The Body Shop [Worm]

A/N: Finally back to Amy's point of view! I've also made a few corrections and edits, including fixing some dialogue in chapter 1.2.


Thursday, March 24 2011

The first thing Amy noticed upon crawling, sore and battered, back to consciousness was the mud.

Specifically, she was laying nearly face-down in the stuff.

The ‘nearly’ aspect of her current predicament was on account of her head actually being turned to the side, so instead of her lungs being filled with mud and muddy water, it was her left ear and part of her eye. Of course, the mud was full of all manner of living creatures, plants, and fungi, so Amy was perfectly aware of the bugs that had surfaced from the muck to perch on her immobile form.

Feeling insects ineffectually pecking at her reinforced skin with their proboscides (thanks, biology textbook) would have brought a grin to her face if smiling did not run the risk of introducing mud into her mouth.

Well, what now?

Amy seriously considered just staying the current course and simply waiting in the ditch until something interesting happened. Despite lacking a clock or indeed any other way to determine time, she was nevertheless quite sure that it was too early for this shit, which under more normal circumstances would mean retreating to the dark embrace of blankets, pillows, and/or girls.

Speaking of, where was Taylor? Or Lily? Or, gods forbid, Emily?

It was only upon wondering what situation her fellow sisters-in-sinfulness might have found themselves in that Amy refocused her attention back on her own rather unenviable condition. She couldn’t even put her head back under her pillow-substitute unless she wanted a face full of the mud. ‘Waking up in a ditch’ was definitely not going on the list of ‘acceptable date activities,’ which prodded the much more important thought into the front of Amy’s consciousness: why was she (mostly) face-down in a ditch?

There was nothing for it except to stand up and ascertain just what the hell was going on. Amy stumbled unsteadily to her feet, disturbing both the mud and the insects that had not yet realized that she was not edible. Cleaning the mud off her skin and Circe costume (not that her power really made much of a distinction between the two) was simply a matter of consuming free biomass; Amy put the additions to work powering the bioluminescence in the cloak. Her goggles, on the other hand, had to be removed and worked over with tentacle fingers before they were clean enough to wear.

Unfortunately, even with clean goggles, Amy found that she still didn’t have the foggiest idea where she was.

The broad strokes were easy — she was in a park or other similar green space near a run-of-the-mill New England town. The architecture was distinctive, which Amy had known even before Elle had enthusiastically included Amy in her hobby, but she had not paid enough attention to place the buildings more accurately than that. If anything, the faint whiff of salt on the air was more indicative.

“Right,” she said, talking out loud mostly to break up the monotony of smelly mud and offensive sunshine, “let’s figure out where we are.”

Amy made it all of fourteen steps before plopping herself down in the first park bench she came across, upon which she discovered that her situation was much more dire than originally thought: she was out of purple plant. Extruding a thin vine from her fingertip let Amy work her powers on the topsoil beneath her feet, and soon enough she had a pocketful of purple plant… and no blunt wraps.

In fact, she didn’t have much of anything in her pockets. No phone, no ID, no wallet, and somewhat distressingly from the point of view of breakfast, no money. Oh, and no grinder, but an easy workaround was to convert her fingertips into chitinous-edged horrors and grind the buds in her palm. Amy was certainly not above using leaves from her creations as impromptu wraps; it wasn’t long until she was smoking peacefully and thinking about the plant whose fruit was pre-packaged blunts.

Designing such a plant had been a pipe dream almost since Taylor encouraged her to use her powers that way, but as Amy let her imagination wander, she came to the surprising and somewhat distressing realization that she didn’t have much else in the way of more practical objectives except ‘avoid the authorities’ and ‘have fun.’ Even the recently standardized upgrade packages had mostly come about by accident and experiment instead of an intentional plan.

Of the two of them, Taylor was definitely the schemer. The Tinker was always working towards her eventual goal of establishing herself as a heroic-leaning rogue, which involved a dizzying array of tasks that Taylor was only partially willing to explain. Copying Amy’s power was a big fucking deal, so Amy wasn’t too upset that Taylor didn’t want to tip her hand in case her experiments didn’t work.

That being said, Amy was slightly concerned how Taylor was now involving the Wards in her experiments.

Amy had no such schemes, and as she exhaled a serene cloud of smoke while sitting on a random bench in a mystery town, she started to wonder if maybe she should rectify that shortfall.

Maybe that could happen after she figured out just where the hell she was.

Which, in turn, could happen after she finished smoking.

To Amy’s own surprise, she had barely finished crushing the ashes of the first blunt between her fingers when she leveraged herself up from the bench and surveyed her poor choice of sleeping arrangements. Subsequent blunts — the sum total of her current possessions — were tucked away discreetly in the pockets lining her cloak, leaving Amy with two free hands to fidget nervously as she swiveled her head around.

The scene encompassing Amy was so staggeringly out-of-context that she almost had to wonder if last night’s escapades had included dimension-hopping to other, less awful worlds.

The sun was shining,

The birds were chirping.

The winds were blowing… and the people were staring.

Apart from that last bit, whatever-today-was morning in the unnamed park was almost painfully mundane. A brief wave to the gawking civilians set them mostly back to whatever they were doing before, but parents kept shooting her worried frowns while the kids snuck surreptitious smiles and the occasional wave back.

Wherever Amy was, they were not nearly as comfortable around capes as the citizenry of Brockton Bay. Back home, a new cape in the park would be approached immediately by curious bystanders, and would go home to discover that the entire encounter (even if they were merely having lunch) had been filmed and uploaded to PHO.

The curiosity of kids was a constant, of course — Amy and Vicky both had learned that quickly at the hospital — but the parents were considerably more wary. Their silent judgement had apparently come down on the side of ‘watch disdainfully,’ which Amy belatedly realized was probably due to the smoking.

And her costume, if those two teenage boys were any indication.

Still, no-one stopped their activities to accost her. Balls were thrown, books were read, and grass rolled upon while Amy simply stood and observed, and to her mild intrigue, she found the unfolding mundanity soothing nerves that she hadn’t realized were agitated.

For as often as she saw death and things like it in her line of work, watching kids run around freely was a balm on Amy’s tired soul. Unfortunately, it did little to help her current predicament, so she pushed the thought out of her head and meandered out into the town. An extravagant sign carved from marble declared ‘Whitacre Park;’ something so nice would have been defaced immediately in the Bay.

She reached the town center in less than five ‘blocks,’ not that Amy could deduce any rhyme or reason to the road layout. In fact, she was pretty sure that one of the side streets must have intersected itself somehow, in order for her to have walked over it twice. Or maybe that was the residual effects of whatever she had done to her brain over the past few days — it was hard to tell with New England city ‘planning.’

At least the houses and buildings were cute, and Amy soon found herself wandering under the shady trees of the commons in the middle of the town square. Based on the various hanging placards and signs for the shops surrounding the square, the name of the town was called Salisbury… unless the proprietors of those shops were pulling a practical joke with their ‘Salisbury Jewelers,’ ‘First Salisbury Bank,’ and so on.

Despite only being conscious in the town for at most an hour, Amy was once again surprised to discover that the ambiance was growing on her. Salisbury was quiet in a way that encompassed more than just the lack of background noise. Even beyond the lack of obvious damage due to gang violence or cape fights, Amy had the distinct feeling that the town was not host to much in the way of Interesting Times.

Some part of her wondered if that was such a bad thing.

Oh, she wasn’t going to abandon Taylor and just go to ground in a small Massachusetts town (the state was obvious from the license plates) with absolutely no preparation or warning. In fact, Amy had no plans to even stay longer than was needed to find a way back home.

But… this sort of idyllic peace and quiet made for an alluring retirement option. If there were local capes, they were certainly more palatable than literal Nazis or sex slavers. It wasn’t like Salisbury had much in the way of resources to plunder or population to lord over, although the flip side of that statement meant that there was not likely to be a Protectorate presence, either.

As much as she wished otherwise, Amy knew that a peaceful retirement in a sleepy New England town was probably not in the cards. She was simply too powerful and useful to up and vanish like that, and the powers-that-be would descend on Salisbury like dogs on a Salisbury steak. Except those dogs could shoot lasers out of their eyes or turn into dragons, and responsibility for the resulting mess would fall squarely on Amy’s shoulders.

Moreover, that plan didn't consider Taylor, or Lily, or Crystal and Eric… or even Vicky. Amy had a sneaking suspicion that Lily wasn’t as firmly in the Protectorate’s pocket as her superiors might think, but Taylor had strong ties to the Bay despite how horribly it had treated her. Still, neither girl would probably want to abandon everything they knew for a small town in Massachusetts.

But, Amy could dream, at least a little bit.

Maybe this was the future that she should be working towards?

The sudden sight of an incongruous beach paraphernalia shop jogged Amy’s memory — right, there was a fairly popular beach to the east of where she was currently standing. Some of Vicky’s friends at Arcadia would take the train down here in the summer to do all of the traditional beach things that were not really possible in the Bay.

Eureka! She was halfway to Boston.

And… her hair lit up noticeably brighter.

Why had that happened?

Why the hell was she in Salisbury of all places?

All thoughts about ‘retirement’ and ‘the future’ were unceremoniously defenestrated from Amy’s brain as she tried to remember the series of events from last night that culminated in her waking up one state over, face down in a ditch. Her memory was mildly foggy at best, which mostly concerned… trees? And a bar? The only thing she could remember (using the word generously) from the murkier bits was… fish.

Amy had the distinct feeling that she was not going to like what she found, provided she could remember anything more.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

At least she was making progress on remembering anything at all. ‘Fish’ wasn’t exactly the most useful starting point for, well, much of anything, but it was more than she remembered upon waking up this morning.

“Um, ma’am?”

Amy’s stomach rumbled at the reminder that, as she had not yet had breakfast, it was still technically ‘morning.’ She knew from past experience that ‘smoking a blunt’ did not constitute breakfast, along with the fact that it was possible for morning to stretch for more than a day if she forgot to eat. Taylor had made a point of coming by their workshop slightly more often after that particular episode, not that Amy was complaining.

“Hey, mystery cape!”

“Huh what?” Amy asked, finally pulled out of her reverie.

She turned to find a young man with styled brown hair, early twenties at most, wearing what was obviously a costume. The jumpsuit was done up in a hodge-podge of greys, greens, and blues, which looked random and amateurish at best until Amy noticed the too-uniform bulk of a bulletproof vest underneath. Between that and the opaque green visor hiding the top half of the cape’s face, Amy suspected that the green behind his ears was mostly his visor strap.

The globes of water circling his hands would have been much more threatening if not for his obviously unsure posture. With his left foot slightly behind, it seemed more likely that he would turn and run instead of actually fight, although Amy did note that, depending on his control over that water, retreating to range might be his best tactical position.

Still, she wasn’t looking for a fight herself. “Want a hit?” she asked, taking the blunt out of her mouth and gesturing with it.

Whatever the cape was expecting, it wasn’t that. “Uh, no thank you?”

“Suit yourself.” Amy took a long drag from the blunt to distract herself from the way the other young cape was examining her body. “So, are you the local hero?”

“Yeah, I’m Marsh,” he said, snapping back to attention. “Who are you?”

“I’m Circe. Rogue, from up north a bit.”

At that, Marsh’s posture finally relaxed. “Ok, great. I was worried that you were a new villain, scoping out the place or something. What brings you to our humble little town?”

Amy shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t really know.”

Though she couldn’t see his eyes, Amy imagined that he just blinked in confusion. “You don’t know?”

“Nope. I woke up maybe an hour ago, face-down in a ditch over in Whi… Whisky park? Something like that. Then I wandered around for a bit, and now I’m here.”

Amy was only feeling about half of the nonchalance that she forced into her statement, because while she was definitely concerned about whatever series of events had transpired to leave her in Salisbury (and why said events involved fish), it wasn’t like she had a schedule to keep or school to attend.

“Whitacre Park,” Marsh corrected. “Well, no one called me, so you couldn’t have been doing anything too dangerous.”

“Just smoking and thinking,” Amy agreed. Had Taylor been nearby, she might have quipped about Amy being more dangerous when she was using her brain. The girl could be surprisingly witty when she tried.

An awkward silence stretched as Amy focused on finishing her not-breakfast while Marsh did his best to look anywhere but at her costume. He did end up breaking the silence, but only after Amy finished the blunt and crushed the flaming bits of the roach between her fingers. “Are you going to be here long? Is there anything I can help you with?”

Thoughts of a peaceful retirement bounced around in Amy’s mind, but she shook her head firmly. “I don’t think you would appreciate what would happen if I stayed, so I just want to figure out how to get a train ticket and I’ll be on my way home.”

“A train ticket? I can —”

Marsh’s offer was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass, and to Amy’s surprise the hero was moving almost immediately. Water swirled out of a cleverly-concealed backpack, dashing down and around the cape’s boots. Once lifted onto the pockets of water, he started skating with surprising speed.

Amy caught up to him with three bounding steps. “Want a hand?”

“I won’t say no to some backup,” Marsh replied with a grin.

It occurred to Amy that being a hero in a small town like this would be a nightmare at first, if only due to the nonsense city ‘planning’ making it hard to figure out where things were happening. Marsh received a text message as they ran, prompting him to almost bowl Amy over in an attempt to shortcut down an alley at high speed. She managed to keep her footing, however, and they darted out of the alley just in time to cut off the apparent source of the commotion.

Amy’s brain almost locked up at the sheer cliché density in the scene before her.

Jewelry store with broken window? Check.

Old-fashioned alarm bells ringing? Check.

Supervillain in dark, edgy costume? Check.

Canvas bag with dollar sign on the side? Che—huh?

Was this guy for real?

“Deadzone! You are under arrest!” Marsh called, apparently unfazed by the situation. They had barely come to a halt on the other side of the street before another torrent of water exploded out of Marsh’s backpack, forming into variously-sized globules that orbited the hero at arm’s length.

The would-be thief turned around at the accusation, and Amy’s brain crashed for a second time. Dark jumpsuits and goggles were perfectly acceptable villainous attire — bright red stripes notwithstanding — but was it really necessary to include the evil moustache? Seriously, she could tell that he waxed the thing from across the street!

“Well if it isn’t Salisbury’s very own upstanding hero, Marsh! And he has even brought an assistant!” Fuck, even his voice was annoying.

Luckily, Amy was saved from the indignity of having to deal with this ‘villain’ (she couldn’t take him seriously any longer) when Marsh fired a pair of orbs through the hole in the glass. Amy watched as the watery projectiles lengthened into spear-like shapes, only to crash soundlessly into a thin and rectangular field of red energy that materialized a few feet from the ‘villain.’

Once in the field, the projectiles slowed down to a crawl, as though they were trying to penetrate a window made of molasses. Marsh fired several more from another angle, but the ‘villain’ stepped into the field himself and rocketed along its length at high speed. The new water spears missed, only to get caught in a new field when the ‘villain’ was repositioned. The whole battle was like the world’s most boring game of Pong.

Well, there was no reason to let this poor town suffer the indignity of hosting this moron any longer than necessary. While Marsh redirected his next round of water constructs towards their target, Amy took off at a dash, ignoring the panicked, “Wait!” from her heretofore ineffectual companion.

Then Amy ran hand-first into one of the glowing fields, and promptly discovered why Marsh was keeping his distance from Deadzone.

Taylor, had she been here, would have shaken her head in dismay upon seeing Amy make such a tactical error. Marsh’s water projectiles stretched and distorted in the field, and the ‘villain’ himself obviously got some benefit, so it would have been a reasonable hypothesis that Amy’s own body would be just as negatively affected by whatever the rectangular redness did.

Amy’s powers fed her a constant stream of information about herself, one she was perfectly capable of ignoring under normal circumstances. The sudden compression on her arms and shoulder barely registered to her power compared to the baffled, metaphorical squawking due to having sections of those arms experiencing different rates of time. Though the wall was thin, there was a noticeable gradient in how fast fluids were moving and how often nerves were firing, and it was all Amy could do to get her head in the game and stop herself from face-planting into the energy field.

Naturally, she did this by extending her other hand.

The energy field vanished a moment later, leaving her to pinwheel her arms as she tried to avoid falling on her face. “Oh no, Circe, this is bad! I’m sorry, I should have —”

Marsh actually managed to catch Amy before she fell over, but she shook off his hands immediately and pointed towards the escaping ‘villain.’ “What are you waiting for? Get him!”

The hero stared at Amy’s completely normal and functional hands for a second longer than was really necessary, but before she could physically shoo him away, he maneuvered the water back under his feet and took off after the would-be robber. Marsh was quite capable of moving and shooting his water globules, firing salvo after salvo of smaller orbs and forcing Deadzone to move erratically.

Amy had no intention of being left behind, however, so she uncoiled her legs like springs, launching herself towards the fleeing ‘villain’ with quite a bit more speed and color than she expected. In fact, the surprise momentum was enough to send her flying past Marsh and prompt Deadzone to detour down an alley, requiring Amy to backtrack on normal legs to catch up.

The confined space was making it much harder for Marsh to maneuver around the slowing fields, but similarly Deadzone didn’t have a clear path to retreat due to pipes, dumpsters, and other obstructions. As Amy ran up, yet another red wall vanished, suddenly freeing a whole rainstorm of droplets that immediately resumed the chase.

“He’s such a pain,” Marsh grumbled as Amy stopped, but she politely pushed him aside and unfurled her right arm. Marsh leapt back in surprise and/or horror as a glowing (?) tentacle shot forwards, lancing towards the escaping ‘villain’ and —

Smack dab into the red energy wall, just where Amy expected it.

Now that Amy was expecting the strange effect, she was able to tune her biology to compensate. While it would be rather dangerous for normal people to be caught in the field, her earlier tryst with the power had been more disorienting than damaging. Better, the ‘villain’ was not expecting suddenly tentacles, so he paused at exactly the right time for Amy to fire off one of her paralytic bone spines.

It wasn’t until the recoil from the eight-inch long projectile leaving the tip of her ‘arm’ that Amy realized that she had failed to compensate the other way.

Luckily, her aim was true, and the spine blasted into Deadzone’s stomach with much more force than Amy had intended — enough, in fact, that the man was thrown off his feet and sent sprawling on the ground. He twitched once, spraying a few droplets of blood, and then the field vanished when he fell still.

Amy didn’t retract her newly-freed tentacle immediately, of course. Instead, her attention was fixed on the extended appendage, wondering why it was threaded with the same bioluminescent whorls that covered her costume. It looked awesome, but Amy had not intentionally modified her limbs to do that. Was it some sort of uncon—

“HEY!” Marsh yelled, kneeling over Deadzone. When had he moved? “Call an ambulance unless you want a murder charge! You hit him right in the gut!”

“Serves him right for being so ridiculous,” Amy muttered, recoiling her arm. She flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulder, then stalked over to the fallen cape and put a finger to his forehead. A moment's thought dissolved the spine, using the mass to repair the damage to his gut while doing nothing for the paralytic coursing through his veins. “See? He’s fine. No lasting damage.”

Marsh looked at Amy, then back to the ‘villain,’ then back at Amy; he repeated that twice before his gaze came to rest on the ridiculous dollar-sign bag. “Oh, well, that’s good, I guess. How are you still able to use your arms? Deadzone occasionally gets people caught in his field, and they are often hospitalized for some time.”

“Powers,” Amy said as a non-answer. “So, what are we doing about this guy?”

---​

“Do heroes come here often?” Amy asked as she slid into the diner booth across from Marsh. He had started by politely interrogating Amy while they waited for the PRT to pick up Deadzone, only to switch to bribing her with breakfast when she tried to slip away. After action reports and interviews were really not what she wanted to deal with, well, ever, but her hunger won out against her distaste of paperwork.

The Kleos never had that problem, but neither did they often get to fight other capes. However, even the abbreviated scuffle with Deadzone had been surprisingly fun, and Amy made a mental note to see if Taylor wanted to go beat up Neo-Nazi capes when she got home.

A waitress brought them coffee almost immediately, and Amy noted with some amusement that Marsh savored an exploratory sip before answering. “Often enough. It’s just me and another hero who works closer to the beach towns around Salisbury, but we both like the food.”

Amy took another sip of painfully ordinary coffee (a far cry from her custom stuff back home) while glancing around the diner. As a Brocktonite and parahuman, it was hardly strange to her to see a cape in a restaurant like this; surprisingly, both the restaurant staff and patrons appeared only mildly perturbed by their presence this morning.

It was, of course, still morning, and would continue to be so until their food arrived. Coffee didn’t count.

“So I have to ask,” Amy said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the table. “Is that Deadzone guy new? He seemed a bit… incompetent.”

“That’s… um,” Marsh started, lips twisting in displeasure. “No, there’s a few villains that rotate between the towns near the border with New Hampshire. I know his antics —”

“And that the fucking cartoon sack.”

“— don’t paint a flattering picture, he’s actually one of the more dangerous and slippery criminals that we have to deal with.”

Amy opened her mouth to say how ridiculous that was, only for Marsh’s dignity to be rescued by the timely arrival of the waitress to take their orders. Restricting herself to a normal human’s breakfast was almost painful, but Amy didn’t want to take advantage of the clearly young-ish hero. She still ordered the breakfast platter, but only one instead of four.

“So yeah, I wanted to thank you again for your help,” Marsh continued. “I’m just glad that you didn’t get hurt when you stuck your hand through his field. People have nearly lost fingers and hands due to ruptured blood vessels.”

“Well, you’re paying for breakfast.” The hero had been surprisingly willing to provide food when Amy revealed that she had misplaced her wallet and phone.

Marsh nodded absently. “You said you were from up north?”

“Yeah, from Brockton.”

“And that you were a rogue?”

The last word had a slight inflection that Amy definitely did not appreciate. “Yeah. What of it?”

“Have you ever thought about becoming a hero?”

Amy choked on her coffee.

“Sorry, sorry,” Marsh said, sounding much younger in his contrition. “It’s just… you were so great today, and rogues are supposed to avoid fights.”

Quick use of her power cleared her airways of coffee, letting Amy focus an annoyed glare on the hero. “Trust me, I would vastly prefer to be home, relaxing on my couch.” Though, if she was being completely honest with herself, it had been a lot of fun to thrash such a ridiculously over-the-top villain. Amy still couldn’t believe he had that cartoonish sack.

Marsh’s response was a confused squawk. “On your couch?”

Amy forced down her first three vitriolic responses, reminding herself that the young hero (though he wasn’t much older than her) lived and worked — heroed? — in a tiny Massachusetts town, and likely never had to deal with things like entire gangs of white supremacists and supervillain corporate conglomerates.

“Look, I’ve been where you are. Full of life and energy, a power that lets you help people, and all that heroic jazz. Maybe you had a rough start, maybe not — but you appear to have hit your stride, so now you go out in costume to beat up villains in your free time.” Amy pretended not to notice the shocked expression on the visible portion of the other hero’s face. “Dunno about you, but where I come from, heroism never seems to accomplish very much at all. You work and work and work for even scraps of praise, making no progress despite your struggles.”

“No,” Marsh said emphatically, cutting her off. “That’s not right. We made progress today. Deadzone might not have a body count, but he’s stolen all kinds of stuff and hurt quite a few people in the process. And given that we don’t have that many villains around here, even getting rid of one is a big step forward.”

Amy was surprised enough by the intensity of the young man’s outburst that it took her several seconds to collect her thoughts. Unfortunately for the tension at the table, the waitress appeared in that time; the presence of food and coffee refills distracted both of them long enough that there wasn’t much heat in Amy’s reply. “Correction: you made progress today. I don’t live here.”

“Welllll…” Marsh said, only stopping to take a bite of his pancakes. “If you wanted to, you know, relocate down here, we could definitely use the help. I, um, wouldn’t normally be so insistent, but you were a lot of help today and the PRT told me that they got reports of what is probably a new villain moving into the area. People up north a bit saw some monster riding on top of the train, and there have been some suspicious people in too-nice suits seen around here in Salisbury.”

A disjointed memory of wind, sound, and speed whispered through Amy’s mind.

Whoops.

That probably answered the question about how she ended up in Salisbury, if not why. The suits, on the other hand, were a foreign element that she was not particularly interested in examining. Staying here was simply not feasible, no matter how the heroic voice whispering in her brain wanted her to make like her sister and save the day for everyone.

Amy was far too sober for this, but her flask did not suddenly materialize when she patted down the pockets in her cloak.

“So, yeah,” Marsh said sheepishly, unaware of Amy’s thoughts. “If you want to move down here and set up your rogue shop… and maybe help out a bit? We could use it.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” Amy muttered around a mouthful of bacon.

“What? I’m just asking —”

Amy slammed her hand onto the table, rattling the cutlery and almost spilling her sad excuse for coffee. “Your town is cute and all, and maybe one day I could retire here, but right now it’s not my problem. Even if it were my job to run around solving everyone else’s problems — which it isn’t — you have no idea the hell that would rain down upon this place if people found out I was here. I’m not just saying no because I don’t particularly feel the need to hoist a bunch of unnecessary responsibility on my shoulders, but because I rather not turn Salisbury into a battlefield.”

She was being hyperbolic, of course, but that only helped drive home the point to a suddenly very lost and confused Marsh. His mouth flopped around like a fish for a moment, and Amy was struck once again how young he appeared. When he finally got his jaw under control, he mouthed ‘unnecessary responsibility’ a few times before visibly deflating.

“Ah, okay. I just…” He trailed off under Amy’s baleful glare, but regained some of his poise after a few bites of pancakes. “Alright. Thank you for your help, then, and I guess it’s better to get you on a train home sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah,” Amy said, focusing on her own food. “Thanks.”

The rest of her breakfast passed in silence.

---​

Salisbury’s train station held an uncommon sight for a native Brocktonite: a working payphone.

Marsh had happily given her a few quarters to operate the antique device in addition to a one-way ticket back to the Bay, which Amy had planned to use to leave a message in Taylor’s voicemail. The colonial-style clock in the station happily proclaimed that it was a bit past noon, leaving a pit in Amy’s stomach when Taylor picked up on the first ring.

“Amy! What the hell!? Where have you been? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I woke up in a ditch in a small town right across the border in Massachusetts, and a friendly hero bought me a ticket home. I’ll be back in the city in an hour or so.”

Amy could easily imagine the long-suffering expression on Taylor’s face when the other girl heaved a long sigh. “You know, after last night, I’m not even surprised. At least you managed to leave your phone and wallet in the loft instead of losing them somewhere in the forest.”

Forest?

Well, at least someone remembered what happened last night.

However, that conversation was probably not compatible with a public telephone (not that she thought that Taylor would let the issue rest anyway), so Amy changed tracks. “Uh, sure. Go me. Why are you not in school?”

Pause.

Goddamnit.

“Can we talk about it when you get back?”

“Sure. Want to hear about the most embarrassing villain I’ve ever seen?”

 

In the words of Diogenes, 'Behold, an Omake!' Context and a quick note at the end, so as not to spoil.

---

Philtres, Phatties, and Phylacteries


Amy groaned as she heard that familiar sound. A knock at the door. “Taylor?” she called. “Did someone call for an emergency Saturday appointment? I told you not before noon.”

“It’s Sunday,” came the bemused reply, “One-forty on Sunday. And no, this one must be a walk-in.” She strode over to the monitor connected to the entryway camera. “You expecting a young blonde? Ringlets and an Alice dress?”

Amy stood up and followed Taylor to the other side of the room. She leaned over her partner’s shoulder. “Nope. Wouldn’t know her from Eve. Who’s doing the talking?”

Taylor huffed out an amused snort. “A girl that adorable? Your cynicism would crush her like a bug. Let me lead. Cover me?”

Amy reached her hand over to a thick vine running up the wall nearby. She closed her eyes, took a slow breath, and opened them again. “Okay,” she nodded. “I’ve got the front door security primed.”

Taylor thumbed open a small vial on her belt and slugged its contents. “The front door security that I am now immune to for the next 30 minutes. Okay, let’s go.”

Taylor pulled her mask up, walked over to the door, and opened it wide. “Good afternoon. If you are looking for healing, you will need to book through the proper channels. We do not handle emergency cases. With that in mind, can I help you?”

“That depends,” came the high pitched reply from the child at the top of the steps. “You see, I saw several of your advertisements, and I was thinking that I had something to offer. And in return, you can help me navigate the bureaucracy of the PRT to collect several bounties as an Independent.”

Taylor’s eyebrows rose at that. “Bounties? Color me impressed. As a professional courtesy I’ll not ask on whom just yet.” Quietly thanking her father for every take-your-daughter-to-work day spent listening to the roughest union negotiators in three states, she settled into a more businesslike mein. “That said, what exactly do you feel you have to offer us?”

It was like a spark lit up in their guest’s eyes. “Oh boy. Let’s see. Uncle Jack said to start with my second best. That would have to be my augmentations. Your partner can diagnose me with a touch right? Well, come here.” And so saying she extended her hand. “I can’t wait to see what you think.”

Taylor, mindful of their security, looked over to Amy. Amy shrugged with a casual, “Sure, why not.”

Taylor turned back to their guest. “Alright then,” she said as she turned aside. “Come on inside and let’s see what you’ve got. Head on over to our exam table, and Amy can check you out.” She moved casually to the opposite side of the lab and leaned against the counter where several flasks were full of several different colors of liquids.

Amy for her part took her hand from the wall and grabbed her exam robe. It was treated to be both stain- and fire-resistant, and most importantly, had a flask left in the pocket, which Amy had a hand on before she was even aware. However, a look at the cherubic face bouncing her feet (much too short to even reach the stool she climbed up to the table with while seated atop it) had her reconsider. She didn’t need it anymore. She promised Taylor. And Vicky.

“Okay then,” she said, “do I have permission to diagnose you? I will not effect any healing at this time.”

“You do,” the girl replied. “I’m glad you asked.”

“Alright then. Here goes nothing.” And with that, Amy grasped the proffered hand. Her eyebrows quickly rose, then fell, then rose again. For a solid five minutes the only sounds in the room were variations on “Hm,” “Interesting,” and “Oh! That’s what that does.” Over those same minutes whatever lingering fatigue she was showing vanished, replaced by an eager curiosity. Finally Taylor cleared her throat, and Amy suddenly recalled that her partner and their guest were not privy to her train of thought. “Oh, right. So, I see about half of your bones are no longer organic at all, and numerous inorganic chambers concealed in your forearms and feet. I assume they are some kind of personal defense. The fibers reinforcing your skin feel like carbon weaves, and your liver and kidneys are incredibly powerful and efficient. I assume some kind of toxin filtration? There’s also what feels like a sieve in your trachea, for the same purpose? If this is your work it’s inspired. Your immune system is top of the line. Probably thanks to whatever those devices on your lymph nodes are. And your nerves are..oh, they are under your conscious control? That’s not something I could replicate, I don’t think. Who helped you install the cerebrospinal mesh and the ocular implants?”

Grinning, the blonde girl replied, “No one. I did them myself. One of the applications of conscious control of the nervous system is that I don’t have to feel pain.”

Taylor blinked in shock, but Amy didn’t seem phased in the least. “That explains the eyes,” she allowed, “If you do them one at a time. But not how you can operate on your own brain, spine, and nerves.”

“Oh, that’s thanks to some of my pets. Would you like to meet one?”

No sooner did the words leave her mouth than there came another knock at the front door, but this one a distinctly light tap-tap-tap. Taylor raised an eyebrow at the pair of nerdy tinkers. Amy just stared back at her, until with a roll of her eyes Taylor declared, “Why sure, I’ll get the door. That’s fine.” She opened it to reveal what was at first glance, an empty porch. But her eyes were drawn downward by a lazy motion. At her feet stood a small robot, about a foot high and built like a bug, standing relatively high on long, dexterous legs, one of which was waving back and forth slowly. A small webcam on its body was pointed up towards Taylor’s face. However, the bot was not entirely artificial. At least a third of the visible surface was covered by a golden brown fur, and one limb was governed in green reptilian scales. Taylor turned back to the smiling blonde on the table. “This would be one of your friends, then?”

“Yep!” came the cheery reply. “They are designed to help with my surgeries. They have a rudimentary understanding of medicine and can perform sutures entirely on their own. However, I can also connect one to my awareness and puppet its movements directly. That’s how I did the self-surgeries on places I couldn’t reach or on my spine and brain. In case it wasn’t obvious by now, I am a tinker specialized in biology and augmentation.”

Something tickled Taylor’s memory at this, but she couldn’t place the feeling. Still, she spoke up, “I assume that’s how you can come before us unmasked? A surgeon as accomplished as you are could probably wear a different face for every meal, if she wanted. Speaking of identity, it occurs to me we never asked your name.”

Their guest smacked herself in the forehead. “Ugh. I can’t believe I didn’t think about that. I blame Uncle Jack, he never cared so much for concealing-for manners. Right. Introductions. You can call me Deadlift for now. I’m not super attached to the name, but it fits.”

“Well,” Taylor opined, “if you intend to collect a few bounties, you’ll need to nail that down before going in to fill out the paperwork. While we’ve never collected bounties ourselves, we definitely have a lot of experience navigating the PRT’s bureaucracy. All of our pharmaceuticals have to go through regulatory testing before they’ll approve it for sale or use. The forms are very standardized, and the first step is to register as an Independent Heroic Entity. If you plan to submit bounties regularly, you will probably need to sit through some certifications. Use of force, vigilante regulations, and so on.”

“Actually, I was hoping to be recognized more like you two are. As a...contractor. The bounties are probably more like a one-time thing.” Saying this had Deadlift looking around nervously, in a way Taylor recognized immediately.

“That’s fine, no one expects you to make a living on bounties. If it’s not too much to ask, are your bounties secured? With your talents I’m sure they can be sedated safely, but if you’d like some support? No strings attached,” Taylor offered.

“Oh no, they don’t need sedation. They’re quite dead. I would know.” The nonchalance behind these words startled Taylor and Amy both, and suddenly Deadlift was back to a businesslike manner. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time for me to show you the rest of what I’m bringing to the table here. You’ve seen evidence of my skills, but as of a few weeks ago my powers…expanded. Yes, I know they don’t normally do that and believe me, I have done everything short of vivisecting my brain to figure out why. However, my expanded powers are how I managed to move six corpses with me across two states to get here.”

“Six?!” interrupted Amy, “Where did you find eight capes will kill orders that you managed to over…come…” she trailed off uncertainly, as a shiver worked its way down her spine.

“Well that was easy. They were all right there, busy torturing Mouse Protector. That was when I realized…I realized I could do so much better. I had everything I needed right there. I activated my aerosolized paralytic, that got everyone except Uncle Ned, Mannequin, and Auntie Sibby. My spider friends had fun with Mannequin, and Auntie Sibby was willing to help me, she kept Uncle Ned busy until Mr. Spooky showed me how to make sure he stayed put so I could channel the ritual to rip his soul out in one piece. But I think Auntie Sibby was affected too, she disappeared and didn’t come back…I miss her a lot, but I think she knew she was helping me, even at the end. When I have a free month to take a closer look at the gem that Uncle Ned’s soul is in, I hope I can find hers as well. But the diagnostic ritual says there’s only two males in there, so I’m not hopeful. But after that, it was a simple matter to kill Shatterbird, Hatchet Face, and Cherish. It hurt to kill Uncle Jack, but he wouldn’t let me go when I asked, so it had to be done. Mannequin was leaking by this point, so I went ahead and made sure he finished before I began to Raise everyone. It was my first time Raising humans, so I was eager to get it right. But I did it! They were perfectly raised as mindless undead. They do exactly what I tell them, including carrying Mouse Protector here so Panacea could help. And so I didn’t have to move them across two states to find you, they walked themselves.”

Taylor took advantage of a pause for breath to interject, “Wait, wait. You mean to tell me that you have six of the Slaughterhouse Nine dead, and are looking to collect the bounties. Except they’re still walking and talking, and following your orders?”

“No, silly. They can’t talk. I can’t reliably create intelligent undead. I could certainly install some neural overrides so that I could puppet their bodies and just…not bother with the mouth, but that’s such a weird sensation it's like your tongue is in three places at once. Ugh. No thank you. They don’t need to talk anyway.”

Amy, meanwhile, had succumbed during Deadlift’s monologue and opened the flask she found earlier. The soda had gone flat, but the vodka was still perfectly capable of getting her through the rest of this conversation. “So, my question is how did you get the drop on them? Are you one of Mouse Protector’s protégés they didn’t notice?”

Deadlift paused, turning to Amy. “You can use your power as a lie detector, right? Take my hand.” Amy did so gingerly, like it was a snake going to bite her. Once she touched Deadlift’s hand, however, she relaxed, realizing the absolute power Deadlift was trusting her with. The blonde child continued, “I’ll even make you more comfortable, I’ll disable my weapons. Here’s the sub-micronic laser built into my left index finger. I just disengaged the psychotropic bacterium dart launchers in my feet, and the cold fusion ultrasonic neuro-stunner in my hairpin. For your reference, the sky is blue. The sky is green. Your name is Amy. My name is Riley. And I used to be Bonesaw. Uncle…no. Jack Slash was responsible for me having powers. And until three weeks ago I didn’t realize what I was missing. But then I started to hear a voice. It called itself a Lich. I call him Mr. Spooky. I think the gold pendant I melted down to use as a sterile casing for one of my modifications was actually his soul jar. He’s being very tightlipped on the details, but I can usually tell because he gets quiet when I’m right. Anyway, he’s been teaching me necromancy, and the results speak for themselves.” At this, she darted her eyes to the clock on the wall. “And unless I am a much worse necromancer than I thought I was, my bounties should be looking for me right about now.” Three firm knocks came from the front door. “If you just let them in, they will be right as rain once I can see them, and command them that I’m okay.”

Taylor stepped over to the entrance and paused, unlatching the door and throwing it open in the same motion that she dove away behind the swinging metal. Amy and Riley were greeted with the sight of exactly what Riley promised. A girl in a charred red dress, an older woman with dark brown skin and hair pulled back into a severe bun, a nondescript man with a graying goatee and behind them a giant of a man holding a brutal looking cleaver and another form draped over one massive shoulder. Leaning over all of them was a nine-foot, white, puppet-like figure, unmistakably belonging to Mannequin. The others, Amy inferred, would be Burnscar, Shatterbird, Jack Slash and Hatchet Face. And they looked very, very dead. Glazed eyes, pallid skin, and unhealed but bloodless scrapes crossed all their features.

Bonesaw…Deadlift...Riley? Whoever, spoke two words in a language neither Taylor or Amy recognized. The five outside the door did not move. Or breathe. Or react to those two words in any way at all. Riley continued in English. “Okay, you will return to the warehouse and wait for me out of sight. Hatchet, please bring Mouse Protector over here to the table first, so we can fix her up.” She then turned to Amy, still holding her hand. “We will need to make some space here.”

That startled Amy into motion, and she did so. She dropped Riley’s hand and watched as the giant did exactly as it was told, gently lowering the figure on its shoulder to the table. A quick hand to the suspiciously bloodless slash on the hulking man’s side confirmed to her power what her eyes had already told her. The body was dead as a doornail. The figure on the table, meanwhile, was revealed to be a woman. It would be useless to try to determine her age from her features, because they were currently a horrific mess of scabbed-over cuts and bruises. But her breathing was deep and steady, and another quick touch confirmed that she was in a stable condition.

Amy’s curious mania had slowly withered as the conversation went on, and she was rapidly moving on to panic. Thoughts of consorting with a villain warred with the very real confirmation that the Slaughterhouse Nine were dead. Thoughts of collaborating with another biotinker had her drooling in anticipation, but opposed to them was the cold realization that the biotinker in question was a serial murderer, and had cheerfully violated any an all of the few self-imposed rules Amy had left. She couldn’t deal with this. Without a word she walked up to the loft, and rummaged around under the couch she awoke from…God, was it only 20 minutes ago? It felt like a lot longer. Pulling out a bottle, she opened it and sniffed just enough to confirm that it was alcohol and not formaldehyde again, then closed her eyes and began to swallow. When the bottle ran dry, she opened her eyes to see Taylor and Riley engaged in quiet conversation.

Pausing halfway down the stairs, she stared at Taylor. Eventually the conversation ground to a halt. Taylor turned and looked up at Amy. “Okay, we’ve got a plan. We’re going to spend the next, hm, hour and a half, probably, applying for bounties under the identity of Deadlift. It’s already pretty late on Sunday, and tomorrow is a bank holiday, so there won’t be anyone pulling paperwork at the PRT until Tuesday morning. We’re gonna spend that time interviewing Riley here.” Gazing over to the body of Mouse Protector on the lab table, she continued, “I expect it will be a fairly hands-on interview. We’ll bring the other five back here and lock down the base, then we all do some tinkering. Riley has agreed to avoid causing civilian casualties as long as she’s working with us. The Bay has, in her own words, ‘more than enough criminals moving through morgues for my purposes,’ so I think we can table that issue for now. In the meantime, we have some work to do.”

Amy made a token effort to help with the paperwork before Taylor waved her away. She gladly took them out, and moved over to the nearest purple plant to help calm her nerves. Before she knew it, she had a wonderful buzz going and Taylor was prodding her to join Riley in the surgery next to the comatose body of Mouse Protector.

Fifteen minutes of work later, and it was done. Riley’s insight and preparation turned what should have been six grueling hours of repairing flesh, integrating new biomass, and readjusting genetic markers to avoid rejection into a matter of developing a targeted retrovirus, iterating its design until it matched Mouse Protector’s DNA, slipping an IV with nutrients into a vein and delivering the injection to the base of the spine. Sure, it would still take six hours, but that is six hours of periodic monitoring instead of intensive focus and strain. Amy breathed a sigh of relief at the thought. Then she turned to Riley.

“So, while we’re waiting, I want to see what else those minions of yours can do.”

---

“And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me, And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be, For you will bend and tell me that you love me, And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!”

The warm, breathy tones of a flute cut off quickly, but the ringing of a legion of water-filled beakers, flasks, and test tubes took longer to fade. The zombified Shatterbird lowered her arms, and continued into a bow, to Riley’s giggling delight.

“Okay, something faster this time! One, two, a-one two three four!”

---

~Jack be limbo, Jack be quick, Jack go under limbo stick~

“Aww, looks like Jack’s not so limbo after all. Riley, I think they need more specific directions, he’s all caught up in Mannequin’s limbo chain”

“Ugh, fine. You know it’s hard keeping track of all of them in the conga line! I’d like to see either of you multitask this well.”
“So let me get this straight. You want me to have Burnscar light that rag on fire? That’s it? You know she could do a lot more, Taylor.”

“Trust me, that’s all I need.”

“Okay, fine. But this is hardly impressive. What will you do with a charred rag inside a sealed flask? Because that’s all you’ll have left once I tell her to stop?”

“Tell her to stop and I’ll tell you.”

“...You cheat. How is it still burning?!”

“I’ve designed these flasks to capture esoteric power-based liquids for study. I thought with a little twist, I could capture any parahuman energy effect. Looks like I was right. It’s too bad you didn’t bring Crawler along, I would have samples for days…”

“Actually, now you mention it…”

---

“Taylor, are you sure no one saw us?”

“Unless they can see into both the infrared and ultraviolet at the same time, we have nothing to worry about. Now, I can see why you couldn’t bring him to the shop. He’s a lot bigger than I thought.”

“...You’re sure he’s under your control, Riley? He’s a little more…intimidating than the others.”

“Perfectly sure, see? I can put my head in his mouth like the shark skeleton at the aquarium!”

“Well, you should remove your head until we get those venom samples you wanted. Let’s see here…Twelve for me, twelve for you, as we agreed.”

“Excellent! I have the perfect idea for Crawler’s acid and Burnscar’s fires. I can dilute Crawler’s acid until it polishes the bone, then I’m sure I can take some of Burnscar’s fire to light the skull on fire! It will be like Halloween all year round!”

“Riley, why would you want an everburning skull? How would you even pick it up?”

“Silly, the skull will still be attached to the zombie. It picks itself up!”

“...Of course. Next will be a bat-winged goat-legged ram-horned imp straight out of hell?”

“Hey! No swearing!”

---

“Wheeeee!! Okay, I’ve been down three times, who wants the next turn?!”

“...Okay, I’m probably high enough by now that this sounds like a reasonable idea. Taylor, hold my blunt. Riley, get those tentacles under me. I’ll try the slide. At least it looks like all the spines are retracted, since your outfit isn’t torn.”

*gasp* “Amy, it’s not just, ‘the slide,’ you gotta say it right!”

“I am not calling it ‘The Creepy Crawly Coaster of Crushing Cruelty’ no matter how many times you ask.”

“Too late! You just did! Now keep your hands and feet inside the tentacles, and try not to squirm too much on the way down! You don’t want to fall off early! If you make it to the end I can time the tail to flick and give you some nice air!”

“WaitwaitwaitijustwantedaslideYAAAAAHHHHH!”

…

“Woohoo! That was a rush. Do it again!”

---

“Shhh! We’ll be seen!”

“For the last time, no we won’t. My potions are flawless. And I need to get this tentacle under control. I really want to see what Amy can do with it and the base security, but if it grabs any higher we’re going to have issues.”

“Sorry, it’s mostly operating on reflex here. Amy, get a hand on it, you should be able to control it easily.”

“Okay, wait, where is it? I can’t see any of you.”

“Over here, follow my voice.”

“Okay, okay. There you are, Taylor. That’s weird. It’s soft but I can’t get a read on its biology.”

“Amy, Would you say what you are feeling is long and snakelike?”

“No, it’s more firm and bouncy, like a…a…”

“Okay, that is your hand. And THIS is the tentacle.”

“Ohmgodohmygodhowdidieven…um…hff…hfff..hfff…Okay. Got it. I’ll take the tentacle and keep it from…from…Okay. I’ll just take the invisible tentacle for now. I’ve got it perfectly under my control, promise. I can feel its instincts. It looks like Crawler’s brain tissue was actually distributed throughout parts of his body for better reflexes. Which explains the unwanted curling. But I’ve…yeah. I’ve got it now.”

…

“Amy, is it that heavy? It’s only been a block and you’re already panting a lot.”

“Nope! I’m fine! Promise! I’m not embarrassed here! You’re embarrassed. I’m just…excited to get back to the lab! And then to never speak of this again. Yeah, that’s all.”

“...Alright then. I’ll add this one to the book.”

“Book? What book? You have a book of the embarrassing things that we swore never to speak of again?”

“Perhaps. No one is speaking, after all.”

“...If I find that book, I’m burning it.”

“Good luck, sweetie.”

---

“Hm, well if smoking three full ounces of purple plant while we were out didn’t do it, I’m not sure anything will. Sorry Amy, looks like zombies can’t get high.”

“Damn. That’s fine. I was really looking forward to seeing Jack Slash get blitzed out of his gourd. Speaking of, I think Mouse Protector should be up and about soon.”

…

“Okay, good news and bad news. Taylor, which do you want first?”

“Good news?”

“The retrovirus worked perfectly, and she’s healthy as a horse.”

“...then what’s the bad news?”

“She’s been in the same room as someone smoking purple plant for the better part of three hours. Almost hotboxing. She’s actually been awake for fifteen minutes before we even got here. I think she’s pretending to be asleep because she opened her eyes and saw Riley’s…guests. Hey, if you can hear me, I promise it’s okay. I’m Panacea. Let me just clear that THC out of your system and you’ll be right as rain.”

“...Huh? Wait wait. Don’t. Lemme keep the buzz for a bit”

“Are you sure? It's no problem. Really I feel bad, it’s my fault you woke up in that kinda state.”

“Please. You’re cute. A little weed is nothing. Come back after you go on a three day bender trading body shots with Ravager and doing lines off of her ass.”

“...Is that how you arrested her in Memphis that one time?”

“Heh. More like the fuzz got us both in the drunk tank and I woke up first. Took off my shoe, threw it through the bars, and suddenly the heroic Mouse Protector has caught the fiendish villain. I miss her, I should really look her up one of these days. I know she busted out, but she’s gone to ground for a long while.

“Actually, Ms. Protector…There’s something you should know.”

“Huh? What is that Riley?”

…

“I can’t believe that *hic* bitch. She sold me out? To those monsters? Present still-breathing company excluded. I thought…*hic* I thought we were frenemies! Gimme another bottle. Thank you. Where was I? Right. That bitch. If I ever find her I’ll show her. I’ll show her good. This time, no more mister nice mouse.”

“Don’t you mean missus nice mouse?”

“Not when Ravvy and I get going, I don’t. She’s the one who calls me daddy.”

“That’s okay Mr. Protector. Even I know that everyone has the right to determine their own gender. You just be true to the real you...Taylor, Amy, why are you turning red?”

---

“Look, sure I’m too high to drive. And too drunk. And Amy’s too high. And Taylor’s parahuman license is only for emergencies. And Riley’s too young. But! You know who isn’t?”

“...Who isn’t, Mouse?”

“Them!”

“...You want a zombie to drive us for a liquor run?”

“You said you had one playing a glass harp. How much harder could driving be?”

…

“Woooohoooo! This is so much cooler than The Creepy Crawly Coaster of Crushing Cruelty!”

“What?! I can’t hear you over the sound of sirens and squealing tires!”

---

“Look, all’s well that ends well. We’re back at the base, we have some liquor, and no one is in jail. It’s fine.”

“We totaled Carol’s car.”

“No, some unknown gangbanger totaled Carol’s car. Allegedly.”

“It was burned down to the frame.”

“Some unknown arsonist?”

“And to boot, that was the last of my invisibility tincture. It takes two months to properly ferment the ingredients. Do you know how far that will set me back?”

“Hey, you have a necromancer now! Fermenting is just stuff living and dying, can’t she help you with that?”

“Oooh, I probably could! It shouldn’t even be that hard. I’ve had to STOP most of my bounties from fermenting, encouraging the process is pretty trivial. Just a simple counterspell.”

“...Mouse, you can’t always rely on other people to fix the problems you cause.”

“Why not? It’s worked so far. Not to mention, she owes me. For the whole, capturing me with the Nine thing? Sure she is also the reason I’m not dead, but I’ve got at least a week of guilt tripping here.”

“You are processing that whole near-death experience remarkably well, by the way.”

“Processing? No. That’s why I’m shitfaced. And will be for at least another day.”

---

“Okay, Taylor bringing this tentacle back was a great idea. Just by being here I can upgrade the existing ones to match it. The integrated neural tissue really takes a load off of me, connecting to the base like this. I wonder if we could do more with Riley’s necromancy.”

“Possibly, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, you said you had a soul in a jar, right? Not your weird voice. Crawler’s. I’ve been working on making the house ‘smart,’ but giving it a mind was always something I couldn’t do. What if we replace a biological mind with Riley’s power? Her zombies all obey her implicitly, and I KNOW I saw air through Brunscar’s eye socket and she wasn’t slowing down one bit. An actual brain is definitely not a hard requirement.”

“Oooh, yes. We could probably do something. Mr Spooky has some wonderful ideas!”

…

“Is the pentagram really necessary?”

“No, but Mr. Spooky insists that it adds the necessary ambiance. The blood from each of us, on the other hand, is very necessary. It’s how we will key the house to know who is friendly.”

…

“Okay, Riley. I’ve grown that exact rune on all four walls, the trigram on the windows, and the seven pointed star on every door. Double check the three you carved into the vine? Because my powers are making sure that the reproduction is flawless.”

“...Nope, that looks great! Hold still while I start channeling the mana. You might feel like someone is shining a bright light into your brain, don’t worry. That’s normal for someone with no magical training being part of a ritual like this.”

*rumblerumbleRumbleRumbleRUMBLERUMBLE*

“Oh crap, you didn’t tell me this would simulate a damn earthquake! I didn’t secure the lab!”

“Taylor stop! Don’t leave the circle. It’s the boundary between us and the house. Anything on the other side is part of the ritual!”

*smash*

“Dammit! Those were my newest potions! This better work…”

…

“Okay. The mana has stabilized. Based on the thaumic feedback, the ritual was a perfect success. The house’s mind should now be obediently loyal to the four of us. Amy, why don’t you connect to the plants, get a feel for the new system.”

“Okay…okay, this is very strange. I can still see the whole system. But I can’t affect it…wait, there it is. It’s like I have to re-tune the radio or something. It’s…woah. It’s definitely got some kind of intelligence now. But it’s…tired? It feels tired. And…proud? Like it just wants to pat me on the head and say I’ve done a good job…you know, exactly the way Carol never did. Still…it definitely feels friendly, and it definitely recognizes the four of us as friendly. God…I wish I could stop thinking about her for once. Just sit here and relax. And look at me. So pathetic I’m making my own house pat me on the head to feel better. What the hell. Another one for the book, why not publish a novel at this rate!”

“Actually Amy, you’ve had both hands on your own face since you first brought up Carol. I think…I think the house is patting you on its own. And we’ve talked about this too. Everyone needs physical comfort every once in a while.”

“Eep! What?! …okay fine. Maybe I’m not completely pathetic…and I didn’t say to stop, either. Thank you, house.”

“I think we all need some sleep. Including, from what you implied, the house. We’ll try again in the morning, yeah?”

---

“Taylor. Taylor. Taylor. Wake up. I know you’re awake, I pumped the adrenaline in two minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to be. What’s up?”

“Did you notice anything weird after we went to sleep last night?”

“Well that would be somewhat difficult, Amy, seeing as I was also asleep. What kind of weird, in particular?”

“Well, it looks like the automated defenses caught something in the backyard.”

“Amy, we don’t have automated defenses to CATCH anything.”

“Well, we do now, just get off your ass and come out back with me. Riley is already taking samples.”

…

“So, now that I have a hand on it, it looks like overnight our house has…developed a little. If the four Nazis cocooned in tentacles have anything to say about it. Riley, stop poking the Nazis. I know it’s karmic, but these ones are going to jail, not to the lab.”

“Amy, when did we give it teeth?”

“We didn’t. Also, it’s feeling very…happy now. Like a good dog. Isn’t that right? Good boy.”

*groooowwwlllll*

“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry. Good enby. I didn’t realize you had a preference. Thank you for catching the bad guys, good house. Yes you are!”

“Amy. Are you telling me that our house now has a gender identity?”

“Of course. It tends to come with the territory of being sentient…I probably should have mentioned that part, too. Something must have happened with my power and the ritual. Riley, do you have any ideas?”

“Maybe. Taylor, what was that potion that spilled that had you so worried?”

“That’s…Oh man. That’s really a secret. I’m not sure I can tell you. But I guess it’s gone now. So there’s probably no harm. I got it through the grapevine, there were several intermediaries involved, but ultimately it came from Accord. If he’s on the level, it was supposed to be able to grant parahuman powers. I was trying to modify it based on my Potions, or modify my potions to be closer to it. I had been making good progress too. It cost a pretty penny, I won’t be able to afford another one for a good while. I should probably go clean up the lab where it spilled.”

“Yeah, about that Taylor. It didn’t spill on the lab. It…it kinda spilled onto one of the tentacles.”

“Wait…So…does our house have powers now?”

“Oh my god! I’ve turned parahumans into necromantic entities before, but I’ve never done it the other way around! This is amazing! Do you think we could do it again? I have so many questions!”

“I think the PRT is going to have some awkward questions for Deadlift on Tuesday…”

“Don’t you mean for all of us, Taylor?”

“...Fuck my life.”

“Hey! Language!”

~fin~

A/N: In case it wasn't clear, this is not canon to any damn thing. The idea for this came from some people wondering what would happen if Bonesaw ever got actual necromantic powers, from a spirit or lich whispering in her ear. A little undead shoulder devil, that comes with a side of magic. After concluding that she and the shoulder devil would immediately vivisect the shoulder angel, some humorous speculation regarding adventures with the Nine and a very paranoid Jack Slash later, and my mind wondered what would happen when she came across an Amy too blazed to give a fuck along with another power tinker. And from that, we have the mess you just read. Big thanks to First Selector for writing The Body Shop in the first place, and to the lunatics who came up with the idea. You know who you are.