Wake-up Call – Chapter 8
You wanna know something funny about humans, Power?
…
I will take the lack of biting, possibly self-inflicted snark as a yes. Well, you see, there's that thing where we kinda evolved our emotional responses in a context where it didn't make much sense to keep them for long. A tiger attacks you? Holy shit! Flood the system with adrenalin and run all systems on the highest setting, because holding back is not an option! Your midterms are next week? Holy shit, I just remembered I haven't even opened the textbook since last month! Flood the system with adrenalin, because… uh, wait, what do you mean 'next week?' We don't have a setting for long-term emergencies, Lisa, that's not what 'emergency' even means. It's all-or-nothing here, much like your stunning good looks.
[Lisa Wilbourn's internal monologuing indicates lack of focus and—]
Yeah, right, that's precisely my point. I am currently lying on a fluffy beach towel laid on a roof with my fugitive girlfriend as we stake out a known terrorist's lair a scant two blocks from us. We could be spotted at any minute, our lives are in mortal danger, we are right in the middle of enemy territory in what amounts to the opening salvo of a no holds barred war!
And I am boooooored.
[Lisa Wilbourn's lack of focus in dangerous situation indicates lack of self-discipline and training in—]
Not quite how I would have put it, but yes.
[Lisa Wilbourn's complacency with her lack of skills likely to lead to—]
Right, I just realized I am basically begging the voice in my head to nag at me because of how bored I am when I have a much better solution right in front of me.
"Hey, Tay, how's it going?" My suffering shall be shared.
For some weird reason only known to girlfriends of blabbermouths everywhere, Taylor sighs before turning her head to the side and silently leveling a flat stare at me. There's not even a hint of sexy, uh, I mean, supercilious arched eyebrow. Yes. Supercilious. That sounds like a nice, not at all charged with connotations, adjective.
"Don't tell me I am distracting you; your power is basically multitasking as much as a teenage boy with fifty different porn video tabs open thinks he's able to."
"… Why do the tabs have to be on porn videos?"
"Because he's a teenage boy. Duh." Really, I am about to revoke her Thinker rating just for that.
"Of course, how did I not think about that?" Exactly! It was so glaringly obvious! "I am sure that's the reason and not that you've been fidgeting for the past half-hour and don't know what to do to distract yourself other than try to bait a reaction out of me." Right, Thinker rating restored. You are heretofore dubbed as a Thinker: Bitch.
"To be fair, that's the longest I have been conscious without a phone or laptop open in months. I think I am going through withdrawal."
"It was you who said we should turn them off so radio signals didn't set any countermeasures."
"Right, right, and I was, of course, and forgive me my reiteration, right. Still, I could always check if Armsmaster's shielded signal protocols work properly. Just as a test, you know."
At that, Taylor takes a deep breath before lying on her side and staring straight at me.
"[You] want to check whether the second most famous [Tinker] in the world has gotten his electronic warfare measures [right."]
"… Everybody needs a beta tester?"
And now she's sighing. Really, I think I should be offended.
[Lisa Wilbourn's hypocrisy regarding—]
Hey! It's not nice to call me names.
[Lisa Wilbourn's nagging of Taylor Hebert—]
Oh, you meant the 'nagging' thing. Right. Good point.
Also, she's now massaging the bridge of her nose. Maybe I should ease up a tiny little smidge.
"Look, I am sorry, it's just the waiting is driving me up the wall. Could you walk me through what you are doing?"
"Fine… We have set up as far as we can from Bakuda's lab—"
"Which was right where I said it would be!"
"—Which was right where you said it would be, and I have already sung your praises about that, so stop preening before you get a literal bee in your bonnet—"
"Oh! Are you gonna give me a bonnet? That's so thoughtful!"
"If that's the only way to get you to stop wearing that monstrosity you call a hair accessory, then yes, I will get you a bonnet. With a bee in it. As a deterrent."
"Hey! What's so bad about my blue hair streak? I thought it sold my roguish, rebellious disposition well enough."
"It's fake."
"Well, yeah, like a catholic schoolgirl's first shared 'orgasm.' So what?"
She facepalms and mumbles.
"Sweetie, if you want me to divine your words by mere context, you are going to have to give me more of a clue."
And now she's slightly lowered her palm to glare at me through her fingers. Progress!
"I said I like your hair. Your actual hair."
"Oh. Uh. Thanks?" Going by the flat look she's still leveling at me, that's not the right answer. Oh, well, nothing an insightful young woman can't figure out with a little bit of…
…
Power, I don't know what I am doing wrong! Help!
[Taylor Hebert insecure about her physical appearance. Taylor Hebert looks up to absent mother figure. Taylor Hebert's hair dissimilar from Daniel Hebert's hair. Taylor Hebert's hair likely similar to Annette Hebert's hair. Taylor Hebert assigns high value to—]
Oh, right. Which neatly explains her hair-pulling fetish in a way I would rather not delve too deeply into—
[Taylor Hebert associates hair pulling with desire channeled through her only physical trait she's secure about—]
… While that's not as disturbing as I feared, and it is rather sad and makes me want to give her all the cuddles, I would rather you didn't intrude on my girlfriend's privacy like that. It's rude.
[Lisa Wilbourn's hypocrisy—]
Look [who's] got a bee in its bonnet now.
"Hey, sweetie, sorry, I didn't know it meant that much to you," I say, as I lay a hopefully comforting hand on her shoulder.
"... You just used your power to cheat at relationships, didn't you?"
"You call it 'cheating,' I call it 'winning.'"
"You are lucky you are so cute when you are acting like an insufferable brat."
"Well, I would say I am lucky to be acting like [your] insufferable brat, but… Oh, wait, you are not into incestuous roleplay, are you?"
Gagging noises. She's so adorable when her brain short-circuits.
"Lisa… Are you trying to kill my libido? Because I think that's how people start sleeping on sofas."
"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't resist. You know how it is."
"I actually don't, but I fear the knowledge won't contribute to my mental well-being."
"You know me so well."
"I actually don't, but I fear the knowledge won't contribute to my well-being," she repeats, with the smuggest grin I have so far seen from her.
And I don't feel even an iota of annoyance.
I am in love. Goddammit.
"… Sorry for distracting you. I will let you get back to infiltrating the evil Tinker's base."
For a moment, Taylor looks at me incredulously, as if she can't process that I am backing down without interjecting my own quip—which means she [does] know me so well—but she promptly shrugs her shoulders and goes back to lying on her stomach as she coordinates an inordinate amount of insects to carry out her will upon an unsuspecting world.
And that's when I sit astride her.
"Wha—?"
"Relax, I am just returning the favor. Nothing like a nice massage on your main body while your extras do the work, right?"
"… This is my body, not my 'main body.' As if, the only one I will actually care if people try to step on it."
"Is that a fetish I should be aware of?"
"… Didn't this whole thing start because you told me you picked up on people's fetishes even when you didn't mean to?"
"Didn't you want me to shut up so you could focus?"
"Always needing to say the last word…" she grumbles, apparently unaware of the irony, as I start to knead her shoulders.
Which… wow. I mean, I am pretty sure there's a bridge on San Francisco that could use these for spares, going by how much tension they are carrying. Taylor, sweetheart, when people warn you about carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, they don't mean it literally, no need to actually train for it.
Right, it looks like my girlfriend is more stressed out than the Siberian's nutritionist. Power, time to cheat with those anatomy charts.
[Several clusters of nerves running parallel to human spine require careful manipulation—]
On it. Circular pressure with thumbpads, traveling upwards from right above the coccyx, syncing breathing rhythm so that movements are perceived as less intrusive…
And Taylor lets out a low moan that vibrates right beneath my legs.
Right. Focus. You are trying to do a nice thing for your stressed out of her mind girlfriend (because she's in tiger-fighting mode, but the tiger is still hours away, and, as we have already established, the human body doesn't handle that very well), so focus on her and keep digging your thumbs right… There!
And she gasps in what I am mostly sure is relief, but sure sounds like something else.
[Taylor Hebert touch-deprived. Taylor Hebert unused to physical intimacy. Taylor Hebert likely to associate comforting touch with sensual—]
… If this is your way of getting back into your shipping groove, I sure as Hell will expect you to shut up and not ruin the mood.
[Lisa Wilbourn touch-deprived. Lisa Wilbourn unused to physical intimacy. Lisa Wilbourn likely to associate lying on top of sexual partner with—]
… You are awful.
[Lisa Wilbourn attempting to assign moral values to parahuman abilities interfaces indicates—]
That I am done talking with you. I have a mewling, panting girlfriend to focus on right between my legs, so there!
…
Why do I do this to myself?
[Lisa Wilbourn in early stages of infatuation—]
That's your excuse for everything.
"Lisa? I don't know if—I mean, this massage is very nice, but—"
Stupid martyr complex not letting her enjoy herself… Right, I am now on a mission.
I shift my weight forward so that my pelvis rubs against her exquisitely petite derriere as I press the heels of my palms right below her shoulders and start moving back and forth to the increasingly shallow rhythm of her breath, her whole upper body shifting under me as I make her feel as if my touch is going through her. She turns her head to the side, and I can see her biting her lip as she muffles yet another moan, which makes it very, [very] hard to hold myself back and…
Oh, so this is what happened to her last time. Note to self: massages are dangerous and not to be trifled with. Also, should be done as often as possible
I lean farther so that I can massage her neck, sinking my thumbs right beside where muscle meets bone, and then spread my fingers as I glide them through her hair and over her scalp—
And she shivers right beneath my pelvis, because [hair.] She and her stupidly easy-to-exploit hair [anything] fetish. Seriously, may as well count as kryptonite.
And no, I am not biting my own lips while I contemplate my girlfriend's lithe body writhing beneath me. That's not a thing.
[Lisa Wilbourn's hypocrisy—]
Are you [offended?] Is this you being [catty?]
[Lisa Wilbourn's complacency with lack of skills likely to lead to—]
Oh. You are worried. That's… sweet. Look, if I promise to start digesting manuals about police procedure and special forces tactics or something like that, do you promise to stop nagging at me while I grope my far-too-serious girlfriend into submission?
[Taylor Hebert likely to resist openly sexual advances. Taylor Hebert unlikely to notice escalation if adequately stimulated.]
Right. Thanks for the tip.
Power is more likely right than wrong, so I take my time giving Taylor a toe-curling scalp massage (running my fingers over and over through her lustrous, gorgeous, and amazingly full tresses is an unintended side-effect, but I will just have to bear with it—woe is me). Her sharp breathing deepens once more, gaining a relaxed quality that just makes me… I don't know how to explain it. I am attracted to her, and still aroused by having her lying under me while my hands keep eliciting all these wonderful reactions out of her, but also… I don't know. There's this warmth, this tenderness at seeing her just feeling better, feeling [good] because of me, because of what I am doing and my presence, and it isn't sexual, but it also is not [not] sexual, and I am confusing myself just by feeling all these—
"Lisa… if you are going to go any further, you better do it soon. And if you aren't…"
That's… I don't think that's a threat. I mean…
"If I am not?"
"Ever heard about 'denial play?'" And I can't help my surprised snort at that, because hearing prim and proper Taylor Hebert talk about denial play so matter of factly while I still have her dressed as her college self is so deliciously incongruous I just want to wrap her in my arms and roll around the towel while maniacally squealing. Still, I do have a reputation to maintain...
"That a threat or a promise?"
"Why not both?"
"OK, that seals it: no more internet for you, young lady."
"Yes, God forbid my obsessive browsing corrupts me down the path of villainous activities, sapphic romance, and snarky quipping."
"Are you talking about yourself or—"
"Well, they say pets end up resembling their owners…"
And at that I get the very uncomfortable feeling of knowing, absolutely knowing, that Taylor calling me a 'pet' makes me… Wow. I mean, I would've thought that, after learning about Coil's worse inclinations, that fantasy would have been ruined for me, but here goes the world, once again inconsiderately proving me wrong.
She must never know.
At least, not till I have bought—[focus], Lisa.
[Lisa Wilbourn's intense focus indicates—]
Oh, fuck off.
Now that I have verbal consent (or my marching orders, one of the two), I quickly help Taylor shimmy out of her pants and panties. The April's breeze that occasionally wafts across the roof is more fresh than cold, but I still leave her upper clothes untouched in my urgency to finally get at her in the way she's been unintentionally getting at me since I started my ill-advised massage, but once I have her creamy skin on display I can't help but lose myself in caressing her perfectly defined calves…
"Liz… Oh, this is such a bad idea…"
I agree. Wholeheartedly. But you just called me 'Liz,' so everything that happens from now on is on you.
My hands linger on the back of her knees, where they don't stop until her hips buckle from the stimulation, and then gently travel up her thigs, fingers sinking into taut muscle, the edge of my palms digging between them, following the crevices of her body ever upward until… until I circle right around her sex, to her muffled, frustrated complaints that make a flowing warmth inside me boil over. My hands now handle her firm, soft ass, wondering at the way her muscle shapes its perky, delightful bounce, and I spread it and close it, giving me tantalizing glimpses of her sex weeping right over our towel. And I just want to dive right in, but I catch a glimpse of my messenger bag and…
My right hand plays with Taylor's inner thighs, gliding from one to the other, always teasing her with maybe straying straight down the middle, and with my left I rummage inside my bag until I find…
Yes. Oh, [yes.]
This is unhygienic, though maybe not too much, given it's already meant for a mucous membrane, even if… It doesn't matter: the irony is so irresistible it may as well be sexual catnip for Thinkers. Which may be a thing, but I won't ask Colin about it because [ew.]
So, while trailing fingers keep Taylor on the edge of being properly worked up, I uncap the cherry Chapstick Alec gave us as a prank what seems like ages ago… And I trace her lips with it.
"Liz?! What the—?"
"Please, let me do this, I promise you will enjoy it." I mean, I am going to try my damndest either way, so…
"What do you mean by 'this?' It feels…"
"Soothing? Refreshing?" I say as I fastidiously cover every fold in sight… and then spread her to get at those that had been hidden. No, I am not salivating… But if I am, it's only due to Pavlovian conditioning. Ding.
"I mean… kind of… Uh, it's somewhat nice, but… Can't you tell me what you are putting in my vagina already? I don't feel it's too much to ask for."
"Cherry Chapstick."
There's a silence only broken by wet skin sticking to—
"You wouldn't," she says, in that tone that makes it perfectly clear she knows I [definitely] would.
I hum a nice, cheerful beat under my breath as my only answer.
"Lisa… Tell me you wouldn't."
"[I kissed a girl, and I liked it]~."
"Lisa, you are about to get your vagina-handling privileges revoked."
No, I am not, I don't say as I take off my suddenly superfluous jacket, shortly after followed by my top. The bra can stay. For now.
"Lisa, really, this isn't funny."
And then, with some careful positioning and more upper body strength than I would have thought necessary, I raise Taylor's hips and dive right under.
"Lisa!"
She starts shuffling, but what she ends up doing is sitting right over my mouth, her thighs framing my view of her flushed face as her eyes widen in almost shock. And then I lick her and, with my cheekiest tone, purr straight into her pussy the very words that will damn me for eternity:
"[The taste of her cherry chapstick]~."
And I wink up at her while she grits her teeth for two very different and conflicting reasons.
"Of course, you realize this means war." Oh, Bugs Bunny. Nice.
"Of course, you realize this is the first time you will have sex without being able to channel an iota of emotion to your bugs." And her eyes widen in panic as my smirk does in sadism I didn't know I had.
[Lisa Wilbourn's lack of self-awareness—]
Fine, fine, I did have a [slight] inkling. Now let me work.
Before Taylor can properly react, I dive right in, her arousal high enough that I don't need to start slow. My lips kiss along her own as I devour every trace of cherry I can find (proper hygiene is important), and she shrieks before biting her lip as her hands dive straight into my hair, which she grabs and pulls upwards.
And she gets wetter. Heh.
I play with her, keeping constant eye contact that she is unable to break as I kiss and lick my way around her whole sex without ever venturing to the peak or too far in. And I am precise and methodical, not neglecting a single crevice or fold that I don't mean to leave alone, till all I am tasting is the surprisingly mild, somewhat sweet flavor of Taylor Hebert without any single addition, and she's panting, obviously holding back from asking me for more, but desperately wanting to.
Heh. I kissed a girl, and [she] liked it. Take that, Katy.
Something in Taylor finally gives, and her hips start rubbing up and down on my face, forcing me to pay attention to what had been purposefully let out. She lets out another unintended cry before her left hand (regretfully) stops pulling my hair and she covers her mouth with something that won't so easily break when she needs to bite down her screams.
I stop, letting her eyes bear down on mine once more, and, staring straight into them… I capture her clitoris with my lips and suck on it as hard as I can.
And her eyes roll back, and she does bite her fingers. And I am far too pleased given that…
Hmmm… On the one hand, I would lose control of the situation. On the other, my panties are already drenched, and I am not into denial play if it's me the one who is denying me…
Fuck it.
I slide a hand down my body and discreetly undo my pants before I slither out of them, increasing my stimulation of Taylor at the key points to make sure she doesn't notice what I am doing, and then… Well, then I do what I had been doing days before this whole thing started.
I finger myself to Taylor Hebert.
Of course, having the genuine article moaning and writhing atop me as her taste invades my mouth and her scent erases any trace of Brockton's docks air, as her flushed cheeks redden again and again at my tongue's demands while her soft thighs embrace my head, is far, [far] more satisfying than masturbating to a fantasy of something that could never be, than a release that only brought the pang of loss when faced with reality.
And I kinda want to reach back in time to past Lisa and tell her to stop moping, because things [do] get better, because sometimes life hands you the cute heroine with long legs and perky butt and you can just grab those thighs and…
Uh… Maybe I will write my letter to past Lisa when I am not otherwise occupied. But seriously, girl, things, sometimes, get better. It's worth holding on, just in case.
[Lisa Wilbourn in early stages of infatuation—]
You are damn right I am.
And then I twirl my tongue around Taylor's clit and she throws herself back, dragging me up with her, but instead of screaming her ecstasy at the cloudless sky she turns her head just enough to see what I am doing, what being under her all but demands I do, and she reaches one trembling hand—
And my vision goes white.
I think I scream my release into her, that I shake under her touch, that I drag her along with me in this overwhelming wave of something that I cannot even name… But I don't even know. I just know that, after a time I can't even begin to define, Taylor is lying atop me, looking at the same sky as I am while we try to get our ragged gasps back under control. And from right beside my still tingling pussy, I hear Taylor's voice as she says those magical words:
"You are [so] gonna get it."
"Bring it."
And I can't, for the life of me, stop smiling.
***
Hours later, well past sunset, a half-moon peeks in and out of the cover of the drifting clouds. Taylor and I are on another rooftop, still within the radius of her control around Bakuda's workshop, having spent a good part of the day switching locations while she did all the preparations we needed. I mean, it's not like I haven't been kind of instrumental, Power is surprisingly good at breaking and entering, but I think my delightful Orwellian nightmare would have managed so far. Now? Now it's my time to shine.
"Are you sure about this?"
"For the last time, Tay, I am one of the most powerful Thinkers in the country, have had personal contact with the subject, and I am acting with the support of one of the most versatile Tinkers in the world and a Master who seems custom-made for just this kind of work."
"So, not at all."
"Precisely. Still, we don't have much of a choice, do we?"
She sighs and shakes her head, so, before I let temptation allow me to drag this even longer than I already have, I turn on my laptop and tablet.
And the screen shows me the live feed of the eight cameras Taylor's spiders have so carefully installed in the corners of Bakuda's workshop.
I unleash Power, drinking in every single detail Armsmaster's top-notch tech allows me to reach, and with every twitch of my eyes Taylor makes her bugs change the angle of our little spies. Soon enough, there's not anything in Bakuda's lab I haven't thoroughly analyzed, and, so far, there's nothing there we didn't expect and plan for. Which is a good thing, seeing how much Thinker time and Taylor's accurate descriptions we have already devoted throughout the day. Heck, at one point, she even managed to kinda draw me a wireframe model of the lab with bugs that were replicating the relative positions of all the spies she had managed to sneak in—
Oh, right. That's what she was doing: sneaking things in.
See, there's an old saying about what happens when you attack a Tinker's lab, and said saying involves your relatives being very happy about how much they just saved on a funeral. Bakuda, after having a close encounter with Taylor the Toe-slayer, was understandably wary of any arthropods and set up an electrified field around her working area. Of course, as people tend to dislike having to buy a new phone each time they cross a door, the field was deactivated whenever someone had to go in or out. Which means that, for today only, Bakuda, with every ABB visitor you earn a surprise prize. The surprise is nightmares come to life.
Surpriiise~
The lab is currently packed full of every single nasty thing Taylor's range has been able to get a hold of throughout the day, but they still don't show in the cameras. No, what the cameras show is a surprisingly neat arrangement of barely recognizable tools, crates full of materials and finished bombs (that, to my non-tinkery eyes, are barely distinguishable from one another), a few computers, what looks like the distant cousin of a radio console, and a single cot in the corner of the room.
Oh, and one asleep Bakuda laying on said cot. That last thing is kind of important for our plans.
The insane Tinker is not looking very threatening at the moment, due to her pastel blue panda pajamas and her sleeping mask (with a sleeping panda face drawn on it, because at least she's that consistent). I mean… I am not one to go for the cutesy ones, but I guess Asians do… oh, shit, is that racist? Was my blonde hair a clue all along about my inevitable corruption and downfall as an E88 pawn?
[Lisa Wilbourn stalling due to—]
Yeah, yeah, I know.
I nod, and Taylor's eyes narrow as the cameras pick up a flurry of movement. I can barely make out the lines of pressure being traced around Bakuda's sleeping form till I get the signal that Taylor has finished tying her down as she makes a vaguely humanish figure out of bugs. I tap my earbuds to make sure they are not about to fall (because that would be embarrassing, and embarrassment is the last thing I want to feel when facing mass murderers, panda pajamas or not), and at my signal the screeching buzz of hundreds of arthropods is transmitted from inside the Tinker's lair.
And it's showtime.
"Pathetic," Taylor's clone rasps my insult in a voice made of buzzing, rasping, and clacking, and Bakuda starts jerking awake before the lines of silk tying her down brusquely stop her movement. And then she tries to scream, just as I predicted she would, and Taylor is ready to have her spiders stuff her mouth full with a silk sack that is filled with enough indistinct debris to silence the woman before she can even realize what's happening. And what's happening is that a dozen coordinated spiders are fixing her gag in place inside her mouth, so I hope she doesn't have a runny nose, because it would be a shame if she asphyxiated.
I mean, there's still that dead man's switch to take care of.
"All your prattling about the nature of fear, about how it allows you to control others, and this is what I find when I come looking for you?"
I stand up and let Taylor cover me with enough flies to mirror my movements with her clone. The body language will be imperfect, I will lose a bit of the effect of my tonal inflections, but having a nightmarish body deliver my words should more than make up for it.
Said body's eyes seem to come to life in flames with the firefly grubs inside its face as Bakuda's sleeping mask is cut off from her face by what I think are cockroaches. Her eyes fly open, the eery light of the shifting firefly larvas in the ceiling and the stark light of the three computer screens Taylor's servants just turned on barely allowing her to make out enough about the shifting shape at the foot of her cot to see that no, it isn't made out of shadows and darkness. It's much, much worse.
And there is rage and hate in what can be seen of her expression, yes. But what stands out the most is fear, and I can't bring myself to feel guilty about not feeling guilty about it.
"A small girl, huddled up in her bed, restless with nightmares. A small, [scared] little girl." And I don't know how Taylor manages to transmit my emphasis, but she does, and I can feel a shiver run up my spine at my visceral rejection of it.
"But you told me fear is a mix of certainty and mystery, didn't you? That was the basis of your random attack on [my] city: a targeted strike against the heroes and reckless, senseless massacre everywhere else." And the clone leans over Bakuda in a way no human with actual weight ever could, because Taylor is a drama queen and can't help herself under the circumstances. But when I see tears brimming at the corner of the terrorist's eyes as she tries to sink into her pillow without being able to look away, I can't blame her for her theatrics. At all.
"And all that just to free Lung? To have your reign end as you give it back to the man who kidnapped you, enslaved you? Was that what you learned about fear, Bakuda, that you would rather fear Lung than [me?"]
And Bakuda doesn't nod, but she may as well have.
"You may be smarter than I thought."
And she starts to look confused at the line, before I point to the script written on the tablet beside my laptop so that Taylor can read her next cue. And a spider drops down on Bakuda's face.
She starts shaking hysterically, a visceral fear that most of us share in some measure taking over as she tries to dislodge the fat black widow clutching her nose.
"You wanted certainty? Here is the only certainty you will ever need: I can kill you anytime I please."
And she shakes as she forces herself to remain still, but I can't allow her to calm herself down, because I need her out of balance, because I need to keep hitting before she realizes what it is that I am actually doing.
"You want certainty? I can see and hear with any single bug around you. I can find you through them, smell you through them, [track] you through them. [And they are everywhere."]
She shudders. Good.
"You will never be safe as long as I live, Bakuda. You will never know if I am watching, if today is the day I decide enough is enough, that I have suffered your existence for too long. You will never know till I decide that I would rather you die than keep darkening my city. My life. My [world.] This is your first uncertainty."
And Taylor reads her next cue, and the microphones pick up the angry buzzing of three enormous wasps that start circling Bakuda's face in strange, irregular orbits.
"There are far too many species of wasps that lay their eggs inside their victims. The larva hatches inside the still alive insect and devours it from within."
A brown recluse dangles from a single thread right over Bakuda's left eye before climbing up and disappearing in the shadows.
"The brown recluse's venom produces dermonecrosis, the skin of the victim rotting around them as their whole body is exposed to a world that would like nothing more than to cover them in insects that will devour the fresh meat beneath."
There's a pause, and Taylor holds her breath, but I can't afford to.
"You hear that, Bakuda? No? Well, I do. That's the sound of hundreds of dust mites going through their daily lives around your body, eating dead skin cells, waiting for me to tell them it's all right to eat the [living ones."]
And she tries to scream as she trashes against her bonds, which are far more secure than the ones Taylor used on me that first night. And I am sorry to taint that memory with this, but if it works, if it ends up being worth it…
"This is your second uncertainty, Bakuda: if I decide to end you, will I make it fast?"
And Taylor reads her next clue, and her dutiful spiders remove Bakuda's gag.
The moment of truth.
"You… you—you! You can't do this to me! I am Bakuda! I am the greatest Tinker the world has ever seen! You can't—"
And she breaks off, trying not to let me know she's holding back a sob.
Perfect.
"You aren't. You are Yumi Tanaka, a little girl who has never even had any friends, because daddy's little girl was far too precious, far too brilliant to be appreciated by those beneath her. But you weren't, were you? You were a shameful failure, unable to keep up when you finally got out of the small pond you had lived in your whole life."
"No! That's not true, those bastards were jealous of me, of—of my genius! They tried to tear me down, tried to—" And Taylor cuts her rant by having her forgotten black widow wave its arms in front of her blue eyes.
"They did nothing. They did nothing but their jobs, their duties, until a crazed terrorist tried to take them out with the nightmarish things that little voice in your head allowed you to build. Because that's your power, [Bakuda]: to have something smarter than you whisper the right answers in your ear. A cheat and a failure to the end."
And she screams. Because that's not what tinkering is, not at all, but it is just [enough] like it that someone with Bakuda's particular damage will buy it.
I let her scream herself hoarse with denials and insults as Taylor and I share an uneasy glance. I can't deny I am enjoying this, enjoying flexing my intellect and Power's viciousness on a deserving target, but it also… I don't like what I could be if I let myself. So I don't feel guilty about attacking Bakuda's already broken mind till the shards take the shape I demand of them, not at all, but…
But.
"And that's your third uncertainty, Yumi: if you are so worthless, if I can kill you with a thought wherever you care to hide, if I can make you suffer in any way I deem adequate before I tire of it and end you… Why are you still alive?"
And she stops breathing.
"I don't care about grandstanding. I don't care about an audience. I don't care about reputation. I almost killed Lung because I forgot to hold back, and I let [Armsmaster] take the credit. So, why am I telling you this?"
And her reflex is to insult Taylor, to curse her, to trash against her restraints. But there's another instinct, the one that made her desperately try to free Lung when faced with a threat she couldn't defeat without even trying. Because to Yumi Tanaka, failure is not something you do, but something you [are.]
And if she's a failure… she needs somebody better than her to tell her what to do.
And Taylor is, by any metric, better than Lung.
"Don't fool yourself, it's not because of your dead man's switch, not because of your schematics. I can have a better Tinker than you picking them apart in less than an hour. It's not because of your security, because you have already seen what I can do to it."
And something in those blue eyes is yearning for the answer. Because the answer may give her that self-worth she so desperately needs, even if it comes from someone who has terrorized her so badly. No, [especially] because it comes from someone who has brought her so much fear, because daddy dearest never let his little girl be anything other than his perfect, A-student daughter, and that's the kind of love that always comes with a measure of fear.
Lung had half his recruitment already made for him. How thoughtful of you, Taro-san.
"It's the same reason I allowed Lung to live, really."
And Yumi, not Bakuda, holds her breath, holds Bakuda's hysterics and screams back, waiting for an answer and [meaning.]
"Tell me, Yumi, what could you do against an Endbringer?"
And I can see the moment it lands. I can see her eyes widen in wonder, as she so easily pictures her triumphing over the nightmares of the world, personally defeating what the greatest heroes of our age can only hold back at the best of times. I can see her picturing herself above Scion himself, the most revered person in history.
Yumi Tanaka. The savior of the world.
And I almost throw up.
The rest is almost mundane. Taylor's clone frees Bakuda and watches her deactivate the dead man's switch, disarming every single implanted bomb as we call Armsmaster and confirm she's ready for pick up.
There's a last, single detail, though.
"Yumi, before I let you out, before I let you meet the heroes and reassure them you don't need to be put down like a rabid dog, there's one last thing I need you to do."
And she nods, afraid to speak, afraid she will start screaming and raving once again and let out the wrong thing and ruin her golden future before it can come to pass.
"Kill Oni Lee."
And I can see Taylor hesitate, can see how she almost doesn't transmit my command, but she knows we need this, that the assassin has crossed too many lines and holds too much power… and that this will bind Yumi irrevocably to us.
And so, Yumi Tanaka, afraid to fail and eager to please, presses a few keys, turns a dial in her console… And Oni Lee dies, and Bakuda beside him.
And this isn't vengeance, nor justice, because it's far too pragmatic to be either of them, because Oni Lee has just been murdered and Yumi will spend the rest of her life enslaved in a workshop without realizing she has been punished, but I hope…
It's stupid of me, really, but I hope Colin will sleep easy tonight.
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This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 81 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).
Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance
Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!