Sophia Hess
January 3, 2011
As she approached, Sophia could hear the muffled thuds against the metal. Her favorite victim was slowly yielding to despair.
Maybe she'll finally give up, she thought to herself.
Truthfully, Sophia was starting to get tired of Hebert. Not because she was resisting—that kept things interesting—but because she was starting to suspect they were taking the wrong approach.
Emma had been the one who started it: she cast the first stone. She feared the secrets she had shared with her former best friend would be turned against her, and so, instead of waiting for the blow, she decided to attack first. She dragged Hebert's already non-existent social life into the darkest corners of Winslow.
But the damn girl didn't break. She endured. In silence, day after day. Surely she planned to hold out until graduation.
Sophia wasn't going to allow it.
Hebert had turned this into a competition when she refused to fall at the beginning.
And Sophia never lost.
She was a predator. For prey to keep resisting after so long... it was unacceptable.
That's why she had snuck out of Gladly's class. The idiotic teacher knew Hebert was locked in her locker, Sophia was sure of it. He had looked the other way several times before. Clearly, he didn't care.
Of course, why would anyone care about prey like Taylor Hebert? A nobody.
Rounding the corner, she saw the locker. It was dented, the hinges on the verge of giving way. If this was the moment Hebert finally broke, Sophia wasn't going to miss it. She needed to see it. Witness her victory.
Hebert had resisted for nearly a year and a half, if her calculations were correct. She had a strength that Emma couldn't see, or simply refused to acknowledge. Emma had potential, sure, but she lacked an edge. If she ever got powers, she could be useful to Sophia, help her do something truly important. Not like those weak, pathetic idiots in the Wards.
Sophia knew her method was the right one. A crossbow bolt to the head was exactly what the scum deserved: fast, clean, no trials or lawyers. That's how justice should be done. And Emma would help her.
But she was starting to suspect Emma would never get her powers. She was too complacent, too eager for her approval. Even so, there was hope.
The thuds inside the locker began to space out. Hebert was getting tired.
The temptation to provoke her, to open the door and offer a false escape only to crush her again, was almost irresistible.
She just needs a little push, Sophia thought.
She approached. She had to be fast; the period was about to end, and soon the hallway would be filled with students.
Two steps.
One more.
And then it happened.
A chill ran down the back of her neck. That feeling. Danger. Shadow Stalker had felt it countless times on the dark streets of Brockton Bay.
But from what? No one else was there. She was the only predator in this dump of a school.
Then she noticed it.
From the cracks of the locker, a pink light began to filter out. Faint at first, like a defective neon sign. Then brighter, pulsating, as if something alive was awakening inside.
"What the hell...?"
The glow exploded in a wave of energy. Sophia was thrown backward, her vision blinded by a dazzling flash, the air ripped from her lungs as if an invisible fist had struck her. Instinctively, she shielded her head with her arms, rolling across the floor until she slammed against the wall at the end of the hall.
The impact was brutal, but she had survived worse hits on her nightly patrols. Still dazed, ears ringing and a metallic taste in her mouth, she lifted her head.
From the smoke and the twisted wreckage of the locker, a figure emerged. Humanoid. Its skin was a dark purple that glowed from within with streaks of pink glitter. What was most striking was the hair: long, flowing, floating in the air as if alive, blazing with an intense pink that lit the hallway with an unnatural light.
The figure was female, with pronounced curves—hips, waist, bust—but no genitals. Like a mannequin in a clothing store or a Barbie doll. It was ethereal and flawless, supernaturally beautiful in a way Sophia couldn't explain.
She blinked.
Comprehension finally struck Sophia; a knot formed in her throat and her stomach clenched.
"No... It can't be... Hebert?"
Taylor Hebert had triggered.
Impossible.
Only predators like Sophia could trigger: people like her, born to be above the prey.
Definitely not someone like Taylor Hebert.
Sophia gritted her teeth and slowly began to stand up. She felt a trickle of blood running down her chin, the pain throbbing in her ribs and back, her body numb from the impact.
She made sure her movements were slow. Luckily for her, Hebert hadn't noticed her. She was too busy staring at her hands, as if seeing them for the first time.
And in a way, maybe she was.
It was then that the little smoke that remained finally dissipated, and Sophia noticed something else.
Hebert was floating a few inches above the floor, suspended in a subtle aura of pink energy.
Finally, Hebert spoke. Her voice was ethereal, like a distorted echo.
"What... what happened to me? What happened to my body?"
Sophia clenched her jaw, forcing herself to think coolly. She had to do something first. Unfortunately for her, her gear was in the gym, hidden, along with her crossbow.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
"What is that?!"
"A Cape!"
"Someone call the Wards!"
The hallway had filled with students, drawn by the explosion like moths to a flame. Phones out, recording.
Still, Hebert paid no attention to anyone. She remained absorbed in herself. Her pink light-hair was twitching like an anxious cat's tail, betraying confusion and latent rage.
An idea crossed Sophia's mind: if they found out she had caused the trigger, it was over. Goodbye to her double life, hello to Juvenile or worse. She had to manipulate the scene.
Her tongue licked her lips, ready to launch the first lie.
"Ahhhhhh!"
Everyone turned towards the girl who screamed. Sophia cursed under her breath.
Emma.
She was frozen in place, arms pressed to her chest, legs trembling. Her face was a mask of pure panic, eyes fixed on Hebert as if seeing a ghost.
And that broke the spell. Hebert turned her head—a fluid movement—and looked at Emma.
The hallway fell into a tense silence. Sophia braced herself for whatever came next: flight, fight, whatever.
"Emma..." it escaped her mouth, her voice vibrating with confusion. "What...?"
The chill on the back of Sophia's neck intensified. Now it was her turn. Hebert turned to her, staring with those white eyes, pupil-less and lidless.
"I remember... You locked me in that locker... You locked me in."
Well, shit, Sophia thought.
And with that, all eyes turned to her. She didn't know what to do. If Hebert attacked, she couldn't use her powers without exposing herself. She didn't know what kind of Cape she was now—the explosion indicated a Blaster—but perhaps that wasn't all.
"Sophia! Catch!"
By reflex, Sophia reacted and caught the objects. A crossbow... and a quiver with bolts.
Her crossbow.
She looked up and saw Madison, still with her arms extended, grinning like an idiot.
The stupid girl had gone to the gym, found her gear, and handed it to her... in front of the entire school.
In front of Hebert.
It was instinct and fear that drove her. She loaded the crossbow in a second, aimed at Hebert's center mass. Finger on the trigger.
"She has a weapon! Get down!" someone shouted.
"Are you recording this, dude?"
Sophia ignored the chaos. All her attention was on Hebert. And Hebert's attention was on her.
Both motionless, measuring each other. Hebert tilted her head slightly, her hair following the movement.
Sophia didn't hesitate. She fired.
The bolt whizzed through the air, impacting with a metallic clang against the purple chest. It harmlessly ricocheted, falling to the floor with a tinkling sound.
Hebert looked down at the projectile, then back to Sophia. Her eyes seemed to narrow.
"You... you attacked me?"
Sophia froze. Not out of fear—never out of fear. Her bolts did nothing to her. The only option was to use her powers, but that meant exposing herself as a Cape in front of all of Winslow.
"You... you attacked me!"
It was fast.
Too fast. Sophia didn't even blink.
Taylor's energy hair lengthened like a living whip and lashed through the air toward Sophia. The impact was brutal: Sophia felt the blow propagate through every bone, every muscle. She flew through the air, the world spinning in a blur of fluorescent lights and terrified faces, until her back hit the wall with a crunch that cracked the plaster.
And likely her ribs.
"Arghhh!"
The pain clouded her judgment. Out of sheer instinct—anticipation, fear of another blow—Sophia dissolved into shadows. Intangible. Safe.
This way, it couldn't hurt her again.
But the crowd erupted.
"She's a Cape too!"
"Parahuman fight!"
"I know her... she's in the Wards!"
It didn't matter. To hell with everything. Taylor was going to kill her if she didn't use her power. The shadow form dulled the pain just enough for her to stand; it still hurt like hell, but it was tolerable.
She stared intently at Taylor. I'm ready this time.
"You... you... All this time, you were a Ward... A hero..." Taylor's voice was a cold, inhuman echo, vibrating in the air like a broken bell. "Shadow Stalker... You made my life miserable? A hero was my bully?"
Sophia's thoughts shut down. Only the here and now existed. She just needed an opening: load the crossbow, shoot, and flee into the shadows.
"You did this to me!"
Taylor raised her arm. An intense pink glow condensed in her palm, crackling like a miniature sun. The air became charged with power.
She fired.
Sophia didn't move. It would pass right through her. In her shadow state, she was intangible.
She was wrong.
The energy beam struck her full on.
"Urghh!"
It was worse than electricity. Infinitely worse. The energy expanded within her shadowy form like liquid acid, burning from the inside out. Sophia reverted to her physical body against her will, writhing on the floor. Burning tears rolled down her cheeks. She screamed. She thrashed. Her vision blurred, only buzzing in her ears, pain in every nerve, from her pinky finger to the roots of her hair.
She saw nothing. She heard nothing. She just waited for the final blow.
It never came.
Sophia fell unconscious.
Charlotte
January 3, 2011
Charlotte entered the internet café with her hood pulled low over her eyes. The air reeked of stale cigarette smoke and sweat. The attendant—a guy with headphones and dark circles under his eyes—didn't even look up. He took the crumpled bills, mumbled "Station 7," and returned to his screen.
Perfect.
She navigated through rows of hunched-over nerds, dirty keyboards, and Mountain Dew cans. The video camera was taped to her chest like a beating heart.
She had bought it for Christmas. With savings. Waiting for this day.
She was fed up. With Sophia. With Emma. With Madison. With Blackwell looking the other way. With everything.
But she was a coward. She knew it.
So she decided to be smart.
She witnessed everything. From the beginning. She recorded when Sophia and her lackeys put Taylor in the locker. She recorded the explosion of pink light. She recorded when Taylor—no, that purple thing—beat up Shadow Stalker.
A Ward.
Winslow's number one bully. A damn hero.
Charlotte was trembling as she connected the USB cable. Progress: 23%... 47%... 68%...
The video was pure gold. 14 minutes of raw truth.
She created five new accounts:
WinslowLeaker_01 (PHO)ShadowExposed (YouTube)BrocktonTruth (Facebook)Two more disposable emails.She would upload everything. At the same time.
She would use Tor. She would delete the history. She would pay in cash. She would never return to this internet café.
Sophia would fall. Emma would fall. The Wards would fall. The PRT would fall.
For once, Brockton Bay would know justice
Colin Wallis
January 4, 2011
The only sound in the office was the muffled echo of the video playback. The cold white glare of the monitor illuminated Director Piggot's face, highlighting the tension in her jaw. Colin needed no further clues; he knew she was grinding her teeth. It was not a new observation.
Colin was familiar with the video's content twofold. It had been uploaded to YouTube, PHO, Facebook, and had been featured across several television news channels. Despite the information mitigation protocols—a euphemism for censorship—activated by the PRT, the effort was futile. Mainstream media pretended ignorance or had simply been outpaced by the speed of propagation. The Internet was infinitely worse; the content was instantly downloaded and re-uploaded by users as soon as it was taken down.
The catastrophe fell directly upon Emily Piggot. True, the names of Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Aegis were mentioned as supervisors, of course, but the focus of the media criticism was unequivocally skewed against the PRT ENE Director.
The video ended. Piggot did not immediately look away from the screen, but leaned back against her chair with barely contained movement, not looking at Colin. A poor power play: miserable, determined that everyone else should be too.
Still without looking at him, she spoke:
"How many views does this copy of the video have?" she asked. Colin had to admire the woman's self-control; she almost seemed impassive.
Almost.
"The original reached four million before the takedown protocol, Director," Colin replied, his voice flat. "The most popular re-uploaded video I've been monitoring currently has 1.7 million views."
There was no immediate response. The silence grew tense.
"This one is new, just uploaded," Piggot began, her voice now a murmur of irritation, "it's already at half a million. It keeps climbing every time I refresh the page."
Colin did not alter his expression. His helmet only showed his perfectly groomed beard; a reaction would have provided no operational value.
"How many replies does the thread on PHO have?"
His answer was concise. "The last review registered fourteen thousand replies."
Piggot finally reacted, snorting audibly. "Update that to twenty thousand. About the same with Facebook, Twitter, and every other social network."
Colin didn't react. But he was impressed.
He believed he understood the logic behind the impact. The public was desensitized to Cape violence; heroes versus villains, injuries, deaths, it was commonplace. But a brutal, documented act of school bullying, culminating in a trigger event and the public unmasking of a Cape? That had the public euphoric; piranhas fighting over meat. The fact that the main bully was a Ward only made the situation more viral and destructive.
"I am facing one of the worst scandals the PRT has ever seen," Piggot's voice finally contained genuine forcefulness. "I have the entire PRT Public Relations department calling for my head. WEDGDG has emailed me notifying a comprehensive audit. And Director Costa-Brown has scheduled a video call with me for an hour and a half from now."
The message was clear: it was the end of Emily Piggot's career.
A less professional man would have gloated over the misfortune. Piggot had always been prejudiced against Parahumans, seeing them as uncomfortable allies at best and mortal enemies at worst. Colin had been spared her scrutiny thanks to an impeccable record, a product of his own Spartan work ethic rather than a deliberate attempt to avoid the woman's attention.
But he could not feel any gloating.
Colin could only feel shame.
He was Armsmaster. His existence was based on efficiency, on eliminating variables and protecting order. When he conceived his role, it was under the ideal of being a Hero, the ideal of Legend: to be a beacon of safety, order, and hope.
The Armsmaster he aspired to be would never have been so shortsighted. He would never have allowed an unbalanced young woman like Sophia Hess to join the Ward program.
He had failed. The system he built was failing.
And all that remained was shame.
But he refused to fall. Not yet.
So Colin did what he did best: he converted his shame and frustration into cold determination, and began to formulate a plan to address the problem. This time, the execution would be perfect. No mistakes.
He owed it to the young woman he had failed.
"Where is Taylor Hebert?"
The question was direct. His response was equally quick and assured:
"After subduing Shadow Stalker, Miss Hebert left Winslow flying. She is currently hovering over the Boat Graveyard. She hasn't moved from that area since yesterday."
Piggot raised an eyebrow.
"You're monitoring her," she stated, not asked.
"Affirmative." Colin maintained eye contact through his visor. "Miss Hebert is frightened, distraught, and paranoid. I have concluded that the best possible approach should be made by Miss Militia."
Many people would be surprised that Armsmaster yielded control. However, Colin was perfectly aware of his flaws: he knew he was uncommunicative and socially awkward on his best days. He was not the right person to deal with a child whose trigger event had been so traumatic. He had considered the possibility of being on the autism spectrum, but tests had not yielded conclusive results. He didn't know if it was because he truly didn't have it or if his coping mechanisms had developed enough to simulate the functionality of a neurotypical person.
Whatever the case, Colin was not qualified for the empathy Taylor Hebert required. And he could no longer afford any more miscalculations.
Piggot's sigh brought Colin back to the tense reality. The woman stared at him, and he held her gaze despite the opaque visor of his helmet. The wall clock above the door ticked deafeningly.
Finally, Piggot leaned forward.
"I don't want any more mistakes, Armsmaster. And I want Hebert to join the Wards. I will not allow another parahuman to be absorbed by some local gang," Piggot clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. "We both know my career is over, but my last act as Director will be to ensure that not all is lost. Hebert joining the Wards might be exactly what we need to prevent the media and the public from devouring the dying corpse of the PRT ENE."
That was the woman Colin had come to respect. Despite all her personal prejudice against Capes, Piggot was irrevocably committed to the PRT's mission. She would navigate the storm to the end, regardless of the cost.
Certainly, the media scandal was catastrophic. But it wasn't the first time the PRT had had to survive something like this.
Nor would it be the last.
"Yes, ma'am."
Taylor Hebert
January 4, 2011
Have you ever felt like your whole life is crumbling around you? That every face is a threat, that the entire world is your enemy?
That's how I feel now.
But the real problem is that I feel like I am my own worst enemy, more so than the rest of the world.
Since yesterday, my head has been stuck in a non-stop spiral.
I remember how it started: the locker, trapped among the filth, the insects, and my own despair. No matter how hard I tried, my mind wouldn't leave the scene: my muffled screams, the tears burning my cheeks, and my knuckles beating and scraping against the cold, dirty metal, all in a desperate attempt to get out.
And then... the light.
I have no words to describe the sensation, that new and unique emotion that flooded me when it happened. It was as if fear, anger, hatred, and a dozen other emotions had merged and been magnified to the extreme.
And then it exploded, and I was free.
Once out of the locker, I found myself disoriented. When that initial new emotion faded, I felt like I was floating. Not in the sea, but in my own mind. Everything was confusing.
I was confusing.
My body felt present, but it wasn't physical. The only explanation I could come up with was phantom pain, the medical term for feeling a limb that is no longer there. Only this was happening to my entire being.
The information, or lack thereof, hit me all at once: I no longer have lungs, but I also don't need to breathe; the reflex has disappeared. I lack eardrums and ears, yet I can hear. In fact, my hearing is superior to that of a normal human, I'm sure. The same goes for my sight, smell, and the rest of my senses.
How can I experience senses if I lack the necessary organs and structures to process them?
My head is imprisoned by these thoughts over and over again since yesterday. I don't know if it's an attempt to keep me sane or a way to drive me completely mad.
Anything to avoid thinking about Emma and Sophia...
She attacked me. She tried to kill me.
And I attacked her in retribution.
For a year and a half, I had refused to fight back. On one hand, I knew that escalation would lead to nothing good, but the real reason was deeper: I wanted to prove to them that I was better than them. That no matter how hard they tried, I wouldn't break, I wouldn't bend. That my morals and my silent strength would always be superior.
But when Sophia... when Shadow Stalker attacked me with the crossbow...
The prey broke.
I attacked. Nothing else mattered anymore. All the words I had told myself, the internal speeches about being a better person, vanished.
And then Sophia revealed her powers.
And everything was worse.
I wanted to hurt her; I wanted to make her suffer. She was always more powerful than me as an athlete, but by revealing herself as a parahuman, she proved to be superior in a whole new and horrible way.
But I was more powerful.
I knew it. And I didn't hesitate to prove it.
I saw how my beam of energy struck her even through her shadow form, how I brought her down and made her scream and writhe in pain.
And I enjoyed it.
Then, I ran away.
But it wasn't because I immediately felt bad. No. It was because I didn't feel bad at all, and I knew that if I stayed one second longer, I would have attacked her again.
I still want to.
But no, no.
I am not Sophia. I am better.
Although the voice in my head keeps whispering that I always will be, regardless of the choice I make.
That's why I'm here, at the Boat Graveyard, hovering over a half-sunken container ship. I knew no one would come unless they flew or took a boat.
It was the quietest, most desolate place I could find.
I was afraid to go home. Afraid to see Dad, and, worse, afraid of him looking at me.
What would he think of what I've become?
I attacked someone with my powers, no matter how justified the fury might have been, and I did it with the desire to wound, not just the intention to defend myself.
I enjoyed it. And, I confess, I don't regret it.
I don't want Dad to see the monster I've become. The monster I know I am, even if my new ethereal form doesn't make me feel like one. I know the only thing that would hurt me more right now than the memory of the locker is seeing the disappointment and fear on my father's face.
How long have I been here? A full day? Maybe. The sun rose a few hours ago, and it shouldn't be long until noon. Twenty-four hours since my episode. Since I got my powers.
I sighed, although I don't know how I did it. It's a useless reflex, given the absence of my lungs. I don't feel tired at all, which makes sense, as I'm pretty sure I don't have a brain either.
I also don't feel hunger, thirst, or other basic needs...
What am I? Nothing would please me more than to research online, compare my manifestation with other Capes, see if I can get any clue about my powers.
But I don't want people to see me. Partly because I know I'm a monster, and partly because I'm naked.
Although, now that I think about it, a part of me believes it doesn't matter: I lack any genitalia. Right now, I'm not much different from a glowing clothing store mannequin. I should feel shame or modesty, but I don't know if it's a product of mental exhaustion or my new powers; the fact is, I don't care at all.
I'm rambling... again.
I began to descend until my energy feet touched the rusty deck of the ship. I walked until I entered the command cabin. Ignoring the salt-covered controls and the helm, I followed a hallway and turned right.
The room was furnished with a bed, a desk, a bookshelf with books, and an armchair. It was in a surprisingly decent state. According to the papers and documents I found, it seemed to have belonged to the captain.
I'm sure he won't miss his room.
I went to the bed, crossed my ethereal legs, and leaned my back against the wall.
It was time to address the elephant in the room.
My powers.
As far as I know, I can manipulate my energy hair, turning it into a whip or tentacles. I can fly, project energy beams, and my physical strength is considerable, although I haven't been able to quantify it.
I want to use my powers. I really do. My lifelong dream has come true, and I just have to go outside and unleash myself.
But I know that as soon as I start, it will be impossible to stop.
The temptation to go to Emma's house and take revenge is a very powerful impulse. The voice tells me that ethics are a burden. If I give in, if I unleash myself, I highly doubt I'll be able to resist.
And when I take revenge, it won't take long for them to label me a villain and start pursuing me.
If they haven't already.
Sophia was a villain, true, but she was a Ward.
Now I am in a situation where I have no choice but to be pragmatic.
I don't like being passive, even though I always have been. That voice in my head keeps telling me to do whatever I want. That I no longer have to worry about anything, that consequences no longer exist. I hate it, but I can't help being seduced by its logic.
Stupid, I know.
How powerful am I? How fast can I fly? How potent are my energy beams?
It's so easy to get the answers to those questions. And that's what's terrifying.
It would be so simple.
I shook my head. I must concentrate.
Now there is a more important, more frightening question than any other: How can I go back to normal?
If it's even possible.
I refuse to accept this. I refuse to be stuck in this body forever. There must be a way to be me again. To be Taylor again.
Not whatever I am now.
But I've already tried everything. I thought it would be a mental switch, that simply wishing it would return me to my previous body. It didn't work. Then I tried visualizing what I looked like before I got powers, but it's as if my visual memory has been corrupted.
I cannot remember my imperfect face, my actual curves, my flaws; I can only see this ethereal, infinitely more beautiful, more perfect version. And no matter how much the voice insists that I am this perfection, I know it's a lie.
But before I could start my mental exercises, a noise interrupted me. A low, constant sound, the combination of a heavy motorcycle and a nearby helicopter.
I stood up and immediately flew to the edge of the deck.
What I saw didn't surprise me, but it did paralyze me. The motorcycle, a distinctive piece of equipment I had seen on TV many times, was unmistakable. And its two passengers were the manifestation of my fears: Armsmaster and Miss Militia.
They both saw me; our gazes locked. We hung suspended in the air for a moment. I knew about Armsmaster's land-based motorcycle, but I didn't know he had an aerial model. I'm rambling... again.
After a moment, they seemed to make up their minds. The motorcycle began to descend and gently landed on the deck. Miss Militia dismounted, but Armsmaster remained seated on the machine.
I had mixed feelings. On one hand, Armsmaster and Miss Militia were some of my favorite Capes; damn it, I have merchandise of both. But only one scenario came to mind for two of the Protectorate's heavy hitters to be here.
I remained still, trying to look as unthreatening as possible, but ready to flee at the slightest opportunity. I hoped I was faster than Armsmaster's flying motorcycle.
"Hello, Taylor," Miss Militia spoke, her voice warm and kind. And it was true; she was capable of smiling with her eyes. "I'm Miss Militia, may I call you Taylor?"
I was silent for a moment, trying to understand the tactic. Was this an attempt to make me drop my guard? I wanted to believe it wasn't, that they, unlike Sophia, were real heroes... But, on the other hand, they had allowed Sophia to join the Wards.
I forced myself to nod. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, my stupidity would prove fatal at such a delicate moment.
"That's a very nice ship you have," Miss Militia continued, tilting her head. "I really like the rust and the smell of salt; it gives it a lot of character."
My great social skills emerged: "Huh?"
Fantastic, Taylor. Your first words to one of your favorite heroes. Very memorable and articulate.
Miss Militia laughed softly, a brief sound that held no mockery. If I still had skin, I'm sure I would be completely red.
"I can imagine why you chose this place: it's quiet, and no one can bother you, right?"
I didn't answer immediately, trying to predict what she was leading up to. I had a general idea, but I couldn't pinpoint the trap.
"It's... quiet. I even have a room. It was the ship captain's..." was my response, barely a whisper.
"That's great. A lot of other kids would envy having such a fantastic base," Miss Militia nodded.
She looked out at the horizon, where gulls cried and flew over the sunken ships. The views would be nice if it weren't for the industrial wreckage floating in the water.
"Tell me, Taylor, are you willing to hear me out?"
I supposed that, finally, the real conversation was about to begin.
"Yes."
Miss Militia turned to look at me, her eyes showing a warmth I wasn't used to. I think the last adult who looked at me that way was my mother.
"I know it's a horrible subject, but I think it's important to start there. Taylor, do you know what a trigger event is?"
I blinked, or so I think. "No..."
Miss Militia took a breath, her chest visibly rising under her suit, and then exhaled.
"A trigger event is when the fight-or-flight responses are pushed to the extreme. An incident so traumatic and awful that the person, at their breaking point, ends up developing powers."
Something woke up inside me, cold and wicked.
"Like what Sophia did to me?"
Miss Militia closed her eyes, took another breath, and slowly exhaled. When she finally opened them again, there was genuine shame in them.
But I didn't care.
"Yes... Like what Shadow Stalker did to you."
I didn't answer. I remained still and quiet. I felt calm, in fact. I had never felt so unflappable in my entire life.
"Something tells me you want to get to a point."
If Miss Militia was offended by my tone, she didn't show it. Or maybe my tone was so devoid of emotion that it showed nothing at all; I wasn't sure anymore.
"I want to apologize to you, Taylor," the words came out slowly from her lips. "I knew about Shadow Stalker's anger and discipline problems, and several times I tried to get something done about it... What happened to you is my fault. What she did to you is disgusting. If there is anyone you should hate, it's me."
"I am also guilty."
We both turned. Armsmaster had gotten off the motorcycle and walked silently in front of me. His technological presence was intimidating.
"I am the Commander in charge of the Brockton Bay Protectorate Team," even I, with my dismal social skills, could tell how much it cost him to utter those words. "My shortsightedness and poor judgment resulted in all of this."
I wanted to laugh, I swear I did, but my mouth decided to do something else:
"I am a monster because of you."
Both stood motionless at my words, but I knew discomfort was stirring beneath the surface. How did I know? I have no idea, but I was sure.
"Taylor..." Miss Militia began, her voice a soft murmur. "You are not a monster."
This time, I couldn't help it. The sound escaped.
"Ha!" I spat at her. "Do you want to try that again? Let me explain why I am a monster, because it seems you're not smart enough to understand: I don't need to eat, drink, sleep, go to the bathroom, or breathe. I can't feel cold or heat, yet I know they exist. How the hell can I sense temperature if I don't have a physical form? I have no idea, but it's horrible. It's as if the information appears directly in my head, bypassing the senses. I know it's cold because my mind tells me. I know there's light or darkness because my mind, inexplicably, tells me that too. Do you want me to continue?!"
I gasped, though I had no need to. It was horrible. Every time I performed a moderately human reaction, my mind instantly reminded me that it was unnecessary.
It was as if my own psyche was determined to tell me: You are no longer human.
Again, I was my own damn worst enemy.
Even despite my outburst, the two heroes in front of me remained impassive. They let me shout in their faces without flinching. I didn't know why, but that only made me even angrier.
"You are not a monster, Taylor. And do you know how I know?" Militia's voice was perfectly calm.
I hated that she was calm. How dare she be calm?
"Surprise me..."
"Because I don't need to sleep either. Do you think I'm a monster because of that?"
I was silent, staring at her.
"No. And it's not for the reason you think," I replied, genuinely angry now, the rage pulsing in my essence. "It's because unlike me, you are still human! Look at me, damn it! Look at me and tell me I'm not a fucking monster!"
"No, you are not."
I went blank, literally and metaphorically. I didn't expect that answer, so forceful and sincere, as if Militia's words were an unmovable reality that defied my internal logic.
That I'm not a monster...
"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Taylor?" Miss Militia didn't let me answer.
I gave her my full attention. All my thoughts stopped, completely focused on her words.
"I see a scared, confused, and hurt girl. And all of that makes you very brave and beautiful. I see a young woman who, despite the horrible thing that was done to her, didn't lose herself. You had your chance to finish off Shadow Stalker, you had a clear shot, no one could have stopped you. But do you know what you did? Nothing. You left and let her be."
A knot formed in my throat, or my stomach; the dissociation prevented me from knowing where the pain was.
"Do you know how hard that is, Taylor? The incredible act of bravery you performed? It's easy to raise the weapon, and even easier to fire." Miss Militia placed a gloved hand on my shoulder, a comforting and sincere squeeze. "But the hard thing, the truly difficult thing, is putting the weapon down and not firing. There is more courage in putting the weapon down than in raising it. And that, Taylor, is why I admire you. You are a good person; you can be sure of that."
Something broke inside me. Something painful and deep that I didn't know existed, or perhaps did, but I had chosen to ignore for too long.
My legs lost strength. The urge to float died down. I collapsed and brought my energy hands to my face.
I cried. I cried with all my might.
I hiccupped, I sobbed, I screamed—everything.
And for once, my mind didn't remind me that I couldn't do such a thing.
I didn't know when, but a pair of arms wrapped around me and pulled me close. I could no longer think clearly. Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around Miss Militia's body and wept into her shoulder.
"It's okay, dear, it's okay. I'm here... Everything will be fine..."
Sophia Hess
January 4, 2011
The ceiling fan was moving slowly, tracing boring, deliberate circles. Sophia couldn't help but snarl for the hundredth time that night, the harsh sound escaping her throat.
"Fucked. I am completely fucked."
It was an undeniable fact. Everyone knew who she was. And it was all because of Emma Barnes and Madison Clements, but mostly because of Taylor Hebert. The bitch had turned into a monster, a prey that had grown and was now too powerful to touch.
Sophia would have to settle for slowly dismembering Emma and Madison.
She growled, not knowing or caring if it was a sigh or a frustrated roar.
Her hospital room door opened. Sophia fixed her gaze on the PRT trooper who entered. He was unarmed, to her relief, but she still remained alert, ready to leap from the bed and phase through the wall in a shadow blur.
"Shadow Stalker," the agent said in a monotone voice. "You are requested at Headquarters immediately. There is an armored vehicle waiting for you outside. I came to escort you."
Without a word, Sophia got out of bed. She had already changed beforehand and was wearing civilian clothes, avoiding the ridiculous hospital gown.
She and the trooper didn't exchange a single word during the trip to the armored van, and the silence continued inside the vehicle.
Many thoughts crossed Sophia's mind, and they were all related to how she would make Emma and Madison suffer. Those traitors would fall with her, she would make sure of it.
But something strange broke her concentration. They had been driving for over forty minutes, and the PRT Headquarters wasn't that far from the hospital.
A cold, treacherous sweat ran down the back of her neck. She mentally prepared to activate her shadow form.
"No need for that, Shadow Stalker."
Sophia looked at the trooper sitting across from her, frowning. Her eyes immediately fixed on the taser the man held casually in his hands, a large model, clearly modified for high-impact non-lethal use.
"We have arrived," the driver's voice announced from the front.
They stopped. Where? Sophia didn't know.
The driver turned and entered the back of the van. He also held a taser, but a laptop rested under his arm. He opened it, turned it, and presented it in front of Sophia.
"Good evening, Miss Hess."
A synthetic, filtered, inflectionless voice escaped the laptop's speakers. Sophia frowned even harder, her rage rising like the tide.
"Who the hell are you?"
"You may call me 'Boss,' and I have a job offer that interests you."
Sophia didn't hesitate. "Go to hell."
"Don't be like that, Miss Hess," the synthetic voice replied with false courtesy. "I assure you my words are worth hearing."
Sophia did not miss how the first trooper lightly pressed the taser's trigger, a reminder. Sophia growled, again.
"Speak."
"Excellent," the voice responded. "As you know, Miss Hess, your identity has been compromised. Many people, very powerful people, are, if you allow me to be vulgar, 'pissed off' at you. They are eager to get rid of you. Especially now that a more promising and powerful young woman has presented herself."
Sophia ground her teeth, spitting out the name:
"Hebert? That bitch is worthless. I'm worth a hundred of her."
"Are you really?" The mockery was clear, even with the synthetic filter. "Because Miss Hebert was welcomed with open arms by the Protectorate. Both literally and metaphorically. See for yourself."
The laptop screen showed an image of the damn Taylor Hebert. She was being hugged by Miss Militia, with Armsmaster standing protectively beside them.
Sophia's blood began to burn in her veins, a scorching rage.
"Now, allow me to address the purpose of this meeting: My offer. You have angered very powerful people who will not hesitate to remove you from the path. So I offer you a safe way out: work for me, join a team I personally sponsor, and I assure you that many of your problems will disappear."
Sophia was silent, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
"I don't buy what you're selling. That's too good an offer to be real."
"I see... I regret having to resort to this, Miss Hess. Please pay attention."
The laptop screen displayed a video. Sophia's face paled. She recognized the people in the recording: her mother, her older brother, and her younger sister. They were all huddled on the couch in their home, with a man dressed in a military uniform, armed with an assault rifle, standing in front of them. They were visibly terrified.
"Now, just so we're clear... Fire."
"NO!"
The live recording showed the man aiming his rifle at her family and opening fire. The dry sound of the shots and the impacts, reverberating in the metal of the van, flooded the space. Sophia was utterly horrified.
When the shots ceased, her family was completely intact, though visibly traumatized. Crying profusely, her mother hugged her little sister, and Terry stood protectively in front of them, though he was trembling.
"Their lives are in the palms of your hands, Miss Hess. Whether they live or die is your decision."
"I'll do it!" Sophia screamed, her voice torn. "I'll work for you! I'll do everything you ask! But please, don't hurt my family!"
"I am glad to hear it, Miss Hess. I am sure your time with the Undersiders will be most enjoyable. With that said, I take my leave. My men will brief you on the rest."
Sophia paid no attention to anything else. Shock had left her catatonic.
Sophia cried. She cried with all her might.
She hiccupped, she sobbed, she screamed—everything.
Completely alone, in the back seat of a van.
Taylor Hebert
January 4, 2011
I discovered something quite annoying about my new body: I can feel tired. It's not the fatigue resulting from physical activity or lack of sleep—that concept is ridiculous now—but the kind of mental exhaustion.
I cried and screamed so much that I couldn't even feel moderately excited when they brought me to the PRT Headquarters. In fact, wouldn't it have been more practical to go to the Rig? It was closer. What's the difference between the two? I find it very inefficient that one building is in the city center and the other is on a retrofitted oil platform...
I'm rambling... again...
I sighed, a useless reflex, and looked around. I was in an absurdly normal waiting room: a television, a water dispenser, armchairs, a clock on the wall, and a potted plant. The trooper at the door was very kind; I suppose it's not the first time he has dealt with a traumatized parahuman.
Armsmaster and Miss Militia asked me to wait here, assuring me they wouldn't be long. They also made it clear that I could leave whenever I wanted, that I was not obliged to stay, free to go when I pleased.
Frankly, I was planning to escape until they told me that. They were so kind and understanding that leaving feels wrong.
They also mentioned the option of calling my father. They informed me that he filed a missing person's report, which was escalated to the PRT because it was a case involving a parahuman.
Dad was looking for me.
God, how I hate myself. He must be terrified and worried...
But... I don't have the strength to face him right now.
In my discomfort, I tugged at the neck of the sweatshirt. They gave me a change of clothes (sweatshirt and sweatpants); I refused to wear shoes, they felt strange. All clothes feel strange. I want to do nothing but take them off, but my rational side reminds me that I can't walk around naked. The voice in my head keeps whispering how uncomfortable the fabric is, how it restricts me.
I hate feeling restricted.
I shook my head, pushing those thoughts away for the umpteenth time.
I decided to think about something else, like the fact that I haven't seen any of the Wards.
Better that way. I don't know what I would do if I saw the team Sophia was a part of. And I don't think Armsmaster and Miss Militia want to find out either.
Are they like her? Popular kids who aren't afraid to bully? Were they friends with Sophia? Did they laugh and have fun with her? Did Sophia tell them how she tortured me, and they enjoyed hearing her recount how she made me miserable?
"Miss Hebert?"
An agent's voice pulled me out of my dark thoughts. He was standing in the doorway.
"Please come with me. Director Piggot wishes to speak with you."
I felt my essence shrink. I was not in a state to speak with the PRT ENE Director. And, more importantly, I didn't want to.
"I... Hmm..."
I couldn't think of absolutely anything to say. I had no excuse to refuse to see Director Piggot, and saying I wanted to go home didn't help because I definitely wasn't going home to face Dad.
Before my mind could spiral, a new voice interrupted the conversation.
"You don't need to do such a thing, Miss Hebert."
Both the trooper and I turned toward the new voice. It was a tall man, dressed in an immaculate charcoal gray business suit, with a leather briefcase in his hand. An ID tag, just like mine, hung around his neck. He had light blond hair, was clean-shaven, and his complexion was slightly tanned.
"Who are you?" the trooper asked with a frown, his tone now more professional and less condescending.
With a formal and efficient air, the man introduced himself: "My name is Richard Gray. Attorney at Law. I have come to represent the interests of Danny and Taylor Hebert. Simply put, I am here as your legal counsel."
I blinked, not having expected it, and the trooper clearly hadn't either. Mr. Gray turned and looked at me. His smile was polite, professional, and there was an intensity in his light eyes that struck me as resolute.
"I was hired to represent you, Miss Hebert. Your father is on his way, Taylor, he will arrive shortly. You don't have to worry about anything. We will go into that office and only leave when we get what you want."
"Just a moment," the trooper hastened to say, interjecting himself. "The interview is private."
Mr. Gray, in a perfectly measured voice, replied, "That would apply for the purposes of a recruitment interview involving a parahuman whose identity is private. But Miss Hebert is a public figure at the moment. Furthermore, for all intents and purposes of the law, she is a civilian. A parahuman, certainly, but a civilian. As her counsel, it is my prerogative, and Miss Hebert's right, to ensure my presence if she so desires."
I couldn't help but be impressed by the way Mr. Gray could weave legal jargon without even taking a breath. Were all lawyers like this? I always imagined them as used-car salesmen, like on TV.
Gray waited for a moment, giving the trooper time to respond. When he didn't, he added with a tone that demanded respect, "Must I take action in case I am denied the right to represent my client?"
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Gray."
Again, we all turned our heads. This time, Miss Militia was standing in the doorway. She stepped aside with a gesture.
"Director Piggot is waiting. Both you and Miss Hebert may enter."
"I appreciate that," Mr. Gray responded professionally. He then turned to look at me. He smiled kindly. "Ready?"
No. The world would be wonderful if I could say that.
"Yes," I replied.
We both followed Miss Militia inside the office. The woman behind the desk, whom I had seen several times on television, was as imposing as I remembered, certainly intimidating.
"Who are you?"
Director Piggot's words were uttered with a harshness and malice that disconcerted me. Beside me, I could see Miss Militia wince; I could only see her eyes above her scarf, but it was definitely a wince. Her eyes gave her away.
"Richard Gray, counsel and legal representative for Miss Hebert."
"Spirit is being interviewed right now. You cannot be here."
This time, I wasn't the only one who blinked. The one who reacted fastest was Mr. Gray: "Spirit, you say?"
"According to Protectorate protocol, all identified Capes are assigned a provisional name for legal purposes," Director Piggot replied, lacing her fingers on the desk. "As such, Miss Hebert has been assigned the name Spirit until she chooses to provide her own. Now, get out of my office. This is a private interview between Spirit and the PRT."
I slowly turned my head to look at Mr. Gray. The man didn't flinch at all; he remained still and impassive. He looked directly into the woman's eyes, and I could tell without fear of being wrong that she did not like it.
"I will do no such thing."
"I beg your pardon?" The Director's tone was chilling.
"I am Miss Hebert's counsel and legal representative, present here. As such, I cannot leave this room unless she asks me to. Do you wish me to leave the room, Miss Hebert?"
Now she's giving me the evil eye! Bastard!
"No..."
"Did you hear that? That means I will not be leaving this room."
"The law is quite clear regarding the protocols for Wards recruitment; only parents or—"
"It's very amusing that you mention the Wards, Director Piggot," Mr. Gray interrupted. It was clear Director Piggot was not used to being interrupted, judging by the twitch in her jaw. "If I recall correctly, it was a Ward who not only attempted to murder my client but fostered a campaign of hatred and harassment against her person. Actions that took place under your supervision."
It was the first time I had seen someone's neck veins bulge from clenching their teeth.
Gray leaned slightly forward, his voice growing colder and more precise than Armsmaster's.
"Make no mistake. This is not about the potential recruitment of my client to the Wards. This is about whether Miss Hebert here present wishes to pursue a civil lawsuit against the PRT for damages to her person."
Silence...
Was the silence always so deafening? The constant whirring of Piggot's computer fan was starting to drive me insane.
Director Piggot had the kind of stare mortal enemies give each other in movies. In fact, I would swear she was about to pull a weapon from her desk.
"Are you threatening me?"
Mr. Gray was silent for a moment, settling back with dignity in his plastic seat, making it look almost like a throne. "No, I am stating a fact. Don't insult my intelligence, Director Piggot. You are not in a position where you can force and impose recruitment. Your intentions to intimidate my client, had this been a private meeting, were very clear. But this is far from an interview."
She was planning that!? Blackwell was indifferent and blatantly biased, but she was a school principal. The woman in front of me is supposed to be in charge of the city's superheroes, and she was planning to intimidate me?
Goodbye to the little appreciation and respect I had left for the PRT and the Protectorate.
"You may be here for a potential civil lawsuit, but I cannot be present if this were a recruitment interview," Piggot turned to look at me, trying to regain control. "Spirit, do you wish to begin your interview to join the Wards program?"
What was she attempting? Was she really that brazen?
"No..." I said, stopping the word "thanks" at the last second.
Mr. Gray didn't visibly gloat, but I was sure he was doing so internally.
"With that said..." Mr. Gray picked up his briefcase and opened it, beginning to slide thick files of papers across the desk. "We had better start discussions regarding damages and compensation for Miss Hebert."
I was so focused on the confrontation that I didn't notice Miss Militia was still in the room until she cleared her throat.
"I am sure we can still discuss Taylor joining the Wards..."
At that, the three of us looked at Miss Militia.
"Miss Hebert has already made her stance on joining the Wards clear," Mr. Gray replied measuredly.
"I know," Miss Militia responded. "But we must not forget the reason behind the Wards' existence: to protect the new generation of Capes. The statistics are very clear about the
dangers for juvenile heroes: the survival rates for a solo hero are very low. If Taylor joins the Wards, she will have a safety net and a team to back her up. And it will also give us the opportunity to guarantee the safety of her father."
I froze in place. I hadn't thought about Dad at all.
Oh my God. What would happen to Dad? Everyone knows I'm a Cape. My whole goddamn school saw me.
"Not to mention that Taylor's trigger event was posted all over the Internet," Miss Militia added, her eyes fixed on me.
"I'm on the Internet!?" Panic hit me.
Now it was everyone's turn to look at me. Miss Militia looked noticeably uncomfortable. "You didn't know?"
"I was on a damn ship in the middle of nowhere since yesterday! Of course, I didn't know anything!"
My life was already ruined. But now it was even more ruined than I thought!
"Allow me to remind you, Miss Militia," Mr. Gray intervened, "that non-governmental hero teams exist. In fact, Brockton Bay has the example of New Wave, are you forgetting? They foster a movement of publicly responsible heroes without secret identities, a case that aligns perfectly with Miss Hebert's situation."
At Mr. Gray's words, I snapped back. It was true. New Wave was a genuinely attractive alternative: revealed Capes, family heroes.
But I remembered something. Brandish belongs to the same law firm as Emma's father.
Now New Wave didn't sound so appealing.
I decided to keep that detail to myself for the moment.
Carefully, I looked back at Piggot. It was clear she hated Mr. Gray more and more as the conversation progressed. The man let nothing pass, always with a prepared argument or counter-argument.
He was damn cool. Terrifying, but cool.
"That's true," now it was Piggot's turn to speak again, her voice strained. "But for all intents and purposes, New Wave is affiliated with the PRT."
"Being a hero affiliated with the PRT and being part of the Protectorate are distinct situations, Director Piggot," Mr. Gray replied. "Furthermore, the matter of whether a Wards program will even exist for Miss Hebert to join at the end of the day remains pending."
Now, even the kind Miss Militia was annoyed to hear those words. "The Wards is the only thing many children have."
"Regrettably, that is true," Mr. Gray conceded. "But that is not in my hands and, I dare say, not in yours either. After all, the repercussions of Director Piggot's inaction—and by extension, the PRT and the Protectorate's—will determine what happens now with this PRT branch."
I felt like I was missing something, as if there were a crucial piece of information I was totally ignorant of.
"What do you wish to do, Director Piggot?" Mr. Gray asked, pushing the conversation to the limit. "We can resume the civil lawsuit discussion; you could continue pressing for my client's recruitment; or, you have the option of throwing protocol out the window and employing whatever shady action you are thinking of. In any case, and regardless of what you decide to do, you are not in a position to divide your attention toward another scandal. Especially if that scandal is related to the legal process involving the victim who started it all."
It was incredible how he could say so many words at once, and not say much at the same time. I understood the general idea behind Mr. Gray's words, but the feeling that there was a layer of reality I didn't comprehend kept growing.
"You may both leave my office."
I'm sure that if I had eyebrows, I would have arched them.
"Spare me the power play, Director Piggot," Mr. Gray replied with an icy smile. Even so, he stood up. I followed his lead. "Once I finish my conversations with my client, I will return to speak with you. Until then, have a good day."
Passing Miss Militia, I followed Mr. Gray out of the office. The man was the perfect representation of affability and impassivity, with his polite smile and calm walk.
No one stopped us on our way out of the building. At most, we had to return our visitor passes, but we left the facility perfectly and without incident.
I still had the echoes of the conversation swirling in my head.
"What just happened?" I asked, unable to stop myself.
Mr. Gray chuckled playfully. "Bureaucracy, Miss Hebert." He replied, checking the watch on his wrist. "All high-level bureaucrats are like Piggot to a greater or lesser extent. She is definitely a capable woman; her military roots betray her way of thinking and acting. She is a soldier first and a bureaucrat second. Unfortunately for her, I've dealt with her kind many times. Besides, her intentions were very transparent."
I couldn't help it: "Like trying to intimidate me, as you said?"
He shrugged. It would look unprofessional on anyone else, but he made it look like a dignified gesture. "She knows her career is destroyed, so she has nothing to lose. Her thinking is simple: she will take all the blame and pave the way for her successor. And that successor will take care of rebuilding all the bridges she has burned. Your situation, while serious, has not been the worst thing that has happened to the PRT. That is the sad reality, Miss Hebert. They have experience dealing with uproars like this."
I racked my brain trying to use the little knowledge I had about lawyers and laws. Being the daughter of a union leader gave me a foundation, but it wasn't very solid. Even so, I decided to try:
"Are you saying that this will end in a high-profile lawsuit?"
Mr. Gray's smile was quite macabre. "I assure you there will be a lawsuit, whether instigated by you or not. But that is a conversation I must have with your father, Miss Hebert. I regret that this is the case, but I can only discuss matters that concern you personally. I still have to discuss other issues with your father."
That brought another matter to mind. "How did my father manage to hire your services?" I couldn't help but ask. "You are the kind of lawyer you see in the movies, the really expensive ones, and my father... Well... We don't..."
Mr. Gray gently shook his head. "Don't worry about that, Miss Hebert. I assure you that my services have already been covered, and we will get to the bottom of all this. Not to mention that..."
"Taylor!"
Everyone around me stopped, or was it just me? The only thing that mattered was the voice. I knew that voice.
Dad...
But it was impossible. Surely my mind was playing tricks on me. How could he recognize me? My skin is purple; my hair is pink. I am no longer human. It was my mind trying to attack me, using the voice of the person I most, and at the same time least, wanted to see.
And suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around me, firm and determined. He pulled me close so that my back hit his chest. He hugged me with the force of a shipwreck victim clinging to land.
"You're okay!" he yelled.
I felt my non-heart stop. I don't have a heart...
"You're... okay... If anything had happened to you... If they had... I... I... I would never have forgiven myself..."
I could feel the knot rising, my energy eyes starting to sting... With hesitation, I began to lift my arms and squeezed his. He squeezed me even tighter.
"Please... don't ever leave like that again... Please... You're my daughter... my little owl."
I couldn't bear it anymore. I turned around, still in Dad's arms, and buried my face in his chest. Without hesitation, he ran his hand through my glowing pink hair and hugged me with all his strength.
"Dad... I... I..."
"Shhh... It's okay... I'm here and you're here... whatever happens... we'll get through this together... I promise you."
I nodded, unable to do anything else. Dad didn't let go, and I didn't try to pull away. How long did we stay embracing on the street? I don't know. But it must have been a considerable amount of time because of Mr. Gray's intervention. I had completely forgotten his existence.
"I apologize for being the one to break the touching moment... but there are many people watching. While Taylor's situation is public, I highly recommend maintaining privacy whenever possible. You'll need it, both of you."
I didn't bother to react. Dad, on the other hand, didn't have that problem. "Yes... Taylor, let's go to the car."
I let Dad guide me. I got into the old sedan, buckled my seatbelt, and before I knew it, we were moving. The silence didn't last long.
"I'm so happy you're okay, Taylor."
Those were his words: simple, short, but I appreciated them more than anything. Fearing I would start crying again if I said anything, I simply nodded. In fact, I don't think I ever stopped crying; I don't know if the energy tears are new or were already there.
"I... I apologize..." I lifted my head. "I know I don't have the right... that I failed you... but... but I... the truth is... the truth is I'm a goddamn coward. I wasn't there for you when you needed me most. I was too focused on myself."
I know. Even when we were in the same house, you were just a ghost. I didn't have the courage to say those words.
"I missed you..." I could only say that.
He nodded, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. "Me too... but I promise you that will change. I... I won't fail you anymore... I promise."
Mr. Gray was following us from behind in his own car, new, expensive, and completely different from ours. That contrast gave me the perfect excuse to change the subject of conversation.
"How were you able to hire Mr. Gray? I was only with him for half an hour, and it was clear to me that he's one of the expensive lawyers."
Dad shook his head, concentrating on the road. "I wasn't the one who hired him."
I blinked. "Then who?"
"Your grandfather. Annette's dad. He saw you on the news and didn't hesitate to call me. He told me to expect a call from a lawyer, the son of an old friend of his. And here he is."
I was silent for a moment, the magnitude of the situation hitting me. "I never met Grandpa and Grandma."
Dad sighed. "You met your grandfather at the funeral. I'm not surprised you don't remember; I don't remember that day well either... Everything is..."
"Blurry?" I offered.
Dad nodded. "Yes... blurry..."
We both fell silent again. We stopped at a traffic light. In front of us, pedestrians were crossing.
"Anyway, your grandfather didn't hesitate to send us one of the best lawyers on the East Coast."
"Grandpa must be rich to be able to afford him."
Dad laughed, a forced laugh. "He's a plumber, actually."
I frowned. How was it possible for a plumber to afford a lawyer like Mr. Gray? I supposed it must be because of that old friendship.
The traffic light turned green again, and with it, our conversation about my unknown grandfather was left behind.
"What happens now?"
I was exhausted, but I forced myself to address the main issue.
"That depends on what you want, Taylor," Dad replied. "The only thing I'm clear about is that we will sue Winslow and Emma. As for the PRT and the Protectorate..."
I didn't hesitate. "I don't want to join the Wards."
Dad sighed deeply. "Thank God. The truth is, I don't want you to join them either. I never trusted the government or corporations, but..."
"But you hoped they would be different, that by being 'heroes,' they would act like it, right?" Dad nodded. I couldn't help but scoff in disappointment. "I thought the same..."
Finally, we arrived home. Dad parked the car. I looked out the window at the house. It felt so... intimidating...
"Ready?"
No. "Yes," I replied.
Mr. Gray pulled up behind us. He also got out of his car and followed us into the house.
Richard Gray
January 4, 2011
Once his initial business with the Heberts was finished, Richard Gray got into his car. He was satisfied. He started the engine and began driving through the city.
Without taking his eyes off the road, he opened the glove compartment and took out a small device. It was a circular metallic badge with the symbol of a green hourglass. He turned it on and held it close to his face.
"Agent Gray reporting."
He got a reply almost immediately. "I've been waiting for your call, Richard."
"Magister," Richard greeted. "Everything went well. The Heberts accepted my services, and I am officially the lawyer and representative for both of them."
He could hear the contained joy in the voice on the other end. "I'm glad to hear it. How is my granddaughter?"
Richard smiled. The young woman had left a good impression on him. "Quite well, considering what might be expected. She's strong and doesn't give up easily. She's worthy of being called your granddaughter, Magister."
A rough laugh escaped the speaker. "Ha! She may not carry my last name, but she has it in her blood."
"Anodites don't have blood, sir," Richard joked. "You should know that better than anyone."
They both chuckled. Finally, they resumed the serious conversation.
"Did you tell them the truth?"
"No," Richard replied. "As you instructed me, I will not say anything unless strictly necessary or if you order me to break the silence. I can also assure you that Mr. and Miss Hebert are completely unaware of Taylor's true ancestry and nature. To both of them, she is a parahuman like any other."
"Good," the Magister replied. "Ignorance is the best defense they have right now."
Richard found himself agreeing. His organization was no longer as powerful as it was decades ago, but they were far from extinct or gone.
"Should I prepare for your arrival, Magister?"
"No. Or at least not soon... They are watching me, Richard."
Richard involuntarily tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Is it 'her'?"
A tense pause. "Yes... She's been scouting my camper quite brazenly, I must say. The girl thinks she can intimidate me."
Richard laughed, this time, from the heart. They didn't know who they were dealing with. "They think they are so clever, sir."
A hearty laugh was his response. "I've been in this game long before these kids knew there was anything beyond the stars."
"I have no doubt whatsoever that if anyone can escape right under their noses, it's you, sir."
Richard looked in his rearview mirror. The same car, a dark sedan, had been discreetly following him for the last two blocks.
"They seem to be watching me too."
It was the Magister's turn to laugh openly. "Don't be too hard on them, Richard."
"I'll try... Agent Gray, out."
Emily Piggot
January 4, 2011
Without letting the physical exhaustion that oppressed her win, Emily Piggot scrutinized her desk. Messy papers, scattered files, and unclassified documents everywhere.
She ignored them, her attention fixed on the paper she held: the notification confirming that her "retirement" was scheduled for early March.
It was definitive. It was already clear that she would not be the PRT ENE Director for much longer. Her successor was still veiled from confirmation.
Her flaws were clear, and she was aware of them, just as she was aware of the PRT's flaws: a bureaucracy machine that hindered almost all her attempts to make significant headway against the city's parahuman gangs. She had given up a lot in her life for the PRT's mission; the world was as it was, and the only thing she could do was try to impose the little order and stability that was possible.
Brockton Bay was a powder keg always about to explode, and what she hated most was that her actions—or lack thereof—led to this situation.
She still didn't understand why the gangs hadn't reacted to the recent events. It was uncharacteristic of them not to take advantage of this chaos. The calm before the storm was torturous.
"Director!" someone yelled from her doorway. "We have a situation!"
Emily cursed her own thoughts. She pressed the button under her desk that controlled the lock on her door and allowed access.
"What is it?"
"It's Shadow Stalker! She's gone missing!"
A cold feeling moved inside Emily. The main cause of all this commotion couldn't resist landing one last blow on her way out.
"Speak," she ordered.
"Approximately an hour and a half ago, a team was sent to pick up Shadow Stalker from the hospital, but after she never arrived at Headquarters, a tracking team was sent. The transport vehicle was abandoned on the outskirts of the cemetery, with no trace of Shadow Stalker or the escort agents."
Emily cursed under her breath. When the brat came to her door, she recruited her in a desperate attempt to add one more parahuman to her ranks. She was efficient, she had justified at the time. Now she cursed her stupidity. That child never deserved the trouble she brought. She should have sent her to rot in a juvenile detention center as soon as she had the chance, or better yet, reassigned her to Madison. The latter was more in line with the girl's soul.
"That's not all," the agent added, catching his breath. "Shadow Stalker's family has also disappeared. We confirmed that a weapon was fired inside the family residence. The ballistics and investigation team is already conducting forensic operations."
A dark premonition struck Emily, her mind shuffling the possible repercussions and reasons behind this.
Someone broke the unwritten rules.
Emily accepted the report and quickly began to study it. As she looked at the photos and evidence, she couldn't help but come to a conclusion:
It looks like a case similar to Fleur... But the methodology is too professional. Clean. No traces, nothing.
And all this at the worst possible time. If this leaked to the media, if the new lawyer who had become her headache found out about this...
"Director, Consultant Calvert is here to speak with you."
Piggot closed her eyes for an instant.
"Send him in."
Jumping out of the frying pan and landing in the goddamn fire.