Chapter Text
Your name is Taylor Hebert. You are also known by such monikers as 'Wimp,' 'Fucking Whore,' 'Winslow Whipping Kid,' and a bevy of other such inglamorous titles that are crowding into your head right now as you scream and pound against the confining and frankly disgusting confines of a middle-school locker filled to the brim with frankly disgusting materials. While you do desperately want somebody to save you, you slowly come to the cognizant conclusion that your reputation will prevent such acts from even the most heroic student in Winslow High School. God, you wish you had the power to do something, anything--even a little bit of power would help... but no. You're trapped. You can't get out of the locker.
You black out.
When you come to, a few seconds later, something's... changed. You can't explain it, but it's like there's a slot--a slot you can feel, all throughout you. Your body is a slot, and there are cards just out of reach. Cards that you can plug in.
You also have the urgent need to get out of the locker. Not that it wasn't urgent before, but now your entire body is quivering in anticipation. Like a junkie, you guess? You haven't ever actually had drugs--despite all the rumors surrounding you--but this feeling does remind you of how certain students nobody would openly say were in a gang got... twitchy. Not like you're going to analyze it since, well, you're in the locker and you want out anyway.
So, what have you got to work with here? Nothing. Nothing you didn't have before, except for the invisible metaphorical cards that you know nothing about. Wait, maybe it's a power, like capes have. Wouldn't that be just ironic, you get powers only after your life has gone to shit. Well, whatever, it's what you've got...
You examine your 'hand' carefully. The first card seems pretty hyperfocused, drawing lines that clank and rattle like chains. The next one... it feels like a snake whose scales are smaller snakes and it's also a human-shaped snake. And then the last one, you get the sense of schematics? Not weird ones, like you'd expect from Armsmaster or more buildy-heroes, but plain old regular schematics.
They're all kinda underwhelming, to be honest. But as you look at them, you get a deeper sense of what they are... and what would happen if they were fit into your slot.
Well, it's time to make a decision! You dismiss the first card almost instantly. Sure, metal's everywhere, but you don't think knowing the locker's exact measurements will help you escape it. The second card... it's tempting, and you can see it being the easiest way to get yourself out of here, but the whole 'control somebody' thing sounds... disturbing, on multiple levels. Also everyone would know you're a cape almost instantly, and you don't want that--you want to get out of the locker without anybody realizing you have powers. In fact, when you resolve to do that, you feel it become a need--the same sort of need that getting out of the locker itself is.
Which is weird.
The third card seems the most useful overall, since it gives you an unparalleled understanding of how things work. You... slide it into the slot that is yourself, feeling it expand outward like a pleasant warmth. And suddenly the locker becomes more clearly defined in your head--especially the lock. You can see--sense?--the internal mechanisms, and just how they all fit together.
It takes you ten minutes of carefully slamming, punching, and jamming your elbow against the door, but eventually you get the rotary lock to vibrate into the unlocked position. A careful jiggle later, and the door swings open. You step out into the empty hallway, accomplishing both your goals--
And then you gasp as the space within you expands, a sensation that has you falling to your knees.
Wow. Uh... wow. That was... a very nice feeling, actually, and you're kind of glad nobody was around to see that because you don't want even worse rumors to spread. Well, alright, you know what to expect now, and--Oh damn it, you're shaking. You're shaking. You need to do something, you need to do--
You don't even get a chance to think about what you need to do before three more cards present themselves in your mind. The first actually shimmers, like one of those 'rare foil' cards you've seen some trading cards present, and feels kind of like a single shield that... taunts people? The second one almost feels like a set of armor, one that wants to hug you close. The third... you get the sense of a spear made of lightning, holding its hand to you.
It's all so much. So many sensations. You're--you're not sure how to take it all in--
You're shaking. You're trembling. You try to think, for a moment. Think about what to do next.
Costume. Capes have costumes, right? It's right there in the name, cape. So you need to get yourself a proper costume.
As soon as you resolve to do that, the shaking... well, it doesn't stop entirely, but it does go down considerably. You're able to actually think coherently again, and--
Did you seriously just decide you needed to get a costume? Not that that's not important, it's just that it seems like something that isn't... as important as other things. After all, you just came out of the locker, and you're still dripping with garbage and rot. Nobody's here to see you--
...nobody's here to see you. You're just a victim. Again.
Well FUCK. THAT. You're done being a victim. The staff won't do their job? You'll call the police! And this time you have proof--you're literally COVERED in it! You want everyone who contributed to this situation to GET WHAT'S FUCKING COMING TO THEM! It's time to bring the federal hammer down on this place!
...only you don't have a cell phone, and Blackwell's unlikely to let you use the one in her office...
Fine, you'll use the old payphone down the street! And then... JUSTICE!
The goal settles in warmly as you storm out of the school, an image of feminine products and fury. On the way to the phone, you take the time to look over the cards in your head. The second and third ones definitely seem like they'd be good in a fight, being basic armor and a potent weapon. But... the first one... it seems really shiny. And shiny cards are supposed to be rare and powerful, right? Not that you're a trading card geek or anything. In the end, you go with your gut and just take the first one and--
Oh.
Oh wow.
Okay, you've got a double-powered force field now. The basic function is kinda cool, since it protects you from impacts above a certain speed. Which ironically means that fists and knives are more dangerous to you now than speeding cars and bullets, and you're pretty sure you're not inherently explosion proof. But the secondary function lets you calibrate a force field to resist the powers of a single parahuman in sight! You could be Glory Girl's boxing partner! You could tank a fireblast from Lung! You could punch Hookwolf in the face and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it!
Well, unless he pulled out an ordinary knife.
Or just punched you back.
Or, you know, attacked you from behind.
Or let one of his buddies attack you while you're focusing on him.
Come to think of it, if he grows a sword from his body and tears it off, does that still count as 'his power'...?
Okay okay, so you're not TOTALLY invincible, but between the bullet resistance and the ability to no-sell powers you could be very effective. Like... oh! You could find one of those mind-control capes and punch them in the face! Whatever they're called...
But all of that is for later. Maybe much later. Right now, you reach out and take the payphone off its hook, sliding a coin into the slot and hitting the keys. "Hello, police? I'd like to report a case of assault and maybe attempted murder. Winslow High. Look, I'm covered in rotting tampons and--look, how soon can you be here?!"
Darned slow justice system...
"Alright, I'll wait for you. Also, can you call an ambulance? Because I was stuffed into a locker of biohazards, that's why! I don't want to die of an STD while I'm still a fucking virgin!"
God, what is your life that you can say this to a police dispatcher without any irony...
You spend just enough time on the phone to go through the necessary motions to get the police to Winslow, before trudging right back into the school and glaring at the locker. The gears have been set into motion. All you have to do now is wait.
...and hope Emma doesn't have contacts in the police--
Okay, no, that would be stupid. She's a teenager, and not even a gang member. Her dad's a lawyer, so maybe he's got some pull, but you don't know if it'd be enough to stop the police from investigating in the first place. But putting evidence in the system should help. And... you might be able to hack computers now? You're not actually sure. You know you can hotwire a car and optimize a computer's hardware, but hacking involves programming, and while computer studies is one of your best classes you aren't technically taught how to bypass security systems.
Look the point is, the more evidence you get to the police the more likely it is that they'll nail the bitches to the wall. Or throw them in jail. Or something. No amount of corruption can stop a scandal once it gets rolling!
...you hope.
After waiting for a tense few minutes, you finally hear the approach of wailing sirens. You head out to the parking lot and, yep, there's an ambulance. And a few police, arguing with Blackwell--
"Hey!" You shout. "Locker's this way!"
"Miss Hebert, what do you think you're doing?"
You glare at Blackwell. "Getting help from an authority figure that actually DOES THEIR JOB."
You ignore her sputtering and lead the police officer to your locker, in all its gory glory, just as the bell rings. You then proceed to explain in detail what happened that morning, getting a lot of attention from the student populace. The officer looks horrified and intrigued, especially when you expand your statement and offhandedly mention how you've been treated the past couple of years, even naming names--
"Taylor!" Emma gasps as she slips out of the crowd, all innocence and mock surprise. "What HAPPENED to you?"
Right, there's THIS bitch. You decide that you're NOT going to let Emma call the shots this time. No, this time you're going to make sure she gets her just deserts! And as the resolve sets in, you proceed to do that...
...by ignoring her entirely.
"And I have a journal in my bedroom, located in the lower right drawer of my desk, that chronicles everything from September 2009 onward if you need further evidence," you finish saying to the officer. "If you want to send somebody to my house to pick it up--"
You see Sophia pulling out a phone. You wouldn't have noticed, except... something about how it's designed looks weird to you, or to your new powers.
"--before whoever SOPHIA IS CALLING gets there," you add, pointing her out, "I would greatly appreciate it."
The officer turns around. "Miss, put down the phone."
"I'm calling my social worker--"
"You can call your social worker from the station, now put down the phone."
Sophia sneers at him for a moment, before glaring at you. "You know she's just spewing crap, right?"
"I'm the one covered in garbage," you point out. "I'm the one who could literally die from I don't know what sort of biological contaminants are in here! Why the fuck would I lie about this?"
"Oh gee, why would an Empire goon try to make a nigger look bad?" Sophia shoots back sarcastically.
"An Empire--" You snort. "Right before christmas break you called me a dyke! And you said I was a half-asian slut back in November! Which is it, Sophia? Am I an ABB whore, an Empire goon, a Merchant druggie, a flaming lesbian? Or do you just pick and choose whichever interpretation makes you look the best?!"
"You don't have proof," Sophia shoots back.
"I HAVE A JOURNAL, YOU MORONIC MURDERER!"
"I am not a murderer."
You gesture at the locker. "Really? Then what's this?!"
"A shitty locker for a shitty person."
"I could literally die from infection!"
Sophia smirks. "Not my problem. Face it, Taylor, you're a loser, and the world will be better off without--"
"She did it!"
Sophia's face freezes as the last person you ever expected to speak up for you suddenly speaks up for you.
"She and Emma," Madison Clements helpfully points to the shocked redhead, "they loaded the locker up with garbage from the girl's bathrooms before winter break!"
"What the fuck Madison?!" Emma screeches.
"Sophia threatened to break my leg if I told anyone what they were doing," Madison adds, her expression one of fearful sorrow and relieved regret. "They've been doing that for the whole time I've known them, saying they'll hurt me or my family if I didn't go along with them!"
...is she serious? Or is she just throwing the other two under the bus so she gets away clean? You can't really tell--
--but you guess it doesn't matter too much, since Emma's lost all control of the narrative. Good, that's--
You fall to your knees, barely holding back a whimper of pleasure as the space within you expands again. Aaaaand everyone's staring at you. Shit.
"Yeah, I'm not feeling too good," you manage. "Officer, do you need anything else or can I go to the ambulance?"
"I think I've got all I need for now." The officer points at Emma and Sophia. "You and you--against the walls now."
"But--!"
"You have the right to remain silent," he informs Emma. "I suggest you use it."
You stagger away from the scene of the crime, walking out of the school and flipping off Blackwell as you drag yourself into the ambulance. The paramedics ask you some questions and you answer them, but you feel yourself falling unconscious. Still, you look at your new cards...
A dual-color one seems to be the first, one that reminds you of nothing so much as a chatty telephone operator. You're not up and up on all the trading card games, but dual colors... are supposed to be rare, right? Rare like the next one, with a silver sheen, that feels like a scientist trying to disprove the existence of gravity. And the final one... it's the lightning spear again. How did the lightning spear show up again? Is it stalking you?
You slip out of consciousness as the pain finally gets to you, just barely remembering to pick a card.
It takes you a few minutes to place yourself when you wake up, but you eventually remember what happened and figure out that you're in the hospital. Not like it isn't obvious, what with the white walls and the beeping and the fact that you're wearing a gown. You're not a gown sort of girl, and definitely not a medical gown girl. But you suppose, with what happened to your clothes, they had to stick you in something clean. You try not to think about the implications and mentally file it all under 'medicine is gross because biology is gross, deal with it.'
Instead, you distract yourself by trying to remember which of the three cards you picked. The lightning spear was as cool as it had been before, and you have to admit the ability to have a telecom in your head also sounded pretty nifty. But, well... flight. Let's be real, flight is one of the BIG superpowers. Everybody wants to fly. And now, you can! Well, alright, you have to build something that lets you fly, but you can make jetpacks or rocket boots or hoverboards or... wingsuits, apparently? You can't make a plane, but you know how to make a kickass hang glider. So a one-passenger/pilot limit. Okay.
And what's better, you think you can really understand what you're doing while you do it, because of your 'this is how things are put together' power. You're not sure if that changes anything, but you figure there has to be a reason that Armsmaster brand power armor is not as common as Armsmaster brand underwear. Or maybe it is? He could have multiple suits, you don't know. The point is, you can make blueprints. Actual readable blueprints for jetpacks! Well, you have to build them first...
...which you're not likely to do in the hospital.
Right.
So you're in the hospital, and two of the three bitches have been arrested after the third turned on them. Also, you have powers! Random powers. Is this how powers usually work? Are you going to just stop getting powers after you get enough of them? What will your dad think when he learns you're a parahuman?
You think about that last one a bit.
You think about how he's been out of it for... basically all the time since Mom died. How he's slow to anger, but wrathful as a volcano when he explodes. How he rants about the gangs and their capes...
And the more you think about it, the more you're not sure whether you should tell him. In fact, you decide to make sure he doesn't know you have powers until you're absolutely certain that he won't do something stupid. You feel warmth flood you as you make that decision.
Which is made harder when he rushes into the room, takes one wild-eyed look at you, and hugs you tightly. "Taylor! Oh god--you... you're alive---"
You hug him back. "Dad--" You... you don't know what to say. "...Emma is evil," you murmur, "and I don't know why."
Your dad freezes, leaning back. "Emma? What--she did this to you?"
"Her and two--well, one other. Madison says they threatened her, I--I don't know if I believe her but if it wasn't for her Emma and Sophia wouldn't have been arrested and I've been keeping a journal--"
The words pour from your mouth, a stream of anecdotes and tales that few the room like sewage from a suddenly unblocked pipe. Which you guess they kind of are, but you're too busy crying and looking at your dad's increasingly horrified expression to really appreciate the metaphor. God your life SUCKS.
Well, sucked.
Partway through the word vomit, you disconnect from yourself. Past Taylor is still in your body, explaining what happened to Mom's flute and everything, but you decide to be future-Taylor. Well, future-focused Taylor, anyway. First of all, you want to be healthy--you don't want this to limit you, or any of the other crap that you've been put through. Yeah, a clean bill of health, that seems like a good goal. It settles in, warmly, and you start thinking longer-term. Going to school... you don't want to do that. Maybe you can be homeschooled? Or take a test to say 'I don't need to be at school anymore.' That's a great idea, you'll shoot to finish that test by the time summer rolls around. That'll free you up to be a hero...
Actually, now that you think about it, being a hero is probably a complicated thing. It's not like you can just put on a costume and go punch nazis, right? Otherwise everyone would be doing it. You resolve to learn everything you need to be a hero in Brockton Bay. All the legal stuff and stuff, who to arrest and why... yeah. You also think you need to come up with a cape name--a really, REALLY good name. You can't just pull something out of thin air, you have to really sit down and think this through. That'll be something of a project, you're not... the best with names.
You think for a few moments longer, but you... can't really think of anything else to aim for right now. So you return to youself, just in time to remember that, oh yeah, you've been crying. A lot. Crap. You just--
The doctor comes in and explains you'll need to stay in the hospital for a bit while you recover. That's fine. That's fine. You lie back, and...
"...I don't know what to do now," your dad mutters to himself. "Annette, what do I do now?"
Right. Hospitals cost money. And you're not exactly rich.
Fuck.
You lay back, thinking about all the problems this whole situation is going to cause. The strain it's going to put on your dad financially, and...
You can't just do nothing.
You won't just do nothing.
You're going to find a way to pay off these hospital bills, as soon as you're out of here. In fact, even as the warmth of the goal settles in, you already have a few ideas.
You sit up, clearing your throat. "Dad? I think... I think I should get a job."
Dad looks at you, not quite getting it. "Taylor, you're fifteen."
"Old enough to work as a mechanic," you reply with a shrug. "We need the money to pay the hospital bills, and... let's be real, there's no way I'm going back to Winslow anyway. Not after..." You trail off, shuddering involuntarily.
"You shouldn't have to worry about that--"
"And I shouldn't have been shut into a locker full of trash. I--I think we have to accept that the world isn't as it should be. Especially in Brockton Bay."
Dad's face falls. "...You're... not wrong. But... you should at least wait until you're back up to good health before you do anything."
You accept this with a nod. "Yeah... you're probably right. Oh, but we should definitely sue the heck out of somebody."
"Somebody?"
"I don't know, I'm not a lawyer. We'd need to get a lawyer..." You think for a moment. "Hey, what about that cape lawyer? The New Wave one?"
Dad frowns. "Carol Dallon?"
"Yeah. New Wave is... they're heroes, right? Not just because they punch nazis or whatever, but they save people's lives." You count off on your fingers. "Panacea does healing, Carol Dallon does legal stuff, Glory Girl... okay, maybe she just punches nazis, but she's a teenager, maybe she's planning on being a scientist or something!"
"Taylor--"
"My point is, heroes save lives, make lives better. And..." You stretch your arms out, showing off the scars. "You have to admit, right now our lives aren't that great."
Dad sighs. "...I'll see what I can do, but... a famous lawyer can't be easy to hire."
"Even if she isn't, she can point you in the right direction, right?"
"...maybe." Dad considers for a moment. "You're right, though. We should sue the heck out of somebody."
You smile as you lay back. "Yeah. Let's get justice..."
Your eyes flutter closed as you drift off, considering your circumstances. You're not just the whipping girl of Winslow... and you never were. You were the daughter of a union leader and an english professor before then, and a citizen of Brockton Bay as well. Part of the generation that grew up with capes, that lived in a hard city... but even then, you had time to be a girl, before everything went to shit. You're a culmination of all that good and all that bad, a gestalt entity...
Gestalt.
Your powers... they're random, and individually they're weak. But already you've figured out that they can synergize well, if you're lucky. You've barely used them at all, but you know more will be coming. It's... a gestalt. Ha.
Gestalt. That's a good name.
You think you'll keep that name.