Wake-up Call – Chapter 22

"All right, Noelle, the Tinker we've contacted is going to try to sedate you before installing his equipment. Is that all right with you?"

My laptop's screen is parted down the middle. On the right side, I can see Dragon's emulation program translating my mannerisms onto Krouse's—I mean, [Trickster's] face. It's a bit disturbing, mostly because I'm obviously prettier and the world's diminished by being forced to stomach this inferior replica. Also, because I'm trying to mimic his own body language and inflection, so what my eyes insist on showing me is Krouse's image actually being far more genuine than I'm being, as if I'm somehow mimicking him in real-time.

Ugh. At least Power isn't having trouble with the feedback loop or something like that.

[Parahuman abilities' interfaces not analogous to computer systems—]

Fascinating. Save it for another time. Like I don't know, when the left side of the screen isn't showing me an anxious, clearly traumatized girl with a body count that should get her a far less lenient treatment than being cared for by two of the world's most powerful Tinkers.

And a Thinker who isn't that far behind, honestly.

[Lisa Wilbourn's self-aggrandizing—]

Love you too.

"I… I guess? Do you really trust him, Krouse?"

"About as far as I can teleport him. Let's just say, if he tries anything, he may have an unfortunate tumble down the stairs. The ones they're still building."

Noelle chuckles at a joke that's [just] that tad unlike what her boyfriend would have said to her if this was actually dangerous. Because Trickster is the kind of man who would joke about murdering somebody else, and Noelle the kind of girl who's far too messed up to even try to learn how much of that is actually a joke.

Fuck.

I [hate] playing mind games with people with such a handicap. Not challenging enough, you know?

[Lisa Wilbourn's sense of empathy—]

All right, that too, but I'm a pseudo-reformed villainess; I get to act tough and uncaring in the privacy of my own shared skull, all right?

"All right. All right, if you trust him—" she almost stammers.

"Not at all. I won't take my eyes off him as long as he's near you."

Noelle looks at me, or at least at the version of me Dragon's software is showing her. And nods.

"Right. Thank you." She tries to smile. She doesn't quite manage.

And I would like to answer her with a reassuring, warm smile of my own, something designed to make her feel at ease, maybe reminding her of her mother—no, her father. But that's not what Krouse would do, so I reply with a cocky, self-assured grin that's masking far too much uncertainty.

That, and being a Simurgh bomb, but that's a problem for another time.

At my signal, the door to Noelle's vault starts to open, and, just as her lower body focuses on it, an almost feline movement preparing it to jump through, Colin throws the grenade inside.

The Bakuda grenade. The time-stopping one.

I mean, I said we would sedate her. I'm willing to bet at least one lawyer out there will agree this fits the definition.

A very well-paid lawyer.

Like mine.

I mean, pseudo-reformed villainess. I have needs other than those Taylor takes care of.

… Great, now I'm making myself blush.

… Dragon, why? Why did your program copy that bashful look on Trickster's face? This will haunt my nightmares for years to come. I may even have to resurrect the yaoi genre just to exorcise it.

[Yaoi genre still active—]

Power, can you, for once, allow me the use of brain bleach without interfering? Seriously, that Kaiser/Lung thing crossed far too many lines.

[XxVoid_CowboyxX's posts usually deemed damaging to—]

I know. He's on the list.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Hannah finally murmurs from behind me.

"I like anticlimactic. Anticlimactic means the plan has gone as it was intended to go and no baby Endbringer is trying to eat me and spit evil duplicates that may only be distinguished by their dashing facial hair," I reply, with my usual laconic acknowledgement of her contribution to the conversation.

"So, you mean we would never be able to guess which Colin was the original?" she says as she steps forward, directing a grin at me.

A grin I'm about to destroy, like the danger to society I still am. Seriously, this will be on par with robbing that bank.

"Oh? Tell me, in detail, how dashing you think his facial hair is?" Batting my eyelashes is wholly unnecessary. Except it's fun, thus non-negotiable.

She's going scarlet. I didn't even know she could reach that color.

Oh, shit, is that racist?

"You're awful," she declares as if she's made some great discovery.

"I don't know; I think she's quite funny when she's not committing crimes," Krouse answers from the screen.

Hannah freezes, and I feel a slight twinge of guilt at having presumably outed her office crush to Dragon. On the other hand, she's the only cape I know of who can give Taylor a run for her money on the Orwellian Nightmare scale.

Or is that Foucaultian? She runs her own panopticon, after all.

"Come on, I can also be absolutely hilarious while breaking the law. Have you seen me trick an unarmed prisoner into trying to murder me so I can justify a nearly lethal response after his interrogation?"

Dragon's program freezes for a few frames, Krouse' face unnaturally still—

[Dragon's overreaction to law-breaking likely cause. Program not controlled manually. Unnatural stillness reflecting unnatural reaction. Dragon's synchronization with program suggests direct mind-machine interface—]

Or something else. Yes, I guessed as much. Which is why I'm trying to suppress my usual grin.

"I would suggest an alternative phrasing for the press release," Colin interjects as he walks into Generic Concrete Room Number 27.

No, that's not literal.

[Number of generic rooms in Coil's underground base—]

Right. He should have had Accord help decorate something else besides his office. On the other hand, the fewer death traps in a Bond lair, the better. Nothing like sharks with head-mounted lasers to make me feel queasy about animal rights violations.

"Heh. 'Phrasing,'" I can't help but answer.

Colin looks at me with a disapproving frown at my low-effort reply, Hannah looks as confused as a philistine who doesn't watch too many cartoons (or hasn't been horribly corrupted by meme culture) should look, and Dragon chuckles.

[Likelihood of Dragon never missing a reference despite her projected workload—]

It paints an interesting picture, doesn't it?

"Anyway, unlikely press conferences from yours truly aside, are you sure Yumi will pull through? Reverting a full-time stop seems like it would be huge." I distractedly fiddle with my side-ponytail, simulating more engagement with this part of the conversation than with my veiled prodding of Dragon's mysterious, dark secrets.

… Giant, mythical reptile hidden away in a chamber of secrets. Someone's been playing fast and loose with copyright.

"Her latest experiment looks very promising. We wouldn't have gone ahead with this otherwise," said copyright infringer points out, her usual avatar finally replacing Krouse's gross face on the screen.

"Oh, right. You are the good guys. I always forget."

"You just brought down two supervillain organizations; how would you even call yourself?" Hannah points out, her tone still dry after my unwitting reveal.

… I'm sorry.

[Lisa Wilbourn's contriteness—]

Rub it in, why don't you?

[Lisa Wilbourn's tendency to petty retribution—]

Fuck. Don't make me chuckle; people will start thinking I've gone insane.

[Colin Wallis evaluation of Lisa Wilbourn's mental health—]

Daddy issues! Almost every girl with abandonment-related disorders has those! It's completely unlike cackling out of the blue like a maniac!

[Villainous laughter usual staple of dramatic monologuing. Lisa Wilbourn's prone to long speeches that—]

All right, that's it; I'm going back to the audible part of the conversation.

"I would say I'm the lesser evil, but that's actually just a cunning ploy to make you lower your guard before my scheme comes to fruition. Mwa. Ha. Ha."

[Lisa Wilbourn's evil cackling—]

Screw you.

"Wouldn't that be more effective if you didn't say so beforehand?" Oh, poor, poor Hannah… You don't know what you're getting into, do you?

"It's one of those 'I know you know I know, but you don't know that I know you know I know.' Except with about fifty recursive layers of deception. High-level Thinker stuff, don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"I've got bear mace on tap." Her power shifts, and she, in fact, does.

"I also have a lie detector," Colin forebodingly reminds me.

"… Tell me that thing doesn't work on self-deception. Please."

"It doesn't work on self-deception, villain scum."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Oh, and look, now both Dragon and Hannah look confused about what's going on.

Hmmm… How do you feel about polyamory, Colin? Because those matching, cute, disoriented expressions being side by side right as—

[Gross]. Power, remind me to never again picture anything even remotely related to a threesome involving my pseudo-parental figure with whom I've developed a disturbingly close rapport involving inside jokes, open shows of trust, and—

[Lisa Wilbourn's relationship with Colin Wallis—]

If you say [anything] about the Westermarck effect, I [will] hurt you.

"Anyway, we should proceed to mount the scanners. I can get in contact with Cranial, see if she's willing to work remotely and how much information she has on power regulation. I can cover the fee, of course, though it would help if she came to the wholly unintended belief that this will earn her some leeway with the Protectorate," I say, shifting gears to work mode now that I'm allowed to do so without getting into the skin of a guy I can most accurately define as oily.

Seriously. A [top hat.]

"No," Colin says.

"No?" I repeat, unused to the syllable—

[Lisa Wilbourn frequently denied—]

All right: unwilling to get used to the syllable. Better?

[Lisa Wilbourn's stubbornness—]

I don't know what's up with you today, but as soon as I find out, I'll make sure it doesn't come to pass ever again.

"No," Hannah feels the need to add.

"No," Dragon says, refusing, once again, to be my favorite for too long.

"Is this another one of your 'you should get some rest and stop obsessing over things while we, the people whose actual job is it to take care of this bullshit, keep working long hours?'"

"No, this is my first 'you should leave right now if you want to make it on time to Dinah's,'" Colin says, full parental mode on.

…

I'm… I'm okay. Really.

[Lisa Wilbourn's reaction to emotional reciprocity and acknowledgment—]

I know. Sorry.

"Right. Right, I should… Get changed and go? Yes, I'll do that."

As I start gathering my things, I can see Dragon shooting me a soft, caring smile right before she switches monitors to free my laptop. Hannah looks slightly confused yet a bit concerned. And Colin…

[Colin Wallis oblivious to—]

… Typical.

***

So, if you had told me two months ago that I, the dread villain Tattletale, would be ringing on the mayor's house… I won't say I wouldn't have believed you, but I'm pretty sure I would've assumed quite a different context.

Something like, I don't know, asking for a billion dollars before I unleashed my glitter cannon over the Protectorate's base. I don't know; I'm spitballing here.

[Bombs usually—]

After Bakuda? God, no, that's so démodé.

Anyway, I don't have to wait long for the tall, oaken double doors (that don't scream 'pretentious asshole showing off his wealth,' no sire) to open. To my surprise, the one doing said opening isn't an off-brand British butler, but the actual, you know, mayor.

Must… Suppress... Urge… To kidnap…

"Lisa! Please, do come in, dear. Dinah has been asking for you in the living room," he says with far more enthusiasm and teeth than a non-shark aficionado would ever be comfortable with.

"Thank you, sir. Then, I'll let myself in?" Oh, a reticent, interrogative note? Bullshit. I'm not intimidated by wealthy, powerful men who remind me of my biological father—

[Lisa Wilbourn's biological parents less wealthy than—]

Not. Helping.

With a genial chuckle (which earns him about ten more asshole points), he steps aside and invites me in.

Look, I know what you're thinking: why the Hell am I meeting Dinah unmasked, and not at her parent's house, but at her uncle's?

Well, the answer to that would be the still slightly emaciated girl who greets me with a face-splitting grin as I walk into the mahogany-and-leather-filled living room where she's been sitting still, trying to pretend she wouldn't be more at ease browsing through a book with a couple colorful illustrations than the newspaper she now has on her lap.

Oh, Dinah, sweetheart…

That's it; I'm bringing you a stack of comic books next time I come over. I know you liked Asterix before this.

"Hey, fellow Thinker," I wave with a lighter smile than the situation warrants.

"Lisa! How—how are you doing?" A burst of enthusiasm suppressed by 'mature' formality? I'm doing awful, kid. Should have gotten you out sooner.

"Oh, same old, same old. Tackling the dark secrets of the world, keeping homicidal monsters from eating us whole… You know how it is."

She giggles before she can catch herself, and I plop down on the (indecently comfortable) leather sofa beside the armchair she's laid claim to.

That's one victory for 'cool old sister Lisa.' I kinda like her. She's a bit more easy-going than 'trying to find a place in the world that doesn't suck' Lisa. That one is kind of a drag.

"I… I took notes! Do you want to go over them?"

No, I want you to turn off your brain, stop pretending you aren't in agonizing pain as your power resets, and watch a stupid movie with me, one with princesses and talking animals.

"Sure. Get them out, and we'll go over it. As many times as you want to." I try not to lay it on too thick, but something about her earnestness, her need to… to somehow behave like she's my equal when the relationship shouldn't be about that at all… I'm sorry, kid. I try not to be patronizing, and I don't feel like I am, but… But I know what being too fussy around you must feel like.

She pretends she doesn't mind and takes out a spiral notebook that she lays open on the coffee table between us. It's filled not only with annotations but with some sort of diagrams connecting each written phrase.

I'm looking at a display of what she remembers from multiple timelines, multiple conversations that shifted as they influenced each other without even happening.

There's a blank spot in the middle of the page.

It has today's date.

…

Right, Lisa, keep smiling and don't show outward panic at the creeping feeling of existential dread. It will be easy enough: you can just show outward panic at everything else going sideways in your life now that you've lost the objective that all but consumed you over the past few months.

… Fuck it. Next time, I'm bringing the Asterix collection.

And maybe some Lucky Luke.

***

The meeting doesn't take that long because, as much as she tries to pretend it's not the case, Dinah isn't up to any complicated conversations at the moment. The notebook must have taken hours to put together, given how much effort it takes her to piece together her thoughts, and the pain won't abate if she tries to force herself.

Not letting her force herself, though, is not an option. I have to keep the long term in mind, and she needs, more than anything, to feel like she has some autonomy. Something to do. To contribute.

Something that doesn't end up with her pitifully asking for candy.

… I so wish I could murder that bastard. Having law-aligned friends [sucks.]

I sigh once again at my ever-shifting circumstances and take the unconscious Dinah between my arms before laying her down on the sofa I just vacated. There's a blanket (bamboo fibers, nice) over the back that seems a bit incongruous with the lavish décor until I'm subtly reminded by the sleeping kid that this is likely far from an unusual occurrence nowadays.

I ponder for a while the pros of Dinah waking up feeling warm and cared for against the cons of her waking up feeling coddled and infantilized. Then I wrap her in the blanket.

Warmth shouldn't be underestimated.

Silently as if I was in this house for the logical reasons for me to be in this house (even if I'm in my civvies, for all the good they are doing me in these circumstances), I close the glass-paneled door to the living room behind me as I leave.

And find myself face to face with the mayor.

"I just wanted to thank you once again—"

"Don't. Don't, please: she helped me as much as I helped her. We just fought a common enemy."

He arches an eyebrow. He has the gall to.

"You unmasked to her family just so you could take care of her."

"… It's not what it looks like. Her power makes it so any help I give her now is help she received back then. I can't just disappear from her life just—"

"You can't. Period. Lisa… You know I can offer you—"

"You know I can't accept any—"

"And that's why you should never leave her. Please. We… we can't understand what she's going through, what it's like to have a mind that just sees another world from the one we see. You do. And we trust you."

My throat is dry, and my eyes itch. Must be something to do with some kind of expensive air freshener. Right. Rich asshole things. I'm not that mushy.

"I… I'm not leaving anytime soon," I finally admit.

"Good," he says with a warm smile.

"You do realize, though, that you're basically giving me the power to mold one of the most powerful Thinkers in the world to follow my lead on anything?"

".. Armsmaster warned me about your sense of humor, yet I still find myself thoroughly unprepared."

"Yeah, that's kind of his thing. Mine is to twist words around until you don't even know what it is you're agreeing to. Like, I don't know, if I acted all reluctant and protective like until you granted me unrestricted access to a precog who—"

"Lisa, I'm a politician. You're good, but not [that] good."

I smile my foxy grin, the one that makes Taylor stutter just a tiny bit.

"Whatever lets you sleep at night, Roy."

He chuckles. So do I.

And I leave.

***

I don't care what anyone else says: driving a bike at night through Brockton Bay's pockmarked streets is far safer than any alternative.

Or, at least, much faster, given I can swerve between potholes rather than having to take unending detours. And being faster implies being outside at night, in Brockton Bay, for less time. Which means less danger, ergo, being safer.

My logic is unassailable. Mostly because of all the oil-filled traps.

I'm still getting used to my purple Ducati Streetfighter (had to get it just for the name), but it's an agile ride, which suits my trial-and-hopefully-not-error driving style quite well. Nothing like a machine that can react just in time to power-assisted course corrections.

The only thing I'm not that thrilled about is having to wear a helmet rather than letting my hair stream freely in the chilling night wind, but… I've seen the statistics.

Or, rather, Power has [gently] reminded me of the statistics. With gruesome detail.

[Lisa Wilbourn's risk-taking—]

We both know if you didn't share my skull you wouldn't be so keen on keeping it in one piece.

[Lisa Wilbourn's not noticing pothole in—]

Oh, right. Thanks.

I tug on the right handlebar as I lean just the slightest amount to assist a swerve that has me skid along the edge of one particularly shallow Bakuda crater, and my adrenalin spikes when I feel my back tire wobble just enough to make it feel as if my bike is shivering at the thrill.

… Taylor may be onto something.

She must never know.

Anyway, to sum things up: the city is still under repairs, my lone night rides are quickly becoming a weird mix of meditative and heart-pounding, and my girlfriend is kinda pissed off at how much I'm gushing over my sweet, sweet baby.

… All right, maybe I shouldn't have dumped that twenty-page document detailing what I wanted Colin and Dragon to put in it for my birthday on her. She looked kind of stressed out when she reached the part about nitro boosters.

Curiously enough, she didn't even comment on the part about integrated weapon systems.

I mean, a lady needs protection in this city. And few things scream 'protection' like twin-mounted Gatling cannons.

… I'm kinda looking forward to my birthday this year, truth be told. I mean, I'll be tried as an adult from now on, but still worth it.

Anyway, that's kinda why I'm driving through one of the worst parts of town at this ungodly hour: to make it up to her.

[Taylor Hebert unlikely to appreciate—]

It's a surprise; of course her paranoia won't let her appreciate it. That's why it's important I keep working on it.

[Lisa Wilbourn pushing boundaries—]

Yep. That's precisely what I'm doing.

Well, you know, other than parking my bike and making sure to use as many chains to secure it as is physically possible without a dedicated parahuman power.

And… well. Jumping over a fence.

And climbing a tree that is far too conveniently placed in front of a window for it to be a coincidence.

A window that opens as the light inside the room goes on and highlights [gorgeous] hair.

"You couldn't have called beforehand, could you?" she greets me, tone as dry as could be expected.

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun," I answer, my own tone not [that] dry.

And she facepalms.

Victory.

"What are you doing, Lisa?"

And, well…

"Sneaking into my fiancée's room without her father's knowledge?"

She freezes for a moment, and her slight blush is apparent enough that I can make it out even with the aggressive backlight that turns her hair into a halo casting shadow over—

Ugh. Not waxing poetic yet, Lisa. You are both still clothed.

"We could just ask him, you know? It's not like he hates you."

"Taylor, I think you don't get it: your supervillain paramour, dressed in tight, [tight] motorcycle leathers, is sneaking into your bedroom at night. Being furtive is part of the appeal."

"… I should slam the window in your face," she almost grunts.

"But you won't." I smile.

"But I won't," she agrees.

And, trying not to swear up a storm, I manage to jump from the tree branch to the windowsill before, with Taylor's help, sneaking in.

I stand in her room for the first time, but I don't have time to look at her book collection, her poorly closed dresser, or any other signs of the character of the girl I've kinda tied my fate to because I'm too busy staring at her, at her eyes wide with expectation, at lips that open the barest amount as a stream of cold air rushes past them while her chest goes up and down, at her long neck left bare on the left side, a vein pulsing temptingly—

Oh. Almost forgot.

"Taylor…" I whisper, slinking close to her in a sashay I just know will make her salivate with the way the leather sculpts my body, "can I ask you just one thing?" I finish as my breasts almost brush against hers.

"Liz?" she asks, mouth dry, eyes bobbing between my own and what my arms are very subtly emphasizing.

"Can you keep a few hundred eyes on my bike? I'm not sure I—"

And she tackles me to the bed and shuts me up with a kiss.

Which, I mean, I'm kind of ecstatic about, but that's [not an answer.]

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

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 85 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!