Butcher queen

Monday January 17th, Arcadia High School

The bell rang for lunch, and I started putting my things away as the classroom erupted into a mad rush for the door. I wasn't in any hurry myself, even though I'd decided to give Arcadia's cafeteria food a chance.

I was pretty sure Butcher was lying about having used it to dispose of bodies in the past- if only because he didn't have the subtlety to actually hide a body.

I idly scanned the room as I zipped up my pencil case. I'd picked out a couple of other kids who'd transferred in today as well- lots of parents had tried to get their kids as far away from Winslow as possible after the incident, and we were only the latest batch.

Just as I finally stood up and started for the door, Mr Jackson looked up from his desk. "Ms Hebert, could you stay a moment please?"

I slowed to a stop, reluctantly. I felt as if I could like Mr Jackson- even if he'd dropped a Math pop quiz on us today, he seemed fair, and actually kept people from messing around in class. He hadn't made me or any of the other new kids introduce ourselves either, and he'd pronounced my name right first try.

Still, I was too on edge to feel comfortable as I stepped up to the desk. Mr Jackson put his pen to one side and picked up a sheet of paper. I saw my name at the top- the quiz sheet I'd filled out today.

"Christ," Firecracker moaned. "I dropped out specifically to avoid this shit! Why didn't you take home schooling or something?"

"Would you want to be stuck at her house all day every day instead of getting out to see the world?" Vladimir answered reasonably.

I tuned them out to pay full attention to Mr Jackson. Something must have shown on my face, because his first words were "This isn't anything bad. I just wanted to ask you something."

"Okay," I said cautiously. "Is it about my work?" I'd been told when the transfer went through that my grades were a bit below the accepted level for Arcadia, and that I'd have to do some extra assignments.

Mr Jackson tapped the sheet. "Well, I haven't properly marked your quiz sheet yet, but it looks like you've earned at least a B grade."

I'd had a little help from the Butcher's hazy memories of their own school years, but it still felt like an accomplishment. I didn't relax just yet though- there had to be something more to this. "That's… good?" I couldn't stop it from coming out as a question.

"It is good. Better than I expected, certainly." He fiddled with his spectacles for a second. "From what I saw of your grades from Winslow, you often missed in-class assignments, and the rest were mostly Cs. And now you've managed a B grade on your first day here."

"Really? One good score and he thinks you're copying? Are all the teachers this suspicious?" Needler said incredulously. I felt her indignant shock, swiftly followed by my own.

"I wasn't cheating!" I burst out, slamming my hands on the desk. Mr Jackson leaned back in his chair with wide eyes.

"I wasn't saying you were," he said in a surprised tone. "I didn't see you so much as glance at anyone else during class. I fully believe this is your own work." He directed a pointed glance at my hands, and I quickly pulled them off the desk, jamming them into my hoodie pockets again. Mr Jackson gave me a heavy look before speaking again.

"I understand you transferred in due to ongoing problems at Winslow. I'm guessing these problems were affecting your grades in some way."

It took me a moment before I remembered to nod, feeling off balance. I shoved all the Butchers down before they could interfere or distract me.

Mr Jackson opened a drawer and pulled out another sheet with some handwritten notes on it, peering at it through his spectacles. "Decent grades until halfway through freshman year, and then they started declining, or not being turned in at all." He looked up at me again. "Can you tell me what exactly caused this?"

I almost wanted to look around to see if someone was going to jump out at me as part of a prank, but I held on to the tiny flicker of hope as I explained. "Well, there's- there were these three girls, in my year, and a couple of others, but they were the main ones. And, yeah, they were messing with me. A lot. Part of that… They took my work sometimes, or they'd drop stuff in my bag, or just steal my books."

"Didn't your teachers do anything about them?" Mr Jackson looked faintly aghast. I shrugged wearily, far too used to it.

"I tried complaining a few times, but they never really did anything, and they always believed the other girls."

Mr Jackson huffed through his nose. "That," he said crisply, "is a disgusting state of affairs." It seemed like he wanted to say more, but after a second he just sighed and pushed his chair out.

"Well, I don't know if I can do much about those girls, since they're in another school, but I could try and bring it up with the school board. More importantly," he heaved himself to his feet, "since your grades were effectively tampered with, I can arrange some make-up assignments to get your grades back up, at least in my class. I might be able to swing it so you can re-take a few as well."

I stood there for a couple of seconds before I realised I should say something. "Uh, yes, thank you, that'd be- that'd be great, thanks." I floundered for something else to say. "Um, is there… anything else, or…?"

"I think that's all for now."

I nodded jerkily and pointed a finger at the door. "Okay. I'm just gonna- get lunch. Bye."

I walked out the door calmly and easily, although the Butchers compared me to various skittish animals, "or a cockroach when the light's turned out."

I pushed Firecracker as far back as I could for that remark and followed the flow of the crowd to the cafeteria, lost in though.

I'd expected things to be different at Arcadia, and I'd hoped that things would be better. But it was the kind of hope that makes you buy a lottery ticket for the one-in-a-million chance of getting rich, not the hope with any kind of evidence behind it. I really didn't know how to deal with a teacher that combined action with being on my side.

"Seems like a decent guy," Bearskin agreed. "Could have done with someone like that in senior year."

"One of the good ones, huh?" Quarrel said caustically. Bearskin winced, as much as possible without a face.

"How many times do I have to apologise before you stop bringing that up?"

"A few thousand more, I'd say," Muramasa chimed in, voice thick with schadenfreude. I tuned out the by now familiar argument as I made it to the cafeteria.

A couple of gnats outside were crawling along the tables outside, but nobody was going out there in this cold, even with how crowded the cafeteria was. I joined the queue with a tray, looking around as everyone shuffled along a step at a time.

True to what Anchorage had said, there were some subtle signs of the gangs when I looked closely. There was a table of bulky white guys off in one corner with short haircuts that couldn't quite be called buzzcuts, Empire sympathisers if not actual members.

"Probably more than that around here," Anchorage noted, uncharacteristically serious. "Maybe twice that many diet racists."

"Diet racists?" I had to ask what that meant. Luckily, Anchorage kept it short.

"The kind of people who argue there should be a White History Month, or say shit like 'if you've done nothing, you don't have to worry about being stopped'. The kind of people who'll stay friends with neo-nazis instead of doing the smart thing and killing them on sight."

I had no idea how to respond to that, so I quickly looked around for something else to occupy myself.

The other side of the room boasted a table filled only with Asian kids, and while none of them were wearing bandanas or anything obvious, there was a hardened look to them all.

Muramasa sized them up. "I doubt they will be a problem," he intoned- really intoned, like a sage making a prophecy. "They lack the confidence of dangerous men, so they posture and pose to make up for it."

"Like peacocks," Dirty Rotter mocked. That started another argument. I left them to it- as long as it wasn't directed specifically at me, I could tune them out pretty easily.

Right in the middle of the room was a different kind of danger. Things were more mixed in there, but the tables there were filled with well-dressed kids- letterman jackets and expensive shoes, designer coats and skirts way too short for a day with snow still on the ground.

"Sure you don't wanna go over there and make some friends?" Firecracker teased. "Some of those guys look like they might be good for some fun!"

I fought the flush in my cheeks, and lost miserably. Dirty Rotter broke away from bickering with Muramasa to chime in with his slimiest tone, that one that made me want to scrub the inside of my skull. "Or try the other half. What's that quote? 'High school girls- I keep getting older, they stay the same age.'"

That drew groans of disgust from the others. "You're sick," Nemean growled- she always growled, her throat had never been able to do anything else, but this was full of disgust.

"Christ, none'a you buggers can take a joke," Rotter moaned, but he quieted down without me even having to intervene. I took a second glance as the line moved forward; this time I recognized one of them.

The single biggest threat to me at Arcadia was in the middle of one table, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. Victoria Dallon, aka Glory Girl. The most active member of New Wave, and the city's resident Alexandria package. I'd looked her up along with all the other local capes as soon as I'd been able to use a computer again, and from what I got off the internet, she was pretty, popular, and dedicated to her family's values of accountability for capes.

Quarrel's memories contained darker rumours in the short time between returning to the Bay and falling to me. Word among the street level crooks painted Glory Girl as entirely willing to interrogate someone from a thousand feet up, or use her emotional aura to have them shaking in fear.

Nemean radiated approval of her as I sneaked glances at the blonde. "She's tough. You should try to bond with her."

"Make friends with the unmasked hero? Not happening. I need to keep my identity as far away from capes as possible, thank you very much." I'd explained it before, but Nemean was insistent on me building bridges with someone, for reasons I wasn't entirely sure of.

"Why couldn't we have ended up with her?" Stoneknapper complained. "All it would have taken was one punch to the head! More strength, a forcefield, and some goddamn flight at last! But no, we got stuck with insects!"

Quarrel immediately started raging at him, so I pushed them both back into the dark as the argument built up steam, but privately I wished I'd got something like her powers myself. Flight was the power every little kid dreamed of having at some point in their life.

The line moved forward again, putting me next to the food. I looked it over for a second while the Butchers started making demands- Lasagne!/garlic bread/salad/salad, are you serious?- before grabbing a couple of slices of cheese pizza, an apple, and a bowl of pudding. I paid for it quickly and started looking for a free space.

There was a table off to one side that was half-empty, so I headed for that. The other kids glanced up as I sat down, but didn't say anything, one of them too busy working on homework spread out on the table.

I kept looking around as I started wolfing down my food. I'd recognized a few kids from Winslow, but nobody that had actively picked on me. There didn't seem to be any overt gang tensions, or any cliques throwing their weight around.

Hell, even leaving Mr Jackson aside, the teachers I'd had today seemed pretty on the ball. Nobody had called me names or shot spitwads at me, messed with my stuff or ruined my clothes.

It was depressing to realise that I had no idea what to do with myself besides just try to make it through the day.

Maybe I could try making some friends. I could join a club; there probably wasn't anything like a book club, but I'd picked up some other things from the Butchers besides fighting techniques and anger issues.

"Try learning another instrument," Tactical advised. "We've already got guitar and drums- you learn keyboard and you could be a band all by yourself."

"She'd have to buy the instrument first though," Firecracker pointed out. "Do art or something."

"That's called art lessons, idiot," Needler sneered. "I would suggest whatever the local LGBT association is called."

"Hell yeah!" Anchorage enthused. "Get white girl a cutie!"

"You do realise I'm straight, right?" I interjected wearily as I started on my pudding. Anchorage just cackled horribly.

"Oh, give it time, you'll be swinging every which way soon!"

I gave her a shove down and refocused. There were some clubs I should avoid- I'd have to stay away from sports completely- but there had to be a few here that'd suit me.

Vladimir nudged at me urgently. "Hey, girl, listen to the guys behind you- don't turn! They're talking about us!"

Indeed, as I paused and focused, there was a very spirited conversation going on at the table behind me.

"I'm telling you man, it's got to be some kind of trick. Nobody's ever killed Butcher for good, this is just to make the heroes drop their guard."

"Why would Butcher need people to drop their guard? They're, y'know, the Butcher," the other guy countered. "If they were still alive, they'd be setting bugs on people everywhere."

"That's what we should be doing," Bearskin complained. "Go out and pour cockroaches down people's pants, spread the fear! You're too damn cautious."

I rolled my eyes and pushed him back. I wanted to hear what these guys had to say- they sounded unusually well-informed for civilians.

"Okay, but maybe it's not a Master power like people think- it could be Butcher XV is a Changer- turns into a swarm of bugs, but that means they're less active in winter because all the bugs are hibernating!" The first guy seemed very pleased with that logic.

"If they're hibernating in winter, why'd they manage to kill Butcher in the first place, dumbass?"

"Maybe," a third voice, a girl this time, cut in, "The new Butcher's actually a Tinker, and the Swarm was a new weapon they were trying out. They could be lying in wait right now, building huge weapons to go on a rampage."

First Guy hummed. "That… might work," he said reluctantly, like he didn't want to admit to them having a point. "I mean, I don't think there's ever been a Tinker Butcher, right?"

"Excuse me?" Tock Tick screeched. "What am I, chopped liver?"

The entire conversation was getting to me- it had to be a coincidence that they were sat behind me, but paranoia was beating a tattoo inside my head. I scooped the last spoonful of pudding into my mouth and got up to get rid of my tray. Being a functional member of society would have to wait another day.

Dad was waiting with his truck in the same place he'd dropped me off. I shrugged my bag off my shoulder and slid into the passenger seat in one movement, rubbing my hands together like they were cold. I didn't really get uncomfortable about temperature anymore, but I needed to keep up the act.

Dad was looking nervously hopeful as I pulled my seatbelt on. "So, how'd it go?"

I'd been figuring out what to say ever since the final bell rang, so instead of my usual evasive remark along the lines of 'same old, same old' or 'not too bad' where I was lying through my teeth, I made eye contact as Dad started the engine and gave a small smile that wasn't even forced.

"Pretty good. The teachers are nice, and the other kids seem okay. I'm not the only new kid in school either, so I don't really stand out much."

Relief flashed across Dad's face as he pulled out. "That's good to hear. Uh, did you talk to anyone much?"

I shrugged. "A little. Mostly introducing myself a bunch. They're nice though."

There was quiet for a moment while we both thought of something to say. I felt like I had the harder task, since I had to tune out the Butchers so I didn't say anything they were spouting by accident. Once was enough. After a moment's though, I remembered my thoughts at lunch.

"I was thinking I might look at the clubs they've got, think about joining one," I ventured. Dad glanced at me as he made a turn.

"That sounds like a good idea. Any idea which one?"

"Maybe if there's a literature club or something, that'd be my first pick. Otherwise, some kind of arts and crafts?" Stoneknaper relayed the image of me using his power to do some sculpture work or something. I fought down a smile at the thought of walking into class with a massive battleaxe over my shoulder.

Dad nodded, tapping the wheel with a finger as we paused at a light. "I think that's a good idea. You'll have people to talk to, and you might get a new hobby out of it."

"I could maybe see if there's a sewing club or something." I at least had a head start on that; absorbing bits of memories from Needler, of her mother teaching her to darn clothes, had been very disorienting at first, but it was practical, especially now.

"I think there's an old sewing machine up in the attic, we could maybe dig that out. Anyway," Dad changed the subject in time with the traffic light, "I was thinking something easy for dinner tonight. Takeout sound good?"

The clamour started immediately- nothing got the Butcher's attention like food- since I'd denied them all their other vices. I barely kept my face clear as I wrangled them into some sort of order and worked out what the majority were clamouring for.

"Can we get Chinese?" I said at length. "I'm suddenly craving the stuff."

Dad's mouth twitched a little. "Me too. I'll dig out the menus when we get home."

"Is Canton Star still open?" Needler wondered. "They did great sweet and sour chicken."

"After 16 years? I doubt it." Tactical mentally shrugged. "At least Fugly Bob's is still around. We never did get to try the Challenger."

"Sounds good," Nemean rumbled. "We'll do that some time."

I pulled myself away from the discussion as several hundred particular bugs entered my range- the ones I'd kept stashed in the house. I rounded up all the flies and midges in my radius, including the ones I'd stashed in the truck bed, sending them walking into the jaws of the more important spiders, even as Dad pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.

I made to open my door, but Dad's expression made me hesitate. "Taylor…" he drummed his fingers on the wheel, not looking at me. "Do… Do you want me to keep driving you to school? I mean, it's not a big deal, you can take the bus if you want-"

I unclipped my seatbelt and leaned over to hug him. After a few seconds of him sitting there while the handbrake dug into my ribs, Dad slipped his arm around me and squeezed back.

"I'll take the bus," I said, "but thanks for offering. And thanks for taking me today." After a minute I let go and straightened up, reaching a hand under my glasses to wipe at my eyes.

"So, Chinese?"

Szechuan beef and prawn fried rice had worked their magic on Dad to make him turn in early. A moth perched on the wall above his bed was keeping track of his breathing, slow and steady, and a quick glance through the wall with bloodsight showed him as still and peaceful as he had been since I'd checked on him 30 minutes ago.

I'd waited long enough, so I slipped a bookmark into my copy of The Great Gatsby and slid out of bed on thick-socked feet.

In the days after getting out of the hospital, I'd tweaked the hinges on certain doors to remove the creaking, so there was barely a whisper as I crept out of my room and downstairs, or as I opened the basement door and padded down the steps.

A steady drip of insects continued to crawl down the coal chute from outside and join the massive piles against one section of wall indistinguishable from the rest. I'd thought for a long time how I was going to hide my work from Dad, until Stoneknapper had shown me that the best kind of lock is one that only exists for you. I rested my hands against the cement and let the fizz of Stoneknapper's power surge out into the wall.

The concrete slowly rippled and split open in a wide rectangular seam, outlining the door I'd cut into the wall and then sealed over. I moulded a handle out of the surface and pulled the door open, opening up the alcove cut into the soil behind the foundation.

The loom I'd built with Tock Tick's clockwork Tinker power was working away on its shelf, no louder than a Swiss watch, even while its arms zipped back and forth weaving threads into a pair of leggings that was- I held up the trailing piece of cloth- about halfway done. I gave the handle a few twists to keep it going until tomorrow night and kept looking.

The shelf below that was dedicated to making the thread itself. A horde of black widow spiders were lined up on the wooden plank, pulling silk thread from their spinnerets, while lesser spiders led the silk through a simpler device that stretched out the threads and wound them onto reels. I'd made another dozen since I'd made it home, by rotating the widows through shifts to either spin thread or feed off the other insects. I marched the new insects I'd gathered into the space and added them to the rotation, directing the excess into jars and containers that would dispense them to the black widows while I was home.

"Can I just say, for the record, this is still really gross," Dirty Rotter complained. I rolled my eyes even as I loaded the new reels into the loom.

I'd been looking for any way to use my power constructively- a sort of personal pride- when Tock Tick had speculated on the tensile strength of spider silk. A little research at the library had confirmed black widow silk as almost as strong as steel, but much lighter, and I'd built the weaving equipment out of scraps around the house. I didn't have enough widows to make the silk more than one layer thick if I wanted to get to the action any time soon, but it was only really meant to be an undersuit. My real costume was going to be a full suit of plate armour, the single biggest use of Tock Tick's Tinkering in over a decade.

Wearing armour with my new durability was kind of superfluous, but after my little stunt at Winslow, people would be suspicious of anyone with powers that matched those of the Butcher, insect control in particular, but a high-level Brute popping up would raise suspicion as well.

Luckily, Tock Tick's time as the Butcher had been short enough most people weren't even aware of it, so if I presented myself as a Tinker, nobody would make the connection. It still hurt the man's pride, but it was my best bet at avoiding a witch hunt.

So, layered silk as an undersuit, and thick steel plate on top. It'd keep me safe, misdirect people about my power, and look pretty cool too. The fact that it was almost completely opposite from the Teeth's usual aesthetic of spikes and bones on leather was an extra bonus.

"But it's so boooorrrinnng," Firecracker whined. "You'll just look like a little wind-up soldier- you need to jazz it up! Add some blades, or some creepy symbols!"

I pushed her down as I finished checking the cloth and moved downward. The armour pieces that I'd finished were on the bottom shelves, along with the materials that I'd scavenged over the last two weeks. I knew enough from Tock Tick's experience not to make the rookie mistake of ordering everything online, or to scrounge too much from scrapyards, since gangs watched them specifically to snatch up Tinkers.

Stoneknapper's power had proved its worth there- I'd simply located a condemned warehouse, ripped out one of the girders, and brought the pieces home a bit at a time to mould into the pieces I needed. Since I no longer required sleep, thanks to Nemean, I'd managed to work through the nights and get the breastplate and legs done. It wouldn't be very good quality compared to other Tinkertech, but that would further my image as a new, unexperienced cape.

"Please tell me we're going to upgrade it soon though," Tock Tick pleaded. "This stuff could be so much better if we use the right materials."

"I promise, Tock," I replied wearily. I liked the guy, but after I'd started using his power heavily, he'd begun getting really pushy about trying to incorporate the ideas he'd had over the years as a disembodied mind.

I grabbed a chunk of metal, some tools, and a music player I'd found, and carried them over to Dad's old workbench. As an afterthought I set the ants I'd collected to start tunneling further into the soil, digging out chambers I could store more black widows in. Larger insects were tasked to carry the soil out for them, and to reinforce the tunnels with various secretions; there were even some worms breaking up the soil for the ants.

The rustle of the swarm and the soil added to the ticking of the loom as I slipped on the headphones and hit play. After several solid days of arguing, bargaining and outright pleading from the collective, I'd given the Butchers a choice of music as something to keep them occupied, since I wasn't planning on drinking or starting fights, let alone their more disgusting habits. Tonight was Vladimir's turn, which meant a weird mix of jazz and disco.

I hit play and laid a hand on the metal, letting the shapes I needed bloom out of its surface. I plucked the first segment off with tweezers, a wide piece to go on the back of the hand, and fixed it on to a stand as the next segment started to form, picking up a couple of pins to link them together.

A sense of peace settled over me as I worked away, adding tiny pins and rivets to each new joint, while the bugs wove and dug and carried and ate. The music flowed into my ears, with the ticking of the loom a muted metronome at the edge of my hearing. Tock Tick watched through my eyes as the index finger started to take shape, offering tips on how to layer the plates to balance flexibility with durability.

I loved these moments. I didn't have to deal with kids at school that I suddenly felt so much older than, or worry about how to rebuild my relationship with Dad. Even the Butchers were more subdued after I'd made it clear I would shove away anyone who interrupted, talking among themselves or just listening to the music.January 21st, Arcadia High School

The computers in the school library were leagues ahead of the outdated clunkers and Winslow, and certainly better than the computer at home. I had several tabs open to work on my current project, zipping back and forth between them while I scribbled ideas into a notepad.

The costume was nearly finished by now- I just needed to finish the left leg of the leggings and the left gauntlet tonight, and I'd be ready to go out on the street and kick ass.

But before all of that, I needed a name. If I didn't pick something myself, I'd be stuck with whatever the PRT or PHO gave me, and I remembered awful things about that. Vladimir had literally had to spell his name in blood on a billboard before they stopped calling him Sanguine.

The Butchers weren't making this any easier on me- their suggestions mostly consisted of profanity. Tock Tick was the only one trying to be helpful, and that was because I would be effectively claiming his powerset.

"Gearhead?" I hummed a negative. Tock Tick tutted, then tried another name after a moment of thought. "How about Flywheel?"

"Christ you suck at this," Firecracker grumbled.

"Name yourself for a quality, perhaps," Muramasa said reasonably. "This city has Gallant and Dauntless after all."

"How about you name yourself after a-" Quarrel's sentence dissolved into a storm of profanity; I just rolled my eyes and pushed her down again, then clicked over to a different tab.

Synonyms for Brave: Courageous, Plucky ("What are you, five?" Bearskin demanded), Fearless, Valiant was already taken by a hero in Florida, Intrepid-

I paused to write the last one down- that actually sounded pretty good, even if the Butchers disagreed. Still, I needed more options.

I clicked on the next tab, open to synonyms for hope. Aspiration, want, belief- nothing good there. A link lower down did catch my eye- a site for myths about hope. I clicked on it out of curiosity.

The page loaded with a slight flicker on the screen, to a website in black with blue text. The page I was on had a picture of an old clay jar at the top.

"Pandora's box?" Needler queried. "What on earth does that have to do with hope?" I remembered something about hope in the myth, but I didn't know the specifics, so I started reading. Pandora the first woman, created by the gods as a bride for Epimetheus, the brother of Prometheus. The gods had set her up by creating her to be curious and then giving her a jar full of horrors and evils, which was later mistranslated as a box.

"Damn. I always thought she was just a moron," Firecracker commented cheerfully. "I mean, someone tells you, 'don't open this box, it's full of evil', ya gotta be pretty dumb to open it."

"As if you wouldn't do it just for fun," Bearskin snorted. Firecracker shrugged, or at least gave off the feeling of a shrug.

"Fair enough."

There was more to the myth- the one thing left in the jar after disease, famine, cruelty, sadness and everything else had escaped was the spirit of hope, who refused to abandon humanity.

"Gee, stuck in a jar with a bunch of assholes, wonder what that's like," Tock Tick groused. The rest started yelling at him, and I started shoving down the ones that got too loud, but the majority of my attention was on the myth.

Tock Tick did have a point- there were some parallels to my situation. I'd been thrown into the Butcher's shoes without any real choice in the matter, acting as a container for some of the worst of the worst. I clicked on the link for the spirit of hope, which took me to a page with only a few lines of text and a picture of some old coins.

The spirit was named Elpis, usually depicted as a young woman carrying flowers, as the coins showed. I rolled it around on my tongue even as I opened another tab and started a search. How would people say that? 'The new hero Elpis'? 'Elpis is a Tinker'? 'Oh, Elpis couldn't possibly be the Butcher'?

Butcher himself pulled away from the argument as he noticed what I was doing. "No! You are not embarrassing us by picking that shit! If you're too dumb to go back to the Teeth and accept what you are now, then you're not ruining us by calling yourself Hope-!"

I shoved him down reflexively. Honestly I was weirdly impressed that he'd managed to say that much before I'd pushed him back into the dark. The rest went quiet at that- Butcher spent most of his time in the dark by now, and they'd gradually learned not to mouth off too much.

"Just throwing it out there," Stoneknapper began cautiously, "but naming yourself after hope seems kinda… cheesy?" I nodded vaguely as I scrolled through image results for 'hope'- mostly artsy pictures of landscapes with 'hope' written over it, or flowers growing out of cracks in concrete. I added 'symbol' to the search and tried again.

Stoneknapper had a point, as he usually did. Naming myself Elpis would be a little tacky- it took serious power to be able to name yourself after a myth and not look stupid. The heavy hitters like Legend or Myrddin could manage it, or even Panacea, but being a street-level hero with that name sounded a little silly.

Except- I hesitated as the idea formed in my head- that was what I wanted. I wanted to distance myself from the Butchers and their legacy. Having a name so trite and sappy would go a long way toward that. I'd insult their memory every time someone said my name.

"You're a spiteful little bitch, you know that?" Anchorage commented cheerfully. She felt more amused than anything else. I didn't bother to deny it, too focused on a new page of quotes I'd opened up.

Then there was a stirring in the dark of my mind. I stopped everything else and focused on the presence I'd heard only a few times.

Flinch had had the worst of it in his time as the Butcher- nobody had really believed Vladimir's claims of gaining Butcher's powers and mind at the time, but once the two of them had been transferred to Flinch, and broken down his mind and will to live over the course of two weeks, the Butcher's legend had begun. As for Flinch himself, he'd spent the last 20 years as an unwilling witness to every atrocity the others had committed, until he'd curled in on himself and shut out everything.

I pushed everyone else to the side before they could say anything, and let Flinch take his time, like a wounded animal. Eventually he managed to muster up the words "H-hope. It s-sounds nice."

"I'm glad you think so," I said gently. That one sentence seemed to exhaust him- he slipped back into the dark again and clammed up. After a moment, I let the others rise up again.

Bearskin broke the silence. "We're not talking you out of this, are we?"

"Not a chance," I said. A fly I'd hidden on the minute hand of the library's clock felt it tick forward, so I got up, closing the tabs and shoving the notes into my bag. I felt strangely light as I made my way to the last class of the day.

I had horrible memories of Gym class ever since I'd started high school; If there was a game, I'd be picked last, and targeted with the ball by the opposing team while the team I was on tripped and pushed me at every opportunity. If we were just doing drills or planned exercise, I'd just have to deal with insults thrown at me every few seconds.

My good mood had steadily evaporated as I'd got changed and filed into the gym. Then the teacher announced that we were doing dodgeball, and my stomach dropped like a bowling ball.

Even if I was bulletproof now, even if I didn't feel pain, that didn't stop the dread I associated with Sophia aiming for my face for a solid hour. I'd mostly just covered myself and taken a hit as soon as possible so I could sit out, and even then they'd 'accidentally' manage to hit me on the bleachers sometimes.

"Don't forget that you're stronger now," Tactical reminded me. "You'll have to hold back extensively."

"Yeah, or someone's gonna be all over the wall!" Dirty Rotter cackled. I shoved him down as hard as I could, wishing for the hundredth time that I could bring something more unpleasant to bear on him.

Two girls were picked, seemingly at random as opposed to 'most popular', and they started going back and forth picking teams while the teacher lined up the balls on the centre line. I stood at the back of the group, trying to blend in while I fretted.

"Yo, tall girl!"

I'd managed to hold back my strength the last few weeks without any major incident, other than crushing a fork accidentally, and I'd used Stoneknapper's power to fix it immediately.

"You in the back, with the glasses!"

But besides Tactical's memories of first aid, I didn't have anything that could fix a person if I broke them- everything I had was geared for brutality and bloodletting in some capacity.

"Hey, you deaf or something?"

No, no, I'd be fine. I just needed to get out as soon as possible, not let myself even touch the ball. And I'd have to fake a reaction when it hit me. God, would I even feel it? Nemean's invulnerability was weakened from her, but it was still enough to take a shotgun to the gut without flinching-

Someone pushed at my shoulder gently, startling me out of my thoughts. Literally everyone was staring at me, and I felt myself starting to hunch up under the attention. One of the captains beckoned impatiently.

"C'mon, you're on my team, let's go already!" I blinked in surprise and hastily jogged over. The captain rolled her eyes as the pickings continued.

The girl to my left looked at me confusedly. "Uh, you alright? You were really out of it."

I shrugged and hunched my shoulders a little. "Yeah, just… lost in thought. I, uh, didn't really do too well in Gym before."

"How come? I mean, you look fit." I glanced down at my arms- I'd always been naturally skinny no matter what I did, which meant that the results of the various Brute packages and Needler's regeneration stood out like rocks on a string. I wasn't exactly disappointed at gaining muscles with minimal effort, but the change was too sudden for me to be used to it yet.

"Dallon, let's rock!"

I glanced up at the name- a mop of brown frizz with a freckled scowl underneath walked over to the other team. A shock ran down my spine, while the Butchers started chattering away. There was a world of difference between seeing Glory Girl across a crowded room and seeing Panacea not ten feet away from me.

"That's Brandish's daughter? Damn, she really doesn't get it from her mama," Firecracker mocked.

Vladimir radiated agreement. "She's definitely familiar though. Maybe it's that Dallon brand of bitchiness."

"She looks tired," Nemean grunted. I had to agree with her the most- secondhand memories of tangling with New Wave weren't particularly clear, but I could see the slump in her posture and the bags under her eyes for myself.

The last girl went to our team, and I shook myself out of my thoughts. I could speculate about other people later. Right now I just had to get through this without hurting anyone.

Dad had a bemused expression as I dug into the pasta. "Built up an appetite today, huh?" he asked awkwardly.

I nodded while I finished my mouthful. "Mm. I had gym today. Dodgeball. It was fun."

It actually had been- despite my worries about not being able to control my strength, I'd managed to be involved. I'd even enjoyed myself towards the end. That, plus finally taking the plunge and making small talk at lunch had left me in a good mood by the time I'd got home.

I'd still had to let myself get hit early on in the games though, just to avoid standing out as overly athletic so I'd let myself get hit in the leg and faked a whine of pain as I'd left the court. Not too loud though- I wasn't sure if Panacea would volunteer to help someone who got hurt in Gym, but I figured I'd be better off if I never got close to her.

Dad looked pleased as I recounted how I'd been drawn into gossip at lunch about the shops down at the Boardwalk- apparently there was talk of a cape opening a business down there. "That cape with the dolls," I waved my fork vaguely, "Parian? I think she donated some dresses to a charity auction and got a lot of business from the publicity. So now she's opening a shop."

Dad whistled. "That's impressive. Clothes made by a cape. Does that make her a, uh, a Tinker? They're the ones that make things, right?"

"Really flattering description there," Tock Tick grumbled.

"Oh hush," I chided him. Out loud I answered, "I don't think so. Tinkers make super-advanced tech, like Armsmaster or Dragon. I think Parian can control fabric, so she can just wave her hands and make the clothes like-" I snapped my fingers, "-that."

"Right, right. I just thought of clothes that'd make you fly or something." Dad took another forkful of pasta with a shrug.

"That would be kind of cool." I admitted. "Parian's stuff is supposed to be really expensive anyway, because it's- well, not handmade, I guess you'd call it power-made? But Frankie said she can weave something together super-fast with all kinds of really tiny details, like patterns a few threads across."

"Which one's Frankie again?" Dad asked as he finished his mouthful.

"The artsy girl. I was sat next to her at lunch."

"Right." Dad paused and smiled a little. "I'm glad you're making friends."

I fiddled with my fork. "I mean, I've only had one conversation with her. Not that I don't think she's friendly, just- right now she's more of an acquaintance."

Dad looked slightly crestfallen, but didn't push the point. I hastily changed the subject. "So how was work? Any good news?"

Dad perked up as he started explaining how there were some new contracts coming through for warehouse work, and how he'd been able to negotiate a higher number of placements, while I nodded along.

After dinner, and a few sitcom episodes with Dad, I headed upstairs to finish my homework, slipping on the headphones to play Anchorage's playlist of rap and metal. At the same time, I checked the map of the city I'd tacked to the wall above my desk, where I'd marked out in a coded pattern where I'd be going tonight, as soon as I'd finished the last pieces of the costume.

Rationally, I knew that I should double-check the armour first, put together some simple weapons, and wait a little longer for the fear of Butcher's return to die down before I made my debut in costume, but by this point I was as wound up as one of Tock Tick's springs, as much from my own wish to get out and actually do something as the second-hand tension bleeding through from the Butchers.

The gangs were starting to lose their fear too- my time away was now a week longer than any previous Butcher had managed to resist, and plenty were by now certain that Butcher 15 was either dead or no longer in the city. What I'd read on PHO and overheard on my scavenging missions, filtered through Bearskin's recollections and Tactical's Thinker power, suggested that the Empire was gearing up to push the headless Teeth out of the city.

As much as I wanted to jump into the middle of that, taking out members of the Teeth and the Empire both, I didn't want to start off against the gang who were most familiar with the Butcher, or the gang with the most capes.

Instead, my target for tonight would be the Archer's Bridge Merchants. Despite the name, they hadn't held territory around Archer's Bridge for years, having been pushed out by the ABB; even the bridge itself was smashed to rubble now. Instead they mostly stuck to the Trainyards and the Boat Graveyard up in the north of the city- places filled with scrap and abandoned buildings.Despite Tactical's grumblings about how broadcasting your location in your very name was a bad idea, the Merchants had survived like cockroaches, beneath the notice of everyone else. Their main, almost sole, source of income was drugs, and they weren't smart enough to avoid sampling their own product. Plus, the only territory they could really hold was the abandoned industrial spaces in the Docks.

"This'll work out well for us then," Tactical mused., more cheerfully. The others turned their attention on him, Nemean speaking first.

"How's this help us?"

"Less civilians around, no occupied buildings; that means we won't have to worry about collateral damage?"

"Are you out your gourd?" Dirty Rotter said incredulously. "Since when have we ever given two wet shits about collateral damage?"

Tactical rolled his eyes, or at least the mental equivalent of that. "Never, but Taylor does. She'll be able to cut loose this way. And before you try to act like you don't care how she does things, I know you're all as bored as I am with the lack of action."

There was a pause, the kind you get when everybody's thinking the same thing but nobody wants to admit it. Firecracker broke it first with her customary lack of patience.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," She groaned. "Fine, it's true, we're al bored as shit. Hey four-eyes," she directed at me, "Promise me you'll break some bones tonight, if you're not gonna use the coolest power you've got."

"Yeah, how about no?" I fired back, splitting my attention between the conversation, the math sheet I was filling out, and the spiders I had running around in my little alcove. I took a moment to scribble a note on a scrap of paper- cut tunnel frm chute to loom, no need send thru bsmnt- before I filled in the next problem.

Firecracker booed. "You're no fun."

"C'mon, they're a bunch of druggie losers," Bearskin wheedled. I didn't even know he knew how to do that. "They're probably getting kids hooked on crack- you're doing the world a favour by smashing them into the dirt."

I shoved him back a bit as a warning. "If any of you try to talk me into hurting people unnecessarily again, you can join Butcher," I indicated the space where Butcher was thrashing and ranting impotently, too muffled to make out his words, "And I won't let you up until the morning."

That shut them all up quickly, and I managed to finish the sheet in relative peace.

Four hours later, Dad had turned in for the night. I gave it a little longer to make sure he wasn't going to get up before I crept down to the basement again.

The loom had finished the last of the undersuit- a mask, long-sleeved top, leggings and gloves- and half an hour of Tinkering finished off the left gauntlet, plus some tweaks to the neck plates that I'd had an idea for during lunch.

I quickly changed into the undersuit, keeping my eyes closed the whole time. The constant presence of the Butchers was most awkward at times like this- the only thing worse was when I needed the bathroom; awkward didn't begin to cover it.

The silk all fitted well, even the gloves, which had been the hardest to make. I put the mask on last, once I'd pinned my hair up into a tight bun. I'd had to shape the mask and the helmet specially to allow for it, but as much as I would have liked to leave my hair hanging loose, I needed to conceal as much detail about myself as possible. I fiddled with the lenses a bit to make sure they fit over my eyes right- I'd pulled them from a pair of swimming goggles, mirrored prescription lenses that turned my eyes into wide mirrors.

Once the undersuit was fully on, I started on the armour. First the segmented breastplate; I flexed as I locked it into place, to get the supports around my ribs and along my spine properly aligned, so the armour would follow my movements exactly.

The legs went on next, thighs and calves, plus the boots that encased the trainers I was already wearing. Then the arms, from shoulder to elbow, and then the gauntlets locking onto there. I flexed and wriggled my fingers to make sure I had full range of motion, then picked up a screwdriver off the bench and tossed it from hand to hand. The silicone grips I'd added to the fingertips and palms worked well- just plain metal wouldn't have had much traction.

Tock Tick kept dreaming up ideas for improvements and advancements as I flicked my wrist and twitched my fingers a certain way. The panel on top of the left gauntlet split open and aside, and the grappling hook assembly I'd built in moved up and out. It looked like two crossbows, stripped down and compressed, then stuck on back to back, with reels of cord in the middle.

I retracted it with another gesture, and checked the right assembly before I came to the final piece. The full-face helmet, in two pieces right now, with only a thin slit for the eyes and a grid of holes in the jaw guard as any kind of opening.

I slipped the main part on over my scalp, attaching the clasps under the ears and the nape to the overlapping plates covering the neck, and then the jawguard, locking it on with a J-shaped motion. I took a breath, feeling the pull of air through the outer openings and the filter I'd assembled inside, then let it out- the sound was deeper, with a metallic echo to it.

I spent a couple of minutes flexing my arms, lifting my legs, rolling my shoulders and twisting my neck to make sure all the joints worked. As they all checked out, I advanced to walking around, then a bit of shadowboxing. The armour followed my every movement almost soundlessly, nothing but a slight whisper of steel to be heard. I even turned a cartwheel for the first time in years, feeling light as a feather.

Finally, I grabbed a chunk of steel off the shelf and held it up. Stoneknapper's power flattened it out, smoothed it to a mirror shine, until I could see myself in it.

What I saw was a slim figure in dull grey armour, silvery eyes peeping out from the visor. Every square inch was covered by overlapping plates. There were raised ridges along the bracers and greaves, and a crest along the top of the helmet. A belt full of useful bits and pieces was slung around the waist.

"Coulda maybe done something with the chest," Firecracker said slyly. It took me a moment to realise she was making yet another joke about my lack of bust. Unfortunately, she did have a point- with the armour making my shoulders wider and hiding everything feminine about my figure, I could probably be mistaken for a boy very easily.

I shook it out of my head- I could always tweak it later, but for now I just wanted to get out and use my powers more freely. I put the steel back on the shelf, sealed the door shut, and made for the stairs.

"Uh, are you just going to go out in costume like that?" Tock Tick asked. I paused at the foot of the stairs, unsure what he meant. Quarrel snickered, apparently at my expense, but didn't say anything.

"He means you shouldn't be seen in costume near your house," Muramasa explained impatiently. I looked at my armour again. The armour that I'd been planning on walking up the stairs, out the door and down the street in. I hung my head in realisation at my glaring oversight.

"Fuck."

Ever since I'd woken up in the hospital with voices raging in my head, and heard from a gossipy nurse how Butcher had died, these moments were the closest I'd come to being alone.