There's good news. There has to be good news. It can't all be bad news, right? Because at this moment everything around me seems like very bad news. I'm Butcher XV! This isn't just bad news, this is terrifying news. Right now I'm lying on the floor behind a supply cabinet, unable to get to my feet and comprehend the full nightmare my life has become.
...get up and go to the yard, you little bitch! That machine gun costs a fortune, it's tinkertech! Never runs out of ammo and the barrels don't overheat, you can hold down the trigger to your heart's content and...
I clamp my hands over my ears and eyes, trying to shut out the voices sounding in my head. Hell is other people, but what if hell is yourself? What if there's no escape anywhere from aggression and condemnation? Stop, enough, quit it. Think positive... think. Am I schizophrenic? But... I raise my hand and bring it to my face. Bend it. Straighten it.
...did you hear me, you stupid bitch? You piece of shit, get your skinny ass up and quick to the street for that machine gun! There are still plenty of heroes there, either you waste them all or they waste you. Either way it's profit! - a voice sounds in my head, but I look at my hand. Bend it. Straighten it. Good, I think, good. There really is good news. And it lies in the fact that control is mine. I control this body and make the final decisions. It's me bending and straightening my arm right now, clenching it into a fist and flexing my fingers, not the Butcher or any of his other fourteen personalities. When and if I go insane from the constant chatter in my head - even then it will still be me, not the Butcher. Probably. At least for now it's like that. The discovery somewhat inspires me. Good, I think, it's like driving a car on a slippery road when your cabin is full of drunk lunatics, but they can only scream. Can screaming really drive someone insane? Yes, it can. First, deprivation. I can just imagine how these voices won't let me sleep, won't let me rest or just sit in silence. Drop by drop, drop by drop, tap, tap on the crown of the head and that's it. Second, when you constantly, twenty-four seven, without weekends or vacations communicate with some social group - you inevitably start adopting their values. Gradually, gradually, but you begin becoming part of the collective. Especially if you have nowhere to run. Social connections are built exactly this way - a person can't resist the will of the collective, herd, tribe, society. Through small things. First you argue until you're hoarse, aggression and rage, then - acceptance. An attempt to establish some kind of peaceful relations. Acceptance of social norms from the group, in this case - the Butcher's social norms. So that's what it is. It wasn't conflict with the Butcher's personalities that was dangerous, but peace. A person can't resist indefinitely, they run out of willpower, they get tired, and they're constantly bombarded with hatred and aggression... and in this host of personalities there's surely someone playing "good cop," who unlike the rest will supposedly take the victim's side, building trust. And that's when it's over - once the claw is caught, the whole bird is doomed.
"Do you even hear me? Hey, four-eyes slowpoke!" a voice sounds. Another thing, I think - they can't read my thoughts. Only if I address them do they hear me. Otherwise their perception is limited to my perception... hmm. That's excellent. More positive news.
"She's in shock, leave the girl alone," another voice sounds. "Let her lie there for now. Personally, I like how Quarrel screwed up. Just think, dying from an allergy! Hahaha!"
"Bitch, shut up! Shut up! Just shut the hell up! This crazy girl had an insane number of poisonous insects! She killed Lung, the bitch!"
"Quarrel, you need to learn to accept defeat. While you were at the wheel you were a rare bitch, so welcome to the collective, you stupid bitch."
"Shut up! As if you're some genius..." they continue arguing, and I detach from all this and focus on my own sensations. I run my hand through my hair and shake out the twisted bodies of my "Kunoichis." They fall to the floor with a light sound. Tap, tap, tap. Still, they're heavy for ordinary insects, denser, heavier and more damage-resistant. Looking at them lying on the floor, I feel a pang of pity. Interesting, I think, just recently I was horrified that they were moving in my hair, and now I even feel sorry for them. It's all about control. Somewhere I read that a person can endure even the most terrible torture - if they know they can stop it at any moment. If they know they control the situation. That's why I was horrified when I didn't have my abilities and the "Kunoichi" ant queens were running their little legs over my scalp - I had no control. As soon as control returned, the "Kunoichis" stopped being a source of horror and became "my little precious pets." That's the whole difference. Control.
I lean back, rest my head against the wall and smile. Good news. I am control. Here and now only I decide what to do. No voices in my head can force me, affect me with force. They can growl, scream, spit, but to me they're all like behind a glass wall. Like monkeys in a zoo. None of them can walk with my legs, control my hands or think for me. Well then, it's simple - I won't pay attention to them, and later I'll develop a code of conduct acceptable to all. With clear rules and behavioral norms. Because yes, as Sartre said, hell is other people, but in this particular hell I'm the warden. If everything stays as it is now, like hell they'll break me and drive me insane - I'm already crazy, their petty provocations and swearing won't change my personality. This trick could have worked on the original Taylor, first playing on her drive for heroism and self-sacrifice, then plunging her into an abyss of self-blame and despair - that she couldn't do it, that she failed. And then molding her into the neurotic and aggressive psychopath that Butcher Fifteen should be. This trick won't work on me... or am I wrong? Among the fifteen capes who fell into the Butcher's web, there were surely some with quite stable psyches, so maybe the Butcher's suggestions currently look like harmless swearing through glass, but in time he'll take me under full control? Also probable.
I'm pleased to realize I can think rationally and logically, ignoring the constant dialogue in my head, or rather - constant arguing between the Butcher's personalities. Maybe it's because of my multitasking ability? Did other Butchers have this? Many questions and no answers at all.
However, what I know almost certainly is that without the Butcher's regeneration ability, I'd definitely be dead. Dying from my own insects' poison would be ironic. And I also know that even such regeneration couldn't withstand an attack from several hundred "Medicis" at once. This neurotoxin is terrifying stuff. I urgently need to work on developing an antidote, though I have no idea how exactly - probably need to ask Tattletale. And... program especially dangerous insects to enter hibernation, or rather - first find a safe place, then go into hibernation, if I run into a nullifier again.
"...do you hear me? Hello? Girl, are you really that slow?" the voice again. I raise an eyebrow. He knows how to be persistent. If I compare it to something, it's like he's finding the right frequency, I switch channels, and he adjusts the frequency. Sooner or later I'll have to deal with all of them, and it's better to establish boundaries and frameworks for our communication from the very beginning. Because even if you're locked in a cage with all of them, especially if you're locked in a cage - it's still communication. And I don't like the Butcher's rules. Right now I control the situation, I control this body, no matter how they all rage.
"There you are! She's here!" a shout sounds right above me. I raise my head, though I don't need to look to know who's shouting above me. The "Madison Clements" marker has been rushing through the school corridors for several minutes now - no rest for the wicked. However, if I start recognizing people here without turning my head or even looking in their direction, it will raise unnecessary questions. Though maybe that's already irrelevant. After all, this is while I'm able to control myself, but if by the end of the second week the Butcher takes over and starts controlling the body, then...
"How are you feeling, Hebert?" Madison asks and frowns. "Not that I'm worried, but you ran away from the basement during the battle! What were you thinking! Emma's right, you're completely stupid!"
"Yeah, I love you too, Clements," I nod, trying to get to my feet. To avoid raising unnecessary questions, again. I swayed, grabbed the wall and caught a glimpse of Madison's hand twitching - to support me. However, she quickly pulled it back when she saw I stayed on my feet.
"Don't think anything of it!" she says, stepping back. "I don't like you, Hebert! Couldn't even just sit still, you coward!"
"Uh-huh," I nod, simultaneously listening to the choir of killers and maniacs who are saying what exactly they would do to such a cute schoolgirl with a doll-like face and how many times. I'm amazed by some particularly vivid fantasies and once again convinced that all the Butcher's personalities have a longing for bodily sensations and fear of deprivation, hatred for whoever currently controls the body. If they could... give me a chance - that's what they're really screaming about through obscene jokes and suggestions on "what I could do to Madison." I can do all that myself, losers. I just won't, and that pisses you off.
I mentally choose a manner and method of communicating with the Butchers - sooner or later I'll have to talk to them anyway. But how? Trying to persuade them and be polite is useless, wrong audience. Descending to their level with crude swearing isn't an option either. That would show my weakness. So - restrained but sincere at the same time. Coldly show the bastards who's boss. First show the stick. How can you hurt a personality that has no body? There's of course the option of "providing a body," but I'm not sure yet about my ability to banish a personality into a cockroach - I'll need to experiment with that. So the question is even formulated wrong. I need to ask - what exactly does a personality without a body want? Most likely - to possess a body. And if that's not possible, then at least get bodily pleasures. Favorite food, drinks, sex, fighting. There's nothing worse than boredom... and if they won't obey me, I'll continue ignoring them... and sometimes even deliberately eat something disgusting. Broccoli, for example. I'm sure all Butchers hate broccoli. But if they're good - I'll give them access to tablets, each separately - watch movies, chat, play games, do whatever you want. Hmm. The thought of Butchers hanging out on PHO or playing MMORPGs brought a smile. Cooperate with them? As someone once said, "If my enemy invaded hell, I'd make an alliance with Satan himself the next day!"
Actually, we - me and the Butchers - are forced allies. I see no obstacles to each side letting the other live. They need destruction and suffering? Lord, I've been in this business only two weeks and already have a wagon of corpses - I might even be cooler than these Butchers, at least none of them took down Lung on their first nighttime city stroll. Need destruction and suffering, corpses and bloodshed? Well, we can make a deal. In turn, I need their cooperation and discipline in the ranks... but if I can switch attention just as effectively, I don't need their cooperation at all. Consequently, they depend on me, not the other way around. In such a situation I see no obstacles to cooperation... of course no one will take me seriously at first, there'll be rebellion and drama, but if I'm driving, if I control this body - everything can be worked out. As practice shows, you can negotiate and cooperate with heroes, villains, and civilians. There's only one category of people with whom cooperation is impossible in principle. Idiots.
So my goal is very simple - find out whether the Butcher and other personalities in him are idiots or not.
I lean against the wall with my hand, feeling my knees still trembling. I spit right on the floor. Rude, but my mouth tastes very bitter after the poisoning.
"Don't flatter yourself," Madison continues as the school nurse hurries toward us. "I don't care either way. Everyone would have had problems if you died in the hallway."
"Yeah, I got it, Clements. Buzz off already," I reply.
In the evening I sit at home looking at the wall with Alexandria's poster. The Butchers inside me are practically howling, displeased that I'm ignoring them. Meanwhile, I'm engaged in usual routine - growing new "Medicis" to replace the lost ones, controlling the production process of group A toxins, extracting gold and putting it in a test tube, simultaneously gathering information from several screens about the city situation. I note to myself that multitasking is specifically my ability - the Butchers can't feel everything at once. Their attention scatters - someone watches gold extraction, someone monitors insects at the tablets, someone looks at the wall with me, at Alexandria's poster and makes quite crude remarks about her chest, ass and plans for "what I'd do to her." This is already encouraging, otherwise I'd be in a much more difficult situation. And the Butchers themselves now have something to do besides washing my brain - after all, getting access to insect senses for the first time is an interesting experience.
"Hey! Girl! Skinny whore! You hear me!" the main voice continues persisting. The original Butcher. As I thought, roles in their collective have been distributed long ago and firmly. The Butcher himself serves as such a psychological battering ram, breaking through all defenses and drawing the main fire and irritation. Following him is some guy with a soft voice, apparently a hero, former Tinker, who defends me and takes my side. The rest serve as the general mass, some standard and middle measure. That's how principles are broken - two radical solutions are given, both unacceptable, and the whole collective is presented as the "lesser evil" and "truth somewhere in between." As they say in China, "the middle solution is the most correct, avoid extremes." But here's where the trap is hidden - actually the little collective here is such that even the middle solution is already an extreme. Well... it's time to finally talk to the collective. I've already built strategy and tactics. I have a lot of hard and dirty work ahead. I sigh.
"Listen, stupid girl! Answer, or I'm starting to think you've got nothing in your head! Freak!" the Butcher searches for the right frequency.
"So here's the thing," I answer him so everyone can hear. "First - welcome to my head. This is my head and my body, and all of you here are guests. Unwanted ones. So I have the full moral right to do whatever I want with you. Remember that for the future."
"Oh! She responded. So not completely stupid," the Butcher grumbles. "What are you trying to babble there?"
"Hello, Taylor," the Tinker responds. "I was starting to th-think you really couldn't hear us."
"Listen, kid, can you make your bugs click a couple banners on the e-reader? Where the tits are juicier! Type 'schoolgirl with big tits!' So she looks like your friend Madison!"
"Bastard! The ant trick was unfair!"
"Quarrel, shut up! You lost - deal with it, if you're an idiot, that's where you belong."
"I can allocate a personal tablet with internet access to those willing to cooperate and even entrust control of insects to them. So you can find busty schoolgirls yourselves. Or read books. And I can also completely cut off everyone's access to insect senses and just stare at the wall for eight hours. I'll even take down the poster so it doesn't distract you," I say, and the chorus of voices falls silent. I don't know if I can actually do this, but I have a feeling I can. Multitasking and insect control are my abilities. And even sitting and staring at the wall, I'd actually be getting information from insects, while they wouldn't.
"I don't give a shit, you stupid girl!" the Butcher snarls. "Listen, did you return the machine gun?"
"I don't give a shit about you either, loser," I reply, and silence falls in my internal chat. Then someone seems to whistle and even clap.
"The quality of your future existence in my body depends only on me," I say in this silence. "I'm sure I can eventually find a way to give you control of individual insects, as well as larger creatures or groups. This will give you the possibility of freedom and autonomy - within reasonable limits, of course, and under my supervision, but still. You'll be able to eat what you like, watch what you want, and even communicate with the outside world - first through the internet, and who knows after that? To those of you who like violence and corpses - I promise it won't be boring. I've already killed Lung and thirty-seven of his people in twenty minutes. Who knows what awaits us in the future if we cooperate. If not... I'll continue sitting and staring at the wall, doing everything through insects. Hell, I can even put on a blindfold and stick earplugs in my ears so none of you see anything. And a wetsuit - so no one feels anything. And climb into a salt bath for days, complete deprivation. And I can do this constantly - you won't feel anything for years. Just keep arguing in the darkness. I suppose you'll get tired of that quickly. At the same time, this won't create difficulties for me - I can get information and contact the world through insects, and that's my ability, not any of yours. So... I propose an agreement. Whoever is good and behaves - gets internet access for two hours until bedtime. Later - I can provide such access around the clock. Those who don't want to cooperate get blindfolds and earplugs. For starters, let's at least establish rules... beginning with forms of address. Polite and without insults..."
"Fuck off, you stupid bitch!" the Butcher explodes, and I sigh. I wasn't counting on this being so simple. Any team goes through several levels on the path to unity. This is just the beginning.
"Perfect. As ordered," I tie a dark blindfold over my eyes and stick pharmacy-bought earplugs in my ears. I can't hear or see anything. Well... the confrontation has begun.