There's another voice in my head now. It belongs to Amy Dallon—better known as Panacea and the sister of Victoria Dallon. This voice threatens, it pleads, it insults. In all ways, it doesn't differ much from the others whispering inside me. It hates me and wants to see me gone. The only difference is, the Butchers are locked within, and I've… well, sort of figured out how to deal with them—mostly by ignoring them, leveraging my knack for managing data overload. Panacea, though, she's on the outside. My inner monsters just threaten my mind; Amy, on the other hand, could literally do anything to me.
I excused myself hastily from Henry McAllister, mumbling about urgent business as I bolted out to the street, passing up the offer of a ride in his ancient Buick.
Walking through the city, I talked to Amy Dallon in my head—well, technically, she was talking into a bug-sized relay I'd left on her side of town. She bent over it, voice sharp and trembling.
"…You monster! How dare you! How could you let that disgusting thing get into Vicky? You'll pay for this—I swear, you'll die in agony!"
Charming. I'd managed to fall out with Panacea, the same Panacea who'd once healed me, right after the Locker incident.
"Wait. Hold on, I didn't mean—"
"Didn't mean to? That parasite was inside her! InsIDE HER BODY!! Are you going to deny it?!"
"No. Yes, it was my bug. And okay—you have every right to be angry," I admitted, biting back a more acidic retort.
"You violated my sister! You broke her ribs! She had internal bleeding! She would have died in half an hour if I hadn't been there! You freak!"
"Whoa, take it easy." I raised my hands in a gesture of peace—then remembered I was just walking along the Waterfront. The passersby ignored my self-talk. These days, people assume you're on a call or just talking to your Bluetooth. No one thinks you're crazy anymore.
"You're a liar, a cheat, a terrible—" The bug link suddenly went muffled, as if covered with a rag or towel. On the other end, I heard a new voice—muffled but distinct.
"Amy! Are you ready yet? Mom wants you at the hospital! By car—she still won't let me fly!"
"I'm coming," Amy replied. The bug was picked up and carried. Did she know I could still hear her? I decided not to mention it, seizing the rare opportunity to learn more about her—because knowledge is power, and I kinda want to go on living. Now the bug rested in her breast pocket—I could hear Amy's breathing, even her heartbeat.
"You made a mess here again," said another voice—closer. I recognized it instantly: Glory Girl. Victoria Dallon. The Golden Girl, Miss Collateral Damage, and my one-time sparring partner. 'My right hook is the key to successful communication,' she always joked… though, honestly, she wasn't wrong.
"Come here. You've got something on your cheek, right there. Hold still." I could feel Amy's heart going a mile a minute, hammering like a machine gun. Why so nervous? Maybe just stress. Victoria seemed fine—alive and ready to drive Amy to the hospital. Panacea had taken her sister's close call with death really hard. I tried to imagine how I'd react if someone put my dad in the hospital—let's just say the seven plagues of Egypt would seem like a mild joke compared to what I'd do.
On that level, Amy and I were the same: protect the people we care about by any means. Except that with the Dallons, the usual 'injured in action' was typically on the losing side of Victoria's collateral damage. I understood Amy's anger. I even kind of liked her sister—though whether that was panache or her aura, I wasn't sure.
"You're such a mess. What would people at the hospital think if they saw you?" Victoria's voice, teasing but fond.
Amy just made a muffled noise; her heart thundered in her chest.
Victoria's right: in a few minutes woman who could murder with a brush of her fingers.
Second—my own powers. Maybe my two-hundred-yard range isn't a true limit. But what mattered most: how did Panacea tap into my control wavelength? If we could actually work together—just as allies, not even friends—the possibilities were mind-blowing. What I spend generations evolving, she can do with a touch. Giant bugs are just the start. Nanobots, bug swarms that can assemble into armor, even… plutonium particles for a nuclear blast. Actually, no, bad idea—Zion would probably atomize me for trying the nuke thing. And who would I even nuke?
I played with the ideas, but in the end—no homegrown nuclear bombs for Taylor Hebert. First, I'd have to get Panacea on my side. Which was… delusional, honestly. This was the same girl who just threatened to pull out my entrails. But hey—fortune favors the bold. I'm not the smartest or strongest in this cape game, but no one's going to beat me for tenacity. And I've got one last ace up my sleeve…
I got off the bench and headed in. In the elevator, I pressed the button for Lisa's floor, listening to the cables hum. Crickets slept in the shaft—I woke them up and played with some music on a whim. They rub, not sing, but in a pinch, it sort of worked. Taylor Hebert: bug conductor, at your service. Like that scene in "Apocalypse Now"—an invisible army, "Ride of the Valkyries" thundering as I make my entrance. Psychological warfare.
"Ta-da-da-da-DAAA!" I hummed as I got out, and tried the doorknob; it was locked for once. I knocked and heard a muffled, "Coming, coming!" Lisa answered: robe, towel on head, looking exhausted with dark circles under her eyes.
"Taylor!" she greeted me with a tired smile.
"Lisa!" I echoed, stepping in. "How's our guest? Tried the classic needles-under-the-fingernails trick yet?"
"Gross. I never go that far. I have my own methods," she snarked.
"Yeah, I remember. Here's hoping you stuck to ethical needles instead of, well… whatever you call your stuff."
"Pfft, you're just jealous. Let me work my magic on you, and you'll never recognize yourself," Lisa grinned, all sarcasm.
"Joking aside, Lisa—I really need your help. And that means I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine. What do you want? Is killing Coil really the only way? I could just talk to him, convince him and the Undersiders to leave you and the Rogues alone."
"If I were him, I'd prefer the needles," my ace-in-the-hole quipped.