Death is but a Momentary Relief [Worm Crossover]

I died again today. Not that anyone will remember it, but I do. I remember every single goddamn time. I just don’t stay dead. Next morning, like clockwork, I’m waking up in my bed and ready to face the day. It wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always just… die and come back.

The first time was in my mom’s car. There was a car crash. Neither of us made it. Except I woke up the next morning in time to go to my mother’s funeral. Fucking hilarious, right?

I’ve been stabbed, shot, electrocuted, eaten by piranha, stomped on by a rage dragon, gotten very very high, and been killed by disease. Death barely fazes me at this point. It’s usually the circumstances surrounding the death that do.

Today… well, today was no different.

My name is Taylor Hebert, and I can’t die. Not permanently. I’m not going to let that stop me from fulfilling my dream.

Today started out pretty much like any other day, at the bus stop. Not a school bus like I’d ride in elementary school, but a public bus stop that was just down the street from my house. The stop itself was in decent shape. The bench stood dent-free, and the overhang was just intact enough that I could duck under it to avoid the falling snow.

January in Brockton Bay, everyone. I pulled my hood a bit tighter on my black jacket and tugged at my mittens. I carefully adjusted my glasses a bit. I really needed to get contacts, but Dad couldn’t afford them right now. Glasses were fine. I just needed to wait for the others to show up or the bus. Whichever first.

“Bundled tight enough, dude?” A familiar poof-balled hat on top of a familiar face peeked around the corner of the bus stop. He wore a brown jacket and a red scarf around his neck along with a pair of jeans that clung well to his legs. He was about three inches taller than me, and he had a wide grin on his face. “You have a good New Years, Taylor?”

“Yeah,” I said. Well, actually it came out more a mumble with my hood as tight as it was, but I knew Stan’d understand me. “Dad actually had some friends over from work. What about you, Stan? You get to spend it with Wendy?”

Stan gave me a thumbs-up. “We kissed at midnight, and it was sweet, Taylor. There’s even talk about doing more.”

“Nice,” I said. “But don’t tell me the details. I really don’t want to know the boy perspective there.”

“But…”

“No.” I shook my head. “Just no, Stan.”

Stan shook his head.

“You can tell Kyle and Eric all about it when I’m not around,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll give their own running commentary.”

“Running what?” Eric asked as he arrived. He was easily the tallest of us, standing at about halfway to seven feet. He also was like four or five times my weight. He wore his own poof hat and a red jacket that actually fit him. It was unzipped, revealing the Winslow High football jersey underneath. “What, did something sweet happen with Stan? You finally get further with Wendy? You dog, you.”

“No… nothing like… I mean…” If Stan hadn’t been taken for the past six years, I might have tried hitting on him right now. Thing was, Wendy was a friend, and you don’t do that to your friends. Plus, she was one of the girls that still talked with me, even with whatever was going on with Emma.

“See, Taylor? I knew he could fucking do it.”

“They kissed,” I said with a shrug. “Stan’s too much a coward to do more. Wendy’ll probably have to drag him kicking and screaming.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stan asked.

I smiled at him. “Means you’re buying lunch today.”

Eric laughed. “My lunch too, Stan.”

“Don’t worry Stan, you don’t have to buy my lunch,” said a third voice as he joined us. Kyle wore his green ushanka and orange jacket with green mittens today. “Cartman owes me.”

“Hey, I do not owe you shit, you Jew,” Eric said. “You can get your own goddamn lunch.”

“After how many lunches that I bought for you because you ate yours already?” Kyle asked. He looked to me. “Fine. Buy Taylor the lunch, and then I’ll stop talking about it.”

“I’m good with Stan doing the buying,” I said. “I’m low on cash this week.”

“Oh, that’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about…” Eric said, leaning forward. He bent his legs slightly so we could meet his eyes easier. Sometimes he showed a tiny hint of consideration. Sometimes. “I think it’s time for Coon and Friends to ride again.”

“You can’t be serious, fatass,” said Kyle. “After the bullshit you pulled the last time?”

“Come on, you guys,” said Eric, a little bit of a whine in his voice.

“The others aren’t actually capes,” I said. “Well, maybe Jimmy is.”

“Just the four of us,” Eric said. “We can probably make some good money with it. I mean, come on. Uber and Leet do it all the time.”

“Uber and Leet are villains, Cartman,” Stan said.

“Funny though,” I said. “Half the time.”

“Hella funny all the time,” Eric said.

“He’s doing that again,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

“Come on, you guys…” Eric drawled out the last two words.

“Don’t you have football practice?” Kyle asked.

“We’d go after that, duh,” said Eric.

“Go where?” I asked.

“I was going to tell you!” Eric said, but the bus pulled up then. “God damnit.”

“Guess you’ll have to tell us later, dude.” Stan shrugged.

“Taylor, want to share a seat?” Kyle asked.

“Sure,” I said and smiled at him. Not that he really could see it with my hood up. At least the bus would be warm enough to let me put it down.

“Why don’t you want to sit next to me?” Eric asked.

“You take up an entire seat on your own,” I said. “Where would I sit?”

I stepped on the bus rather than wait for his answer. First day back of school for the year, and I hadn’t died yet today. It was starting to look up.

 

Chapter Two: Lock ‘er Up!

********************

“God, Winslow is such a shithole,” Eric said as we got off the bus. “So many Asians, and you just know. You know that they’re ABB. All of them.”

“Just like all the white guys are skinheads?” Kyle asked.

“No. Not like that,” Eric said. “Because they’re not.”

“And I know at least fifteen Asians at the school who aren’t ABB,” I said, pulling my hair out of my lowered hood. “A few of them went to our Elementary school.”

“Oh yeah,” Stan said. “Weren’t they those yaoi fangirls?”

Eric snorted, and then he broke out into a full-on belly laugh as we approached the school. “Oh, God, I remember that. Helping out Craig and Tweek to realize their true feelings… Why aren’t they at Winslow?”

“Clarendon,” I said. “Well, Tweek is there. I think Craig might be. Unless he got into Arcadia.”

“Do I want to know how you know, Taylor?” Kyle asked.

I just smiled at my friend and opened the door. Carefully, I stepped aside, just in case. You never knew what could happen with doors. The amount of times I’d been killed by one was… well, it was at least eight. It’s not pleasant.

“Right,” Stan said as he went inside. “Dude, sometimes that smile is creepy.”

“Yeah, right,” Eric said. “Like Taylor could look creepy.”

“Strangely, I agree with Cartman,” Kyle said as he followed Stan inside.

“Good,” Eric said. “You should agree with me more, Kyle. We can easily make enough money for everything.”

I stepped inside, following my friends. Winslow High School wasn’t the nicest of high schools in town, but at the least, the groundskeeping team kept it in relatively good shape. Gang tags were washed off lockers usually within a day or so, and there were gangs. The major gangs of Brockton Bay had representation among our student populace.

Eric wasn’t entirely wrong about the ABB. The Azn Bad Boyz, horrible name, often came to school wearing their gang colors of red and green. Way to fucking ruin Christmas, guys. They needed a visit from… Never mind. I wasn’t sure that sort of thing would even change their mind at all. They liked to hang around the east hall, mostly hanging among each other and harassing the other Asian kids to get in with the gang.

Not all could resist.

The other major gang presence were the skinheads, the Empire Eighty-Eight. They tended to hang out together too, but they were a bit more confrontational with minorities. Racist little pricks. I mean, they never really bothered me much, but that was probably because I was the “right” type of person.

“God, Winslow is a shithole,” Kyle said, glancing at the skinheads gathered at one end of the main hall.

“What did I just say outside?” Eric asked. “Too many gang members shitting up the joint.”

“It’s just a symptom of the greater problem,” I said with a shrug. “Let’s get to class.”

“What, no locker time?” Eric asked.

“Don’t need it for computers,” I said. “And Stan’s buying lunch today. I’ll go drop stuff off after Mrs. Knott’s class.”

“Makes sense,” Kyle said. “Plus, it lets you avoid certain—”

“Taylor!” I froze at the voice and turned my head slightly. A familiar redheaded girl, flanked by what I could only call lackies, walked up to me with a deceptive smile on her face. Emma Barnes used to hang out with the boys and I… well, until Eric decided that all gingers were soulless and evil. Still, Emma and I had been pretty close friends for a while.

We weren’t anymore, but we had been. Something went down with her; I never found out what, but she changed. She became practically a different person.

“Emma,” I said, mostly because if I didn’t acknowledge her, I knew that things would get messy. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, really,” Emma said. “Just wanting to wish you a welcome back. Looks like your fashion sense hasn’t improved any over the Winter Holiday.”

“Like someone like her could afford good fashion anyway,” said the shorter white girl to her right. Madison Clements. She was the kind of girl that you could just say was “cute” and not much else, but she knew how to work it. She had that cute innocent act down pat. “She’d probably use any extra money to get strung out anyway.”

I rolled my eyes.

“She does have a history, right Emma?” asked the other brunette with her on her left. Lola Ritter was someone who’d always been among the popular kids, and she’d known me since grade school. I was never friends with her, but Emma and I had hung out with her a couple times. “Remember that time with the cats?”

“Oh, fuck you,” I said.

“Yeah, leave her alone,” said Kyle. “She didn’t do anything to you.”

“Oh, Kyle,” Emma said, and then she looked further around me.

“Ginger bitch,” Eric said in greeting. “Please, go on. Talk more shit. I’m sure the principal would love to hear what you have to say. He held out a smartphone with a grin on his face.

“You wouldn’t dare, fat-ass,” said Emma.

“Try me, you soulless daywalking whore,” Eric said, holding his phone out more. He moved his phone even higher, as a hand reached out for it. “Oh Hell no. That was attempted assault, and I caught it on camera, Hess. You’ll get kicked off the track team for sure.”

“Fuck you, Cartman,” said Sophia Hess, one of Emma’s newer friends. She was an acerbic athletic black girl who… Well, as far as she knew, she just liked to push me around when my friends weren’t there to back me up. She doesn’t remember the fact that she’s killed me three times this school year alone. Probably for the best, but holy crap, she had anger issues.

Hell, I thought I did sometimes, but getting killed a few dozen times oddly helps with that.

“Delete the video, Cartman,” Sophia said, her eyes narrowing.

“How about, no?” Eric asked. “Maybe I should just keep it for safekeeping…”

“All right, hold up,” Stan said, stepping between the two of them. “Sophia, Emma, how about you just walk away? It’s the first day of the new year. We don’t need to deal with the principal.”

Emma sniffed. “Only if Cartman deletes the video.”

“Not on your life, you ginger-haired freak,” said Eric.

“Eric?” I asked. I really just wanted to get to class. “It’s not worth it.”

Eric looked at me and then back at the girls. He let out a sigh and tapped on his phone. “Fine. It’s gone.”

“Can we all just go to class now?” I asked. There was a reason I preferred to hang around the guys than the girls of this school. It was far less complicated.

Emma looked at me oddly. “Yeah. Keep your boyfriend under control. We all remember what happened with Heidi Turner when she didn’t.”

“Eric’s just a friend,” I said.

“Right,” Emma said and walked away. As her friends joined her, she casually turned her head back toward me. “Oh, Taylor, I smelled something funny near your locker. You didn’t leave anything in there over the holidays, did you?”

I blinked. “I don’t think so…”

“You should go check it out!” Emma called, and I really couldn’t help but wonder what the heck was going on. Emma was never concerned about me these days. Something had to be up.

“I’ll go check it out and get to class afterward,” I said. “Cover for me with Mrs. Knott, Kyle.”

“Okay, dude,” Kyle said and gave me a thumbs-up. We split up in the hallway so the boys could get to their morning classes, and I could get my locker. Hopefully whatever it was, it wasn’t too bad. I really didn’t want to have to ask the janitorial staff for help cleaning it up.

My locker was on the second floor of Winslow, one of the reasons it was such a pain in the ass to deal with. There weren’t many active classrooms on this floor; Winslow was a school too big for the number of teachers it actually had. There were maybe a few senior classes that were here, but mostly it was just the lockers. Of which, mine was down the east wing, two lockers from the end. They were typical height High School lockers, taller than me, albeit not by much, and they were a little wider than normal, but that worked well enough.

When I got near mine, immediately I gagged. I could smell a miasma of ick just on the end of the hallway. I didn’t know how Emma knew it was—fuck, was she really that much of a bitch? Just smelling it, there was no way to tell which locker it came from, but Emma said specifically that it was mine. Pulling my hood up and tightening it helped a bit with the smell, but it didn’t help really enough.

I got to my locker, and I put in the combination. When I opened it, immediately I let loose the contents of my stomach on the ground. God. Someone had stuffed my locker with just a whole mess of ick. Used feminine hygiene products that smelled like they’d been sitting there for far too fucking long. I threw up again.

As I was hunched over from throwing up, someone shoved me from behind, pushing me into the pile of ick in my locker. I stepped on something and slipped as the locker door slammed shut behind me. Before I could even stabilize myself, I felt the coat hook on the door dig right through the back of my skull.

Guess I was missing school today, after all. At least I wasn’t going to have to smell this disgusting shit anymore.

****************************************

“Dude, where’s Taylor?” Stan asked Kyle after his morning class. He and Cartman shared World Studies with her for second period.

“I don’t know. She never made it to Mrs. Knott’s class,” Kyle said.

“You don’t think…”

“The ginger bitch did something to her locker?” Cartman asked. He looked down at his friends. “I don’t care that she’s a girl, guys. I’m going to hit her next time she talks shit like that.”

“Cartman, you know that’s a bad idea,” Stan said. “You could seriously hurt her. I mean dude, you’re a fucking linebacker. She’s a model.”

“That, and Hess might come after you,” said Kyle. “Remember what Taylor said about her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman said. “Still, she would have to go after The Wall to do it. Let’s go see what’s going on with Taylor’s locker that’s taking her so long.”

“Next class starts soon though,” Kyle said.

“Screw that,” Cartman said as he started for the stairs. “Mr. G can lick my balls.”

“Yeah,” Stan said.

“Taylor is more important,” Kyle said after a few seconds, following the other two.

It didn’t take long for the trio to make it up to Taylor’s locker. Immediately, they started gagging at the smell, but the pool of blood at the base of the locker had them worried.

“Oh, God, who has the combination?” Stan asked.

“Don’t look at me, dude. Taylor didn’t give it to me.” Kyle shook his head, but he removed one of his mittens. Sparks jumped between his fingers. “I’ll get it open though.”

“No, you won’t,” Cartman said, and he slipped some claw-tipped rings onto his right hand. He then thrust the claws into the top of the locker and grabbed down to pull. The metal bent back, and with another tug, the locker door was all the way open.

Taylor’s hooded body hung limply on the door’s coathook, blood dripping down. Flies were landing on her open, unblinking eyes, and some rats had already started to nibble.

“Oh my God, they killed Taylor!” Stan cried.

“Those bastards!” Kyle said.

Then the bell rang.

Cartman snapped some photos of the inside and of Taylor’s dead body. “This and the video earlier are enough to pin it on Hess. Let’s go ahead and call the cops.”

“You didn’t delete it?” Kyle asked.

“Hell no.” Cartman shook his head. “I knew those bitches were up to something. And now Taylor’s dead.”

“Right,” Stan said. “Justice can be done… and we can deal with class.”

“Good for us,” Kyle said sarcastically.

 

Chapter Three

************************

I have never been able to sit by and watch as the cesspool of crime in my city festers. I have lived in Brockton Bay all my life. When I was younger, I decided to take it upon myself to keep this city safe. The Protectorate, New Wave, other Independents... they are unable to do this alone. There are few things that only I can do. Nobody at school knows about my current double life. To them, I am just another sophomore. But tonight, I am Mysterion.

I narrowed my eyes from my perch on top of the lamp post near the docks. ABB territory. It wasn't super likely that anything worth reporting would happen here this evening, but it was on my patrol route.

I leaped to the next post, swinging around the lamp and then using my grapnel to turn. My toys were more sophisticated now, of course. I would stand against the darkness in this city. When an innocent cried out in pain, I would be there to soothe it. When the need for justice was felt, it was me who would stand for it. When all hope was lost, I would be that sy—wait, what the Hell?

Was that... Stan's dad?

Randy Marsh staggered up to a group of Asian teens smoking something that smelled a lot like weed, and I could practically hear him from here.

"So, you guys like... have enough of that to share, right?" Mr. Marsh asked.

"Fuck off, gwailo!" one of them said. "Go away, or Lung might get you!"

"Oh, that's how it's gonna be, is it?"Mr. Marsh asked. "You wanna go? You wanna go right here? I'll throw down."

I slapped my face, my hand bouncing off the lenses in my mask. God damnit Mr. Marsh. Drunk and belligerent was the best way to describe his current state. Was I seriously going to have to save Stan's dad from his own stupidity?

Two switchblades came out and answered my question. Fuck.

“Oh, you think that makes you big men, do you? I bet you do. Come on, bro. Let’s go.” Mr. Marsh took a sip of whatever bottle he was holding in his right hand. Probably liquor.

“I’ll take you, gwailo!” One of the Chinese boys stood up. “Come on, old man! Let’s go.”

“Oh, you wanna go?” Mr. Marsh asked as he started circling the boy. “You wanna go? I’ll throw down right here.”

“Come on, old guy,” said the punk. He stepped closer into Mr. Marsh’s personal space, knife flickering in the dim light from the street lamps. His friends also stood up, starting to surround Stan’s dad.

I needed to act fast. My grapnel attached to the lamp nearby, and I swung down, landing behind Stan’s dad with a thump.

“Oh yeah, I can take them!” Mr. Marsh started swinging his fists with his eyes closed.

The first punk closed in. I slipped up to him, grabbed his arm in a lock and cracked it. I headbutted his chin, and he dropped.

“Cape!” The second one cried and I smirked. They started attacking me, rather than Mr. Marsh.

A dodged punch here, a kick there. I weaved through attacks, using my cape to wrap their arms and swing them into each other. God, I needed this after my last death.

These guys were actually very slow. Given the weed they’d been smoking—I threw a guy with a lit joint into his friend—I would have thought they wouldn’t fight at all.

“Leave,” I ordered in my cape voice, and they scurried away. I turned to Stan’s dad. “They’re gone.”

He stopped swinging and turned to me. “What? Where’d they all go?”

“Gone.” I stared him down. “And you should go home, not be picking fights with random people for weed.”

It was shit weed anyway. Stan’s dad really needed better taste, and judging from how that bottle smelled, his taste in liquor was lacking too.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I thought this was America!” Mr. Marsh stared me down. “I’m sorry, I thought this was America! Because in America, we have freedom. Isn’t this America?”

“Get home, Mister Marsh. You’re drunk,” I said and I used my grapnel to get onto a lamp post, swinging around it so I could perch on top. Using my grapnel again, I alighted myself on a balcony, and then I jumped from balcony to balcony until I hit the fire escape. After climbing it to the roof, I looked down.

Mr. Marsh was staggering, but I could still hear his rants about America and uppity capes. Stan better be appreciative of this. He looked down at the ground, presumably for the weed the ABB guys had been smoking, and on seeing that it wasn’t there, he grumbled and staggered off.

I could be going and hunting down Nazis tonight. I had a lead on some Empire initiation thing going on in the next few nights, but no, I had to make sure Stan’s dad didn’t do something extremely stupid and hurt himself.

Mr. Marsh made it out of the alley and continued his walk. “Gotta do something about… Fascists…”

My friend’s dad needed me more than my city at the moment. I’d have to let the other heroes do their thing. I wouldn’t even be able to snag a glance at Aegis or Glory Girl tonight.

I flipped onto the next roof, still following Stan’s dad. I looked ahead on his path. There. He couldn’t seriously be headed for that liquor store, could he?

A grapnel up ahead of him let me see the inside of the liquor store. Asian-run, as most things were in this part of town. Except the best Chinese restaurant in town. It was run by an insane white man who only thought he was Chinese. Still, he did pay pretty well when I had that job.

Inside the liquor store was a problem. A man in a black bodysuit with a belt and bandoleer of knives and grenades on it stood at the counter. He wore a demonic mask with a leering, fanged, ear-to-ear grin. It was clearly Japanese in style, crimson with two green stripes on either side. Fuck. It was Oni Lee, and Mr. Marsh was headed straight in for him.

One option would be to knock Stan’s dad out. I’d have to use the stun gun I had, but it’d probably be effective on the man. Another would be to—fuck, I was deliberating too long. He’d already gone inside.

I used my grapnel to land on the overhang. I’d swing in and save Mr. Marsh again if I needed to.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to spend my American dollars on more American booze because this is America, not some other shitty country that got eaten by an Endbringer,” said Stan’s dad.

I slapped my face again. God, he was drunk.

“You are too drunk to make this purchase, white man.” I had not heard Oni Lee speak often, but I had heard him before. It surprised me that he would even care how drunk someone was. “This place is under ABB protection. Leave.”

“Oh, fuck you, you rice-eating demon-masked cape!” I heard the tapping of flesh on something. “It’s capes like you that give this city a bad name! It’s capes like you that make people afraid! But I’m not afraid of you! So, come on. Let’s go, bro! You’re not going to stop me from my booze, bro. This is America!”

“This is Lung’s territory,” growled Oni Lee.

I swung in through the open front door, landing lightly. Mr. Marsh was circling Oni Lee. The cape in question was fingering one of his knives. I knew he knew how to use it.

“Oni Lee,” I said, in my cape voice. “Let the man go.”

“Oh, you,” said Stan’s dad. “Mysterion… what the hell are you doing here? They won’t let me buy my booze.”

“You’ve had enough, Mister Marsh,” I said. “You should have gone home.”

“He is being insulting,” said Oni Lee. “The insult against Lung will not be borne.”

“He’s drunk and disorderly,” I said. “Let him go in peace.”

Mr. Marsh started humming a few strains of that one Bad Canary song about a fight, as if he were revving himself up.

Oni Lee tilted his mask at Stan’s dad. I could almost see the gears turning under that mask. “Fine. But he leaves now.”

“I’ll make him,” I said. I hoped Stan would forgive me for doing this, but I doubted his dad would remember any of this in the morning. “Mr. Marsh, I saw your wife with another man!”

“What?” Stan’s dad stood up straight and looked around. “I need to get home. Sharon? Shaaron!”

He ran out of the liquor store and in the vague general direction of his house, leaving me alone with Oni Lee, his backup and the owners.

“Thank you,” I said, looking at Oni Lee. The shop owners echoed my thanks to the cape. “If we have further business, let us complete it outside.”

“Your head is not on my list today, Mysterion,” said Oni Lee. Funny because it had been before. I did not like fighting the teleporting cloner. I’d sooner fight Lung than Oni Lee.

“You are a criminal, Oni Lee,” I said. “But today is not the day we fight.”

I pulled out a string of firecrackers and with a minor use of energy manipulation, I lit it and threw it to the ground. As they went off, I ran out of the liquor store and used my grapnel to get back on the roof.

I could have continued my patrol, but it was a school night. I was trying harder at school, and I needed to be fresh for the next morning. The city still festers, but I managed to save a relatively innocent life this evening.

It could have been a lot worse.

It took a bit of rooftop running and swinging before I managed to make it home. It was easy enough to enter the house through my bedroom window. It was nice and private, and I was certain that I could enter unnoticed.

Once inside, I took off the Mysterion costume, becoming, once again, normal teenage girl, Taylor Hebert. I’d already completed my homework, and I was almost ready to just collapse on the bed, but there were some sounds that bore investigating.

Still wearing my mask, though the rest of the outfit was removed, I crept out of my bedroom toward the source of the noise. A giggle here, and a repeated squeaking sound there… Was that coming from the living room?

I made my way down the stairs, and I… really, really wish I hadn’t seen what I saw. My father was completely naked in the living room, but that wasn’t all. Next to him was Cartman’s mother in a similar state of dress. I say next to, but I mean more or less on top of.

My dad and Cartman’s mom… I hope Dad at least used protection. Who knew what a whore like Mrs. Cartman had in her history?

Oh. Oh God. They were having sex. This was too much. I knew where my dad kept things. I walked over to the gun cabinet and popped the lock. This was not going to be pleasant, but living in a world where that happened…

I shot myself. Dead. It was better than dealing with that.

******************************

Standing outside the home of Taylor and Daniel Hebert was a young man who knew far too much. A grin came to his face as he saw Mysterion swing into Taylor’s window. “Yes, yes Mysterion. I’m sure you will join me soon enough. After all, there’s something happening that you can’t change.”

He looked in through the living room window, and after gagging a bit at the initial sight, he laughed wildly and evilly. “Soon! Soon, Mysterion. Now you see the truth! Now you see what’s happening behind closed doors… What will you do, hero? What will you do knowing that your dad is fucking Cartman’s mom?”

Mysterion turned away and walked over to the gun cabinet in the dining room. Yeah, he knew who this person was, but this seemed a bit out of character. Good.

“Yes… do it, Mysterion. Turn. Turn to my side and become the villain I know you can be.” The young man laughed.

His laughter continued until Mysterion put her mouth over the barrel of the gun. “What? No!”

Mysterion clearly fired the gun, and brain matter and skull matter ejected from her skull.

“Oh… fiddlesticks.”

 

Chapter Four

******************

School these days, for the most part, sucks. Not because I’m bad at it. Far from it. I would have one of the highest grades in each of my classes, but it turns out that death isn’t an excuse for missing homework. At least if you don’t stay dead, that is.

Another reason that it sucks are the petty attempts at bullying some of the other kids try. Usually, they do it when they only share a class with me, not any of my friends, goaded on by Emma. I’m still not sure why she has a problem with me these days. Eric, sure. He has that issue with redheads, but me? Go figure. Of course, since she has the issue, most of her friends do too.

Some are just not exactly wise about how they do it.

“Seriously, Madison?” I glared at the shorter girl from where I stood. Madison was one of Emma’s clique; she joined that group here in Winslow. She was one of those short, cute girls who thought they could get away with anything. About half the time, she was right. With our normal World Studies teacher, she would get away with this easily. But Gladly wasn’t here right now.

“What's that, Taylor? You sound all muffled.” Honestly, her voice tended to piss me off a little. That slight tone of innocence just bugged me.

“My hood isn't even fucking up,” I said and flicked her off. I pointed at my seat and dipped almost into my cape voice but not quite. “Clean that glue off my chair.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “I literally saw you. Clean it up before Gladly gets in here and I might not be mad.”

“Ooh… what are you going to do to me, Taylor?” Madison asked in a fake-scared voice. “Fuck you, bitch. Sit in it or clean it yourself.”

“Hey!” Eric stepped up behind me. “I don’t think you heard her, short stack.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, fat boy!” One of Madison’s friends, Julia, stepped up next to her. “This doesn’t involve you.”

“You either, but look who just stepped up… yes,” Eric said. He placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “How about the two of you clean up this mess or…”

“Oh, screw you, Cartman,” said Madison. “I don’t have to clean this up.”

“You did it,” I said. “Fix it.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Hey! Respect her authority,” Eric said, stretching out the last syllable so there was a bit more in there. “Better still, respect mine and clean that shit up!”

"Shut up you fat fu—"

Madison was cut off by the door being slammed open. That was a little strange. Gladly never slammed open the door. He was kind of a pushover of a teacher. Nothing like... I did a double take on who was entering.

"No fucking way," Eric said, and I echoed the sentiment.

The man was bald, a bit shorter than Eric, and a hell of a lot thinner. He wore a green collared shirt and forest green dress pants over top of black loafers. He had square-frame glasses and he looked... about the same as the last time I saw him, in fourth grade. He really had aged gracefully… well, as gracefully as he could, given his looks.

“All right, class, sorry I'm late, but that absolute cunt of a secretary wouldn't tell me where this classroom was and made me have to ask your computers teacher,” said the man as he walked up to the board. He looked it over and frowned. He then wrote his name on the board. “To introduce myself, I am Mr. Garrison. I will be taking over as your new World Studies teacher.”

“Oh neat, it's another Mr. G...” Julia said.

Garrison turned and looked directly at her. “Excuse me? Did you just say something without raising your hand first?”

Madison raised her hand. Oh, wonderful.

“Yes, Miss... Clements, was it?” Garrison looked at a clipboard and then at the girl. I could only imagine what he must have thought when looking at her. Of course, I wasn’t entirely sure that my imagination was entirely accurate. I didn’t like Madison much, after all.

“Yes. What happened to our old teacher? He let us call him Mr. G.”

“Oh, jeeze,” Garrison said and looked away from Madison for a second. “Gladly retired early. He won some money in some major contest and didn't want to be around you little fuckers anymore. I got drafted. Let me get two things straight. One. I am here to be your teacher, not your friend. Two. Anyone who calls me 'Mr. G' will lose two points off their grade for each time you do it. Only little pussies trying to seem cool let their students do that.”

“Weak,” Eric said. “I think you should suck my balls.”

Mr. Garrison smirked. “Okay. Whip ‘em out. And raise your hand while you’re at it.”

I snorted and nudged my friend. “Gross, dude. You know he'll do it too.”

“What?” Eric asked.

“You heard me, Eric,” Garrison said. “Whip them out.”

“Gross,” Eric said and laughed.

I swatted Eric on the side, using only a slight bit of energy manipulation as I did so. He rubbed his shoulder.

“Taylor Hebert,” Garrison said, and immediately the rest of the class jeered.

“Yes?” I asked, unconcerned. Garrison was always fair to me in the past, even if he wasn’t the greatest teacher.

“Why did—” He did a literal doubletake when he looked me over. “Your hood is down.”

“Yes. It’s been down before,” I said. Admittedly, it wasn’t often in his class, but I did do it sometimes.

“You’re…” Garrison looked where he was. “Please come see me after class.”

“What for?” I asked. “I didn’t put the glue on my desk.”

“Glue on your—oh Christ,” Garrison said. “Who did that?”

Eric raised his hand. “It was Madison Clements, Mr. Garrison.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Madison said. “Taylor put it on there herself. We all saw her! Didn’t we?”

“Why the Hell would I do it myself?” I asked. “I’m not going to sit in glue.”

Garrison just walked over to the desk and started pulling out drawers. Eventually, he pulled out a set of wipes. “Here. I’ll clean it off. Then we can start class and deal with it. I don’t like lying in my classroom, and the truth will come out soon enough.”

It didn’t take him long to clean off my desk, and he patted it. “There you go, Taylor.”

I took my seat and Garrison went to the front of the classroom.

“Now, who can tell me what Gladly was teaching you last?” Garrison asked.

A few people raised their hands.

“You,” Garrison said, pointing at one of the boys. Greg, a blond-haired blue-eyed boy that occasionally sat at our table at lunch. At least until we got tired of dealing with him.

“Mister G was teaching us about the Protectorate,” Greg said.

“Of course, he was,” Garrison said, and he opened the desk. “Couldn’t leave any of his notes here, could he? Well, fuck it. We’re doing it anyway.”

Garrison turned to the board. “So, the Protectorate. And the world. Well, this is World Studies, so we have to examine how they affect the world. I’m sure everyone here knows that the Protectorate started with just four members. Who can name them?”

Half the class had their hands up. I chose to keep mine down for now.

“Yes, you.” Garrison pointed.

Julia spoke up, “Alexandria, Legend, Eidolon, and Hero.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Sturgis, but you only got three out of four. That’s a seventy-five percent, which is only barely passing.” Garrison looked around the room. “Anyone else?”

“I got all of them right!” Julia said. “What do you mean I got three out of four?”

I raised my hand.

“Yes, Taylor?” Garrison asked.

“Her full name is Library of Alexandria,” I said.

“And isn’t that just a pretentious cape name?” Garrison asked as he started writing on the board. In big block vertically-aligned letters, he wrote out the word “PARAHUMAN.” He smirked and turned to us. “Now class, I’m going to explain to you just what a cape actually is.”

He wrote down the rest of a word. “The first definition of parahuman is ‘pretentious;’ the costumes. Just look at the costumes. Even the cool ones are dumb as hell. Only someone who is especially pretentious would do that. The next definition is ‘assholes;’ parahumans will steal your men, girls and boys. Some will even steal the clothes off your back. The next one is ‘raucous’ and that defines all cape fights. They’re just crazy to be near.”

I tuned out Garrison for the rest of the lesson. It seemed like he was on one of his rants again. I assumed that whoever his latest boyfriend was, the person ended up leaving him for a cape. At least this time, he wasn’t trying to go for a proof that gay people couldn’t raise children. I doubted we’d have homework on his first day, and I was going to be talking with him after class anyway.

Ultimately, class ended far sooner than Garrison wanted. He had more after lunch, but neither Eric nor I were in it. Kyle and Stan were, though. I didn’t envy them with how he was today.

The moment the bell rang, I stood up and walked up to the teacher.

“Let’s let the class finish filing out before we talk, Taylor,” said Mr. Garrison.

“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “Not sure what you wanted to talk with me about.”

“You’ll know,” he said with a smile and he addressed the rest of the class. “All right, class, now tomorrow we’ll get more into the material. I want you to read an article on the Protectorate before class and prepare to present some material on it.”

Vague affirmations happened as the rest of the class filed out. Eric made to hang back, but I waved him onward, and he snorted before walking out. I hoped I could get to the lunch room before Eric decided that I was taking too long and ate my lunch.

“Okay, Taylor,” said Mr. Garrison. “I wanted to talk with you about a couple things.”

I adjusted my glasses a bit. “Okay…”

“The first is… how long have you been a girl?” Mr. Garrison asked.

I coughed. “What?”

“You’re a girl.”

“Yes. I am,” I said. “Born and raised one.”

“But you were a boy,” said Mr. Garrison.

“I could have sworn the teachers knew the truth,” I said. “Didn’t the roster say that I was a girl back then?”

“Oh, who pays attention to those shitty things?” asked Mr. Garrison. “So, you’re seriously a girl.”

“Yes.”

“And you hung out with Eric, Kyle and Stan,” he said.

“Still do, actually. Not as much with Emma these days, though,” I said.

“Oh. Jeeze.” Garrison shook his head. “Okay… now, what was with the glue on your seat?”

The teachers at this school rarely paid any attention to this before, which is why Eric had taken it on himself to act as he did. Maybe Garrison would be different. As odd a teacher as he’d been before, he still had some care about his students.

“Bullying attempts.” I shrugged. “I think the girls of the school don’t like that I hang out with my boys. Wendy’s the only one who doesn’t care, and she’s Stan’s girlfriend.”

“Attempts?” Garrison asked.

Well, I couldn’t tell him that they’d killed me multiple times in said bullying attempts. Given I was standing in front of him, there was little way he’d believe me, or worse, he would and I’d be dragged before the PRT.

“Petty shit, really,” I said. “Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away, but neither does standing up against it.”

“And nobody’s done anything?” Garrison asked. “Christ, that’s just stupid. Listen Taylor, here’s what you need to do. If someone acts as your enemy, you need to man up, track them down, and fuck them to death.”

“What?” I asked.

“You need to fuck them to death!” Garrison said. “It’s the only way to be sure. I haven’t quite figured out how to do that to an Endbringer yet, but I will. And when I do, you can bet your ass I’ll be first to do it.”

I rubbed my temples. “Mr. Garrison, I’m a girl.”

“Oh. Right. That probably wouldn’t work that well then. And you’re a minor. Shit. Don’t tell Blackwell that I said this,” Garrison said.

“Got it,” I said.

“And when you’re eighteen, then you can go and fuck them all to death. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

I slapped my forehead and suppressed a gag. “I’m… I’m going to go to lunch now.”

Assuming I hadn’t lost my appetite.

“Fine, fine. Don’t forget your article, Taylor,” said Mr. Garrison.

“Yeah…” I shook my head and walked out of the room. It was time for lunch, and… fuck.

That was a group of girls blocking my way to the lunch room.

“Stand clear!” Eric’s voice rang out from behind me. “The Wall is coming through!”

Eric scooped me up in one arm and held out his other hand. “It’s lunchtime you butt munches, and nobody is going to keep me and my friend from our Cheesy Poofs.”

He pushed through the crowd. Anyone foolish enough to get in his way was summarily shoved, so most just made their way out of it. Emma actually looked mad as we passed her, but I really couldn’t bring myself to care. I still didn’t know what the Hell her issue was, but eventually, I’d figure it out.

“Come on, Taylor. Let’s get our lunch, god damnit,” said Eric. “And then when Stan and Kyle show up, we can talk about the plan.”

“Okay,” I said. “You can put me down now.”

Eric did so, and we got in line for our lunch. It really was a pity that Winslow didn’t have someone as good as Chef, but then nobody really did anymore. He was always and will always be missed.

Of course, I wondered what Eric’s plan was, exactly. I was sure it would be fun though.

It usually was.

 

Chapter Five

********************

“Guys, guys, you need to listen,” Eric said when we all sat down at the lunch table. I hadn’t seen him this excited in a while. “I know how we can make boatloads of money.”

“What do you need money for right now, Cartman?” Kyle asked. “You’re on the football team, and you’re a shoe-in for a scholarship.”

“For your information, Kyle,” Eric said. “We always need money. But seriously, guys. This will put us on the map. That shit we did six years ago…”

“Dude, you mean what you did?” Stan asked. “Cartman, what exactly is it you wanted to do? You mentioned something the other day…”

Eric looked around and leaned forward. He lowered his voice. “Coon and Friends, guys. But this time, it’s just us.”

“Just us?” I asked.

“Yeah!” Eric said, nodding. “Nobody else. No franchise fights, no movie rights bullshit. The real money is in merchandise and the best part is in reputation.”

“I think the Protectorate has that market cornered,” I said, my voice low.

Eric snorted. “Those dickwads won’t know what hit them with us coming into play.”

“Uh, dude?” Stan asked. “Should we be talking about this at school?”

I took a sip from my milk. “Besides, don’t we want to be heroes?”

“Uh, duh!” Eric said. “We are heroes, and we can easily prove it. We just need to find the r—”

“Stan!” A girl’s voice cut Eric off. It was obvious who it was. Wendy Testaburger, Stan’s girlfriend, was on her way to the table with her lunch tray. She was almost as tall as me. Her straight black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that ended at her midback. Today she was wearing a purple coat and yellow pants, but she wore a white blouse easily visible from under her unbuttoned coat. She was ever so slightly bigger than me, and I really wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Her pink hat sat on top her head. I think she was wearing the barest hint of makeup.

“Oh, hey Wendy…” Stan smiled at his girlfriend. “There’s space for you at the table.”

“Oh, here we go,” Eric said with a rolling of his eyes.

“She is his girlfriend, Eric,” I said. “And she’s a fairly good friend. Hey, Wendy.”

“Taylor,” Wendy said with a smile. “Glad to see that whatever Emma had planned for you the other day didn’t pan out.”

I shrugged. Well, technically I had died, but I guess that more or less counted as it not panning out. “She’ll try something else, I’m sure.”

Wendy shook her head. “Something’s very wrong with that girl.” She placed her tray down next to Stan. “So, what were you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Eric said. “Just inviting the guys over to my place after school.”

“Oh, can I come too?” Wendy asked. “I want to spend some more time with Stan.”

“You willingly want to go to Cartman’s house?” Kyle asked. “God, you and Stan must be serious.”

“Hey! There is nothing wrong with my house, you Jew!”

“Say that a little louder, fatass, I don’t think the Empire heard you,” Kyle said.

“Let ‘em hear. It’s not like they don’t know already,” Eric said. “Dude, your last name is Broflovski. If they don’t think that’s a Jew last name, then they’re not just stupid, they’re fucking retarded.”

“Eric, you could keep it down a bit.” I looked around. A few of the skinheads were paying attention.

“Oh, no,” Eric said. “The Empire wannabes might try something. Let them. I want them to try to fuck with Kyle.”

“Because I’m a Jew?”

“Because you’ll kick their ass! It’ll be funny!” Eric grinned. “Kyle, we’ve known each other how long? Do you really think that when the chips are down, I will let any other fucker do anything to you?”

“Not… really…” Kyle shook his head.

“Besides. You’re my friend,” Eric said. “If anyone’s going to fuck with you, it’s going to be me.”

“Might want to phrase that differently, dude,” Stan said. “Unless you really meant it the way it sounded.”

“What? No!” Eric said. “Gross.”

“What, being gay?” I asked.

“Fuck no. He’s a daywalker. Even if I were gay, I wouldn’t touch him that way with a ten foot pole,” Eric said. “Besides, I think Heidi and I might have another chance.”

“Heidi dumped you in the fourth grade,” I said. “And she doesn’t even go to this school. I’m pretty sure she’s at Clarendon.”

Eric snorted. “Well, maybe someone else then. I’ll find someone, I’m sure. It’d be cool if they were like you, Taylor.”

Wendy snorted. “Cartman, you’re on the football team. I’m pretty sure that half the cheerleaders would be willing to put up with you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want someone that just puts up with me,” Eric said. “I want someone I can have fun with. Someone I can laugh with. Someone I can make assloads of money with.”

I took a sip from my milk. Eric really had come a long way. He and Wendy would have been at each other’s throats even two years ago. It really was nice to see him maturing a bit. “So, your house.”

“Oh, right. You never answered if I could go,” Wendy said. “Can I, Cartman? I want to be with Stan.”

“Sorry, Wendy, no can do,” Eric said. “It’s No Girls Allowed.”

“Oh,” Wendy said. “But didn’t you invite Taylor along?”

Eric let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead. “Wendy, Wendy, Wendy… how to make you understand…. I said no girls allowed. Taylor is a girl. Ergo, we have already reached our quota. If we allow more, and we make an exception for you, then our rules just don’t get followed. It creates chaos, Wendy. Chaos. And none of us want that, do we?”

Wendy gave Eric a flat look. “You totally stole that from the Simpsons.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eric said, his voice taking on a snooty tone. “The rule is no girls, not no girl. Taylor is that girl. Tell her, guys.”

Stan looked at Eric before patting his girlfriend on the back. “Look, Wendy… this is just one of those things we have to do. I promise that I’ll call you later.”

“And I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget,” I said. “Trust me, Wendy, I’d be happy to have you along, but Eric’s been kind of insisting that it’s just us for now. Don’t worry too much.”

Wendy nodded, and she held out a hand. “Shake on it?”

“Sure,” I said. I reached over the table, and she took my hand, pulling me close.

“Here. In case Mysterion needs some information,” Wendy said quietly as she shook my hand. When I pulled it back, I saw she’d slipped me a card with some embedded circuitry. “Make sure to call me.”

I nodded and the bell rang. Lunch had ended.

“See you, babe,” Wendy said and gave Stan a kiss. The kiss got a bit more involved than usual, and I shook my head. Good for them.

Wendy walked off after the kiss finished.

“No throwing up this time,” Eric said. “Sweet. Now, even sweeter? Come by my place right after school. We’ve got planning to do before we hit our target.”

“What target, dude?” Stan asked.

“A Merchant crack house,” Eric said. “We’re going to hit them so hard and fast that they won’t even feel it.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s the drugs, dude,” I said. Still, hitting the Merchants… that would be a good thing for my reputation. It’d be good for all four of ours.

Oh yeah. This was going to be fun.

 

Eric’s house is a few doors down from Stan’s place, who, in turn, is a few doors down from Kyle. My place is the odd one out in that while we’re not quite in the shitty part of town, (the lack of gang recruiters definitely indicated that) we are in a part that’s a little less affluent. Kyle, Stan, and Eric always had money, but that was never why I hung out with them. Besides, Eric always wanted more.

Eric rushed us inside the house, and he did a quick look around the room. His living room was bigger than mine, and he had a nicer TV and furniture, but other than that, it was more or less a basic living room. Couches, coffee table, TV… seen one, you’ve seen them all. The walls were painted yellow, and the carpet was oddly green, but it seemed to work for this place.

“Okay. I think my Mom’s out right now. We need to get to the Coon Lair,” said Eric.

“… You mean your basement?” Kyle asked.

“Shut up, Kyle,” Eric said. “It’s the super secret Coon Lair!”

“In your basement,” Kyle said.

“And why is it the “Coon Lair” anyway?” Stan asked. “We’re all a team.”

“It’s my house, my lair, and my team,” Eric said. “Christ, you guys, why can’t you be like Taylor? She’s just taking it all in quietly.”

“Eric, I’m fine with going in your basement,” I said. “But seriously, we’re not kids anymore. You shouldn’t call it the Coon Lair. It’s your basement.”

“Taylor…” Eric whined. “It’s the Coon Lair because it’s set up to be the Coon Lair right now and we need a lair for Coon and Friends and I just want to have it be called that.”

I slapped my hand to my face. Damnit, Eric. “Dude. Let’s just get down there. Call it whatever you want, but we’re going to need to change a few things about how we do things.”

Eric gave me a look. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, it really doesn’t matter what you call it,” I said. “Let’s just get down there so we can talk.”

Eric nodded and he walked over to the entrance to the “Coon Lair,” his basement door. Long ago, he’d put up some sort of security lock for the basement that really was only active when we were playing that Cape game. I still wasn’t sure when he managed to get the voice part active for the code, or when he would change it, but it was a rather simple thing. Each number was associated with a word, and the code would make a specific phrase.

In this case, the code was apparently “Fuck you, Mom.”

Honestly? Given what I really didn’t want to remember seeing, I agreed with the sentiment regarding Mrs. Cartman.

The door lock disengaged, and we followed Eric into his basement, which currently was set up… more or less as I remembered it. Eric had set up a gift shop with Coon merchandise like tee shirts and Coon dolls from when he was younger, a conference table sat in the middle of the room with a Coon mask logo, the far wall had a sign that said Armory on it, and underneath the stairs was a dog crate that was made into a holding cell, for child-sized villains. This really brought me back.

The whiteboard in the corner identified various “Bad guys,” but now, instead of just showing Professor Chaos and Mr. Garrison, the board had a highlighted section titled “Merchants.” It looked like Eric had gotten some actual pictures of the capes in the Merchants for the board, and he also had pictures of each of the other major villain groups in town.

Professor Chaos was still on there, though. I wasn’t sure if Butters was actually a real villain or not, honestly. I’d encountered him a couple times since he started at Arcadia, but he still seemed like that genuinely nice guy he always had been.

“Now, if everyone would take a seat,” Eric said. “We can start our discussion.”

“None of us are in costume, dude,” Stan said. “Not even you.”

“Yeah, well,” Eric said, stammering. “Shut up!”

“Ooh, smart comeback from Cartman,” Kyle said.

“Oh, fuck you, you stupid Jew,” Eric said.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Eric,” I said, and Kyle started to puff up. “Don’t act like you’re not guilty either, Kyle.”

“Yeah, Kyle, don’t act like you’re not guilty!” Eric said.

Kyle glared at Eric, a red glow appearing in his eyes.

“Kyle,” I said sharply, and he stopped it before he started. “Eric, before we start anything, I want to say that having an actual base here is probably a bad idea. We’re not out as capes. This was fine when we were kids, but if we’re going to be acting as a proper team, doing this could reveal our secret identities.”

“Mmm, yes,” Eric said. “I actually already thought of that.”

He took his seat at the table, and he leaned across it to push a button. The table parted, revealing a screen below that projected a holographic map of the city above it.

“We’re a cape team, but we’re not the Wards or Protectorate. We’re not going to be villains because we are heroes. We are what protects this city from the scum that inhabit it,” Eric said. “And speaking of scum, I have good information that says the merchants are holding on to a warehouse over near the Docks. Now, guys, I have seen the basement of this warehouse. It would make a perfect new base for us. For Coon and Friends.”

“Freedom Pals,” Kyle said.

“How about we worry about names once we’re established, Human Kite?” I asked.

“Oh, no, I’m not using that name again,” Kyle said. “My stupid cousin ruined it, and then the Empire ruined it more. I’m not using something that can easily be transformed into a Jewish epithet.”

“Okay then,” I said. “So, you’ve got a new costume?”

Eric smiled. “We all do. They need to fit us, of course. I’ll show you after I finish telling you the plan.”

“Makes sense to me, dude,” Stan said. “But you know I’ve got my own stuff brewing…”

“Let me talk about the goddamn plan first!” Eric said. “We’re going to go into the Merchants’ warehouse. Take down the unpowered mooks, and if we get attacked by any capes, we take them down too and notify the PRT. I mean, come on. Have you seen the Merchants’ capes? I mean, who the hell are they, really? Smallest gang in the city, and they only have a couple capes.”

“Skidmark’s still treated as an independent, per the last PRT update,” Kyle said.

“He has Squealer and Mush as more capes with him,” I said. “They shouldn’t be underestimated. Squealer’s a tinker, and Mush is probably the most dangerous of the three.”

Mush was the only one of them to actually manage to kill me, of course. Smothering, not a great way to go.

“Right. So, three capes plus a bunch of druggies,” Eric said. “We can take them down and steal their warehouse for the new Coon Lair.”

“Okay,” Kyle said. “That... actually sounds reasonable, Cartman. Nice job.”

“Yes, thank you, Kyle,” Eric said. “Now wait till you see your costumes.”

Eric pushed another button and the wall behind the Armory sign slid away, revealing four tubes. In the leftmost tube was a large mannequin wearing a costume. A layered armored leather jacket was being worn over an exposed white shirt worn over what looked like a bulletproof vest. The mask stretched out like the bandit mask of a raccoon, a red cape hung around its back, and a utility belt held up leather pants. On the mannequin’s hands were a pair of gloves that had clawed tips and studs on the knuckles. The armored upgrade to the Coon costume looked like it would do well on Eric.

Next, was what looked like a simple jeans and tee shirt combo with a dark yellow visor. On a closer look, the jeans were thicker and clearly armored, and the tee shirt was also overtop a bulletproof vest. The belt didn’t have the tools on it, but Stan clearly could provide that himself.

The third costume, was a light-blue outfit with sharp pauldrons. I could clearly see layered armor on it, and it looked like the top had a hood. Additionally, the dummy wore a domino mask. There was a hammer logo displayed prominently on its chest.

“Yes, see, I anticipated you not wanting to be the Human Kite anymore, Kyle,” said Eric. “Your costume is armored with a lightweight conductive weave, and I suggest you wear the mask. You will be the Magnificent Hebrew Hammer.”

“Fuck no, dude,” Kyle said. “I’ll be Zephyr.”

“But there’s already a hammer on your costume!” Eric said.

“Yeah, well… I have a patch for a logo I want,” Kyle said.

I shook my head and looked at the final costume. The black hood with the question mark definitely indicated it as mine. It was a matte black, something that would blend and not reflect too much light. The shirt and pants were made of some sort of leather combination, clearly weathered to articulate to my needs. There was no included mask, which was fine. I still had my own.

“Very nice work, Eric,” I said.

“Like I said, Coon and Friends is now open for business,” Eric said. “Mysterion, Toolshed, and… Christ… Zephyr, welcome back to the fold.”

“I never really left,” I said. “I’ve been active this whole time.”

And died a lot doing it, but such was Cape life.

Eric nodded. “Well, you won’t be alone anymore, Taylor. Now, everyone, suit up. We hit that Merchant house tonight.”

Well. It wasn’t exactly a bad plan.

 

Chapter Six

***************************

Going out in costume with this team again felt nostalgic. Sure, there were people missing, but there was a big difference between going out while pretending to have superpowers versus going out while actually having superpowers. Of course, given what had happened, I’m still not sure how certain things managed to happen. It had to have been something to do with the circumstances surrounding my deaths at that time.

The Coon, Zephyr, Toolshed and I were perched on the roof of a building in the docks area. I knew that the Merchants liked to hang out in the warehouse nearby. They pushed all sorts of drugs there and would sell to anyone who asked, including children. Actually, some of them insisted on only selling to children, and those were really the worst sort of scum.

“Told you,” said the Coon. “Right there. That’s the Merchant warehouse that we’re going to take down.”

“I’ll give you that it’s not a bad location,” Zephyr said. “But seriously dude, how do you know it’s the Merchants?”

“Because I did the research, duh,” said the Coon. He then reached into his utility belt and pulled out a pair of what looked like binoculars. He looked at the warehouse through them. With his left hand, he held up two clawed fingers. Then he put up a third. “I count three guards outside, clearly fucked up on something.”

“Three guards,” Toolshed said. “That should be easy enough.”

“Now if only I had a way to look inside the building,” mused the Coon. “Toolshed, you’re the tinker, do you have anything?”

“Yeah, dude,” said Toolshed, and he pulled out a spyglass. “This lets you look through walls but not clothes.”

“Okay, so who were you looking at?” I asked. “I know it wasn’t Wendy.”

“Mysterion, we can’t do this now,” said Toolshed. “We’re on a mission.”

I smiled and glanced at the warehouse. It was time to show off a little bit. I made sure to keep my voice as heroic as possible. “Three guards that Coon spotted, two at the front entrance, one at the side. However, he missed the rooftop guard that seems to be ODing on heroin or some other opioid, plus the clearly tinkertech Mad Max vehicle parked in the loading bay of the warehouse. This is the Merchants all right.”

“Show-off,” the Coon said without any rancor. “Can I see the spyglass, Toolshed?”

“Sure, dude,” Toolshed said and handed it over to him.

The Coon looked through the spyglass and adjusted it. “How do I…? Wait, wait, I got it.” The Coon seemed to grow a bit agitated as he moved the spyglass over the building. “Oh, Hell no.”

“What?” Toolshed and Zephyr asked at the same time.

“Fucking Hell no,” the Coon said. “They are not doing that.”

“Doing what, exactly?” I asked, looking at my friend.

“That’s copyright infringement! On top of everything else! Fucking Hell no, that’s not cool. Zephyr, you need to see this!” The Coon really seemed agitated.

Zephyr came up to the Coon’s side, and after the Coon gave him the spyglass, he looked through it in the direction the Coon pointed. “Oh. Oh wow. That’s definitely fucked up, dude.”

“Yeah! They’re violating m—Eric Cartman’s copyright!” The Coon said. “That set of Crack Baby Athletics is totally unauthorized. I mean, even if EA stole the copyright, that doesn’t mean a thing if people don’t enforce it!”

“Crack. Baby. Athletics,” I said, and I gave my friend a look. This had to have been something that came up when either I was either out of town with Mom or dead for one of the longer amounts of time. I would have remembered it otherwise. “Seriously?”

Zephyr stepped up next to the Coon and snatched the spyglass. “Give me that.”

He looked through it into the warehouse below. I couldn’t tell exactly what he was feeling, but his body stiffened a little.

“Those bastards, treating babies like that,” said Zephyr.

“And stealing our idea,” said the Coon.

I held out my hand, and Zephyr put the spyglass in it. I looked down at the warehouse below. There were strung out people littering the warehouse, and in the center of the room was a chalk circle with a bunch of emaciated babies in it. They appeared to be playing with a clear ball of some sort with either a powder or a rock inside. I couldn’t quite tell.

“Coon,” I said. “What. Exactly. Is crack baby athletics?”

“Oh, it’s so cool,” said the Coon. “You get a bunch of poor, disadvantaged crack babies, and you stick them in a circle. Then you put a ball in with them with just a little bit of crack. Just a teeny bit. And then you let them go wild. People place bets on who controls the ball the longest, and that’s how the league makes money. Well, that and merchandising and franchise fees.”

“The babies don’t see any money,” Zephyr said. “But, when Cartman ran it, a bit of the money was going toward an orphanage for them.”

I held up a hand. “Okay, I don’t really need to know any more.”

“God, I can’t believe that shit’s going on here,” Toolshed said. “We need to stop it.”

I panned through the warehouse. Beyond the druggies, there were a few members armed with knives and guns, and there in the corner, resting on some sort of… throne made of beer cans, was a clearly meth-addicted man dressed in a blue costume. “Skidmark, in the corner.”

“Fuck this,” said the Coon, and he jumped off the building. “I’m not letting them steal my idea!”

“God damnit, Coon!” Zephyr said as the Coon landed on the ground with a rumbling thud, cracking the concrete. “Toolshed, Mysterion, we need to back him up.”

“Guess we’re doing it live,” Toolshed said, and he tapped his belt. A pair of leaf blowers unfurled from within it onto his back. He pushed a button on a joystick that appeared in his hand, and the leaf blowers brought him into the air.

“Toolshed, what the hell is your specialization?” I muttered as I pulled out my grappling hook.

“Good question,” Zephyr said, and his legs began to glow as he took to the sky. “Let’s go.”

I launched my grappling hook, and I swung through a glass window just as the Coon kicked in the front door. His powers now were a far cry from the ones he’d pretended to have back then, even if he kept the same theming.

“What the fucking shit is this?” the man I could only assume had been Skidmark asked. “Who the fuck are you, you cock nobbler?”

“Oh, hell no,” said the Coon, as he stomped forward. “You did not just insult the Coon.”

“The what?” Skidmark said, raising from his seat. “Fat boy, you stupid or something?”

“The Coon isn’t fat,” he said. “The Coon is big boned. There is an animal that lives by night, searches the trashcans and cleans out the garbage. To clean out the trashcan of this city, scum like you, I have become more than a man. I’ve become the hero this town deserves. I am The Coon.”

“… You’re seriously still doing that bit?” I asked, reaching into a pouch at my belt.

“Oh, my God,” Skidmark said. “You fat little racist shitnugget. You think you can just waltz right in here and do whatever you want? The Merchants ain’t recruiting, fat boy, at least not from racists like yourself.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said the Coon as he approached Skidmark’s throne. He held up his hands, waving them up and down as he moved. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. The fuck did you just call me? The Coon is not racist!”

I glanced to Zephyr and Toolshed as they landed nearby. Giving each of them a nod, I took off into the shadows while listening to the Coon and Skidmark have their little pissing match. Toolshed and Zephyr did the same.

“Your cape name is literally a slur against my people, you fucking fatass,” said Skidmark.

“Hey! I just told you, I’m not a fucking racist, you fucking crack-smoking methhead!” said the Coon.

I cartwheeled behind the nearest gunman, and I pulled out my taser. He seemed distracted by the argument between his boss and the Coon. It really would be almost comical if it weren’t so sad. I jabbed him with the prongs of the taser, and as he dropped, I covered his mouth.

Toolshed brought out what looked like a modified power drill, and an arc of lightning struck his own gunman, silently. Zephyr opened his hand, and red light formed around another gunman’s head, knocking him to the ground.

“Oh, so I must be addicted to crack because I’m black now, is it?” Skidmark asked. “Given how fat you are, I bet you’re addicted to sugary sweets and greasy food. Shit, son, I bet you like to eat two of the Challengers at a time at Fugly Bob’s. Or three whole buckets of KFC! Fucking racist pigheaded little costume wearing fa—”

“Oh Hell no. You’re not going to use that little hate word on me you piece of shit drug-dealing foul-smelling bloody puss-nugget!”

Gunman number two for me, I took him out with a quick sweep to the feet and a hammer-fist to the neck. Then I tased him once for good measure. I didn’t see how Toolshed and Zephyr dispatched their second each, but I heard it. I used my grappling hook to swing over to where the... ergh… crack babies… were playing with their ball. I took a closer look at the ball, and frowned. There was a lot more crack in the ball than the Coon had suggested. This implied that the Merchants were probably doing a lot more than they should have.

“Oh, that’s it, you cock-guzzling shitheel,” Skidmark said. “Now you’ve gone and woken the Skid. You’re a racist little pussy and you thought that the Merchants were easy pickings. I’ve got to show you that you’re dead wrong.”

The Coon smirked. I could hear it in his voice. “I don’t even need to touch you.”

“Oh, shit,” Toolshed said, loud enough to be heard. “I can’t believe that’s even still in him.”

“Have what?” I asked.

“Oi, how many of you fuckers are there? Squealer, Mush, you deal with this trash while I fight this fat fucker!” Skidmark asked.

“Not now, Skiddy…” a clearly trashy blonde woman dressed extremely trashy said. She wore a way too tight tube top and short shorts along with a mirrored welder’s visor. If she’d dressed up a bit better, I’d say she probably was hot, but the drugs played hell on her body. She looked to be working on some sort of monstrous big rig addition. Weird-ass Tinker. “I’m almost done with my new baby…”

“Oh, this won’t even be a fight.” The Coon screwed up his face as if he were thinking of something. “Fuck. Shit. Vagina. Dick. Titties. Blood-soaked tampon popsicles.” Electricity sparked between his fingers, and I could see the wild grin on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing, you racist shitheel?”

“Cock! Muff nuggets! Bitchy Bitchtits McGee!” the Coon said, even more electricity sparking. “Yaah! Ass! Butthole! Fucking Pussy! Barbara fucking Streisand!”

He thrust his arms out and a big beam of energy sparking with electricity struck Skidmark dead on, throwing him back into his throne.

“The fuck was that?” I asked.

“V-Chip,” Zephyr said, landing near me. “I didn’t know that was still active in him…”

“Skiddy!” Squealer called. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you!” The Tinker hit her wrench on the machine again, and I heard an engine start up. Then it backfired.

And I barely had any time to move as a large gear blew out the side of the monstrosity and slammed right through my neck, severing my head.

Little known fact. Your head survives for about thirty seconds after being removed. So, I got to hear something interesting.

“Oh my God, she killed Ta—Mysterion!” Zephyr cried.

“You bastard!” Toolshed called.

The last thing I remember was my head rolling near the crack baby circle. Where they began to play with it like they did the ball.

I hoped at least Toolshed or Zephyr would call the PRT to wrap this up. I’d deal with it when I got back. In the meantime, I blacked out.

Death really is funny sometimes. I swear sometimes I hear a voice or see something. Occasionally I meet beings. It’s never perfect and never permanent.

Sometimes I just hear one voice. One familiar voice that rings through the darkness.

“It’s not time yet, Little Owl.”

And then I wake up in my own bed the next morning.

God. Damnit.

 

Who's the boy that can laugh at a storm cloud?
Turn a frown into a smile for free?
Who's the kid with a heart full of magic?
Everyone knows it's Butters!

"That's me!"

Who's the boy with eyes full of wonder?
Who thinks being yourself is the best thing to be?
Who's that rascal with the tweezers in his pocket?
Everyone knows it's Butters!

"That's me!"

Who's the man with the power of chaos?
Who's the villain with all of the plans?
Who's the supervillain lusting for power?
Everyone knows it's Butters!

"That's me!"

Leopold “Butters” Stotch tapped his pencil on his desk between noting down his ideas. Ideas did flow freely within him, and he couldn’t wait to implement the next one for his next bout of true villainy. The city of Brockton Bay would bow to his whims unless those pesky heroes of the Protectorate or, more than likely, the Coon Friends, stopped him. Mysterion seemed the most likely of that cluster to turn, but for some reason that he couldn’t remember, she didn’t, even when she witnessed her dad fucking Cartman’s mom. Perhaps there was another lever he could manipulate, something insidious within her. She would be well worth the investment to the side of Chaos.

“Okay everyone, today we’re doing a chemistry lab. I’ll be assigning the partners today,” said Miss Crabtree, and Butters snorted.

School. These days, school was trouble, much like him. The halls of the school would tremble if they knew the intellect that laid beneath his blond locks. He was Chaos incarnate; he was perhaps the most brilliant mind here. Only he knew what Chaos he would wreak, and under his thumb, every single person who treated him bad would find out what it truly meant to be grounded. Still, an education was important. A brilliant mind still could be subject to ignorance, and so he needed to pay attention.

Plus, there were benefits to socialization.

“Leopold Stotch and Amy Dallon, you’re partners today,” said Miss Crabtree. She really was a plain-faced teacher. Her brown hair was tied back into a bun, and she wore a dark pantsuit. She didn’t matter much. When his plan was implemented, she would likely be one of the ones to benefit most from its implementation.

Now Amy Dallon had potential. Panacea was supposedly the world’s greatest healer, and from the work that she did in hospitals, everything seemed to be coming up daisies for her. Why, then, did the brown-haired girl look so tired when she came over to join him at his table?

“Hi, Amy!” Butters greeted her. He had always been taught that being bright and polite was a great way to win people over.

“Leopold,” Amy said softly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Well, we have to wait for what teacher says we need to do,” Butters said, and the he made a face. He hated being called Leopold. It just sounded wrong. “You don’t have to call me that, Amy. Call me Butters. Almost everyone else does.”

Amy cocked an eyebrow. Yes, that worked. She seemed either interested or bored, and he could work with either. Besides which, they did have to work together.

“Why can’t I be with Ames?” asked another girl. Victoria Dallon. Glory Girl. The New Wave cape was floating half out of her seat as she asked the question. Butters lightly adjusted the aluminum collar he had around his neck as she flew higher. That aura of hers was nothing to be taken lightly.

It was possible that Mrs. Crabtree would have given in to the aura and the pleading had Butters not been there, but his invention seemed to fight off the worst of it. “Because, Victoria, you have been assigned to work with Clyde. I’m sure he will be happy to work with you.”

Butters eyed the classmate and shook his head. Of course, Clyde was happy to work with Glory Girl. The former Coon Friend had his eye on the blonde, but he had always been a bit of a womanizer. Ever since he got voted the hottest guy in class in the fourth grade, it was his life. The moron.

Glory Girl was far from the prize that Panacea was, and Butters was happy to know it.

“If you want to be with your sister, I understand,” Butters said, looking at Amy. “She really seems sore that the two of you aren’t lab partners.”

Amy snorted. “She’s just mad that she’ll actually have to do some of the work.”

“Oh. Yeah. Maybe all of it,” Butters said, and then he lowered his voice. “Clyde’s not exactly the kind of person who does much.”

“Oh, and what about you?” Amy asked.

Butters smiled. “I do it all! Let’s not worry about the assignment because Scientist Butters is ready to experiment!”

“Scientist Butters, huh?” Amy asked. She seemed like she would have asked more, but Mrs. Crabtree started to pass out the assignment. There were no more outbursts from the rest of the class, which was a good thing.

Amy and Butters were relegated to their work station, and Butters wasted no time in getting the appropriate beakers and tubing ready. He set up the Bunsen burner and followed through the directions with his left hand. With his right, he was idly noting down things in his idea notebook. Right now, his goal would be to get Amy to open up a bit. The girl clearly had something that was bugging her, and while that wasn’t really any of his business, it was a point of leverage that he could use.

Plus, he did bring those cookies and had pretty much nobody to share them with. What with Eric, Taylor, Stan and Kyle at Winslow, and with Clyde and Token not talking to him here for some reason, he really had nobody to hang out with at school. Scott Malkinson came over to sit with him at lunch sometimes, but he usually hung out with that Dennis kid.

“See? Scientist Butters is on the job,” Butters said with a grin. Then he looked into Amy’s eyes. “We’re going to get this done just right. Between you and me, we can definitely get As.”

Amy snorted. “So, Scientist Butters is just you doing science. Are there other Butters that do other things?”

“Of course!” Butters said. “How couldn’t there be? I mean, it’d be silly for a Scientist to be a Writer or an Inspector or an Archaeologist. I have lots of fun with these different hats. Yes, I mean, most of them are pretend, but it’s helpful for me to get into a certain state of mind. You should try it. I mean, I know you go to the hospital and be Panacea, but right now we don’t need a healer cape. We need Scientist Amy!”

“Scientist Amy… that’s not really a thing that I’ve done,” Amy said.

“It’s not like it’s hard, Amy,” Butters said. “The teacher left us all the instructions we need to get the lab done. All Scientist Amy needs to do is do her part on them.”

“And how would I become this… ‘Scientist Amy’?” Amy asked, glancing over the instructions. She stole a few glances at Butters like he was a bit on the crazy side, and to be fair, she’d probably be correct in that assessment. Still, that was half the fun. “What, do I just do the science?”

“That’s a part of it,” Butters said. “Didn’t you ever play pretend when you were little? I mean, I know you wear a costume when you go out to heal people. Treat this like a costume. Wait! I know!”

Butters walked over to the wall and grabbed two lab coats. He slipped one on himself, and he walked back over to Amy while holding the other. The thought of including something with the coat crossed his mind, but a minion bracelet wouldn’t be appropriate for someone like Amy Dallon. No, she needed something better. This needed a softer, more fun touch. “Here, put this on.”

Amy shook her head. “I really shouldn’t.”

“Come on,” Butters said. “Don’t you want to have any fun? School can be fun if you let it. And I just know that Scientist Amy will be a cool person to hang around.”

“Fine,” Amy said in an exasperated tone. Butters had expected a bit more of a fight there, honestly. Perhaps she was just so used to giving in when it was her sister that was pushing. That made the most sense, especially if her sister’s aura affected her the way he thought it did. That just meant that she’d need her own version of the collar. He couldn’t give it to her now though.

Amy let Butters approach and she slid her arms into the lab coat. Butters smiled and carefully helped her into it. He let go without touching her fingers and then he stepped aside to admire the girl in the lab coat. She needed to pull back the mousy brown hair, but add perhaps a cape or something, and it’d be perfect. He needed to plan a little bit more, but for right now, he’d smile at her. “Yes, that’s perfect. I can see Scientist Amy just bursting to get out there!”

Amy rolled her eyes, but Butters could see a bit of a twinkle in them. Perhaps she could get into it. “Scientist Amy reporting, I guess.”

“Very good, Scientist Amy,” Butters said, and he stepped back over to the burner. “You set up the chemicals, and I’ll adjust the flames appropriately.”

“Sure thing, Scientist Butters,” Amy said, following the instructions on the sheet. Butters could tell that she was only giving it a token effort, but he knew that if he reinforced it a bit, she’d actually start having some fun. She prepared two flasks of the acids and one flask of water to dilute the acids with while Butters prepared the stand to place the glassware over the open flame.

“Are you ready, Scientist Amy?” he asked.

“As I can be, Scientist Butters,” Amy said, and he grinned as he saw the twinkle in her eye. She was getting into it. Good. Perhaps being a hero let her play the part, or perhaps she just needed this.

“Then let us commence the experiment!” Butters declared, and he let out a mad scientist laugh that wasn’t entirely unlike the laughs he would let out as Professor Chaos. Well, there were some small differences. Professor Chaos was a supervillain. Scientist Butters was a scientist. Mad or no, they couldn’t compare.

Amy snorted, but she carefully helped with the following instructions. Butters knew he was getting to her. Maybe she’d be willing to eat with him at lunch, and then she could come over to help finish the lab report after school. Preferably before she went to the hospital for her self-imposed job. Of course, there would be the risk of grounding if his parents found out that he was having a girl come over without asking them first.

Eh. He’d take that risk. They couldn’t ground Chaos, after all.

He and Amy did their work up until about five minutes before the bell rang, taking notes on the chemical reactions, along with doing the calculations and chemical equations that were required by the packet provided. There were a couple incidents on the other side of the classroom, but luckily, the combination of good lab safety and an invulnerable human shield prevented any injuries beyond a bit of hurt pride. Amy couldn’t heal that, after all.

“Thank you so much, Scientist Amy for all your help!” Butters said. “If you want, I have some cookies that I brought from home that we could share at lunch.”

“You were right a bit,” Amy said. “It was fun, Scientist Butters. As for lunch, I usually eat with Vicky.”

Her tone when she said her sister’s name was a bit on the odd side. Butters didn’t claim to be an expert on women’s emotions, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d classify that as wistful. Fortunately, he did know better. “Well, the more the merrier. She can have some cookies too if she comes over, but I had a lot of fun doing this experiment with you. And we do still need to get our lab report done.”

“Lunch won’t be the best time to do that,” Amy said.

“Oh, shoot. You’re right,” Butters said. Of course, it wouldn’t be the best time. He knew that completely. “I guess I could do it all at home, by myself. It’s what usually happens.”

Amy shook her head. “We did the experiment together, and we can finish the lab report together. Scientists Amy and Butters are lab partners, after all.”

Butters smiled. “Really? You mean it? I could tell you where I live and you can come over and we can work on the report together.” He reached over and grabbed her hand.

Amy’s eyes widened slightly at his touch, and she glanced around the room. Oh. It seemed that rumor was true then. She could tell everything about someone’s biology with a touch. Which meant that she could probably see brains, and that included any additions to the brain like the Coronas that indicated someone was a parahuman. Amy’s eyes narrowed at him, and she spoke lowly. “Did you Master me?”

“What?” Butters asked, a little incredulous.

“This whole thing. Scientist Amy, Scientist Butters. Did you Master me?” Amy asked. “I know.”

“I’m not a Master,” Butters said. “And you were having fun, Amy. With me. Is that such a bad thing? Do you think that if I was a Master that could affect people, I’d be the kind of person who ate alone most days? Most of my friends are at different schools or don’t talk to me anymore. And for some reason, it’s hard to make new ones. No, I did not Master you.”

“Then what… what can you do?” she asked.

“Tinker,” Butters said, and he opened his notebook. These were the safer designs to show, after all. Not that she’d be able to make heads nor tails of it, anyway. They were his Chaotic notes. “I can show you, when you come over to work on the lab report. I think you’ll find it really neat.”

Amy frowned and let out a sigh. “Okay. If you really want to.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Butters smiled widely. “Still, I do want to share that cookie with you, and you made the best lab partner ever, Amy.”

Amy shook her head. “You weren’t bad either, Butters. We’ll talk more at lunch and you can get me your address then.”

“I will,” he said. “I promise. And I’m sure you’ll like my place, Amy. We can have a lot more fun when we hang out.”

“Maybe,” Amy said, and the bell rang. It was time to get to their next class, but Butters knew that despite that little hiccup of paranoia, he had her.

Amy Dallon was going to come over to his house, and they were going to finish the lab report together. Then Butters would show her his lab, his minions, and perhaps she would even get introduced to General Disarray. Panacea was a hero, for sure, but Amy’s powers were useful for so much more than just healing. Of that, he was certain. Her limits would be fun to explore, assuming he could convince her to play along.

And he was certain he could. It just required a bit of roleplay on her part, just like the Scientists. She just needed to put on the bracelet. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he wasn’t a Master. No, Masters were too simple, too orderly. His Tinkering had shown him the way to developing things properly.

All he needed was a little bit of Chaos.

And what was Chaos without a little bit of Mayhem?

With Amy, Butters was sure he wouldn’t need to find out.

 

Chapter Seven: Favors Owed, Part One

Randy Marsh opened a beer as he sat down in his living room. Today had been a bad day for him, and he just wanted to wind down by watching some TV. His daughter, Shelly, was home from her job at… honestly, he wasn’t sure where she was working these days, but she made good money. Sharon probably knew. He just knew it probably wasn’t too polite to ask her. She was already sitting down in the living room with the TV on.

It appeared to be the news. The anchor, Tom Tollasky was a white man wearing a blue suit and a red bowtie. He had a thinly trimmed beard, and in his hands, he had a stack of papers. The ticker below said something about the Bad Canary trial. Wait. The Bad Canary Trial? He needed to turn this up. He snagged the remote off the table and raised the volume.

“For more coverage of the Bad Canary Trial, we go to a Midget in a Bikini. Oh. Pardon me. The correct term is Little Person in a Bikini. LP?”

"Yes, thank you Tom for that scintillating introduction and correction," said LPiaB, his moustache and beard looking amazingly glorious this morning. His sandy brown hair matched the pink bikini that he wore. "The story is this: Bad Canary, horrible master? Or victim of circumstance?"

"Oh, this is such bullshit," Randy said as he turned off the TV. How could they cast Canary as anything but a victim? It wasn’t like it was her fault that anyone had come up to her after her show. Let alone someone who had incentive to hurt her. "Complete and utter bullshit."

"Dad, I was watching that," said Shelly, turning to her father. She looked a lot better now that her braces were out, and her voice came out clearer too. "Bad Canary could get the Birdcage and then where would I get my good music?"

"Shelly, she's on trial for mastering her ex-boyfriend into fucking himself," Randy said. In of itself, that just made no sense at all. He knew that it was impossible. "Which is complete bullshit because Bad Canary doesn't have a boyfriend. She never has."

"Turn it back on, I want to see more, Dad..." Shelly then narrowed her eyes at her father. “Wait. How do you know she never had a boyfriend?”

“Because! It’s just bullshit. Ignorant. Everyone’s so ignorant about it,” Randy said. “She just had—”

Randy’s rant was cut off by the ringing of the phone. It rang a few times, and Randy growled. “Now what? Nevermind. Shelly, feel free to watch what you want. I need to get that, so keep the volume down.”

Randy went to answer the phone without waiting for his daughter's answer. Maybe he should have let her speak up. They weren’t nearly as close these days as he would have liked, but that was beside the point. He picked up the phone’s receiver and said, "Hello?"

A calculating male voice was on the other end. "Hello, Paige. You're a hard one to contact." He knew who this was. It was one of their representatives.

"I'm done with that, I told you," said Randy. Years ago, he’d told them that. They knew that he was done with them. He made sure to hush his voice lower as he stepped into the other room, away from Shelly. "You're not supposed to contact me here."

"Where else would we contact you, Paige? You haven't been answering our calls." The voice on the other end didn't waver in tone. He wasn’t entirely sure about the man’s name. Real names were a commodity and that group specifically chose to eschew them. He just knew the man as the Producer.

"Yeah... I've uh... been having a problem with spam calls on my cell phone," said Randy, a little nervously. He didn’t want to anger them. "Unknown numbers and all. God, you’re just not supposed to call me. We’re done. I told you."

"You still owe us two favors, Paige. It's time to cash one in," said the voice. Two favors. Fuck. He’d thought that the first thing he’d done for them had counted. He’d done a lot for their group already. He’d just need to reiterate that.

"I told you I was done. I don't use that anymore, and you got plenty out of me with the first favor," said Randy. There. Display confidence and that would be enough to push it through. They wouldn’t make him do anything more now. He knew that for a fact.

"It's still a condition of your contract," said the voice. Damnit. He should have known that they’d be sticklers for contract law. He wasn’t sure what they’d do if he wasn’t able to perform this favor. If he failed, or if he died in the attempt. God, he just didn’t know. "You may even like this favor."

Randy let out a sigh. It didn’t seem like he had much a choice in the matter. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe he’d be able to pull it off. "Fine. What is it?"

"Attempt to prove Bad Canary innocent," said the voice. "She must not get the Birdcage, Paige."

“How the Hell is she on trial in the first place?” Randy hissed out. “When I said I was done, she continued touring. Hell, Bad Canary released new music since then. How did this end up happening?”

“You’ll have to find that out yourself, Paige,” said the voice. “Good luck to you.”

The man on the other end hung up, and Randy let out a small curse. Bad Canary was on trial, supposedly for convincing an ex-boyfriend to fuck himself with her Master power. Of course, the whole thing stank of a setup, and from what he saw of the trial… It was Canary. The woman standing trial was definitely Bad Canary.

Randy hung up the phone, and he walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. “No. You shouldn’t do this. Bad Canary is on trial for assault with a Parahuman ability. You know you shouldn’t do this.”

But it had been so long since he had. He’d missed it, missed everything about it. It was about far more than how nice the bathroom was at work, despite how it might have started. Randy knew that, and he activated his power.

The first thing that Randy noticed was his hands, how they were different. They were less wrinkled, thinner, more slender. Then his facial hair faded away and his hair lengthened, lightening in color to a blonde color with bright yellow feathers growing among its strands. His features softened, and freckles came to his cheeks. Randy’s body shortened, and his vocal chords tightened. After a few seconds, he knew that he could no longer be called a he. She had no desire to be called that either.

Paige McAbee shook her head, staring in the mirror. It really had been far too long since she’d allowed herself to be what she knew she was. Yet somehow, she, or someone who looked a lot like her, with similar powers to her, was on trial. Yes, the reason that the ex-boyfriend thing didn’t make sense was because despite her looks, Paige was very much a lesbian, just as Randy was straight. And Paige was very much in love with Sharon still.

“Someone’s trying to put me in the Birdcage, make it so that the Canary doesn’t sing,” Paige said. She knew that she hadn’t been the one touring, but until now, it hadn’t affected her. Whoever it was… she was going to need to help them out.

After all, Cauldron had reach everywhere, and they could hurt her family if she didn’t. Luckily, she knew of one way to get help.

With a shuddering sigh, Randy returned, and he pulled out his cell. He highlighted over a name and made the call. It rang once, twice, three times.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line was a different man, a familiar man, a lawyer.

“Gerald, hello,” said Randy. “I want to hire you.”

Nobody was throwing this bird in a cage.