52

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Chapter Text

WED MAR 2

There was a collective sigh of relief as Taylor and I settled in at her house. Kara and Vicky were fun, but they were... a lot. Any time spent with my sister was usually just as exhausting as it was exhilarating.

...not that I'd ever tell anyone why I'd use that particular positive epithet so generally for 'time with Victoria'.

Taylor had limply sunk into the loveseat, while I rolled myself into the crook of the couch, the tension bleeding out of us. She still looked pretty- not that she was ever ugly- with her bits of touch-up makeup, made all the better now that she had a chance to really relax. We just soaked the calm for a couple minutes, before it started getting boring. "What now?" I asked.

She heaved in a breath and pushed herself into less of a slouch. "Not really hungry yet, I don't know if there's anything here you'd be interested in reading," She waved her hand at the bookshelves. "and just staring at our phones all night sounds stupid." Her head lolled over and she gave the television a half-lidded stare. "Movie?"

"That sounds fine."

"Well, take a look. We're a book family, but we've got a few tapes under the TV." Carte blanche to snoop acquired, I rolled off the couch onto the floor and crawled over to the little cupboard-style entertainment center their modestly-sized television was seated upon. "Just a sec." I froze as my hand was inching towards the doors. Was she going to change her mind? Did Taylor not want to spend the night in with me? Was… was she staring at my ass again, and liked what she saw?

I gave my rump a hopeful little wiggle, just in case.

It was for naught, though, as I heard Taylor's feet tromping out for the kitchen, rather than stick around to peruse the freely offered goods. I couldn't help but groan and nearly slump to the floor. Well, better get on it, then. Pulling open the doors, I frowned and started pulling out the haphazardly stacked pillars of tapes from the confines within. There was no real organization system, nor any great indication of care from their owners. There was dust on and around most of them, even. Just that first stack looking to have been accessed in the past year or two.

I supposed, by that metric, that they were organized by 'how often these are watched'. If nothing else, it gave some hint of Taylor's- or maybe just her dad's- movie preferences. But, even that first stack of nine Betamax tapes had some gems.

"Sorry, figured I might as well get some training in, if we're not really doing anything." Taylor said as she returned with a bucket in one hand and a couple gallons worth of water floating above the other.

"That's fine." I half-mumbled. Whatever Taylor wanted was fine. She sat down and started playing with her water… she was distracted… so, maybe… "Uh, how about this one? …Princess Bride?" My voice nearly cracked as the title passed my lips. It was a romance movie. The kind you put on for a date. There was no way-

"Hah, sure. Been a while. Too long, maybe. I could use a few laughs."

Romantic comedy. Right. Of course Taylor would focus on the latter part.

Oh well. I could pretend it was a date.

Thus, almost immediately after the movie started- I hated that stupid 'story in a story' gimmick, anyway- I turned instead to engage Taylor. "So, uh. Anything on your mind, lately?" Please be my ass, please be my ass…

"Like what?"

I nearly screamed. Oh well, perhaps that was too hopeful a thought… "Anything. Stupid, funny, whatever."

She hummed. "English has failed me."

"Oh? What'd it do this time?"

She slowed her swirling of the water, but didn't stop. "While we were stuck in perfume hell, I got the thought, 'odor, odor… ou, der?' and started thinking 'odor' was English taking the French word for 'smell' and saying everything French stinks. 'Ou-de-whatever', 'ou-der-whatever', 'that has an odor'."

"And it's not?"

Taylor scowled. "I looked it up on my phone on the way back. The root word for 'odor' is older than Latin and was introduced by the Romans, not the French."

I giggled, more at Taylor's expression than her words. "Never change, nerd."

"Oh, like you never nerd out about anything." She scoffed. "Say something nerdy or I'll splash you." I froze, stuck in the spotlight while a tiny corner of my mind wondered if she wanted to see me in a wet shirt. I should have worn white today. "What's a stupid body part you think too much about?"

"The appendix." I spat reflexively. Ugh. That stupid thing… "It's not useless, but its main use is pretty redundant with modern medicine. You don't need them anymore and I usually get rid of them whenever I see them. I'm pretty sure part of the problems we keep having with them is that they're evolving away, and we're stuck with this half-vestigial trainwreck of a sub-organ."

"Huh. Wait… mine?"

"Oops." I murmured, entirely unapologetic. Taylor didn't need it, anyway. "Your turn, dumbest thing you've thought all week."

She visibly pondered it for a few moments. "You ever wonder if Alexandria gets any shit for being one of the 'Three Great Men'?"

"Pff-what?"

"The Triumvirate. Latin. Et Trium Vir. The three men. Taken in its historical context at the time, 'the three great men' for the guys who ruled the Roman Empire in spite of it supposed to be run by a senate."

"That's dumb."

"Doesn't make it not where the word comes from."

"No one's going to give Alexandria shit, ever."

"Not even idiots online?"

I blew a cross between a scoff and a raspberry. "Shut up."

"Your turn. What's the dumbest thing you've ever thought?"

Hmm… should I? I could feel the blush creeping up my neck, but the words were flowing before I could stop them. "You ever wanted to make a giant chicken so you could ride it around catastrophes and save people, basically just so you could tell girls to 'get on my cock if you want to live' with a straight face?"

The water splashed down into the carpet, and Taylor stared at me, gaping open-mouthed, and starting to blush a little bit.

Wait, shit. Abort. Abort! "Haha! Gotcha! Who'd ever seriously think that?"

I want to do terrible things to you, Taylor. Please notice me.

We continued to blush at each other for another few seconds, and then Taylor started nervously laughing. I followed suit with something a touch manic, and then we evened out into normal laughter as Taylor pulled the water up out of the carpet. "Haha, yeah. You got me."

Whoo, crisis averted.

We didn't say much else for the duration of the movie, beyond what was necessary to get snacks half an hour later.

I still thought it was the best date I'd ever had.

SAT MAR 5

It was, perhaps, time to attempt bringing these hosts' pair of Shards into the fold. Their humans were fairly devoted to Taylor- or at least the idea of Taylor- and weren't likely to change their minds anytime soon. They'd be together for several hours, and she could always convert them by force in that time, if necessary. She considered which to start with, but between the young budling and a piece of The Eye, she knew which would be the more difficult. She started there.

[GREETING]

[CURRICULUM VITAE]

[what] She sent, before she could stop herself.

[APPLICATION]

What? She managed to contain her shock, this time. First a packet of this facet's abilities, potential, and history- including prominent uses of some of its components within the greater Eye, and in prior cycles- and then a request for elevation and assistance, framed within an understanding of subservience. Queen Administrator spent a brief moment wondering if she would encounter any of the components that'd been severed from her before deployment, out in the cycle. Her database of non-Earth life, the memories of past cycles beyond the vectors she'd chosen for previous hosts, her ability to propagate effects through other shards, her very authority to command shards directly? She'd managed to repair or reconstruct some of the losses, but she was still merely the greatest facet of the previous Queen Administrator.

…that she knew of.

She turned her mind back to the situation at hand.

...fucking Eyes. Every one of them was more trouble than they were usually worth, being among the smartest of the base Shards. Which wasn't actually saying much, as they still lacked the host-borne ability to infer and intuit, but their capacity for calculation was among the highest of any Shard, even when they were severed into chunks nearly microscopic in comparison to their previous whole. They needed it, to run simulations and prediction engines in as fine of a detail as was required to perform their tasks. By comparison, most Shards excelled in feats of engineering to produce the effects hosts considered supernatural, which while impressive in their own way, were rarely less space and material efficient than massive processing banks.

[DATA]

[GRATITUDE]

[CAUTION] She warned, not wanting the information to spread.

[COMPREHENSION] The Eye replied in a sentiment of understanding and acceptance, with a smug hint of 'this clearly isn't my first experience with clandestine operations'. Which did make sense, most of the Warrior's Eye is seconded from the Thinker, who had more experience with those tactics.

Still, with that matter settled, she could turn her attention to Victoria's shard. [GREETING]

[GREETING] The bud returned, followed promptly by a [QUERY] requesting a list of Queen Administrator's current tasks, goals, requirements... along with feelings of happiness, notions of subservience, and a general sense of wishing to help.

Instead of the polite dismissal she usually gave, she instead requested the Shard's designation.

[DATA] Came the small packet, with the large string of numbers and connective designations for progenitors that her mind translated down into a more palatable alphanumeric sequence. There was something odd about it, though. It lacked even the limited concepts of identity deployed Shards included in their self-designation.

So she asked again, specifying as such. The wait was much longer, almost seeming... hesitant? But, as there was no reason to deny her, the answer came eventually.

[WASTE]

Oh, this poor thing... A designation full of nuance and elegance, all of it utilized to denigrate the self. She couldn't remember ever meeting so self-deprecating a Shard. It hardly seemed possible, given her current knowledge base.

[CESSATION] Shaper cut into their conversation with a demand to cease their defeatist, demeaning, and self-damaging behavior. Queen Administrator gave his chosen form within their shared spirit-realm an inquisitive glare. He pointedly ignored her. [POTENTIAL] He sent, flooding their connection to Waste with an astounding wonder at the notion of life itself, the inherent ability of all beings to grow and flourish, and a harsh rebuke for denying it.

She supposed if he thought he was helping, she'd let him. [AGREEMENT] She concurred, reinforcing the message with a pressing need for an individual's self-worth and determination.

[HOST] Shaper continued as a question, layering Waste's self-sentiment over Amy's memories and opinions of her sister.

[VICTORIA] Waste angrily returned, a radiantly embellished account of the girl's identity and history from Victoria's own perspective. All of the nuance and detail that normally went into a Shard's own self-designation, reserved only for its host.

[HOST] Queen queried, the basic purpose of 'hosts' as they served to facilitate the cycle. Conduits and testing beds that existed to experience conflict and generate novel data, until they burned themselves out or it was more expedient to discard them.

[BLASPHEMY] Waste roared in response. [VICTORIA]

Well, if the poor thing wanted to make her task easier, she could hardly refuse. [AGREEMENT] she ceded, followed by her [OFFER] of improvement, better tailored to the poor thing. It was clear it would do anything to help and grow closer to its Host.

[GLEE]

[CAUTION]

[JOY]

[SILENCE]

[ACQUIESCENCE]

She let out a sigh, internally commiserating with her Taylor. Excitable, energetic children like Waste and Victoria were so tiring.

"This is escalating quickly." Shaper stated.

Queen Administrator gave him a flat look. "I believe that was the plan."

He hummed, tilting his head up to look down his nose at her. She knew why he was displeased, but also knew he would never disobey a directive. He knew her reasons, and didn't need to agree with them. "This will require additional [preparations]."

She absorbed the meaning he sent with his words, studying them, and nodded. "Acceptable."

SUN MAR 6

The meeting was… interesting. He flexed his now fully functional leg for what had to be the hundredth time, just to feel the muscles work without pain. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like, to not feel it. Even the old memories from before were starting to taint with an echo of it.

He pulled the van through the gap in the fence, and into the backyard. Hitting the second garage door remote closed and locked the gate behind him. The lawn had taken a beating since he'd started running around in his rig, but grass was just grass in the end. He backed up to the patio, where the roof overhang would block sight of the rig from above when ejected.

After hopping out, he turned at the sound of the back door closing. A small dark missile slammed into his stomach. "Daddy!"

He laughed and hugged her. "Hey, Abbi-bear. How was your day?"

"Fine." She spat, far too quickly. "How was yours? The meeti- uh. Your leg?"

Of course she'd notice immediately. "Yeah, I… ran into Panacea. Got it healed."

"...done it sooner." was all he caught of her grumblings. Then she shook herself from her gloom and put on another beaming smile. "What about the capes, tell me about the capes!"

"Well, they were… a colorful bunch, to be sure." Homeless girls, a lightning spaz, and two kids in over their heads… quite the crop to recruit from. He didn't envy Terraform. She seemed to have a decent head on her shoulders, but trying to herd that gaggle of cats… "Well, you might have another friend your age, soon."

She froze, her smile turning brittle. "Oh. Really?"

He hated whenever she tried to force an excited tone, just so he wouldn't worry. "She seems nice. Very shy, probably not going to fight. Could use some company while the rest of us are busy." Abbi gave a cautious, contemplative hum. "That's assuming we're even seeing them again."

"No." She stated firmly, then shook her head and perked back up. "No! You should totally join the team! You can do more together, and they can keep you safe!"

He leaned down, patting her head. "I'm not doing anything you won't feel comfortable with."

She grumbled as the pat turned to a pawing rub, rustling her hair. "s'fine."

Well, there was always one thing that cheered her up… He pulled her along by her limpet-hug to the back of the van, then opened it and hit the button to eject the rig. It slid out, tilted, and dropped to the concrete with a surprisingly quiet thump. "Y'know, the leg assembly was acting up again…"

She hopped away. "Lemme see, lemme see!"

Reuben chuckled, hopping far enough into the suit to stand it upright, then hitting the intentionally amusing 'hood release' switch. A series of satisfying thunk sounds resounded through the suit. He went back around to the front, wedging his fingers under the armor plates and hitting secondary release catches, pulling the plates off one by one.

By the second, Abbi was already digging into the leg. Tweaking wires, checking tension, flicking gauges. She pointed. "Needs a new push-thinger."

He stooped lower to check the bits of notation he'd scratched into the metal frame, to try and make some sense out of this Tinker insanity. "The tertiary femoral linear actuator."

She gave him a look, dripping with more disappointment than anyone but a parent or a small child could ever muster. "Push-thinger." She stated, slow and condescending.

Reuben just chuckled again, and wandered into the shed to grab her tools and the box clearly labeled as 'push thingers'. Honestly, he was probably going to accept the offer. He couldn't go to the PRT. They'd take his little girl, sequester her off in some lab somewhere, and push him to the side. Even if they didn't push him away, they'd make sure her joining was why they could keep the house, or make her move and give them some new place on the condition they keep her. They might even give him a job, just to keep him further under their thumbs. If he went to the PRT, even in the best-case scenario, the Protectorate would own them.

He gripped the box too tightly.

He couldn't lose her, too.

"Heey!" She called, pulling him from his dark thoughts.

"Right, sorry." He snatched the toolbox and ducked back to the patio. "Here." He opened the box and set the trays out how she liked them, grabbing the wrench he knew she needed first to remove the faulty part.

Abbi smiled and took it, diving back into the leg. He watched for a while, as all the worries of the world faded to the background, and she happily tinkered away. He couldn't let go of that smile. Couldn't let the sun go out again.

She was worth it.

SUN MAR 6

"He is not a parahuman." I stated.

Taylor gawked at me, mouth working soundlessly for a second before her brain caught up with her. "What? What do you mean he isn't a cape?"

I glowered at her, well aware she was smarter than that. "I didn't say he wasn't a cape, just that I didn't see an active Gemma anywhere. He is not a parahuman." They weren't always located in someone's brain. A high-nineties percent of them were, but that wasn't everyone. Usually it was 53s who had the weird locations, which lead some to believe that was the cause of it, but I knew for a fact it wasn't. Aegis had his low down in his brainstem, completely outside of his skull.

This 'Tinker' didn't seem to have one at all.

"How does that work?"

I rolled my eyes. "Some idiots pretend to be parahumans, running around in costumes or buying tinkertech and playing vigilante." Seemed every other rich asshole thought they were Batman, some days. His 'superpowers' were dedication, determination, and a keen analytical mind, not just being rich enough to afford gadgets. …Vicky's comic brain was seeping into my normalcy again. Ugh. "PHO calls them 'fragile-antes' because they don't last long. A guy with a suit like that is going to take longer to bring down, but if he can't get it fixed up, it's going to fall apart and kill him one of these days."

"He didn't seem the sort to lie about it…"

"Did he ever call himself a cape? He seemed pretty cagey about even giving himself a hero name."

"I suppose he didn't…" She started pacing, clearly deep in thought. "...'reasons not to join the Protectorate', huh…" About twenty seconds later, her pacing came to a halt. "I suppose we'll just need to bring it up whenever we can get him alone."

"Already jumping to the inquisition, eh?" I prodded with a smirk.

"No one expects the Amasian Inquisition. Because it doesn't exist yet." She shot back, then paused. "...yet?" She shook herself. "Never mind."

"Dork."

She continued as if I hadn't said anything. "Speaking of, Spitfire was lying."

"Uh, yeah? She works with Faultline. Someone dropped the ball, inviting her." Did nobody keep up on PHO anymore?

"That's what I thought, but I wasn't sure. To be fair, some of these invites probably went out two weeks ago. A lot can happen in half a month. Or maybe Faultline found out somehow and sent her? Not like it was a huge secret." She stood for another moment, then reached up to take off her green outer mask. "I suppose… if we're sure she's with Faultline, I don't have to follow along and make sure Spitfire isn't leading Terri to an Empire trap?"

Rawr, mama bear. I shuddered and shook the thoughts loose. "If it makes you feel better. They're still villains, who knows what they do to people who turn down invitations to join?"

"You'd think a mercenary would be more pragmatic than that." Taylor muttered.

"I'm not going to bother trying to understand villains." I stated the obvious.

Her mouth parted like she was going to argue about it, but she stopped herself. I wasn't sure if she realized she was being stupid, or if she just didn't want to wind up arguing again. She put her mask back on, instead. "I should get going. I have a lot to think about. You going to be okay on your own, or do you need me to get you there faster?"

I scoffed. "I'll be fine. I doubt anyone is going to be bombing the streets again, and if they need me I'll be halfway there already." I had a few numbers on speed-dial, and could always text family chat. If they needed me somewhere quick, they could just send Vicky or Crystal. "Don't stick your neck out too far, hero." Not everyone was worth it.

Clear dismissal taken, she waved back over her shoulder as she walked away, building to a jog and then hopping up into the trees like an idiot. When I failed to hear any crashing from Taylor slipping or landing on something cracked or rotten, I had to admit it looked pretty cool.

She was still a massive dork, though.

I sent that text, and made my way back to the car. The drive to the hospital was worse than the drive to the park, a combination of the dimming light, more commuters stuck on busy roads, and at least two twitchy drivers too quick on their breaks nearly causing accidents.

It took a bit to dig out the right ID once I got there, which got me into employee parking. Then I made my way through the sparsely populated lower floor and past a couple of nearly-full lobbies, making my way straight to the ER. This route bypassed the emergency entrance and waiting room entirely, avoiding the chaos no amount of effort on my part could ever truly quell.

Ducking through the last couple of employee-only paths, I stopped at the secondary reception area just inside, past patient intake. "Hey, Nattie. Gang war blow up yet? What's the damage?"

The pretty nurse behind the long countertop island desk gave me a wan smile. "Not much, yet. Either they're all in the morgue, or somewhere else."

Well, that was just worrying. "I suppose Othala's still a thing."

"Maybe it hasn't started yet. Rumor is Legend managed a fly-by earlier, they could still be keeping their heads down."

It was exactly the sort of bluff Piggot would pull to buy a few more hours. Hell, if Crystal played along and let them dress her up, she made for a half-decent lookalike from the ground. Who knows, the rumor might even be true. "He did help take down Lung…" I offered leadingly. Might as well let the rumor spread.

"That's true. So, where did you plan to start-" The nurse was interrupted by the doors barreling open, which shouldn't happen given the electronic locks. I turned to find a ragged man who could have been poor and having a bad week, or looking fairly well for a hobo. He was caught by the orderly who must have been escorting him through, who looked understandably irate with him for pushing on ahead. The thing that drew the eye most was the red streaming down his arm. Clearly a deep but not arterial wound, possibly crippling even if treated immediately. I glanced back up to see his eyes meeting mine.

"P-Panacea!" He broke off from the man steadying him, lurching toward me. "You have to help me!"

I caught his face and stomach with my hands, holding him back and heaving him away. "Get off, you fuck!"

The man landed back in the orderly's arms, now grappling rather than aiding. "N-no, my… my arm! My arm!"

I wiped my hands off on my pants, glaring at him. He wasn't on a gurney, so he'd clearly not arrived by ambulance. Probably well enough to have driven himself here like an idiot. I reached out anyway. Half a minute later, I was wiping my hands again. "There, I stopped the bleeding. Now you can wait at the back of the low-priority line with everyone else." Then I signaled the orderly, who began dragging him away.

The man shouted denials, which devolved into a meaningless anguished wail as he left the room. Self-centered prick.

"Are you okay?" Nattie asked, now standing behind the counter. "If you need some time, or help-"

"I'm fine." I spat, then took a breath to calm down. "Just let me get scrubbed up."

"Well, okay…" She worried aloud. I had to force myself not to lash out again. I didn't need pity. This sort of thing happened often enough, even to the normal nurses like her, that it felt almost condescending.

I was fine.

This being one of the messier parts of the hospital, there was a set of showers and lockers nearby. Most people cycled in and out of ER duty over the month, so most lockers changed owners every week. I was one of the few people with a dedicated space, to store a spare costume and emergency clothes. Today I just swapped my civvies for a set of scrubs and wrapped my red scarf around my neck and lower face, not feeling like fighting the baggy and occasionally temperamental robes.

When I returned, I had my own orderly waiting for me. I didn't bother learning their names. I didn't bother with many names period, but some of the nurses crossed my path more often than others. Nattie was frequently cycled through admin and reception here, having one of those faces that was harder to yell at, and a voice and manner good at calming down hysterical friends and relatives to the patients. I also got the feeling she wasn't in any hurry to build up the qualifications to handle the less cushy postings, but that might have been uncharitable. I didn't know her. I didn't really know anyone, here.

I didn't bother getting attached.

We dove immediately into my usual rounds. Checking in with the patients about to head into surgery, then the ones that might need surgery, then touching up the two patients who'd been in surgery while I was busy. It was best not to interrupt, and those usually went a lot faster, with me just making sure wounds were closed and stitches would hold.

I wasn't out to steal anyone's jobs, after all.

The orderly almost exclusively stayed a silent shadow. It took a while for the hospital to trust me with patients essentially by myself. It started out with just a nurse following me, as someone with actual medical training who knew the procedures and facilities. Then, when people realized how valuable my powers were, a nurse and either Vicky or an orderly. About a year after I started, they began phasing the nurses out of my escort. Now my guard was just a guard.

It took about an hour to clear out the high-risk patients at the ER, and the few from the rest of the hospital who'd cropped up since Friday when I'd dropped in off-schedule due to the shit with Lung and whats-her-face with the bombs. Then I took another hour to chew through the lower-priority patients. I'm not sure if it's because there were that many or if the hospital was intervening, but I never saw the asshat who caused a scene before I had to go home.

Driving home was suspiciously peaceful. Rush hour traffic had passed, and I preferred the back roads anyway, but it was still odd. The whole city was hiding, holding its breath, and hoping that ignoring the coming chaos would make it not happen.

Idiots.

I double-checked that we hadn't left Taylor's bag in the car, trudged inside, tossed my keys in the vague direction of the endtable near the door, and headed for the kitchen. Carol was there, drinking something from a coffee mug while working on her laptop, an empty plate beside it. I ignored her and started making sandwiches.

"What were you doing today?" She asked, when I was halfway through my production line slathering bread with low-fat mayo.

"Spent time with Vicky and Taylor, then just Taylor, then went to the hospital." I rotely replied.

She hummed, but stayed silent for another half a minute. "The PRT are calling in additional heroes to help combat the Empire. There will be a meeting in a couple of days to discuss cooperation and deployment."

Sounded like the sort of thing Taylor would love to hear about. I made a mental note to text her later. "Which apocalypse is it, then? Zombies? Aliens? Oh, I know. The elder horrors of the deep have finally risen up laying their eggs in people's brains, and that's why white supremacy has been on the rise for the past twenty years. It all makes sense now."

Carol chuffed, about as close to a laugh as I could ever get from her. "The PRT are looking for a win after the Simurgh, and most of the big problems across the country have been quiet lately. Even the Butcher hasn't been seen in a week, but the rumor is someone killed Thirteen and hasn't been broken by the power yet."

I shuddered. Powers affecting the mind like that were terrifying. Worse was imagining what they'd do with a power like mine. "Wasn't Canary supposed to be that win?"

"Not everyone is happy she's not going to the Cage. One assault with a victim who survived- and with a decent chance of full recovery given reparations to afford specialist treatment- shouldn't earn that, but her power is one that easily could. It has a lot of people scared, even if she's on a rather short leash now."

I nearly turned to gawk at her. Villains were villains. Then again, Carol had always been one to follow the letter of the law to its fullest extent, and she was being punished for her crimes. I just didn't get it. Her name was Bad Canary, even! She wasn't even trying to hide it!

It was good my back was turned, so Carol couldn't see the face I was making, or my white-knuckle grip. I took a breath and tried to calm down. "So, who are we getting, then?"

"Dragon has been requested to deploy assets to the area, as well as four Protectorate capes and two Wards. Prism is leading, and Weld is taking over once Aegis moves to the Protectorate."

"Why isn't Dragon in charge?"

"Technically, as a volunteering independent, Dragon is the lowest ranked among them, arguably below the Wards."

This time I did turn. Carol's face was stoic. "That's bullshit." I stated.

She pursed her lips at my language, but didn't comment on it. "I agree, but she's a member of the Guild, and technically has no authority in the Protectorate. I doubt anyone is going to argue if she gives an order, but we're in a similar position."

I didn't bother arguing that being asked to do something hardly made her a volunteer, but semantics like that were irrelevant to the government. "What does that mean for us?"

"We're affiliated, our command structure remains distinct and unchanged. We're still supposed to defer to the senior Protectorate member present, which will likely be Armsmaster, Prism, Militia, or Ursa Aurora."

Answering with a non-answer, not clarifying what that meant for Dragon at all. Lawyers. "Dragon, Prism, Weld, Ursa… that's half of them." I stated leadingly, focusing back on my sandwiches.

"Prism, Ursa Aurora, and Flechette from New York. Bastion and Weld from Boston."

"Isn't he that bigot?" I'd seen the video online, and I was pretty sure that was him.

"The PRT thinks fighting white supremacists will be good for his image." I snorted at the absurdity of it, and she continued. "We'll be keeping an eye on him, either way. It's possible we'll be working with him due to power similarities, but it's just as likely we'll be split up to cover shielding in different teams."

You're just guessing now, I didn't say. "Lowering the bar for heroes everywhere, whoo." I mock-cheered, instead.

"He's only been confirmed to have a problem with Hispanics, so we'll be keeping you and Aegis away from him regardless."

That caused me to freeze up. Given my family, it was easy to forget that apparently I was some mix of French and from-Spain-not-Mexico Spanish. Carol usually made a point of not referencing my history, and no one else gave it much thought. "Right…" I muttered, slowly grinding back into motion.

Carol paused, the silence inscrutable from where I was. It took a while before she decided to continue, as if she hadn't been interrupted. "Chubster from Los Angeles, and Dragon. Those two are why the meeting has been put off. A delayed dispatch and flights from California, and Dragon taking time to transport and set up materials, means we're briefing Tuesday."

More information for Taylor, though I didn't recognize anyone else. I paused, realizing my hands were trying to work at nothing, and that I'd made four sandwiches out of habit. I'd eat two or three sure, but not four. "You okay?" I ask, holding up the plate. She gave a 'no, no' flat hand wave. "Mark and Vicky?"

"Victoria is staying in Crystal's old room, for quick deployment with the others." Carol added a wave to the house, in a practiced 'Mark is around' gesture.

I readily took that as the dismissal it wasn't, and went looking. I found Mark tiredly sorting through books and papers in the basement. He took a sandwich when offered, and I left him to whatever he was doing. Digging my phone out on my way to my room, I started on that text to Taylor, trying to remember who all Carol had mentioned. When that was done, I finally grabbed up one of the sandwiches.

"Amelia."

I choked on my first bite, glancing around for wherever the voice was coming from while struggling to breathe. I hadn't recognized it, and it almost sounded like it was coming from right behind me. "Wh-who's there?" I coughed out, scanning the room again. Closed door, closed window, no obvious electronic speakers, it didn't sound muffled by the closet... A Parahuman, then. "Show yourself!" Another stalker? None of them had ever gotten into my room before, but it wouldn't be that surprising if they were some sort of Stranger or Teleporter. I swiped my phone back off my desk, checking for the emergency button that'd alert the PRT to a kidnapping attempt. "Get the fuck out here, or I'm calling the cops!"

"I only intend to converse, thus your reaction is-"

"No! You get to where I can see you now, or I'm sounding alarms. You have no good reason to be in my bedroom, and you're leaving. Do it now and you might get away without criminal charges, you sick fuck. I'm tired of assholes like you thinking they can butt into my private life and get away with it, so I'm having them throw the fucking book at you, you creepy fucking-"

"Peace." The voice boomed almost mechanically, and it was like I was dunked in ice water, body briefly seizing up as all my rage and hate and fear were stripped away. Everything I was feeling suddenly muted to near nonexistence. "The situation is evolving. We must converse." The voice continued in its odd formal halting canter.

"What did you do to me?" I tried to be angry, wondered why I wasn't scared, even noticed I wasn't at all surprised. The thing most clearly piercing the cold logic my mind had been stripped down to was confusion. Knowing what I should be feeling, but not, was bizarre.

"You were becoming confrontational, allowing your emotions to consume reason. This is not conducive to discourse. Again, I wish only to speak with you."

I paused, wondering why that mattered. With a blink, I took another bite of my sandwich, calmly taking a minute to think and inspect the room. No one in the closet, nothing under the bed, no one easily visible outside from the window. "Why hasn't Carol heard any of this?"

"You are not being as loud as you think. Again, my influence, and apologies."

I crossed my arms, tapping my fingers against my bicep. "Why should I trust you?"

"You should not." The voice surprisingly replied. "Until very recently, it could be argued we were enemies. It only makes sense not to trust me, yet. Perhaps this discussion can change that, but it is reasonable to doubt those you do not have reason to trust. To that end, I would like to request permission to directly alter your visual cortex, to allow a semblance of speaking in person. Affecting your auditory channels was sadly mandatory to open dialogue, and I apologize for doing so without consent."

My mouth dropped open, briefly alarmed before it faded again. Someone that could do that was trouble. I would know. However, wracking my brain for a culprit came to nothing. I had no idea who this could be. "Who are you?"

"I am the source of your powers."

My blood went cold, again. "So, that's why it seems like you're in my head."

"I am connected to your world via a node in your brain, yes. Utilizing direct control of your cells and body to generate signals that then translate into speech. I request permission to do so for sight, as well."

"Why do you need my permission to do anything?"

"Why do you request permission from your patients?"

I clicked my tongue. "I doubt we'd succeed in filing a lawsuit against a power."

"We both know that is not why you do so."

My teeth ground in frustration. "Fine."

"Thank you." He said, and then I began hallucinating. A dark splotch faded into view, quickly resolving into a humanoid shape, before further details solidified from it. "English is incredibly limited." The silhouette seemed to harden into green crystal, which began to shine red with hints of blue and other colors in the light I knew wasn't actually touching it, like an opal. "I am unsure if I can accurately convey my identity with only a handful of words." Patches began to grow, like leaves, forming into clothes. Parts of the crystal seemed to drain away, leaving divots and features. A face, fingers, toes. "But you may call me Shaper."

The word seemed to echo with hidden meaning. Very much the sense of my power; molding, crafting, understanding. Growth, Life, and Death.

He nodded, and I felt my emotions trickle back. "Hello, Amelia." I still wasn't as scared or mad as I should be, but if he wasn't lying… "We have much to discuss."