by wildbow
“Don’t compare us,” I cut in.
“—and you learn to look past their faults. The little evils,” she said. “And they learn to look past yours.”
Miss Militia gave Alexandria a curious look, then turned to me, “The offer, it’s the most reasonable one we can give you. It’s generous, considering all you’ve done.”
“It’s not enough,” I said. “Until my team has amnesty, I can’t back down. I can’t abandon them to fight lunatics like Tagg and Alexandria the second I’m gone.”
“That’s what you want?” Alexandria asked. “Amnesty, release for captured teammates, and a sentence to juvenile detention?”
My dad reached out, taking my hand, a silent plea. Saying everything without doing me the disservice of interjecting.
It wasn’t enough, but it was something. I could trust my teammates to hold their own. I could… I could find my way. Two years made for such a small length of time. It… it would mean I was in custody when Dinah’s deadline came. But maybe that was what she’d wanted. For me to be somewhere secure when it all started. I couldn’t rule it out.
And all it would take was for me to do what I’d done for so long before I had my powers, for months after I’d had my powers. To capitulate, to let go of my pride. To let them win, those people who wanted to use their power, their prestige and superiority against me.
My dad squeezed my hand, hard.
“I named my terms,” I told Alexandria. “I trust my teammates, and I trust that they’ll win where it counts. No.”
I met Tagg’s eyes, and my voice was a growl, “And if you fucking hurt another hair on their heads, I’ll see you pay for it. Like Lung, like Valefor, and if it comes down to it, I’ll come after you like I did with Butcher, and Coil—Calvert.”
I directed my glare at Alexandria as I said that last part.
“You’re admitting—” Miss Militia started.
“Let’s not pretend we don’t all know,” I said.
I felt my dad’s hand drop away from mine. I might have met his eyes, to take in the hurt and the pain that came with seeing who I really was, but I wasn’t willing to break eye contact with Alexandria.
You can read facial expressions? Read this. Know I’m telling the truth. Know that I’ll take you apart, given the slightest excuse.
I was pressing the keys on the telephone before Alexandria had even stood from her seat. Another warning that Alexandria was en route.
She stood, wordless. There was no negotiation, no offer for leniency, and I didn’t ask for either.
I could only hope.
In a matter of minutes, she was gone, flying away. A third mission. A third hunt.
Bugs found their way through vents to Regent, but Imp’s cell was sealed tight, no doubt due to the stranger-class precautions that had led to the note being pasted on her cell door, notifying the PRT of the special precautions. It didn’t matter. Regent was still unconscious, and Imp was likely to be as well.
Grue, Rachel, Tattletale and Parian. Flechette too, if it came down to it.
Flechette… could she hurt Alexandria?
It didn’t matter. I didn’t have answers, couldn’t get them. I could only wait, keeping my bugs out of the way of the drones that Kid Win had finally recharged.
“You had a way out,” Miss Militia said.
“You said you understand me,” I told her. “That you had insight into who I was as a person, now that you knew my history. If that’s true, you understand why I had to say no.”
“For your sake. Because of what you’ve been through.”
“And because of them. They’d never forgive me if I betrayed everything they helped me become, because I didn’t think they could fend for themselves.”
“And me?” my dad asked. “I know it’s asking a lot. I failed you where it counted.”
“Dad—”
“And maybe it’s selfish, to want my daughter, when you’re talking about things on this scale…” he said, pausing as if he was going to follow that with an argument. But no argument followed.
And I couldn’t give him a good response.
Eight minutes passed. I could count the progression of time on the clock hands, when I dared let a bug pass through open spaces.
Nine minutes in, I could see Tagg suddenly tense, lines in his neck standing out as he read the newest message on his phone. He glanced at me, but he didn’t say anything and I didn’t ask.
The PRT van arrived before Alexandria did, this time. The PRT officers took their time before they finally emerged.
Restless, I shifted position. My forearms were digging into the table where the cuffs held my arms in front of me. Leaning forward made my back hurt.
They opened the back of the van, and there were no precautions this time. Their weapons were holstered, and they didn’t stand in any particular formation.
The only thing in the back was a single body bag.
Back pain forgotten, I went as stiff as Tagg. I drew more bugs in to get a better picture of the scene.
They took a different route this time, using their phones to make their way through the various doors and checkpoints. They entered the attached building. A small hospital, or a special office with medical facilities. It didn’t matter.
And they made their way to the morgue.
The size of the bag… it couldn’t be Lizardtail. He was too large. Was the wrong size and shape to be one of the dogs. That left only three real possibilities. A PRT officer, Rachel, or Brian.
I closed my eyes, clenched my hands.
Then one of the PRT officers who was escorting the body said something, and others laughed in response. It was one of those rare moments I could discern tone, and it wasn’t a kind one. That was enough for me to know it wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t a civilian.
Metal clicked as they unlocked the heavy clasps and locks that were likely meant to prevent any parahumans from getting up from the dead.
They unzipped the bag, and lifted the body onto the drawer. The drawer slid into the recess, the lid was closed and locked.
I didn’t want to know which of them it was. I couldn’t. Whether it was Brian or Rachel, it didn’t matter. Neither of them would get up from the dead. They weren’t so lucky.
I stared down at my hands, and I felt myself go cold, my thoughts crystal clear, singular.
“Taylor,” my dad murmured, so quiet I could barely hear him.
“Yes?”
I sounded so calm, like an entirely different person was speaking.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“Oh,” I said. I couldn’t really think of anything else to say. He was right. My fingers were trembling.
I looked at Tagg, to see if he’d heard or if he’d noticed. No indication, but his hand was close to his gun. The text he’d read… he knew. He probably wasn’t aware he was doing it, but he was ready for a fight to erupt any second.
Miss Militia’s hand wasn’t, but I could read a tension in her, as she exchanged words with Calle. But then, I suspected she could draw faster than Tagg in virtually any circumstance. Or maybe she wasn’t as ready or willing to deal out violence as Tagg was.
Then I had to lower my eyes, to hide the tears that were welling. Needed just a few moments. Just a few more seconds.
Alexandria arrived the same way she had after her last two excursions, through the hole in the roof. With the speed she moved, she didn’t risk being spotted. Even photography wasn’t in the cards.
With the speed she moved, she didn’t seem to notice the bugs that followed after her as the aperture began to close behind her.
She got as far as the Wards HQ before she stopped and the bugs had a chance to catch up to her.
As though I’d thrown a javelin, they speared right for her nose and open mouth, the fastest moving bugs I had at my disposal, and spiders.
She was invincible, the flesh inside her throat untouchable. The flap that kept food out of her lungs kept the bugs at bay. At fir
st. They bound themselves together, spiders fixing themselves and others to the inside of her throat with adhesive.
As strong as she was, air didn’t move past the mass of bugs that filled her mouth, as they fought to move into positions where they could block her throat. She coughed in an instinctive attempt to dislodge them.
Even with super strength, even with a diaphragm like hers, the coughs didn’t remove every bug, and the greedy gasp of air allowed those who remained to find their way inside, filling her lungs. They were just as impervious inside, but the bugs arranged themselves side by side, forming a layer that blocked the flow of oxygen to the membranes of the lung itself. Spiders drew out silk, filling gaps.
If she could choke, if Leviathan saw submerging her in water as a viable tactic, if Tattletale saw fit to try to do the same, then I could drown her in insects.
The Wards were watching, realizing what was going on. Clockblocker ran, pressing a button for the alarm.
And in front of me, Tagg moved, drawing his gun. His voice was a roar, “She knows!”
A thread caught it before he could point it at me, and it fell to the ground.
With each entry that had been made into the interrogation room, barring the one where she’d used the drone in Imp’s cell, I’d brought more bugs inside. Spiders, hornets, black widows, brown recluses and more.
I’d warned him. He jumped as he felt the bites. Shouted as hornets found the soft tissues of his eyes, his tongue and eardrums. Black widows and brown recluses found crevices.
Miss Militia moved too, but the silk I’d used only bound her hand, didn’t serve to stop her.
“Taylor!” my dad’s voice sounded so far away.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let the bullies win again, I thought. That I’d stop the monsters.
But the thoughts sounded disconnected, false.
No, this was revenge. Something simpler than any of that.
Miss Militia raised a gun, pointing it at me, where I had my head bowed, hands still chained in front of me. My dad was shaking me, but I wasn’t a hard target to hurt.
And my bugs weren’t hurting her. Weren’t touching my dad, or Mr. Calle, who was backed up into a corner, trying to make as much distance from me as he could.
She didn’t shoot. Her gun clattered to the ground.
“Taylor!” she called out, as if she could reach me that way. “I’m not going to shoot, but you have to stop!”
“Not a promise, not an oath, or a malediction or a curse,” I said, sounding calm, probably inaudible in the midst of Tagg’s screaming. “Inevitable. Wasn’t that how she put it? I told them. Warned them.”
Alexandria, in the basement, still choking, drowning on dry land with lungs full of dragonflies, spiders and cockroaches, soared. She flew through the closed barrier in the roof, and debris showered down on the Wards who’d approached her, wanting to help but finding themselves unable.
In moments, she was out of my range, too high in the air. I wasn’t sure it mattered.
And Tagg—Tagg was staggering towards me, roaring something incoherent, chewing and spitting in a feeble attempt to remove bugs from his mouth. His tongue was likely swollen already. The black widow venom would take effect soon.
He tried to push my dad out of the way, and my dad blocked him, shielding me with his body.
Tagg kicked my father hard enough to drive him to the ground. The Director was still shouting, nearly blind. He gripped me by the hair and slammed my head down on the table, hard.
I saw stars, felt tears welling out freely, as if the dam had finally broken.
Blind, writhing in pain and a struggle to get the insects off him, Tagg still managed to hold me down as the PRT officers burst into the room. They had darts like the one that Shadow Stalker had kept in her crossbow, jammed one into my neck.
I had only the chance to think of how they’d just signed Tagg’s death warrant, that my power would work while I was unconscious. I could have rescinded the order in the last moments. I didn’t.
And then it was only darkness. Oblivion. A false kind of death.
Cell 22.5
Abandoned.
The word hit me before I was fully conscious, as though my brain had grasped the idea before I even had half of a brain functioning.
My father, gone. My lawyer was gone as well. Not such a big surprise. I’d gone all out, held little back, and I’d given no apparent justification. To them, to my dad especially, I would have looked like a monster.
Fitting, because I’d been one. I was one. Was that a label that was affixed to me permanently, now?
My mind was wandering more than it should have. My head hurt. I tried to focus, turning to my bugs.
Except my swarm was nearly gone. Only a small fraction remained. Hundreds, if that. My bugs had carried out the last order I’d given them, to attack, before I was knocked out. I knew that. What confused me were the other behaviors my bugs had performed.
They’d spread out and searched my surroundings, and they’d been gunned down en masse by Kid Win’s drones. I could sort of understand that, especially if they were actively searching for the last targets I’d given them. That, and I could picture myself unconsciously wanting to check for incoming threats and assess the battlefield before the tranquilizer took hold. Odd, fucking inconvenient, but understandable.
But the fact that bugs had spent the time I was out to weave lengths of silk cord? That was unusual, something out of place. It was something I’d taken to having my bugs handle in the background at any given moment, but why would I carry it out in my sleep? I was pretty sure I hadn’t given that order, which left only three real possibilities. Either my unconscious mind had willed it while I slept, or my passenger had. Unnerving.
More unnerving was the third possibility—that there wasn’t a real distinction between my unconscious mind and the passenger.
I sat up, contorted in pain as I felt bruises and cuts making themselves known, and then groaned as my expression shifted and I felt the damage above and around my eye. There was a wound: my skin had split, and the tightness coupled with the crusty wet sensation suggested drying blood.
My glasses were screwed up too. Tagg had knocked one lens out of the frame when he’d slammed my face into the table. My vision was oddly dreamlike, blurry through my right eye, too crisp through my left. I moved my hands to move the glasses, and felt the heavy-duty cuffs encasing them. The sort of handcuffs reserved for low-level brutes, that covered my hands entirely, each hand welded to the other.
I was in the PRT offices. I was back in my cell.
As far as I could tell, the building was empty. My power reached five blocks, and… nothing. There were no people. Computers were active, television screens were glowing with shifting images, and cars sat in the middle of the road outside, but the people were gone.
Evacuation? When my power hadn’t stopped, the PRT would have ordered people to clear out of the area.
Maybe they weren’t sure if my power would keep going if they shot me.
I stood and rolled my shoulders, feeling things pop, grind and sing with pain in response to the movement. I’d had my hands fixed in front of me for the better part of the day, with only a brief respite in my cell while I’d showered.
Showering… it made me think of being in my lair after the first night I’d been with Brian.
I pushed it out of my mind, and Rachel appeared instead, stepping to fill the blank in my mind’s eye.
As if I were suddenly channeling her, I struck at the door with the restraints that encased my hands. Metal struck metal, the strike barely denting the brushed stainless steel of the door’s surface.
A rapid, high-pitched beeping sounded from above me. I looked up at the orb just in time to see it lighting up. I threw myself to the ground, felt the shock jolt through me.
If I’d been sore before, the jolt cranked it up to ten. I felt my mind go white, heat coiling through the interior of my body, as though it were dancing around my
internal organs and bones. The strength went out of me; my cuffs were too heavy, and I didn’t have the ability to hold them up. I fell, as though the restraints were an anchor pulling me down.
I could feel my muscles twitching in a way that seemed like it was intentionally making the sorest parts of me move.
“Do not disturb the peace of your cell. This deterrence measure was calculated at twenty percent of your overall capacity. The next response will be at twice the strength. Thank you,” the automated voice informed me.
For long minutes, I lay there, spasming and searching the building with surviving bugs, because doing anything else was impossible or futile.
Needed out.
How had they unlocked my cell and the interrogation room? They’d had phones. PRT issue, probably, and had tapped the phone against the wall.
Phones… there were no PRT officers in the building.
In the morgue… there was a body bag. Bugs clung to it.
Brian? Rachel? Someone else?
I sent bugs over to explore it. One centipede to latch the zipper, other bugs to haul it back.
It was Tagg, dead.
I’d killed a man, and I had done it with my power, which somehow felt more intimate than the gun that killed Coil. My power made the bugs an extension of myself, and I’d used them to murder the man. It was little different from wrapping my hands around his throat and squeezing, or biting him in the throat and tearing deep enough that he couldn’t survive.
I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything meaningful about it. I wanted to. I wanted to think of his daughters, apparently college students overseas, and his apparently loving wife, and the fact that I’d just taken a member of their family from them, much as my mom had been taken from me. I wanted to feel terrible, to cry, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I felt bad, but not as bad as I should have.
No. I could only see the bully, the monster, the threat he posed to the city or the world. To my team.
Or was that the threat he had posed? Was it too late to save them?