Wake-up Call – Chapter 17

Triumph is a funny thing (by which I mean "triumph," not "Triumph," though wearing a lion-themed costume and roaring at people is not precisely lacking in the humor department). You always picture it as this great moment, as Rocky standing in the ring, unbowed even after everything, and yelling his lover's name, but then you remember Rocky didn't win. No, that scream, that moment of acknowledgment, had nothing to do with victory against a great foe and everything with having managed to see something through to its end.

Which isn't… It's also not what one would expect.

I'm sure there will come a time, and maybe it will even be soon, when I'll sing and dance with joy, elated at a future by the side of my lover without… [that] throwing any shade on it. I'm sure I'll be happy, relieved, satisfied.

It's just that, right now, I am not.

"Tattletale?" Taylor's—no, Skitter's voice, carefully lacking in inflection, asks from my side, her body not so close that I can feel her heat, smell her scent, but enough that I feel the unspoken, implicit support. And the worry.

Colin is behind me, and so is a very unnerved Miss Militia. The Undersiders have fled (obviously: armored garage doors aren't a match for Rachel's dogs when she's got them ramped up, and Colin trusts me to—I'd rather not think too much about that, I already have my 'processing' queue full), and the Travelers, minus the weird gorilla thingy, are subdued.

Also, Grue was kind enough to leave behind a gift-wrapped and thoroughly tasered (courtesy of the trigger-happy asshole that has made my Christmas list this year) Shadow Stalker. Who Taylor has managed not to kick even once, to her great credit. And my own frustration.

And Coil is laying at my feet.

Which… is triumph. Or should be.

I have destroyed everything he's worked for. Subverted or captured his assets, stopped or appropriated his operations, brought him to justice (or the law, one of those), unmasked him. I know him well enough to know that a bullet through his temple would have been a mercy in comparison.

Yet…

"Does it always feel like this?" I ask. I don't know who am I asking, but I do.

"Sometimes." Miss Militia, of all people, answers. "Sometimes you have this… this almost giddy feeling, the satisfaction of having done something unequivocally good, but others… others you just have this vague feeling, between relief and bitter regret, and can only think about everything that went on before you managed to step in. Villains have the luxury of choosing their battles, but heroes are almost always stuck reacting to something having gone horribly wrong."

There's the aborted whine of a servo before Colin decides to remain motionless.

Taylor scoffs.

And I…

"Thank you, Hannah."

She shuffles and steps forward. She's in front of me, but a bit to the side, not getting between me and the unconscious form of the man that's been plaguing my nightmares for months.

"Tattletale… Thank you. You and Skitter have saved more lives in the past few weeks than most heroes manage in their whole careers."

"To be fair," I say with a wry smile, "most heroes' careers are woefully short."

She answers that smile. Her scarf does nothing to hide how obvious the expression is in the periphery of my vision, and I don't need Power to tell me that this has been rehearsed, that she's been forced to take lessons in how to make her eyes expressive enough to make up for the covered parts of her face. But I also don't need Power to tell me that rehearsed does not mean insincere.

Her own power has taken the shape of a cane, likely one with a hidden dagger or some other bullshit, and she's leaning on it in a way that seems designed to broadcast to me that her weight is on it, that there's no threat coming because she would need to get back on her footing before being able to use her weapon.

This woman is far too dangerous.

Dragon, you'd better turn the heat up a bit.

"No need for self-disparagement. You two are the most heroic pair of villains I've ever met." Green light throbs for half a second. Because she also knows how utterly dangerous we both are.

Heh. I like her.

"Or villainous pair of heroes." I finally turn my head away from the defeated man at my feet and meet her eyes. Green. Too many green eyes around here. Taylor, that better not be a kink of yours.

"One of those two, yes." And she nods, some humor shining through.

We stay like this for a moment until I hear a voice at my back.

"What the Hell are they doing, and why are we spectating?" Taylor stage-whispers to Colin.

"I am not quite sure. Either a threat display or a mating ritual, if my ethology is up to par."

"You are both terrible," I reply in almost auto-mode.

"Is that how you treat the woman who knows how thoroughly you've flaunted regulations since this whole thing started?" Hannah adds.

"Or the girl who's just served a Bond-villain on a silver platter to you. Not to mention just delivered you from Piggot." And [now] there's a whine of servos. Just so he can cross his arms in a dramatic, grand gesture.

Really, I hope I don't catch any of his bad habits.

[Lisa Wilbourn already—]

Joking! I was joking, for fuck's sake!

"How delightful. I'm sure her substitute will be a level-headed individual who won't be wary and hostile toward the cape responsible for ousting the person they'll be replacing in an organization designed to keep parahumans in check."

Fuck. Hadn't thought about that.

"Do you want me to pull some—" And an armored hand lands gently on my shoulder before I can finish the sentence.

"Lisa…" His visor lifts just so he can look straight into my eyes without anything in between. He holds my gaze for half a second before his deceptively stoic expression melts and a gentle smile takes over. "Thank you. You have done far more than anyone could have asked of you." The glove tightens just a smidgen, not even half the pressure for a good shoulder rub, yet still enough to let me derive some reassurance from the gesture. "I'm proud of you, Lisa."

… That armor doesn't look—

[Rigidity of components equivalent to—]

Fuck it.

I hug the dumb bastard who's not smart enough to design hugable armor, and he pats my back.

Then I hear the very distinctive sound of a phone camera app trying to pass itself as a mechanical camera.

"What the—" I start to say.

"For the family album," Taylor answers unrepentantly.

"I want copies," Hannah follows.

"So do I," a Canadian accent comes from a set of speakers on Colin's armor.

… Great. The most powerful Tinker in the world has a DILF fetish, and I am tangentially involved. This can only bode good things.

…

The Christmas present better be spectacular. I want my bribes.

***

"So, obviously, given Shadow Stalker's cooperation with Coil and Piggot's strange obsession with freeing her and putting her back on the streets, Coli—[Armsmaster] was perfectly justified in accepting my theory that Piggot was collaborating with Coil and thus hiding the investigation of two independents from the local PRT branch, due to how presumably compromised it had been at this point."

The worst thing? Like most conspiracy theories, this is more believable than the actual truth. Because people being incompetent and stupid to an actually evil degree, to the point they will just hide the almost murder of a minor without that tripping any alarms in the system, makes far less sense than any elaborate plot where things have been [purposefully] set in motion by someone. Bonus points if that someone is actually intelligent and competent. Or a Jew. Especially an intelligent, competent Jew.

Of course, conspiracy theories fail to account for Hanlon's Razor, because it turns out that stupidity is far more abundant than competence, never mind evil competence. And most evil individuals who are intelligent enough are indistinguishable from decent people. Most.

It's arguable whether Coil counts as competent, given the spectacular way in which every single one of his dreams for the future has come crashing down today, but if he was intelligent, he was also quite easy to distinguish from a decent person.

The point of this little rant? Dragon, as far as I know, more or less lives on the internet, so she's quite knowledgeable about conspiracy theories and able to see for what it is the steaming pile of bullcrap I just explained to the hidden sensors in Colin's armor (that I [refuse] to believe don't have any sexual application, no matter how much Power insists otherwise, because nobody should give another person that kind of access without a pre-arranged safe word). But she just needs an excuse.

I'm still trying to learn whether she's under some kind of compulsion or she's just that anal about the rules, but the woman [needs] some kind of pretense that allows her to skirt the letter of the law.

Giving her a reasonable narrative about Colin believing no one in the whole PRT chain of command could be trusted with the secret operation being carried by two undercover, independent heroes is enough for her not to jump the gun.

Also, apparently, the hidden sensors send her an alarm if somebody touches Colin's armor for a prolonged (read: seconds) period of time. An alarm that she's ready to follow on almost immediately in case she needs to reboot systems after a Striker or hostile Tinker attack.

Right. Just because of those reasons. Of course.

Sorry, Hannah, it looks like riding on Colin's backseat will not be the private affair you may have dreamed of—

[Miss Militia's fondness for Dragon's and Armasmaster's interaction—]

… If you are trying to mentally scar me by making me speculate about a possible threesome involving my—

[Colin Wallis not actually Lisa Wilbourn's—]

You know what I am talking about!

[Lisa Wilbourn's refusal to consider polyamory in regards to—]

I'm gonna be sick.

[Lisa Wilbourn's overblown reaction to Colin Wallis—]

Drop. It.

[Westermarck Effect—]

Oh, [fuck you—]

"Tattletale?" Dragon's synthesized voice mercifully cuts through my future therapist session.

"She does that sometimes," Taylor exasperatedly replies.

"One of many reasons why she's still a Thinker six," Colin adds.

"Hey!" I elegantly riposte.

"Leave the poor girl alone, Colin." Hannah, you are now my favorite. "She just hugged your armor; she's likely to have head trauma." I retract my statement.

"If you could all stop being horrible human beings abusing a defenseless maiden—" Taylor, that snort is going to cost ya. "—or suicidal lemmings getting on the shitlist of a Thinker [seven]—" Colin, that smug look will have [consequences.] "—we could proceed to the securing of the supervillain's base. Taylor? All mapped out? Every merc subdued?"

For a moment, she looks like she's about to comment—

[Taylor Hebert disproportionately amused at the use of the term 'maiden'—]

That's it. I'm buying that strap-on.

"Yes, and already mapped." And then the cheer leaves her. "She's… straight ahead. Are you sure you want to do this alone?"

No. Of course I don't.

"Yes. She will likely have predicted this encounter. You know, high-level Thinker stuff. All of you would feel out of place."

"I'm pretty sure I count as a high-level Thinker—" Dragon starts.

"You count as a high-level [everything], because Tinkers are bullshit—yes, [Tay], I know how that sounds coming from me, I still stand by it. Anyway, no room for cheating cheaters who cheat, Dragon. Also, why are you the only one in here who isn't using her given name?"

"What are you talking about? Dragon is my given name; my father saw great promise in me." And the words are humorous, joking. And so is the tone and the delivery, but—

[Colin Wallis uncomfortable—]

He doesn't know—

[Sense of distance—]

From someone who monitors his vitals in real-time—

[Incongruity covered by humor—]

Fuck. A mystery.

Damn it, I just finished taking care of the biggest headache in my life that doesn't have long legs and gorgeous hair, couldn't you wait a bit before dangling the catnip in front of me, universe?

"Lisa?" my particular headache interjects.

"Right, sorry about that." And Colin stiffens slightly at my words, because he knows me well enough to infer there's a message in my apology regarding his reaction to Dragon. It's wonderful to work with [actually] intelligent people instead of people who think themselves intelligent. Fucking Dunning-Kruger. "Anyway, please proceed to interrogate the girl with the wheelchair who cannot use her powers without her body falling unconscious while I have my long-awaited meeting with the girl that has been my accomplice for quite a while without us even having ever talked to one another."

"You are never going to stop bragging about that, are you?" Taylor asks with a very suitable air of resignation.

"You know me so well!" I beam at her. And then proceed to skip along the corridor.

And pretend to ignore her when she mutters, "At least she isn't high on adrenalin [this] time."

They turn a corner, and I drop my cheer.

Then take a moment to compose myself and a deep breath.

And open the door.

There's a mural painted in soothing pastel colors, with forest animals who could pass for Winnie the Pooh's neighbors frolicking under a rainbow. Which makes all the more nauseating the stretcher with a girl curled on it as an IV drips [something] inside her.

[Opiaceous solution—]

Of course.

I take the only chair in the room and drag it to the head of the bed before taking a seat.

Then I busy myself by taking a couple of dossiers out of my messenger bag.

Finally, I look at Dinah Alcott, the girl I unwittingly helped capture and whose rescue I can't ever take credit for.

She's… Thin. And she shouldn't be, because it hasn't been that long since she was kidnapped, and Coil valued her too much as an asset to have let her consume this way, but…

But he also addicted a twelve-year-old to… Power?

[Strength of addiction determinating factor when choosing control method. Usefulness regarding treatment of Thinker headaches—]

Right. Some kind of opiate. Like the morphine dripping in her veins right now.

And we all know what kind of opiate we are talking about, but it's so utterly indecent that I'm trying not to even think about its name when in front of a [prepubescent] addict.

[Naltrexone usage in treatment of—]

Thank you, Power. But this girl will deal with this her whole life, and I'm not about to let myself be so easily comforted.

So I should stop stalling.

With a hand that should not be this steady, I shake Dinah's shoulder as lightly as I can.

The first thing I see when she opens her eyes is pain.

[Thinker headache outside expected parameters. Overuse or improper power usage—]

"Oh. Oh, I am so sorry, Dinah, I tried not to make you lie, I swear—"

Her eyes shut in a marked wince. And I shut up.

Then I take her right hand—[calluses on thumb—]and bring it to my lips before I lay a soft kiss on it.

"We won. You are free. We defeated him, Dinah. You did it."

And her eyes ease up a bit, pain still pounding on her expression even as a smile tries to fight it.

"We… did?" A voice I hear for the first time asks me as if I am a friend she has often talked to in search of reassurance. Because, from her perspective, she has.

"We did. I couldn't have done it without your help. You have been so brave..." I tell her, matching her familiarity, her warmth.

Her need.

"I… wasn't. I was scared, so scared, and the pain… I could feel it before I felt it, but I saw no other way, even though you told me what to do, what to say…"

"Shush. That's not your fault, it's mine. I will do my best, I'll go over it as many times as you want me to, but I will fail at least a little bit, and then you'll get hurt. I'm sorry, Dinah. It's all my fault."

A small, weak hand clenches around mine, with not even enough strength to make my flesh go pale under her grip.

"Lisa… Thank you…"

And I swallow something bitter as I remember Hannah's words. About heroes reacting to something awful that has already happened. And I don't want to be a hero.

Not like that. Not if it means being there in the aftermath, just a witness to something that I've been too late to stop, the audience to a tragedy.

I don't want it. I hate it. I hate it so much I have to stop my hands from griping Dinah's tight enough it would hurt even through the haze of the drugs.

But… The alternative… It's so much worse.

Damn it, Taylor, it was so easy to be stupidly selfish before you came into my life.

That strap-on is definitely on the shopping list.

[Lisa Wilbourn using humor as a deflection—]

I know.

[Lisa Wilbourn's false dilemma—]

False? Between reacting to evil or allowing it to—

Oh. Of course. How silly of me.

[Colin Wallis usage of Thinker six—]

That's on you. Don't try to drag me down with your subpar, six self.

So, ignoring the petulant voice in my head, I lean forward and kiss a forehead with far too many lines for her age. Dinah doesn't relax, not quite, even as she looks like she tries to, but that will come with time. Or I hope so.

Then I lay a dossier on her white sheets that I hope will help her. It contains my personal analysis of Coil's profile and weaknesses, along with my estimation of the better ways for an underage girl to exploit them so she won't have been seen as an actual threat or capable of betrayal.

It's accompanied by one with a transcription and breakdown of all my conversations with Coil since Bakuda's takedown. Both are in her reach, available when she's well enough to read them.

For a moment, it looks like Dinah will fall back asleep, but then she forces one tired eye to open.

"How did you deal with the monster?"

And I try not to scream.

"The monster? What monster, Dinah?" Because something tells me she isn't talking about Coil.

"Oh, so it's one of those futures," and she smiles a tired smile.

Then Taylor's voice comes through my communicator.

"Lisa, we need you down here [right fucking now."]

And then, for good measure, a swarm of insects takes the shape of an arrow leading me out of the room.

Dinah, eyes closed once again, smiles up at me.

"Go... I can't see the future now… but it's always better if you're there…"

'That's the kind of line I wish Taylor would say to me, not a drugged-out twelve-year-old,' I think.

"Thank you, Dinah. I'll be right back. I promise," I say.

And then I'm up and running.

No rest for the wicked.

And that goes double for heroes.

==================

This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 81 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!