Taylor

Frost 1.2

It was cold, when Taylor woke up.

For a moment, she was back on the bloodstained snow in the graveyard.

But no, the house was just drafty and she had misplaced her blanket at some point during the night.

Her dreams had been… strange.

Was it like this for all capes? Did Alexandria packages dream of flying?

The blood sang for her, even though she knew that it should horrify her. Especially after the-

Nope, not thinking about it.

Taylor pulled herself out of bed and stretched, enjoying the quiet vigor flowing through her veins.

She grabbed fresh clothes for the day and took another shower. It might have just been in her head, but even after her late night return the acid still prickled at her skin.

The reflection in the mirror caught her attention.

Emma's words about her appearance had always hurt, but it wasn't exactly anything she hadn't already known. It was obvious, every time she looked at herself.

Thin, gangly limbs and boney joints. Ill-proportioned, and somehow also soft in all the wrong places. Not pretty enough to be worth looking at, not striking enough to be unique, and not strong enough to make up for it.

She didn't really know what was so different, now. Objectively, her body hadn't actually changed.

But there was something…

Something about her wiry, corded arms felt dangerous, now that she could feel the strength in her long fingers. Her legs didn't look out of place, when she remembered rocketing over the moonlit snow.

Her eyes were hard and resolved, under her curtain of midnight curls. She had always thought that brown was such a boring color, but now her irises looked close enough to black that it was hard to tell where the pupil ended, like piercing onyx.

Maybe it was all in her head. What did any of it matter, when she had already died?

She pulled the white button-down over her boney shoulders. The image solidified, as she slid the buttons into place and fixed the collar.

Taylor didn't know why she grabbed this outfit, in particular. Didn't even remember when she got it. It was a departure from her normal style, but Emma would never ruin her clothes again. Would never cut her with poisoned words. They wouldn't pull her strings, anymore.

Black slacks, and suspenders. Shirt cuffs rolled up to expose sinewy forearms and wrists, fingers longing to rest on the trigger.

She really needed to get some supplies. The urges were getting more persistent.

Her new hat completed the ensemble.

Mysterious notes aside, she liked the look. It was different, and it was new. She hadn't liked herself, before, but maybe she could find it in her to like this version.

Taylor Hebert was dead. It was fitting that her vices should die with her.

She could already hear activity downstairs. At least it just sounded like her dad was making breakfast, rather than organizing an inquisition.

Her feet were light on the stairs, the unconscious dexterity already bringing a smile to her face.

"Morning, Dad," she said. The kitchen smelled strongly of bacon. Grease popped and crackled on the stove.

Danny looked over at her, and for a brief moment the starving stare was back before he smiled.

"Morning, Taylor," he said.

She started the water boiling for tea.

"I took the day off," her father said, pushing the bacon around in the pan without looking at her. "I thought you might want some help getting things set up for your… lab? Lair?"

Maybe her untimely demise and subsequent resurrection had been enough to shock him out of his stupor. He hadn't been this animated in years. She could only hope that it lasted.

"I do have some… ideas," she said. "I'm not sure how much of what I need can be bought at Walmart, though."

Danny hummed in agreement as he moved the bacon onto a plate lined with paper towels.

He seemed to be caught somewhere between wanting to stare at her constantly and trying to avoid her gaze.

"That's a new look," he said, eyes flicking over to her before jumping back to his coffee.

"I thought it was time for a change. Besides, it matches my new hat," Taylor grinned.

"I forgot about that, last night," Danny said, moving over to the spindly table. "Where'd you get the hat? It's not a bad look, just… different."

"Would you believe that someone left it by my grave? It felt appropriate," Taylor said.

Danny raised his eyebrows.

"That's… odd. I wonder who visited you. No one else," he looked away for a moment before forcing himself to continue, "...no one else came to the funeral."

Unsurprising.

"I wondered where Emma was, but… I guess it makes sense that she didn't show, after what she did," Danny said.

Taylor thought that Emma would come just to spit on her grave. Maybe she had waited until later.

"It had this note in it too. Fell out right as I was about to throw it away," Taylor said, handing over the cryptic message.

Her dad just stared at it for a while as he chewed.

"This is weird, kiddo."

"Weirder than coming back from the dead?"

"I'll admit, that one's hard to top," he said with a small smile. "Brussels sprouts and chocolate, though."Her mom used to say that, that brussels sprouts tasting terrible had no effect on the taste of chocolate. According to her, it was a logical fallacy to think that bad times are required to appreciate the good.

Or, in this case, extreme death weirdness didn't make cryptic hat messages any less weird.

It was good, that he remembered. He hadn't said anything like that in a long time.

They ate in silence, for a while. Danny drank his coffee, and she sipped her tea.

"I need a lot of glass. Different sizes of beakers, and bottles. Vials. And tubing. And a hot plate," she said eventually.

"I think we have a camp stove?" Danny said.

"Do they sell needles at the drugstore?"

"I think you probably need a prescription, but I can ask. Worst case scenario, they think I'm a Merchant," her father said dryly.

"Not funny. I also need saws. A lot of saws."

"I'm not even going to ask."

…

It was ironic that her cape career was being funded by insurance fraud.

Her father had some kind of family life insurance plan through his job, and it turns out that teenagers don't actually die very often, so the payout was decent.

Silver linings.

Taylor stayed in the truck with her hat shading her eyes. It was generally a good idea for dead people to avoid security cameras. Especially dead Tinkers who didn't want to draw the attention of the gangs or the PRT.

The details were a bit fuzzy, but everyone who paid attention to cape culture knew that Tinkers were highly valued, and easy to snap up if they weren't careful. Even with her supernatural speed, she didn't want to tip her hat too early.

It isn't paranoia if they're actually out to get you.

The truck door opened as Danny returned from yet another hardware store. Dirty, half-melted snow still lined the streets despite the sunshine.

Her father had agreed with the necessity of going to multiple stores in different parts of town. He had shaken his head a bit at the idea of wearing different coats into each store, but he had gone along with it. He was less enthusiastic about parking a few blocks away, in areas where there weren't any security cameras.

Overall, though, he had been a pretty good sport about the whole thing.

"Did I miss anything exciting?" He asked as they pulled back into traffic.

"Yeah, I got in a bar fight with Hookwolf. It was great, you should've been there."

He didn't laugh, but he did the thing where people exhale a bit sharper than usual through their nose. Progress.

"What's next on the agenda, hero?"

She wasn't actually sure if she was a hero, really. Something to work out later.

"Maybe a department store? I need a coat for my costume. Something at least to my thighs, with a split up the back for when I need to run. And some boots. And gloves," Taylor said.

They had managed to get pretty much everything else, except for the actual needles. It turns out, those do actually require a prescription, which was… inconvenient.

"Sure. Do you want to come in or should I guestimate the sizes?" Danny asked.

"I'm sure you'll do great on your own. Tell them it's a birthday present or something, and if it doesn't fit we'll return it. Oh, get me a scarf too," she said. "Please."

He rolled his eyes but left to brave the wilds of Kohl's solo.

…

Taylor surveyed their haul, arrayed on the solid wooden workbench in the basement.

All in all, she was pretty pleased with what they had managed to find.

A surprising variety of glassware from different craft and home goods stores. All manner of hand tools and materials from home improvement stores. Metal and rubber piping, tubing, saws with different shaped handles, screws and nuts and bolts a plenty.

They even sold Bunsen burners at Walmart. What a time to be alive.

And the best part was that nothing about any of this screamed 'Tinker'. It was old fashioned, gristly work. Not graceful and efficient electronics, but blood and oil and steel.

She was so excited. And nervous.

Without the needles, her options were limited. She needed blood for the majority of the designs in her head, in quantities that she wasn't comfortable trying to gather by cutting herself.

It was morbidly hilarious, that when she had been bullied and depressed she had never harmed herself, but now that she was free, she was debating the best way to spill her own blood.

Of course she couldn't get a normal power, like flying or laser beams. No, of course she had to get the power two steps to the left of fucking Bonesaw.

Still, it beat being dead. Mostly.

Her first order of business was the most practical, but it was also something she dreaded.

She needed to be able to die. She couldn't risk anyone finding out her secret and neutralizing her before she could slip into the dark. Immortals weren't actually all that difficult to deal with, once you knew what to look for. Bury them in concrete, chop off all their limbs and hook them up to a nutrient and sedative drip, etc, etc.

It occurred to her that normal people probably didn't think about this stuff, but her enemies wouldn't be normal.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on the perspective) her powers offered a fairly easy answer to the death issue.

It just wasn't pleasant.

With a sigh, Taylor tied her hair back, grabbed a length of steel wire and some pliers, and began to work.

…

The flame of the Bunsen burner cast an eerie light over the basement.

The metal wire glowed brilliant orange in the fire, the tongs keeping her hands away from the heat.

Taylor carefully maneuvered the cool part of the wire into a vice, so it could continue to heat while she prepared the blood quench.

It sounded more clinical than what it actually entailed.

Maybe I should wait until I get some needles.

No, it needed to happen now or she would lose her nerve. A bit of pain, for absolute security.

She raised her scalpel. It was surprising, what you could buy at craft stores. Clay sculpting tools worked just as well on flesh.

The sterile blade parted the skin on the back of her forearm with ease, and she hissed at the burn as the crimson ichor flowed into the shallow dish she prepared.

Just a little sting, in the grand scheme of things. She didn't actually need much.

When the dish had a decent layer on the bottom, she bandaged the wound tightly. No reason to waste any extra blood.

Her eyes returned to the fiery wire.

Several strands bent together to make the brand. A single long, vertical slash, with two branches angled back on themselves forming a diamond at the bottom. A dangling, upside-down rune.

To awaken fresh, as if it were all just a bad dream.

Her breath came in sharp pants. She put a piece of leather between her teeth.

There would be no going back, after this.

She released the white hot brand from the vice.

The metal was warm under her fingers, even through her gloves. Even so far from the fire.

She quenched the brand in her blood, the crimson deep hissing on contact with the burning metal.

The symbol of a Hunter, etched into one's own mind.

It was still more than hot enough, when she removed it.

She held it up, eyes fixed on the black-red crusted steel.

Taylor Hebert is dead.

Her breath hitched.

I am a Hunter.

Her mind flashed unbidden to the bloody metal box that was her crucible.

And I will never be chained again.

She pressed the bloody, burning metal into the skin of her forehead, just over her right eye.

The sound of her flesh sizzling under the cleansing fire was both horrifying and beautiful in equal measure. She felt the ethereal rune carve itself into her mind, like an axe to the frontal lobe.

Pain lanced through her, jumping from the brand down her spine, tearing at the nerves down to her fingers and toes before bouncing back up and crashing into her brain like wildfire.

She barely heard the clang of metal on concrete as she dropped the brand, falling to one knee as she tried to stay afloat amid the ocean of agony. Overhead, the moon hung full and bright, but blood-red instead of peaceful silver.

Hands gripped her shoulders and she just barely managed to resist the automatic urge to rip out her assailant's spine.

It was only then that she realized that the horrible keening noise was coming from her own throat.

"-lor! Taylor! What's going on? What happened? Can you hear me?" Her father's frantic voice dragged her out of the bloody nightmares.

The wailing cut off and she gasped for air, one hand braced on the basement floor beneath her. Her hair had come free from the tie at some point, falling around her face in a midnight curtain.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," she rasped, her voice dry and torn from the screaming. She pushed her hair back from her face, careful to keep both her hands and her hair from touching the raw, bloody mark on her forehead.

She looked up at her father and his eyes widened dramatically.

"You… you…" he stammered, reaching out halfway between them before stopping himself from touching her face.

Probably a good idea. Everything hurt, right now.

"It was necessary," she said, iron resolve curling in her gut.

"Why?" He whispered.

"To make me free, forever," she said, rising to her feet in front of him. "As long as this mark is etched into my mind, I will always have the choice to die, and awake anew. I will never be held against my will, ever again."

Her father took several deep breaths while she waited for him to calm himself.

"It's a bit… obvious…" he said eventually. "You couldn't have put it anywhere else?"

"No."

"Okay. Okay," he said, centering himself again. "Well, it's not ideal for a secret identity…"

"My hat will cover it," she said.

"I guess…" he still seemed unsure.

It was quiet, for a while.

"Can I go get an ice pack, now?" She asked with a crooked grin. "This really hurts."

It did. Not the all-consuming agony and bestial hunger that burned within her before, but the more mundane pain that came along with shoving hot metal against one's face.

"Yeah, yeah, go," he said, backing up as she headed for the stairs.

Hopefully this wouldn't dampen her dad's enthusiasm for helping her with her tinkering. It wasn't like she planned on mutilating herself like this again.

For now, at least.

…

Brockton Bay looked less broken, from up here.

Taylor crouched on top of the railing that ran around the roof of Brockton General Hospital. One of the underappreciated benefits of superpowers was definitely brooding on rooftops.

Currently, Taylor was brooding over the moral conundrum of robbing a hospital for the greater good.

The greater good, in this case, being her ability to Tinker.

It was, unquestionably, a bad thing to do. Even if she eventually used her equipment to help people.

But she did really want some high quality equipment. Not just needles, but titration and distillation equipment, centrifuges, blood.

She really needed the blood.

Which also begged the question: was it more morally dubious to steal donated blood from a hospital, or take it under duress from the source?

It was probably fine, as long as her victims were Nazis. But she didn't want to provoke the Empire until after she had some gear. It was an irritating catch-22.

Hence, the brooding.

"That hat makes you look like a hipster," a sarcastic voice behind her said suddenly.

Taylor almost fell off the roof.

It turns out, her supernatural perception only worked if she was actually looking at something, or if it was an active threat to her. Good to know.

She regained her balance and looked over at her unexpected company.

Holy shit, that's Panacea.

The red and white robed hero was standing about fifteen feet behind her, in the process of lighting a cigarette.

Huh.

And she had insulted Taylor's hat. Rude.

A year ago, an insult like that might have set her gut churning, but now…

After everything Emma did, after dying…

It just… didn't matter, as much as it used to. Besides, it wasn't like Taylor had chosen the hat for herself. The hat chose her.

"Nice to meet you, too," Taylor said, not moving from her crouch on the railing. It was easy for her to keep her balance, now.

"Sure," Panacea said.

They stared at each other across the rooftop for a long moment.

"So… what'cha doin'?" Panacea finally asked. Her sarcasm hadn't decreased a bit. It might have been her default setting.

"Casing the joint," Taylor said, honestly.

"Sounds pretty villainous," Panacea said. "I thought it was against the rules to rob hospitals."

"I'm not a villain," Taylor said, although she was becoming less sure by the day. Blood Tinkering didn't exactly lend itself to heroics.

She couldn't really see Panacea's face under her hood, but she got the feeling that she was raising her eyebrows.

"It doesn't get much more villainous than stealing from sick people," Panacea said.

"I don't suppose you could just go grab me some needles, then? Oh, and some blood, too, while you're at it," Taylor said dryly. She didn't know where she was getting all this confidence. Maybe it was the mask. It was easier to be straightforward, when she wasn't herself.

"Wait, wait, needles, blood? What?" Panacea said, wandering closer despite herself. "Are you trying to get high or something?"

"No," Taylor said. She debated how much to tell this stranger, this hero. It would probably get out soon, anyway, but she wanted to have her lab set up and established first.

"Why, then?"

"Hand over some blood and I'll tell you," Taylor said, grinning behind her scarf.

"Fucking vampire. I could give you cancer, you know," Panacea said.

"Do it, coward."

Panacea coughed out a grudging laugh at that.

"You could just rob Medhall. They probably have better security, but they're bloodsucking private-insurance-only types. You'll get along great. Or, you could just, I don't know, not rob a fucking hospital," Panacea said.

Taylor pursed her lips and hummed thoughtfully.

"Do you know anywhere else I could get some medical equipment? I don't really need the blood, I guess," Taylor said.

"I could just call the PRT," Panacea said.

"How do you know I'm even a cape?" Taylor asked, mainly just to keep her talking. She had a nice voice, under all the acid.

"You're hunkered dramatically on a rooftop. That is guaranteed cape behavior. No one in their right mind would do that."

That was a good point.

"Okay, you got me there. But what would you even tell them? That you talked to a weirdo with a cool hat on a roof and they said they were totally going to steal from the hospital?" Taylor said.

"I take personal offense to the 'cool hat' part. It's not cool, and I would never say it was," Panacea said, but Taylor could see her lips curling up despite her best efforts.

"It's pretty cool."

"It's really not."

"It's not my fault you have no taste," Taylor's grin widened behind her scarf.

"Oh, fuck you," Panacea said, and Taylor laughed.

"I'm sorry, did you say 'you win'?"

"That's it, I'm calling the cops."

"Bring it on, hero," Taylor said.

Neither of them moved, though.

Panacea took another drag of her cigarette.

Taylor's brand itched under the bandage, which was under her hat, so she couldn't scratch it. Annoying.

"For real, do you know where I can get needles and basic medical equipment, IV bags, and whatnot? It's not for villain stuff, I promise," Taylor said. She wasn't even lying… mostly.

Was stalking Emma and Sophia villainous? They deserved it.

Panacea just looked at her for a while.

"Fuck it," the hero finally said, flicking the remains of her cigarette onto the roof and walking away.

Oh well.

It was fun while it lasted.

Taylor leaned back and let her hair fall behind her, face turned up to the night sky.

The moon wasn't full, anymore, but it was close. The silver light was soothing.

A door slammed on the other side of the rooftop, and she reached up quickly to make sure that her scarf was still in place.

Panacea was back?

"You're lucky I'm in a shitty mood and feel like doing some teenage rebellion. I figure this is better than robbing liquor stores," Panacea said, holding out a bulging plastic bag.

Well… shit.

"Um… thanks?" Taylor said, taking the care package. She wasn't sure what else to say. What exactly was the expected platitude when the world's foremost parahuman healer steals medical supplies on one's behalf?

"Fair warning, I might feel guilty tomorrow and tell the PRT," Panacea said.

"I mean, I'd prefer if you didn't, but I can't exactly stop you," Taylor shrugged.

Panacea lit another cigarette.

Taylor couldn't help herself.

"You know those give you cancer," she said.

"Fuck you."

Taylor laughed.

"Shut up and take your ill-gotten gains before I change my mind," Panacea snapped.

"Sure thing, doc."

She couldn't see under the hood, but Taylor hoped the healer was rolling her eyes.

Taylor stood on the railing and turned to leave.

"Wait," Panacea's voice was still sharp, but it sounded a bit forced. "What's your name, vampire girl?"

Taylor hadn't really thought about it, but only one name sprung to mind.

"Hunter," she said.

Panacea snorted.

"That has to be taken already. There's no way just plain Hunter is available."

"Don't care."

"The PRT will make up something stupid instead," Panacea warned.

"It will be funny to see what they come up with. Let their PR department do the legwork," Taylor said.

"Most capes care about that kind of thing," Panacea said.

"I'm not most capes."

"Whatever you say, drama queen."

Taylor laughed again.

"I thought you were leaving," Panacea said, gray smoke coiling around her red-trimmed hood.

"I was, you're the one who-"

"Shut up."

"Fine, fine, I'm going," Taylor shook her head. "See you around, Panacea."

"I hope not," the healer said, although Taylor was reasonably sure that she didn't mean it.

She was tempted to see how long Panacea would keep trying to have the last word, but the robed healer had just stolen medical supplies for her. She deserved the small amount of satisfaction.

A soaring leap carried her to one of the hospital's lower roofs, and then she was running, under the stars.

...

A/N: I didn't start this chapter planning to write ritual self-branding, but sometimes these things just write themselves. Lots of fun. Stay tuned for some actual blood tinkering, and our sort-of hero's debut. Feedback and criticism is welcome and encouraged. I don't own Worm or Bloodborne. Don't pester the Old Blood.

Also, in case it wasn't obvious, the brand is the Hunter's Mark, for reference.