Wake-up Call – Chapter 7
Contrary to popular belief, hacking doesn't involve frantically hammering away at a keyboard as symbols too fast to process keep scrolling up the screen. Most of the time, exploiting a known vulnerability just involves knowing which forums to frequent or what underpaid and overworked intern won't be feeling up to double-checking things when you call to report you have forgotten your password.
And thank God for that, because Power is far better at that than at giving me inhuman key-pressing skills.
[Fine motor control has a non-trivial mental processing factor—]
Well, look at you, trying to be helpful! Who's a good Power? You are! Yes, you are!
[Lisa Wilbourn attempting to assign moral values to parahuman abilities interfaces reflects—]
You are adorable when you act all bashful like that.
Anyway, as I was saying, there are a lot less keyboard-shattering maneuvers and a lot more lazily scrolling a bunch of open tabs that you had already managed to get in months ago, because what kind of moron waits for a time-sensitive situation to try to get into the local police department's database? Not [this] moron.
Uh, I mean…
[Disruption of circadian cycle often associated with short-term loss of cognitive abilities—]
Yeah, I know. God, do I know.
It's three in the morning, that means that I have been curled in this armchair with my laptop for the past four hours, and that's only because Taylor forced me to stop while we ate. That is, I have been at this for about six hours with a very small break in-between. And that leads me right back to why I am glad I don't need to maniacally hit my keyboard with electronic music blaring in the background:
Taylor is asleep, just like I am supposed to be.
Don't tell her.
[Lisa Wilbourn's use of narrative conventions in internal monologue indicates a lack of focus due to—]
Right. Sorry about that.
I let out a sigh as my blurry vision goes back to digesting the latest missing person report featuring an Asian man living in the Docks. Xiu Wang, or Wang Xiu, with the traditional order, a Chinese refugee—[Japanese and Chinese stereotypically hostile relations may have played a part in Bakuda's selection—]middle-aged, reported missing three days ago. He is a likely match for a headless corpse found near a liquid pool of shifting colors and geometric patterns that prompted people who saw it to try to drown themselves in it, growing in radius with each death. Wonderful. I mean, I was already planning on not sleeping today, so—
[Lisa Wilbourn's mental focus rapidly degrading after being subjected to traumatic experiences and—]
I know! Fuck, Power, I know, but I can't go to sleep till I solve this! Every minute that bitch walks free is another atrocity waiting to happen and—
And two soft arms wrap around my shoulders as a menacingly steady voice whispers in my ear: "Why aren't you in bed?"
… Power, why did I not notice my girlfriend crawling out of bed and getting behind me till it was too late?
[Lisa Wilbourn's degraded mental focus due to lack of sleep and excessive stress—]
Traitor. You are all ganging up on me.
"I asked a question, Lisa."
"Oh, it wasn't rhetorical? Sorry, the dramatic delivery really gave the wrong idea." Sass, don't fail me now.
The arms tighten just a tiny smidge before she sighs and relaxes them, her chin coming to rest on my shoulder in a posture that's far less ominous and more… I don't know. Domestic? Is that a word I can use after a whole twenty-four hours of—
"You know, I just realized something," I can't help but interject. Right, it's me; no need to clarify that.
"Hmm?" she signals for me to continue.
And so I turn my head and kiss her cheek before I let out as much saccharine sappiness as my current mental exhaustion allows me into my voice:
"Happy one-day anniversary, girlfriend."
And Taylor blinks those big, green eyes of hers and lets out a surprised laugh that, just for a moment, lets me relax in her embrace.
I lean back, my head resting on her arm, her warmth seeping into the parts of my body she touches as I finally notice the slight cold I have been feeling for hours, my legs already a bit numb even as I rub them together. And I can smell Taylor's hair draped over me, and the bluish light of the screen is filtered by it, my dry eyes slowly blinking in the soothing darkness.
All right, it's more than a moment.
She cradles me, humming something soothing that I didn't know I needed so much up to this moment, and I let time melt away between the two of us, the pounding of my temples no longer as urgent, my breathing no longer as short.
I have it bad, don't I?
[Lisa Wilbourn in early stages of infatuation—]
Nobody asked for your opinion.
"Come to bed, Lisa. With me," she murmurs.
"I… I am sorry. I want to, but I just… I need [this], Tay. I need to do something, and this—"
"I know. I understand, really, but you aren't getting anything out of this at this hour. Rest for a bit and come back to the problem with fresh eyes."
"I… I tried. I can't sleep."
She hesitates, before she rests the side of her head on mine.
"Is it that urgent? I thought the attacks stopped."
"No, it's not, I don't think… I mean, yes, she can start again whenever she pleases, there are far more missing people than bombs exploded today and many of those were from citizens who [hadn't] gone missing, who had just been going through their daily lives before the insane—"
"Lisa. Stop. Breathe. I know."
And I do. I breathe as the stench of flesh rotting in a matter of seconds assaults me once again. As the muffled screams of people trapped in eternal distance reach me long after they desperately called for me, as flashes of ever-shifting crystal show me a kaleidoscopic man, still alive, still suffering.
And I break. And sob into my girlfriend's arms.
"God, I am the veteran, suave supervillain, why am I the one crying my eyes out like a crybaby? Why can't I think of anything better than 'crybaby?' Maudlin! Maudlin is much better, I want a redo!"
"First, maudlin is an adjective, not a noun—"
"I know! I meant a maudlin child, obviously!"
"—Second, because you are none of those things."
"What things?"
"Veteran, suave supervillain?"
"Hey! At least let me keep suave."
"You just tried to convince me you thought 'maudlin child' was acceptable outside of a Victorian novel. You are not suave; you are a nerd with the superpower to camouflage yourself as a popular girl."
"…"
"What?" she asks, suspicion laden heavily on her tone.
"My Power enjoys reading internet forums and collecting esoteric miscellanea while also cluing me in on social nuances going on around me. It… may be the power to be a nerd who can fake it?"
And Taylor goes still before slowly turning toward me.
And then laughs in my face.
"Oh, come on, it's not that funny!"
Her grip on me gets tighter as she actually starts guffawing to my unmeasurable mortification. This is why you don't overshare on the second date, you know? Because hot girls laugh at you.
"Taylor, I swear if you don't stop, I will start randomly switching the labels of everything you are likely to use in the bathroom [and] the kitchen." She has the nerve to raise a finger, asking for a moment while she devolves to silently shaking in uncontrolled mirth as she buries her face in my shoulder.
Fine, be that way. See how you enjoy your salty tea from now on.
[Mongolian salty tea is a traditional beverage from—]
Of course. Of fucking course I would end up unwittingly serving her a Genghis Khan breakfast special.
"Sorry…" she gasps out, barely managing to. "Sorry, I just imagined you dressed like Greg Veder, with his haircut, and—" aaand she's laughing again. Wonderful.
I don't know who that Greg Veder is, but he has my eternal commiseration.
Mostly because he missed out on being called Lord Vader just by a letter.
… Uh, Power didn't say anything about how nerdy—
[References to pop culture usually indicative of self-identification as—]
Aaand there we go. Right, I am actually getting pissed off, so…
"Ouch! Hey, no pinching!" she protests, hands moving as if to counterattack.
"Girl, my Power has memorized enough anatomical diagrams to know where every single nerve ending in your body is. You do [not] want to start a tickling war with this Thinker."
"Fine…" she grumbles. Oh, great, now I have to deal with pouty Taylor, only slightly less adorable than hyper-focused, possibly homicidal Taylor. No, there's nothing weird about my tastes, shut up.
"So, we kinda were in the middle of an emotional scene before you decided to go full bathos on me…" change the subject, Lisa; maybe she won't remember anything about your everlasting shame tomorrow morning.
"Right, right, it's just—" she starts chuckling, and I wiggle my fingers as threateningly as I can. "Never mind. Tell me what you are doing." And now she's in hyper-focus mode. That's just unfair.
"Correlating the last known appearances of missing people who died today so that I can track Bakuda's base by the movement of—"
"You are not going to get any results from that." I swallow. She's right, of course, but…
"Then what do you suggest?"
"From what you told me, she's grabbed people from all over the ABB territory, you would need witnesses to track movements, and you aren't going to find them in those reports, because any actual leads would already have been acted on."
"How optimistic of you."
"Am I wrong?" she asks with perhaps a tad more archness than merited.
"Not… exactly. I don't know whether the BBPD would have already started tracking the kidnapping victims if they had a good lead, but that is a moot point. Nobody's talking. Either they don't know anything, or the ones that do know are too scared. Reasonably so," I say, pointing at Wang Xiu's report.
Taylor stares at the screen for far too long, her jaw clenched, working side to side. Finally, she lets out a breath and lets me go (and I don't whine at the loss of her warmth, thank you very much) and comes up from behind me, forcing me to almost climb over the armrest and… Oh.
I am now sitting in my girlfriend's lap. This is infantilizing.
[Lisa Wilbourn associates early childhood memories with uncomplicated feelings of—]
I didn't say I [disliked] it.
"All right, work. I will wait for you to finish." Her voice brooks no argument. As usual.
"Tay, sweetie, I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but one of us being a wreck tomorrow is more than enough. Go get some rest." And she shifts under me, restless, muttering something right behind my ear that I still manage to miss.
"What was that?" I ask.
"I said I don't want to sleep alone."
Oh.
I… Try not to preen, because what kind of idiot would be glad at hearing that admission given the circumstances, but it still… All right, I may be sappier than I thought, happy now?
[Lisa Wilbourn in early stages of infatuation—]
You are starting to repeat yourself.
[Lisa Wilbourn using infatuation with Taylor Hebert as a way to realign her moral compass and feel better about—]
Right. Can you go back to repeating things, please? That would be grand.
"Then we better solve this soon, don't we?" I say, as much to break the silence before it sets in as to utterly avoid my Power turning into Sigmund Freud and telling me everything stems from my desire to usurp my mother's place in my father's bed.
[Psychoanalytic theories mostly debunked and studied because of their historical significance.]
Thank God. I really was tempting fate back there.
"Right. Change of tack. If we can't track their movements, maybe we should try to track their decisions," she states, and I should be aggravated at how used she is to taking charge of the situation, but… I still think it's reassuring. I don't want to know what that says about me. About us.
"What do you mean?"
"How would Bakuda decide where to set up a base?"
"I don't know, maybe access to supplies? Lung would have been the one to make that decision, anyway."
"Would he? I think Bakuda's plan overreached, Lung wouldn't have decided to—"
"No, of course she went too far. She was recruited forcefully, which shouldn't take a genius to infer, given that lecture she gave us about the nature of fear, and her ego is too big to accept that without some kind of defiance, a middle finger aimed at—" Of course.
"Lisa?"
"Just… just a second."
Bakuda was taken against her will, like me, but she outdid herself to free Lung. Why? Didn't she want to be rid of him, to regain her freedom? No, that wasn't the priority; the priority was keeping her self-image as capable, as above others. Her trigger was about feeling inferior, so now she can't abide it. If Lung inspires terror, she needs to be worse than him, a monster whispered about for generations. If Lung held the heroes at bay for years, she needs to hold the city hostage. If Lung made her feel beneath him…
She needs to insult him.
She won't remain in the lab he set for her, not when he's not there to force her. No, she will move, still on ABB's turf, because that's just pragmatic, but to a place that signals Lung's failings, a place that lets her tell herself that she is better than him in some way, a place that stands as a reminder of Lung being defeated for the first time since he battled an Endbringer.
And the fact that it will also remind her of how much she wants to kill Taylor will be icing on the cake.
I do a quick search on the fire department's database and confirm it: the building is still standing but has been abandoned since the fire. It has a basement. It's out of the way, with not many people around to report suspicious movements… It's perfect.
And I think this wooziness is my adrenaline high finally crashing down.
And my head… Uh. I didn't use Power for that one?
[Lisa Wilbourn studied deductive reasoning as a way to supplement power-generated inferences—]
Oh, hush. You are going to make me blush.
"Lisa? You all right?"
"You need to come up with a pet name. It would be so much cuter."
"I will take that as a yes. Did you solve it?"
"I… I did. I think I really did."
"Perfect. Let's go to bed." And, against what every inborn instinct of mine tells me to do, I don't argue. And get in bed with my gorgeous girlfriend.
Sometimes, being a contrarian doesn't pay.
But I don't think I will admit it when I am not about to fall unconscious from an adrenalin crash—
***
"Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…"
Hearing numbers muttered through clenched teeth is not exactly the way I expected to wake up this… Let's say morning, going by the quality of the light barely filtered through the closed curtains—
[Angle of direct light entering through window on southern wall, color temperature of light, and Lisa Wilbourn's state of wakefulness indicate—]
You and I need to have a talk about what constitutes a waste of mental resources.
Wary of Taylor's increasing count, I open my eyes slowly without shifting under the sheets. What I see is not at all what I expected.
Taylor. In her underwear. Doing push-ups.
The underwear I bought her, which is designed to be comfortable, sure, but at the same time is a black lace little number that, while covering enough to qualify as decent by some measures, also hints at enough to be anything but. And so I am treated to the sight of Taylor's legs being kept straight with taut muscle as her pleasantly defined back shifts with every up and down motion that can't help but draw my attention to her also pleasantly defined (and toned, yet soft and squishy) derriere.
Not at all what I expected.
Also, from this point onward, I no longer hate surprises.
Oh, it looks like the show has stopped.
"Lisa? Why are you clapping?"
Because I am a hormonal moron in love with no self-awareness and even less control impulse.
"Just admiring your dedication."
[Lisa Wilbourn's duplicity counter to her proclaimed interest in romancing Taylor Hebert—]
I will [not] tell her I was salivating over her just right after waking up. Besides, she's already conceded defeat, I mean, reciprocated; the romancing part is over.
[Lisa Wilbourn dismissing the ongoing efforts required to keep a relationship stable indicates high likelihood of—]
I am not taking relationship advice from you, mister. Even if you are right.
Shit, should I buy her flowers? Maybe joke about it, 'the flowers and the bees?'
"Well, it's not like I could go out jogging, you know?" she says from where she is sitting cross-legged on the carpet. "And… we are kinda… I don't know, I didn't want to leave you alone, after last night."
"That deserves cuddles. Yes. I shall magnanimously offer you cuddles in repayment," I offer, magnanimously, as I shift back and lift the blankets with royal grace.
And she chuckles. That's like the guillotine of cuddles.
"I think we are already starting the day late enough as it is."
Oh, right, I have responsibilities. And a personal vendetta. I think I would rather focus on that second one; it will be more productive.
With that conclusion having been reached, I grab the burner currently dedicated to contacting Colin from my bedside table before going to the bathroom (because morning, and late night, and I shouldn't need to explain anything else). For a moment, I am tempted to offer Taylor a shared shower, but as much as I am in the mood to appreciate her form, the truth is I am not up to aquatic shenanigans yet. Not when I still feel like I need in the neighborhood of ten showers before—
[Lisa Wilbourn correlating cleanliness of body with mental well-being—]
Yes. That's a thing people do. We have bodies, but we still feel like we are bodies, so we tend to identify our physical state with our mental one. That's why it's so easy to stop showering when you are depressed.
[Lisa Wilbourn unnecessarily reflecting events outside of Lisa Wilbourn's control on Lisa Wilbourn's self-image and mental state.]
… Yes, Power. That's what being human tends to amount to.
After taking care of my most urgent business, I let the hot water of the hotel's surprisingly pleasant shower (seriously, the broad showerhead and the gentle pressure make me feel like I am under the most ecologically alarming cascade ever) while I ponder Power's idiosyncrasies. Some times I answer his prompts only to get the feeling I am getting frustrated at a particularly clever chatbot, but others… I think it's learning to have some kind of emotion. Not… not fully human, but it likes some things more than others, and dislikes me getting in a mood. I think it started when it discovered that my being depressed made me less likely to get him fresh information (he [loves] new things), and then he just learned to associate me being engaged or in a good mood with him being more likely to get the data he enjoys. I think I am Pavlovying my Power into caring for me.
[Lisa Wilbourn's anthropomorphization of parahuman abilities interfaces indicates need to acquire companionship and—]
Or it could be that. Yeah. Also, screw you. See if I get on that speculative thread about Dragon's new suit now.
[Lisa Wilbourn's attempt to punish parahuman ability's interface indicates frustration at parahuman ability—]
Yes. That's another lesson about humans for you: we are petty as fuck.
When I finally get out of the shower, I check the burner once again and—
['Package delivered.']
My breath catches before I start cackling maniacally until Taylor cautiously peeks in.
"Presents, Tay! We've got presents!" I say, right before I throw my head back and keep on cackling in full supervillain pose, hands grasping at the unwary Heavens.
I mean, I am acting as an undercover bad guy at the moment. May as well keep enjoying the perks.
***
"I am not apologizing for that."
"You took more time to cackle than to shower. And you took a [long] shower. Also, the bathroom order has now been set in stone if today is any indication."
"Oh, come on, a girl needs some time to—" I stop before I can [finish] putting my foot in my mouth. That arched eyebrow tells me I may not have been that successful with my evasive maneuvers. "Look, can we just pick up our parcel and enjoy our ill-gotten gains?"
"I don't know, [can we?"]
"Oh, don't you start with that passive-aggressive nonsense."
"Lisa, that's not me being passive-aggressive; that's me telling you to stop blathering and get Armsmaster's package before someone else gets lucky."
"… Phrasing."
She looks at me uncomprehendingly before blushing to the tip of her ears.
"I—I didn't mean… Oh gosh, I [wouldn't—"]
"Shush, I know. Relax. Just… don't ever say that within Dragon's hearing range. Which might be wherever there's an electronic device. You've got stiff competition, Big Sister."
"And now I am mortified, challenged, and paranoid in equal measure. You make me feel things no one else ever has, Liz."
I puff my chest in pride before that last syllable catches my ear, at which time the pride goes out the window and a big, goofy, defenestrating grin takes its place.
"Is that my pet name?"
"It's… I mean, it's just an abbreviation."
"Of course. The extra vowel could prove dangerously superfluous when time is of the essence."
"… Please, stop teasing me," she says, face red, hands gripping each other, and eyes glued to the ground.
So I hug her, tilt her chin up, get on my toes, and kiss the tip of her nose before answering.
"Never."
She frowns cutely, her nose cutely wrinkling (it's extra cute, it merits reiteration) before she nips the tip of mine.
"Hey!"
"I found the package. It's at the back of the alley, hidden behind the trashcan," she delivers in a tone so flat it could be used to level a bookshelf. And then starts walking.
"Your powers are bullshit."
"Flattery won't get you anywhere."
"Oh, come on, we are about to get our own super-spy gadgets! Lighten up!"
"Correction," she says, as she kneels down, "I just got [my] super-spy gadgets. Be nice, and I will let you play with them."
"You cheat."
"I [win."]
Right, that line's cool enough. I will let her have this. No, it's not because I can't come up with something to one-up her.
Dammit! I could have pointed at my curves all suggestive-like, winked, and said something like 'oh, you [did.'] Damn, another one for the mental drawer. Hopefully, I can recycle it later on.
"Well, don't keep me in suspense, is there everything we asked him to get us?"
"Let me see… Lightweight micro-cameras and microphones, paralytic agents, nociceptor activators… What does that even mean?"
"It's… Like the reverse of an anesthetic. It should activate the pain response of… Wow, Colin got [pissed."]
"I… am not sure I am comfortable using this."
"Yeah, I completely understand. Speaking of things that make us uncomfortable, though…"
She looks at me before taking Armsmaster's package (heh) and standing up. She doesn't hug me or anything melodramatic like that (no, I am not disappointed, shut up) but still looks at me with this weird intensity she has when she wants to take on the weight of the world, but circumstances won't let her. My gorgeous, sweet martyr.
"Are you sure about this?"
And no, I am not, because this goes against everything I have fought for the past few months, against every pettily rebellious teenager instinct in my body, but… But there's also a certain pleasure at finally making the bastard useful to me.
So, with my skin crawling at the very notion, I take out another burner phone from my messenger bag and answer Taylor's question.
"Not at all."
And then I press the call button. He picks up at the second ring.
"Tattletale. I expected you to call earlier," Coil's unctuous voice comes from the phone, and I almost drop it.
"Sorry, I… I have been working non-stop, and I couldn't find the, you know, privacy." My subservience is half-faked, because I am [not] in the bastard's clutches, not anymore, and it's only a matter of time till Colin manages to nab him with that mountain of evidence I sent him. But that's half of it. The other half? That's the one that's legitimately terrified of what he can still do to me, what he will try to do as long as he's able to.
Because I know how many times he has tortured me, drugged me, and… and [raped me.] And It's never happened, not really, but I can still feel it when he is pleasantly explaining his plans while another he takes another me and—
Oh God, I am going to throw up.
"Understandable. My reports indicate you and Miss Hebert were very active yesterday."
Clench your teeth and answer, Lisa. Just swallow that bile and think about wonderful, karmic, prison gang rape.
I may even send him a few yaoi mangas to cheer him up.
"You don't know the half of it. That shooting at Winslow? That's a Ward. A Ward that was torturing Taylor for over a year right under her probation officer's nose. I have completely turned her; she no longer wants anything to do with the Protectorate. And spending the day mitigating Bakuda's body count outright sealed the deal."
"I am not sure bringing so much attention from the PRT is worth Miss Hebert's loyalty."
"I… I am sorry, but it was that or letting Shadow Stalker murder her. I have tipped off a couple of moles so that they know how bad things actually are, and that should make them let up on the pressure. I am expecting her to be transferred to another city within the month."
"…"
"Boss? This is a win, I am sure of it, we just need to let the heat die down for a while. It was Stalker that broke the rules. Taylor thinks she has screwed up and is forced to stay with the Undersiders, but that's not what is happening. Really, I will send you the report, it just is another nail in Piggot's coffin." Come on, come on, bite, you damned bastard.
"I expect those reports tomorrow at the latest. It seems you may have done well, Tattletale." God, thank you, thank you, thank you…
I try to hold back my relief, to not let him know how much this means, to not let him know how much power he still has over me, and… And Taylor hugs my shoulders, kneeling beside me on the ground where I am crouching after sliding down the wall of this alley, and I am very grateful at how neat it unexpectedly is, because cleaning my white jeans after only wearing them a full day—
[Lisa Wilbourn focusing on non-pertinent details as an avoidant behavior to—]
Yes. Yes, you are right.
"You won't regret it, boss. Of course, I will stay away from the rest of the Undersiders until the internal investigation progresses. We don't want them to be targeted because of this."
"… Of course. That seems to be the prudent course of action."
"Right," Brian, Rachel, Alec? You are welcome. You don't know what for yet, but you are fucking welcome, you bunch of ingrates. "There's one last thing, though?"
"Oh?"
"How would you like for a pair of villains to get rid of Bakuda before the PRT even has time to announce their response?"
Another pause. I don't know if he's splitting the timelines or just pondering how to answer, because in his case both things are nearly synonymous. I can't blame for that, though, in his shoes I would abuse the heck out of a save-scumming power.
[Coil's parahuman abilities limited in scope as he cannot simultaneously profit from short-term and long-term advantages provided by—]
… If that's you being jealous, I don't know how I will react, so please try not to freak me out when I am already a nervous wreck only held up by my girlfriend's arms.
Who is now squeezing my free hand and looking into my eyes with soft, warm worry.
I mouth a 'thank you' to her, and take note of this. Because… Because I think the world is a bit better when we remember that people have done us kindness without us asking them to, and I—
"I think I would like that very much," Coil says, and his very existence neatly explains why I need those reminders of warmth and careless virtue.
"I take it we are bomb-proof at the moment, then?"
"Don't take it for granted. The situation is volatile enough that I may not be able to afford you this protection for long. I will warn you when things change."
"I… That should be good enough. Thank you, boss." And now I am swallowing bile even as I feel triumphant. What a wonderful juxtaposition.
"Of course. I will expect good news shortly." And he hangs up.
Thank God. I couldn't have managed another minute.
"So, that's done?" Taylor asks as soon as she sees me pocket the phone.
"Yeah," I answer, allowing my words to get out with the shuddering breath I had been holding back since I made the call.
"I am glad."
We crouch in silence for a while, Taylor tactfully allowing me to calm down from my melodrama, and—seriously, I have spoken with him so many times, why did this one feel so different? Is it because I felt like I was going back willingly? Because—
"I couldn't help but notice… You could have easily done what you told him you did."
"I… Yeah. I could have."
"So, rather than trapping me under your evil sway with clever schemes, you are instead risking your life going against a demented terrorist with a half-baked plan."
"The plan is fully baked! Any more baked and it would be toast!" She raises that damned eyebrow of hers. "You know what I mean!"
"Yes," she chuckles, "I do. Do you know what I mean?"
"That you have been a terrible influence on me?"
"Precisely." She leans forward and kisses my brow.
And my answering smile is not goofy, nor wide. Not this time.
But… it is there. And that's far more than I could have hoped just a week ago.
==================
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!