2.2
Mitosis 2.1
April 3rd, 2011
The ride to the PRT Headquarters with Vista and Miss Militia was surprisingly enjoyable. I'd jokingly asked to ride on the back of Armsmaster's motorcycle, but apparently the Protectorate was too safety oriented for that – even when I pointed out that a crash wouldn't do more than jostle me around.
As soon as the doors of the PRT van closed behind us, Vista was badgering me with questions. I was very glad that I had taken time to clean my suit of blood and anything else stuck onto it from my recent battle before getting into the van, because Vista was practically leaning up against me, her small fingers digging into the soft hide of my suit's costume.
Miss Militia sat across from me with her legs crossed. Greenish-black energy flickered at her hip as she watched me, manifesting and switching between two large handguns, a machete, and a surprisingly long javelin just in the dozen seconds I was watching it for.
"How did you build your suit? I mean, you took down Lung with it, but it doesn't look like Tinkertech…" Vista trailed off.
"I don't think I'm a Tinker," I answered honestly, "But my power does automatically give me the ability to make any changes I want to any living thing, as long as it's physically possible. I focus, and the changes just sort of happen. I don't need to understand all the precise details of what I'm doing to make those changes."
"So if you can change biology, can you heal people? Are there any limits?" Vista asked excitedly.
"That's a good question. I can heal people, but I haven't really had much practice with it. I don't think it should be any different from any other use of my powers, though. If you'd like, I'll heal you now," I told Vista.
Before Vista could agree, Miss Militia interjected, "There's no rush, Placenta. I'm sure plenty of people will be interested in your abilities – we can figure out a convenient time for you to come and demonstrate your healing for us during your meeting with Deputy Director Renick."
"Oh, don't worry Placenta. Renick isn't bad at all. He's pretty laid back, but Piggot – she can be kind of a-" Vista stopped and glanced at Miss Militia's raised eyebrow, "-Annoying. Right. Just let yourself relax around Renick and you'll be fine."
"Thanks, Vista," I smiled at the friendly girl, even if she couldn't see my expression.
The three of us sat in comfortable silence for the next few minutes, interrupted only by the quiet chatter of the PRT troopers driving us' radios. The PRTHQ was a fair distance from the Docks, but there wasn't much traffic to impede us at this time of night. Vista seemed pensive about something, so I let her think rather than ask questions of my own.
"So, are you gonna join the Wards?" Vista asked suddenly, "There's only two girls on the team, counting me. It'd be awesome if we could be on a team together – I might have someone actually interesting to talk to for once."
"Ah, I probably won't join the Wards for now. But, we'll just have to see what happens. I get the feeling you'll be seeing more of me during and after missions from now on whether I join or not."
Vista seemed a little disappointed by my refusal, and we lapsed back into silence for a short while longer.
After just a minute or two more of waiting, the van slowed to a halt for the final time and the driver made a hand signal to Miss Militia.
"Alright, you two. We're here. Vista, would you mind assisting Armsmaster in transporting Lung? I'll make sure Placenta here is taken care of," Miss Militia said.
We both exited the van and Vista stopped to face me, "Um, you seem pretty cool, Placenta. Maybe we can patrol together sometime, or something like that? Even if you don't join the Wards, I mean."
"Sure," I accepted, "I'll have to make a PHO account and shoot you a message. It was nice to meet you, Vista."
"It was nice to meet you too!" The young heroine exclaimed.
She waved goodbye to me, then took a second to search for Armsmaster's large form among the group of people gathered about a dozen yards away, around the van Lung had been transported in. Once she found Armsmaster, the space between the two of them warped in a way that made my head hurt the longer I kept looking at it. She took one step and was suddenly standing directly next to Armsmaster, leaving me alone with Miss Militia.
The PRT Headquarters stood directly before me, lit up like a candle compared to the other buildings around it. The building itself was smaller than I expected, considering the multiple important roles it fulfilled for the city. PRT troopers swarmed in and out of the building as I watched.
"Don't worry," Miss Militia told me, and I could see the corners of her eyes crinkle as she spoke, "I'll show you where to go. The process may seem intimidating at first, but keep in mind that I'll be watching your back and helping you through everything. I'm very familiar with the Wards system – you couldn't ask for a better guide."
I felt further reassured, and despite the clear confidence in Miss Militia's tone, I didn't get the impression she was just talking herself up. She walked toward the entrance to the building, and I followed. Some of the troopers nodded at her as she passed them; others greeted her verbally. None of them greeted me, and although it was hard to tell under their masks, I got the impression that most or all of them were staring at me. It was especially obvious with the troopers standing in places where they thought I couldn't see them. I was tempted to look over at them or call them out, but I ignored the impulsive thought.
Miss Militia and I walked through the automatic doors into the lobby and were encountered with a startling sight. A throng of troopers and office workers streamed in and out of various entrances, many headed to and from the elevator.
I felt a bit anxious about the idea of being crammed into an elevator with so many people, but when Miss Militia and I stood and waited for the elevator to arrive, the other people waiting backed up slightly. Maybe it was courtesy to give Capes a bit of space here?
A chime sounded and the elevator arrived, spewing out another group of PRT employees. When we boarded the elevator, I was thankful that nobody followed us on. Miss Militia hit a button to take us to the second floor, and I shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.
God, I must have looked ridiculous. A seven and a half foot tall monster with the body language of a gangly, uncomfortable teenager. I tried to present myself in a way that the people who I had always looked up to would respect, but I was reaching the limits of my ability to project an air of confidence that I didn't actually have.
"Were you nervous?" I suddenly asked, "I mean, the first time you walked into a Protectorate building?"
Miss Militia was a bit startled by the question, but she quickly recovered and chuckled a bit. She had a pleasant sounding laugh.
"I wasn't nervous, no. I was terrified. I didn't speak ten words of English at the time. Trust me – if I managed to succeed in the Wards back then, you have the ability to accomplish whatever goals you set for yourself. Whether that involves being a part of the Wards or not is ultimately up to you."
I didn't respond to her, but I didn't need to. Her message had been delivered, and I was left to contemplate her personal revelation. Why would she tell me about that? Even if it was a matter of public record, it seemed like something she would be embarrassed to bring up. What made her open up to me when if I were in her shoes, I would never even have considered it?
Miss Militia was confusing sometimes, but she was kind, and I appreciated her efforts. It was impossible to fully stop paranoia about her motives and those of the Protectorate as a whole from creeping into my head, but thanks to her comforting presence, I didn't feel quite so alone in the depths of this building.
The elevator chimed, and it opened up to reveal a hallway lined by nearly identical doors. This floor was far less busy than the lobby, but it was still bustling with PRT employees.
Miss Militia began to walk forward, but a muffled voice speaking from her communication device made her stop in her tracks.
"I'm sorry Placenta, I'll be back as soon as I can. You can get to your meeting room by taking a right at the next intersection; it'll be there at the end of that hall, and the door should already be open. I'll see you in just a bit."
Miss Militia turned around right as the elevator chimed. She waited for a squad of PRT troopers to exit the elevator in a loose formation before she entered the elevator herself. The doors slid shut behind her, and I was very suddenly alone in the middle of the PRT building.
Why did she rush off so suddenly?
The PRT troopers continued past me and turned down a hallway which led away from my destination, and I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I had been holding. I quickly realized that I had been spiraling into a bit of a panic, and corrected the issue with some small chemical injections.
Now slightly calmed, I tentatively followed Miss Militia's directions and found my way to the meeting room. The room was very spartan, lacking any furnishings besides a long steel table lined with chairs. The whole room was constructed from concrete with the exception of the wall furthest from me. That wall was made out of a large pane of reinforced glass, which was almost certainly a one way mirror.
Surveillance cameras and containment foam sprayers both decorated the room's ceiling. I moved to sit down in one of the steel chairs facing the glass wall, frowning as I adjusted my bulky suit to fit in the confines of the uncomfortable chair.
I waited, then waited some more. Nothing happened, so I started playing with my powers. I built a little pot out of calcium carbonate, filled it with this biodegradable mulch that was actually pretty tricky to make, then forced a tiny Bonsai tree to sprout. I forced it to grow, molding it into increasingly elaborate and outlandish shapes until it threatened to tip over.
I frowned and removed some sections until the Bonsai tree's shape was a bit more reasonable, then stopped to admire my new creation. Wow, that was pretty fun. Now I was bored again. I waved at the glass wall, then put my arms back on the table.
Where was the Deputy Director?
"Umm… Is anyone listening?" I called out.
"Hello," A feminine voice with a pleasant Canadian accent filled the room suddenly.
I almost fell out of my chair in shock. There really had been someone watching me all this time? Was this some kind of fucked-up way to test my patience?
"Who are you? Have you been watching me this whole time?" I asked the empty room, assuming that the mysterious woman would hear my words again.
"I was merely responsible for keeping an eye on you until Deputy Director Renick finished up his meeting. And to answer your other question, my name is Dragon," The woman – Dragon – stated.
I was left a little awestruck and more than a little surprised that Dragon was devoting time to me. She was the Tinker-to-end-all-Tinkers, for all that I had hero worship for Armsmaster, he probably felt the same way about Dragon. I was just about to ask her about the reason for her interest in me, but she continued speaking before I could interject.
"I heard you're going by Placenta? Your choice of name is very creative. It's nice to meet you. I'll admit that I looked over the PRT's preliminary documents regarding your powers, and I'm interested to know more about them," Her voice shifted to include a bit of embarrassment as she continued, "Your bonsai tree is very pretty, by the way."
I finally regained enough of my wits to respond, "Thank you. And, um, my powers? I haven't really found any restrictions besides the ones I told Armsmaster about, but I haven't tried all that much to test my limits. What interests you about my powers?"
I wracked my brain for any details about Dragon that I could remember. She was originally from Newfoundland, Leviathan came and sank everything, so she moved to British Columbia. She was reclusive; I couldn't think of a single public appearance she had made outside of those giant suits of hers… ever. Was she agoraphobic, afraid of interacting with others? But that wasn't the case, because she was talking to me right now. No, maybe she was ashamed?
Maybe she was disfigured when Leviathan attacked, and she couldn't bear to be seen in her current state? Her condition must be really bad if her own Tinkertech specialty hadn't allowed her to make prosthetics. If that was the case, it explained why she was so eager to reach out to me.
"Well, your powers have quite a lot of possible applications. The restrictions put in place by NEPEA-5 make things difficult, but-"
"Sorry to interrupt," I said hurriedly, "NEPEA-5? I don't know what that is."
Dragon replied, "It's quite alright. NEPEA-5 is the federal law which prohibits Parahumans from engaging in 'unfair' business practices that would significantly alter existing industries or make them redundant by, for example, genetically modifying crops with the assistance of powers to generate larger yields. The Supreme Court has upheld rulings that heavily limit many of the ways your powers could be used to benefit the average person, and without the proper backing, you'd likely find yourself tied down in costly lawsuits. It's a shame, but the law is the law."
"Thank you, Dragon," I told her, "I didn't realize how much of a landmine the whole legal system is for Capes. It's why I've been hesitant to join the Wards, to be honest – I don't want my ideas to constantly have to wait or be altered for committee approval. My power can be used in other ways besides business, though. Are you interested in me because you want me to use my powers to heal you?"
"Erm, that would be difficult to arrange," Dragon said awkwardly.
There was a bit of silence between us after that, and I eventually chose to break it by saying, "I won't judge you, you know. For your appearance, or any health issues. I mean. Sorry, but-"
"It's not something I speak often about," Dragon admitted, "My… condition makes it difficult for me to attend in-person meetings. Maybe in time I can develop a way for us to safely meet, but until then, you shouldn't feel the need to be concerned. My health is not declining; I'll live on without your assistance – not to say that your offer isn't greatly appreciated. I would be grateful if you would avoid sharing that piece of information about my health with others, though."
Another period of silence settled over the room.
"Sorry if I made you uncomfortable," I said quietly.
"You shouldn't feel ashamed for being perceptive. Your words had good intentions behind them, and it warms my heart to know that you wouldn't judge me due to my condition. I have much more I would like to speak with you about, but Deputy Director Renick has concluded his meeting and will be here in approximately two minutes and thirty seconds."
I was noticing a trend among all the Capes I had met so far; every single one of them had some strange or unique aspect to their personality and mannerisms. Normal just wasn't in the Parahuman lexicon, it seemed. The only exception to this rule I had seen so far was Vista, who might be an oddity herself among Parahumans in how normal she was. These quirks came out in small and almost imperceptible ways, such as Dragon's unusually precise way of communicating or Armsmaster's constantly monotone inflection.
It was possible that these were simply normal personality traits and I was grasping at straws, but I had a feeling there was more to it than that. Maybe I would have to sit in on one of those Parahuman Studies classes they offered at the local community college and try to learn more about how powers actually worked.
"Thanks for the heads up, Dragon. I hope we can speak again soon – I enjoyed chatting with you."
"I agree, and I will be in contact with you again soon. Goodbye, Placenta." And with that, Dragon was gone.
Exactly two minutes and twenty seven seconds after Dragon had predicted (I counted), Deputy Director Renick arrived. He was a bit younger than I expected, with a narrow face and protruding jaw. His brown hair was cut short, but it had grown long enough for me to tell that it was curly. He had black, thin-rimmed glasses, and wore a simple navy-blue polo shirt with the PRT logo emblazoned on it.
I saw him from the moment he entered the room thanks to my suit, but I didn't visibly react to his presence until he approached the chair across the table from me and sat in it. I nodded my head slightly as a sign of respect, an acknowledgement of the Deputy Director's experience. I had intentionally chosen to sit in a spot on the long table that would force the Deputy Director to either sit directly across from me within arm's length, or awkwardly sit off at one of the table's ends. It was a small test to see if he was someone worth paying any attention to, and he had passed it.
"Sorry about the delay, Placenta," Renick began, "It's all a part of procedure. Believe me, I've been doing my best to make sure you're being treated alright, but this is all such a sudden turn of events – it wasn't my idea to have you stuck here in this meeting room, for example, but again, procedure demanded it. Oh- where are my manners? I've gotten ahead of myself. I'm Quentin Renick, Deputy Director of the Protectorate East-North-East Branch. Bit of a mouthful, I know."
He reached one of his hands across the table and I carefully shook it. Unlike most people I had met while suited up so far, Renick didn't seem very off-put by my suit's appearance. I wondered how many Capes like me he had sat across from over the course of his career. He didn't even comment on the Bonsai tree.
"First off, congratulations on catching Lung. And what a way to debut, eh? Something-"
Renick was cut off by a knock at the door, and he quickly gave permission for the person at the door to enter. We both turned to look and saw a tall, gaunt man stride into the room. He had very dark skin and his head was completely bald. His cheeks looked hollowed out, accentuated by his prominent cheekbones. He wore a professionally tailored suit and a matching tie; his outfit's colors were bland yet inoffensive.
His eyes… I couldn't tell anything from looking into his eyes. They just looked empty.
"Sorry to interrupt, Quentin. I just figured that I might be able to provide a unique insight to this conversation, if you don't object."
"Ah, no worries. I don't mind at all – you have experience with this kind of power set, maybe you'll be able to point out something that I would have missed during our conversation."
"You're too kind," The man stepped over to us and pulled up a chair close enough to me to actively invade my personal space.
It was a reversal of the entire situation I had developed for Renick. Were they working together as a part of some kind of good cop, bad cop routine? I almost sighed contemplating how much busier my evening had turned out to be compared to what I had expected when I left the house.
"Um," I began, but trailed off when I realized that I didn't know exactly what I wanted to say.
The man smiled, and it was an unnerving, ugly expression. His face's forced smiles made him look like he was made out of plastic. It made my skin crawl. He didn't even look particularly unusual physiologically, but there was something about the way he carried himself that reminded me of Mr. Gladly.
"You've made quite the splash, Placenta. Consider me your first fan. Lung has been causing us all a headache for a long time now, and it's relieving to know that he is finally off of the board. There are some matters that need to be addressed, though."
"I'm sorry," I cut in, "But who are you exactly?"
"Ah, let me clarify that for you," The man said, "I lead one of the PRT's quick response teams here in Brockton Bay, and my name is Thomas Calvert."
---
A/N 2: Longest chapter yet. Also, surprise Dragon! :D
Also, 'Quentin' Renick is basically an OC. Hope he's a believable 'assistant manager' to Piggot.
Last edited: 1/2/2026
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A/N: Good morning guys, I just finished up an annoying day at work. Finally back and ready to post the next chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it.
Mitosis 2.2
April 3rd, 2011
"Is that name supposed to mean something to me? I've never met you before," I told Thomas Calvert flatly.
Renick interjected, "I've known Thomas for years. He gives me advice from time to time – he has a lot of experience in the field, you see. Whenever I come across something that leaves me scratching my head, he's the guy I call in."
I nodded, seeing no reason to doubt that.
"Indeed. Now, back to what I was saying. I have a great deal of experience dealing with the ramifications – and the fallout – of powers very similar to your own. Tell me, what do you know about the town of Ellisburg, New York?"
"Nilbog," I muttered, then continued after a moment of contemplation, "He turned anything organic that he touched into a monster of his choosing, and used his power to kill everyone in the town, as well as everyone the Protectorate sent in to stop him-"
"Not everyone," Thomas Calvert cut me off, a sudden gleam present in his eye, "There were two survivors. I am one of them, as you may have guessed by now. The other survivor's name is Emily Piggot."
The last name sounded familiar, and it took me a second to remember that Vista mentioned her. Maybe she worked here too, but why was Thomas Calvert bringing her up?
"You haven't met her, and I doubt you'll get the chance to any time soon. She was particularly… scarred by her experiences fighting against Nilbog. She is now the Director of the PRT ENE branch, and she has some reservations about Parahumans. I'm sorry to say that she reacted poorly to information about your powers and takedown of Lung – you will have to tread carefully when interacting with her."
Thomas Calvert had just hit me with several bombshells back-to-back. The Director had lived through Nilbog, and still held a grudge? That was very bad news indeed for me. It was an odd coincidence that the only two survivors of Nilbog's rampage were both here in Brockton Bay. I wondered if the two of them knew each other before Nilbog, or if they were friends now. None of it was important, so I didn't bother to ask him.
It was much more important to consider the consequences of upsetting the Director. Every branch of the PRT had a Director, and each of them had far-reaching powers. I had underestimated how delicate my situation truly was, and without Thomas Calvert's warning, I might have blindly stumbled into a meeting with Director Piggot and done something that would have set her off.
"What Thomas said is pretty much true," Renick said when I did not reply, "The Director might be bothered by your powers, but she's pretty predictable. Whether she's personally biased or not, she is always fair and always follows procedures. Just be careful with what you say around her."
"Alright…" I trailed off, "Was that all, Mr. Calvert?"
"One more thing," Thomas Calvert said.
He reached into his bag and took out a manila folder. He slid it across the table to Renick, who opened and read its contents. Annoyingly, he did so in such a way that I couldn't even get a glimpse at the papers within.
Renick took a few moments to scan over the document, and he took on a contemplative expression.
"Are you sure?" Renick asked Thomas Calvert.
Thomas Calvert wordlessly nodded, which prompted Renick to continue with, "Alright, I see no problem with this. Consider it done."
Thomas Calvert smiled again – those one wider and more disturbing than the last – before both him and Renick turned to me. I was feeling a little bit left out, and more than a little creeped out at being the subject of Thomas Calvert's full attention.
"It's done, then. Placenta, I'll be your primary point of contact with the PRT from now on. If you ever have any needs or concerns, I will make sure the right people hear about them to take action and get things done. I'll give you my phone number; contact me whenever you feel like. I'd never turn down the chance to lend my wisdom to a young hero."
That sounded like bullshit. This whole situation was strange, and I didn't like it. Where was the Director? Where was Miss Militia? The harder I thought about it, the less sense it made. Despite that, I didn't really have a way to fight this. Director Piggot must have sent Thomas Calvert here to try and draw a reaction out of me, maybe to give her an excuse to force me into the Wards.
I had to assume working with the unpleasant man was the lesser of two evils, here.
-
The rest of the meeting wasn't very interesting. Neither of the men were allowed to let me use my powers on them, apparently, although I had managed to arrange a meeting in a week to demonstrate my powers more formally. The rest of the conversation revolved around the basics of being a Cape – all mostly stuff I had read about online.
They both tried to convince me of various things – changing my Cape name, making my suit 'less threatening in appearance', and other, equally stupid ideas – I just blew off their suggestions.
The meeting wasn't entirely useless, thankfully. A few new pieces of information were shared about Trigger Events, along with a concept about something called the 'Unwritten Rules'.
Apparently all the heroes and villains in the city generally agreed to pull their punches and play relatively 'nice' with each other. They didn't unmask Capes, kill them, or do anything else that might disrupt the status quo too much.
The Unwritten Rules had exceptions, of course – it could be interpreted that I had already broken them by ambushing Lung without ever even having met him or trying to warn him to back off. Then again, I thought the whole concept was kind of stupid, so I wasn't bothered too much if someone thought I had violated them.
I ended up not sharing some of the proposals I had been planning to make to the Deputy Director, and left the meeting with a rather dim view of the PRT in this city. The heroes were good people, of course – they volunteered to fight Endbringers, they prevented crime, and yet their actions were tied up in this seemingly dysfunctional organization.
How could I reconcile the public face of the Protectorate with what it was really like on the inside?
Maybe I was overreacting, but what I had seen from Renick and Thomas Calvert during the meeting told me that I was not. I wasn't sure how he had done it, but Thomas Calvert seemed to have the Deputy Director wrapped around his finger.
Renick himself seemed ignorant or unconcerned that Thomas Calvert was prompting and guiding his actions. The fact that a Deputy Director's judgement could be compromised to this degree made me less inclined to trust the PRT as a whole.
He had offered me a spot on the Wards, and I had refused. I had no intention to serve under compromised leadership, even if I had no problem with the team members themselves. Vista had made a positive impression on me, and I supposed Dragon was a member of the Protectorate as well, even if she was more commonly associated with the Guild. The Protectorate seemed crafted specifically to take these powerful heroes and constrain them or force them into using their powers in certain ways. I was never a fan of politics, but that is exactly what this situation stunk of.
By the time I had found my way back to the PRT lobby, my mood had taken a turn for the worse. I spotted the military fatigues of Miss Militia's costume through the cluster of people moving through the lobby and sighed in relief. Finally.
It didn't take long for Miss Militia to arrive in front of me, and I immediately asked her, "Where did you go before that meeting? Was there really something so important going on?"
Miss Militia winced, "It wasn't something I had any input or choice in, but I'm still sorry that it happened. Director Piggot called every member of the Wards and Protectorate currently on duty into a meeting, and it took longer than expected for everyone to get their turn to speak."
I frowned, "Well, it's not really your fault then. It's just unfortunate. Seeing the internal workings of the PRT today has given me a lot to think about."
"It's not always pretty, but the rules we enforce are in place for a reason. I don't agree with some of Piggot's decisions, but she has the right idea about protocols and procedures. Not to change the subject, but are you still interested in that ride back to the Docks?"
"I wouldn't mind that," I said absently.
Miss Militia was the product of a flawed system, and it wasn't fair to take out my grievances with the system on the woman. She had sound logic behind her points as well, and if not for my interactions with Renick and Thomas Calvert, it might have swayed me.
Instead, I quietly followed her out to the parking lot and into the back of a PRT van.
The silence stretched on between us for several uncomfortable minutes before I finally asked, "Miss Militia?"
If she felt surprised that I had suddenly addressed her, she didn't let any sign of that show as she smoothly responded with, "Yes, Placenta? Is everything alright?"
I hesitated before I replied nervously, "I just wanted to say that I don't blame you, or resent you or anything. I may have decided not to join the Wards, but you've been nothing but kind to me…"
I trailed off, unsure on how to continue.
Miss Militia spoke before I could clear my mind, "I understand, Placenta. Thank you for putting your trust in me."
Judging by the amount of time my first trip from the Docks to the PRTHQ had taken, and the length of time I had been in the van for, I figured that I had to be somewhere around the Boat Graveyard right now. I asked the driver, and he confirmed our location for me. I asked him to stop somewhere discreet, and the van slowed to a halt less than a minute later.
"Enjoy the rest of your night, Placenta. I'll see you next week, then?" Miss Militia asked me as I moved to step out of the van.
"Yeah, I'll be there. Goodbye, Miss Militia," I told her, grateful that I had managed to keep the exhaustion out of my voice.
"Goodbye, Placenta," She told me, and the doors of the PRT van slid shut behind me.
I took a moment to examine my surroundings and saw that I was under an overpass two blocks north of the Boat Graveyard, which put me pretty close to home.
The PRT van pulled away from me as I stood there, deep in thought. It accelerated and turned the corner and I watched it leave, taking along with it the last vestiges of my childhood dream to join the Protectorate.
-
I slumped down on the living room couch in utter exhaustion. I had taken a circuitous route to get home in order to confuse anyone the Protectorate had tracking me, but after scanning the area multiple times with my suit's enhanced senses and not detecting anything, I went directly through my back door and into the basement and converted my suit back into biomass.
The process itself didn't take long, but I was already pushing my body beyond its mental and physical limits.
After a long shower, a change of clothes, and a biomass-created dinner (I was hungry and tired, sue me), I was finally able to think about today's events. I had met and spoken to more new people today than I had any other time since the beginning of high school; it was a lot to take in.
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I awoke to the sound of the front door opening. I heard footsteps head from the home's entryway towards where I lay, and recognized them as belonging to my Dad – though they had more energy in them than my Dad had exhibited in weeks.
He rounded the corner, saw me, and smiled widely before he asked, "Taylor, you're still up? Well, it doesn't matter. Have you seen the news?"
I shook my head, feigning ignorance.
"They got Lung! I'm not sure how – apparently it was some new Cape – but he's actually in custody! The Dockworkers might finally have a chance to breathe now."
"That's great," Was all I was able to say before I got swept off the couch and pulled into his embrace.
My Dad and I shared a minute of quiet contentment as we embraced each other, which was eventually broken when my Dad pulled slightly away and asked, "Why are you still up this late, anyway? Isn't it a school night? Don't think that I'll let things slide just because I'm in a good mood."
"Well," I began, "I saw your note, and… I was too anxious to get to sleep. I know you've been staying overnight at work more these past few weeks, but I'm usually asleep by the time you leave. I tried to get to sleep anyway, but the house just felt, well, empty. I'm sorry."
I should have felt guilty for lying to him, but what I said was mostly the truth. It still hurt to see the way some of his rarely-expressed joy turned into sorrow, but a small part of me said that he deserved to feel that way for choosing his co-workers over his daughter.
I crushed that thought viciously. My Dad was going through a lot of the same shit that I was, and it wasn't fair to resent him for his struggles.
"Oh, Taylor… I know I haven't been there for you like I should have been, these past few weeks especially. I… I'll be better. We haven't had a real conversation in far too long-"
"We can do that later," I told him.
"Alright, Taylor. What would you like to do instead?" My Dad patiently asked.
"Nothing," I muttered, "Sleep."
My Dad laughed and scooped me up in his arms, like he used to do when I was a small child. I relaxed as he carefully carried me up the stairs before he laid me down onto my bed and pulled the covers up to my shoulders.
"We'll talk more in the morning," He said softly.
"Can I sleep in?" I pleaded.
My Dad harrumphed before replying, "Don't make a habit out of it. I don't want you to ruin your sleeping schedule, or you'll be asking me this every evening. I'm only letting you do this because you look like you need sleep just as much as I do right now."
I leaned back against the pillow and started to close my eyes before I murmured under my breath, "Love you, Dad."
I saw his face display a variety of emotions – guilt, love, affection, grief, and determination – for a split second before I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
-
A/N 2: Sorry about the anticlimax! Writing Coil kind of kills a lot of the tension, because any situation where he gets unmasked or outed and the timeline just gets dropped. And yeah, Piggot didn't take this opportunity to capture/eliminate Taylor, there are reasons for that.
Hope you all enjoyed, leave thoughts and criticism below!
Mitosis 2.3
April 9th, 2011
The next few days were surprisingly normal. Things were good between me and my Dad; he had taken me to Fugly Bob's and we had an honest discussion about the problems in the household.
I didn't tell him about my powers or the fact that it was more than half a month since I had last attended Winslow, but he didn't ask. Lying by omission had to be less immoral than lying directly. Right?
He resolved to take better care of his health without me needing to convince him, and we both agreed he would take a bit fewer shifts at work from now on.
I told him that I was considering options for schools to attend besides Winslow – particularly online schooling – but he didn't seem interested.
"It wouldn't be a real education if you did all your courses online," He had said, "You need to make friends and find hobbies. You're not going to do that sitting in front of a computer."
It was very frustrating, but I didn't hold it against him. He didn't understand, and it was ultimately my own fault for hiding the bullying from him. Still, I couldn't tell him.
Telling him would mean telling him about my Trigger Event, about my fight with Sophia, and about everything else that had happened since then. I just couldn't do that.
Instead, I accepted his reasoning reluctantly and promised to keep looking into my options.
The truth was rather bleak. Arcadia was already crowded with an application list that was beyond backed up, and Clarendon was dangerously near Empire territory – not to mention that it was on the opposite end of the city. Immaculata was… not an option, and none of the other schools I had looked into were either close or affordable enough to be applicable to me.
Of course, I could always join the Wards. I'm sure Renick would love to offer a speedy transfer to Arcadia to ensure that I joined, if Director Piggot would even allow me to stay in the Brockton Bay Wards instead of transferring me out of the city the first chance she got.
I wasn't interested in that, obviously. I didn't really even need to go to school; my powers could be used to make me fabulously wealthy, if I could just figure out the right people to talk to.
Maybe after I got some more money, I could send my Dad a letter in the mail from a rich 'long-lost family member' who decided to include us in their will. My Dad would be suspicious that any gifts were a ploy by one of the gangs, but I could gently encourage him to just take it.
None of that would happen unless I advanced my career. A 'career' was a funny thing to call putting on an outfit and beating up people who were wearing different outfits, but people had made a living doing stranger and riskier things in the past.
In frustration at my predicament, I had thrown myself into my efforts in the basement. I had designed better drills, increased the efficiency of the flesh wall's metabolism slightly, added sound dampening structures on the drill, introduced resistances to more esoteric toxins and pathogens to both Julia and the flesh wall, and collected enough biomass to replace what I had lost during my fight against Lung.
My Dad's schedule was a bit less hectic now, which was both good and bad. It meant less time for me to work at the house and dig, but it also meant that there was less of a chance that he would come home from work at an unusual time and catch me off guard.
Having less time to dig wasn't too much of a hassle. I got tired of constantly replacing my drills, so I repurposed a small section of the flesh wall to specifically focus on dissolving whatever metal I fed into it – mostly iron, with small amounts of copper and silver. It had been slightly difficult to create an organ specifically designed to dissolve the metals; many of the chemicals involved in the process were extremely caustic and the processes themselves often required or generated quite a lot of heat.
Then again, the human stomach was basically a giant bag of hydrochloric acid, so dissolving metal organically wasn't too much of an obstacle. Still, it took careful positioning and adjustment to make sure the whole organ wouldn't malfunction and create some massively destructive chemical reaction.
I had incorporated a much smaller version of the organ into a new version of my suit, which was able to spray a concentrated jet of any variety of acids up to fifty feet away. It took a few seconds to do; my concern over what would happen if the acids mixed had led me to store them in opposite ends of my body from one another, and it took a bit to pump them to where they needed to be.
I had plans to make some kind of shell-like structure out of my stored iron formed in the shape of a drill, which would be able to perform far better against the durable granite than my makeshift drills.
My efforts were rendered useless during an impromptu scavenging trip into a less populated section of the Docks last night. I had gotten restless after spending a few days mostly cooped up inside, and wanted to find a drill or some kind of industrial machinery in one of the abandoned warehouses that were abundant in the eastern half of the Docks.
The quality of the homes that I passed during my trip had gotten worse and worse; by the time I neared my destination, I saw half-collapsed and long-neglected houses that were obviously inhabited, having been repaired with scrap metal and scavenged wood. Other, even less fortunate people huddled around fires or slept in tents nestled in places protected from the cold, biting wind.
The homeless and vagrants shied away from me and averted their gazes as usual. I had the thought to do something good for them, but I had no reputation as a healer. I would do more harm than good by trying to help them, at least for now. None of them had approached me on my first time out, and none approached me during this trip either.
The residential areas were abruptly cut off by a boulevard decorated with leafless trees in the middle. Whether they hadn't grown back their leaves due to the season or due to years of neglect and pollution – I couldn't tell.
I saw a few cars zoom past for the first time that night, and was careful to avoid catching any of their attention. Once the roadway was clear, I leapt across it gracefully and continued east. I was deep in ABB territory by then, but they would have to be stupid or suicidal to try anything. Oni Lee fit both of those descriptions, but I had a few contingency plans in case I encountered him.
Where the western half of the Docks consisted mostly of residences with varying levels of quality, the eastern half of the Docks were instead packed with warehouses, factories, and different kinds of transportation infrastructure.
Brockton Bay had used to be an industrial city; it had never achieved the highs of somewhere like Detroit, but it was a convenient place to manufacture steel and more complicated machinery. It was the sort of thing that anyone who grew up in the Bay had heard repeated a thousand times by old-timers as they grumbled about how good the Bay used to be before the arrival of the Endbringers.
All of those warehouses and factories now sat still and – for the most part – empty, as had been the case since the entrance to the main harbor had been blocked off several years ago. The last businesses that had still been clinging on by then were forced to close: with the Trainyards in disrepair and the majority of the Docks' shipping capability rendered useless, it just wasn't economical to produce anything here anymore.
So the warehouses were boarded up and left to rot. No one was stupid enough to buy a factory or warehouse in Brockton Bay nowadays, and getting rid of the scrap had the same economic issues impacting it that caused everything to shut down in the first place. Sure, tweakers, crackheads, and the gangs had each gone over the area, but they weren't trying too hard to pick everything clean. There was so much scrap laying around that it was hard to sell it to anyone else in the Bay, unless they happened to know a Tinker or a contact outside of the city.
I skirted through alleys and side streets, headed towards the least populated area of the Docks that my enhanced senses could detect. I encountered a block of square red-brick buildings, all of which stood between two and three storeys tall. Every door and window was boarded up, and vines crept over many of the buildings' walls.
I ignored the normal entrances and leapt onto the roof of one of the smaller buildings. I had noticed that my suit's ability to jump was a bit lacking during my last fight with Lung, so I had modified the legs of the suit to produce more tension, which made it marginally easier to make these sorts of jumps without error.
The rooftop had no windows and when I tried the door, I realized that it was welded shut from the inside. Building one was a bust. The second building was a storey taller, so I had to jump up another level. I peered inside through a dusty skylight, but I saw that the factory contained rows and rows of sewing machines and little else. I moved onto the third building, which had a larger floor plan than the other two. I had to break a lock and pry open a rusted metal door to get inside, and I was immediately confronted by absolute darkness.
A bit of concentration allowed me to see clearly in the extremely low light conditions. I had decided against using this ability most of the time due to its susceptibility to flashbangs and other bright bursts of light, but I could tell the building was devoid of any inhabitants.
Once I was able to see, the building's interior revealed that it had once been a smeltery. Everything was mostly still in place, and I spent a while categorizing the different metals present. It was mostly disappointing, but something in the corner caught my interest.
A stack of maybe half a dozen cylinders, each at least a foot long. I tried to pick a few up with my tentacles and almost tipped over.
These things were almost as heavy as gold! I wasn't exactly sure what they were made of, so I set them down and squirted them in different spots with a few different types of acid.
The metal was surprisingly non-reactive, but a mixture of nitric and hydrofluoric acid did the job. I reabsorbed the solution and learned that these cylinders were made mostly out of tungsten.
Tungsten was exactly what I needed right now. It was extremely dense, durable, and heat resistant. They weren't drill-shaped, which was a shame, but they would do a far better job than anything I could make at the moment.
I collected as many as I could carry, which was about half of the pile. I had to carefully spread my weight to avoid tearing a hole through the building as I tried to exit the same way I had entered.
Dropping from the roof to the sidewalk below generated more force than I expected, and I left small craters in the sidewalk underneath me. The rods spilled out of my arms and rolled into the street, but I was distracted by my suit's mangled legs.
After a bit of time wasted having to repair my suit's legs and collect the tungsten rods, I was able to head home. I avoided any groups of people with my enhanced senses and carefully brought the tungsten rods into the house one by one. I wasn't exactly sure how much they weighed added together, but it was certainly too much for the basement's stairs to handle.
Once everything was done, I merged my suit back into the flesh wall and slipped into my bed. I had trouble getting to sleep that night, eager to implement my new plans. The next morning went as usual: I left the house while my Dad was still in the shower, and spent the next hour or so in the nearby small park which I had mostly deforested by now. The majority of the biomass left was tied up in large trees, which would provide me with a huge boost – if only I could figure out how to move them discreetly.
I looped back to the house and began my work in the basement. These new tungsten rods were incredible! I tried to fit them into the drill system I had already built, but it just wasn't working. I scrapped the whole thing, then designed something much closer to my original drill design.
I even got to use the metal that I had stored – instead of a drill, I formed it into the shape of a large chisel. The structure of the alloy I had created could have been stronger, but it was adequate. Tendrils emerging from the flesh wall held the chisel in place within the hole I had been digging, which had to have been at least twenty feet down by now. Then, the tungsten rod slammed down on the chisel, driving it deep into the granite.
-
The next few hours were spent in a whirlwind of excavation. Once I got to about thirty feet deep, water began slowly seeping through fissures I had created in the granite. That was a good sign! It meant that the aquifer wasn't much further beneath me. Sure enough, after another five feet of reckless digging, water started flooding up from the bottom of the hole. I touched the flesh wall, sending a column of biomass down to meet the rushing flow of water.
I started absorbing some of the water into the flesh wall, causing it to swell slightly. Water wasn't all that easy to come by in any large quantities before I breached the aquifer, but now I had more than enough of it. I quickly made a hydrophobic seal between the flow of water and the flesh wall, then started forcing more and more of the flesh wall downwards.
I avoided growing the flesh wall (which was finally becoming the flesh cavern I had originally envisioned) directly into the areas where the water currents were the strongest, growing around them instead. I almost completely emptied the basement of biomass in this process and mostly hollowed out the tunnel leading downwards. Only two to three inches of flesh clung onto the walls of the hole.
A simple thought and a few moments of concentration formed a ladder made from bone which led down into the tunnel below. I tested it carefully to confirm it would hold my weight, even though I knew that I had designed it to be both strong and firmly anchored. Once satisfied, I started to climb down.
As I kept my grip on the rungs made of modified bone, I made larger and larger changes to the biomass as it expanded into the aquifer. A room tall enough to stand up fully in and completely lined with various biological structures stood as a testament to all my hard work up to now. It was currently about a third of the size of my actual basement, and the floor was made out of a comfortable spongy material. I made sure the walls and ceiling were puncture-proof on both sides – it wouldn't do to have a flood of either water, blood, or both in here.
Once I reached the bottom, I came to a realization – the room was annoyingly dark. To fix this, I added gentle bioluminescent lighting along the ceiling and along the tunnel leading between my basement and this room.
I needed to settle on a name for it, and I didn't want to choose another ironic name like Julia this time. No, I wanted to pick something symbolic instead. This was where I was going to be spending much of my time, both inside and outside of my Cape identity. What would be a fitting name for it? Something immediately sprang to mind, and I liked the idea so much that I didn't even consider anything else.
I had decided that I would call this place the Womb.
---
A/N 2:
Taylor no! Stop naming things!
I really want to see a scene of Taylor and Crawler comparing notes now.
Taylor doesn't know much about metals, because she basically found a stack of gold bars here -- tungsten is really expensive.
Also, a little bit of worldbuilding!