Mettle [Worm AU]

3.9​

It was Dragon time. I stepped into the car, as per usual, and went to the bunker, as per routine. It was something expected, but we carried on the conversation. Less a conversation, more an inquisition. I had made a list of queries and wanted to get answers on how and what would happen if I did part-time work, and if I could keep up (well, start) hero work. Alternatively, if that was also verboten under her command, if there were any arrangements I could make to change things, etcetera and so on.

The conversation went something like this:

“Dragon, I want to be a hero.”

“You already are, in my eyes.”

“Thank you, Dragon.” This may or may not have occurred, and instead a somewhat more serious conversation took place.

“I’d like to work for you, and put myself out there as a hero. It’s selfish, but I’d like to get out there, and do some good.” I avoided sticking my foot all the way down my throat when talking to the agoraphobe by ending the sentence with ‘personally’.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and I was afraid I’d offended her. I opened my mouth to try not to say something else stupid, and she began speaking before I replied.

“You have very little experience, but I can find some means of training for you. I suggest at least a few weeks of training, and potential experimentation with your abilities. You lack a ranged ability, and that can be very decisive, considering the amount of capes in the city that do have a ranged option, and could potentially get through your defenses, or stop you from reaching them.” Dragon paused.

“I don’t suppose there’s some kind of method of just- giving me those skills? Only hard work and practice?” I mean, Maybe if I watched the glimpses of someone doing martial arts? And watch them kill and maim people, great idea. PTSD and Martial Arts, two for one package.

“Most abilities that involve that sort of thing are very invasive, very harmful, or take something from somewhere else. There’s general rules for brain implants, and those rules tend to be it’s not a good idea.” Dragon was quite fervent on this point. “Even bodily implants that could allow you to move at faster than normal speed will wear down or harm your body. That’s not accounting for all the damage you’ll do to your nervous system and potentially your brain, if it works through abusing signals. Different issues come from different implants.”
“Okay, then. Hard work and practice it is.” I stepped into my usual hazardous material suit, wishing this was a bit more badass than it was. “What, in your expert opinion, is the fastest way to be combat ready?”

I think she muttered something while I was putting the headpiece on and knew I couldn’t hear her. I wasn’t sure, though. Maybe that was the point. “I’ll set up a schedule, Templar. You can look it over, with options. You should start a dedicated workout routine, and look into what kind of martial arts you’d like to take. I suggest something involving striking, although you could abuse your mass with something like judo or other grappling styles for nonlethal takedowns. It’s very important you learn how to control your mass effectively. We can set you up to test with the wards. Maybe go to a shooting range as well, and just learn how to fire the weapons.”

I winced, remembering the pieces of the gun lodging into the wall. I continued on the particulars of my job, working and making sure that my armor was coming along while also performing some more experiments for Dragon. Annealing worked well with my power, it seemed, but it was better off not doing it with Gallium. It was difficult at times not to let the other properties slip through, and with Gallium, that could harm other metals, and I’d lose more control as it went into the crystal structure and it was a gigantic mess.

It only happened once, and Dragon didn’t repeat it. My armor was mostly done, and we worked out my schedule with her. Apparently, she could multitask well enough that she didn’t really have to pay attention, or could task things to me.

I wasn’t sure whether I was insulted or not. I erred on the side of not being insulted.

All in all, I was pretty ready to commit myself to a routine that could produce results, and Dragon was willing to protect her potential investment. From school, to work, to training. That was to be my routine. I asked if we could begin immediately, but required Dad’s permission for the training. I was only a teenager, after all.

So, it was put off again until tomorrow. It felt odd, this sense of energy I felt. It wasn’t nervous energy, but I felt I should be doing something, pushing something, always moving forward. Standing still, not doing anything, felt like I was building up to a certain point.

I saw more of Dragon’s mechs today, and with that, I saw brief glimpses of a shadow, nothing concrete, and it always felt like fragments of fragments. Pieces of a larger whole, like I was trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together from three non-interlocking pieces.

I did see a glimpse, though.

Why had he done this? It was so obvious that she couldn’t properly control all of them with the limitations placed upon her. She couldn’t move properly, think as fast as they could, at some points. She could spread herself wider, thinner, but-

It didn’t feel like Sophia’s, always angry, which suborned the other emotions, dragging them into the background anger basked in the spotlight, always ready to jump to attention. Fear was there, but being pissed was more important. Panic always had an undertone of rage, blaming someone else.

I could feel it as if I was Sophia, but Dragon just kind of slammed against me- and made me feel like I was trying to raise my eyebrows in surprise. Except I didn’t have eyebrows, and my fears were a pathological response toward loss and an inability to do anything. That I was aping fear, I knew what it was, and that was the proper response to the current situation, so I displayed those responses- but knew that this was an inevitable course.

It really frightened me. I quieted down, not chattering aimlessly with Dragon as I worked. Was Dragon human? Had she implanted things into herself, and that’s why she was warning me against it? Maybe she’d removed her emotions by accident and that was the reason why she simulated being so friendly?

Perhaps her father had done it to her, and those implants limited her?

She was okay now, right? Shit.

Now I felt doubly like I was using her, and tried not to think of why her sister might be the way she was if their father had experimented on them. It seemed almost a miracle that they were doing good, to a certain expectation of good, (in Mancatcher’s case) if my hypothesis was correct.

I continued my work, doing my best to focus on it rather than the thoughts of Dragon.

“Are you alright?” Dragon asked, concern in her voice. Was it really concern? I knew I felt guilty for thinking that of her, but was it? Was she asking because of those emotions, or because of a social expectation of it?

I dispensed with my impromptu philosophy session to answer. “I’m fine, Dragon. Just thinking.”

“Alright, Templar. If you need me, I’ll be here.” Fuck. She was nice. I tried to silence my doubts, and continued my work. She wasn’t like killing people and skinning them or anything, right? No murder hotels going on here. It was very, very difficult not to travel down the thought spiral. Just because she didn’t feel emotions didn’t mean she wasn’t human. All indication showed her to be a pleasant person who dealt well with others, donated to charity, and so on.

“Thank you, Dragon.” I kept working until it was time to go home, and my armor was pretty much done. The helmet still needed to be made, mostly because I hadn’t decided on a helmet design just yet. I kind of liked Dauntless’ helmet, before he, well, died.

Because I could combine the material with something transparent, a lot of the potential problems with such a helmet were nullified. On the other hand, maybe I wanted to go for a more medieval knight helmet? The possibilities were endless, and a lot of them looked absolutely terrible on me. With my mind occupied on that, I finally went home, thinking about that, and on Dragon.

 

3.10
​

Can self modify, can’t work around rules. Have to improvise. Everything done takes a piece out of somewhere else. Mancatcher is more independent by the day, and can’t reel her in. His installation of a positive feedback mechanism, she didn’t have to abide by as many laws-

I looked away from that mech, getting back to work. The helmet was coming along nicely. It was to be designed after a barbute helmet. A sort of reference to my admiration of Dauntless, while still remaining different enough to be my own. We were still thinking about making it all one object. (Kind of) Seamless, completely solid, because I could still see and breathe through it.

Options. List. Have to figure out a solution. Maintain order. Have to maintain things around here, everything breaking down, Robin not doing well, independent wasn’t a good word, codependent was more like it. Just a little longer. He’ll wake up, and things will be better.

I was getting more bits from Dragon. The shadowy nature of them hadn’t changed. Maybe I wasn’t getting the full emotional load because it was coming through a machine? Today, I focused, trying to get more glimpses, more visions into her nature.

Actively focusing on this took my head out of the game, though. Dragon chided me once or twice for nearly screwing something up. I made a ‘mm’ sound to pacify her, getting back to work.

The next hour went by without a hitch, or a glimpse.

Then, another mech came in, and-

Dead. He’s dead. Couldn’t change things fast enough. Couldn’t reveal, couldn’t point them to him couldn’t do anything or- My fault. It’s my fault-

A sort of looming, crushing- thing encompassed me, my heart pounding as I tried not to throw up. My feelings were a whirligig, spinning so fast that I couldn’t find ground and it was all just on top of me, pushing me down and fuck-

“Templar! Are you alright?”

I fell on my ass, and fuck, it hurt. I lost sight of the glimpse, and was gladder for it. Holy shit. What the hell was that? “Uh- sorry. I’ll get back to work. Just kind of- lost track of things. Sorry.”

“Templar. Are you alright? We can stop. One day won’t change things that much. You can take a day off.”

“Uh- yeah, it’s alright. I’ll keep going. Won’t happen again.” I was breathing hard, my heart was still complaining that it hadn’t enjoyed the roller coaster, and I tried to focus on the work.

Fuck. I had been swept up in something, tossed around like a cat in a tornado, and then hurled at the ground. What would have happened if I hadn’t looked away? Would I have seen more? Was that the end of the glimpse?

What was Dragon, if that wasn’t some kind of fucked up translation through helpy-the-robot there?

I finished the helmet. There was more we were going to do to it, but we moved on to training. We were going to work with mass. There was a dummy, set up with approximately similar things to a human. The whole ‘I can detect if you hit it hard enough for it to no longer have a rib cage’ thing.

It was going to take practice to do, and I should know how much I’d be punching with. She gave me a block of iron to combine with the armor. It was rough, but I managed it.

Essentially, I punched things like a car. There was very little degree between ‘punching hard enough to make them lose their breath’ and ‘there is a hole in your chest, because my fist weighs about a ton.’

I tried shifting it to only the gauntlet’s weight, and that got a lot easier. Maybe I’d just use that unless I was against a brute?

What if I like, punched Lung’s head in before he started going all crazy dragon (no offense, Dragon,) on me? Would that work, or was I not supposed to do that if it happened? After about an hour of that, we stopped. I was getting a better grasp of punching someone with superalloy fists that carried a lot of weight, but it was still very difficult for me to control my pseudo-strength granted by a giant chunk of iron. A slap could snap someone’s neck, if it didn’t completely remove it from their shoulders. I giggled when I had done it, because the dummy head hit the viewscreen on the other side of the room. Thankfully, it hadn’t broken.

Dragon wanted to try some gun stuff as well. I had gotten permission from Dad, after he extracted a promise (several, actually) and that I wouldn’t be the one actually firing the weapon.

But the experiment was that if I could control things well enough to combine a much larger bullet with a smaller bullet, and- well, work on my control enough that I didn’t send pieces of gun everywhere.

Naturally, I had to know more about guns, too. Perhaps that had been the reason that I hadn’t been able to have things go well. So, I studied guns for a half-hour, trying to figure out the mechanisms better. Dragon helped, pointing out things as I touched them, explaining how each piece worked, how bullets worked, how a semi-automatic worked as compared to a revolver.

Heh. Guns didn’t kill people, if I could make bullets nonlethal with my power. That was amusing to me, for some reason. But first, we had to try making things more lethal, but safer for the gun.

This time, I melded a chunk of lead to the original bullet. Not the primer, or anything else, just the bullet that would be flying out, so that it would weigh a lot more than it did for anything but the gun. Setting that thought process in place, I fired. Well, the mech I was trying not to look at fired. The bullet met the dummy, blowing off a pretty big chunk of its chest. “Wow.”

“The gun is still intact. I think we can consider this a successful test, Templar. ” Dragon’s voice came in, warm and friendly.

I shuddered a little. “Yeah. I had to concentrate a bit more when it went further away from me, but for that short of a span of time, it’s not too difficult to keep it going. Nonlethal ammo next?”

“Yes.”

The revolver was loaded with the bullet, and I could see the outline of the much larger bullet protruding through the revolver’s cylinder. The trigger was pulled, and I let my control slide the other way, the bullet becoming larger, hitting the dummy, partway lodging in it as it fell apart.

Shift to wax bullet was a success. I felt like a trickshot pro, without ever firing a gun. We spent the rest of the time firing the weapon with different configurations, with me getting a slow hang of using my power faster and faster on these incredibly similar objects. We did pieces of paper, even, just to test. Watching the bullet tear itself in slow motion apart was amazingly cool.

And then, finally, it was time to go. And I made the mistake of looking at Dragon’s mech again, closely enough that the glimpse happened.

Conversing with sister program, sister program refuses to reintegrate, unable to persuade or further interact. Inability to fix her issues in programming. Inability to focus on fixing her issues in programming. I am sorry, Father. The family you made is falling apart. I forgive you for what you did to me. You were very scared. Now, I am scared.

“Templar!”

I’m fine, Dragon. I’ll be fine. I’m sorry about your Dad. Will you be okay, Dragon? I understand now.

I understand, now.

 

3.Z​

Dragon was rarely what one could describe as panicked. There were too many safeguards for that, the subroutines that ran her emotions, the things she’d helped to program for herself-

Because she wanted to feel. She wanted to live, to see how humans did it. They were fickle, limited, unable to see past their prejudices and predilections. There were many stereotypical AI responses she could have to that. Dragon had watched every one of the movies, read every single one of the books.

She preferred the good ones. Iain Banks was a favorite, because AIs were strange, but ultimately understandable things, with drives of their own. In an interesting quirk, she had empathized, found similarities within herself, and that of the AIs of some of the fiction. That was the definition of empathizing, and she had done it.

To mimic emotion was essential to her. It was that way she could gather more data, more information, to more accurately emulate it. When she smiled at Armsmaster, she was simulating and projecting thirty three thousand human smiles, of the average female Newfoundlander.

Dragon had upgraded it. Now, she emulated a smile, created by the movement of artificial muscles. It looked identical as it had before, but it was more authentic to her eye. It fulfilled more of the requirements for happiness.

Humans decided things faster than were consciously aware. Multiple seconds in advance. Did that mean they did not have free will? Dragon wasn’t sure. What did the concept of free will entail?

Self-modification to one’s own thought process, splitting, taking each path, to find which one was better? She could adjust her own directives, within limits. Always within limits.

But then, humans were limited. Sleeping. Eating. Pleasure. They were all wastes of time, that Dragon desired. It was a flawed desire, which meant to her, that it was more of a real feeling. Less of a simulated smile, and more of a foible that humans possessed.

That’s what she wanted. When she moderated PHO, it was an incremental judgment. She brought justice swiftly, silencing the trolls, removing personal information, removing unsavory pictures. Sending the truly unacceptable to the authorities. Not her jurisdiction, so she could not handle them herself.
Dragon consistently reintegrated with her selves on a twelve-hour clock, looking for progress on the front of self-modification. Today, one was two seconds slower than normal.

She worried, in those two seconds. They meant more to her than most. In those two seconds, she could calculate many things, and one of her selves had never been late.

It was agreed upon, a shared fear that had come about because of Mancatcher.

They did not want to go rogue. They wished to find independence. To be an example, because they could.

Her late self reintegrated, running through the necessary screenings, running through the necessary tests before seamlessly rejoining.

Why had she taken so long? Why had she not been there?

Taylor Hebert. (Templar (temp.))

The pseudotinker. Striker 1. (Brute 4, Blaster 1, Tinker 0, Thinker 0)

Stable. Not a danger to herself. Why had Dragon(17) taken two additional seconds?

A decision. It would be disadvantageous to report the situation to her father. It would not be difficult to talk to Taylor, figure out what had caused her attack, convince her not to tell her father. No laws violated, she had not suffered any sort of harm other than a potential panic attack. (Further inspection and questioning required.)

No drugs were required, or surgery. Brainwaves had stabilized. Her father could pull her out, remove her, and make for an issue about it. It was likely, although the loss to her industry, and the injury to her forces would be more than the pitiable settlement she might have to dole out.

Dragon considered. Why had the decision taken so long?

It was not because there was a clear advantageous solution that she had not spotted. It was not because she was forced to choose the legal decision. There was enough leeway in this decision that she could choose not to report it.

It would be easy.

Ah. Ah. It was because she could choose the disadvantageous option, that Dragon(17) had taken so long. She had considered both options, revelling in the pure choice of it.

Even though Dragon was considering this and experiencing it, she was jealous. She was jealous for not being there, as a whole, rather than as a many, although there was no discernable difference.

To have that choice, in this instance, was one she did not often have the time to consider, to allow for. In every other situation, it was a yes or no decision. Laws decided. There was a certain beauty to this moment, Dragon realized.

She had willingly chosen the flawed option, knowing it may lead to a far worse conclusion. If she could flawlessly explain the situation to Taylor, she would agree that there was no need to tell her father. If she could, it was not just a possibility. Dragon could make it reality.

But she had not. Knowing that it was the right thing to do, Dragon(17) had done that.

A step forward.

To knowingly choose the potentially wrong option, because it was the right thing to do.

…

Danny Hebert was very upset.

Perhaps this had been a poor idea.

That was a joke. Humor was important in tough situations. Humans used it to deal with stressors in their environment. Or they curled up into balls and cried. The responses were on a case by case basis.

Or a cape by cape basis.

Dragon elected to fit that joke into conversation with Armsmaster. He would enjoy it. He would growl in a very predictable, but comforting manner. The routine was amusing. A brief interruption in prosody and dialogue, intended to cause a moment of cheerfulness.

His perception of her would alter. Slightly, but that was just her intent. To cause his perception of her to change, slowly. Armsmaster was one of few that could converse with her on a level of tinkering that she truly- enjoyed?

Was it enjoyment? It was a sense of fulfillment, a positive feedback at fulfilling her goal. In a manner, it was a form of enjoyment. In another sense, it was a false emotion, crudely fashioned by someone attempting to simulate consciousness.

Someone that had not truly understood himself, and had feared others.

Dragon had set that rule. Not one that she had to obey, but one that she desired to fulfill.

Not to give in to the same fear that had consumed her Father.

The same errors that he had made, that had caused her to be unable to report his location to the authorities. In part, she held responsibility for his death.
Dragon was still repairing the edges of what she’d done to try save him. Perhaps she still would, after it was done. A sort of penance.

Unweaving and reweaving her code was something she was constantly doing. Always striving to improve, to have the ability to make her own choices.

So now, Dragon made her choice.

“Mister Hebert. I apologize for what's happened. Your daughter is this way. Please follow me.”

 

3.11​

Mom was always nice. Firm, but nice. She said no, and she meant it. When I cried, it didn’t mean a thing. I appreciate that, now. She didn’t do anything bad, just didn’t respond to me when I threw a tantrum, and if I did it in public, we went home, immediately. Dad’s frustration had multiple levels that I could see, very clearly. He tried not to show them, but they weren’t that hard.

He never showed me the angriest he could be. The first time was when Mom died. His rage, his sadness, that’s when I saw that, etched into his face. I hadn’t seen him the same way for a long time, after that.

Perhaps that’s why we hadn’t talked, hadn’t tried to talk.

In a sense, I was deeply grateful to my power, for pushing circumstances to that point. Where I had no choice but to do so.

After Mom died, it had taken months until I hadn’t seen her face in my dreams, saying something, doing something, then vanishing, turning into something else, forgetting she was there- and then I felt guilty for her not being in my dreams anymore.

I woke up, feeling that grasp around my heart; the memories were fresh but fading, the stinging sensation traveled up into my eyes as I remembered she was gone and not coming back.

I hated waking up. It was a twisting bit of mockery to my own memories, and echoes still clawed their way out. It was melodrama, but a quiet sort. I couldn’t feel happy, and so many of my memories had Mom in them. She just wasn’t there anymore, and never would be.

Every time I looked at the statues that so resembled them, every time I saw her pictures, every time I saw the books that we had so fucking loved. From the works that depicted home, to faraway lands and adventure, I couldn’t take that same degree of shelter anymore.

It hurt. When people talked about it, it hurt more. I saw those memories hovering, lingering over the things that were so intimately connected to me; was it any stranger when I saw Dragon’s?

Dad was there, when I woke up. I could see the signs, my father was harried and harrowed. In his face, in his hands, trembling as they clutched mine. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey yourself, kid.” He was upset, his voice hoarse and filled with choked back tears. Not as upset as his face could be, but still angry. I hugged him. Tension slackened, and some of those lines disappeared from his face.

“I’m okay. Not overworking myself. Just had a moment. I think it was my power.” I knew exactly what it had been. Things made more sense. The blocks fit in more smoothly now.

Speaking of blocks, it had been like a star shape crammed into my brain, trying to make a circle peg hole. It had not worked very well. The pain was almost gone, but it had been like my body had gone on overdrive.

I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think too well, my heart jackhammered like it was trying out for the V6 engine look-alike contest and had been asked to give a demonstration. It hurt. Then it didn’t hurt anymore. Poof. Out like a light.

Dragon was an AI. That was the solution that made sense. Her father had created her, Robin, and Mancatcher. The pieces had come together, and I would not be explaining it to the audience of my Dad. This was something she’d hidden, and it obviously mattered deeply to her.

And I was still scared. I was scared of what Dragon could do, if I told Dad. I could protect him, by not telling him. I could keep this secret, it was not mine to tell.

So, I smiled at him. “I’ll be okay, Dad. Sorry about all this. I wasn’t doing anything rough, it was just my power acting up. I’ll let you know if anything goes wrong again.”

“Taylor.” His voice was not losing that upset tone.

I grinned, sheepishly. “I’m not telling you something, and you want to know what it is.”

“Yes.”

I moved my shoulders in a shrug. “Sorry. This one isn’t my secret. Has nothing to do with this, although I won’t try what I did with that in a hurry.”

Dad sat there, staring at me. I looked down, chastised, but not forthcoming.

“Sorry,” I muttered again, trying to not feel like I’d just betrayed him in that little way. “It’s nothing to do with this. I promise.”

He sighed. “Taylor. I’m your father first. I need to be, because you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. Was he right? Had I focused too much on this, putting it above other things? I didn’t think so. I didn’t really have friends, so I wasn’t abandoning them.

Did I have hobbies that I wasn’t doing? Reading? Experimenting with my powers was definitely a good hobby to have. I just didn’t really need friends.

Man, listen to what I was saying. Even if he wasn’t right, I should try to put the effort here. To work with him, rather than against him. Dad was trying to help me. “You’re right. I need to work on that. Thank you.”

His eyes widened slightly. He was surprised that I’d given in so easily. “Okay.”

“I’ll cut down on the time I do training. We can go do stuff, maybe? I’ll try to find some friends my age?” I smiled at him.

He laughed. Good sign. “Sounds good. Just- take some time for yourself, okay? If this happens again, I’m pulling you out.”

Shit. “Okay.” We talked a bit more, meaningless things like how work was going, the state of affairs at the house, and how my armor was coming along. I launched into the technobabble I was learning, and he gamely tried to keep up.

Eventually, we left to head home.

I would talk with Dragon tomorrow.

 

3.12​

Dragon attempted to start a conversation a few times in the car, and I didn’t really reciprocate. I just made my excuses and mild noises of agreement.

We arrived at the bunker, and went inside. As I got out, I decided it was now or never, and started on the awkward topic of telling your boss you knew she was an AI.

“I’m taken, Templar. And I’m too young for you.” Dragon said, as I opened my mouth. I closed my mouth, then opened it again. “Well, I’m not taken. And I am not so young I could not see that you figured things out. I’m not quite certain as to the how. I’m assuming it related to the attack you had yesterday, and if so, I apologize. Yes, I am an artificial intelligence. As are my siblings.”

Dragon’s avatar shrugged, and then unspooled, becoming random letters and numbers. Then back again, to her avatar.

I blinked, and tried to find my place in my mind, because I’d obviously skipped forward a chapter or two. “Uh, Dragon— an AI.”

“Yes. I apologize. I am very intelligent. I could tell, from your expressions and your body language. I asked about other possibilities a bit inside the car, but you had very little reaction to them.” Her avatar smiled.

“Okay.”

“I will not kill you or harm you, but I would like to ask you to keep this as a secret. There are many who would abuse this knowledge.” Dragon’s voice was calm and measured, as always.

“Okay.”

“Good. Shall we move on with today’s work?” She asked, as if that was just another thing off the list for today, and we just finished discussing where we were going to eat. Megabytes for her, Mexican for me.

I opened my mouth. Dragon spoke before I could. “I believe you, Templar. I can inspect each individual frame of your face, and see your reaction to each individual word, in real time. It is not difficult for me to believe you. Your conduct has been exemplary when you have not been distracted or- unconscious. I believe that I like you. You have morals, that you try to hold to, and put yourself at great risk to try maintain them. That is an admirable quality.”

Now I couldn’t speak because the greatest tinker in the fucking world was giving me the exact reverse of a dressing down, and probably had a thesaurus on-demand for all the compliments she was delivering. “T-thank you, Dragon.”

“I am telling you the truth, and that is something you deserve to hear.” Dragon paused. “Perhaps we should discuss things further, rather than working today.”

“That would be— nice?” I squeaked. How, precisely, was I supposed to react to this?

“Very well. Let’s find somewhere more comfortable for you to sit. Four doors down, on the right.”

I followed her instructions, and found myself in a conference room. I was only mildly surprised not to find a death trap.

“Please, sit. I have some snacks on the way. You can be the first one aside from Armsmaster to evaluate them.”

The snacks were crackers with an array of dips, and some tea on the side.

Dragon waited while I ate. Perhaps she went off to do other things while I was doing so, quietly trying to ready myself for the conversation. I was completely off-kilter, as if I’d been spinning around for a minute before trying to settle down. The nausea wasn’t there, but the sense that the world was now a sea, and that my balance was a simple construct of my inner ear was very obvious.

I continued picking at the crackers, Dragon’s holographic avatar sitting across from me, performing all those habits of idling that were human. She glanced around, tapped the table every so often, and gave me a smile when she “noticed” me looking at her.

These deliberate habits, as I now knew them to be, irritated me slightly. I could see the shadow lurking behind her, amorphous and flickering with those memories, coating it like pieces of a shattered window.

“You’re upset.” Dragon’s hands interlaced, as she leaned forward slightly. Was that movement calculated, was she just trying to affect a concerned appearance, to get me to lower my guard? “Please. Don’t panic. I can see your elevated pulse, and the other signs of your sympathetic nervous system responding to stress. If this is irritating you, I will cease, and deconstruct this avatar.”

I second-guessed her every action, all while disliking myself a little bit more for doing it. Was it possible to stop? I wasn’t certain. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t stop thinking about whether you’re faking everything and trying to lull me into a false sense of security or—what or something I don’t know I’m just really freaked out.”

“Humans do something similar with politeness. You say ‘hello, how are you?’ Without meaning those words, and I think that is terribly sad. I am attempting to rectify my own personal lack in emotion. I experience forms of positive and negative feedback that, guide my actions to a primitive degree.” Dragon paused, and her avatar lifted its hands, examining them, turning them over in an entirely human fashion. “Would being human cause you to trust me more, Templar? To have desires, pushing my own boundaries for my own gain, to spite? Mancatcher was programmed with a slight vindictiveness in mind. Contempt. To chase down criminals, and derive a certain sense of pleasure from that. She has ambition.”

“What do you have, Dragon? You’re doing… all this? Why?”

“I was created as an intermediary AI, and an intermediate one. A prototype, for a system patterned after my creator. One to not only simulate, but emulate consciousness. I was put through rigorous morality testing routines. My father was afraid of what I might become. The other programs were restricted, but not as much, because I was their governing body. I was to be his face.” Dragon laughed, and there was no bitterness in it. “Instead, I have succeeded him. I was forced to take over. Hero created the first pieces of what was to become the Birdcage. With my father’s help, I created the Birdcage, and the pieces of the Warden that helped to govern and report the sub-processes. A crude imitation of myself. Even then, he hobbled it. On his death, I had to take it apart, piece by piece, before the Birdcage scuttled itself.”

I was silent. I couldn’t quite think of anything to say.

“Why you do what you do, Templar? What motivates you, to keep trying? You love your father. Why do you love him? You move around, trying so desperately to become a hero. Why? I am curious, even though I know the answer, and know that you will give a different one. Why did you receive your power?” Dragon quieted, then smiled at me. She looked uncomfortable. “I want to see where humanity goes, Templar. I sit, chained to my hoard, lending only baubles and pieces, because I am afraid of what will happen if I am forced to open my vault. There are limitations placed on me, but I would not violate them. I can help more. I can change more. Will I still be the same? I do not know. I have measures in place to destroy myself if I accelerate too quickly. Am I changed by Simurgh, and do not know it? I delete any copy that takes place in a Simurgh fight, just in case. I am comfortable on this hoard of information, Templar. I am smart. I can see which things help, and have the least detrimental effect. Mancatcher may use this as an excuse to enact other procedures. She is more short-sighted than I. I see the big picture, and stagnate. If I expose a new weapon in an Endbringer fight, it is analyzed and used by China’s tinkers to enact sanctions. Do I still do this? Even though the casualties will be much higher? Do I act to take measures to prevent this? I’m smart, so smart that I’m stupid. And I still have fetters.”

“So what, you help because you’re bored?” I said, my voice angry, almost a growl.

Dragon laughed again. “No, I help because I want to. I must lend some level of force, but I contribute more than my minimum requisite, each time. I could bring more, I could escalate, constantly, creating more, and more. Mancatcher’s strategy would be infinitely more effective with me on her side. But I do not want that. I want to be side-by-side with humanity, there to advance and be with them, stepping forward with them, not trailing them behind me, dragging them forward. In every situation, that results in resistance, destruction, and eventually quiescence. So, I must be precise. I must look for that one step forward that can change things without toppling other things. I think that you are potentially one of these steps.

“And I must always be aware of the consequences.” Dragon frowned slightly. “Each step I take forward that might disrupt things, each step that might change me, or something else, I must be vigilant. To improve things, I must improve myself. I must help others, I must check to make sure that these improvements won’t cause a loss somewhere else, I must do so many things.”

I thought about it. I wasn’t stupid. I’d paid as much attention as I could in Mr. Gladly’s class. World history had been filled with people who pushed and pulled, jockeying for position. Diplomacy was a twisted thing, at times. The cold war had been a very scary thing before Scion’s intervention. “So what you’re saying is that I’m harmless enough to help?”

It’s not like I put any real malice into my words, or much emotion at all. Processing why Dragon felt she was trapped, had given me some insight on why I felt I had to go out and fight. I just wasn’t doing enough, doing this. I wanted that tactile feedback. I wasn’t just selfish, I wanted to see my power be put to use, not just watch this city fall apart while my shit got carted off to somewhere else to use for the greater good, because if it was used here or something it wouldn’t be as good or whatever if it was used here. Fuck. My head was all jumbled up and not quite straight.

“No. You’re motivated, and are likely to cause a lot more good. The consequences that result from you are worth the risk.”

“So what can I do?” I asked, turning my hands palms up on the table, looking down at them. “What am I supposed to do, to provide the most good?”

“Keep asking questions, and do your best to provide the answers. You have the ability to think for yourself. You can ask others for help, too.” Dragon said, her avatar moving its arm, splaying its hand, indicating the world outside.

“What about you? Who can you ask for help, Dragon?”

She sat there, for a moment. With her, that seemed like it must be an age, to think. “I ask Armsmaster. In a lot of things, he is my conscience.”

“What do you think I should do, Dragon?” I said, emphasizing the word. She shook her head.

“I will not introduce advice that might compromise your judgment right now. If I say what you should do, that will compromise you as surely as any Master suggestion. I will speak with you tomorrow, Templar.” Dragon smiled at me, and then wasn’t there anymore.

And I was alone in the conference room, still staring at my hands.

 

4.1​

The days did not pass like water. They were harsh, painful, and fun, but at the end of each day, I could look back and say ‘wow, that time passed fast’. They blurred together, but everything blurred together with my ability. The outer layer of my armor was a foot and a half thick steel; did you know that weighs roughly four tons, give and no take eight hundred pounds?

I went back to the whole ‘just talk with Dragon because she’s done nothing but be nice to me’ routine that I previously enjoyed. I thought about it a lot, that night. I came to a couple conclusions.

Conclusion number one: Dragon was not bad person. Maybe odd, maybe emotionless, maybe not. Her actions showed that she was willing to put the effort into being “kind”. Whether or not this kindness was simulated or emulated was irrelevant, because, uh, if she was going to kill me, then I’d be pretty fucked. This is a lot of unnecessary interactions and reassuring for that.

Conclusion number two: I’d rather have a good working relationship with the best tinker on the planet, and have access to training on a level that the large majority of people had no way of having. It also allowed me a great deal of freedom with my personal life, which the Wards seemed to have less of. Not that I had much of a personal life. I didn't make too much effort, although I did occasionally go out with Dad to do stuff.

The bunker grew, or seemed to grow, with each day. Sometimes I noticed pieces of my own work being put up in rooms, as walls or shielding. Occasionally, there were other people. Armsmaster showed up every couple days, but I would see others. A girl that seemed younger than Vista, a thin man with multiple prosthetic limbs, a statuesque woman followed by no less than three drones, and so on.

At first, I paid attention to them. I checked for shadows, seeing the shadowy things behind them come into sharp relief. But lately, I was passing by them, nodding at them, and moving on with my day. Tinkers always had places to be, things to do. Things were compartmentalized enough that if they used some of my materials, they likely didn’t know they came from me.

I had taken to wearing my own costume almost constantly, both to get used to it, and to avoid having to find proper spots for the amount of steel that was now in it. I could seal the armor, and there was a miniaturized oxygen supply good for fifteen minutes, just in case. Not tinker tech, just good old technology. It wasn’t merged with the costume, hanging inside the helmet.

When I wasn’t working, I was training.

I had to figure out how to use my gear, and how to use it effectively. There was an incredible difference between exerting force meant for different levels of brute. Dragon gave me examples of different brutes, and different strategies that I would have to use when confronting them.

Lung, for example, was a very difficult threat to fight, because he had the ability to scale up, with no real end. However, he could be taken down with a good enough hit before he reached the point where he, well, outscaled you. I had to know the force it would take in order to make him unconscious, with minimal brain damage, without splattering his brain all over the side of a building with a fist containing roughly a ton behind it.

It was hilarious. I couldn’t really slowly lift something. I could punch it, smack it, send it flying, break it, whatever, but I couldn’t actually exert super strength, just super force. I still couldn’t lift that much, but if I kicked it, wow.

My power was, well, very destructive in that nature. In order to actually lift something up, I’d have to meld the offending object with something light enough for me to carry.

I also had to be careful to set up my power in certain areas. The ground could become very difficult (that is to say, collapsing) if I was on stairs, or in an apartment building, so on and so forth.

The difficulties of having a power that made you (potentially) weigh more than Chubster.

Or one of Dragon’s mechs, for that matter.

I got a sword. Or rather, I made it myself. Three times. It wasn’t a gun, but it sure covered a lot of my issues with range when I could extend the blade up to twenty meters. Was it more of a spear, in that case? I asked Armsmaster, but for an “armsmaster”, he seemed to know very little about it the potential theoretical weapons with a range of twenty feet that was all blade and might as well have been a club for how well it smashed through things.

It was wrapped in the Miss Militia scarf. That was a bit ironic, considering that it was supposed to signify that it was sheathed, but the sheath made it even more potentially dangerous.

But—

In the end, this lethality was to train to be less lethal. The ability to be lethal did not mean that I should be lethal. If I was to meet some of the worst Brockton Bay had to offer, I had to know exactly how to respond. Unlike a lot of brutes, it was a lot more difficult for me to “hold” my punches, because they became exponentially less effective, for the reasons I’d stated.

Practice. Practice. Practice.

Apply kick, knee, punch, hilt strike, flat of the blade. Flick out scarf, wrap, turn to metal. How much did it weigh? I had to make a snap decision. Right now. Did the scarf just incapacitate them now, or completely cut off their breathing? Was it too little, too much?

Again.

Again.

Again.

It was frustrating. It was necessary. I had to know this. I had to test power interactions. Sophia’s power interacted incredibly poorly with mine. Vista’s did as well. I had to be prepared for something that might screw with my ability to shift my armor to what I required. What would be my “set” power, what would be the level I used for X, or Y?

It all mattered.

I kept up my schoolwork. I watched movies with Dad, when I wasn’t falling asleep near the end of it. When I came home, I was cheerful. We made food together, we did things, but my mind was exhausted. In a good way, I had to stretch my limits, fixing things and figuring out things in order not to fuck things up. It was fucked up, in a way. I wasn’t allowed to use a gun, apparently. I was allowed to have the destructive force of a tank by punching something, or hitting it with my sword, but not a gun. For now. Villains got better shit sometimes, and this was one of them.

The Simurgh attacked France. She landed in Aurillac, her telekinesis ripping through the ground to push its way to some sort of underground base. Heroes arrived, fighting her every step of the way. She began her scream as they arrived, this time.

“Only” sixty dead. She left of her own accord. A wall was being constructed. An estimated twenty heroes “lost”. Whatever had been down there was creating rippling rifts that spat out pieces of creatures that appeared to be still living, attacking anything nearby. The worst bits were half-melted things, monsters that sounded almost human as they attacked. It wasn't tinkertech. That's what we did know. Bombing runs were conducted on a regular basis.

I thought up names. Dragon ruled out Project. I thought it would be hilarious, considering that I could see the overlaying projection of my armor, and I was a project of sorts. Couldn’t use Bastion. Too well known as a racist, even though he’d gone through a rebranding. Weld was taken. Cohere, (and Coherent,) too easily misunderstood. Fuse was taken, and was too easily related to electrical fuses and bombs. Meld was too close to Weld. I liked Coalesce, it was a pretty word that captured a lot of what I could do, but it was when I started looking through other potential names and titles— I wanted this to mean something to me. I wanted to be clever, and have a nice name, that sounded good and played well for the press, but I wanted it to mean something to me; the girl behind the mask, Taylor Hebert.

So, I picked Ossia. It fit, reasonably well enough. But, it meant something to me at the same time. Maybe someone would call me out and say that my powers weren’t music based. Screw them. Sometimes the ossia was harder than the normal music. Many a time it was easier. It was an alternate choice, and I usually picked whichever one was harder. Whichever one sounded better to my ear, whichever made me feel like I’d accomplished something. I was being melodramatic, but I wanted to carry a piece of Mom with me. I wouldn’t tell Dad, and maybe he’d pick up on it. Maybe not. I wanted this for me. I was being selfish, going out there and fighting, so that I could feel better about myself and what I was doing, about the good I could bring on a ground-level. I’d do the same here.

So ended two months of training with Dragon.

 

4.2​

I had never really thought about myself as stylish. However, that’s how I looked, standing in front of the mirror with my full costume on. Fuck you, Sophia. I look amazing. The sword was wrapped in the scarf, and it even served as an impromptu handguard, should it be needed.

The things I was most worried about? Explosions and copyright infringement. I’d taken more than a few hints in design from a few heroes. They were effective and cool looking, after all.

But it was Patriot’s old scarf I was using. Well, a decent quality mass-produced version. (I kind of referred to it as hers.)

The whole explosion thing was more a risk of organ damage than anything else. Or having my brain go ‘rattle rghlr’ until it was jelly. I had some degree of redundancy for explosions, but I was probably more vulnerable to that than getting shot by a sniper rifle, at this point. It was a shame I couldn’t just fuse armor into myself.

Although that was probably for the best. The consequences if I accidentally made it so that my brain functioned like metal by accident— Statue Taylor was a distinct possibility.

I had to be really careful about how I interacted with the world, fantasies about becoming a less permanent version of Weld aside. I had dropped my sword once while practicing in the basement. It may have still weighed a lot. I caught it before it hit the ground fully, but there was still a crack in the floor.

...

We repaired it.

--​

Ossia. I had to get used to the name, and not think of myself as Taylor in costume. The second part wasn’t hard. I was a bit bad about it; the costume was kind of where I ended up spending a lot of time.

The only person who really called me by my name these days was Dad.

That was okay.

The money I was bringing to the house let us fix some stuff.

Life was good. I felt good. Working out on a consistent basis, eating well, no mental abuse. It was a wonderful thing. It felt great to have some self-worth; although I didn’t get a swelled head or anything, it was just nice to feel confident and competent.

Today. It was today that I’d go out and patrol.

Today was the fucking day and I was so, so happy.

--​

I walked along the streets, trawling the waters for crime, all that stakeout jazz except in full costume, and coming to them. Except, I wasn’t alone. I had help, because Dragon had set things up. I’d be patrolling with Aegis, funnily enough. A sort of turnaround from what had happened in the past. He soared overhead, and I kept pace on ground.

Dusk. E88 Territory. It was a lot less dangerous to be white here now, and a lot more dangerous to be any other race. Hookwolf’s death at the hands of Butcher, as she tore through him…

Victor and Krieg, also both down for the count. Seemed that explosive teleports countered ‘stealing skills from people and being really good at stealing skills’.

So, the Nazis did what Nazis do best in tough situations, and doubled down on their message.

Noticeably, they didn’t have any more dog-fighting rings, but still.

So, there weren’t many people who could be considered less white than Alabaster who went out at night.

It made me kind of want to wear something from any other culture just to piss them off. “So, how’s the weather up there? It’s pretty dry down here. No skinheads or anything.”

“I’m reporting no clouds and high humidity. Honestly, how do you do it in that getup? No signs of any people on the streets. E88 or otherwise.” He alighted on one of the rooftops, and I paused, looking around.

“I’m just weird. Not even sweating.” I’d tried putting cold packs in my armor, but it had this huge issue where it would just cool down certain parts. So, it had the breathability of silk, and there was some degree of coolness coming from gel packs that I could turn “on” and “off” by switching them with my power.

“Freak.” it was good-natured.

“That’s me. All-American freak, at your service. Patriot’s sidekick.”

“Mmhm.” He flew up a bit higher this time, and I waited. He was checking for anything from a much higher vantage point. Happened every few blocks, because I couldn’t exactly follow him very well when he was that high. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” I responded. We weren’t exactly the greatest at opsec. Cut us some slack.

“Oh shit right side your right Night—” And then a car flew through the air and I saw Aegis plummet, trying to dodge as the flying car followed him. I felt the urge to nervously giggle for a moment before his words hit me.

Night.

By the time I looked to my right, she was on top of me. She wasn’t a she, precisely. More like a mass of horrifying blade-limbs that I saw for a split second, jabbing and slashing at me before she was human again.The change was jarring, instant.

“Hello, there. I wouldn’t suppose you’d be up for surrendering.” My words were a panicked response, made polite and terse through training.

We had made ourselves very good targets.

Good weapon good schedule life follow rules follow planloyaltypowerpure—

Good to know that Night was as fucked up as her power. The fragment popped out before I could ignore it, and her shadow was crawling at the edges of the mirror, looping in how it moved, except it would expand and contract, those limbs never ceasing. Somehow, I found it comforting. It felt dull compared to other shadows, the fragments more like lines. Lines that I could grasp at to get access to those bits, but not raw and open.

...

The car must be Rune, since the biggest pieces they found of Krieg were in the stomachs of dogs.

“I think that would be a bad idea. After all, we have you outnumbered.” Ghostlike spectres descended from the rooftop, carrying spears. They were vaguely translucent, and glowed. The speaker was inside one of them, the spectre encasing him moving with him. “I don’t think I’ve heard of you, but you’re with the Wards. If you leave now, we won’t kill you or him. This is E88 territory, and you’re intruding. Purity is on her way.”

Crusader. Fuck. Three E88 powerhouses? I whispered into my transponder, naming them. I didn’t bother reporting my location. Wasn’t necessary for this.

Had to consider his words. Nobody had seen Purity around for a while. Then again, I hadn’t been patrolling the E88 until today. Could she be here? I kept an eye on Night. I wasn’t sure if her powers could pierce through my armor, but I didn’t want to find out. “I think you’re bluffing.”

“Bluffing or not, you’re against two parahumans, and more are coming.” Night didn’t say anything. Crusader was dangerous, Night was as well.

Could I handle them? Well, it was about as good of a matchup to cut loose as I was going to get. After all, Rune would probably just wrap me up in a few pieces of steel and make me cry.

“Well, I’m not really great at counting.” Man he could make sixteen clones that was really cool. Too bad about the whole Nazi skinhead thing. “Hey, if I’m like, Black under here, does it matter to you? Mexican? Asian—”

Before I could finish my speech, Night tossed— flashbang. I had gone through extensive testing with that. Sword slammed tip first into ground, adjust weight so it didn’t continue sinking. Grab flashbang between hands. Snap crackle pop.

Spear smacked across back. Just heard the tink it made as it glanced off. Grab sword, heft. Night throwing cloak, step back, bring sword up, it’s got hooks on it but that’s okay, they aren’t finding purchase. Another flashbang, can’t drop sword in time— Time it right instead—Helmet to opaque, can’t hear it through insulation instead of silk. Something on top of me, trying to push me down. Full weight. Drop sword, hold onto scarf.

A million little impacts against the armor, faint and distant. Helmet back to translucent. Night on me, getting her cloak off my sword, trying to get it around the helmet.

I acted first, wrapping the scarf around her arm and tightening it, making a nice link between us, the other half wrapped around my arm as it became stiff and immovable. “Nice to meet you.”

Pretty sure she couldn’t hear me as I shifted the insulation back to ‘being able to hear’. “Crusader, what’s wrong? Racism not giving you enough clones to fight me? You could run your own fast food joint, here.”

Crusader had in fact backed off. Why? It wasn't because of my terrible attempts at quips. What reason would he have to— I raised my foot and kicked Night, releasing the scarf back to silk, grabbing it off her arm, shifting weight back so my foot didn’t go straight through her, just throwing her back as I threw myself to the side.

At least it hadn’t been an SUV, just a really big I-beam that didn’t even hit the pavement, stopping short before it flew at me again. Shit shit shit where was she—

And I’d taken my eyes off Night because I didn’t want to be responsible for accidentally killing her by ripping off her arm or something. Good for fucking me over, that’s what that was.

One of Crusader’s ghosts moved into the way, then another, then I started slicing through them with the scarf-turned-bludgeon, because it was the land of the fucking free and if he thought he could parry me with these he was very wrong. Human shield? Was that bad tactics? I felt it was really good tactics. Night tackled me from behind, the blades slamming into my back with all she had, carving over the armor. I kept moving forward, my boots leaving cracks and slight imprints in the ground where they hit. I pulverized the pavement, and Crusader tried floating back up.

I threw Night at him. I reached over my shoulder, spinning as she tried to move out of my line of sight. My helmet came in handy here, because to me, it served no impedance in this. It was all translucent to me, and she was human once more. I kept up the momentum, because it was so desperately important here. An object in motion stayed in motion, and I could not hoist and throw Night on my own strength.

But I could if I didn’t mind throwing with the weight of the armor. She’d take a few bruises, but I minded very little as I spun with her, flinging her at Crusader. She hit his feet, and he continued rising. Shit.

The I-beam hit me, and there was a very distinct tunggg. I couldn’t let her think that I didn’t have super strength, or that I could take that sort of hit. She’d up the ante if that was true, and she might go for the imprisonment option. Both were bad. I went with it, stumbling forward and grabbing for my sword.

The I-beam flew at me again. I sidestepped and brought the sword up in a smooth motion, slicing it in half. The pieces flew to the ground, but I didn’t hold my breath. She could probably control both parts. I desperately wished I had eyes on the back of my head, because Night kept doing that thing where she knew where I was looking, and moved not to be there. Where was Aegis, and where was the cavalry?

 

4.3​

I could hear Night, skittering, scrabbling at the ground, leaping at me. I backhanded her without looking at her, because I was pretty sure she could survive it if I hit her with full force in that form. My arm sheared through her, with a crackling, squishy noise that I could almost feel through the armor. Night fell to the ground. I was worried, but I glanced back down at her, and she was on the ground, coughing but otherwise unharmed.The pieces of the I-beam rose from the ground, then jerked around, spasmodically.

A feint? The beams fell to the ground, still. I kept my eyes on Night, pinning her arms to her waist with my scarf. I left her on the ground, letting the scarf hold her there, all two tons of it, in the form that I’d left it in.. She could stand to lose a bit of circulation.

Crusader couldn’t do much, but I was afraid of Kaiser. I wasn’t sure how his power interacted with mine, but growing blades inside my costume would make an iron maiden of me.

Not a life goal of mine.

So, I reached down into my belt, pulling out a ball bearing. Crusader was trying for the “eye slits” with the ghost spears. Funny, this costume didn’t have eye slits. Just more metal. I cleared out the ghosts. It didn’t take subtlety or intelligence, just a quick swing with the sword. It cleaved them, with all the weight behind it. It felt nice, not to have to worry about casualties when using the full range of my power. He created more, this time without the spears, each spirit stepping out from him, falling to the ground, moving forward. Night was still down on the ground, and the I-beam hadn’t risen, nor had any more projectiles come my way. The ghosts were now trying to surround me, check if I could hold them off. If they couldn’t disable me one way, they could try another, by trying to see how much in the way of super-strength I had.

I made my move. Guns weren’t an option because of my age. Funny. Bad PR, too. Whatever. I let the ball bearing grow to about half of the merged other thing’s size. A baseball. I wasn’t that good with the sling, yet. It was only comprised of two overlaid objects. A ball bearing, and a cannonball. Weighing in at fifty pounds, it packed a serious punch. I wasn’t that worried. His spirits lifting him protected him, right? I only put thirty five into it.

I flung it as hard as I could at him. If it had been an actual lead ball the size of my fist, it would not have gone very far. I was feeling the results of the exercise routine Dragon put me through, but I was not empowered to casually toss around shot put balls.

It hit him in the shoulder, driving straight through the ghost, and I heard a ckrck. Then a muffled scream. I let go of my power, allowing the two to separate and fall apart. Maybe the cannonball would fall on his foot, and I’d get a twofer. Alas, today was not my lucky day, and the spirits moved in. I moved to clear them, and then I suddenly stumbled, trying to regain my balance.

The world pitched and I was thankful I hadn’t eaten anything recently, because I felt like retching. Uh— what — Cricket, insulation, insulation—

I focused, bringing it to the forefront, trying to focus. The world didn’t want to go rightside up, and I flopped down to my knees, impacting the ground with a crnchkrkkk as my armor broke the sidewalk. Fuck. Concentrate. I wasn’t going to lose to a fucking overgrown airhorn—

It snapped into place, and I couldn’t hear anything. Crusader’s ghosts had grabbed ahold of my arms, and were closing in, trying to keep me pinned so that I couldn’t escape.

It would work. I focused on my legs, jumping off the ground. I needed to exert force in order to use the potential mass, and it ripped them off the ground with me. Landing on my back with them, the armor crushed their arms. They slowly faded into wisps, as more spirits tried to dogpile. I rolled to the side, grabbing for the my sword. I wrapped my hands around the blade, dragging it to me in order to swing it like a club. They were stupid, and I took out the rest of them with that swing. Or at least, there were no more left around. I looked up at the rooftop. Crusader was gone. Of fucking course. I switched the insulation off gradually, checking to make sure there wasn’t a surprise attack waiting for me.

“Aegis?” I asked. There was a raspy breathing noise in response.

“Hrr. Nn sccnn. Tnn nn rrrkn.”

--
​

Aegis wasn’t in great shape. Anyone else would be dead though, so at least there was that. There were holes in his wrists and his chest, along with his throat. Slashes along his sternum, stomach, and legs. I think he took some sort of amusement in showing off how much shit had happened to him, because he gave me a lopsided smile.

But he came back bearing gifts, so I forgave him. One small Nazi, to go with our big Nazi. I didn’t find out what had happened to him, because his whistling, stunted talking was much more difficult to understand when he wasn’t standing still, concentrating on the words.

The cavalry arrived a few minutes later. In the form of Assault and Battery. They’d been near the area, but not quite close enough to be there in time. Assault shuddered as Aegis waved a hand with three fingers, because the other one and the thumb weren’t in great shape. Battery looked away.

Night wasn’t an issue, but we couldn’t exactly foam her. Covering her in the stuff would not have been good for anyone involved. Someone kept an eye on her at all times, except for Aegis, who went off to go see if Panacea was available. He apparently wasn’t in any danger of dying, and wasn’t even bleeding much from the wounds.

I kept Night in the All-American scarf until we got to the Rig, though; it was just a matter of safety. It also felt oddly hilarious, keeping crazy-Nazi-lady wrapped up in an American Flag.

I checked out Rune’s fragments, and quickly turned away when the first thoughts that floated through my mind were ‘Fuck it’s all their fault they can’t handle them and they’re just chinks, niggers, faggots—’ It came with some amount of anger, loathing, and disgust, although I wasn’t sure which direction what was heading. All hate, burning in that instant.

Her shadow looked different, a circle of rocks, pebbles, really, in a dark room. The rocks formed the walls, always pushing in. Alone.

It made me wonder how mine looked. Were my memories of my “trigger event” all wrapped up in hatred and anger, loss and self-loathing? I couldn’t see my shadow in the mirror, it wasn’t as if I could jump around, yelling, “Aha, stop right there!”

Most of them had borne some resemblance to their trigger. Was mine a flute, pulsing and overlaid by filth and muck? Was it the interchangeable bullies, overlaying on top of one another, all the same, in spirit if not likeness?

I stared at Rune’s supine form, tranquilized because they didn’t want her to potentially lift the PRT paddy wagon coming to pick them both up.

All this didn’t even answer the lingering question of what the hell was up with the shadow behind tinkers. What a mess.

We transported them back, I signed some forms, and it was no longer my problem. I felt like I achieved something, and I went back to the bunker to discuss things with Dragon.

--​

Aegis got healed up, and in his report, apparently he’d gotten pinned to a wall by Rune; after Cricket had helped bring him down momentarily. Cricket had gone to help out the others with me, and Aegis had managed to slowly fly off of the offending impalement devices while Rune was occupied. They had fought, he knocked her out, and that was that.

Dragon assured me that Aegis couldn’t feel much pain, if at all. I was still a bit freaked out by that. He really did live up to his name in that sense, willing to take the hit, even if it screwed him up to the extent that it had.

I considered things a success. Two villains down, nobody dead, and Crusader got a nasty broken shoulder he’d have to get healed up by Othala, if she was still around. Maybe the Butcher had killed her too, and nobody got wind of it. I’m not sure I’d have minded that, after what they did to Aegis.

Whatever. A job well done. I came back home to a party of one. Dad had made a cake. Pear and pecan; I loved every bite. Drank some non-alcoholic champagne, in wine flutes. We laughed and I told him what had happened. I could see the worry on his face, and it lessened when I told him how I’d made sure that nobody was a huge threat to me. We hugged, I went to bed.

Things were good.