Wakeup Call - Chapter 3


I hold Taylor for as long as I dare, but the clock is ticking, and the sounds of scared students starting to run say we need to hurry. “Tay, sweetheart, I need you to focus. We have to act right now.”

She looks at me, eyes swimming in tears, and she nods just before her face goes blank and a disquieting buzzing starts surrounding me. Oh. That’s not what I meant. At all.

Taylor Hebert unlikely to overcome emotional distress in—

Right. It will have to do.

I kick Stalker’s knife to the corner of the room, give her a quick once over—overconfident, dismissive of others, unlikely to have contingencies—and suppress a wince as I kneel beside her.

“Sophia, you need to listen to me.”

A muffled curse makes itself known through her pained moans, more due to intent than actual syllables. I will take it.

“I am going to leave your PRT phone near you before we leave. You will tell them you need discreet extraction, that your injuries cannot be reasonably hidden in your civilian life if made public,” I say, as I start bandaging the mess where her knee used to be using the first aid kit Brian always makes sure I carry. Bless his misguided, caring, evil heart. “This is a career-ending maiming for an athlete, Sophia, you will need Panacea to heal you, and you don’t want that linked to your civilian identity.”

I parse her aggressive body language through the pain (mine and hers), and I know she will agree to this out of self-preservation, if nothing else.

“I would also suggest you keep Taylor out of this, because it will come back to bite you when her trigger is made public.” I give her a few of my painkillers so that she will be coherent enough to make her call, and she swallows them on reflex, but I know this time she won’t listen. She hates Taylor too much to think straight and will rationalize away how much this can hurt her own chances. I sigh, deflated.

It would be so easy to kill her.
It is Winslow, home of the Pre-K gangs, home-turf of a lot of Nazi-wannabes. Having the violent black girl with a chip on her shoulder get killed in the toilets? Perfectly reasonable, even parahumans can get caught off-guard. Another bullet and her pain ends, and so do a whole lot of the problems this will cause.
I look at Taylor. Misguided, ruthless, noble Taylor. And I sigh yet again.
I pick up Stalker’s phone with some toilet paper, wipe my fingerprints from anything I have touched in here, and leave it within reach of her.
Then I gather our strewn about belongings, take Taylor’s elbow, and get ready to leave this place without anyone recognizing us as I listen to the pattern of frantic steps, panicked conversations, and hastily barricaded doors as my Power makes my temples throb.
This would be a good time to have a partner with limited omniscience guiding me. Just saying.

***

Finding a hotel in Brockton Bay that managed to have the proper mix of physical security, discretion, comfort, and willingness to look the other way when it came to possibly unlawful guests was not a simple matter. It was, in fact, a time-consuming endeavor that couldn’t be managed on the spot even with my abilities.

It was lucky, then, that I had found the four most convenient places that hit all of my requirements weeks ago, because Taylor was in no state to watch me fuck around with my laptop and Streetview. Not to mention my slowly receding headache wasn’t all that conducive to investigative work.

The room we are currently residing in as the Webster sisters is not quite sparse and not quite luxurious. The wallpaper is a crème beige, with no apparent stains and a thin stripe pattern, the carpet has a couple threadbare spots, but is regularly cleaned and reasonably lush, and the bed is big enough, with blankets that—

Lisa Wilbourn currently distracting herself from—

I let out a small sigh and turn toward the teenager hugging her knees on top of the bed. Slowly, carefully, I sit beside her and lay an arm around her shoulders.

“Taylor, sweetie, talk to me.”

She barely turns around, letting herself fall against my side, her head resting over my breast as if I was the tall one, the one who stands against all odds. Don’t do this to me, Tay; I really am not fit for the role.

I caress her hair, my power guiding me to mimic the motions her mother used to soothe her so long ago. It is manipulative, but for a good cause. I think. Story of my life, at this point.

“Don’t do that,” she mumbles.

“I… I am sorry. I just wanted to comfort you…”

“I know, Lisa, but I… I can’t stand anything fake, at the moment.” I look at her still downturned head, face hidden, and I take a deep breath.

“Then maybe you should stop hiding your emotions in your swarm,” I reply, as gently as I can.

She goes very still, unnaturally so, and then just releases the air she had been holding. And hugs me. And trembles. And cries.

And I hold her and run my fingers through her hair, not as her mother once did, but as I did this morning, a morning that seems so long ago, when I woke up with a happy, warm, soft girl between my arms.

I lie back and drag her down with me, shifting so I can cuddle her, so she can feel my whole body pressing against hers, so I can surround her with my arms and my warmth and keep the world at bay for just a few minutes. Her sobs lose energy as she drains herself of pent-up emotion and she clings to me, still trusting even after all that went down, even with how easily her paranoia could have twisted my actions to make them seem a plan to leave her with no recourse but leaving heroism for good and relying on me.

The silence stretches as her breathing evens out, and I kiss her hair, mumbling into it, “I should never have let you go to Winslow.”

She laughs at that, surprised at my joke (that isn’t). And there’s a frailty to it, but not enough that we can justify further delays.

“Tay, we need to start moving if we want to salvage any of this. Who was your contact in the PRT when you decided to infiltrate us?”

“Armsmaster. But he’s a prick,” she mumbles against my neck, reluctantly starting to get up.

“Yeah, no argument here.” I get up myself and go get my bag. I take one of my burners and start dialing. “Hello? Yes, I would like to speak to Mr. Wallis, it’s about his mother, there’s been—no, sorry, I should only speak about this with her family.”

I wait for a few seconds as the PRT secretary passing herself as “Mr. Wallis personal assistant” grabs hold of him to pass the message, and Taylor looks at me with dawning horror as she realizes exactly what I am doing. Finally, Armsmaster picks up the phone.

“What is it? This is not a good time.” The voice is brusque, no-nonsense. It barely masks his anxiety, his fear at what this call could mean. Good.

“I know it isn’t. You are going to hang up the PRT phone you are holding right now and call me from your own personal number, Colin.” My own voice isn’t precisely warm and laden with pleasantries either. I hang up.

Colin Wallis out of balance. Personal connection to mother figure—trigger event—unlikely to make him seek outside assistance—

“What the Hell, Lisa—” The ringing phone interrupts Taylor’s mounting tirade before it can get off the ground. Small mercies and all that.

“What is the meaning of—” Armsmaster doesn’t sound like he’s having a good day. Excellent, misery loves company.

“I am calling on behalf of…” I hesitate for a second—Taylor Hebert didn’t have a moniker at the moment of contact, power idiosyncratic enough to— “Bug. The shootout at Winslow was not her fault, we have proof, and we can’t turn ourselves in for fear of our lives.”

“You just threatened my mother. Not a good way to build trust.”

“I am not threatening your mother, Colin, but the reason I can’t turn myself in is the man who made me dig into your private life. The one who would.”

“… This is about that mysterious ‘boss’ of yours, I suppose. What does this have to do with you shooting a Ward in her civilian identity?”

“Surprisingly enough, very little, she just-“ Taylor’s hand closes over the phone, and I look into her eyes. I sigh and activate the speaker function, laying it on the bedside table.

“Sophia Hess tried to murder me with a knife. Tattletale, the villain you warned me about, saved my life from your Ward. I would like to make a complaint to your manager, Armsmaster.”

I almost sputter. Karen Taylor would be an utter nightmare.

Collin seems to agree, because the line goes silent for far too long. Which I guess is my clue to keep the ball rolling: “You are speaking with a Thinker seven. I called you through an unsecured line because I knew it would have been useless to communicate with you any other way and expect you not to track me, but I also have prepared extensive contingencies to release a lot of uncomfortable information in the unlikely case I am captured. My life is on the line, and I am not pulling any punches, Colin, so don’t even think about finishing that message to Miss Militia.”

There’s a whine of servos forcefully stopping in the middle of something. If that’s the only whining I get out of this conversation, I will be positively elated.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, Tattletale.” I sigh at the sheer idiocy of the cliché.

“I am not playing any games. I just shoot out a teenager’s kneecap after seeing her try to murder a teammate of mine for the second—no, make that third, time. A teammate that was made to trigger because that little psycho you keep around decided to play at bioterrorism and her handler was stupid enough to cover it up and—” Taylor’s eyes are wide. Oh. I guess I didn’t tell her yet…

“Covered it up?” she says, her voice quivering.

“Tay, listen, he didn’t know, it’s not the—”

“That… How could he not know? How could they—they are supposed to be heroes. They let that monster just play at being a good guy while she tries to destroy me, while she—do you know how many times I thought about just ending it all?!” I… I don’t know how to manage this. I am terribly unsuited to defuse Taylor while negotiating with Armsmaster with our lives on the line, and I don’t even know what could stop her at this—

“I am sorry, Ms. Hebert.” For once, the brusqueness falls away and there’s a note of something else that comes through in his tone. Sorrow. Regret.

Oh, I almost forgot. He’s one of the good guys.

“Sorry? Sorry?! I was almost killed by, by… I don’t even know how to continue. Do you know what it’s like to see the face of the one who almost managed to murder you every day, watch her walk free, enjoying herself as if it didn’t even matter, as if she’s free to try again whenever she pleases because there will be no consequences when she does? Do you know what that does to a person?!”

“Considering Kaiser is still alive and free, yes. Very much.” His answer surprises me, but it really, really shouldn’t.

“Kaiser?” Taylor isn’t as quick on the uptake. We can’t all be Thinkers.

“My previous armor had a lot fewer ceramics and a lot more metal. I still have the scars.”

“Oh.”

“More or less what I said at the time, yes,” he quips, and I can’t help a startled laugh. May have to update his psych profile.

“But… The Unwritten Rules…” Taylor looks completely disoriented, adrift. I hug her from behind, and she almost recoils before leaning against me.

“Are made to disproportionately favor villains, in case you hadn’t noticed. When has it ever been acceptable for a criminal to take off their mask and suddenly become cop-proof?”

“People could go to a church for sanctuary—” the pedant in me can’t help but interject.

“But not parade around as lesser kings whenever they pleased, Tattletale. The rules also talk a big game about not murdering people; tell me, Bug, how did that first night against Lung go? A friendly spar, wasn’t it?” He’s bitter, understandably so, but not against us. The focus of the hostility has shifted.

Colin Wallis frustrated at his duty being overshadowed by interests he doesn’t understand. Actually heroic, self-sacrificing. Glory-searching tendencies exacerbated as he felt his efforts were futile in the long—

“Call me Lisa,” I speak over Taylor’s shoulder, my arms still wrapped around that belly she had so many complexes about. “It’s only fair.”

“What does fair have to do with it?” he asks.

“Well, I would think it’s only fair that I have your identity because Coil made me investigate you, that Coil has my identity because he recruited me at gunpoint, and that we will get Coil’s identity as we collaborate to bring him down.”

“… Collaborate?”

“I didn’t call you to blackmail you, Colin,” I shift the inflection, his name no longer an implicit threat, “I called you because I don’t want to get murdered after I leave my villain team.”

“And shooting a Ward was your letter of resignation?”

“I… Believe it or not…” I squeeze my arms, holding onto Taylor with more strength than I should. “Bug turned me last night. I would have defected as soon as it was safe.”

Taylor turns her head to look at me, still bewildered, still off-balance with all the revelations she keeps getting hit by. But there’s a seed of a smile there, a hint of sun shining through the storm. I guess we are a pair of sappy, hormonal teenagers.

Puberty is a period of intense emotions characterized by—

Yes, I know. God, do I know.

“I can vouch for her. She had been gathering information on Coil’s operations for quite some time and believes the bank job is the last piece she needed.” There’s a pause, and I can safely say that having Taylor act as my character witness to the leader of the local heroes without prompting nor warning is quickly making its place to my Top Ten ‘What the fuck, Power, how about a hint’ moments chart.

Taylor Hebert’s emotional attachment cemented during moments of crisis—

Of course. She is an adrenaline junkie hooked on the suspension bridge effect. How did I not see this coming.

Romantic attachment often correlated with blindness to object of affection’s character flaws.

La la la, I can’t hear yoooouuu!

“That’s the second time you mention tangible evidence. I would like to get a look at it before I keep letting a Thinker seven talk me into things.”

“Spoilsport,” I automatically interject.

“School shooter,” he parries. I don’t even know if that is the most spectacular deadpan ever delivered by a non-cyborg or if he really is pissed at me for shooting at Sophia fucking Hess.

Colin Wallis unlikely to—

Shush, Power, let me bask in the mystery.

“Fine, you win this round. I will send it to your private PHO account, just make sure not to open it on any computer accessible through the private PRT network. Your offices are bugged to hell and back.”

“And that is why you can’t ‘defect,’ I take it? Also, PHO? No hidden account in the dark web?” Taylor also looks at me with mild confusion. Oh, I get to mansplain to my girlfriend, I guess that’s part of the lesbian experience. Thanks, Armsy!

“In order: I can’t safely defect because a good deal of your agents have been suborned by Coil and he knows I know enough to warrant getting me killed in custody—incidentally, I am also including a list of known moles—and I am sending it through PHO because your girlfriend has managed to make the place the most secure communications system in the world. I haven’t yet hacked it, something I can’t say for any governmental agency.”

“Yes, keep confessing crimes to the LEO known to always carry recording equipment with him. Please, be my guest.”

“Oh, please, it was all done under duress.”

“Lisa, he has a tinkertech lie detector.” I freeze. If this was a face-to-face conversation, this would be the point where I slowly look up into Armsmaster’s face and find a smug grin directed at me. Damn it, I am supposed to be the smugger, not the smugged!

“I can confirm I do, in fact, have a tinkertech lie detector.”

Likelihood of Armsmaster enjoying dry humor revised up to—

Right. I get it.

“Well, it is a good thing I haven’t lied so far then, isn’t it? Also, Bug, this is the kind of information you relay to me before I start negotiations.”

“This is also the reason you should tell me what the Hell do you intend to do instead of letting me fumble around in the middle of a fait accompli.” Oh. Damn, she kinda has a point.

She must never know.

“As… entertaining as this has been, I was called while in the middle of a very tense conversation. A conversation I should immediately get back to.”

“Right. Of course. I will send you the files right now.”

“Very well. And what do you expect me to do in the meantime?”

This… this is what everything boils down to. I cross my fingers and say something I never, ever thought I would say to Armsmaster, or to any other hero, for that matter.

“Well, I expect you to keep quiet that we are working undercover for you.”

A muffled noise that efficiently mixes strangled cat and a hint of aneurysm comes from the other end of the line and Taylor turns in my arms to look at me as if I have gone insane and doesn’t know whether to pity me or confine me for my own safety and that of others.

Likelihood of Colin Wallis accepting the very same deal that started the chain of events that culminated in the current crisis vanishingly small— 

Et tu, Power? Sigh.

Everyone’s a critic.