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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warnings:
Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death
Category:
Gen
Fandoms:
Parahumans Series - Wildbow崩坏3rd | Honkai Impact 3rd (Video Game)
Additional Tags:
CrossoverOC insertReincarnationCanon-Typical ViolenceEmotional BaggageBrockton BayHerrschers (Honkai Impact 3rd)No beta we die like Dr. MEICharacter ExpieslongficNot a power fantasyNot A Fix-ItAlternate Universe - Crossover DivergenceSI/OC
Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of Veronika of Bet Next Work →
Stats:
Published:2023-01-01Updated:2025-08-07Words:260,031Chapters:63/?Comments:523Kudos:1,366Bookmarks:436Hits:110,882
Selene
Synopsynthesis
Chapter 4: Heir 1.3
Notes:
Patience? Is that edible?
Really, I'm trying to switch to a weekly schedule so that I don't burn out the inspiration high.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Heir 1.3
{0}
I woke up the next day feeling like death warmed over.
I'd spent a good chunk of the night over at the police station, telling my version of the events that unfolded. The officer in charge of my statement had to double back when she realized that I had powers and things became even more tedious when the PRT arrived and I had to repeat the whole spiel again. Miss Militia seemed amused that we were meeting for the third time in the day, but at least she realized that I was completely exhausted by the time I was finishing my statement to the PRT trooper and bid Alex, who had come to pick me up, and me farewell and without another Wards pitch.
When we got home, I only stayed awake for long enough to get a glass of water before promptly ignoring everything else and beelined towards my bed. I sunk into dreamland almost as soon as my face touched the pillow.
Since I didn't bathe before I slept, I woke up the next day smelling and feeling like I was covered in oil and moldy cheese. I made the shower my first stop and only came out once I felt like I'd scrubbed enough layers to leave me with just baby skin.
I walked into the main room. The apartment was small with only two bedrooms and the rest taken by a single large room that is simultaneously the kitchen, dining table, and living room (later I'd learn from Google that it was called a great room). Alex was at the table, watching the news. She must have taken a leave since 9 AM was definitely office hours. She nodded at me as I went to get breakfast: a bowl of cereal and milk.
After I'd finished the meal and felt the tiniest bit alive again did my foster mother begin the conversation.
"Are you okay?"
I looked at her in surprise. I'd fully expected her to ask about the Wards considering I didn't bother omitting my disposal of the grenade ("I shunted it into the Void. No, it isn't an alternate world like Aleph nor is it actually a black hole."). If anything, I thought she would ask if this happened often or what I'd been thinking going off on a jog in the middle of the night.
"I think I'm alright," I said.
The woman stared at me. There was something in her gaze that made me break out in cold sweat.
"You didn't set out to get into a fight."
She didn't say it like a question. I sighed and realized I'd been holding my breath. I was suddenly aware of the tension in my shoulders and forced myself to relax.
"Yeah."
She hummed. "Couldn't sleep?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Is this a new thing or…"
I shook my head. "I've been needing less and less sleep for a while now." I paused. "Today's an exception."
She chuckled. "How many hours?"
"Four."
"And they've been getting shorter?"
"Pretty sure I'll be a Noctis Cape by the time December rolls back around."
She was quiet for a while. I could tell that she was warring with herself to not say or ask something. "I'm sorry."
I barked a laugh and waved her off. "It's alright. Not like I wouldn't be able to sleep, just that I probably wouldn't need it, I think."
She smiled. It was nice to be able to speak openly about powers. If it were Dan or Pauline, the former would have gone on a spiel about the harm that parahumanity had wrought on society (and while I didn't disagree, he would be a dick at it) while Pauline would have been clueless about it in the first place and she'd act like she was locked in a house with an explosive with an unknown trigger.
Eventually, the somber atmosphere returned as Alex sighed and looked me in the eye.
"What do you plan to do now?"
I looked away. "I don't know."
"That's fine." I looked at her. She was smiling at me again, but one that was patient and understanding. Briefly, I wondered if the government entities taught everyone in Alex's department to smile like that to kids like me because if it was made to put stressed kids and teenagers at ease, it was working.
Then I remembered that Alex studied psychology and that I probably shouldn't endeavor to put a PRT director in the same room as children.
"Although you should probably find a good outlet for your powers. All capes need to use their powers in some way or form or it'll drive them crazy."
I grimaced. I knew that I didn't have a shard hooked up to my head, but a Herrscher Core was not too different if you tilted your head and squinted. There was also the issue of the Herrscher Persona, which was supposed to be an alternate personality that shows up at the same time a Herrscher awakens if I was willing to trust the wiki. I haven't seen hide nor hair of it, which either meant that I wasn't actually a Herrscher or a Herrscher of Origin some time ago had somehow messed with that mechanic.
"I'll think about it," I said. She hummed.
And think about it I did. As I dug back into my cereal, I thought about what it was like to actively use my power. I remembered the rush of adrenaline, the strain of the stasis, the cathartic release as I banished a grenade explosion into the void. None of it was much in the way of pushing my limits. Sure, it was difficult the first time, as with any first time of using the power deliberately, but it felt easier to pull off now that I'd actually done it and I could tell that I was barely scratching the surface with that one use. Like the portals I accidentally summoned before while protecting myself, I felt like I could pull off the stasis bubbles and three-dimensional portals all day.
Which was when something incredibly obvious hit me.
I could have just made a portal out of there.
I could have just made a portal out of there.
I thunked my head on the table and groaned.
Sure, that would have meant that I would be abandoning those Merchants to their fate, but it also would have put me in a position far away from the threat of violence. I couldn't say that I would have been fine with it, but considering I had done jack and shit besides a few emergency exits, staying and fighting would have been like walking into a shootout only knowing how to turn off the safety on your pistol. You had a decent chance to get a kill, but also a decent chance to dislocate your wrist or something because you didn't train to compensate for recoil.
I'd survived through pure, dumb luck. Sure, I had a Brute rating, but has anyone ever told you how dumb testing your durability on grenades and laser rifles was?
"Something up?" I heard Alex say.
I looked at her. "I'm stupid," I deadpanned. She raised a brow at that. I didn't elaborate.
We finished breakfast. Sometime after lunch, Alex got a call from work and had to leave. I made my way to my room and strapped in for the rest of the day.
{0}
The next two days passed in a blur staring at my phone and waiting for my homework from emails. None came, but the school did close down for a while to get rid of the biohazard on the second floor. Soon enough, the day came, and I was back before the gates with my bag slung across my shoulder.
I walked into the halls and did a double take. Somehow the school looked very different.
It wasn't about the place itself. The walls still needed a new layer of paint. The windows still needed a good wipe. The lights still needed to be replaced. No, the matter was about the people, and even if I'd only been here for barely five minutes, I could already tell there was a difference.
People I'd meet in the hallway would stop and give me an eyeful. Some moved out of the way when I came to pass, with a few even looking away when I turned my gaze to them. Even the ones in what I think were gang colors— uniform reds and greens and blacks— did it.
I needed to pay attention to that. I didn't really know enough about the status quo beyond "hive of scum and villainy". I don't have a good clue how my actions were translated into the rumor mill, therefore, to the consciousness of the gangs. It left me with an insidious sense of trepidation as I couldn't predict how they would react, or what form their recruitment pitch would take.
Say what you will about my metaknowledge of Worm; the me from Before really only read until the bank heist before Taylor's depression infected him and made him drop the web serial for a good year or two before discovering that Worm was the fandom to delve into for the grittier and less steamroll-y superhero fanfiction.
I made my way to the principal's office. Its front desk was manned by a balding, short man that was busy with a cup of coffee. His desk plaque labeled him as one Mr. Jones. His table was littered with various documents, except those that were currently being used to cover what I guess was some kind of magazine. He looked up when I entered the room and spat his drink back into the cup.
It was disgusting.
"Ah, you're Veronika Schariac?" he asked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. I nodded, stepping closer. I caught a glimpse of whatever it was he was reading and before he closed the folder it was hiding in with too much speed and raised an eyebrow. He coughed.
Let's just say the material was disgusting.
Does the Youth Guard also interfere with school-related conflicts? I wondered.
He reached over to one of the filing cabinets and pulled out a Manila folder with my name printed in bold onto it.
"Alright, Ms. Schariac, here's your schedule. The note's for the printing room for your books. Can we trust that you'll be able to take care of the rest yourself?"
"Yep," I said, snatching the documents out of his hands and standing. "Not my first rodeo. See you around, Mr. Jones."
He sputtered as I left the office. Was that rude of me? Of course, I knew that it was rude, but I didn't want to be in the same room as the man if I could afford it. The printing room was only a few doors down the hall, and soon enough, my knapsack finally had some weight in it.
The interesting bit was my locker. Number 217 was a few units away from another locker that was covered with tape and blocked by a slippery floor sign that had "biohazard" taped onto its symbol. I almost laughed at that. They put mine on the same row as Taylor's as if it would mean something to me.
Done with the show, I headed over to homeroom by a Mrs. Knott. It was still quite early, just about the time that the trickle of students was starting to pick up. I picked a seat at the back of the room and strapped in for the rest of the day.
Not even ten minutes later, a girl plopped down on a seat beside me, a blonde with a smile that looked more like a sneer if I had to describe her unflatteringly. She looked like a cheerleader or one of the student-athletes on a confidence high either from a good game, a good career, or a nasty hobby, especially when she wore a leather jacket over a shirt-and-skirt combo.
I considered, for all of two seconds, just ignoring her and hoping that she'd leave me alone. Then I decided that biting the bullet and being done with it sooner was better since avoiding it only made you an easier target in their eyes.
So I smiled.
"Can I help you?"
To her credit, the girl was surprised for all but a second, but her expression was quickly wiped off by a grin that projected confidence. "Oh, no. I just wanted to thank you for putting Hess in her place. Some of my friends were getting harassed by her and that redhead bitch and getting them into any sort of trouble was becoming a pain."
"I… see," I said. Then I shrugged. "Well, you know how it is. If an asshole doesn't get punted from their high horse, then you'll never get rid of them."
Her smile grew. "That's some good advice," she said. She held out a hand. "Tammi. You?"
I raised a brow and shook her hand. "Veronika."
Once that was done, she adjusted her chair to no longer be so close to my seat, but still close enough to talk.
"You new to the Bay, Veronika?"
"Moved in last Christmas." I played with my hair. I wasn't sure why but I was feeling uncomfortable, even beyond the discomfort of having to entertain a gang member.
"And before that?"
"All over America," I said. She raised a brow and I shrugged. "Foster system."
She grimaced. "That's rough."
I made a noncommittal noise. "You learn to live with it."
I think that finally killed the conversation because Tammi made a few faces before finally deflating and pulled her chair back to her table. I couldn't stop the smile of relief from forming so I hid it by faking a yawn.
It didn't take long for the teacher to walk in and start the school day.
By the time class ended, I was starting to feel my (mental) age. Computer taught a different programming language from my previous life. The principles behind them were the same, however, so transferring four years of experience in a Compsci degree was a simple matter. Math was a bit behind because Tinkers and Thinkers largely made the advancement of science and math a little obsolete. The Winslow curriculum was behind some of the other middling high school curriculums I've seen, and I had a feeling I was going to be spending a lot more time here than I would in others.
In World Issues, I finally met the ever-infamous Gladly. I was surprised to learn that the stories where he asked the class to call him "Mr. G" were actually true. He acted less like a teacher and more like a middle-aged man trying to be 17 again with how he tried to make jokes, ignored the little transgressions in his class, and tried to make, frankly, embarrassingly stupid games instead of actual discussions. I would have been better off listening to the radio instead because I don't think I've even heard the word "curriculum" from him the entire period.
Lunch came after his class. The cafeteria was the most cafeteria I've seen. Eloquent, I know. But really, it was just an ordinary cafeteria with its long tables, counters, and lunch ladies all shacked up in a wide and slightly dim hall whose walls I couldn't tell were yellowing because of the light or because of the dirt. The students were organized into cliques with most based on racial discrimination, though I would admit that the sizable Asian clique was a bit different. I caught a glimpse of Tammi sitting with the white kids, and I saw that she saw me as well. She nodded at me; I pretended I didn't see her and aimed for the emptier tables.
No one approached me the whole time. I ate my meal in relative— if uncomfortable— silence. I had plenty of spare time after I'd wiped my plates clean. I found myself spending the rest of the time observing the Winslow population.
Teenagers chatted about this and that. A number of boys, notably the athletic ones, were doing something stupid while another group exploded into cheers for some mysterious but likely inane reason. The girls organized themselves into cliques, mostly according to things like race, fashion, and clubs. The rest were either huddled together for protection or, just like myself, were hiding in their own corners and trying not to attract attention, a task that I failed at thanks to my silver hair.
I thought back to my vague memories. Taylor had attended this school for a year and a half. Was she one of the loners in the cafeteria? Probably. Did she join one of these loner groups? Maybe, but there was a faint memory of her eating in the bathroom in the web serial that was notably absent from most of the other fanfics I remembered. What little I remembered also painted a picture of an administration that didn't care for her at all and a father that was mostly absent either physically or emotionally. It all suggested that she was isolated from practically everyone, that all her connections were cut off and she was practically hanging by a thread emotionally speaking by the time the story began.
I found my gaze drifting over to a different group. It was a clique but not quite. They were gathered there, sure, but none of them were talking and there seemed to be a free seat or two on the table. Soon, I recognized one of them as the same petite girl I saw when I sucker-punched Hess. Mad-something was it? In the fanfics, she was the one in the three that was given a redemption arc the most in fanfics; the easiest one to confess being a bully, the one who takes it upon herself to be a hero in alternate universe fics where Taylor died, or Taylor's staunchest non-cape supporter.
She wasn't any of those now. At the moment, Mad-something was busy trying to socialize with the other ones in the clique but appeared to be failing to get close to them if their dismissive looks at her were of any indication. I watched her for a while, trying to get rid of my preconceived image of both her and Taylor. At some point, she noticed me looking and paled. From then on, she stopped trying to make conversation and idly picked at her meal while glancing at me every once in a while.
Lunch ended and we had our next classes. Math was math, biology was biology, and art was, well, it wasn't as dry as the previous two but I'm the type that would say that if I ever experienced an art teacher that wasn't at least a little bit eccentric, I would eat my socks.
And P.E.?
I walked out of the changing room and found myself approached by coach Michelle.
"There a problem?" I asked.
She nodded. "There is. I heard about your health record. Are you able to, uh, hold back?"
I felt my lips tilt upwards. This was why the Unwritten Rules would always be bullshit to me; copium the Illuminati cooked up so that as many capes as possible would be on the field.
"I can control it, yeah. There's a difference between exerting and exerting, so no use worrying there."
Physical enhancement was about the safest thing I could practice, so of course I got good at it.
She nodded and saw me off. I rejoined the other students and we began our lesson on track.
Soon, I was homebound. I took the bus and stared at the curious mix of skyscrapers and the far shorter older buildings that made up the Brockton skyline. I wondered why I was sent here. I wondered why I had his memories. I wondered why I was given Authority over spacetime. I wondered why everything else had been taken away.
I arrived at Alex's apartment with a small lump of anger and sorrow in my chest. There was a voicemail from Alex that she would be late and that I should eat on my own tonight. I ordered pizza and went to my room to cool off. Later, after dinner, I tried to force myself to sleep early, willing the resurfacing anxieties away.
I wasn't successful.
---
Notes:
Edit: fucking italics.
To the other ao3 authors here, would it be better if I just put everything in markdown before converting it to html for posting instead of continuing in gdocs as it stands? I can pull fancy coding shit if I need but I'm still a bit more than a stone's throw from doing it just because it's tedious.
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