A Body

Taylor POV

I had always hated running, but as I ran again and again every morning since months back, I found myself appreciating it. I found that I liked the way that the wind spashed against my face when I was running fast.

It made me feel free. Free in a way that I never was in school, with bullies looming over my shoulder every moment and every thing I enjoyed or hated was used against me, free in a way that I never was at home, with the constant aura of... wrongness hanging over the house.

The constant silence of house without anyone in it. No white noise, no footsteps rushing through hallways and no doors opening and closing.

All things mom took with her to the grave.

But when I was running, none of that mattered. I was free from it all, free from the scorn and the love that was barely there these days.

I suppose that was why I used to hate running. Because back then, when I ran, I became free from all the love and warmth of family.

And then, for a split second, it hit me. A wave of dread and malevolence so horrible I saw my life flash before my eyes, before it vanished a second later, and when I looked into the alleyway (why, why did I do that) I found a man sleeping on garbage.

Only merchants or homeless people would sleep on garbage her- wait.

Is that blood?!

I stopped in the middle of turning the other direction, as I chewed on my lip.

Maybe... maybe this was my chance to be a good person despite what Emma said, to help someone.

I ran towards the man, and my slightly old glasses could in no way do the man in question justice from any distance longer than 10 feet.

He wasn't just tall, he was large. Larger than anyone I had seen, ever.

Atleast six feet in height, maybe seven, and he wasn't a beanpole, no, he was simply large in every dimension, with curly white hair framing hazy red, almost glowing eyes and a plain, black, bloodied and torn suit hanging on his frame.

And he was bleeding. A lot. His hair was splattered with blood, but the worst wounds were on his chest, where deep lines ran across his chest as he drew in raspy breaths.

I had to call for help!

Except there were no payphones nearby, a more logical part of me whispered. You could just leave him here, it continued, no one would know.

I squashed it down.

I would be a a good person today -I would prove Emma wrong -, I would save this man.

I dragged him up, I barely made that even with my recent training, and slung his arm over my shoulder, an act that knocked the air out of my lungs, as I dragged him towards my house, something closer to any nearby payphone.

I knew I would get him home to me before the ambulance would get to him.

So even as he bled on me I continued dragging his heavy, limp body home.

Getting him past the second rotting step was a challenge I completed, even as I was completely exhausted.

And now, with his body haphazardly laid on my bed, I let out a sigh of exhastion.

I walked through the silent hallway from my room to the kitchen, where the phone was, but I hesitated.

I-I... does he have the money for a hospital? I remember how bad it was for dad to pay for my hospital stay, and if he doesn't have money or a job...

I turned around towards the bathroom and the first aid pack.

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The man I had found was finally bandaged and cleaned up, and he didn't look at all as... dangerous as he did before. I suppose the lack of blood matting his hair helped a bit.

He was probably a cape. One of those... monster capes? case 35? whatever it was called, he was one.

He had these strange holes in the palms of his hands, and it might explain his massive frame. I had honestly underestimated his size, he was more than seven feet tall, his frame filling my entire bed, his feet even sticking out from the edge of the bed.

But that didn't in any way detract from how well... handsome he was. I think he put most supermodels to shame.

As I reached across him to check if his other hands had one of those strange holes too, I was grabbed by what felt like steel cables snaking around me and pulling me against chest that felt as hard as a brick of steel, but was also soft at the same time.

As I drew in a breath to scream after my struggles to get loose had proven ineffective I felt a yawn approching.

That was the last thing I felt before my eye lids closed.

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The sound of sizzling bacon woke me from my dream of being a hero and saving a cape, probably a hero - dreams worked like that, right? -, and I blinked and rubbed some black spots from my vision and I reached for the glasses on my night stand.

Except they weren't there, because I was wearing them.

Did I really fall asleep with my glasses on?

Well, atleast dad is making breakfeast, for once.

I tripped as I left the bed, the ground approaching quickly. I bumped off the ground, my glasses probably breaking.

Damnit. Now I'm gonna have to use an old pair until dad can buy a new pair.

Except there were no broken glasses. Because I wasn't wearing any glasses. What the hell?

"Are you alright?" asked a voice in a deep, almost booming, baritone. That wasn't dad.

"Who are you?!" Oh, god I don't think that was a dream. I think I might have a invited a cape into my house. And this wasn't a dream, this might be a villain.

"Making me cook you breakfeast and inviting me to your bed, and you don't even have the manners to remember me?" he asked, or stated, in a mocking tone. Except it wasn't biting, it was almost friendly, and not the false kind Madison used.

"What is your name?!" Oh god, if he is a villain he might kill me! I saw his face! Oh god, I don't want to die yet.

"My name is Adam, and despite what you might think I am not here to hurt you. You simply saved me the inconvinience of waking up in a heap of trash and I am paying that back," he said with a shrug, as he took out a plate of bacon and eggs from behind his back, and moved with impossible speeds as he put it down on my desk.

"Now," he said with a smile, ignoring my squawk as he seemed to telekinetically pick me up from the floor and put me down in my chair, "I was planning on simply giving you breakfeast in bed and discussing it over that, but I hope this is fine aswell?"

"How did you get that injured?" I asked him, as I ignored the food he had put in front of me. You never knew how Masters might get you.

"I underestimated the effect a shaker would have on some tinker's equipment," he said with a shrug as he sat down on the bed, making it creak under his weight. How did I even succed in dragging him back?

"Then do me a favor and leave, I'm going back to sleep." Please do at least that much, if you owe me.

Adam chuckled at that and seemed to almost float as he left my room. Maybe he did.

The bed tucked me in on it's own.

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Danny POV

Leaving work early always felt... strange. It felt like someone would lose their job the moment I looked away, and that would be on my head.

It would be on my head that the gangs get another victim or member.

But more than anything I hated myself for feeling like that. My daughter didn't go to school, she might be missing, and I cared more about some stranger that would never care about what I did for them?

That thought stung somewhere deep, and I knew Annette would be dissapointed.

Please Taylor, I thought as I pulled into the driveway, be home.

I rushed out of the car and up the steps, ignoring the creaking when I stepped on the rotten step, to the door, that I slam up and heard... someone dishing?

Oh thank god, Taylor is alright. But why isn't she in school? Were people still making trouble for her, despite what the school promised?

I dragged my tired body to the kitchen... and that wasn't Taylor.

It was a large man, bordering on unnaturally large, dressed in a black suit while foregoing a tie.

"Who are you, and why are you in my house?!" What the fuck is he doing washing the dishes in my house?

"Ah, Danny," he said, as if he knew me, "I am Adam and I met your daughter earlier today."

"Then where the fuck is she?!" Please let her be safe, a part of me whispered, the part that sounded a lot like Annette. I couldn't even muster up the ability to care about my own daughter these days; what kind of a dad was I?

"Please lower your voice, she is asleep in her room after a, quite frankly, exhasting day. Anyway, I hope you want something to eat," he said as he pulled a plate of food from... somewhere, "Taylor didn't want it."

Why was I unable to even summon up the ability to care for my own daughter that brought a stranger back home?

The eggs were the best I had ever eaten, but they tasted like ashes as I ate them under the gaze of Adam. Under the gaze of a monster.

What did the fact that I didn't care about the monster my daughter brought home did to her didn't matter as long as it wasn't done to me say about me?

What was I doing with this plate?

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Adam POV

This is... strange. What of my choices has led to Taylor not triggering? There are a few things that come to mind.

It could be that I am not as immune to the precognition of the entities and endbringers as I suspected, and the Simurgh has chosen that there is no need for Khepri to exist.

It could be my escape from the CUI, which I suspect might have led to Lung's escape being delayed, could have impacted Emma in a different direction, yet she is clearly still bullying young Khepri...

Or perhaps it was simply Cauldron changing plans based on me taking out one of their figureheads in some dimension.

Curious.

No matter, now isn't the time for my curiosity.

One light among thousands, tens of thousands even, leapt to my fingertips, and reality split along the seams and I plunged my hand into the dark blocks were dimension intersected and reached out for the mad professor, and as two more lights joined their compatriot, he could no longer hide from my gaze.

I grabbed his body to me with such speed and power that it was broken and bleeding by the time I had dragged him to my side of the split in dimensions that stitched itself together a second later.

His light had already joined with my, his fire was already burning in tandem with so many of mine, and as his echo joined the hundreds I had gathered he collapsed like a puppet with it's strings snapped, his head lolling around with no unbroken neck to support it.

One of my fires roared and the body of the mad professor didn't turn into ash as much as he evaporated.

And with little more than a snap and a crack I was back on Bet again.

Now then, what led to the host of the Administrator not triggering?