Chapter 8 - 8

I staggered into the Wards base ahead of Aegis. Who really deserved Gallant's name for ushering me through the door like a gentleman would to a lady despite having been on fire multiple times tonight!

Vista and Clockblocker – no, patrol was over – Missy and Dennis were in the central lounge space, out of costume, but with spare visor and helmet on respectively. Or maybe they hadn't been with firefighters and hadn't got soot everywhere.

Regardless, they were both [concerned] and got more so when Aegis – Carlos (patrol was over) – entered behind me.

"What the hell happened?!" Dennis was staring at Carlos [surprise] turning to [shock].

Carlos opened his mouth, but the croaking sound wasn't really decipherable. And the way the burn on his cheek pulled was… ghastly.

"Oni Lee?" Missy's [surprise] had become [grim].

I spoke up before Carlos could croak again. "Kinda. The aftermath. Helping firefighters." Different to yesterday, since someone – PRT or a fire chief – had decided we were better used to bounce between different squads and help with only the worst cases. I'd drawn maps of the buildings and marked the people who hadn't gotten out. Aegis flew to recuse the most dangerous cases, then we were told where next to head.

Missy groan-grunted in [understanding/sympathy]. Which… goddamn it. Wait, god already had damned it. Us. Everything. Why else would I be able to tell that Missy – who was 13! – understood what rescuing people from burning buildings was like?

I wanted to finally listen to the fatigue signals my body was sending me. Sure, I'd slept in after last night. Got up at midday to find dad at work and dragged myself back to the PRT HQ because everything else was less important. I guess whatever sleep I had gotten wasn't enough. Or maybe it was the smoke.

"Oh, we have a briefing once Chris and Dean come back." Missy [remembered].

I groaned. It was unprofessional, yes. But I was tired. Physically. Mentally.

And my costume looked black it was so soot stained. If someone saw me in a dark alley, they'd think I was a villain.

"Did… did Taylor actually just complain about a briefing? Out loud? Ok who won the betting pool because I put all my money on her lamenting the stupidity of bureaucracy in the second week." Dennis was [amused] and [distracting]. Being constantly aware of his emotions meant I'd figured out that he cracked jokes to defuse tension, to lighten the mood, to avoid his own negative emotions. I didn't forgive him for pranking me, but humour isn't the worst coping mechanism.

"Shut up. I'm having a shower." As Dennis laughed, I warped to my room to – after taking my blackened gloves off – collect my spare underwear plus the old jeans and tank top I'd arrived in this afternoon. (I'd bought tank tops for running and this was the only clean thing I had cause dad forgot the laundry.)

Then warped over to the girls' showers as Dennis said "Carlos, you gotta pass me some of that aloe vera. I just got burned worse than you!"

A rarely appreciated perk of constant self-biological awareness is being able to hold back groans at your teammates. So, I turned back to the room with my face blank. Then raised a single eyebrow at Dennis.

Missy cackled at his offended expression. Dennis lasted a few more seconds then gave into his own [absurdity]. Carlos also laughed quietly, breaking through the [self-recrimination] he'd felt since flying us back to PRT HQ.

I entered the bathroom and piled my costume in the laundry basket as quickly as I could. Then ignored how limp and dry my hair looked. At least the PRT had invested in their water heater.

Standing under the spray was good so I just… let the water run. Closed my eyes and focused on my skin and muscles reacting to the heat. The soaps here were cheap, but they worked. The hair products were cheap too, but I'd bought spares of what I used at home because my hair was the last thing I shared with Mom, and she'd taught me how to care for curls properly.

I even had someone ask me about frizz management last week at Arcadia. I was doing something right, so fuck you Emma.

Breathe, Taylor. So what if the shower isn't washing away the thoughts like it is the soot? There are loads of techniques for when showers are only physically helpful. Loads of other (less bad) things to think about.

Like why Carlos wasn't attracted to me. Which I'd realised while he carried me in his arms, flying to yet another burning building. I'd felt like shit at first – like a smear of dog poo someone had made without even noticing the original turd.

Everyone has these background emotions that are more like the insignificant thoughts never go into long term memory. Things that I knew weren't strong enough to be actual feelings. Anyway, Dean and Chris and Dennis would always have a background [attraction] whenever looking or talking to Missy or me. It was even fainter when directed at Missy, thank god. But after stressing about it and reading some slightly questionable internet articles, I'd decided that it was just an unconscious recognition. Like 'oh that's a girl'.

Which was reassuring after Winslow. I had proof I was recognisably female.

But Carlos never felt that when talking to me. And I'd felt like shit while this hero held me in his muscly arms. Until I realised Carlos never felt that towards Missy. But did feel it towards Dean. And definitely felt it towards Armsmaster (along with [admiration] and [guilt]).

I didn't supress the small snort of amusement I had about thinking this over again. I'm sure there was a trope about the most attractive guys on football teams being gay or something. At least there were straight people who had muscles – like Glory Girl.

…

I quickly turned the shower off and smiled at a successful distraction from memories of my old school. Then frowned when I realised I didn't have anything of the proper material to dry my hair. Guess too much blow-dryer-ing is the lesser evil.

[>[>/^\<]<]

​

By the time I was fully dressed and ready, Dean and Chris had gotten back. And already showered because not dealing with soot saved a lot of time. Carlos was also out already, having a less complicated costume and probably not taking as much care with his hair – even if he managed an impressive length for a guy.

He was also visibly less burnt. Did his hair also regenerate? Because if so, that was unfair.

Everyone was staring at me. [Surprise] and [re-evaluation] being the main emotions. Except Missy, who felt [approval]. The back of my neck prickled as I glanced between my teammates. "What?"

Dean recovered first, thanks to [recognising] my emotions. "You usually cover your arms."

I did. And I didn't like that they were staring now that I wasn't. I'd been too tired to care about wearing a tank top before but if this was –

"They didn't realise you're buff." Missy cut through the my train of thought and left the carriages crashed in a heap on broken tracks.

Well. Okay. I did not blush at the attention because blood had more efficient uses away from my cheeks. Thank you, Aegis' power. And apparently thank you for helping me get fit? I could sense the improvements from exercise, but I guess the extent hadn't registered. Not like I was taking selfies in the mirror, anyway.

And everyone was now very [self-conscious] and not looking me in the eye. This was dumb. "So, what's this briefing about?" I said, warping over to my spot on the couch next to Missy. Who poked me in the bicep and chuckled under her breath until I jabbed her with an elbow.

"Not our newest Ward, Taylor Buffbert, apparently." I glared at Dennis. He was good at lightening the mood, but the humour was almost compulsive sometimes.

"Hey, at least you can get buff. If I work out too much, I see everyone who is attracted to me. Which is gross when its your friend's mom or some cougar at a gala. But if I don't go to the gym at all, Vicky keeps nagging me. And she has super strength! She cheats at the gym!" Dean's complaint was mostly [joking], which made me grateful for his powers and also a little sympathetic cause seeing all that would be uncomfortable. I was also very conscious about not nudging Missy, whose [embarrassment] was the kind where you wanted everyone to forget you exist.

"The briefing?" I asked – for everyone's sake at this point.

Carlos cleared his throat, which sounded more normal thankfully. "Piggot was originally going to come down, but things are… a bit of a mess." Brought back on topic, he returned to [melancholic acceptance]. Which he'd been feeling pretty constantly after a spike of [despair] that happened while I was drying my hair.

"Lung is back in the city."

I closed my eyes.

Someone else groaned.

Of course. Of course, this would get worse. The ABB had been burning a swath across the city and the pyrokinetic cape who turned into a bloody dragon hadn't even been there.

"We don't know when he returned exactly, but after the sun went down, the ABB struck back into Empire territory and Lung was seen running after Empire capes. There were a lot more fires." Carlos' [sombre] mood had infected the rest of my team. "This was always going to get worse before it gets better. That's war. And the gangs."

"Brockton Bay!" Dennis cheered [mockingly]. The few chuckles or snorting huffs were [grim]. I stared at the coffee table between our couches. I'd seen this attitude before, in the dockworkers.

Knowing that things were shit. That they were getting shitter. That more shit would probably rain down from the uncaring universe and land on your head. But fighting it. Working. Struggling. Because Brockton Bay was our home. And we would grind away until we won, or we were gone.

And we weren't going anywhere.

I'd not really thought about heroics being like this. Sure, there were fights – I'd been in two. But in between them I'd been… listless. Even when actively preparing during my punishment stint on Console duty it was just researching capes and watching the fights that had been videoed and posted on PHO. I'd even thumbed through the PRT protocols on attacking villains but those were all focused on how PRT troopers should act. Since every power was different, giving guidelines on how heroes should fight was hopeless. Even what I'd seen of fights on PHO was enough to tell that the PRT protocols should be adapted once you knew more about the powers of who you were fighting.

Point was, how I acted when I wasn't on patrol was no different than how I acted at Arcadia. Watch, learn, contribute when it was important. My patrols could be seen as the same thing, except for the principle. On patrol I scouted, gained experience, and intervened.

Why was I only active on patrols? I'd known rationally that Arcadia (and the Wards) would be a different environment from Winslow, but I'd still been passive. Waiting, not drawing attention, keeping to myself.

The few times I'd been active as a Ward outside of patrols, I'd gotten more training sessions with Vista and we'd all done training on the Rig. Which had helped. Me and the whole team.

I looked up. Missy was looking at me, [curious]. Dean was looking at me, [approving]. My resolution burned brighter.

I'd been a Ward for a month. It was time I stopped debating heroics and just did it. I'd picked up habits, tactics, to deal with the Bitches Three at Winslow. Now, I was in a bigger pond. I'd find new ones to deal with the gangs.

"Currently, the Protectorate's priority is to minimise damage from the war. That means isolating Lung from fights so he can't ramp up. We should disengage and help civilians evacuate if Lung turns up where we are." Carlos got the briefing moving again. Things were bad, sure, but we weren't just going to take it. I could feel him [centring] himself. "Lastly, analysts thought Lung was recruiting. They now think he recruited a tinker. The Cornell Bomber."

I focused, trying to recall… anything. A tinker who had held a university hostage because of… corruption? Or just bad grades? But importantly, the tinker had made bombs. Which were bad enough before super-advanced technology got involved.

"Any details? Are the ABB going to be throwing more than molotovs or will there be some power suited maniac with a rocket launcher?" I asked. Since Cornell was still a university and not… a hole in the ground, the PRT should know something about this tinker's tech.

"They think we'll see lots of bombs with strange effects. Power suit is probably unlikely for that kind of tinker." I could sense Carlos [speculating] the last bit, but it was a fair call. Tinkers had ridiculous adaptability, even if versatility was variable. But they all seemed to have a trend. And those trends could be sorted into (oddly shaped and lumpy) categories. Seems the ABB's new tinker was one that deployed their inventions rather than wearing and upgrading them.

Which was just what we needed in a gang war. More explosives. Hard to deal with, but unless things were really weird, it would just be a much worse version of dealing with grenades. Same tactics, harder battle.

My team could deal with grenades. Gallant had better ranger than a ganger's throwing arm. Clockblocker could make indestructible defences. (Could he pause explosions?) Kid Win had flight and range and could probably tinker an anti-grenade module or drone. Vista laughed in the face of 'aiming' and 'bigger' explosions. Aegis couldn't block things even if he could… keep going. No, he'd be best charging into close quarters so they couldn't use grenades at all.

Things had gotten worse. But we'd fight it.

"Hey, there's a video on PHO!" Chris had pulled his laptop out after Aegis delivered the initial news. Which was normal, he was having a lot of ideas – since I joined the team, anyway.

He spun his laptop around on the couch armrest so we could all see. Or squint, cause that video quality was awful.

Chris rewound the video and clicked play. There were… figures in green and red, running – scattering – into alleys from a street corner in what looked like the Docks – warehouses sitting at the edge of the city. The sound was staticky, bursts of raw noise like a storm of helicopter blades. When I saw some of the figures collapse as the noise crackled, I realised I was seeing gunfire.

Bodies. A storm of bullets. The ABB running.

The camera panned back up the street, showing more figures. White, wearing black and red. Standing behind a truck (I could just make out the nazi symbols) and parked civilian cars. Starting to step out into the open, still firing guns – including automatic rifles. Why, why on this god-forsaken earth did my city deserve this?

The Empire goons all seemed to relax, pixelated and victorious. Victorious over what? How is leaving dead bodies in the streets a win for anyone? The scratchy gunfire was replaced by tinny whoops – and I couldn't look away. Some morbid and despairing curiosity seeking an insight into the people that my team and I had to grind and struggle against.

The morbidity also came from knowing what these Empire gangers didn't. That this video wasn't about them, it was about –

A sharp burst of audio. Gunfire had started again. Blurry red and black figures pointing, presumably shouting, not that we could hear anything but modern weapons.

(The Wards around me were silent.)

The camera panned back, zoomed in enough to show that the Empire was firing upon one figure. When they came into better (still bad) focus, I saw a red green tattoo of something stretching around their chest. Sweatpants? Something metal on their – his – face.

I couldn't see the Empire's bullets. Only hear the low quality cacophony. See red lines of blood, wounds on a bare chest opened yet closing in an instant. Silver, shinier than the metal mask, replacing sections of the man's skin.

I knew Lung was a regenerator. That he regenerated stronger. That he got more energy, moved faster, hit stronger, burned hotter – and grew freaking wings! – where other capes (normal people) got tired the more they fought.

On the video, the gunfire grew louder, even harder to hear as individual sounds. Lung, patched in silver, burst into flame and jumped forwards. Too fast. He'd leaped completely out of the frame!

The camera zoomed out and spun back to face the Empire who were…

Lung was…

A hysterical part of my brain wanted to comment on how the video quality meant we couldn't see anything. But we didn't need to, not really.

The whooping and gunfire were replaced by a roaring crackle. Shot through with shrieks and yells. I couldn't tell what the Empire was saying, only see (between flashes of orange fire) figures running from a beast.

The silver had grown to cover Lung. But the man had also grown. Head and shoulders above the Empire goons he was burning alive and throwing like ragdolls.

A part of my brain acknowledged that no matter how much Nazis deserved to suffer, no one – no human being – deserved to die like this. Violent, senseless, unnecessary. It wanted me to turn away.

But the cold part of my brain whispered that this was what I was fighting. That if I couldn't face this… video… how could I face the real fights? (That turning away and pretending this wasn't happening never helped at Winslow.)

I watched, the rest of my team [grim], as the last living Empire goons broke from their shock and fled. A fireball flew out of the section of the screen that was flashing with flame and silver scales. It hit one of the fleeing Empire and then the video turned sideways, rushed to the ground, and spun.

I didn't let the hysterical part of me laugh at how the silly fool who was filming this had finally figured out that they weren't safe. (How could anyone be safe from that?)

Hoping the fool had got away was fine, but I forced myself to focus.

Fire. Fire was a major threat. I'd been dealing with Oni Lee's aftermath for the past two nights, but a cape like Lung that just set an area around them aflame.

Even the actual Protectorate had trouble with fire. The only person who could deal with it was Armsmaster, who had been working on his power armour for decades.

The Wards (my team)? Kid Win could probably make some modules, but they wouldn't last. Clockblocker's costume was sealed but he, like me, faced the problem of limited air. Aegis would keep going, but he would still burn and… those tactics were unacceptable. Gallant shouldn't be in close range and Vista could keep herself away from harm.

I looked away from the screen. My team were staring at the final black frame, at the floor, at the door into our base. They were [dour] and [dismal]. Returned to the grey mood of learning that Lung was back.

Dad never talked about what he actually did at work, so I didn't know how he kept the dockworkers hopeful. I certainly hadn't had any practice with inspiring speeches myself. And I'd only recently found hope for myself, much less found out how to give it to other people.

But maybe that was the wrong approach. I glanced over my team again. We each had a role. Things had changed since I first joined. My team had adjusted, grown in response to me. Around me. We were the:

[Wards ENE] [Goal: Be Heroes]

[Aegis] [Carlos Perez] [Ward Leader] [Sure Soul]

[Clockblocker] [Dennis Ferrell] [Ward] [Laughing Mask]

[Gallant] [Dean Stansfield] [Ward] [Short-sighted Empath]

[Kid Win] [Chris Richards] [Ward] [Stimulated Inventor]

[Vista] [Missy Biron] [Ward] [Noticed Expert]

[Seneschal] [Taylor Hebert] [Ward] [ ]

​

Everyone had a role. I was still new to having (friends) a team, but I could at least support what already existed.

"So, what do we do about this?" The rest of the Wards looked over at my question. And seemed to pick up something, by how [anticipation] crept into their emotions. I looked at Carlos. Then at Chris. Then at Missy.

"Could we do another training thing on the rig?" My [friend] asked, [searching].

"We'd need some oversight and Piggot's got all hands on deck. So… not on the rig. We could still brainstorm new ideas and ways to use our powers together." Carlos was [contemplating], trying to find ways to lead us in what we wanted despite the obstacles.

Chris had turned his laptop back to himself and was booting up his tinkering software, [inspired].

Missy mumbled something about getting a lighter, which made me slightly worried. But I trusted her. And given what ideas she'd already come up with, I would once again be glad she was (not an enemy) my [friend].

"Well, I'd like to shelve this for tomorrow." Dean yawned exaggeratedly. He felt [aware] and [deceptive], meeting my eyes and tilting his head as part of the yawn. Towards Dennis. Who was quiet and [listless]. Right.

Dean finished his yawn and checked his watch. "I'm too tired to think about anything right now. And its already after 10."

My team murmured or swore in realisation. I blinked. Looked at the clock above the TV. It was after 10. Shit. I… should probably listen more when my body reported tiredness. When I'm not on patrol anyway.

And I should call my dad. He'd probably stayed up like last night. Well, at least he didn't work on Sundays.

[>[>/^\<]<]

​

I was walking through the semi-secret corridor that ended up in a parking garage behind the PRT building. Technically on the opposite side of the block, but the PRT HQ actually involved more buildings than just the glass and iron shield-emblazoned one everyone knew about.

Dad was coming to pick me up – after I called the DWU building to find out why he wasn't answering the home landline. Turns out that he'd stayed up stressing last night so decided it was better to just get work done. Which…

I had complicated feelings about dad focusing on his work so he didn't have to focus on me.

But thankfully I could focus on whatever – whoever – was calling my (wards) phone at this time of should-be-asleep.

Huh, what the hell did Armsmaster want?

"Seneschal. Could you wait where you are? I would like to have a conversation more securely. In person." Armsmaster's voice was stilted beneath the practiced smooth yet gruff tone. I stopped and focused on my mental map; no one nearby.

"…Sure. There's no one nearby." This was weird. Like I was pretty sure this wasn't the normal way to have secure conversations. "I'm in the –"

"I have your location. ETA under five minutes." The call cut off.

I stared at the wall. Then stared at my phone. At the record of our 42 second call. This was definitely weird. Like… kinda normal for the few times I'd interacted with Armsmaster. And matched what (my team) the other Wards had said about him.

But… part of what made Armsmaster normally a bit weird was that he never interacted with anyone outside meetings. Apparently. So, this was weird weird.

I stood in the middle of this empty corridor and wondered what the hell he wanted to talk to me about. I knew he'd talked with Kid Win a few times since I'd boosted Chris' power. But that was about tinker stuff which I had no hope of understanding – even if I just knew how to use Chris' own tech.

Armsmaster talked to Aegis in briefings and meetings. Protectorate Leader and Wards Leader. But apparently that was all organised by Piggot and PRT departments.

Why did Armsmaster want to talk to me? About something important enough to not talk over the phone? What made me important enough for this conversation?

I closed my eyes as a thought sent a shiver down my spine. Was… was I being targeted for something? I'd stepped up and lead (my team) the Wards during the Undersiders fight, but everyone seemed fine with that. Had… something happened on patrol last night? Or tonight?

(Had Tattletale done something? I'd put her… note on the desk in my room I hadn't used in nearly a month. I needed to do something about her, but…)

Okay Taylor, speculation isn't useful. Armsmaster wanted to talk to me alone, so it wasn't a security breach that involved the PRT or other Wards (probably). The last time he'd been in the Wards base, he'd asked me about how I understood Kid Win's tech. After exiting Chris' workshop. He'd asked that every time he'd seen me down there. There honestly wasn't much to say in response. I didn't get how tinkertech worked any more than scientists did.

Still, the connecting factor there was my power. I guess talking about powers needed security. Especially if they were still trying to pretend I was just a mover. I mean I wasn't going to argue against that. Being underestimated allowed my tricks to turn the tide in a fight. Well, in one fight.

And acting like the Ward's new tricks was training wasn't even a lie. Not really.

Regardless, I liked the absence of kidnapping threats. And keeping my power secret meant the heroes had a bonus against the scum and trash and power-hungry bullies that infested my city.

I focused back on my mental map to wait for Armsmaster. And checked on my team's emotions. Things had settled down after the shock of learning Lung was back. And settled again after watching that… visceral video. But even though my team was [calm] overall, [worry] and [apprehension] lingered at the edges of my teammates' emotions.

I let out a heavy breath and started pacing up and down my section of the corridor. There were things I could do to help this. To be more of a hero. I just had to think of what was possible. Practical. (Permissible.)

A static-shape appears – in the lift which can only access this corridor if you're carrying particular keycards. Turning back the way I'd originally came, I walk towards Armsmaster. And pull on a basic domino mask just in case this wasn't the Protectorate Leader.

But the elevator doors opened, and I saw the blue and silver power armour of Armsmaster. He wasn't carrying one of his signature halberds, yet still filled the corridor with his sheer presence.

Every time I saw him, I couldn't help but be reminded that this man had been a hero for longer than I'd been alive. The foes he'd fought, the things he'd seen. Armsmaster had been fighting the gangs for years. I'd only thought about doing that 2 months ago. I'd only really been able do to that for 4 weeks.

"Seneschal." His voice was even and gruff, easy to listen to. "I wanted to talk about your power."

I nodded, satisfied, but waiting.

"I have a theory that your power might be able to apply to the Protectorate and the Wards." Even the beard and silvered helmet visor would have been designed to inspire –

What?

"Since your actual power testing was not officially filed and the secondary testing didn't want to disrupt your boosting of the Wards, this is uncertain." He didn't sound uncertain. He – what??? "Your trump power appears to apply to all parahumans within an organisation. Your current organisation is the Wards, which boosts the Wards. If you change your organisation to the Protectorate, then everyone's power will be boosted."

I stared at him. This… had happened too quickly. Ignoring whatever the 'officially filed' comment meant, there was one important topic here.

"I'm a Ward."

"Yes. If you broaden your organisation to be the Brockton Bay Protectorate, then your trump power will affect everyone."

He couldn't… just say that. This was…

"I'm a Ward. Not a Protectorate member." I'd love to boost the Protectorate, of course I would, but–

"Wards are legally junior members of the Protectorate. You are part of our legal and operational organisation." Armsmaster was calm, but what he was saying was just… gah!

"I can't leave my team." I stared at my reflection on that silvered visor. I knew Armsmaster had a lie detector, but the essence of what I was saying was true. I wasn't going to leave the Wards. They were my team. I'd gotten to know them, and I'd helped them, and I wasn't letting go of them! (Or their powers.)

"That's not what I'm asking." He paused; lips pursed. "I have no intent to change your position. Merely to suggest that the Wards organisation is a subset of the Protectorate organisation and that applying your thinker power could mean more people are boosted by your trump power."

I looked down. He sounded so calm. Confident in his idea. I couldn't see it. I was a Ward. Legally attached to the Protectorate, sure, but the Protectorate were heroes. I wasn't… risking my team. Not for anything. "That won't work."

"Why not?" Armsmaster frowned. "I have considered all the legal and sociological requirements for organisations and memberships and there appears no reason for you to be unable to apply your power to the Protectorate."

I closed my mouth. That… that was right. But that wasn't it.

"The Brockton Bay Wards were transferred to the Director's oversight so I would have more time to prepare against individual villain parahumans." Armsmaster seemed to have forgotten he was talking to me. "I could… No. The truth detection system and combat predictor are important. And I need to prepare for the next Endbringer."

He was definitely muttering to himself. And that last comment hammered home, for me, the reason why I couldn't be part of the Protectorate.

They fought Endbringers. They were heroes. I wanted to do more against the gangs. Save my city. I knew that was important and I was (would be) doing good work. But the gangs were different to Endbringers. The gangs were systemic and entrenched, but removable. They relied on having parahumans. If the PRT could only arrest them (successfully) then the gangs would crumble.

Endbringers were different. Most people thought they weren't even human. If they ever were.

Still, part of me had listened to Armsmaster's argument. The Wards were part of the Protectorate, even only as an affiliate. I wasn't a part of the Protectorate – I couldn't be. Legally.

And I already had my team. (I wasn't letting go.)

That part of me was… tugging? Pulling? Yearning maybe?

I did want to help my city. And boosting the powers of the whole Protectorate would help a lot.

So, while I wasn't part of the Protectorate… (the tugging feeling intensified) I suppose the Wards were a part of the Protectorate. (Yearning, something missing, need.) In an abstract sense. Maybe?

I mean, we weren't quite the same. The Protectorate were already heroes. So our goals differed. But… (my spine tingled) we were doing the same thing. The differences were there; legal, operational, whatever.

But the Wards and the Protectorate were both trying to make the city better. And I was a part of that. And I wanted to be a bigger part of that.

I looked at Armsmaster, who was still frowning, mumbling inaudibly. Here was an opportunity. That I wanted.

All I had to do was…

…be part of it.

"Thank you." He started tapping on the thighs of his power armour. "I appreciate your efforts." A murmur, inaudible except for the words 'recuperate exhaust heat'.

Then the Protectorate leader, armoured in blue and silver, turned on his heel and strode back up the corridor.

I was still aware of the energy rolling through me. Collecting between my shoulder blades and spreading through my arms and up my neck and down my spine and mmm.

No new powers appeared in my head. No names or interpersonal understanding – just a single thread leading from

[Wards ENE] [Goal: Be Heroes]

​

to

[Protectorate ENE] [Goal: Protect the Peace].

​

I basked in the moment. Heard: "No Miss Militia, I did talk with her. I will book a meeting tomorrow morning once I get back to my lab." Heard the elevator doors shut and felt those distances shift on my mental map.

Knew that hormones had flooded into my bloodstream. That… neurotransmitters? Had done whatever they did.

Now alone in the corridor, I laughed. Smiled. Started walking.

I was a hero. Brockton Bay was my city. And it was going to be fixed.

[>[>Peasant<]<]

​

The night was cold.

Edward was hungry.

The fire flickered in the trash can, shadows shifting over the people who'd claimed this particular warehouse.

He used to run drugs for the Merchants. Never touched the product, even he'd been tempted a few times.

Still, that used to be enough money to buy food.

Somewhere, something exploded. It happened every night nowadays. This one might have been close? The noises didn't sound like typical explosions. Sometimes, there wasn't even a flash of light to go with the noise.

His money had run out a few days ago. He was using his stash sparingly, just in case they came by again.

They didn't do anything bad. Not like the gangers who were as likely to ignore you as beat you up and take your hard-scavenged… anything. No, these people were good. Gave some money and asked questions. If you'd seen a cape and gave enough details, they gave more money.

Edward wouldn't have trusted them ordinarily. Conditional offers led to a spiral downwards until you were little more than a slave. And, back when he had the Merchants job, he'd had just enough to not need the extra. Better the devil you know.

He hadn't trusted it at first. But these people popped up all over the bay. And some people trusted them. Then more had.

Later that night, when a random man walked into the warehouse Edward and the others had claimed, he – and the others – didn't freak. The man said, "snake." And gave out money.

Edward told the man about how he'd seen the new ABB cape – some freaky woman in a gas mask – driving in a jeep.

He got more money.

Little clarification: Taylor has boosted the Protectorate but has not joined that organisation. The Protectorate's powers are not shared with her, nor can she automatically know the members and relationships of the Protectorate.

This is because Taylor is not part of the Protectorate, only part of the Wards. That sense of inclusion and belonging is the important thing for her gaining expressions of power from the members of her organisation. And the she doesn't feel she belongs with the Protectorate, just that she's connected to them.

I hadn't used the desk in my room for a while. Only a few times in the first week I'd joined the Wards – to go over paperwork and documents in emails – and not at all since then.

Except on Thursday night, I'd found the scrap of paper in the bottom drawer and stuck a post-it note to it.

The post-it that Tattletale had shoved in my mouth when I'd grabbed her utility belt at the end of the bank fight. Tattletale, the super-bitch who'd torn me apart with words quicker than Emma ever had. Emma had been worse, overall. But Tattletale had threatened to betray me with things only my team really knew. And Piggot. But Piggot was an unfortunate attachment to the whole hero thing.

Tattletale's note read:

My boss has a mole in your glass house. And a gun to my head. None of us wanted this job. Tattle on what you heard and my tale ends.

You're not a bully, you proved that this time.

I'd put the stupid neon yellow note out of my mind that evening. Ignored it and the scribbled PHO handle while getting healed.Barely given it a thought until this afternoon.

I'd been busy. The city was more important. Then I'd slept in until going out for lunch with dad was my breakfast. I'd offered to pay for the meal – I'd booked the restaurant. But dad had made a firm comment about still being able to provide for me. His eyes had been sad and I just didn't have it in myself to say no.

But lunch was over. And I was only allowed to work half days on weekends. So, here I was, staring at the two messages from a nice girl that had given me advice (that had probably saved my life). That I had realised was probably Tattletale. And who I had forgotten about even while fighting her.

Until the smug bitch had all but told me she was being threatened by someone and that the Undersiders were forced into villainy and I held her life in my hands. Because she'd (barely implied) that her words in that banker's office hadn't been true and she'd probably only said them because we were fighting.

So, she wasn't all bad.

But she'd – Lisa, Tattletale, whoever – chosen to fight instead of trying to get on my good side. She'd let me hear about Shotput – the new Undersider (damn Dennis for that name) – to make me sympathise with him. Which was manipulation, plain and simple.

She hadn't tried to sell me her sob story though. Was it better that she hadn't tried that manipulation as well? Or had she just guessed that it probably wouldn't have worked? Or had she guessed that it would have worked but not as well as undermining my entire purpose?

Fuck. Okay. Dealing with thinkers sucked. I was glad I hadn't joined Watchdog. Being a Ward was really grating at times, but it had to be better than dealing with Thinkers and spies and… ugh, accounting.

But I was frustrated. And had been ever since I sat down and decided to look at these notes. My old computer was lingering on the PHO account page of one MoriartyStan. Which had never posted despite being created several months ago. From what I knew of Tattletale – Lisa? No, just Tattletale – she wouldn't be able to resist smugly taunting the fools on PHO. Or the serious people. Or anyone.

So, this had to be a more private account. Did that mean that she was going behind her… boss?

The fact that she'd even told me about the Undersiders working for some… shadowy bond villain reinforced the idea that there was no love lost between them. Especially if this boss was actually threatening Tattletale's life.

Which I couldn't discount, because that sounds exactly like what the gangs would do. Even if it wasn't her life and just some life-ruining blackmail.

Regardless, I was a hero. And I hated this might-makes-right bullying. Tattletale was part of the problem, but more of a symptom than a cause. And if that original meeting between us hadn't happened then I could easily have ended up in the same situation.

No matter how much I didn't like this, I had to figure out what was going on. If things really were bad, then I could get Tattletale help. And if she was trying to sabotage me or something, then… well. I was wise to her trick now.

Either way, I could get information about this 'boss'. And anyone who was scheming enough to have an entire minor gang as minions without the PRT knowing was bad news.

I opened up a private message with MoriartyStan.

How was I going to start this? It had already been a few days, so I wasn't going to come across as 'eager'. But I didn't want Tattletale to think I was being frivolous with this. Because I wasn't. Her life was a good reason to not take this to the PRT, but they'd still saddle me with so many punishments that I'd be doing console duty and paperwork for the rest of the year. Or something.

I'd already decided to do this though. And I kept finding more things to worry about. Not quite overthinking, but still senseless stuff. I didn't know how to text people my age, sure. This was not that. This was like beginning a…

…an undercover op. With a supervillain. Who may be a double or even triple agent. And because said supervillain was a thinker, I had to assume their power would be in play for every interaction.

In the end, my opening move in this operation was simple. For simple was how I would contest Tattletale's power.

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[>[>/^\<]<]

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Missy and I were watching a documentary in the Wards base when the door dinged. I'd gone in when she'd messaged that she was escaping her house (I wasn't sure which one it was this week). I'd also used the excuse to escape my house, just a little.

(Lunch with dad had gotten awkward and I'd been kinda hiding in my room and the internet was faster here anyway.)

The documentary was about parahumans, of course. Just something that Missy had heard about – it was better than getting ahead on homework or watching something stupid. Still, this documentary about the major villains of the 90s (mostly birdcaged now) was very obviously not made by parahumans. And was at least partly a PRT marketing and/or propaganda ploy.

(I knew how to recognise that now that I was involved in producing it!)

Since the doco was… fine… we both ignored it in favour of the door. Which signalled that a Ward was entering with a guest. Missy and I grabbed our costume masks from the coffee table as I scanned my team's emotions.

Usually this would be Aegis coming down with a Protectorate member. But he was feeling the emotions he felt after church. Dennis was at the hospital, feeling a complicated [sadness]. And Chris was tinkering. Which left Dean, feeling [frustrated] and [apprehensive] and [guiltily resentful].

I shifted on the couch and stared at the door. I think Missy picked up on my body language because she got [on edge].

Another beep and Dean feeling a faint bit of [relief]. The door opened to reveal a buff blonde girl floating an inch off the ground and quite obviously facing away from my teammate. Dean, on the other hand, was staring at the back of her head, feeling more emotions that I did not want to know about.

"Hey!" Glory Girl stepped back down onto the ground and walked into the Wards base. It was strange, seeing her here. The Wards base was for Wards. Sure, she was also a hero – one around my age even.

It was equally strange to associate Glory Girl (white and gold and invincible) with the casual yet fashionable outfit of tight jeans, white shirt, and slightly cropped leather jacket.

"Hey," Missy replied, shortening space to pick up the tv remote and pausing the documentary.

"Ooo what's this?" Glory Girl – no, this was Victoria Dallon, superpowered high school student.

"Villains of the 90s. Documentary."

"Oh, that one. Still think the Marquis arrest should have counted. And they said the Teeth were Boston-based, which was only true after the Slaughterhouse came here." Victoria flew behind the couch to circle round and perch on the armrest next to Missy.

Huh. I hadn't really looked into the cape history of Brockton Bay. Too busy focusing on the current problems.

I turned from Missy's [happy] chatter to look at Dean. He was still in the doorway. Our eyes met and his [awkward hesitance] abated slightly in [camaraderie].

"Chris is in his workshop." I told him. The [gratitude] lasted a second, replaced by [resignation] as he once again stared at Victoria. By Missy's sudden [discomfort], Victoria ignored him again.

Dean met my eyes again and nodded with a faint smile, then wandered off to Chris' workshop.

I turned back to Missy, who was being told about some PHO account that did investigative journalism about the actions of various villains and fights between them. Apparently, they were currently reviewing the Boston Games.

As soon as Dean left the room, Victoria shifted over to the couch opposite us in a manner that was more flying than walking but still somehow both. "Alright. So, we didn't actually have proper introductions at the bank thanks to the asshole-siders." She met my gaze steadily.

Oh. Was this why Victoria was here?

"And I probably came on a bit strong – blame the superstrength – but I wanted to make sure you knew that I'm not going to talk about your power or anything you said while Ames was healing you." She hadn't looked away. Her tone was confident, even with the joke. She seemed earnest. And Missy was feeling [supportive], so I decided to trust her.

"Thanks."

"Great!" She smiled. It was a very attractive smile. (I pushed down annoyance at how different our high school experiences must have been.) "If you're comfortable with it, I want to talk more about your power – because it sounds fascinating. And we can talk about general hero stuff or tactics in fights. New Wave does a lot of practice with formations, but the Wards were doing some really tricky things before Grue herded all the civilians out."

Missy felt [caring] but mostly [appreciated] and [excited] at the raised topics. I glanced at her; she was smiling at Victoria, but turned to smile up at me as well.

My earlier frustration at Tattletale lingered in the back of my mind. But this was different. Victoria at school was righteous and… well-intentioned. Glory Girl, firstly, was a hero (and a popular one), and secondly, experienced. She hadn't been around as long as Vista but she didn't have to patrol according to the PRT's schedule. And she'd held her own against Bitch, Grue, and Shotput for almost the entire fight at the bank – while being harassed by Regent.

That was some skill. And I'd revitalised the Wards by being an outside perspective as much as by boosting their powers.

I faced Victoria again. She met my eyes as readily before, expression open. "My power is about organisations. Originally it was a thinker power; guessing the relationships between other people and having constant knowledge about the people and relationships within organisations I'm part of." Victoria's eyes narrowed – grew thoughtful – as I explained. "When parahumans are part of the organisation, their powers get boosted and I get… a different expression of their power."

I nearly trailed off due to bad memories of pretty girls looking at me eagerly. But I trusted Missy and I'd chosen to trust Victoria. "Boosts to other parahumans are small, more about getting better control of the power in small ways rather than the power getting stronger or anything."

Victoria's eyes were bright. "That is so much more interesting than I thought! I've never really talked to a trump before, and the research around them is even more spotty than the other classifications, so stop me if I assume something wrong." She waited for me to nod.

"Okay, so this boost. Is this better control related to making teamwork easier?" Victoria had sat forwards on the edge of the couch.

I looked at Missy, who was [contemplative]. "Maaayyyyybe," she said, "I think I've gotten a bigger boost than everyone except Chris. I used to have to sink my power into the area before I could do big things. But now its like I'm always automatically soaking my surroundings. And I'm always aware of what I can affect. And making complicated twists or bends is easier."

"Nothing about teamwork?"

"I mean, it makes working with others easier. But its not like my powers act automatically. I have to put all the tactics and strategy into practice." Missy absently twisted the tv into a circle. Then a donut. I stopped focusing on that area of my mental map to avoid witnessing my friend's ambivalent torture of space-time.

"You know," Missy said, "it's kinda like Tay's boost effects the thinker parts of my power. I've definitely gotten a minor thinker rating out of it, anyway."

Huh. I could see that. I hadn't interrogated the effects of my boosts too much, since I knew what my team's powers did. And I'd been too busy trying to navigate the group and fit in and learn the PRT's rules and then learn to deal with the PRT's rules.

"Wait a minute." Victoria had leant back, floating up a little so she was leaning on the couch – with a gap between her and the couch. "There's a theory, which most people seem to accept, that every power comes with a thinker component. Not that every power is a thinker power, but like… Crystal. Laserdream, my cousin. She's a blaster and mover. But when she got her powers, she didn't need to learn how to fly. She just knew how to fly and how fast to accelerate and how to slow down or turn. And we used to play basketball together, back before… But she wasn't really that accurate, especially at a distance. But when she got powers she was able to hit trees and cans from pretty far away almost immediately." Victoria looked down, then dropped back on the couch from her hover.

I realised I was leaning forward. But I didn't care. This was fascinating. I'd done research on powers as soon as I'd realised I was parahuman. But there was only so much that was publicly available. And only so much of that I could stumble across on the old machines in the public library or after I finished Mrs Knott's (simplistic) assignments.

I remembered Victoria mentioning she took parahuman science classes at the local college. I'd been impressed then, but too distracted by the bank to understand the implications. The most relevant of which was that Victoria – Glory Girl – could be as much of a resource as a Protectorate member.

Even if she wasn't supposed to be in the Wards base, even if she wasn't on my team, even if she'd manipulated Dean to get here, I decided that Victoria was okay. She may have the looks and fashion awareness of someone like Emma and the school athlete popularity of Sophia, but Victoria was more animated talking about powers, here, than gossiping during the Arcadia lunches.

I stopped focusing on my mental map and body-awareness. Stopped distracting myself from how she was looking at me, awaiting my… verdict. And realised I felt okay.

"That theory makes some sense. I thought my power was just a social thinker for a month, but there was always something in the back of my head saying that I wasn't using it correctly. And I didn't have to learn to use the powers I get from the Wards." I suddenly remembered the confrontation with Sophia and focused on my body-sense to relax my shoulders. "I had to figure out some of the limitations and side effects, but I automatically knew how to actually use the powers."

"Yeah. Most parahumans agree with the thinker 0 theory of not needing to learn powers. Which brings up other questions like; 'do powers all come from the same source?' or 'are powers a defence mechanism?' or 'why do only some parahumans get super-accuracy?' or 'is each power actually multiple powers acting together?'" Victoria had been gesturing with increased passion as she ranted the questions.

As she let out a pent-up breath, I reflected on how little I'd actually investigated my power. Powers? Power. I'd only ever had two power-testing sessions – if you didn't count the researchers making sure my team wasn't mastered.

"Anyway," Victoria got back on track, "I just had an idea from what lil V said." Missy got a little spike of [appreciation]. "And, trust me, while all the theories in parahuman science are a bit off, I feel like the thinker 0 idea can explain how you boost the Wards. Or at least give a reference point."

I thought about how the other Wards described the boost. "That… seems right. Or close. Clockblocker can tell how long things will be frozen for now. Aegis can make adaptations consciously. Chris understood his specialisation, but I'm not sure how conscious he is while tinkering. And Dean can… change the shape of his blasts." I decided to not reveal how Dean was better at seeing emotions now. Considering he'd still managed to break up with the person in front of me.

"Yeah, that lines up." Missy was nodding.

"Cool!" Victoria beamed. She seemed to glow, and I was glad I'd made such an awesome person happy. "Glad we figured something out!" I felt lucky that she was smiling at me. Missy was slightly [awed] and, yeah, I got it. Victoria was great.

"Ooh," she started tapping her chin, "I wonder how other capes might be effected."

"Armsmaster and Miss Militia got boosted during my power testing. Miss Militia was able to customise her guns. Armsmaster just went full tinker mode." Though, in reflection, he didn't do that last night. Which I was trying not to think about. Helping the Protectorate was fantastic, but the whole conversation with Armsmaster felt like a secret.

"Wild. I mean the thinker 0 theory can't really handle tinkers. But tinkers just don't make sense. Getting ideas for super-technology is only half the power – like, a tinker power does something while they're tinkering." Victoria seemed to realise she'd gone off on a tangent. "Bah, look at me, the cape nerd cape."

Missy chuckled. I didn't stop my own smile from spreading. Tinkers were weird. And Chris' emotions when he was tinkering were definitely… weird.

"Anyway, Militia with customisable guns is scary." Victoria said it like it was a good thing. "Missy and I talked about this last year, but Militia has been around for ages. And all the old capes have lots of tricks."

I remembered Miss Militia's talk about tools and using powers intelligently during the training day my team had had on the Rig. And then realised that she would be able to customise her summoned weapons now.

Oh. The Protectorate was… Oh. I'd done something. Good. Useful.

"Hey Seneschal," Victoria hesitated and pursed her lips, "okay… so it feels a little weird, knowing Missy's name but not yours. Uh, not that you have to tell me! Its totally fine if you don't, honesty! But if you want to, then… yeah."

I let out a breath. Focused on my mental map because the distances between everything in the Wards base were clear and not tangled up with complicated feelings about the pretty local celebrity teenage superheroine.

Another breath. I think it was helping with the fluttery-clenching feeling in my chest.

Victoria was asking me to trust her. I… She wasn't too different from the Wards – from my team – but I couldn't tell what she was feeling. What her relationships to other people were. I just didn't know if she was waiting to…

I just didn't know.

Missy was starting to get a little [concerned]. I breathed through another chest clench-flutter. Opened my eyes. (When did I close them?)

My [friend] was looking up at me. Green eyes expressing her [care]. Missy gave a small smile and nudged my arm with her elbow.

I blinked – slowly – and another breath shuddered out.

Looking up at Victoria really shouldn't be that hard. And maybe that's what made my decision in the end. I was done with feeling… nervous. Winslow was done. Past.

Victoria's expression was open. Earnest. Hopeful. Her eyes looked honest. Okay. I could trust her.

And I had my team. Who would always have my back. Like I would always have theirs.

(And I was strong enough to make anyone who betrayed me to regret it.)

Her eyes widened as I reached up to the clasps of my visor. The mask of Seneschal clicked as I put it back on the coffee table.

Victoria's eyes drifted across my face. The space between our couches felt larger than the Grand Canyon. She'd seen me as Seneschal. And she'd seen me at school – even welcomed me to Arcadia. But Victoria Dallon had never seen Taylor Hebert.

And in response, she…

"Hey, I'm Vicky, nice to meet you!" Vict – Vicky – smiled and held her hand out over the coffee table. All muscled forearm and blonde curls framing her face.

She was smiling. Missy was smiling too. Apparently it was contagious.

"Taylor. Nice to meet you too."

[>[>/^\<]<]

​

"Okay, okay," Vicky paused to reign in her chuckling. Halfway through our conversation – which had been about anything and everything – she'd released a snorting guffaw that was completely at odds with the put-together local celebrity I'd seen at school.

"Okay." She managed to keep a straight face. "Firstly, we need an excuse to hang out at Arcadia. Because, Taylor," she said with a poker face, "you are brutally funny."

Missy cackled, filled with [happiness] and [affirmation]. In the past hour – in which the rest of the Wards had arrived and all filed into Chris' workshop – I'd realised that Missy was honestly glad that her two hero friends were getting along. And I was glad for it too. Victoria, Vicky, was… good.

And I hadn't meant to be funny. But we'd been talking about patrol routes, and I'd echoed one of dad's gripes about city infrastructure. Which were valid gripes! The city was only quick to repair streetlights in the docks if a hero broke them!

Regardless, I rolled my eyes at Vicky's mock seriousness.

"Secondly," she ignored my ignoring her expression in what the Wards had helped me understand as friendly banter, "I've been dying to ask this. So, let's say I joined the Wards. Could you tell how my power might be boosted before that?"

The seriousness wasn't mocked anymore.

Could I tell that? I… no. My power told me things about my organisation. Vicky wasn't in my organisation. And I couldn't know how her power would be affected.

But we had a basic theory. So, we could guess. Estimate.

"I can't tell, but with your theory you'd probably get better control of your power. Like… more understanding of how your flight works. Or control of your forcefield. Or of your aura." Vicky was nodding along with pursed lips, but froze, eyes narrowing, at my last comment.

"Huh. I've never even tried that. Could I…" She trailed off.

I raised an eyebrow and turned to Missy, who was still [happy] and [amused]. "I'm more into the fights and tactics side of cape nerd stuff." She said, then motioned at Vicky, who was muttering inaudibly. "And I like power theorising and stuff. But I'd rather have ideas about what to do with my power instead of thinking of how my power does stuff."

"Bridge of Doom?" I asked.

"Heh. Yeah. That's the fun stuff. Oh, I had another idea – we'd need to train with it, but I think I can pull the ground up to form… what are those layered farms called?"

"Terraces."

"Yeah them. So, I can raise a big platform but leave steps on one side. So the enemy is facing a wall but we have stairs." Missy stole a page from one of Chris' discarded notebooks (a school one, it looked like). Then sketched out what looked like a really steep staircase. "The only trouble with big stuff is that there can't be anyone in the way when I make it. Like outside the bank was perfect until the Undersiders shoved the crowd outside. I hate Grue. And Tattletale."

Missy's mood had darkened with [resentment], which I understood. My feelings about Tattletale were complicated, but the resentment park of it was thankfully simple. And justified. And Grue was just an ambitious selfish asshole whose power was –

BANG

Something hit the coffee table and Missy and I spun around to face –

Fuck.

I instantly warped away from the terrifying angel that was scowling in sheer wrath. We'd been lucky she'd only targeted the coffee table. Missy was [terrified]. The rest of my team was [concerned]. The main area had been expanded to the size of five rooms, but I could still warp near Chris' workshop and grab a weapon to…

Victoria Dallon was frozen with a guilt-stricken expression on her face.

My mental map showed someone walking out of Chris' workshop. Dean turned the corner and took us (and our emotions) in. And got [confused].

I consciously slowed my breathing. There was no fight. But I'd been so sure I was in danger. That Vicky – Victoria – was going to… oh.

The room returned to its normal size.

"That was really, really dumb." Missy was [frustrated] but trying to be [calm].

"I'm so sorry that was so dumb I really wasn't thinking. Shit. I…" Victoria sank backwards into the couch. "I'm really really sorry I shouldn't have done that I just got excited about stuff and I wanted to see if I could change what my aura did but it didn't work." I let out a long breath as she hesitated in her rant. I was focusing on as many aspects of my power that I could because I just didn't know what to feel.

"That was really dumb," she finished. Or gave up. She looked sorry. Which is more than any girls at Winslow had done. And if she'd just got caught up in her idea then –

"Vicky, you can't just test things that involve people's emotions." Dean was [concerned] and [reproachful]. "Think it through. Or at least tell other people what you're planning. Especially if you're planning to do it to them."

Victoria looked like she was having an internal debate on how to respond to that. I don't know what side won exactly, but her closed eyes stopped being so scrunched and she nodded.

"I am sorry. I was wondering if my aura could make people feel different emotions and since you guys like me, my aura makes you like me. So… I tried to scare you."

Oh. That was dumb. And my face must have shown my thoughts because Victoria looked guilty again and immediately rambled on. "I wasn't thinking and I'm really sorry Taylor. You seem really nice and really smart and I got carried away with the ideas you gave me so…" She sighed. "Yeah. And I'm sorry to you too, lil V."

"Its fine." Missy said quickly. "Just, we're all heroes, its fine. And you're my friend, it's okay."

I could tell she was still [shaken] by things, but (covering it up) putting that aside for some valid logical reasons was fine. Missy knew Victoria way better than I did. And everyone was acting like this was an unusual action. Mistake.

A few different parts of me wanted different things. The part that reminded me about heroic duties and responsibility said that allies should get along. The part of me that was [friends] with Missy and maybe newly friends with Victoria said that it was a mistake. And that she was sorry and I should forgive her.

(The part of me that remembered Winslow wondered how long till she'd make a mistake again. How long until it was done on purpose?)

Gah. Was this what normal teenagers dealt with? Impulsive friends and forgiving friends and…

Fine. Having friends was worth it.

And while Victoria really should have thought that through, the previous discussion – discussions – we'd been having were useful. And… fun.

I warped back to the couch and sat down next to Missy. Victoria flinched slightly as I appeared, but still looked hopeful for a resolution. I sighed through my nose. Looked at my mask, still resting on the table. Victoria and I were close – only a coffee table between us – but it still felt like there were 5 rooms between us. Or… maybe only 4 rooms.

Victoria isn't on my team. I can't trust her as much as I do the others. But I can trust her. Enough to be friends.

"So, Victo – Vicky. Was your experiment successful?"

She blinked. Missy felt [relieved] and [amused]. Dean, who was still watching this, felt [longing] and [relieved].

"Oh! Yeah, I…" She scanned my face. I tried to show how I felt. "Yeah. You made me wonder why I'd never tried to change the emotions my aura emits. And I don't think I can. So… I tried to see if my aura would make you feel fear instead of awe if you were scared of me in the moment."

Huh. That was smart. But also very dumb. But the idea behind that. Experimenting with powers. That had…

My two experiences of power testing had put me off the scientific approach. And I agreed with Missy in preferring the tactics talk. But testing every possible element of my power had given me concrete information beyond just my instincts.

And both my Mom and Tattletale had impressed upon me that information was a weapon.

Regardless, investigating my power myself meant I could ignore all the useless tests the scientists did to 'rule out hypotheses'.

"Dean, do you still have those psychology books about emotions?" I looked up at him. He… Based on his emotions, I had no idea if he was glad or not to be included in the conversation.

"Yeah. Yeah, I've got them. Did you want to take a look Vicky?" Dean asked.

Vicky was typing something on her phone. She didn't look up.

Missy and Dean felt [awkward].

"Cool!" Vicky looked up. At me. "I can get psych books through the college library. Excellent idea Taylor."

Yeah. Now I felt awkward too. But also flattered. Teenage drama was confusing. Kind of useless too.

"No problem." I said. And waited. For someone else to say something. Because Missy was still crushing on Dean a little and he and Vicky were obviously having problems and this was just not my field of expertise.

"Okay. So, I want to make this up to you both, cause, like, that was pretty dumb of me." Vicky smiled and Missy chuckled. "When are you both free – with school and patrols and stuff – because we should go to the Boardwalk and get some lunch, do some shopping, have fun!"

I blanched. Shopping. Sure, I had money now. And I had gotten new clothes. But Vicky had this look in her eye that I remember Emma having (years ago) and that meant shopping and –

Missy elbowed me, laughing under her breath. I glared at her. I'd go out for lunch, sure. But shopping was –

My phone rang. Thank god and Scion and whatever entity makes things less worse.

"Hello Seneschal, do you mind stepping out into the corridor? I just wanted to talk to you about something before a chat with the whole team." Miss Militia's voice sounded calm and casual through my phone speaker. But it was still weird that Protectorate members were calling me.

I replied in affirmative and told the [amused] tableau that I was stepping out. Then grabbed my mask and got my hair through the straps properly before warping to the door of the Wards base.

When I stepped into the concrete and metal corridor, Miss Militia was waiting a metre to the side (where the static shape had been) with a posture that I imagined soldiers looked like when at rest. She beckoned me forwards.

"Seneschal, I just wanted to check in about what Armsmaster talked to you about yesterday. No, you're not in trouble or anything like that," she did the smiling-with-her-eyes thing, "I just wanted to double check that you were okay with expanding your power to the Protectorate."

Oh. I stopped focusing on my body-sense and my team's emotions. I guess I'd been expecting Armsmaster again. I mean, Miss Militia had been around, and she'd talked to the Wards a few times since our training day on the Rig. But the Protectorate operated out of the Rig. And our base was under PRT HQ. So, we just… didn't interact. Much.

"Its fine," I said, having realised that I should say something. "Everything is still good with the Wards and now you get the boost too. Its like the best outcome."

She eye-smiled up at me again. (It still felt strange that I was taller.) "I know. But I also know what Armsmaster is like to work with. No, you don't need to excuse him" – I shut my mouth – "he's a fantastic hero, but he really should have scheduled a meeting today instead of doing it when you were off duty and tired."

I… nodded. Yeah. That would have been better. But on the other hand, the Protectorate had been boosted earlier – and had probably spent today having their meetings about it. "Okay. But I'm alright with everything. The main thing is helping the city."

Miss Militia looked up at me, flag bandana vibrant against her darker skin. "You've done a lot of good for the Wards. Not just about patrols and powers. The team seems more together." My chest felt warm – I briefly focused on my body-sense; right, I was blushing.

"And I, personally, really appreciate your willingness to help." She raised an eyebrow. "I just don't want you to put yourself after other people, okay?"

The warm feeling expanded a bit. I looked at the wall next to us. Because… dammit. I just wasn't used to this. I hadn't had moments like this with an adult since… well, since Mom. And it wasn't the same. It really wasn't the same.

But it was familiar. And I… Let out a (shuddering) breath and let myself feel.

After a moment, Miss Militia spoke up again. "Can I show you something?"

I nodded again. She held out a hand that swirled with green and black energy for an instant before she was holding a pistol. Pointed at the wall away from us. "Ever since you boosted my power when you joined up, I've been testing what I can do myself."

I looked closer. Flickering energy replaced the magazine, changed the grip material, added something to the barrel, adjusted the top of the gun to have some kind of attachment area, then added a laser pointer to that. Then the whole thing turned bright blue. Which made me snort in surprise.

Miss Militia chuckled lightly. "So I could do all of that with some effort and understanding of what exactly I was doing."

Wow. Maybe Vicky's theory had been onto something. And the idea that Miss Militia had gotten benefits from even a one-off boost was… really good.

"But, if you remember, your boost allows me to summon tinkertech. Which would ordinarily be a problem, because I can only summon weapons I have seen." That still sounded damn strong to me – now that I understood what tinkertech could do.

"Still, I've been a hero for a long time." She sounded sad for such a short amount of time I wasn't sure what the shifting tone in her voice was. But what she said next made me forget it entirely. "So I've seen a lot of tinkertech."

Oh. OH.

A cold rush ran down my arms. They felt tingly. Hair was raising on the back of my neck and I was grinning because wow. Miss Militia was now the Eidolon of tinkertech guns. And she didn't even have to build them.

Miss Militia laughed. "And this is the best part."

She held her arm out to the side and black-green energy raced and buzzed and swirled up and down from her hand for a few seconds until…

My jaw dropped. She chuckled again. Then stepped back.

And twirled Armsmaster's Halberd in front of her like a circus performer with a flaming staff.

Okay. Miss Militia was my favourite now.

I managed to outwardly put myself together as she moved up to the Ward's door. The halberd – a copy of Armsmaster's halberd – vaporised into energy and reformed as a collapsible baton on her hip.

My body-sense helped my breath even out by the time the door beeped again and opened. But I was still reeling from the realisation of just how powerful Miss Militia was. Now was.

I couldn't resist another smile as I imagined the gangs finding out that the balance of power had finally shifted against them.

The rest of my team filed out from Chris' workshop to join Dean, Missy, and I in the main area. I didn't actually know what they were doing in there, but their emotions had said that, whatever it was, was fine.

"Good afternoon Wards." Miss Militia scanned the room as everyone settled on the couches. "And Glory Girl. I really should remind you that members of the public need special passes to enter this area." Vicky smiled innocently at the heroine. "I really should also remind Wards that they need to call ahead before bringing any authorised family members or friends into classified areas."

Dean felt a little [guilty] and [resentful]. He was looking at Vicky again.

"More importantly, I did want to talk to you all about what is happening in the city. Aegis has heard this from sitting in on Protectorate meetings, but I wanted to tell you all personally." Miss Militia's tone deepened. My team all felt [serious] and [expectant]. "I'm sure you are aware that Lung is back in the city. He has recruited a bomb tinker and the ABB has become much more aggressive. You'll be coordinating with first responders until orders change. However, the gang war has gotten bad enough that you might face or even be harassed by gang members."

I hated that the gangs were bold – arrogant – enough to attack the people trying to fix their fucking mess. But I really liked the idea of putting some idiots in their place for attacking a fire truck. Or an ambulance.

"However, the Think Tank believes the ABB tinker is supplying ordinary gang members with tinker explosives. This means that any fight with unpowered ABB – or any unpowered gang member – needs to be approached with care. Expect anything from flash-frozen houses or miniature black holes. Especially, now, you cannot assume that people without powers can't hurt you." Miss Militia looked around the silent room.

I tried to commit her words to memory. Reflect on my own assumptions. Remember my first month of having powers where I would have been entirely normal in a fight.

"While the gangs are getting more aggressive – especially while they are being aggressive – you have to keep your head and deescalate wherever possible." What? Surely I heard that wrong. "Think about how first responders help our city. Firefighters prevent fire from spreading and rescue people from dangerous situations. Police keep the community safe by disincentivising crime; arresting criminals, having a visible presence. And ambulances stabilise people until they can get proper attention." Miss Militia looked around again. We were all [focused], but I was wondering where exactly this was going.

"We, as heroes, do a bit of everything. We rescue people from dangerous situations, we stop parahuman fights from damaging the surroundings. We arrest villains and criminals and patrol to make people feel safe. But we have the opposite problem to paramedics and doctors. The more they do to help people, the more people are helped. Medical science has come a long way and they are all highly trained." I narrowed my eyes. "If I was fighting Lung and threw everything into the fight, we would likely destroy half the city."

[Shock].

Miss Militia held up a hand and continued. "I've told some of you this before, but it is important. If I go on patrol ready to kill any villain I see, then any villain that sees me must be ready to kill me or they will die." My body-sense showed that my breathing was slightly shallow. "If I go on patrol ready to arrest a villain no matter the damage, then any villain I fight is not going to care about causing damage themselves. If we back the villains into a corner, they will stop holding back." She paused, closed her eyes for a few seconds. "Villains don't care if they hurt innocent people. So, when they stop holding back, people die. I've seen the… pain that's caused when people aren't protected by laws. I don't want any of you to."

I'd heard this before. From Piggot. And it made sense. It really did. I just couldn't see why we still had to hold back when the villains were already killing people.

"Again, think of our role as first responders. Police don't crusade against criminals because then every criminal might be tempted to hurt people to escape. And the public wouldn't appreciate them barging into their homes without warrants. Just look at Earth Aleph's war on drugs. Without some omnipotent thinker, the hard and tough approach to policing just doesn't work." Dennis and Vicky let out a laugh. "But this country needs laws to function."

Miss Militia spread her hands. "First responders are heroes, but instead of powers, they have a long history of training and refinement. Whatever each of you are doing tonight, think about what they're doing and why. And try to see how you can use the things you see."

Okay. That was useful advice. Which my team's general [interest] and [reflection] seemed to agree with. And I remembered enough of Mom's political rants to know that laws were needed. But… I just… Even with ideas like the social contract…

Surely, when the laws were getting in the way of peace (stopping this fucking war), then…

When the villains were ignoring the laws – the social contract – the whatever – then they needed to be stopped. Taken out of society. Not killing villains made sense; we had the Birdcage for a reason. But there were a whole lot of options between killing criminals and letting them just… ruin the city.

The whole 'heroes have to deescalate because villains don't' thing rubbed me the wrong way. The villains of Brockton Bay were bullies. Doing whatever they wanted because they could. Because no one had stopped them.

I'd never escalated against the Trio at Winslow. Yes, it had made me the better person. And fighting back wouldn't have done anything because Sophia. But the lesson seemed clear.

When people think that might makes right, they won't stop until they see someone stronger than them. The Trio had avoided teachers to start with, but then they hadn't bothered because the teachers didn't stop them.

Hitler hadn't stopped after invading Czechoslovakia. Chamberlain's approach of appeasement had done nothing.

And yes, Piggot wasn't appeasing the gangs. But she was basically saying 'we'll let you be so long as you're not too bad'. Well, 'not too bad' had shifted over the years – the frog had boiled in the pot – until my city was in a fucking gang war. And the Protectorate wasn't punishing them for stepping out of line.

Miss Militia had seemed… better than this.

Wait. What had she said? That 'she'd seen' what happened when laws were discarded? Something like that. And outside, she'd just told me that she had a photographic memory. And when I first joined the Wards, she told me she wasn't born in America.

Okay. That's… shit. She never forgot anything. What had she seen? Was that why she played up the law-and-order angle?

Hell, when was the last time I'd thought about other countries? Sure, you heard about them on the news, but we had our own problems. Villains. Capes.

Huh. When was the last time I'd paid attention to something outside of Brockton Bay?

Dean was [concerned]. I looked up to see him looking at me inquiringly. I shook my head slightly and unclenched my fingers. And focused on what Miss Militia was saying now.

"– is interested in joining the Wards, but holding off to think it over. We're trying to encourage him since he has gone out as an independent once already and the current situation is especially dangerous."

"Powers? Name?" Missy asked [excitedly].

Oh. A new member? I focused fully on the conversation.

Miss Militia blinked and looked at me, then back at the group. "Brute. Apparently some slow self-biokinesis. He's given us the name Browbeat, but that may change."

A new Ward. That was definitely something to be excited about.

"Kid Win, you and Aegis should be going through the area Browbeat is active in on your patrols. If you see him, then invite him along – focus more on being yourselves than trying to sell the Wards to him." Miss Militia eye-smiled at Chris. "Aegis will get this information through emails and meetings."

Since joining the Wards, I'd read the PRT statistics about how long independent heroes last. And it was bleak. With what I'd thought my power was in January, it had been a very good thing that I'd never gone out in costume. No matter how frustrated I'd been back then (feeling useless, giving in to the system when joining the Wards), not going out had probably saved my life. And Tattletale. Ugh.

"Sorry Vista, I don't know any more about Browbeat. You'd have to ask the Director or check if Aegis is given any specifics." Miss Militia looked around the room again. "I must prepare for patrol now, so I wish you all the best with your routes tonight. And I'm afraid that you'll have to accompany me, Miss member-of-the-public."

Vicky groaned, but my team was feeling positive things. Even Carlos, who was finally on his way to base. I was slightly less excited, being stuck on console tonight.

"Bye guys! Kick some gang ass! And Ta–Seneschal, call me about when you're free!" Vicky said while flying towards the Wards door.

Free? Oh. The boardwalk thing. I joined my team in feeling positive things.

​

[>[>Peasant<]<]

​

Hao Da was not expecting the grenade he threw to do that. Explode, yes. Cause fire, yes. But his small group of Azn Bad Boy members were meant to be a thorn. Not deadly. Not poisonous. Just giving a small prick to the greedy hand that reached for the rose.

Or, in reality, bleed the Empire Eighty-Eight just a little more for daring to take their territory. Because he and his group were not the only thorns on this red and green rose. The Empire had tried to be smart. Attack while the Dragon is away. A low, cunning ploy. Only applauded by the vicious and cruel false crusaders who thought being able to be sunburnt made you superior. Like this petty Empire that didn't even rule a single city was superior to an Imperial China that had ruled the mainland for centuries.

Their scheme had failed. The Dragon was back now. And no amount of cleverness could defeat the power of the Dragon.

Hao Da watched the blue flames instantly incinerate the hunting store. His community had suffered while the Dragon was gone. Hao Da did not particularly like the Dragon. But the Dragon protected them against people who wanted to purge a country that wasn't theirs.

It had taken barely 10 seconds for this new grenade to reduce a building to ash. The blue flames had only lasted a second longer than the material they were destroying. Hao stared at the still glowing molten metal. The heat had been so intense it had melted the road in front of the store.

The grenade was not the first he had thrown. But it was far more terrifying than anything else he had ever encountered. Except the Dragon. Who had found someone that seemed almost as strong – to help the ABB make somewhere safe.

Or at least, that is what Hao told himself. He didn't say anything out loud, and neither did the men around him. The road's asphalt slowly cooled as they went on their way. Another target waited. As did another new grenade.