“Do you want to try?”
“Telling the story?”
“Or raising the ideas.”
“A lot happened. My mom died, I had a hell of a time with high school, I fell in with a bad crowd and my dad and I parted ways. Over and over again, I’d think back to the advice my mom gave me, for a compass, or for a way to frame it all. Don’t- Don’t worry. I’m not expecting that kind of thing from you, I don’t want to put you on the spot. Thing is, now it’s all over, and before I came here, someone asked me to make a choice.”
“A choice?”
“Life and death. Or so I thought. I chose death, and she gave me life, and I’m still trying to reconcile why.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Does this have something to do with,” Annette waggled her fingers, “Powers?”
“No. It’s about regret, and coming to terms with it all.”
“You’re only eighteen. Why are you worrying about something like that at this stage?”
“Because I’m done. My life is over, for all intents and purposes. No matter how hard I try from here on out, I’ll never do anything one ten-thousandth as important as what I was doing before.”
Taylor could see people had noticed the emotion in her voice, the slight escalation in volume, and made a deliberate attempt to calm down.
“I might have to hear the whole story before I could give you an answer,” Annette said, her voice as calm as Taylor’s wasn’t, “But I think a lot of people go through near death experiences and I’m pretty sure they feel something like you’re feeling.”
“Ever since y- since my mom died, it’s been this constant, unending struggle to find some kind of peace, and the harder I tried, the further it went out of my reach. And now- now I’m here and it’s right there, waiting for me to take it and I can’t bring myself to.”
“Because you can’t bring yourself to come to terms with whatever decision you made?”
“It’s been six months. Fuck, you’re just a stranger, and I’m burdening you with this shit you don’t understand. I don’t- I-”
Taylor stopped, choking on the lump in her throat.
Annette stood from her chair. “Come on.”
Taylor shook her head. People were looking. She stared down at the table, and the upside-down book cover. “Y- you should go. I- I picked this spot because I knew you’d be leaving to go back to work, didn’t wanna keep you too long.”
Annette reached down, taking hold of Taylor’s wrists, where she’d jammed her hands in her pockets. She stopped short as one hand came free and clunked against the side of the chair, limp and dangling.
“Hav- haven’t gotten used to it. Had a better one,” Taylor mumbled. “Before. Embarrassed ‘self on the train. Nearly dropping my bag on some lady’s foot because I used the wrong arm, hurt.”
Avoiding looking at Annette, self-conscious, she used her left hand to try and jam the artificial arm into her jacket pocket, failed, and then partially stood, to get a better angle.
Annette took advantage of the movement to fold Taylor into a hug. Taylor stiffened.
“I think,” Annette said, “You have plenty of time to find that peace you were talking about.”
Taylor didn’t move, with her face mashed into Annette’s shoulder.
For just a moment, she could let herself pretend.
For a moment, she was eight years in the past, and all was well, even the evils and disasters of the world were fringe things. Endbringers in other countries, bad guys who she never had to pay attention to.
“I don’t know what happened,” Annette murmured. “I’m almost afraid to ask. But I don’t think you can let one decision you made in a time of stress cause you so much grief.”
“Thousand decisions,” Taylor mumbled.
“What?”
“It’s not the one decision. It’s all of them, pressing down on me. I’m- I was a monster, Annette.”
“Looking at you right now, I find that hard to believe.”
It wasn’t the right answer. It didn’t make Taylor feel better. Just the opposite.
“And your dad, if he’s with you now, he clearly doesn’t think that either,” she whispered. “I think I see him. He looks very awkward and out of place, and he’s trying very hard to look like he’s not paying attention.”
“That’d be him,” Taylor said.
She pulled back, but she kept her hands on Taylor’s shoulders. “If you want to stay, that’s fine. If you want to go, that’s fine too. I wish I had better answers. My boys are only seven and nine; the hardest question I have to answer is why they can’t have pie for breakfast.”
“Be easier to give answers if I could articulate the question better,” Taylor said.
“I think it was pretty clear. You said they offered you a choice, you picked death, and they gave you life. You were talking about wanting peace… I think you had that peace in your grasp. Am I close?”
Was she? Taylor nodded slowly. When she spoke, she could barely understand herself. “It shouldn’t be this easy.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Annette said, “I don’t think this looks easy at all. Going down any road labeled ‘death’ has to be the easier road.”
Taylor went very quiet, using her left hand to wipe at her face. People were staring, and she couldn’t bring herself to care.
She looked back, and she could see her dad there, back to a divider between store displays, one toe raised, as if the scuff marks in the hard brown leather were of great interest.
“I think,” Taylor said, very carefully, “I’m going to go.”
“I wish I could say more, but we could talk again. You could explain, if you were up to it.”
Taylor shook her head. “I think this is something I have to figure out myself.”
“Go with your gut, then.”
“But thank you. Before we talked, I wasn’t sure it was something I could figure out, and now I think it might be doable. I feel like it’s… clarified.”
“Good.”
“And I would like to meet and talk again. About something less heavy. Maybe about books?”
Annette smiled. “It’s a date.”
Taylor smiled back, then wiped at the tears again. She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her good shoulder, then made her way to her dad.
She stopped in her tracks.
In the crowd, a boy with dark curls, a little bit of a slouch, and a white t-shirt.
Alec?
■
Tattletale watched on her monitors as the others migrated downstairs.
Only Imp and Rachel remained.
“Okay, so he’s… what? This is dumb.”
“You were supposed to be explaining,” Rachel said.
“I was, but this is so dumb I can’t wrap my head around it.”
“What’s dumb?” Rachel asked. “If you don’t answer, I’m feeding you to Bastard. I don’t want to do that.”
“Aw, you care!”
“Wouldn’t be good for him,” Rachel said.
Imp sighed. “Teacher’s plan. It’s dumb. We’re supposed to worry about this shit?”
“No,” Tattletale said, watching on the monitors as the others from the meeting made their way downstairs. “Teacher isn’t a threat. Or he isn’t a big one. You were talking symbols before?”
“Symbolic shit, yeah.”
“Consider Teacher a symbol. Things are starting into motion, the quiet is coming to an end, and he’s… if not a threat, he’s a gatekeeper to one.”
“He’s a smug dick,” Rachel said. “You give the go-ahead, we tear him apart.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Tattletale said. “There are dynamics to pay attention to, group interactions, politics, there are unwritten rules, and the nuances of what happens if and when we’re viewed as the aggressors when we violate the truce. Not to mention the danger if we disrupt whatever he’s setting up and inadvertently set it off. Like we sort of did with Jack, though that was m
ore exception than rule.”
“Orrrrr you could give the go ahead, we cut past all the bullshit and we tear him apart,” Rachel said.
Tattletale sighed.
“Lemme hash it out for you,” Imp said. “You know how Tats said he’s like the gatekeeper? He’s like an asshole, standing in the middle of the elevator doors so they won’t shut. You can kick him in the balls, but then you’ve got to deal with his friends, you’re dealing with being the jerkass that kicked someone in the balls and you’re maybe dealing with the big bad motherfucking dude that just came up in the elevator, who wasn’t coming out because there was someone in the way. Someone you removed from the way by kicking him in the balls.”
“Oh damn it,” Tattletale sighed.
“Okay…” Rachel said.
“You did not just get her metaphor,” Tattletale said. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Can we kick him down the elevator shaft before the big guy comes up?” Rachel asked.
“Fuck it,” Tattletale swore. “And fuck you, Aisha. Yes. Theoretically, we could put the kibosh on him before he gets far enough in his plans.”
“Good,” Rachel said. “Then it’s settled.”
Imp pulled off her mask, just to show Tattletale how much she was grinning.
“Keep that up and I’m telling those Heartbroken kids you ate cupcakes while they waited downstairs,” Tattletale said.
“No,” Imp said. “Nope. Nuh-uh. You would be signing my doom warrant.”
“Doom warrant? Nevermind. I think we have an understanding,” Tattletale said, grinning as much as Imp had been a moment ago.
“That’s it, then? A big bad that needs dealing with, a few little bads that need an organized clean up job, and we stay in touch,” Imp said.
“That’s the gist of it,” Tattletale said.
“Cool. Great.” Imp said. “Excellent.”
Her eyes slowly traveled to the red wine-stains in the carpet.
“Yeah,” Tattletale said. “So. Now that the others are gone and there’s no need to pretend anything, it’s your chance to say. You guys good? Copacetic? We good to go?”
“Sure,” Rachel said. “I’m not sure I really get what all this was, but I kind of liked it. Made me feel better, where I didn’t realize like I felt bad. Less lonely, maybe.”
“Yeah, no, I get that,” Imp said. She shrugged, putting her mask back on as Tattletale opened the door. They filed out. “Yeah. Except I guess I can say it wasn’t loneliness for me, while we’re being open and shit.”
Tattletale nodded.
“It was good,” Imp said. “Weird, but fitting. I’m wondering why you invited the twit, though?”
“Which twit?”
“Our kid Cassandra,” Imp said.
Tattletale blinked once or twice. “Where the fuck are you getting these references from?”
Imp only allowed herself the smallest giggle, exceedingly pleased with herself.
“I think… it was maybe one of the big reasons I wanted to do this,” Tattletale said. “It was important that I showed her that Taylor was dead. I had to convince her.”
“Convince her?” Imp asked.
Tattletale nodded.
“You’d think she’d be really good at figuring that basic shit out on her own.”
“You’d think,” Tattletale said. “But no. We’re really good at lying to ourselves. Take it from another thinker.”
“Fuck,” Imp said.
“Fuck,” Tattletale agreed.
“So,” Rachel said. “What happens?”
“What happens is we go kick teacher in the balls and drop him down an elevator shaft,” Tattletale said. “Hopefully in a way that doesn’t leave us looking like assholes.”
Rachel nodded, satisfied.
“And Taylor?” Imp asked.
“I’ll keep looking after things in that department,” Tattletale said. “If that’s cool?”
“That’s cool,” Imp said.
They made their way down the last two flights of stairs.
The assembled forces of the Undersiders waited, the other guests having already departed.
Twenty soldiers, only a small share of Tattletale’s full organization. The kids, the Heartbroken, and Aiden, all together, playing with Forrest and Charlotte standing warily by. Parian and Foil, sitting in a windowsill, with snow piling behind them, and Rachel’s escort with each member of the gang having a dog with them.
“All good?” Tattletale asked.
“Fuck yeah,” Imp said.
“Mm,” Rachel offered a nonsyllabic response.
■
Taylor shook her head a little. The resemblance was slight, if it was even there. Her mind was playing tricks on her.
Her hand touched her forehead, and she felt a pair of soft spots, each barely wider across than a dime. She ran her hand over her short hair. She didn’t know how it had happened, but she could guess. Bullets to disable her, surgery to seal her power away.
Cauldron, apparently, did have a means of locking powers away. Or maybe it was Contessa, doing the work, or perhaps she’d simply been kept alive, carted to Panacea or Bonesaw, who could fix things up.
But dwelling on those things wasn’t healthy, and it was pointless in the end. She’d likely never get a serious answer. She only had the two dimples or holes in her skull, the sole apparent casualty of some kind of brain surgery.
Apparently. Such was the momentary crisis she’d experienced, seeing someone who was supposed to be dead. She had been left to wonder, for heart stopping seconds.
“You done?” her dad asked.
“Done,” Taylor responded. “It wasn’t her. I knew it going in, but it wasn’t her.”
“Yeah,” he said, quieter. He put one arm around her shoulder. “You okay?”
“That’s a hell of a question to answer,” she responded.
“Yeah.”
“I feel better. It was a hell of a good hug.”
He smiled, but there was sadness in his expression, “A little bit like her then.”
Taylor nodded.
“Lunch?” he offered.
“Lunch sounds good,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder as they walked. Her injury, the brief delirium that had followed her awakening, the lack of an arm and her struggles to learn to use the artificial one, it had gone a long way. He’d needed a chance to be a parent again, and she’d needed a parent.
They were okay. They were safe. If and when a problem came up, if it somehow reached this sealed off Earth, she could stand by to let someone else handle it.
She’d done her share.
There were things that would be harder. Even now, she couldn’t think too hard or in certain directions, or guilt and memories of another her that she’d seen all too clearly would emerge. More recent, scarier in a way, was the lingering doubt, a belief that things couldn’t work out, ingrained in her by experience. The idea that any reality where life did work out on any level wasn’t reality at all, or that it wasn’t life.
She spoke her thoughts aloud. “I think… there’s a lot of stuff bothering me.”
“Only natural,” her dad said, very carefully.
“But I’ve dealt with worse. If it comes down to it, if this is all I have to worry about, I can maybe deal. I could maybe learn to be okay.”
“I think that’s all any of us can hope for,” her father said.
Cast (Short & Spoiler-free)
Note: While efforts were taken to minimize spoilers, this list best serves as a reference for readers who’ve lost track of existing/already introduced characters, those who have already appeared. Reading ahead or reading up on other characters who’ve yet to be introduced may dilute the reading experience.
For the more in-depth Cast page (which assumes you’ve read up to the most recent chapter, see below.
Cast
Über - A thinker who pairs up with Leet, can master any skill as long as he concentrates. His costume varies from appearance to appearan
ce, in keeping with the pair’s video game theme.
Accord- A thinker of short (five foot) stature, with an ornate metal mask. Hails from Boston. Gets smarter as scenarios get more complicated. Likes order.
Aegis - A young hero with a rust red and silver costume, with a shield emblem. Leads the Wards in his first appearance, has a biology filled with redundancies and safeguards, rendering him able to function no matter how damaged he is.
Alabaster - A white skinned (literally) young man who restores himself to pristine condition at set intervals (every 4.3 seconds). Initially seen as a member of Empire Eighty-Eight.
Alexandria - An internationally known cape, she flies, is durable and has super strength, as well as some mental augmentations from her powers. Member of the Triumvirate and runs the Protectorate branch in Los Angeles. Wears a black costume with a helmet and heavy cape, with long, straight black hair.
Angelica – One of Bitch’s dogs, a terrier of indeterminate breed, was abused before Bitch acquired it, losing one ear and one eye.
Armsmaster – Head of the Brockton Bay Protectorate branch, a tinker capable of combining, interweaving and condensing technology. Wears a midnight blue and silver costume with a visor, carries a hi-tech halberd packed with weapons and features.
Assault - Member of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, a heavy hitter capable of manipulating kinetic energy. Wears red body armor with a visor covering the top half of his face.
Aster – A baby, daughter of Kaiser and Purity.
Atlas - A giant beetle.
Bakuda – ABB member, an ex-student from Cornell, she’s a tinker capable of creating explosive devices with a variety of effects. Her costume includes a gas mask with tinted lenses and a mechanical voice synthesizer.
Ballistic – Member of the Travelers, his power lets him turn any touched, inorganic object into a projectile traveling at the speed of a rifle shot. Wears a black costume with bulky, hard-edged pads and a square mask, complete with pockets of various ammunition.
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