachel said. Her voice was as gruff as ever. "You gonna fight 'em?"

Taylor pulled her eyes away from the huge beast.

"Yes," Taylor said. "They won't live to see the morning."

Rachel nodded.

"Good. You want help?" Bitch asked.

Taylor eyed her carefully.

"I can't promise to keep your dogs safe, not against so many. And we'll have to kill them," Taylor said.

"Don't care," Bitch grunted.

"Are you sure? It will make things harder for you and the Undersiders, with the PRT," Taylor raised her eyebrows.

"Words," Rachel scoffed derisively. "I don't fuckin' care."

Well, then.

Taylor wasn't going to say no to some guard dogs.

"Alright," Taylor said. "Do you want to stay out here with the dogs, then? Howl if the Empire shows early?"

Rachel nodded again. At her command, the beast that Taylor assumed was Brutus leapt for the roof of the hospital, sitting on one of the lower terraces like the world's most terrifying gargoyle.

Taylor smiled. It was good to have backup.

She turned and began making her way back to the Workshop.

She had a flamesprayer to finish and a vial to imbibe before the hunt could begin.

…

Taylor once again stood in the ruined atrium that she had dubbed her test chamber. It was still a broken mess from the hurricane she had unleashed last time, but that was fine. It was in for excitement again tonight. Possibly even more so.

Something about Purity's vial sung with potential. Taylor could feel the full moon hanging low in the sky.

The moon may look full for several nights in a row, but it was only truly full for a brief moment at the height of its celestial flight. Tonight was the night of her transcendence, when she would be reborn anew if she died.

The silver isle called to her, the choir of its ethereal presence singing in her enhanced ears and in her veins.

It's time.

The Empire thought they would win if they forced her into a direct confrontation.

They were so, so very wrong, and they picked the exact wrong night to challenge her.

In the light of the full moon, Taylor could feel her power thundering beneath her skin in a raging storm of silver fury.

She slammed the vial home and screamed.

Seek Pale Blood to transcend the hunt.

Taylor's mind expanded ever further as the stars shone down from the heavens and from within her mind.

In both the moon's radiance and the soft light of the infinite stars, Taylor felt the whispers of something other. Something beyond the understanding of those who couldn't dream.

Taylor called to her cyclone and rose once again to hang in the empty space, untethered and free.

And from both the endless sky and inside herself, Taylor called to the stars.

Amy did say that I looked like stars, to her.

The thought made her smile despite the eldritch insight that tore through her mortal mind.

And in the throes of her rapture, starlight lit up the Hospital.

The storm of celestial fire abated as quickly as it arrived, but Taylor could feel it within her still, singing in the light of the full moon.

This time, she lowered herself gently to the ground.

It took a moment to realize that she didn't feel tired. The choir's song echoed in her bones and she was renewed.

Howls split the silence, and Taylor's smile gained a bloodthirsty edge.

It was time to hunt.

…

Taylor stood on the crumbling edge of the main hospital building, the scene before her bathed in the full moon's light. With her newly enhanced senses, nothing hid from her gaze.

On the terraced rooftops of her Hospital, Bitch and her beasts stood braced and ready for the coming slaughter. Low growls echoed in the night.

The army arrayed amid the broken cars and ruined buildings below was formidable.

Hundreds of men in combat armor, brandishing dangerous looking guns she couldn't begin to name. They crouched behind any available cover and leveled their weapons at her silhouette.

Fenja and Menja, the Valkyries, Kaiser's personal parahuman battering rams. At their full size, they were easily forty feet tall, dwarfing the low buildings across the broken street from her domain. Clad in traditional Nordic armor, one carried a massive sword that made Taylor's own look tiny by comparison, while the other wielded a long spear.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

On the roof of a building to her right, another armored cape who could only be Crusader stood with a small army of ghostly copies of himself. Those could get annoying if left unchecked.

Amongst the armored soldiers on the lawn, the ghostly form of Alabaster stood out starkly in the moonlight. Another immortal, come to play. She would show him why her own immortality was her most tightly kept secret. It was a curse as much as it was a blessing, and it wouldn't save him.

Finally, standing tall on the cracked pavement of the wide parking lot, the leadership of the Empire stood ready to fight their final battle, even if they didn't know it.

Krieg, in his black military uniform. Even now, the space around him warped strangely under his power. Just behind him stood a slight woman in a tight red bodysuit who could only be Othala.

Hookwolf leered up at her in his human form, shirtless again despite the cold. Their previous battles had been short and brutal, but he would not be leaving this one alive.

None of them would.

And in the center, clad in his fully enclosed armor of empowered steel, Kaiser raised his arms to her in challenge.

"Hunter!" He called up to her. She couldn't tell if he had a speaker hidden in his suit, or if he was just good at projecting his voice. She could hear the same unshakable confidence that had permeated his earlier broadcast. "Tonight, you will answer for your sins. Time and time again you have broken the rules, and now you will pay with your life. None will come to save a heretic."

Taylor let the beast within leak into her voice, the vibrations echoing through the night and scraping against the minds of the mortals below like nails on a chalkboard.

"I am not afraid of your judgement, Kaiser," Taylor spoke into the dark. "Your poisoned words have no value here. Tonight, we speak only the language of violence, and death."

Kaiser looked like he wanted to reply, but Taylor didn't let him.

Instead, she held her arms wide and let the light of the silver isle flow through her bones and blood.

Our eyes are yet to open.

Her personal hurricane thundered around her as she rose into the air, silhouetted against the full moon, hanging low in the endless night. She could feel it whispering to her, both comforting and vengeful.

Taylor opened her eyes, and the choir sang with her.

The moon is bright, tonight.

The soldiers of the Empire opened fire, but the gunshots were drowned out by the otherworldly chorus that echoed in the dark. Hundreds and then thousands of bullets were whipped aside by the cyclone that held Taylor aloft, unable to reach her as she hung high above them.

A silver isle, in the endless dark.

Shining stars of ethereal light began to fall from the sky. Her Hospital became the eye of a wide hurricane of eldritch power.

It calls to me, adrift and lost.

More and more otherworldly stars joined Taylor's storm until the tower of blazing light dwarfed even the buildings downtown, a spiraling galaxy that cast its silver light across the city.

A lullaby, to sleep, and dream of blood.

The stars of blood and death fell upon her enemies as Taylor called to the beyond. With the unhallowed scream of something profoundly other, she drew her holy blade and rocketed down towards her prey.

…

Chapter Text

Bloodmoon 7.2

Amy couldn't sleep.

How could she, knowing that Taylor was going to war against the entire remaining Empire?

It was almost midnight. The full moon hung low outside her bedroom window, just like it did in her dreams.

She had finished her normal hospital rounds in a haze. It felt surreal, impossible, to go back to her real life when everything was burning down around her.

Except…

It wasn't, not really.

Her healing felt better tonight than it had in a long time. Like a cumbersome weight had lifted.

Even though she couldn't stop the voices.

I kissed Taylor.

I changed her.

And somehow, Taylor liked it. It seemed like she did, anyway.

They really needed to talk about it. If Taylor survived.

It was surreal. Impossible.

There were supposed to be consequences. Her house of cards was supposed to crumble.

But Taylor kissed her back, and kissed her again even after she changed her. She could still feel the ghost of her lips moving against her own.

Then…

And then, Amy just… finished her rounds. Vicky picked her up like always, and Amy managed to smile at her. Like Taylor wasn't about to die.

Now, she found herself staring to the north with a churning knot in her gut.

Why am I so fucking pathetic?

Everything would be perfect… if Taylor weren't about to die.

She can do it. I made her as strong as possible.

Even Amy didn't know exactly what Taylor's power was. The enigma in the stupid hat said she was a Tinker, but that didn't even begin to cover it. When the Fallen or the Nine drank their victim's blood, they did it to sow terror and raise their personal profile. When Taylor drank blood from the skulls of her enemies, she did it to empower herself and bring unfathomable creations into the world.

Taylor's tinkering was a thin veneer over something far deeper and darker, that she was only just beginning to understand.

Amy blinked as the sky over the Trainyards lit up with eldritch light.

What the hell are you doing now, Hunter?

The spiraling tower of stars flickered in the night.

It was beautiful. A shining galaxy that mimicked how Taylor appeared in her biosenses.

Purity's power, maybe? Taylor hadn't mentioned it, but she could have injected the vial tonight.

"Kill them all, and come back to me."

Hopefully, the twisted enhancements Amy had woven into Taylor's body would be enough.

"In the meantime, I'll dream of you."

Amy ran her fingers over the smooth paper of the envelope she wasn't allowed to open.

Taylor didn't ask for much. There were things she'd prefer not to deal with, like Amy calling the PRT. But she had asked Amy not to open the quickly scrawled message. Not unless it was already too late.

Amy knew she was a selfish person. She just couldn't bring herself to chastise herself for it, anymore. Even now, she didn't want Taylor to die because she couldn't stand the thought of losing her. Taylor added vibrancy to the dismal monotony, and Amy wasn't willing to give her up.

Taylor didn't seem to mind, though. Even when faced with the worst of Amy's obsessive, self-indulgent, possessive narcissism, Taylor just smiled and beckoned her deeper into the dark. It had been the same when Amy threatened to turn her over to the PRT, shut down her organs, or when she told Taylor the truth about her powers. Except this time, Taylor had kissed her.

Despite all of that, she didn't open the envelope. Maybe she didn't want to know, deep down. What could Taylor possibly have to say? What could be so important that it could only be read once she was dead?

Amy had no idea. Was it just Taylor's final words, or something more practical? Instructions on how to find her workshop?

It didn't matter. Taylor was going to survive.

She had to.

Amy was going to be so fucking pissed at her forever if she didn't.

…

The rain of deadly stars threw the Empire's unpowered forces into disarray. Their panicked screaming was music to her ears.

Bitch's beasts howled as they followed her into the fray.

The wind carried her through her own personal hurricane, driving her down towards her enemies at deadly speeds.

Taylor took a brief moment to plan her initial assault, then pulled the air around her into the fist of her will. It coalesced around her holy blade, condensing into a scythe of razor-sharp death.

When she was still fifty feet above the lawn and parking lots below, Taylor swung her great sword in a devastating arc.

She could feel the power of the full moon sustaining her. That single strike would have driven her to the edge of unconsciousness on any other night, but tonight she felt alive.

The wide blade of wind slammed into the earth below and ripped five men to bloody pieces in the blink of an eye, throwing twice as many more backwards like rag-dolls.

The falling stars homed in on countless more, burning searing holes into their flesh as they screamed.

The force of her attack threw Taylor sideways, but that suited her just fine. She already had her first target in mind.

Crusader could not be allowed to remain unchecked. The Empire was severely hampered by their lack of long range support, and she preferred to keep it that way. His ghosts would interfere while she hunted the others, and they would cause trouble for Bitch's dogs. Everyone knew to target the Masters first.

Unfortunately, he seemed to be expecting it, and his ghosts rose to meet her midair.

Taylor swung her holy blade again as she used the swirling air to throw her body forward, but both the blades of wind and her sword passed straight through the ghosts without noticeable effect.

Just before their spears could pierce her, Taylor quickstepped midair and briefly entered the dark. Fortunately, the ghosts didn't seem to count as solid objects as far as Sophia's power was concerned, and Taylor reappeared on the other side.

Unfortunately, Crusader had sent more while she was distracted.

Three ghosts slammed into her simultaneously, their spears driving into her chest with deadly speed.

Taylor was prepared for the crushing pain of a lethal blow, something at least on par with Cricket's strikes.

Instead, it barely tickled.

She was forced to an abrupt halt by the thrust, but it didn't even drive the air from her lungs. The spears penetrated half an inch into her chest and then just… stopped.

Taylor's mind was expanded and currently drowning in eldritch insight. It barely took a moment to put the pieces together.

Crusader's ghosts passed through inorganic matter easily, but could still pierce living flesh. She may not be able to touch them with her sword, but whatever Amy had done to her bones was a living part of her. And, apparently, it was more than up to the task of stopping Crusader's spears.

Taylor sent a silent 'thank you' to Amy. She may have suffered an immediate and undignified impalement without the body upgrades. Maybe, it would be okay to kiss her again when Taylor finished with all the murder. That could be considered a 'thank you', right?

The Nazi knight below looked just as surprised as she was.

Taylor recovered a fair bit quicker, though.

Well, if Crusader's ghosts didn't block physical objects…

"Kill them all, and come back to me."

Taylor drew her pistol in one smooth motion and shot Crusader in the head. A bloody hole appeared in his helmet and a spray of crimson coated the roof behind him. The false knight's armored corpse was slow to collapse and his ghosts winked out of existence.

One down, seven to go.

And several hundred unpowered minions. Easy peasy.

It occurred to her that it would have been smart for Othala to give Crusader invulnerability, to avoid this exact issue. Taylor wondered why she hadn't.

Then Krieg's fist smashed into the side of her face with the force of a speeding bus, and she didn't need to wonder anymore.

Fuck.

The combination of Krieg's own kinetic manipulation field and the gift of what Taylor could only assume was superspeed made the Nazi lieutenant fast enough to catch her by surprise and strong enough to knock her from the sky.

This morning, the blow probably would have taken her head off. Now, she was thrown backwards at considerable speed, bouncing comically over the cracked pavement, but her skull remained remarkably intact and her brain barely concussed.

Whatever Amy had done to her was potent. Taylor even retained the wherewithal to hold on to her hat as she tumbled.

On the second bounce, Taylor righted herself midair and locked her stake driver with an echoing clunk. She landed hard and carved two long furrows in the pavement as she skidded to a stop.

The good news was that Krieg's punch had thrown her fifty yards, separating her from the rest of the Empire's forces until they could catch up.

The bad news was that the empowered Brute was already closing the distance between them again, landing lightly and rocketing towards her over the broken concrete.

Taylor engaged the bladed spike and triggered her stake driver, bracing herself against the cold ground. With the additional leverage, she twisted and swung her holy blade as hard as her steel bones would allow.

The consecrated sword cut the air itself as it sought to bisect her opponent, but its arc was interrupted when it neared Krieg's body. The air itself warped strangely around her blade, and Taylor felt a powerful resistance that bled the kinetic energy from the weapon and brought it to a halt just inches from his chest.

Krieg lunged, and Taylor barely had time to wrench the stake driver back out of the ground before his foot impacted her chest and she was airborne once again.

Shit.

Her ribs held fast- did she even have ribs anymore?- but that still fucking hurt.

This wasn't going to work. How long did the superspeed buff last?

Too long, apparently. Even as Taylor tumbled through the air, Krieg came for her again. Maybe he wanted to get in one more hit before he raced back to Othala to re-up his supply.

Taylor took hold of the wind and righted herself midair, hanging twenty feet above the ruined street as Krieg leapt to knock her from the sky again.

She considered her options.

While Krieg was empowered with superspeed, Othala couldn't heal anyone or make them invulnerable. If Taylor could get to her now, she could take out a powerful force multiplier.

But she also needed to put Krieg down, sooner rather than later. He would continue to hound her, controlling the battlefield and keeping her occupied. Taylor couldn't afford to continue this battle of attrition while everything else spiraled. She didn't actually know how durable her body was now, and the rest of the Empire would tear Bitch apart while she was stuck dealing with lieutenant QuickDraw over here.

The silver lining was that the rest of the Empire had fallen behind. None of the others had superspeed, and Krieg had allowed himself to become separated in his overconfidence.

Arrogance that she would make sure came back to bite him.

The distance between them closed. The air distorted with Krieg's kinetic manipulation field and her wind fell silent.

Luckily, Taylor wasn't limited to physical attacks. Her eyes were wide open, and the beyond readily answered her call while the full moon's light sang in her bones and in her mind.

Krieg pulled a rippling fist back to slam her downward into the pavement.

Taylor dropped her sword.

She raised her hands together above her and called to the stars.

Instead of a spiraling galaxy raining down from the heavens, the stars originated within her and blasted from her hands. If Krieg had been farther away, he may have been able to dodge them with the gifted superspeed.

This close, though…

The shotgun blast of ethereal stars burned countless holes straight through him and his body popped as his blood boiled in his veins.

Burning ichor and shredded flesh splattered Taylor's front. That was… a bit disgusting, even by her standards. She landed lightly on the cracked concrete and shook the worst of the gore from her gloved hands, wiping her face to remove the mess from her eyes.

Aside from being unpleasant, It was also wasteful. She wouldn't be able to harvest Krieg's blood for her experiments, now. Irritating.

Still, it couldn't be helped. His power was strong, and countered most of her attacks. Without the stars, she would have struggled to defeat him. If he hadn't been overconfident, he still may have been able to put her in a difficult position.

But, sadly for him, he overplayed his hand and got popped like a water balloon for his trouble.

Two down, six to go.