3.2

Interlude 2

PRT ENE Director Emily Piggot clicked through the photos attached to the most recent report.

A gruesome scene at an Empire stash house downtown. Not entirely out of the ordinary, but villain conflicts rarely involved so many unpowered casualties. The general etiquette between villains was to fight parahumans with parahumans, and minions with minions. Otherwise, both sides would end up decimated and unable to hold their own against the heroes.

And heroes rarely went on murderous rampages.

There were some exceptions, of course. The Gavels and Lustrums of the world. Capes who believed in their cause to the point of extreme violence, and saw themselves as heroes who had the stomach to do what was necessary to enact change.

They were often the most irritating kind of capes to deal with. At least the regular villains weren't so self-righteous about it.

Still, this was looking more and more like an amateur vigilante with aspirations of heroism. It was unlikely that a rival villain would have left the guns and drugs undisturbed.

Actually, aside from the overall death and destruction, Emily wasn't sure what the murderer accomplished with the whole affair.

The intercom next to her monitor chimed.

"Armsmaster is here, Director."

Her current assistant was unusually competent and straight to the point. It was a welcome change of pace from the usual bureaucratic sycophants. Hopefully, he would last longer than the others.

"Send him in," Emily ordered.

Her office door hissed open and the well-known blue and silver hero strode in.

Armsmaster was a tall, conventionally attractive man. His interlocking power armor cut an imposing figure, and his beard was perfectly trimmed under his visor.

It was only due to years of familiarity that Emily could see the stiffness in his posture, the tensing of his jaw.

The hero was not happy to be here. Most likely because it took him away from his workshop. The Protectorate HQ was a decent fortress, but it wasn't exactly conveniently placed for commuting. Also, he deemed face-to-face meetings to be unnecessary, in general.

Emily begged to differ. There was a lot that you could only tell about a person when they were sitting in front of you.

"Have a seat, Armsmaster. I've been reviewing the incident report from last night," Emily said.

"The massacre downtown," he said. It didn't sound like a question.

"Quite. What are your takeaways?" Emily asked. Despite his demeanor, Armsmaster was insightful when it came to investigations and crime scenes.

"A single assailant, almost certainly a parahuman, either utilizing Tinkertech weaponry or a Tinker themselves."

Emily hummed in agreement and pulled up the page detailing the recovered bullets.

"The report is… unclear. What is so special about the ammunition?"

"I have been unable to fully analyze the samples, but they are… charged, somehow," Armsmaster said. "The closest approximation I can compare it to is Dauntless' abilities. The metal is not an alloy that I'm familiar with, and there is a lingering anomalous effect that interferes with my scanners."

He seemed distinctly irritated by this fact.

"And the blood found at the scene?" Emily asked.

"Two samples that do not match any of the victims. From the locations of the bloodstains, I am working under the impression that one was an Empire member and the other was their assailant.

"There's quite a lot of it, at marker 13," Emily said musingly, pulling up one of the attached images.

"Yes. And very little leading away. Most likely a regenerator of some kind," Armsmaster said.

Perfect. Just what they needed.

"Have you made any progress in identifying the cause of the injuries?" Emily asked. The report had been compiled before all of the wounds were analyzed.

"I believe that the assailant used a custom weapon of some kind. The closest match I could find was a wide-toothed saw."

"A saw," Emily deadpanned.

"Or a similar large, serrated blade. Also, quite a bit thicker than my test instrument," Armsmaster said.

Emily allowed herself a moment to sigh and lean back in her custom-molded chair.

"So, we have a violent vigilante running around murdering villains with a saw," Emily said eventually. "I never thought I'd feel nostalgic for crossbow bolts."

Armsmaster didn't laugh, but his lips did quirk upwards at the corner.

"There's also the blood donation bag to consider," he said.

"Right, of course. I misspoke. A violent vigilante running around murdering villains with a saw and harvesting their blood," Emily said.

That was even closer to a smile. Clearly, the psych evaluation stating she had 'difficulty building rapport with operatives' wasn't entirely correct.

"How would you prefer to pursue this, Director?" Armsmaster asked after a moment.

"We keep our involvement minimal, from a PR standpoint. This was a minor clash between villains, nothing more. Make no mention of the weapon or the abandoned blood bag," Emily said.

"And internally?"

"Find this rogue hunter and get them off the streets," Emily continued. "Quietly, if possible. We can't afford to escalate the terms of engagement with the Empire, not when they outnumber us two to one. We either bring our new vigilante into the fold and rebrand them before they cause more of a mess, or we ship them to prison somewhere far away and hope that Kaiser doesn't take his pound of blood from us."

Armsmaster nodded. He was difficult to work with, sometimes, but at least he appreciated a pragmatic approach.

Emily sighed again.

"Do we have a temporary designation for them, yet?"

"Assault suggested 'Sawbones', but we decided that was… ill-advised. They are being internally referred to as Carpenter, until we get more information."

Armsmaster left to return to his precious lab, and Emily steepled her fingers in front of her on the desk.

Maybe, the incentive of getting to pick a better name would draw this wayward vigilante out of the woodwork.

Emily almost smiled at that.

But she didn't. Instead, she got back to work.

…

Thomas Calvert found himself becoming frustrated.

That didn't actually happen all that often.

With access to multiple attempts at any interaction, he considered himself extremely proficient at getting what he wanted.

"You know, all you have to do to get the pain to stop is work for me. It's really not such an arduous ask," Coil said, leaning forward in his chair.

Daniel Hebert was quite possibly the most stubborn man he had ever met.

Luckily, he had only utilized one of his timelines to approach Mr. Hebert. It was lucky, because not a single one of them worked, and he was able to close them without incident.

It was still an irritating waste of time.

No matter what manner he approached the difficult hiring manager, Thomas found himself rebuffed with varying degrees of politeness. He had long since given up on a diplomatic solution, and began employing more… forceful… means of coercion.

Any and all agents he sent to Daniel's house never came back. The Tinker must have extensive defenses at his base of operations. It was common sense not to attack a Tinker in their lab, regardless. In light of this information, Thomas had taken to abducting him from work.

But still, no significant progress was made. Daniel Hebert refused to even pretend to help him in any way, shape, or form.

"Surely you must see that this is an exercise in futility," Coil said, raising the hammer and bringing it crashing down on one of Daniel's remaining fingers.

The man just laughed.

"You might as well kill me," Mr. Hebert spat between broken teeth. "Because I'll die happy before giving you anything you want."

Frustrating.

"Why? Why are you so adamantly opposed to even the barest hint of a compromise? Surely this isn't necessary," Coil said tiredly. If this continued for much longer, he would have to call his Tattletale here to personally observe the interrogation.

This timeline had been the longest split so far. He hoped to find some kind of lever, some price that he could exact to get Daniel on his side without going through this painstaking process of capture and torture over and over again.

Coil paused as a muffled commotion filtered down from the upper levels.

He and Daniel both looked up at the ceiling of the cell.

A gunshot rang out, and the distant screaming began.

Mr. Hebert smiled through his broken teeth.

"I'd offer… my sympathy," Daniel said. His words sounded a bit mushy, due to his injuries. "But it won't do you any good."

"What do you mean? What's happening, Daniel?" Coil asked as the gunshots and cries of agony drifted closer.

"She's here. It's already too late, for you," Mr. Hebert said.

Finally, some information, even if this made no sense.

Thomas grabbed his radio and turned it to the base mercenary channel.

"Status report," he said firmly.

There was a long beat of silence before the radio crackled again.

"Your men are dead, Thomas."

The voice didn't sound human. Somehow both too low and too high at the same time.

Well. That was certainly more interesting than any of his other attempts.

"Who am I speaking to?" he asked.

"Release Daniel Hebert, and I will consider allowing you to leave the city. Fail to do so, and I will kill you."

"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll consider it. If not, I'll kill him," Thomas said.

This person knew his name. He needed to know who they were, and why Daniel was important to them.

"You fail, then."

They should still be fairly secure here, so he didn't give up hope of getting more information out of his mysterious enemy. The cell doors were several inches thick and rated for Brute containment. Surely it would slow down their assailant enough for them to chat some more.

Something huge, roughly square, and ridiculously heavy struck the door of the cell with a cacophonous crash. It left an incongruently large dent in the metal.

Perhaps not.

Thomas drew his sidearm and shot Daniel Hebert in the head, just because this whole situation was far more trouble than it was worth and the action made him feel better.

He decided to keep the timeline running for as long as possible, though.

The next blow knocked the door clean off its hinges. The sound was deafening as the twisted metal bounced against the far wall, narrowly missing Thomas on the way past.

And in the doorway, framed by the emergency lighting…

No. It can't be-

He got one very brief glimpse of an old-fashioned pistol and a wide brimmed fedora before his head exploded and the timeline dropped.

In his office at the PRT headquarters, Thomas broke out into a cold sweat.

No, no, it wasn't her. No need to panic.

The outfit wasn't quite right, or the hat. And she wouldn't need to use a comically large hammer to break down his door.

But then… what the hell was that?

Surely, he was missing something.

Thomas sighed and continued with his paperwork.

He would need to be more careful approaching Daniel Hebert, in the future. Perhaps he would assign Tattletale to gather more information before he wasted yet another timeline on the troublesome Tinker.

…

Despite the nature of their meeting, Max Anders allowed himself a moment to look out over the city and enjoy his drink.

His office on the top floor of the Medhall building was an easy location to anonymously meet with his lieutenants in their civilian identities, arriving as visitors to Medhall or directly to the private roof access via helicopter.

At his shoulders, his faithful Valkyries stood guard. It was unnecessary, but image and tradition were important. Plus, subordinates that felt valued were more likely to remain loyal.

He still hadn't received any word from Victor.

James and Brad sat at his desk across from him. Krieg and Hookwolf, respectively.

It galled him that Purity had not answered his summons, but that was not unexpected. He would need to put a more concentrated effort into bringing Kayden back into the fold. Until now, her rebellion could be tolerated.

"Do we have any updates regarding Victor?" Max asked.

"I confirmed with my contacts at the BBPD that his body was not among the victims of the assault on the Oakland warehouse," James said.

"Probably snatched him up," Brad grunted.

"Either the hit was done by an amateur, in which case Victor will likely drain them of all useful skills before escaping, or it was an organized strike. If that's the case, he may be in serious danger, if he isn't already dead," James said.

Max's lips thinned thoughtfully.

"If he were killed on site, they would have no reason to take him. It would have been more useful to leave his body as a message. We will operate under the assumption that he was alive at the point of abduction."

James nodded. Brad just shrugged.

"Keep track of the PRT's investigation. If their Thinkers come up with anything, I want to know immediately," Max said. "How is Othala?"

"She is… concerned. I don't doubt her conviction, but without Victor we lose a solid connection to the Herrens."

"We'll find him," Max reassured.

If only to figure out just what the hell happened at the Oakland warehouse last night. And to keep Othala happy. Victor may have his uses, but he was nowhere near as versatile as his wife. Healers were rare, and not to be underestimated.

"What is the status of re-acquiring the seized product and resources?" Max glanced at James.

James' phone vibrated, and he looked down at it instead of answering immediately.

Max tried not to take that personally.

"I apologize for the interruption, but we're being robbed," James said in a perplexed tone.

"Where?" Max asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Here. Downstairs," James said.

Brad chuckled.

That was absurd.

Max sighed.

"It would be difficult to explain the Empire arriving to divert a robbery at Medhall. I won't risk the chance of affiliating our organizations over a random break in. Ignore it. Just get the police here, preferably our officers," Max said.

Now he would need to doctor the security camera footage of the top floors just in case the police or PRT requested copies. Irritating.

"Let's continue."

He would follow up on this inconveniently timed robbery later.

…

Emma bounced her leg restlessly, sitting on the side of her unmade bed.

The evening light was growing dim, and the anxiety had already started to set in again.

She hated it. Hated feeling like this, hated being so fucking scared all the time. It wasn't fair. She was supposed to be strong. A survivor. Why was she so fucking pathetic that she couldn't even-

Emma reached for her phone. She couldn't help herself.

E: Can you come stay the night after work?

S: Again?

E: Yeah

S: You know I have other shit to do, right?

S: Like sleeping in my own fcking bed

S: In my own fcking house

E: Please?

S: Fine.

Emma hated feeling like she was begging Sophia for her company, but it was better than being alone in the dark. When Sophia was here, Emma didn't see the glaring black eyes everywhere she looked.

Or not as often, at least.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that Taylor was following her. That there was some sort of reckoning for what she did, hanging over her.

I killed my best friend.

Don't think about it.

Sophia would be here soon.

…

"Can I tell you something?"

Sophia glanced up from her phone, leaning back against the wall on the bed next to her. It was pretty late, but neither of them were ready to sleep yet.

"What kind of dumbass question is that? You need my permission or something?" Sophia scoffed.

"Don't be a bitch. I… okay, this is going to sound insane, but I need to tell someone before I go insane," Emma said.

Sophia just raised her eyebrows.

Emma took a deep breath.

"I think it was Taylor."

Sophia blinked.

"What?"

"I think that the stranger in my window the other night was Taylor," Emma said. It didn't sound any less crazy outside her head.

Sophia just looked at her.

"Taylor's dead," Sophia said.

Emma gave her a look.

"Yes, I know. That's why it's insane. But even under the hat I swear I could see-"

"Wait, did you say a hat?" Sophia cut her off with a weird expression.

What?

"I mean, yeah, I told you before. They were wearing a hat and a scarf-" Emma said before Sophia cut her off again.

"Like, an old mobster kind of hat? With a flat brim?" Sophia's voice still had the same strange inflection.

"Yeah?" Emma said, confused.

"And she had a scarf covering the lower half of her face, and curly hair?"

"Yeeeaaaah," Emma said slowly.

"Son of a bitch," Sophia whispered.

"What? What do you mean?" Emma asked, bewildered.

"I just…" Sophia trailed off, brows furrowed. She pushed herself off the bed and started hunting for the spare costume Emma kept stashed at the back of her closet. "I need to check something. Just a hunch. What's Hebert's address?"

"What? Why?" Emma asked again.

"Because I think you might be right."

…Ignition 3.1

The booming gunshot reverberated in the cramped basement.

Taylor threw herself forward and to her left, even as she fired. The incoming crossbow bolt cut a deep gash into her right cheekbone and clipped her ear on the way past, but she was fast enough to avoid being impaled.

Sophia turned to smoke, the bullet passing straight through her and hitting one of Taylor's burettes with a crash and a shower of shattered glass.

Damn.

Part of her had been hoping that the consecrated quicksilver would harm Sophia in her shadow state, but that would apparently be too easy.

It was a vain hope, but Taylor swung her cleaver at the mist anyway.

That, too, passed straight through, but as Taylor's momentum carried her to the other side of the shadow, Sophia reformed with a strangled cough.

"What the fuck-" Sophia growled. Taylor pivoted on her heel and refused to give her any respite.

She swung again, unfolding the cleaver as she spun to reach her enemy's now solid body.

Unfortunately, Sophia was fast. Even while recovering from whatever interaction the blood-quenched sawblade had with her Breaker state, she dove forward and turned back to smoke, the barely visible cloud sliding along the ground.

Taylor used the opportunity to reload her pistol.

The distraction proved to be a mistake.

Her senses flared and Taylor twitched to the side, but the intangible crossbow bolt still hit her chest and reformed inside her body.

Without thinking, Taylor tried to tug the bolt free so she could use a blood vial. Agony flared across her ribcage and exploded behind her eyes in a burst of stars. The bolt didn't budge.

Fuck.

That hurt more than getting shot with a sniper rifle. What the fuck was that?

Luckily, the bolt hit just to the right of center and missed her heart, but the downside was that it seemed to have fused with her sternum. She would have to figure out how the hell to repair that later. Would a blood vial even fix weird Breaker molecular fusion?

Taylor gritted her teeth. Sophia was going to die, even if it killed her.

Her enemy resolidified on the other side of the basement, moving to reload her crossbow.

Rough hands gripping her neck and shoving her into the reeking-

Flipping the sawblade closed, Taylor ignored the excruciating tugging in her chest and leapt across her workshop table, crashing through the glass and swinging her cleaver wildly.

Sophia threw herself sideways and turned to shadow again. Taylor tracked the floating smoke as it flew through the dark.

Momentum seemed to work strangely for Sophia's breaker state. She needed to push off before becoming incorporeal.

Interesting, but not especially useful. Taylor needed to find a way to keep her solid so she could rip her to pieces.

Sophia reformed and landed in a crouch on top of one of the workbenches, crossbow raised.

"Is that all you got, Hunter?" Sophia called mockingly.

Taylor hurled a heavy jar containing Victor's liver at her head.

Sophia turned to shadow and fired again, Taylor's organic projectile passing through her and smashing against the wall.

Taylor dodged the intangible bolt. As it reformed, she caught a brief glimpse of Sophia flickering back to reality for just a moment when the bolt struck the workbench behind her.

That's something.

Diving low behind the table, Taylor rolled and kicked upwards with as much force as her legs could muster, pushing off the dusty concrete and tossing the heavy wooden table covered in lab equipment across the basement. Sophia turned back into mist to avoid it.

The crash echoed in the dark, all too loud but somehow strangely muted at the same time.

Sophia solidified and reloaded, even as Taylor pushed herself back to her feet and rushed towards her again.

Taylor relied on Victor's hand-to-hand training as best she could against an enemy that could become intangible. She slashed through the smoke with her cleaver and threw an elbow towards where she hoped Sophia's head would be.

Sophia reformed just in time to catch a bony elbow to the hockey mask.

Progress.

And fuck if that wasn't satisfying. All those times being pushed in the hallways, tripped and kicked and pinned-

Cursing and returning to shadow, Sophia drifted backwards towards the stairs.

"Running away so soon?" Taylor coughed around the bolt in her chest. Sophia could probably escape anytime she wanted, but Taylor would find her. She knew where the monster lived, and she wouldn't stay in the ground for long even if Sophia got the better of her. She would keep coming back, wearing her down, until she got her satisfaction.

Sophia resolidified and stared at her, expression unreadable behind the mask.

"You wish," she ground out before raising the crossbow again.

Luckily, Sophia was also easy to manipulate. Whatever drove her to come here and wait for Taylor would also keep her here until it was too late.

Taylor dove aside as Sophia turned to shadow and fired, but it was difficult to see the ghostly projectiles in the dark and Sophia led her shot this time.

Her enemy flickered back into existence and the bolt re-solidified inside Taylor's leg, just above her left knee.

Shit, fuck, that burns.

Taylor didn't bother trying to remove it, this time. Whatever Sophia's power did to her bolts, it caused strange things to happen when they reformed inside a target.

But Taylor couldn't help the savage smile that spread across her face.

Sophia could fire the bolts while in her Breaker state, but she needed to switch back in order to have them solidify inside her target. Otherwise, they would just fly straight through as smoke.

Taylor knew what she had to do now. It was just a matter of pulling off the timing.

And possibly getting shot again.

Taylor pushed off her good leg and threw herself towards her enemy, alternating swings with the cleaver and her elbows.

She winced as the motions pulled at the bolts bonded with her bones.

Sophia was good, far better at fighting than Taylor would have been without Victor's skills, but she was also predictable.

Swing, smoke, counter.

Taylor swayed sideways to avoid a punch and threw another elbow, which Sophia turned to shadow to avoid.

Swing, smoke, counter.

Sophia reformed and kicked at Taylor's wounded leg, but Taylor spun despite the wrenching agony and slashed horizontally with the cleaver.

Swing, smoke, counter.

Her enemy returned to intangibility to avoid it, although the consecrated metal still seemed to distract her with every pass. It wasn't enough to predictably force her back into corporeality, but it was better than nothing. She reformed and Taylor tried to throw another elbow, but Sophia knocked the attack aside and head-butted her in the nose.

Taylor's world flashed white for a moment from the impact and Sophia pushed herself out of melee range.

The timing would be crucial.

Sophia reloaded.

Taylor pretended to stumble sideways, as if her bad leg and the blow to the head had disoriented her.

Sophia raised her crossbow and turned to shadow.

Swing, smoke, counter.

Sophia fired.

Taylor raised her pistol.

The intangible crossbow bolt hit Taylor in the stomach.

Sophia and the bolt returned to tangibility and the bolt fused with Taylor's internal organs, lodged in her spine.

Taylor pulled the trigger and Sophia's head exploded.

Ahhh, the sweet blood… it sings to me.

Taylor fell to one knee at the same time that Sophia's headless corpse slumped to the concrete.

Pain radiated throughout her body, burning and blinding her with the intensity.

Shattered glass cut her palms as she landed on her hands and knees. The multiple bolts stuck within her didn't bleed, but she could feel them tearing at her insides and disrupting her body's natural processes with every heartbeat.

Taylor began to laugh. The choking cackles hurt so fucking much, but she couldn't stop.

Sophia was dead.

I did that.

Emma was cruel, but she could only use her words. Sophia was the backbone, the one who made sure Taylor couldn't just walk away.

And now she was dead.

Taylor's smile was wide and manic, even while blood dripped from her lips.

Twelve Nazis, and one Ward.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else.

Should I die, now?

Return to my dream, to be reborn anew?

She could feel the presence of her rune, branded into her mind and body.

She could do it. Focus on the rune and slip away, to reform fresh at the next full moon.

Taylor clenched her fists around the jagged glass shards and set her jaw.

That felt like giving up.

Sophia was dead.

And she was alive.

Taylor dragged her good leg under her, the pain spiking as the movement jostled the bolt in her belly.

She needed to find her father. She needed to hide Sophia's body so she could harvest her blood later.

Taylor hauled herself to her feet, vision flickering and body protesting. The metal bolts stuck out of her at odd angles like a macabre pincushion.

The light flicked on, overwhelmingly bright after focusing so hard to see the smoke in the dark.

"Taylor, what's- oh God, Taylor!"

Her father rushed down the stairs, pushing aside the overturned table to get to her.

"What the- who- Taylor, are you alright?" He stammered, catching sight of Sophia's body on the ruined, bloodstained floor.

She took a step forward and stumbled, catching herself on his shoulder.

"-'m glad you're okay," she mumbled through the haze. "Thought she might've gotten you first."

"No, I was asleep," he said distractedly "Jesus, what… Taylor, what happened?"

"Sophia happened," Taylor said.

"Sophia, from school? What-"

"She's Shadow Stalker. The Ward. I got murdered by a superhero," Taylor said deliriously. "Well, she was Shadow Stalker…"

This didn't feel like it was important. There was something else…

Lucidity returned for a brief moment.

"Dad! We need… the cops are probably on their way. Someone would have heard the gunshots. We need…"

They both looked around at the blood-splattered remnants of her lab, organs in jars lining the walls. Victor's liver was flopped on one of the workbenches where it fell after its brief flight.

And, of course, the dead body of her tormentor.

How the fuck did they fix this?

Unfortunately (or fortunately, for those who weren't murderous blood Tinkers), their house was in the part of the Docks that the police still responded to. The response time might be a bit lacking compared to the nicer areas, but they weren't abandoned to the gangs. The gunshots would have certainly drawn attention.

Which meant that they were on a timer, and their options were limited. Her power provided a potential solution, but it was… extreme.

"Dad… Dad, you have to decide now," Taylor wheezed around the bolt in her chest. "Come clean to the PRT, and blame me for everything, I forced you, you had no choice… or…"

She ran out of breath.

"Or?" He asked, bewildered.

"We burn it. We burn it all, and I stay dead."

He looked confused for a moment before he caught up with her.

His eyes hardened.

"It's just a house," he said.

Good enough for her.

"Grab the gasoline and any flammable or pressurized cleaning supplies you can find. And hand me Victor's leg," Taylor said, stumbling over to her workbench and grabbing the angle grinder.

"What?"

"Big leg bone. The femur. No time to explain."

At least he moved quickly once he made up his mind.

She began grinding the bone to dust and shards, every vibration sending spiderwebs of pain from the metal lodged inside her. Bone marrow ash was designed to enhance the effect of her quicksilver bullets, but it also worked just fine on explosives.

And Victor knew quite a bit about improvised explosives.

She was also on a different kind of timer. She didn't know how long she would be able to function in this state.

Hopefully long enough.

She quickly injected herself with one of her last blood vials, just in case.

The euphoria helped to distract her from the pain, but it did nothing to fix the bolts bonded with her bones and organs. It did fix her face and her ear, though. She had honestly forgotten about those cuts.

Taylor gathered the shards of bone and moved them to her mortar and pestle.

She heard the sound of splashing liquid as Danny poured the gasoline usually reserved for the lawnmower over the floor and along the walls.

He was taking initiative. That was nice.

"Save some for me. Also, fertilizer," she coughed. "And aluminum foil."

He ran to fetch her the supplies.

When he got back, she ground the necessary ingredients in with the bone powder, along with some of her blood. For seasoning.

"Microwave," she wheezed. "And wrap Sophia's body in garbage bags, please."

He didn't question her, just ran upstairs then got to work packaging the corpse.

Taylor ripped open the back of the microwave and removed the surge inhibitor.

"Duct tape."

She loaded the bone marrow ash, the cleaning supplies, crumpled up aluminum foil, and the remaining fertilizer mix into the microwave.

Her father handed her the tape.

She duct taped the microwave shut, wrapping several loops around the metal box.

"You ready to go?" Taylor asked, grabbing the surviving syringes and anything else she could salvage and shoving them in her coat pockets.

She also picked up Sophia's corpse. The motion tugged at her wounds and she winced, new drips of crimson staining her sweater.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Danny said, glancing around the blood and gasoline soaked basement.

"Go. I'll be right behind you," Taylor said.

He took the stairs two at a time.

Taylor plugged the microwave in and hit the Popcorn button.

She flew up the stairs after him, stumbling under the weight of Sophia's body and her wounds. Danny grabbed the back of her coat and helped haul them both down the front steps and out towards the street.

They made it about thirty feet before the house exploded.

The force of the blast knocked them both to the pavement, pushing against the bolts and making Taylor hiss in pain as Sophia's corpse tumbled across the ground.

Danny rolled to cover her as burning chunks of wood and plaster rained down around them. It was a sweet gesture, but it also drove the metal bolts deeper and set off another round of spasms.

After a long moment, the night finally went quiet again, except for the dull roar of the fire.

Taylor and Danny both dragged themselves back to their feet. Taylor turned to look at the broken remains of the house she grew up in.

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"It's just a house," she said, mostly to herself.

"I wonder if the insurance will cover it," Danny said. "Maybe I can convince them it was an accident."

It hurt to laugh. A lot. But she couldn't help herself.

"My cape career is destined to be funded by insurance fraud," Taylor coughed.

And now Danny was laughing too.

Sirens approached, in the distance.

"Go," Danny said. "I'll stay with Kurt and Lacey for a while. You know where to find me if you need anything, or when you… come back."

"Okay. I'm going to try to find a solution to… all of this," Taylor gestured to the crossbow bolts sticking out of her. "But if I don't, I'll see you in a couple weeks."

Danny chuckled sadly.

"Sounds like a plan, kiddo."

Taylor hefted Sophia's headless corpse onto her shoulder, and ran towards the Trainyards as quickly as her broken body could manage.

…

The trip back to the Hospital felt much longer than it had on her way home.

Was that really only thirty minutes ago?

Thirty minutes felt like a lot longer while dying.

Fucking Sophia. Fucking Emma. Fucking crossbow bolts fused with her-

She hadn't even gotten to sleep yet. The weariness dragged at her bones.

Although that might have been the metal. Or the blood loss.

Taylor sighed heavily and winced as she dropped Sophia's body on the floor of the research lab in the abandoned hospital.

The majority of her equipment was gone. She had the centrifuge and other bits and pieces from Medhall, plus the surviving needles and some metal parts from her original lab, but most of the beakers, flasks, burettes, and vials were shattered. She only had a couple blood vials left.

She leaned backwards against one of the cabinets and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, legs splayed so she didn't jostle any of the bolts lodged in her body.

Everything hurt.

Maybe dying would be a mercy, at this point.

Taylor took a deep breath and immediately regretted it.

She had three options available to her, as far as she could tell.

She could die, and hope that her power worked the way she thought it did. In theory, she should come back at her grave, on the next full moon. Hopefully without the metal bolts in her organs.

Although, they seemed to have fused with her. Would they stick around and show back up when she returned?

Wouldn't that be a kick in the teeth.

Okay. Dying was her last resort. If she died while trying to fix herself, that was that, but she wouldn't give up. Yet.

Option 2: fixing herself.

The blood vials could heal almost anything, but they clearly didn't work well with whatever Sophia's power did to the bolts. They didn't register as injuries, even as they killed her.

She would have to cut them out, somehow.

That was… problematic, at best. The bolt in her chest was bonded with her ribcage, and she could feel it scraping against her lungs with every breath. She would need to break her ribs and remove her sternum before using the blood vial.

Not exactly appealing.

The bolt lodged in her gut was worse. She had no idea what organs it had bonded with, and its tip was buried in her spine. Luckily, it didn't seem to have severed any nerves, but it was fused into the bone.

Luckily. Ha.

Taylor honestly didn't think she could cut them out and use a blood vial before she died from… well, everything. The only tool she had that could cut bone was her cleaver, and it was not exactly designed for surgery.

Which only left option three.

Find Panacea.

Not that she knew where the healer lived. And she definitely wouldn't appreciate a house call.

But, the only alternatives were death, or horrific self-surgery, followed immediately by death.

So it was worth a try.

Maybe she could break into a house and Google her address? New Wave was public, right?

Taylor pulled herself to her feet with a groan.

As she turned to leave, something out of place caught her eye.

Tucked in between the centrifuge and the spectrophotometer she stole from Medhall was a folded piece of heavy, high-quality paper.

You've got to be shitting me.

Taylor grabbed it and unfolded it.

There was an address written in perfect black script.

If this isn't Panacea's house, I am never following your shady hints again, Hat-Giver.

…

Taylor really hoped that this was Panacea's house, considering that the alternative was peaking in a random person's windows.

She was also getting more delirious by the second. The world seemed to be turning gray around the edges. She had used her last blood vial two blocks ago to stave off the internal bleeding.

The bolt in her leg was also starting to grind at the joint with every step, on top of the pain in her chest and the burning acid in her guts.

It would be incredibly ironic, but also hilarious, if she died on Panacea's front porch. She could just imagine the healer's horror in the morning.

It also begged the question: what happened to her body when she came back? Was there another version of her still dead in her grave, or did her alive body replace the dead one?

Depending on how the next five minutes went, she might just find out.

The house was nice without being overly grand. Bigger than the Barnes', but not obscene. The lawns were neatly kept, and sparkled with frost in the moonlight.

Taylor took a similar approach to her last round of stalking, limping up the side yard and making her way to the back windows to peek in.

Climbing the brick exterior was much more difficult with a bad leg and two bolts sticking out of her front, but she managed.

First bedroom…

Nope, blonde hair. Panacea's sister was blonde though, right?

Second bedroom…

Red and white robe on the floor, check. Frizzy brown hair poking out from under a mountain of blankets and pillows, check.

Fantastic.

Hopefully Panacea forgave her for the intrusion.

She knocked on the window.

…

Amy woke up slowly, shaking off the comforting dreams of the moon and the lake of blood.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It was still dark outside, the moonlight throwing strange patterns on the walls.

There was a knock at the window.

Amy jumped and got tangled in the blankets. She frantically tried to both look at the window and get away from it at the same time, and ended up falling off the bed.

If this was just Vicky out for a midnight flight or something, she was going to kill her.

Probably not, but still.

What time is it?

The clock on her desk said 4:12

And the figure in the window…

That fucking hat…

What the hell was Hunter doing here? How? Why?

Anger and anxiety curdled in her gut as she got to her feet.

There had better be a damn good reason for this, or she was going to sic the PRT on the blood-obsessed menace for sure. She might even yell for Carol.

Amy opened the window.

"What are you doing?" She hissed. "You can't be here! Why…"

Hunter was perched on the half-inch lip by the tips of her toes, fingers reaching up to grip the brick above the window. She looked ridiculous, honestly.

Except for all the arrows stuck in her, of course.

"Hey, Doc, I know I'm early for my appointment," Hunter said, a bit slurred and muddled. "But there've been some… complications."

Then she collapsed into the room, dead weight falling onto Amy and knocking them both back to the floor.

…Ignition 3.2

The conflicting combination of being absolutely livid, worried, anxious, intrigued, and (for some reason) excited, was overwhelming and generally distracting, so Amy shoved all of that into a metaphorical 'think about it later' box and settled for 'mildly irritated'.

Dammit Hunter, don't bleed on anything important.

Amy struggled to disentangle herself from the gangly girl's unresponsive limbs while also avoiding the arrows sticking out of her. She hauled the dead weight off of her and knelt next to the Tinker's unconscious body.

What the fuck, Hunter?

Part of her still wanted to scream for Carol, but she couldn't quite bring herself to go through with it. This weird… thing… with the murderous vigilante was hers, and it was one of the few parts of her life that existed outside of her normal obligations. She didn't want to hand it over to Carol, like everything else.

So, instead, she reached up and touched the exposed skin of Hunter's face. She normally asked permission, but Hunter had already dared her to shut down her organs, so Amy assumed that she wouldn't mind.

Holy shit.

The arrows weren't just stuck into Hunter the mundane way, they were fused with her bones at a molecular level. No wonder she had come to her, despite the Tinker's access to miraculous and horrifying concoctions.

There was also a ridiculous amount of scar tissue around the metal, like Hunter had ripped open and then re-healed the same areas over and over. Which was probably exactly what happened, considering the effects of the blood vials and what Amy had seen the last time she took a peek at the girl's biology.

Of course Hunter wouldn't bring her anything that was easy to fix, but something in Amy was thrilled about the challenge.

Since she couldn't affect the metal directly, Amy began to work her biokinesis on the areas just outside of the strange bonded bits. She also forced Hunter's heart to keep beating, even though it kept stubbornly trying to fail.

She carefully separated the tissue and bone surrounding the arrows from the rest of Hunter's body, until there were three cylinders of flesh that weren't actually attached to her.

It was a bizarre experience, but Amy reached down and pulled out the three tubes of tissue and metal. They were grotesque cross sections of anatomy, with all of the layers exposed. Like an ant farm, or something. Weird.

For lack of anything better to do with the arrows and accompanying tubes of meat, Amy threw them into the trash can next to her desk.

Once the arrows were gone, it was child's play to reform and regrow the empty areas. Hunter didn't exactly have much body mass to spare, but it was better than being riddled with holes.

Finally, the repairs were complete and Amy sat back on her heels.

She took a couple deep breaths and made sure the 'think about it later' box was tightly closed, then reached out one more time and woke Hunter up.

Her black eyes blinked spastically above her scarf.

"Oh, that's much better," Hunter said dazedly. "You know, I considered dying on your front porch, just to see your face when you opened the door in the morning."

"You're actually insane," Amy said.

"Just a smidge. It's a side effect of dying. I feel pretty great, though. Coming an inch and a half from death is a hell of an endorphin rush."

Hunter dragged herself into a sitting position against the bed and took off her hat. Her hair was a mess, wild curls draped in every direction.

"You still shouldn't have come here. Showing up at my civilian house is a huge breach of the rules," Amy grumbled.

"Well, it was that, or try to cut those bolts out of myself with my saw cleaver," Hunter said "I didn't like my odds of surviving that, so I figured I would risk the impropriety,"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it's just… I'm not supposed to be Panacea here," Amy groaned. "Can you imagine if every sick and dying person came knocking on my window?"

Hunter's face fell, behind the scarf.

"Wow, okay, I didn't really consider that. Sorry. Really. Look, I just…" Hunter seemed at a loss for words, for once.

There was something different now, whispering back and forth in her moonlit bedroom. It wasn't the same as yelling at each other on the hospital roof, especially after Hunter almost died on her carpet.

"It's been a very, very long night," Hunter finally said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "I wasn't really thinking straight. Not sure if I am now, either, come to think of it."

Amy sighed and turned, pushing herself backwards until she was sitting braced against the bed next to her unexpected guest.

"What the hell happened, anyway?" Amy asked after a moment.

Hunter looked over at her appraisingly.

"Shadow Stalker broke into my house and tried to kill me."

"What? The Ward? Why the fuck…" Amy tried to wrap her mind around that.

She hadn't personally exchanged more than a word or two with the dark cape, although she knew that some of the other Wards complained about her attitude.

"I knew her, in our civilian identities. She tried to kill me before, out of costume. Before I got my powers. She was a monster," Hunter said, her voice twisting around the word.

"That's… no, that's insane. You're lying, or something," Amy shook her head. Heroes didn't go around murdering people out of costume.

Hunter just shrugged.

"Believe me, or don't. Doesn't really change anything, now."

It took a moment for the wording to catch up with her.

"Wait, you knew her, past tense. Did you…" Amy trailed off.

Hunter just stared at her.

"You killed her," Amy whispered in horror. "You killed a Ward."

"Yes," Hunter said. Her tone was carefully neutral.

Amy knew that should terrify her, or make her even angrier, but… she just couldn't quite manage to muster her righteous indignation. All of this was just… too much, to worry about all at once. She felt like a wrung out sponge.

Hunter may have implied that Shadow Stalker tried to kill her first, but she didn't directly say it outright. And Amy didn't have any way of knowing if it would have mattered. Hunter hunted people, at her own admission.

Still, the frustrating blood Tinker didn't seem like the type to kill innocent people in cold blood. She went out of her way to avoid it. But…

Killing a Ward was… a lot. And Amy didn't know what to do about it.

Carol would be losing her mind right now, but Carol was also a bitch.

It was quiet in the dark, for a while. Hunter let her head fall back against the bed and closed her eyes again. Her breathing was slow and even.

"What does it feel like?" Amy asked suddenly, in spite of her better judgment.

"You'll have to be more specific," Hunter said, not opening her eyes.

"Killing someone."

"It's… it depends," Hunter said. "The Nazis were my first hunt. It was… all too easy, actually. I thought that things would never be the same, that tearing their lives from them would change me, but… it didn't, not really. It was… exciting, but the actual killing itself, in the moment, didn't feel important."

Hunter pulled her long legs up to her chest and wrapped her skinny arms around her shins.

"Sophia was different. She hurt me, so fucking much, for so long, and now she's gone, forever. Because of me. She'll never hurt me, or anyone else, ever again. It was personal, and it feels… really fucking good, if I'm honest."

Amy nodded slowly.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The question popped out of Amy's mouth before she could stop herself. It was a stupid question. Even a murderer wouldn't just tell their victim in advance. Besides, she wasn't defenseless. If she could get a hand on Hunter, it would be over in a heartbeat.

Hunter opened her eyes and stared at her with a strange expression.

"Of course not," Hunter scoffed. "I don't… look, I know I said I'm not a villain, even if that's not technically true, anymore. And I'm sorry for lying to you, for what it's worth. I didn't mean to. But I… my work, my Tinkering… I need blood. Normal, parahuman, my own, all of the above. I can't do what I need to do without it. And I really do think that it's better to take it from monsters, beasts, who deserve it."

Amy looked up at the ceiling, pale strips of moonlight filtering through the window. The 'not thinking about it' box was leaking.

"What if I deserved it?" Amy whispered. She didn't know why she was saying any of this. Who cared what this bloodstained vigilante thought of her?

"Probably not, still," Hunter said. Dark curls and darker eyes looked down at her. "I enjoy our little chats, and I'm not above some selfish indulgence. Plus, you did just save my life."

Right. Amy had already forgotten about that.

"That doesn't make sense, though. Your whole justification for killing villains is that they deserve it, so why does it matter if you like me?" Amy said.

Hunter shook her head.

"It's not some hard and fast rule. I need blood, and my powers want to be used. I want to figure out what my dreams mean, and realize more of the designs in my head. I would just rather kill bad people than good people, when I have the choice," Hunter said.

Amy didn't know what possessed her to bring this up at all. She should have just healed Hunter and made her leave. Or not healed her at all and called the PRT.

Why was she sitting here opening up to an unrepentant killer who, by all accounts, just murdered a Ward?

She still couldn't help herself, though.

"So your reasoning is just… because you want to?" Amy said, sarcasm seeping back into her tone.

"That's the only reason anyone does anything. They just pretend otherwise because it's easier," Hunter said.

"Don't bother with that freshman year philosophy bullshit, it doesn't work on me," Amy rolled her eyes.

"You're the one who asked," Hunter grinned behind her scarf.

"Shut up."

Hunter just laughed at her before turning serious again.

"Do you think you deserve it?" Hunter asked softly. "You seem like a decent person to me, but I don't actually know you all that well."

Amy snorted.

"I threatened to melt your organs," she said.

"Everyone does that occasionally. Nothing to get hung up on," Hunter chuckled.

Amy glared at her. Something about her uncaring attitude just made Amy want to prove herself right.

"I think about using my powers to hurt people, like, all the time," Amy admitted. She had never told anyone that, but… what was Hunter going to do? Tell the PRT? Tell Carol?

"I kill actual people and steal their blood," Hunter shrugged, "and their organs and bones, too, sometimes. If I have time."

"I am not using you as a barometer for moral authenticity! You're a villainous mad scientist or whatever, you don't count," Amy said, smiling despite herself.

"I'll have you know… actually, you know what, never mind, that's fair," Hunter said, laughing quietly with her.

Then her dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"I guess… you can only really decide if you think you deserve it. You can't speak for anyone else, and that doesn't make it true."

"I told you, no bullshit philosophy-"

"Sorry, sorry," Hunter said. "Apparently, I can't help myself."

It was quiet again. For some reason, Amy didn't want this strange conversation to end. It was like they were tucked away in their own little bubble, and the rest of the world had stopped being important, for a while.

So much of her life was public, or ruled by Carol and her bullshit, or subject to Victoria's whims, or locked up in that fucking hospital…

This one part, hidden away behind a curtain of blood and secrecy, felt… nice, even if it shouldn't.

Something else Hunter just said caught up with her.

"What did you say about dreams?" Amy asked suddenly.

Hunter looked a bit uncomfortable, but she answered anyway.

"Ever since I got my powers, I've been dreaming about the moon, and peaceful seas of blood. It feels like the answer is always just beyond my reach, and I don't know why," Hunter said.

That was too big a coincidence to ignore.

"I dreamed… tonight, after analyzing the blood vial you gave me, I had a dream about a full moon, floating in a calm blood lake," Amy said. The words felt strange in her mouth.

Hunter's eyes widened.

"That's…"

Whatever Hunter was about to say was cut off by the sudden knock at the door.

Amy's blood ran cold. They had been getting steadily louder, uncaring of the fact that it was after four in the morning and the rest of her family was asleep. Her parents' bedroom was on the ground floor, but Victoria's bedroom was right next door.

Please let it be Vicky and not Carol…

"Amy? Is everything okay? Who are you talking to?" Her sister's voice filtered through the door.

Better than the alternative, but still. Fuck.

…

Adrenaline fired through Taylor's veins like an electric shock.

How had she forgotten that she was still in New Wave's house? There were three other very dangerous capes within a hundred feet, and she was sitting and talking with Panacea like they had all the time in the world. It would be irritating to die on Brandish's blade after going through so much trouble to survive.

The healer's eyes were wide and terrified as she scrambled to her feet.

"I'm fine, go back to bed," Panacea called.

She couldn't even bother to come up with an excuse?

"I'm coming in," the voice at the door said.

There were really only two outcomes, here.

Either Panacea was meeting with Hunter, the villain who recently killed a bunch of Empire thugs and robbed Medhall, or Amy was meeting with Taylor, who definitely hadn't killed anyone, ever.

Taylor made a very quick and possibly very stupid decision.

Amy and whoever was at the door had no way of connecting Taylor's face back to the dead girl from Winslow. It would probably be fine. Just to keep their cover intact, for the time being. She owed Panacea that much, since the healer still went to the trouble of getting those arrows out of her even after Taylor had invaded her private space.

Taylor moved as quickly as her superhuman reflexes would allow, pulling off her tattered coat and bloodstained scarf. She shoved the coat, scarf, gloves, injector holster, and hat under the bed.

She also kicked the trash can with the arrows in it under Amy's desk. There wasn't much else she could do about that.

Her sweater had multiple holes in it from the crossbow bolts, and her jeans were similarly bloodstained and holey from the Medhall trip, but they were both black and probably wouldn't be obvious in the dark.

Hopefully.

Taylor forgot about the rune on her forehead until the last moment, quickly pulling her hair forward to cover it.

By the time Victoria Dallon finished opening the door, all evidence of their clandestine activity was hidden, for the most part.

Of course, Panacea was busy turning towards the door while stumbling to stand up, so she didn't actually see any of this.

"It's not what it looks like," Panacea said shrilly, holding out her hands like she could ward off her sister's judgement.

The floating blonde girl framed in the doorway blinked in surprise.

"Well… shit, Ames," she said. "You should have just told me you were sneaking a girl over, I would have covered for you. I was worried a villain had come after you or something."

"What?" Panacea said in bewilderment.

Taylor decided to head her off before she gave away the ruse.

"Sorry about waking you up," Taylor said quietly, standing up behind her. "We got a bit carried away."

That was even true. She hadn't meant to be so loud, but talking to Panacea was very distracting.

The healer looked back at her and did a spastic double take. She really needed to work on her poker face.

"It's okay," the girl in the doorway said. "I'm Victoria, Amy's sister. Although, you probably already knew that."

Taylor made the snap decision not to give her real name. Neither of them would know the difference, and it would buy her time if they decided to research her.

"I'm Anne," Taylor said with a smile. "Amy's… friend."

Were they friends? Slightly unwilling colleagues? Confidants with socially dubious healing powers?

Panacea still hadn't managed to close her mouth, so Taylor probably wouldn't be getting any clarification any time soon.

"That's awesome!" Victoria said, turning back to her sister. "Why didn't you tell me about her?"

Panacea managed to pull herself together enough to answer, at least.

"I just… you know how Carol is, and the New Wave stuff…"

That wasn't the most articulate answer, but Taylor supposed that it was better than nothing.

"I mean, yeah, sure, but you could have told me!" Victoria said, shaking her head. "Whatever. It's super late… or early? I don't know, but I'm going back to bed. But we will be talking about this tomorrow."

Victoria gave Panacea a look and then flew back down the hallway.

Panacea closed the door in a daze before spinning to face her.

"What the fuck was that?" Panacea… Amy? Hissed at her.

"I figured that it would be better if you weren't seen with a villainous mad scientist," Taylor whispered back.

"I don't… I just…" Amy spluttered. "I mean, yes, but… you shouldn't have…"

"If it makes you feel better, my name isn't actually Anne," Taylor said.

"It doesn't. It really doesn't. Jesus… fuck," Amy flopped down on the bed and groaned into the blankets.

Taylor let her wallow in whatever this emotion was for a few minutes. She didn't really see what the big deal was.

"So, your sister seems pretty cool," Taylor said eventually, lacking anything else to break the silence.

"I hate you so much," Amy's voice was muffled by the blankets. It was entirely possible that she was trying to suffocate herself.

Taylor chuckled in spite of the situation.

"Also, my lab kind of got destroyed when I was fighting Shadow Stalker. Any chance you would be willing to help me get set back up?" Taylor asked.

Amy rolled over and stared at the ceiling for a long moment before looking up at her.

"I… you know what, let me think about it. I don't know if I really want to get involved with your bloody business," Amy said, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"Come on, it will be tons of fun. You can check out all my weird concoctions and make sure my next experiment isn't going to turn me into a nightmare monster or something," Taylor said, mostly joking.

Amy glared at her.

"Still not happy about the mass murdering thing," Amy said.

"Look, you can help point me towards people who deserve it. That's fun, right?"

"That is not fun. That is the very definition of not fun."

"I'll get you your own cool hat and edgy coat," Taylor offered.

"Absolutely fucking not."

Taylor couldn't keep a straight face, but Amy was also smiling grudgingly so it was worth it.

"Do you mind if I call you Amy? When you aren't in costume?" It occurred to Taylor that she should probably ask. It seemed like the polite thing to do, or something.

Amy snorted.

"I don't exactly have a secret identity to worry about," she said bitterly. "Knock yourself out."

"Cool."

Amy looked up at her, and for some reason Taylor couldn't bring herself to look away. She should probably leave. Or say something else.

But she didn't, and Amy didn't, either.

Maybe she didn't know what to say, either.

Maybe she didn't want this weird, separated, in-between space to end, either.

Finally, Taylor blinked and took a moment to recenter herself. It had been a really long night, and her emotions were all kinds of unbalanced. She desperately needed to sleep.

"I should probably go," Taylor said softly.

"Yeah," Amy said, before her eyes widened. "Wait, I got distracted! We need to talk about your blood vials!"

Right. That was the original reason for their scheduled meeting tomorrow. Tonight?

"Oh yeah. I actually ran out on the way over here. I need to fix that," Taylor mused. "So, are they safe for human consumption?"

"I have no idea!" Amy exclaimed, walking over to her desk drawer and grabbing the gifted vial. "My powers can't make heads or tails of this crap, but I don't think it's actually blood and I don't think it's still human. I don't know what the hell you do to it, but it's totally fucked."

Huh.

Taylor shrugged.

"I know what I do, but not why it works, if that makes sense. It just… works?" Taylor said.

"It's some kind of hyper-reactive cellular fluid, but it makes no sense at all to my power. Like it's constantly shifting and warping itself and the space around it and inside it. I don't even know if it's safe for you to put in your body, let alone anyone else's," Amy said. "I'm sort of surprised it hasn't mutated you into some kind of Nilbog monster."

That was… concerning.

"Well, it's a good thing I have you to keep an eye on me, then," Taylor grinned. "Make sure to let me know if I start growing extra limbs or eyes or something."

"Not funny," Amy glared at her.

It was kind of funny.

"I'll bring you more samples to work with once I get my lab set back up," Taylor said. "I'm probably going to lie low for a while. Or try to, at least."

Amy nodded, still staring absent-mindedly at the blood vial.

Taylor still didn't want to leave.

"What's your phone number?" Amy asked eventually.

"I don't have a phone," Taylor said. She hadn't even thought about that.

"Why am I not surprised," Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, you should get one. So you can just call the next time you get filled with arrows instead of showing up at my window and collapsing on top of me."

Had that happened? Taylor's memory was a bit fuzzy, there at the end.

Amy scrawled her phone number on a post-it note and handed it over. Her handwriting was atrocious.

"If you give this out to anyone else, I'll give you those extra limbs and eyes myself," she threatened.

"Sure, you know the violent vigilante business has a thriving social scene," Taylor said sarcastically.

"I can put those arrows back where they came from, if you want," Amy snapped, but Taylor could tell she was trying not to smile.

Speaking of which…

"Oh, I should probably take those with me. It might be a bit difficult to explain where you got them," Taylor said.

She reached down and grabbed the bolts out of the trash can. They had strange cylinders of flesh and bone wrapped around the last few inches, like the world's grossest marshmallow on a stick.

Taylor would experiment with that when she got back to the Hospital.

She also grabbed her various costume articles from under the bed, throwing her coat on and wrapping the scarf under her hair.

Taylor pulled her favorite hat back into place, and all was right with the world once again.

"Right," Taylor said, looking back at Amy. The healer was staring at her with an unreadable expression. "I guess I'll call you?"

"You better. Are we still on for tonight?" Amy asked, somehow still acidic despite her words.

"If you want," Taylor said.

"You owe me a pack of cigarettes," Amy said. "For the healing. And not turning you over to the PRT for killing a Ward."

"I guess that could be arranged," Taylor smiled. What was stealing one pack of cigarettes, after all the murder?

"Good," Amy said.

"Fine," Taylor said.

They stared at each other for another long moment.

Taylor still didn't want to leave.

But she really, really needed to sleep. Even the lab tables at the Hospital sounded comfortable right now.

Taylor walked over and opened the window.

"See you around, Amy," she said, looking over her shoulder at the frazzled healer.

"Later, Hunter," Amy said.

It was incredibly, mind-numbingly stupid, and short-sighted, but… Amy hadn't told the PRT about her activities, despite having plenty of reasons to do so. She could probably be trusted. Plus, it felt… unfair. She let Taylor call her by name, and she had saved her life.

No matter how much Taylor wanted to deny it, there was a part of her that craved a real connection with someone aside from her father, after being alone for so long. And maybe… it seemed like Amy wanted the same thing, however much she complained about Taylor's antics.

"Taylor," she said quietly.

"What?" Amy asked.

"My name is Taylor."

"Oh."

There was another long beat of silence in the moonlight.

"Goodnight, Taylor," Amy said eventually.

"Goodnight, Amy," Taylor replied.

And then she left.

…