2.3

Massacre 2.2

The slacks could probably be salvaged, and her coat.

And the hat, of course.

Her shirt was a lost cause, though.

Taylor stared into the bathroom mirror.

Her hair was disheveled and sweaty, wild after being let loose from the tie. Her shirt was a bloody pile of shredded fabric in the sink.

The right side of her chest was a mess of angry red lines spider-webbing from a ragged circle, the impact point of Victor's sniper shot. Her left shoulder was peppered with irregular scars, evidence of her rushed arrogance in the heat of the hunt.

Her eyes were bright, burning under her loose curls as she gripped the sink hard enough to risk the porcelain. Her mark stood out stark on her forehead, just peeking between the matted strands.

She had never felt so alive.

Part of her knew it was wrong. Victor's broken body was in a bag in the basement. A total of twelve men, ripped to bloody pieces by her saw and pistol and bare hands.

She should feel something, about that. Sorry, maybe, or sad. But all she felt was satisfaction, and a mild irritation at so much wasted blood.

It was too late to second guess herself now.

The sound of the shower turning on seemed too loud, in the quiet.

The hot water ran red and her hair hung heavy against her back as the evidence of her hunt was washed away.

…

"Morning, Taylor, I'm heading- Jesus Christ!"

In hindsight, she should have broached the topic to her father more gently. This was not the ideal way for him to find out about her activities.

Taylor looked up from where she was carefully arranging the necessary tubes and receptacles to harvest Victor's blood. In addition to the blood flowing from his veins, she put a plastic tub under him to catch the drips.

Hanging the corpse from the ceiling had been necessary, but she knew that it lent a macabre vibe to the entire affair.

His separated legs and arm were easier to manage, each draining into their own pans.

"Don't worry, he was a Nazi," Taylor said.

"That… you…" her father gripped the banister with white knuckles. "You killed him."

"Yes. This was Victor, one of the Empire's capes," Taylor said.

"You killed him."

"He probably wouldn't have agreed to give me all of his blood if I asked nicely," Taylor frowned.

"No, no, Taylor, we need… we need…" Danny trailed off, seeming unsure of what to say next.

Taylor understood. It was one thing for him to know that his daughter was a blood Tinker. It was quite another to see the work in progress.

Plus, she hadn't actually talked to him about her plans. Maybe she should have.

"I told you that I was going to-"

"You didn't tell me you were going to kill people!" Her father yelled, cutting her off.

"They killed me! Who cares if some of the scum of the earth dies with me," Taylor slammed her hand down on the workbench and the glassware clinked ominously.

"I care! And not because they died, but because you're the one who killed them," Danny ranted. "You can't just… it's not…"

"If not me, then who? He's a fucking Nazi! Who knows how many countless lives he and his gang have ruined? At least this way, his death is useful," Taylor said, gesturing at pieces of Victor scattered around the lab.

"That doesn't make it better! You can't justify murder just because you want blood for your experiments!" He exclaimed.

"We'll have to agree to disagree, because I'm justifying it just fine," Taylor said.

"Taylor-"

"No, Dad, I know. I know it's gruesome, and horrible. But I need to figure out the designs in my head. I need to understand my dreams. And this is the only way. I'm limiting myself to hunting monsters, beasts, like the Empire and the ABB. Isn't that enough?" She was shouting by the end.

"I just… it's…" Danny closed his eyes and clenched his fists, taking several deep breaths as the silence stretched between them.

"I don't want this for you, Taylor… you shouldn't have to do any of this," he said eventually.

"I shouldn't have died either," she said coldly. "But it still happened."

It was a low blow, but she wasn't going to stop on his account.

His lips thinned, but he nodded. His eyes kept getting drawn back to the hanging corpse.

"Is he the only one?" He asked sadly.

"No."

"How many?"

"Twelve."

His breath hitched again.

"I'm worried about you, Taylor," he sighed.

Now, it was her turn to nod.

"I'm… I'm a bit worried about me, too," she said.

"Can we talk more when I get home?" he asked warily.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think that's okay," Taylor said.

Her father turned and started back up the stairs.

He glanced down at her over his shoulder.

"No running away?" Danny said softly.

Taylor cracked a grin.

"No calling the PRT," she said.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay," she replied.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Taylor turned back to her project. The blood continued to drain and fill her various beakers and buckets.

"I think he'll come around, don't you, Victor?" she asked idly while she worked.

The corpse didn't answer. Obviously.

She would be even more worried if it had.

…

It took a while, to fully drain, process, and catalogue the body.

Taylor didn't know for sure if every part would be useful to her, but her power was a bit vague on the details in regards to future projects.

So she saved… most of him.

The basement took on an even more disturbing atmosphere, with the jars of preserved organs lining the walls.

Her focus, though, was on the blood.

It dripped, concentrated and twisted by her devices, into the waiting vial.

This concoction was a sizable investment. Almost half of the parahuman blood she had collected, into this single vial.

She hoped that it would be worth it. Her power didn't tell her everything.

It should enhance her. Enlighten her. Bring her that much closer to realizing her goals. Unlock and clarify more complex designs, like a trade, as her humanity slipped.

In theory.

A sharp click sounded over the quiet and the drips as Taylor slid the vial home in her injector.

She tugged her shirt back, exposing the lattice of scars on her chest.

It felt fitting, for some reason.

Before she could lose her nerve, Taylor slammed the injector into her heart, driving the concentrated ichor through her bloodstream.

Silver stars exploded behind her eyes and she gasped as the tempered blood coursed through her. It burned with every stuttering heartbeat, becoming part of her.

Her mind expanded, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Our eyes are yet to open.

She could feel something, on the very edge of her awareness. Something unknowable, and alien.

Taylor slumped forward into the workbench, barely catching herself on the edge. Her injector clattered to the floor, the empty vial shattering against the concrete. Her breath came in sharp pants between clenched teeth.

Eventually, slowly but surely, the shudders began to subside.

Breathing became easier. The knot in her stomach loosened.

It was difficult to parse the sensations sparking within her mind, but she was finally able to begin to pick apart the strange experience.

She could feel pieces of her that hadn't been present before. Just the barest hints of a remembrance, a ghost that left bits and pieces of lessons behind without the actual memories that learned them.

Martial arts. Firearms. PRT procedures. Espionage.

Cordon Bleu cooking?

It may have been a shadow of what Victor had, but it was far better than nothing.

Additionally, the unholy designs and ministrations that danced behind her eyes were clearer, some of the fog starting to drift away.

Her power wanted to be used.

Taylor opened her eyes and looked around the dim room.

I'm going to need a bigger workshop.

Maybe her dad would be less concerned about her tinkering if it wasn't happening in his basement?

Her eyes fell on the remaining supply of Victor's blood.

The process to induce crystallization was lengthy, and she didn't have all of the necessary equipment yet.

I wonder if Panacea would steal a centrifuge for me?

Probably not.

She could ask, though. At the very least, the healer might know where to buy one.

Or steal one from someone who wouldn't miss it. She had mentioned Medhall, last time.

That's an idea.

Taylor returned to her work as her plan started to take shape.

She would still make a trip to visit Panacea, though. She was fun to talk to.

…

Taylor hummed while she worked. Things didn't seem as worrying, with the evening sun filtering through the blinds.

The front door opened and she heard the floorboards creak as her father made his way down the hall.

"Hey, Taylor," he said, surprise coloring his tone. "That smells really good. Did your powers come with a cooking component?"

Taylor laughed while he turned to hang his coat up. He was more right than he knew.

"Actually, yes, in a way," she smiled and stirred the sauce currently simmering on the stove. "Although I resent the implication."

He smiled back for a moment before his expression dropped.

"Is our… um… guest… still downstairs," he asked hesitantly.

"Some of him. Just the useful bits. I got rid of the rest," Taylor said casually.

"Do I even want to know?" Danny pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Probably not," Taylor admitted.

"Okay."

He sat down at the table and ran a hand over his face.

"Okay. Just… warn me next time, please? I'd rather talk about it before I find bodies hanging from the ceiling. Even if it's necessary… sometimes," he said.

That was pretty reasonable, all things considered.

"I've been thinking about trying to find a bigger lab," Taylor said, then hurried to continue when her father's eyes snapped over to her. "Not leaving, I promise, I just might need more space. I want to build a forge, and the basement isn't exactly a great place for it. Ventilation, and whatnot."

Danny raised an eyebrow.

"A forge?" he said.

"Yeah. To make bigger and better weapons. Plus, it will make it easier to make some of my own equipment," Taylor said as she checked the progress of the tenderloin in the oven.

"You're making weapons? I thought that blood was your thing."

"I can have multiple things," Taylor grinned. "But yeah, I made my weapons, too. How do you think I took care of our… guest?"

"I've been trying my best not to think about it, thanks for asking," her father said wryly.

"Well, so far I've just made my saw cleaver, and my pistol," Taylor continued.

"You made a gun? Also… a saw… you know what, I actually don't want to know," Danny shook his head.

Taylor chuckled while she got their plates ready.

"Anything exciting at work?" She asked, mainly just to keep him talking. She didn't want him to retreat back into his shell, or start freaking out about her murder spree.

"Now that you mention it, everyone was gossiping about a terrible cape brawl near downtown," Her father shot her a look. "Apparently, it looked like a wild animal ripped a bunch of Empire guys to pieces."

"Weird," Taylor said, mimicking his mild tone. "Couldn't have happened to better people."

"I know I'm going to regret this, but you didn't leave any evidence behind, did you?" Danny asked.

Taylor shrugged.

"I wore gloves, and my bullets are made of my own blood-"

"I'm sorry, what-"

"-so the only thing I left behind was one of my blood bags," Taylor continued despite the interruption. "And a bunch of my blood, I guess."

Her father just stared at her across the table.

"Why… a bunch of your blood?" He asked warily.

"I got shot a few times," Taylor said as she chewed her roast beef.

"You got-"

"It's fine, I fixed it. It barely even scarred."

That part was a lie, but he didn't need to know that. Besides, she liked the scars.

He didn't seem to know what to say. That was better than yelling, at least.

"Speaking of which, I need a couple new shirts. Because, you know, bullet holes."

Danny sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot, recently.

…

Amy rummaged through the fridge for something quick and easy to throw together before her evening shift at the hospital.

It was always hit or miss. Some days, Carol was big into the whole 'we eat dinner as a family' idea, and others it would be takeout for weeks at a time. Not that she would ever acknowledge the inconsistency. That would require a smidge of self-reflection, which was not in Carol's vocabulary.

Whole wheat bread, which didn't even belong in the fridge, and an entire head of broccoli. Joy.

Maybe Vicky would be willing to stop for fast food on the way.

"...Sarah's worried. A new arrival or trigger murdered eleven Empire members downtown, and…"

Carol's words drifted in from the living room, catching Amy's attention as she closed the fridge.

She wandered closer to the open archway leading into the next room, hoping to hear more without Carol noticing her.

"...according to the report, the victims were violently maimed, premortem. The PRT is assuming parahuman involvement, given the nature of the injuries," Carol continued. "They're still processing all the evidence, but apparently the perpetrator left a generic blood donation bag hooked up to one of the victims? Unusual…"

Amy backed away as ice ran through her.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

Was Hunter… hunting Nazis?

It shouldn't be a surprise, in hindsight. Despite her playful demeanor, the hat girl was entirely too confident.

She was dangerous.

And a villain, to boot. She promised Amy that the equipment wasn't for villainous activity, and then she goes on a killing spree?

Amy ground her teeth as she made her way quickly upstairs. She didn't want to talk to Carol right now.

Not that that was an unusual occurrence. It wasn't like she ever really wanted to talk to Carol.

There was one person she wanted to talk to right now, even though she shouldn't.

Well, two people. As usual.

Why did shit like this always happen to her?

She could barely make it through a normal conversation with her favorite person without her pervasive obsession raising its ugly head.

And now the only other decently interesting distraction she had was probably a mass-fucking-murderer.

Fuck.

Amy flopped down on her unmade bed and stared at the ceiling.

She was definitely taking her breaks on the roof tonight. She needed a cigarette, or ten. And maybe, Hunter would stop by, and Amy could give her a piece of her mind. Or cancer.

Yeah. Great plan, Amy.

Shut up.

…

Taylor wandered through the Trainyards under the waning moon. It was still fairly early in the evening, so she wasn't alone in the broken streets. But no one really paid attention to a lone figure in a long coat and scarf, hat pulled low over her eyes.

Even if the coat had bullet holes in it.

She wore a dark sweater and black jeans under the tattered overcoat since she was out of white shirts and her slacks were still in the wash. Her scarf was mostly clean, although the blood splatter left irregular stains all along it.

For now, Taylor was just scoping out potential workshop locations. There were an abundance of abandoned buildings left to rot when the shipping industry dried up, but she didn't want to just pick a random shell and start working.

She needed somewhere big enough that her modifications wouldn't be immediately noticed, and sturdy enough that it wouldn't collapse on her head in a storm.

Taylor didn't want to take too long on her walk, though. She still wanted to drop by and see Panacea before the moon rose too high.

The winter wind whipped down the cracked, industrial roads. She put her hands in her pockets while she walked.

After two more turns, she smiled behind her scarf.

Set back from the road, behind a desiccated lawn covered in decaying cars, sat the remains of an abandoned hospital.

It was perfect.

I'll be back for you later.

…

Luck was on her side. A robed figure in red and white already leaned against the railing of Brockton General when she landed lightly on the rooftop.

"So… come here often?"

Okay, that was definitely lame, but Panacea had opened their last conversation by insulting her hat. This was tame by comparison.

The healer's shoulders tensed and she turned halfway towards her, frizzy curls spilling out from under her hood.

"Was it you?" Panacea asked flatly.

Straight to the point, then.

"Yes."

The silence stretched.

"You lied to me," she said.

That wasn't what Taylor was expecting her to say.

"I didn't. Not that I remember, anyway," Taylor pursed her lips behind her scarf.

Panacea scoffed and finally turned around, leaning back against the railing. The orange tip of her lit cigarette dangled between her fingers.

"You said you weren't a villain," the healer said. "You promised."

"I'm not."

"I'm pretty sure there's a pile of bodies in the morgue that would disagree," Panacea snorted.

"They were Nazis," Taylor said with a shrug, even though she knew where this was going.

"That doesn't make it okay!" Panacea hissed, taking a step forward. "We're supposed to be better than them. That's the whole fucking point!"

"We are!" Taylor said, matching her. "Kill one murderer, and the number of murderers in the world stays the same. Kill twelve murderers, and the number goes down by eleven."

"That's not how it works, and you know it!"

"Do I?" Taylor raised an eyebrow under her hat. "I find it distinctly difficult to feel bad about hunting monsters. If I had killed them while defending an innocent they were trying to murder, would it still be so wrong?"

"Don't…" Panacea's voice was low and poisonous. "Don't try to justify your own murders to me."

"Fine. Then what if their deaths could mean something, bring about something good?" Taylor said.

She hadn't intended to bring this up, but for some reason she really wanted Panacea to believe her.

Taylor held up a blood vial.

"I need blood for my work. And it's better to take it from Nazis than innocents, or donations intended for victims," Taylor said.

"What is that?" Panacea said, stepping forward again, almost involuntarily.

"A present. I figured that the world's best healer should double check my work."

Taylor held it out to her. They were close, now.

Panacea reached for it, looking up at her with her hand outstretched. Taylor caught her eyes, under the hood.

She had always thought that brown was a boring color, but she had always been wrong. The eyes under the hood were anything but boring.

Sad, and tired, but also alight with inner fire and acid. Conflicted, unresolved chocolate depths.

She was lost, for a moment.

Long enough to miss that Panacea didn't take the vial, and instead reached up her coat sleeve to grip her wrist, above the glove.

Touching her skin.

Her body froze, muscles and tendons going taught against her will.

"I should hand you over to the PRT," Panacea hissed, stepping into her until their faces were only a foot apart. "I should shut down your organs or cut off the nerves to your arms and legs so you can't hurt anyone else."

Taylor kept her stare level, burning onyx boring into unsteady chocolate.

She could still speak, despite Panacea's control over her.

"Do it, then," Taylor said lowly, steady and resolute. "Take what you want, and make no apologies."

"I can't," Panacea said, her voice strangely broken despite technically being in control of the situation. "I'm not like you."

"You could be."

They stood in silence for a long time.

"FUCK!" Panacea suddenly yelled, releasing her and turning sharply to pace across the rooftop. "Why are you like this? How can you just stand there knowing that I could melt your fucking organs? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Taylor couldn't help but smile.

"I'll tell you if you get me a centrifuge," she said.

"No! No, I'm not stealing any more shit for you, you… villainous… murdering… fuck," Panacea shouted again turning around the grip the railing with unnecessary force.

Taylor wandered over and leaned against the railing next to her. The quiet stretched.

"Did you feel the scars?" Taylor asked quietly.

Panacea glanced sideways at her with narrowed eyes.

"Sure. You enjoy carving shit into your forehead?"

"Not that scar," Taylor chuckled.

"Whatever. Yeah, you got shot, right? In the lung? I'm surprised you're walking," Panacea said.

"I got shot yesterday evening, fighting the Empire."

"So you heal quickly. Brute rating. Nothing too crazy about that," Panacea said. She pulled out another cigarette.

"I'm not a Brute. I'm a Tinker."

It took a moment, for the pieces to click. Taylor saw the moment that her eyes widened.

"Your tech… the needles… that vial…" Panacea floundered.

"Yeah," Taylor said. "My work can heal people. It can fix pretty much anything, from what I can tell. It's not perfect, and it leaves scars, but…"

"Why…" Panacea lowered her head, her face hidden by her hood and her hair. "Why couldn't you just be a hero, then? Just help people? Why all the…"

She trailed off again.

"It's not that simple."

"The fuck it is!" Panacea growled, raising her head to stare into Taylor's eyes again. "You don't get to take something like that, a power like that, and just… fucking waste it!"

The healer stormed away, pacing back and forth across the dim rooftop.

"You don't-" Taylor started.

"Shut up!" Panacea yelled. "It's not fucking fair!"

Taylor stayed silent and let her pace until she ran out of steam.

They stood facing each other, in the night. Red and white and black.

"My life is my own," Taylor said quietly. "And I'm not asking you to agree with everything I do with it."

"That's good, because I don't," Panacea said. She sounded a bit petulant, even to Taylor.

"Do you want the vial, then? I certainly won't force you to take it," Taylor said.

Panacea just glared at her for a long moment.

"Fine," she bit out, even though it seemed painful for her.

Taylor held it out to her again, and this time the healer took it without issue.

She held it up to the moonlight, and Taylor saw something spark behind her eyes.

Taylor couldn't help but smile under her scarf again. The healer's face was captivating, framed in wild curls, whether she was glaring daggers at her or staring at her work with wonder.

"Do you need to hook it up to an IV, or is a muscular injection sufficient?" Panacea said eventually.

"Either will work, but IV is probably faster. I use a custom rapid diffuser that-"

"I don't care."

Taylor laughed. So prickly.

Panacea glared at her.

"I'm still not happy about the murders. I really should tell the PRT," the healer said. "They're probably going to ask where this blood came from."

"Maybe don't tell them about it, then?" Taylor shrugged. "Again, I can't really stop you, but I'd prefer if you didn't. I want to do more research before I have the Protectorate kicking down my door."

"And by research, you mean killing people."

"Nazis and sex slavers. They barely count. But yeah, killing them, stealing all of their blood, and figuring out what interesting stuff I can do with it," Taylor said. "It'd go faster if you got me a centrifuge."

"No."

"You're no fun," Taylor grinned. She was lying, anyway. Talking to Panacea was the most fun she'd had since she came back from the dead. And for a long while before that, if she was being honest.

"You're a mass-murderer. Don't fucking push me."

"Touchy, touchy."

Panacea just groaned. That was an improvement from yelling and death threats, though.

They both stood there for a while. The wind ruffled Taylor's scarf and Panacea's robe.

"I… need to get back to work," Panacea said eventually. Grudgingly.

"I'm going to go rob Medhall," Taylor said.

"You shouldn't… you… you know what? I'm not even going to bother. Don't fucking kill any janitors, or whatever," Panacea grumbled.

Taylor's smile widened behind her scarf. She hopped up on the railing and enjoyed the chilly breeze flowing through her tattered coat.

"Tomorrow night, then?" Taylor asked.

"Fine," Panacea bit out, but she didn't actually seem all that annoyed about it.

With one last view of conflicted chocolate, Taylor let herself fall backwards and left the healer alone in the dark.

…

Massacre 2.3

Taylor crouched behind the low wall on the top level of the parking garage across the road from the main Medhall building.

This might be tougher than she originally thought.

The buildings in the nicer parts of downtown were more difficult for her to traverse. Less fire escapes and brick siding for easy scaling, and more variation between the buildings. Being able to jump one or two stories up didn't exactly help much with skyscrapers.

Additionally, the exterior of the Medhall building didn't give her much to go on. Flat sides of reflective glass, only tapering in at a level much higher than any of the surrounding buildings.

At least it didn't seem like the main building had any twenty-four-hour inpatient sections. The multi-lane drop-off area in front was empty.

Even with Victor's knowledge of breaking and entering, she couldn't really know what she would find until she got inside.

Which begged the question…

Should she go in slow and silent, or quick and loud?

Slow and silent was obviously preferable, but it might be impossible. She didn't have any means of dodging security cameras outside of skilled observation, and she doubted that a professional setup like Medhall would have very many blind spots. They would have security guards watching for suspicious activity, so she probably wouldn't remain undetected for long.

Her costume was pretty much the definition of suspicious.

Victor's knowledge hinted at methods of disguising herself, basic security uniforms or maintenance outfits.

Probably not worth it. She may be tall for her age, but anyone who looked too closely would see a teenager pretending. Plus, she didn't want to show her face.

Loud and proud it is, then.

Or, at least, as fast as possible without significant regard for stealth.

Taylor still didn't like the idea of going in blind, but she didn't exactly have a better option. They didn't do guided tours of the floors she wanted to pilfer.

Giving up on getting any additional information from watching the exterior, Taylor carefully worked her way around to the back of the tall building and dropped down into the alley between it and the bank office next door.

She already saw three different security cameras trained on the alley and maintenance entrances. It would have to be a quick visit.

The double doors at the maintenance entrance were sturdy and, predictably, locked. In one smooth movement, Taylor drew her pistol and fired.

The consecrated blood bullet put a fist sized hole where the lock used to be.

She fully expected an alarm to go off, but there was no obvious response to the ringing gunshot. Weird, but she wasn't complaining.

Taylor took off down the hall at a dead sprint. Various pipes and valves were exposed along the ceiling.

She needed to locate the research labs as quickly as possible.

I wonder if they have a map around here anywhere?

She found a staircase and took the steps three at a time, rocketing up several floors before exiting to get her bearings.

At least she was in a more professional part of the building now. Instead of exposing pipeworks, the walls were lined with generic office decorations.

Still not what she wanted.

Several turns later, she got her first stroke of luck.

A bank of elevators sat dark and silent, but beside them was a directory of different floors and departments.

Unfortunately, the labs and research areas were in the basement. Back the way she came.

Irritating.

Additionally, she could hear raised voices filtering through the network of hallways and offices.

Part of her considered just taking the elevator.

But no, that would be a stupid idea. They could just trigger the emergency stop and she'd be in even more trouble.

Back to the stairs it was, then.

Taylor raced back down the hallway.

Just as it looked like she might make it to the stairway unimpeded, two security guards ran into the corridor from the left.

Shit.

She really didn't want to kill any innocent security guards. They were just doing their jobs, and she was unarguably the criminal here.

But she had some of Victor's hand to hand skills now, and she was still much faster than a normal human. She could get past these two without ripping out their spines.

Probably.

She was only ten feet away when they saw her, but they were both quick to raise their pistols.

Not even tasers. Medhall didn't skimp on the security, apparently. Was that even legal?

Taylor twisted sideways and caught the shooting arm of the guard on the right, forcing his aim wide and slamming his gun into the other guard's face. She winced at the crunch of his nose breaking under the metal.

She ducked under the arm she was holding and kicked backwards at the guard's knee, wincing again at the sickening snap.

"Sorry, sorry," she said automatically, relieving them both of their firearms before heading into the stairwell.

This was already messier than she had hoped for.

Taylor bounded down the stairs a full flight at a time, quickly passing the maintenance floor where she started and making her way to the basements.

I probably should have brought a duffel bag or something.

Hindsight was twenty-twenty.

She raced through the maze of generic beige corridors until a sign caught her eye.

"Advanced radiology and toxicology: Area 3."

Good enough for her.

The door was locked.

The gunshot sounded even louder than usual, in the confined space.

Do blood vials repair hearing damage?

Her power's answer was inconclusive.

Taylor threw open the door and stumbled to a stop.

It was like the most enticing buffet she had ever laid eyes on.

There was just so… much… equipment!

And she didn't even have a good way to carry it all. Damn.

Luckily, there were some plastic tubs under one of the lab tables. That was better than nothing.

She really didn't have any more time, so she grabbed a centrifuge and a few other pieces of specialized equipment that made her power buzz pleasantly. They were pretty heavy, but it wasn't an issue with the power and adrenaline singing in her veins.

No more time.

Taylor returned to her mad dash through the corridors, now awkwardly carrying a plastic tub full of laboratory equipment.

She definitely should have planned this better. This was ridiculous.

Victor's instincts told her that the way she came in would already be blocked by security, so she headed towards what she hoped was the front of the building.

She found another bank of elevators and a set of stairs nearby. Perfect.

The main lobby was probably a bad idea. She went up one extra level before exiting the staircase and sprinting down the hallway.

Unfortunately, the level one hallway still overlooked the open atrium with only a glass divider between her and a sizable group of guards and police in the entrance hall below.

Gunshots and shattered glass exploded around her as the guards in the lobby open fired without hesitation. Again, they seemed awfully quick to resort to lethal aggression, but Taylor had more important things to focus on. It was difficult to dodge bullets while holding a crate of delicate lab equipment.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

A bullet nicked the back of her calf, carving out a painful furrow in the muscle. At least it wasn't deep enough to significantly slow her down. Nothing a blood vial wouldn't fix, once she wasn't actively being shot at.

She was never doing anything like this again. Clearly, her power was designed for hunting. This cops and robbers bullshit was obviously cursed.

Four more security guards rounded the corner in front of her.

Shit.

Did Medhall have a private army or something? What kind of ridiculous Die Hard crap was this?

Acting on instinct and Victor's muscle memory, Taylor slid the plastic tub along the floor and leapt. She ran sideways up the right-hand wall at maximum speed until she was briefly horizontal, perpendicular to the hallway.

Bullets tore through the space under her, putting even more holes in her coat as it flared behind her.

She kicked off the wall and brought her knee down on the collarbone of the closest guard. He and his collarbone both collapsed under her weight and momentum.

On the way down, Taylor grabbed the wrist of the guard next to her and twisted the gun out of his hand.

As it fell, she snatched the rogue firearm out of the air and flung it at the guard farthest down the hall, still trying to get a clean shot at her.

The heavy metal hit him in the face with a dull thud and he toppled.

She and the man under her landed hard and she rolled quickly to avoid a shot from the last armed guard. Using her remaining momentum, she twisted on the ground and kicked at his knee, wincing as this one, too, snapped like a twig.

"Sorry," she said again, for all the good it did.

Taylor pushed herself back up to her feet and snagged the tub as it slid past, continuing her frantic search for an exit.

She could see the red and blue lights flashing from the main entrance. Not there, then.

I'll just have to make my own exit.

Taylor turned hard at the next hallway juncture, wincing as the motion tugged at her wounded leg.

Just a simple B & E to get tinkering supplies. No big deal. Sure.

She shifted the tub under her arm and shot the window at the end of the hallway. The wide glass pane shattered and fell to the street below.

I can probably jump that far.

Hopefully.

Taylor braced her good leg on the metal sill and leapt across the street to the first floor of the parking garage on the other side.

Her breath came a bit easier as she sprinted away in the fresh night air, stolen equipment in tow.

Easy-peasy.

She really needed to sleep.

…

Amy really needed to sleep.

Instead she locked the door to her bedroom behind her and tossed her Panacea robe onto the floor with the rest of the accumulated laundry. She would do it… at some point. Maybe.

She flopped down in her desk chair and spun idly in a circle for a moment.

Hunter was just so… goddamn… frustrating.

For someone so wrong, she sure seemed pretty damn pleased with herself. And yet, she was also more than willing to die for her broken convictions.

Amy didn't know what to think about her. The way those black eyes stared into her soul even though Amy's power held her firmly in place. The way her words rang with truth and sincerity, while Amy could feel every beat of her pulse and the chemical reactions in her brain.

"Do it, then. Take what you want, and make no apologies."

As if Amy could ever do that.

She didn't even know what she wanted.

That thought made her sit up straighter.

Last week, she would have known exactly what she would take, but could never, ever have. Was it better or worse, that she wasn't sure anymore? What did that even mean?

Amy pulled out the blood vial and stared at it for a long time.

A present.

She carefully unscrewed the top.

If I'm going to hell, I might as well enjoy the ride.

Amy took a deep breath and dipped her finger in the congealed, concentrated blood.

Her eyes widened involuntarily and she gripped the arm of the chair with scrabbling fingers.

It was like nothing she had ever seen before. Her power didn't know what to make of it. She could barely comprehend it, let alone change it, even if she wanted to.

No living thing had blood like this. She wasn't even sure that it was still blood at all.

The closest equivalent would be some kind of alien stem cell, if stem cells were forced to do a shit ton of coke and then got hooked up to a car battery. Even that didn't do the crimson ichor justice.

Hunter made this?

Hunter had been putting this into her body?

Amy lost track of time as she stared into the ever changing lattice that was the perfect humor, both fiery ambrosia and soothing tonic to her biosenses.

When she finally pulled her hand away, she had the strangest urge to lick her finger clean.

She didn't, though, because that was a terrible idea.

After re-stoppering the vial and washing her hands, Amy sat back down at her desk and stared at the deceptively unobtrusive glass.

She needed to talk to Hunter again. Even if she shouldn't. Even if the girl in the stupid hat was a violent murderer.

Tomorrow night couldn't come soon enough, and she didn't even really know why.

But everything seemed just a little bit less gray, and that was… good.

She really needed to sleep.

For once, sleep came quickly and easily. Amy dreamed of soft, silver light, afloat in a glass-calm crimson sea.

…

Instead of heading straight home, Taylor made her way back to the abandoned hospital in the Trainyards.

The electricity had long since been shut off, but that was alright. Nothing she couldn't work around.

She carefully picked her way over the shattered glass and debris covering the floor of the empty lobby.

Ironically, the atmosphere seemed to be preventing any homeless people from camping here, despite the relatively secure environment. Something about the eerie, empty exam rooms and surgical suites.

Taylor liked it, though.

It seemed well and truly abandoned. If there was anyone here, they were doing a damn good job of hiding.

Taylor spent a solid thirty minutes working her way through the myriad of different rooms and offices before she found what she was looking for.

The ruined research lab was a large room, longer than it was wide. Anything even vaguely valuable had been either broken or taken, including the copper wiring in the walls. Still, the bones of a professional grade HVAC system were still present, and several of the lab tables were intact.

Once she got everything up and running, she could set up a forge here and pump the smoke outside. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too obvious. Plus, there was more than enough space for her other gear and equipment.

She didn't have the energy to do any cleanup right now, though. The long night last night and the events of this evening were finally catching up with her. Getting shot multiple times wasn't a walk in the park, apparently.

Recipes for a blood-based stimulant danced in front of her eyes, but it would have to wait.

The Medhall incident had been an absolute fiasco. Running in blind, getting lost, trying to dodge bullets while carrying a plastic tub of temperamental laboratory equipment. Non-lethal takedowns. All of it was a huge fucking mess that she was never, ever doing again.

She should just stick to killing beasts.

It also dawned on her that she left her blood at the scene, so the PRT would be able to put two and two together and figure out that the woman in the fedora on the Medhall security tapes was also the one who killed all those Empire thugs.

God. Dammit.

She needed to go home, shower, and sleep until her meeting with Panacea tomorrow night. That sounded like an excellent plan.

She'd have to apologize to the healer, tomorrow. The Medhall thing was definitely villainous behavior, no matter how much she wanted that equipment.

Taylor left her ill-gotten gains in her new lair and began the long walk back to the Docks.

…

She knew that something was amiss as soon as she snuck in the back door.

Just a vague feeling. Like everything had been shifted ever so slightly while she was gone.

Taylor stopped in the living room and glanced around, trying to figure out what the source of her malcontent was.

Maybe she was just tired. And paranoid.

It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you.

The basement door was open. She definitely closed it before she left, and her father wouldn't go down there on his own. And he would know better than to leave it open, what with the human organs on display.

Someone was in my lab.

Or still is.

Taylor drew her pistol and cleaver, creeping down the wooden stairs as lightly as she could.

It was still dark, in the basement.

She made it to the base of the stairs and peered into the pitch black ink.

Her senses twitched.

Taylor spun on her heel and leveled her gun at the figure in the dark at the same moment they raised their crossbow.

A slim form in black combat armor and a white hockey mask stared at her. The costume may be different, but the weapon gave her away.

Shadow Stalker.

How did she find me?

"You're supposed to be dead, Hebert."

What the fuck.

That voice…

"Hess. What the fuck are you doing in my house?" Taylor said, her voice colder than she had ever heard from her own lips before.

Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker.

The pieces clicked into place.

It explained so much.

Why the school officials never took her complaints seriously. Why the trio always got away with their crimes. Why Emma latched onto her. How Sophia was so much stronger than the other children at the school, so much rougher around the edges.

She was a parahuman, the whole time. A Ward. A superhero.

What a fucking joke.

Taylor's blood should have been boiling, but she felt strangely cold. Detached.

This was different from the Nazis. That had been a hunt, a means to an end.

This time, it was personal.

Sophia Hess would not be leaving this house alive.

"Emma told me a funny story," Sophia said mockingly. "And I just had to come check for myself. Good thing I did, huh, Hunter?"

Taylor didn't bother to answer. She took one careful step to the left, circling her target. Sophia matched her exactly. Their weapons never strayed from the other's face.

"How'd a monster like you end up in the Wards?" Taylor asked. It didn't really matter, but she was curious.

She took another step.

So did her enemy.

"Fuck off." Sophia spat. "You think you're tough shit just because you snuffed out a couple Nazis?"

Taylor smiled.

"Twelve Nazis," Taylor corrected. "And one Ward."

"You don't have the-"

"They don't know you're here, do they?" Taylor cut her off, her voice hissing in the darkness. "I can't imagine that you'd tell them what you did to me. Are you all… alone… Sophia?"

"Fuck you-"

"I remember what it was like, to be alone," Taylor continued. "Trapped in that metal box, with the blood. Do you remember, Sophia? You're the one who put me in there, after all."

She saw Sophia shiver before straightening her spine.

"I put you in the ground once, Hebert," she growled. "I think I'm going to enjoy doing it again."

No shallow grave will hold me. Not while I can dream.

"I'm sure you'll try," Taylor grinned. It was not a happy expression. "Come with me, then, into the dark."

They both pulled the trigger, and the night was no longer quiet.