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Rating:

Mature

Archive Warnings:

Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death

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Gen

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Parahumans Series - WildbowPrototype (Video Games)

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CrossoverConsequencesVillainsMorally Ambiguous CharacterMoral DilemmasShapeshiftingSuperpowersLiesCorruptionEldritchCannibalistic ThoughtsDeveloping FriendshipsHeroesVigilanteGrimdarkStealth Fix-FicObliviousHiding in Plain SightSerial KillersScience ExperimentsHuntington's DiseaseCharacter DevelopmentCharacter StudyPunching NazisAngst and HumorActs of KindnessSchemingMonster - FreeformWorm Spoilers (Parahumans)Alex Mercer is a jerk (but not irredeemable)Minor Original Character(s)Being Taylor Hebert | Skitter | Weaver Is SufferingBut Glory Girl Won't Stand For ItCannibalismCanon-Typical ViolenceParahumans (Parahumans Series)Case 53s (Parahumans)The Protectorate (Parahumans)Alex Mercer is a JerkHorrorBody HorrorAction/AdventureCrossovers & Fandom FusionsManipulationSecrets

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English

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Published:2020-06-02Updated:2024-05-24Words:179,353Chapters:34/?Comments:200Kudos:486Bookmarks:175Hits:27,349

Compulsion

Lead_Zeppelin

Chapter 6: Incubation 1.6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Incubation 1.6

I wove through the other pedestrians and various stalls in the midmorning bustle of downtown, my bone-deep fatigue warring with the fires of my resentment.

The morning after my first night out as a cape turned out to be even more horrendous than I'd come to expect. I'd gotten maybe two good hours of sleep last night and woke up with a sore, bruised right shoulder, noodly post-marathon legs, and an aching tongue. I pretended to get up as if everything were normal, only for Dad to reveal he'd known about me sneaking out last night anyway. He'd even noticed I'd burned a few strands of my hair before I did, which I hastily blamed on the stove.

I really needed to work on my stealth if I was going to keep my cape life a secret. Four months of jotting down coded notes in journals, assembling my costume, and practicing my control were one thing, but actually going out and fighting was a whole new ballgame.

The whole morning had been a mix of mundane and surreal. Just a few hours ago, I'd been fighting for my life and had rescued someone, only to get them possibly killed afterwards by Lung. My secret cape life had encroached on my normal life in other ways, too—during Mrs. Knott's computer lab, I'd trawled through the Parahumans Online message boards for news about last night's battle, but I'd found nothing about me or the Case 53.

Aside from a few people who'd seen the Undersiders riding Bitch's monster dogs around town that night, the only witnesses were the ABB thugs, and none of them had been in a position to see or do much of anything. The Protectorate apparently wasn't letting any of them spill the beans about my power, which was something of a relief. I wouldn't want this botched introduction to be my lasting legacy.

After that dead end, I finally hit pay dirt when I trawled through the connections thread looking for clues. Someone calling themselves 'Tt'—obviously trying to sound like Tattletale—had left me a cryptic invitation for 'Bug' to contact her in the connections thread. Tattletale wasn't exactly being threatening, but she was still a villain reaching out to me under friendly pretenses that might turn very unfriendly as soon as she found out I was a hero. I also had no guarantee this was really Tattletale, and not, say, Bakuda or someone equally horrible pretending to be her.

I'd already intended to go to the public library and message 'Tt' back on a more anonymous computer, but my schedule had been moved up. The last straw had been my best-friend-turned-betrayer Emma, of course. When she boxed me in with all those other girls and brought up the week I cried myself to sleep after Mom died, I cracked. The mask of indifference I'd successfully maintained for weeks fell away, and my tears had shown her that the blow had landed. Now she would become even more vicious and targeted after getting a reaction from me. I felt furious—at Emma for stooping so low, at myself for losing control, at Mr. Gladly and the school for their incompetence, at Sophia for playing her childish game of keep-away with my backpack, at the various hangers-on for their dumb contradictory insults, and just at life in general. The vitriol inside me was going to boil over if I stayed another minute in that hellish fucking place, so I left, abandoning my backpack and the remaining sliver of my dignity.

I knew that simmering over my frustration and resentment wasn't making me feel any better, so I distracted myself by thinking about cape business, from Armsmaster's advice to Tattletale's contact. As I neared my destination, though, all thoughts were instantly driven out of my mind as a spike of pure, familiar pain crashed into my awareness.

I reeled for a moment, blinded and deafened, before shutting the sensation out of my power. The splitting headache vanished almost as quickly as it had arrived, and I found myself doubled over, clutching my head, without even noticing I had moved. Luckily, I managed to avoid hitting the pavement and biting my tongue again like yesterday.

I drew a shaky breath, and realized what had happened. Just like last night, the Case 53 had entered my range. I breathed out a sigh of relief.

So he really hadn't died after all.

I couldn't see the library yet, but I knew it was just up the street, and I knew the Case 53 was there. My momentary relief quickly turned into nervousness. I had no costume. What if he recognized me? Had he somehow known I was headed to the library? Was he angry I abandoned him to fight Lung alone? No, none of that made any sense—I was getting worked up over nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing. I still had a secret identity to protect, and I had no idea if the Case 53 blamed me for Lung showing up in the first place. He wasn't exactly grateful to me for saving him from the gunman last night, but then again, he'd had more important things to worry about, and he hadn't been overtly hostile to me, either.

By tiny degrees, I sharpened my sense of the Case 53, letting my power give me more information about him.

The first thing that was immediately apparent was that there was more of him, which wasn't doing my headache any favors. He wasn't any bigger outwardly, but he'd grown a lot denser. The tendrils and membranes forming the structure of his internal mass had become noticeably thicker. If I had to guess, it seemed like there was about two or three times as much living matter inside him as there was before, but hollow spaces still comprised roughly half of his insides. If it was even possible, this only made his rotted insides even more viscerally disturbing, since some of the organs that were only vague, nebulous shapes before were now recognizable.

Mom had once told me a story about Catherine the Great, the Empress of Russia. Catherine had gone to visit the war-ravaged lands of her lover, Governor Potemkin, and in preparation of her arrival, he had fake villages erected, and filled them with actors playing out the role of peasants, and buildings that gave all outward appearances of life, but which held nothing inside. These became known as Potemkin villages.

The Case 53 reminded me a lot of that story. He was a Potemkin person—normal on the outside, messed up on the inside. It was a lot easier to think about him in those terms rather than focus on the horrific sensations of his putrefied organs. I withdrew my senses from him again, until only the awareness of his relative position remained.

I was rooted in place by indecision for a moment. Was going to the library worth the risk of being discovered out of costume? If I was being honest with myself, I really wanted to check in on the Case 53 and see what he was doing. He had powers, but that didn't mean he'd be okay after waking up in Brockton Bay with no memories. Maybe I could offer help somehow, or if he was up to no good, I might be able to put a stop to it.

I took one step forward, then another and another. I'd never forgive myself if I missed this opportunity to check in on the Case 53. There was something inherently fascinating about amnesia, a hundred times more so when it came bundled with superpowers. How could you predict the way someone would act in that situation? If someone was good or bad in the life they didn't remember, did it carry over? The options were almost limitless, and if it was at all possible to help steer things in a good direction, I wanted to do it.

The Central Library was much nicer than its proximity to Winslow would imply. It sort of looked like a museum or art gallery, with tall ceilings, walls of windows, and pillars interspersed with massive tapestries and pieces of artwork. The architecture and general style looked vaguely Greek, but the roof was at a diagonal angle and it had much less ornamentation, probably to make it seem more sleek and 'modern.'

As the building loomed larger in front of me, I cautiously slowed down. I could feel the Case 53 somewhere on the second floor, far ahead and to my left. It should be safe enough to go through the front entrance, he probably couldn't even see the front windows from where he was.

I entered the library and made a beeline for the stairs. The bank of computers were on the second floor, but I'd worry about messaging Tattletale later. I walked right by them, and deeper into the library's reference section, where I could feel the Case 53 was.

As I went down the rows and rows of books and trade journals, I expanded my awareness just enough to get a vague idea of how the Case 53 was positioned. He was standing up, holding his arms in such a way he must have been holding an open book, and his head was bent downward. Clearly, he was reading.

As silently as I could, I crossed two more rows of books and went far down the aisle, positioning myself so that the Case 53's back was facing me. Taking a deep breath as though I were about to take a plunge, I peeked around a shelf, ready to pull my head back the instant my power informed me that he was turning around.

As it turned out, I didn't need to bother with the stealth routine. The Case 53 was completely engrossed in the thick brown tome he had opened in his hands, rapidly flipping through pages and periodically checking an index he kept a finger on as a bookmark. Just like yesterday, he was dressed in clashing styles like he'd just blindly grabbed the first things he could reach in his closet. He wore a white dress shirt underneath a nondescript gray hoodie, and over that he wore a black leather jacket with white armbands and a red pattern on the back like wings. Maybe Lung hadn't been completely wrong when he accused him of being Empire, since the jacket gave me a strong neo-nazi vibe. Then again, maybe it was no more meaningful than his other chaotic fashion choices.

There was no way I could tell what he was reading from this distance, but the mere fact that he was reading at all was oddly reassuring. Reading from incredibly dry periodicals wasn't the kind of thing I imagined that a junkie or a neo-nazi did with their free time.

Even with my glasses, I had some difficulty making out which shelf he'd taken the book from. I had no idea what 504 would mean in the Dewey Decimal System, but there was a catalogue computer at the end of the aisle that would let me know. I left the Case 53 to his reading and quickly brought up the reference section on the computer.

Apparently, 504 was the Parahuman Sciences reference section. I shouldn't have been surprised at the subject, but it still seemed more than a little strange that someone with no memories would think to check out scientific research journals first, instead of going to the police or hospitals for help. I knew he probably hadn't done that after the fight, since PHO had no mention of him, but then again Armsmaster had kept my name off the site, too. I couldn't imagine they'd just let him go to the library on his own so soon after he checked in with them, though. Even if his powers would probably keep him safe, there was no guarantee other people would be safe from him. The heroes would probably want to make sure he was responsible first, and run tests to see if he had control over his powers.

The Case 53 didn't seem to be doing any harm on his own, though, so I made my way back to the bank of computers to carry out my own business. It only took a few minutes of waiting and constantly checking on the Case 53 before one of the terminals opened up, a woman unslinging her purse from the chair's back as she left.

I darted into the vacated spot before someone else could steal it, and logged in to Parahumans Online.

A quick check of the Brockton Bay thread revealed no updates on me or the Case 53. It made sense, he'd probably been at the library for a while, if his place in that huge book was any indication.

From there, I navigated to the connections section and found the message 'Tt' had sent. I signed in as an anonymous guest, then typed a short reply:

Subject: Re: Bug

Bug here. Would like to meet, but need proof you're Tt. Am willing to reciprocate if needed.

A minute or two later, a reply popped up as a private message. My heart started pounding as I read through it.

Subject: Re:Bug

Proof? Last night you got yourself caught in a tussle between the big guy and the angry guy. Big guy isn't nice to dogs and I told B to be careful with her pups around him. Good enough?

G R and me will meet you at the same spot we crossed paths last night, k? Don't have to get gussied up if you catch my drift. Rest of us will be in casual wear.

If we meet at 3 will that give you enough time to get there from library with everything you need? let me know

Ta ta

I had to keep myself from bolting away from the computer. Tattletale knew where I was. How? Had the Case 53 tipped her off somehow? That couldn't be right, Tattletale hadn't known him from earlier, and she seemed kind of spooked by him. They might have met again after that, but that seemed wildly unlikely. Besides, I'd been monitoring him since I'd logged in, and he hadn't stopped reading or moved a single step.

I'd wanted to use this contact as a way to gather information on this mysterious team, but this put a massive new wrinkle in that plan. The reference to getting 'gussied up' was clearly about costumes, implying they wouldn't be wearing any and expected me to do the same. A chance to see their unmasked faces was too good to pass up, which made me suspect a trap.

The contrast between my experience last night and my research on PHO earlier was stark. Information really was a precious commodity in the cape scene, that much was obvious. It was kind of crazy just how little concrete information there was on capes, despite the news constantly being filled with superhero interviews, famous villain trials, cape fights, and things like that.

The Undersiders were a different story. I could find out more about them, if I took this conversation with Tattletale further. It was so tempting, but the thought also terrified me.

On the plus side, if I went I could get more information on the Undersiders and gain a lot of credit with the heroes. On the minus side... meeting villains, even ones that were acting grateful, brought with it a chance of injury or death.

Well, the latter prospect held much less sting since last night. Going out in costume was always going to carry that particular risk.

I typed out a simple reply, saying I'd see her at three, but I hesitated before sending it, deliberating on whether it was a trap or not.

Before I could make my choice, the choice was made for me.

My powers informed me the Case 53 was on the move. When he started walking, I startled so hard I nearly fell out of my chair.

Fuck, he was heading towards me.

The redneck-looking young guy in the station next to me cleared his throat. "Hey, you okay?"

I cringed, realizing I'd gone rigid and had been staring off in the distance. "Um, yeah, it's just a migraine," I said lamely, feeling my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"I can sympathize," the guy muttered.

No time for second guessing. I quickly clicked SEND on my message and exited out of the website. I fled the computer stations as quickly as I could without drawing undue attention to myself, and ducked out of sight into the nearby magazine and newspaper section just as the Case 53 came into view of the bank of computers. My heart was hammering, and I was starting to sweat. I felt trapped, and that was far too close to the locker for comfort.

In the back of my mind, I realized my panic wasn't really logical. The Case 53 hadn't attacked me yesterday. He'd had a gun and he didn't even point it at me once, so it wasn't like he was going to attack me on sight, even if he did somehow recognize me out of costume. I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths.

I could handle this. Even if push came to shove, I could take control of his body. Or at least, I could try. His biology was bizarre, but it felt like my power could seize control at any instant.

That, more than any amount of logic or deep breathing, calmed me down.

I could feel the Case 53 stop at the computer lab, sitting down at the computer I had just vacated. I couldn't even tell if that was a coincidence or not, because it was the only computer that was available.

I withdrew my attention from the cape, and started gathering a swarm, discreetly, just in case. Insects that could run as well as fly, like grasshoppers, I set to approach from the ground. Aerial insects like moths and horseflies I spaced widely, careful not to visibly congregate them in the air. I prioritized flying venomous insects, mobilizing the handful of beehives and hornet nests in the area to make their way to the library.

A honeybee can fly at twenty miles an hour, as fast as an Olympian could sprint. When bugs were heading consistently in one direction, they could cover a lot of ground surprisingly quickly. It didn't take long to marshal my forces, and I used the first arrivals to probe the library for subtle entry points.

There. A space where an air filter had been squashed slightly from a defect or careless installation, leaving a gap. Bugs flowed into the ventilation system. I had my swarm, and it was ready to come through the vents at a moment's notice. I was as ready as I'd ever be.

I returned my attention to the Case 53. I couldn't read his thoughts, and trying to use my power to get a look through his eyes just resulted in blinding pain, deafening sound, and a splitting headache. It was even worse than trying to see and hear through a bug's senses. Nothing useful.

I risked a peek at him. He was hunched over the keyboard and staring intensely at the monitor, typing something into the computer. I'd exited the website, I was sure of it—so whatever he was doing, it probably wasn't anything to do with me, unless he checked the search history.

I picked up the nearest magazine with capes on the cover—the Atlantic, not that I intended to actually read it—and I flipped it open, turning a few pages.

I glanced up regularly to check what the Case 53 was doing. The web page he was looking at was in the distinctive colors and format of PHO, which neither confirmed nor ruled out anything. After a few minutes of browsing, he left PHO and was looking at a news feed which had pictures of the cordoned-off street where we'd fought Lung last night, and as I watched, he brought up a new tab and began what appeared to be an image search. All of them showed various men's faces, some the same, others clearly different people.

I was confused for a minute, but then it occurred to me that as an amnesiac, he might be searching for himself. I couldn't make out what he'd typed into the search field, and felt a little guilty for trying to. Apparently he didn't find what he was looking for, because after a minute or two of scrolling down the search results, he gave a little grunt of disgust and cleared the search field by rapidly jabbing the backspace key with unnecessary force.

After a moment in which he seemed to stew in his frustration, he began searching some kind of directory with tiny print. I left him to it, going deeper into the magazine shelves.

What was I supposed to do now? I could call Armsmaster. He said that he would handle this new cape. But we were at a public library, way too many people were around, and I couldn't effectively hide from him while using the payphone. More importantly, he wasn't in costume—did calling the PRT and Protectorate down on his head count as outing a cape's civilian identity? There were laws against that kind of thing.

This was ridiculous. The Case 53 wasn't doing anything overtly bad, aside from sitting with terrible posture and having unfortunate fashion sense, and if those things counted as villainy, then they ought to throw me in the Birdcage right alongside him. Sure, fighting Lung with no holds barred was really extreme, but it was Lung who attacked us first, thinking we were with the Empire Eighty-Eight, and you couldn't exactly hold back against an enemy like that.

Maybe he could still be a neo-nazi racist, just by coincidence, but if he wasn't...

I was sick of this whole notion of judging new capes to be heroes or villains at a glance, without even asking us first. Maybe I was biased—I'd been assumed to be a villain by Lung, then the Undersiders, and then Armsmaster of all people. Even so, having a personal bias didn't change the fact that it was wrong to judge a book by its cover.

From there, a plan formed in my head. I directed a large hornet to me. I went downstairs, looking for something to write with, and found a suggestion box with one of those little golf pencils. I tore off a small strip from the suggestion sheet, and wrote a message in tiny block letters:

THANKS FOR YESTERDAY. WANT TO TALK. MEET ME OUTSIDE.

I handed the strip to the hornet, and flew it up to the ceiling where it was less likely to be seen.

Correspondence by bug. It would keep my identity safe while I could get more information about Brockton Bay's new Case 53, and then I would be able to go to the meeting with the Undersiders and get more information on them as well. The word Armsmaster had used rang in my head—he called even the slightest details invaluable. The sheer weight and import of what I was about to do made my arms break out into goosebumps.

This would take a bit of finesse, and more than a little luck. But if this worked, it would be more than worth it.

Notes:

After a commenter mentioned being unfamiliar with Worm, I became more self-conscious of the few paragraphs at the beginning, which glides over several canon chapters' worth of events, so I reworked it a bit. Hopefully, that compressed timeline will help refresh veteran readers' memories without being too overbearing, while also being accessible to people unfamiliar with Worm.

Next chapter we rejoin Alex's POV, and after that, we hit the arc interlude to end Incubation and set sail away from canon events for good. Thanks for reading!

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