2

January 1st, 2011

My dad wasn't breathing.

I had my ear pressed right against his mouth, straining for even the slightest sound, the faintest whisper of air against my skin, but there was nothing. No sound. No movement. No life.

I wanted to break down and sob into his chest, and just let everything out, until... until what? Until I ran out of tears? Until the falling snow buried us both? Until someone, anyone came along and fixed everything that was broken?

I wanted to break down, but I couldn't, because I could hear someone waking up further into the alleyway. Someone who I clearly hadn't hit hard enough the first time. I stood up and started walking towards him. He and his friends all wore the red and green colors of the ABB, one of the three largest gangs in Brockton Bay. He was trying to push himself away from me, his face looking pale and sick in the golden light that surrounded me.

Golden light? It hurt to think, but I could just barely recall how the glow had lit up the whole alleyway, just before I'd heard my dad scream my name, and then...

My legs buckled and I fell back to my knees, right before throwing up into a nearby pile of snow. Something had happened, but I couldn't put the pieces back together. I staggered back to my feet and kept walking.

It was all just a desperate blur, but sometime in the last few minutes I'd apparently become a parahuman. It didn't feel important. My newfound powers let me knock out a half-dozen armed gang members with my bare hands, but they couldn't do anything that mattered. They hadn't saved the only person who still mattered to me. I was still just as weak, just as worthless as before.

I stepped over to the retreating ABB ganger, grabbing him by the neck and hauling him to his feet before slamming him against the brick alleyway wall. He wasn't the one who pulled the trigger, but that also didn't feel as important as it should have. I stared into his eyes as they filled with panic, and felt...nothing. I didn't even know why I had grabbed him, just that I needed something from him.

"Why?" I heard myself say. He looked at me without comprehension.

"Why," I tried again, "were you here? This isn't your territory. It's supposed to be safe." I almost had to spit the word 'safe,' as my hand tightened involuntarily around his neck. We were only a block from my home, on the edges of the Docks but not actually on the ABB's turf. Dad offered to host the Dockworker's Association New Year's party out our place specifically because he wanted everyone to stay clear of the Docks at night. I'd gone out for some fresh air, just like I had a hundred times before, and then.. And then...

"Lung!" the man said, choking out the word around my iron grip on his windpipe. I'd forgotten he was there. "Wants. New territory. Told us. To make examples."

His face had started to turn all sorts of unusual colors, so I relaxed my grip just a little. After a few shuddering breaths, he met my eyes and continued.

"He sent a bunch of us out, told us to put up tags and then come back with something valuable. Wallets. Guns. Girls…"

"Girls," I growled. I was starting to remember the things he and his friends had been saying as they grabbed me.

My captive seemed to misunderstand that as a question. "For the brothels," he gulped out, "or ransom, if their parents were important enough. We didn't want to kill anyone. If that stupid asshole hadn't-"

I punched him, snarling as more golden light coruscated down my arm and into my fist. I heard a thundering crack as a cloud of dust and debris erupted into my face. When the dust cleared, I saw that I'd missed the man, instead punching a crater the size of a dinner plate into the brick wall right beside his head. My hand glowed with a strange inner light; it didn't have a scratch on it.

My captive, unfortunately, had passed out. I rummaged around in his jacket pocket for his phone before letting him slump to the ground. My fingers moved on autopilot, dialing 911, while my mind raced. What was I going to do now? The smart plan would be to wait for the cops, give a statement, call the PRT about my powers and join the Wards. It made the most sense, but it also made me feel sick to my stomach.

My life had been hell before this; why would joining the parahuman boy-scouts make it any better? They'd put me in a shiny new costume, make me smile and wave to the crowds like everything hadn't just fallen apart, like it wasn't thanks to fucking capes like them that things had even gotten so bad in the first place. They'd make me go back to school.

I could almost hear Emma's voice, see the sneer on her face. "Oh, Taylor, I knew you were pathetic, but I never even imagined you'd be so useless that both of your parents would die because of you!"

Somewhere far away, the 911 dispatcher was telling me to please stay on the line. The phone dropped into the snow. I turned around, took one last look at dad, and ran.

January 3rd

I staggered out of yet another alleyway, one hand buried in my hoodie's front pocket while the other checked my chest for broken ribs. It was a futile gesture; I didn't know how to distinguish the pain of a broken bone from that of a giant bruise, so I couldn't figure out anything more detailed than "yup, that sure does hurt!"

Which it did. A lot. Ouch.

Still, I wasn't dead, nor were any of the ABB members I'd picked a fight with. Even better, I'd managed to take them down without any obvious glowing, so they probably wouldn't guess they'd been beaten up by a cape. The ABB only had two capes of their own, but I clearly wasn't ready to tangle with either of them.

Back on the street, I stopped a moment to catch my breath before walking towards the abandoned building I'd been sleeping in the last few nights. I'd gone into that fight expecting it to be a walk in the park, but it turned out that my power wasn't actually all that powerful. I was stronger and tougher, but I clearly wasn't much of a brute, and faster reflexes didn't mean that I automatically knew how to fight. That trick with the glowing fists might have been useful, but it was a bit obvious, and I wasn't confident that I could use it without accidentally killing someone.

I'd started off strong, catching the gang members off guard with a stronger punch than my scrawny limbs would suggest I was capable of, but it didn't take them long to rally against me. In the end, I only really won through sheer endurance, taking three blows for every one I landed myself. If any of them had been carrying a gun or a knife, I might have died.

Eventually, I reached my hideout, only to find that someone had been by while I'd been out. They'd taken my little pile of kindling, the spare shirt I'd hung out to dry, and the ratty old shopping bag that had held my entire entire store of bottled water and the half sandwich I'd been saying for lunch. They hadn't been able to grab the soggy, beaten-up mattress I'd found to sleep on, so they'd just slashed it up with a knife instead. How nice of them.

Ah, fuck it. I didn't sit down so much as I just collapsed on the ground. At least I wasn't broke anymore. I pulled out the gang members' wallets from my hoodie pocket and started rifling through them for valuables. I ended up with a little over a hundred dollars and a Subway gift card, both of which I greedily stashed away in a zip-up pocket. It wasn't a fortune, but it meant I didn't need to worry about food for a while longer.

Leaning back against the wall, I held up my right hand in front of my face, focusing on it until it started to glow. My power was just so frustrating! It felt like I had this vast ocean of energy flowing through me, enough power to level buildings or throw cars into space or something. Just holding it inside me muted fear, filled me with confidence, made me feel like I could accomplish anything...until I actually tried to do something with it. Then, nothing. It could make my fists as strong as steel, let me punch brick walls for half an hour without suffering even so much as a bruise, but that didn't draw on more than the smallest flicker of the fire I felt roaring inside me. I could control the energy, change how it flowed through my body with only a thought, but no matter how much I poked and prodded it didn't seem to actually do anything.

I sighed, and then forced myself to my feet. Fine. It only made sense that I'd get the world's most underwhelming power. I'd dealt with disappointment before, far worse than this, and I'd survived so far. There was a strange kind of freedom in knowing that I'd hit rock bottom. All of the worst things I'd imagined had already happened, which meant that there was little left for me to fear. So what if my power wasn't going to fix things for me automatically? I'd just have to find a way to fix my life without it.

I made my way back to one of the more occupied streets, trying to remember where the nearest subway was located. All the while, though, my eyes were scanning the nearby store fronts, looking for gyms, dojos, any place that could teach me how to fight properly. I still didn't have an actual plan beyond the next few days, but learning how to take care of myself couldn't be a bad start.

January 6th

I felt like shit for missing dad's funeral, but the community center only offered free self-defense lessons on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and I'd go crazy if I had to wait until the middle of next week. Plus, it wasn't exactly like I could even show my face there. I couldn't quite say why, but I didn't want the rest of the world to know I was still alive. I wasn't going back to my old life, no matter what, and so I'd let everyone assume I was gone until I knew just what my new life was going to be.

I squared off against my practice partner, and older woman with frizzy white hair and workout clothes that would have been garish even back in the 80s when they'd been made. She charged at me, stabbing out with the plastic cafeteria spoon we'd been asked to imagine as a knife. I side-stepped the attack, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into one of the joint-locks the instructor had shown us. My partner dropped the 'knife' with a hiss of in-drawn breath.

"Sorry!" I yelped, immediately letting go. "I didn't mean to twist that hard."

She only laughed, though. "Don't worry, hun, I've been through plenty worse. I was just surprised at how fast you moved. You sure this is your first class?"

Her tone was good humored, fortunately, so I didn't take it as an accusation. Years of abuse from the Trio had trained me to search every compliment for hidden barbs. Being out in public like this, letting myself be friendly with people, still wasn't easy. I was relying on my power to help buoy my confidence and manage the anxiety I felt. Even then, I don't think I could have managed it if I hadn't given everyone a fake name. If these people ever betrayed me, if everything became too intense, Ms. Linda Carnaham could just vanish from their lives, never to be seen again.

"Maybe I was a ninja in a past life," I said, picking up the spoon so she could take her turn disarming me.

"I'd almost believe it," I heard our instructor say from behind me. Sergeant Camden (just calling her Mary felt wrong, no matter what she said) was the only other woman here as tall as I was, and her bulky frame probably weighed more than twice what I did. She worked in the PRT, but volunteered at the community center whenever she found the time. I felt lucky to be here on one of the days she was teaching.

"You picked all this up faster than anyone else I've seen," she said. "If my recruits learned even half as fast as you, I'd be out of a job in a week."

I did my best not to blush at her praise. "It must be because I have such a good teacher," I said, with a slight hint of playful sarcasm to make it clear that I wasn't just brown-nosing.

Inwardly, though, I'd been wondering. "Learning fast" was an understatement. It seemed like I never needed her to show me anything more than once before I could do it myself. Everything she taught me just felt natural, like I only had to go with the flow and let my body move flawlessly through every step. Not only that, but I could feel my power responding to the training, the energy flows inside me shifting or intensifying in response to my motions.

Sergeant Camden chuckled, and before she could move on to examine another pair of students, I spoke up.

"Actually, Ma'am, I have a question?"

"It's Mary, not Ma'am," she said, "and shoot."

"Well," I said, "To be honest, I'm not just here to learn self defense. I'm actually a huge fan of professional MMA, and I've been thinking of trying out some of that stuff myself."

Camden smiled indulgently. "Well, from the looks of things you've probably got a knack for it. Why show up here, though? I'm not exactly running rigorous physical training, here."

I looked down at my shoes, trying to sound embarrassed. "Money's kinda tight in my family right now," I said, "and I wasn't sure if I'd be cut out for anything serious. It's been really fun so far, though, so I thought I'd ask if you know any good ways to find an instructor?"

She grinned at me, and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "I might have a few ideas. Meet me in my office once the class is done, and don't worry so much about money. I know a few people who would who'd be happy to give a few lessons, especially since they all owe me a few favors. I only ask two things in return."

"What's that?" I asked. This was going better than I'd hoped.

"First," she said, "I don't want you joining any of the gangs. I'm not getting you training just so you can go use your skills to help bastards like Kaiser or Lung."

"No chance of that," I said, meaning every word.

"Good," she replied. "Second, if this all works out for you, consider joining up with the cops or the PRT. I'm not saying you have to enlist, but give it a thought. We could use more people like you on our side."

I couldn't stop myself from blushing this time. How long had it been since someone had looked at me and seen potential instead just a problem child? I had to look down to avoid letting her see me tear up from her words.

"I'll try to keep impressing," I said. When she walked away, I went back to practicing with my partner. It suddenly had a lot to think about.

January 18th

"Stop right there, little lady."

The voice coming from behind me was doing its best to drip with menace, but mostly it just sounded drippy. Still, I stopped as he asked.

"You didn't think you could just walk down this private road without paying a toll, did you?" he continued. Mentally, I added another tick to the tally. That was three "pay the toll" threats this week, along with two "show you a good time"s and one "it's dangerous out here, why don't we walk you home?" I was beginning to think that all the gangs in this city learned everything they knew about muggings from movies.

"Now turn around," the mugger said, and I complied. There were four of them in total, carrying improvised weapons and wearing Merchant colors. I preferred to go after the ABB when possible, but focusing on one gang exclusively risked drawing too much attention, so today I'd decided to go fishing through the drug-peddlers' territory. I had to choke back a giggle as I saw that I probably had a solid two inches of height and 15lbs of muscle on the one who called me 'little lady.'

"Please don't hurt me!" I said, faking a tremor in my voice. "Please, I'll do anything, just don't get your blood all over my nice new jacket!"

Only one of them seemed to have actually heard me, since he frowned while the others just leered and advanced on me. Before the genius in their midst could say anything, I moved, covering the distance between me and the muggers in a heartbeat and slamming my elbow into the first one's nose.

He howled in pain, hands coming up to stop the blood now gushing from his shattered nose, and I took the opportunity to hammer three quick blows into his ribs. My power surged inside me and I gladly took the extra strength it offered, letting it fill me like light fills a crystal chandelier. The Merchant to my left swung at my with a crowbar, so I grabbed the now-stunned ringleader by the shoulders and spun him into the path of the strike.

When the crowbar hit his back with a sickening thunk, I kicked my hapless punching bag into his shocked friend, intending to knock them both down. Instead, I felt my power sing through my limbs, as if it was telling me how it wanted to be used. I released my power just so and felt it rush up my leg, not hardening it to boost the blow, but actually slamming the power itself into my target. The merchant shot backwards like he'd been launched out of a cannon, bowling over his crowbar-wielding ally in the process before smacking into the side of a garbage bin.. On instinct, I reached a hand out and grabbed the crowbar as it fell right into my palm.

For several seconds, nobody made a sound. Then I turned to look at the remaining two, tossing my new crowbar into the air like a baton-twirler in a marching band, and allowed myself a toothy grin. From there, it was all over but their crying.

Half an hour later, I strolled back into my latest hideout with that grin still on my face, tossing the Merchants' wallets onto the 'to sort' pile with the others. I wasn't so concerned with theft now that I lived on the third floor of a building with no intact stairs, inaccessible to someone without flight or the enhanced jumping ability I'd figured out. I grabbed a bottle of water from my icebox (literally an insulated box filled with ice) and flopped down onto my pile of salvaged mattresses. I'd picked up some more cash, taken out a bunch of Merchants, and even learned a new use for my power.

Honestly, that last bit almost felt like overkill at this point; the last half dozen fights had barely made me break a sweat. That should have been a relief, but it seemed like the better I got at this fighting business, the more I itched for a real challenge. It was becoming increasingly clear that my power wasn't nearly as much of a lemon as I'd first thought, and didn't that meant that I should actually do something with it?

That meant, much as I hated to think it, that I couldn't keep running from what had happened to me. When I was struggling to survive, it was easy to put away the memories and concentrate everything on whatever was in front of me, but now I'd messed things up by earning myself the time to think and relax. Nothing I did with my power would ever feel right if I couldn't face up to the reason I was doing it.

I sighed, pulled out the old notebook I'd been using as a journal, and tried to get comfortable. It felt like I was going to have a long night.

January 25th

"Mom...dad...I have to tell you something you're probably not going to like."

I knelt in front of my parents' graves, and the cold I felt had nothing to do with the winter weather.

"I wish I'd come to talk to you both sooner. I could say that I didn't have a chance, that I was too busy just trying to get by, but the truth is that I just didn't want to have to face you. I think some part of me was hoping that I'd get myself killed before I ever had to deal with…"

I paused, trying to hold myself back from tearing up until I realized that was pointless and just let it out.

Minutes later, once I managed to find my voice again, I said "I've asked myself what advice you would give, if you were here right now." I looked towards my mother's gravestone. "You would probably tell me to go back and finish high school, find something that I loved to do, and then find some way to change the world with it. You, on the other hand" I turned towards my dad's headstone, "would just tell me to stay safe, to keep my head down." I chuckled. "Of course, when that didn't work, you'd probably make me join the Wards instead."

I sat back, and took another deep breath.

"I promise I'll do my best to make you both proud of me, but there's something I need to do first. I know it's a bad idea, and there are a million and one reasons why I shouldn't do it. I've tried to talk myself out of it so many times that it made my head spin, but I just. Can't. Let go."

I clenched my fists, and my power flared involuntarily, golden light shining briefly from my brow. I didn't want to think about mom and dad ever seeing this side of me, but this was my last chance. If I couldn't bring myself to tell them about my plan, then I'd know for sure that it wasn't right.

"It's just...ever since you died, dad, I've seen what a shitho-, er, what a terrible place Brockton Bay really is. I would have died a dozen times over if I didn't have powers. The same thing that happened to you is happening again and again every day, but no one steps up to stop it. No one does anything about the gangs because they're too scared of the villains. I can't let that stand, not when I have the power to stop it. I need to show everyone that the gangs aren't invincible."

I paused, waiting for a sign. If I saw dad's face in the clouds, if I heard mom's voice in the wind, maybe I wouldn't have to do this. I could go to the police, tell my story, start living with a foster family. It wouldn't be hard to have a normal life, or as normal a life as a cape could hope for. Letting go, moving on, it would be the toughest part, but I knew it was possible. All I wanted in return was just a single moment of feeling like they might not be totally gone.

I held my breath and listened. I looked up at the sky, blinking away tears. Nothing. Of course. They were gone.

"I'm going to kill Lung," I hissed, and just like that, everything felt somehow lighter. "He's the biggest villain in Brockton Bay, so powerful that no one dares to fight him. Even the Protectorate are afraid of him. I should probably be afraid of him too, but when I look at Lung I don't see the vicious crime-lord or the dragon who went toe to toe with Leviathan and lived. All I see is the reason why I don't have a father anymore."

"I don't know how, and I don't know when, but someday soon I'm going to kill him for that."

I stood up, indecision replaced with cold certainty. As I turned to leave, though, I whispered one last thing under my breath.

"I just hope you'll be able to forgive me."February 10th

I staggered into my new apartment, locked the door behind me, and collapsed onto the couch without even bothering to turn on the lights. The place was tiny, and ridiculously expensive, but it was clean and it came pre-furnished. More importantly, it came with a landlord willing to take payments in cash and not ask for ID. It was a pretty good deal, really, as long as I didn't think too much about who his other tenants might be, or the do-not-fuck-with-me look he gave me when he explained that rent was due promptly on the 1st of every month. Fortunately for my piece of mind (and possibly my kneecaps) I had returned home tonight with the next two month's worth of rent money stashed safely in my hoodie pocket.

I pressed my face into the couch cushion grumbled some wordless complaint, resisting the urge to prod at all my new aches and bruises. Just because my power would get rid of them by tomorrow morning didn't mean I wasn't allowed to whine a bit. Only a bit, though. With a sigh and a super-heroic effort of will, I pulled myself back up into a sitting position. My night wasn't yet finished.

The apartment was almost completely lightless, of course, so I took a deep breath and channeled a fraction of my power to life, like breathing on smoldering embers to kindle a flame. Golden light filled the room, pouring forth from the sunburst symbol that I knew was now blazing on my forehead. I'd been confused as hell the first time I'd seen it; as far as I knew, most parahuman powers didn't come with their own logo built in. I still didn't know what it was for, but I didn't mind the design, and it made for a handy flashlight. I kept the glow going just long enough to find my way to the actual light-switch, and then headed for the kitchen.

---

Half an hour later, I came back to the couch with a steaming plate of penne all'arrabbiata and fresh-baked garlic bread. After a month without even the most bare-bones kitchen, I tried to cook for myself as much as possible. It was fun, cheaper and healthier than fast food, and all the practice was helping me improve my cooking skills at a rapid pace. For tonight's meal, I'd picked up some ingredients from a nearby bodega and followed a recipe online, making a few tweaks here and there whenever it felt appropriate.

I sat down with a theatrical sigh, put my plate on the coffee table, then pulled my laptop onto the cushion next to me and flicked the power button. I had plenty of time to eat while I waited for it to boot up, which was good, because once I took the first bite I just couldn't stop.

The food was way too good for something I'd cooked maybe once before in my entire life. The sauce was rich and sharp, with just the right amount of spiciness. The noodles were exactly as I liked them, just a little firmer than was typical. The garlic bread was so perfectly crisp and aromatic that it made my eyes roll up into the back of my head. I'd heard that hunger made for the best seasoning, but this was ridiculous. Either I was starving myself without realizing it, or I'd somehow learned how to make professional quality italian food overnight.

Powers? Powers. Nothing about them made sense, so I might as well enjoy the perks, right?

All this luxury hadn't come out of nowhere. After my visit to the cemetery, I'd decided that I couldn't just keep rolling muggers without the gangs eventually taking notice. I'd needed an alternative revenue stream, and after a bit of poking around, I found one perfectly suited to my talents. I learned that Hookwolf of the E88 ran a couple of underground fighting pits throughout the city. Word of mouth said that they were honest, paid well, and were about as safe as an illegal fight club could be.

I wasn't happy with the idea of getting involved in Nazi shit, even peripherally, but it turned out Hookwolf fancied himself some kind of honorable viking warrior, and so he saw fighting as a 'sacred rite' that went above politics. Some of the people I talked to saw it as evidence that he wasn't as bad as the other fascists. To me, though, it just sounded like he was happy to applaud someone in the arena one night, and then murder them the next for being the wrong color in the wrong part of town.

In the end, two things won me over. First, the money really was as good as the rumors said. Second, a lot of the other fighters would be nazis themselves, and fighting meant I'd get to punch their teeth in. Once I took the plunge, it was easy going. Even concealing my powers, the fights were a piece of cake; the hardest part was letting my opponents get a few hits in so I didn't look too good. I had a bit of a knack for bringing some theatricality into my fights, and I was willing to do as many matches in a night as they'd let me, so it didn't take long for me to become something of a fan favorite.

Tonight was just the latest in a long series of very lucrative outings. I was going in twice a week, and probably making more money than my dad ever pulled in from his job with the Dockworker's Association. I could understand how some people could enjoy making a living from this; I was making good (if not great) money, getting to do something I excelled at, and regularly hearing people praise me for my accomplishments. Plus (and this might just have been years of repressed rage talking), fighting turned out to be a lot of fun. I wasn't even going to go out and beat the crap out of innocents just for the rush, unlike some people I could name, but I'd never felt anything quite like the sheer electricity of pitting my strength and skill against other fighters and coming out on top.

It wasn't something I could do long-term, though, and not just because I had more important goals. If any of the Empire lackeys running the rings took too much of a shine to me, or even worse, figured out that I was a cape, they'd give me the choice to either join their gang or die. I figured I could probably keep the current arrangement going for another two or three months, but after that I'd need to find a new way to pay the rent.

So, once I finished my unnaturally delicious supper, I wasted no time getting down to work. I used my laptop to bring up Parahumans Online and its attendant wiki, then pulled out my pocket notebook from its hiding place underneath one of the couch cushions. The computer was useful for research, but I didn't trust my actual plans on anything but pen and paper. I'd already filled dozens of pages with info on the various heroes and villains of Brockton Bay, and tonight I planned to add a few more. I grabbed a freshly sharpened pencil and started reading.

---

"New Wave," I murmured to myself, while idly chewing on the back of my pencil. "Family team, all unmasked. Eight parahuman members, all considered fairly powerful. Lots of Blaster and Mover powers, which is good, since nobody wants to fight Lung at close range. Brandish and Manpower are too melee focused to be useful; Glory Girl flies, though, so she might have potential. Panacea, their healer, could be useful for keeping the team alive and in the fight, but she probably wouldn't want to risk being too close to the actual battle."

I frowned, then brought up youtube and did a video search for 'New Wave vs Lung.' I found the first video that wasn't just a bunch of cape nerds arguing over hypotheticals and pressed Play. It was obviously shot from someone's smartphone, so the quality was far from impressive, but I could still see well enough to make out the boarded-up buildings and crumbling sidewalks of the docks district. In center focus, Brandish and Manpower moved to help a few unlucky bystanders out of what was quickly becoming a burning building, while three streaks of light that were probably Lady Photon and her kids flew rapidly overhead, pelting Lung with intense-looking beams of light.

Unfortunately, the beams seemed to do little more at first than stagger Lung, until he grew large enough that they only served to make him angrier. The flying heroes had to start dedicating less of their attention to strafing runs, and more towards avoiding the fireballs Lung was hurling at them. It was starting to look like Lung was going to bring down New Wave with sheer stubbornness, until a pickup truck came flying in from outside the shot to smash him against a nearby building. The cameraman turned sharply to look at where the truck flew in from, revealing Glory Girl posing with her hands on her hips. Moments later, she blurred through the air to grab Brandish in a bridal carry, while Lady Photon floated down to pick up her husband. By the time that Lung shoved the truck off of himself and climbed back to his feet, New Wave was already gone.

Damn. I'd had a good feeling about New Wave, but it didn't look like they'd be much help. Their blaster powers hadn't managed to do nearly enough damage. At best, they'd distract him; at worst, they'd just help him ramp up faster. Plus, my research so far suggested that they might be willing to fight me just to prevent me from finishing Lung off, so overall they offered too little benefit for too much risk. I marked my observations in my notebook, then pulled up another New Wave vs Lung video, just in case it revealed anything new.

I'd yet to find any capes who could serve as useful allies against Lung, and I had pretty much run out of options. The Protectorate had some real heavy hitters, and I'd love to have Miss Militia on my side, but they wouldn't go after Lung's head without a kill order. The Merchants had seen some success fighting Lung, but there's no way I would trust them to watch my back. Empire 88 had the biggest cape roster in Brockton Bay, and would likely be all too willing to murder Lung given a chance, but I wasn't yet desperate enough to work alongside nazis. The Undersiders had even less firepower than New Wave; the best they could do was make silly faces at Lung and then run away. Faultline's Crew had potential, but I was a long way from being able to afford their services, and rumor had it that they refused to do mercenary work in their hometown.

Shadow Stalker had looked promising, with her versatile power and willingness to inflict grievous harm on criminals, until I read that she'd joined the Wards back at the start of the school year. All of the stories about her after that point were just as squeaky-clean as the rest of the junior hero team, though the reporters still liked portraying her as a bit of a brooding lone-wolf type.

Unless I could somehow put my own team together, the Protectorate was still looking like my best option, which pissed me off. They had so much power, even more so if they called for reinforcements from other cities, and yet they allowed Lung to rule a quarter of the city like his own personal kingdom. Besides, I doubted they'd even listen to someone my age. They'd probably just stick me in the Wards and relegate me to shopping mall meet-and-greets or anti-drug PSAs at highschools. I'd be on a team, but not one that actually got to do anything.

Wait.

The thought struck me so suddenly, I barely even noticed myself bite clean through my pencil.

What were the odds that at least a few of the Wards weren't exactly happy with being glorified mascots for the Protectorate? It wasn't like all of them would have signed up just to hand out autographs and endorse sports drinks. In fact, I suspected that at least one of them was itching for a chance to get in proper fights more often. The Protectorate would never approve of sending the wards out to fight against goddamn Lung, of course, but the Protectorate didn't have to know.

I brought up the PHO wiki again and searched for the Wards ENE. Their entries were polished and highly detailed, probably copied in large parts from the official Protectorate webpage. I only skimmed the page to start off with, but I smiled when I saw that Vista was listed as a Shaker 9. Tremendously powerful, in other words. She was probably only twelve or thirteen years old, but that didn't mean much, did it? Powers didn't care about age, after all. I started taking detailed notes on all of the Wards, with a reminder to check out how the Wards program itself actually worked. I still didn't have a real plan, but I could see one forming in the distance.

February 18th

"Another day pass, babe?"

"Yep," I said, handing a few bills to Leah over the reception desk. "Both gym and pool, please."

"Y'know," she said, opening the cash register, "It'd be a lot cheaper if you'd just bite the bullet and get yourself a membership."

I shook my head, but gave her a grin that I hoped was disarming. "Thanks, Leah, but I'm pretty happy with things as they are." Honestly, a membership would be a lot cheaper, and it wasn't like I didn't need the money. The only problem was that the sign up process called for ID, and I didn't want to risk letting the world know that Taylor Hebert was still alive.

"Aw, don't be like that," she said, giving me my change and an exaggerated pout. "Look, I'll even offer a discount for my favorite customer."

I didn't have a good answer to that, so I just shrugged, while failing to hide the blush rising to my cheeks. Leah was only a year or two older than me, but she worked at the gym almost full time. I suspected that her parents might own the place. She was also, well, kinda really cute, with big dark eyes and a splash of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. I'd almost turned and run the first time she smiled at me, and it took until my third visit before I could speak in complete sentences around her. I was starting to suspect that she might be flirting with me.

"Fine," she said, with an over-theatrical sigh. "Be all mysterious if you want to. Just remember that you're still my favorite, and I'd love to see more of you." With that, she handed me my receipt and the key to a rental locker.

"More?" I asked, unable to quite meet her eyes. My face felt like it was on fire. "I'm already working out here almost every day."

I turned to go towards the women's locker room, doing my best to walk instead of scurry. Just before I reached the door, I turned back and see Leah grinning at me.

"I know what I said, Taylor. Enjoy your workout!"

Once the door closed behind me, I let out a deep breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in. My pre-workout routine was basically automatic by this point, which unfortunately left me time to think. Clearly, I was just nervous that Leah was starting to get suspicious of my odd behaviour. I probably should have changed to a different gym after last week, but this one was so convenient, and it had one of the biggest pools, and…

And Leah really was very cute, I had to admit. Not the best reason for me to risk discovery, but to hell with it. Avenging hero or not, I had the right to be a useless lesbian if I wanted to. The internet told me so. It wasn't like anything could ever come of it anyways, and besides, I wasn't exactly swimming in opportunities to get positive attention from pretty girls.

But, if she was indeed flirting with me (a point I was not yet ready to concede), I had no idea why. I was shy, more than a little awkward, and calling my looks 'unremarkable' might be giving me too much credit. In other words, I wasn't what you would call the most impressive catch for all the Bay's eligible gay bachelorettes. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed clear that Leah was probably just being nice to me out of pity, and I'd only embarrass myself thinking that she might...

I took a deep breath. Something felt wrong. My stomach was twisting itself in knots, and my power roiled within me, restless, angry.

I went back through my previous train of thought, and frowned. I knew all too well where thoughts like that went; hours spent in front of the mirror, scrutinizing every last flaw, going over the ever-growing list of reasons why I'd never be deserving of affection. It was almost a compulsion, as if torturing myself would numb me against the trio's attacks. I hadn't seen them in almost two months, but it seemed like the bullies at Winslow were still keeping me down.

Well, fuck that. If I was going to kill Lung, I couldn't afford to waste energy tearing down my own self esteem. I checked to make sure that the locker room was still empty, and then let the essence of my power suffuse me from head to toe. Golden light washed through the room, not just from my brow, but from a shining halo of power wreathing my body. The essence burned away self pity as easily as sunlight banishes the night. It reminded me that I was strong, and getting stronger every day in ways that the trio would never understand. I could rise above their childish insults.

With another deep breath, I let the power drain away, turning off my personal power-induced lightshow. I wasn't going to fall back into weakness. I owed it to myself to take a good long look in the mirror and see myself as I really was. So what if I was unattractive? I didn't need to be pretty to rip Lung's heart out of his chest. I'd just accept it and move on.

The locker room had a few standing mirrors (to allay any worries about two-way glass), so I tracked one down and steeled myself. I looked up, ready to face my dour features and too-wide mouth with confidence, and then almost fell backwards.

Holy Shit. I looked...good?

It was hard to describe the exact changes; my skin was clearer, my cheekbones maybe a bit more pronounced, my eyes somehow more intense, but the overall effect was shocking. It wasn't like I'd transformed into a supermodel or anything, but the face staring back at me in the mirror was undeniably attractive. My features were still recognizable, just refined, like I was actually the actress hired to play the role of Taylor Hebert in a film adaptation of my life. Combine that with the muscle tone that I'd been building up thanks to all my physical activity, and some modest but definitely noticeable curves that I'd somehow failed to notice growing in, and-

Well, holy shit.

Okay, I knew that low self-esteem could distort a person's image of herself, but this was ridiculous. Either I'd gotten so high on my own self-confidence that I was hallucinating, I was the world's most ironic late bloomer, or my power was changing how I looked. Regardless, I was about as far away from 'ugly' as I'd ever imagined being. I should have felt ecstatic, or at least a little smug. Instead, it was like I'd just found an extra prize at the bottom of a box of cereal. Yay, I guess?

Classic Taylor move, discovering how good I actually looked just five minutes after passionately resolving not care about my appearance. If I was still going to Winslow, this might have been life changing. Now, though, it was pointless.

Unless, that is, being pretty could actually help me beat up Lung after all…

Emma had given me plenty of examples of how good looks could be used to manipulate people, after all. As superficial as it was, being attractive would probably help me sell the Bay on the idea that I was a hero, and if Glory Girl was any example it'd definitely help me win fans. There was even a chance that this could help me recruit additional capes to take down Lung. I wasn't happy with the idea of manipulating people like that, but I'd already resolved to leave worries about morality until after Lung was dead.

I reached into my pockets to try and find my notebook. I needed to look over my preliminary plans and see how this could open up more opportunities. As I did so, I accidentally sent the rest of my pocket litter drifting to the floor. Reaching to pick it up, I saw the receipt for today's gym pass. There was a phone number written on the back, along with a couple cartoon hearts and the words 'call me!'

In the mirror, I saw my (still slightly uncanny) face turn so red it almost seemed to glow. I shoved the paper and my notebook into my locker, fumbled with the lock, and then went off towards the main gym room. Machiavellian scheming could wait for later. Right now, I had way too many emotions to handle, and I was going to deal with them the healthy, mature way: by ignoring all of it, loading up a barbell, and doing squats until my legs went numb.

February 27th

I walked into the arena to the sound of the crowd chanting my name.

Well, not MY name, exactly. No way I was going to give my real identity to a bunch of Nazis. Everyone in Hookwolf's rings fought masked (something about playing off cape mystique), and after I'd been through enough fights to prove I wasn't an anonymous nobody, the arena managers had given me the utterly generic ring-name of 'Thrasher.' I had to admit that, even though it wasn't really me they were cheering for, it felt...nice. In a couple weeks I'd probably try to pretend I'd never even heard of this place, but for now it felt good to be appreciated.

Fighting felt good. Winning felt even better. Combat, I had discovered, was the world's most effective antidepressant, at least where I was concerned. It was a shame I'd have to give this up before too long, though with any luck I'd be able to make up for the loss by beating up villains. That was a worry for the future, anyways. Tonight, I had a one on three match with some of the Empire's better hitters. I was going to have to get hit more than I liked in order to sell the performance, but I promised myself that every Nazi asshole fighting me tonight was going to leave the ring with fewer teeth than they had coming in.

As I walked towards the center of the ring, a pair of spotlights high up in the rafters tracked me with their beams. Hookwolf's arena looked like the first image you'd probably bring to mind if someone said 'underground fighting ring,' just with higher production values. Chain-link fences around the fighting ring? Check. Spectator seating cobbled together out of cinderblocks and scrap? Check. Ominous music playing as my opponents entered the ring? You better believe it.

Except there was only one person coming out of the opposite entrance, and when the spotlights flashed on to illuminate him, I had to stop myself from just jumping over the cage walls and running while I still could. There was no mistaking the metal wolf mask he wore, nor the tattoos that covered his bare chest. I was now in the ring with Hookwolf, one of the E88's strongest capes. His power let him transform his entire body into a giant mass of metal blades and spines, sculpted into a roughly canine shape. He was one of the few capes I'd resolved never to get in a fight with; trying to punch him in his Changer form would have about the same effect as sticking my fist into a running garbage disposal. He was in his human form at the moment, but according to PHO it only took him a few seconds to go full metal monster.

If the crowd had been roaring for me before, they were going completely mad for Hookwolf. He took his time walking into the ring, basking in their adoration. He was famous for never putting his own occasional matches on the schedule, just showing up wherever he felt he could get a good fight. Part of the allure of these events was the chance that the legend himself could appear at any time, like a god walking among mortals. I'd assumed that it was all actually pre-arranged behind the scenes. I'd apparently assumed wrong.

Hookwolf kept walking until he was only a dozen feet away from me, and I saw that he was holding a microphone. The normal announcer wasn't saying anything; I'd already been named, and Hookwolf needed no introduction. He raised the microphone up to his mask, paused for a few seconds as if savoring the moment, and then pointed right at me with his other hand.

"Thrasher!" he yelled, and the crowd jumped back to peak intensity. He lowered his pointing hand, pausing again to let the roar die back down.

"I've been following your last few fights," he continued, "and I've liked what I've seen!" His mask covered his entire face, but I hear in his voice that he must have been grinning like a shark.

"You fight like a real warrior, with ferocity tempered by discipline, brutality mingled with elegance. You fight like someone born to bite and bleed, a natural killer. You walked into the ring like you were meant to be here, and you made your name if the blood of those who challenged you. Hell, I can see a little of myself in you."

Hookwolf locked his gaze on mine, and his tone turned from praising to menacing.

"The problem," he said, as the crowd grew hushed, "is that you've been holding yourself back. You slow yourself down, take hits you could avoid, try to pretend that you couldn't tear the other fighters apart any time you wanted. In fact, I don't think you've ever lost a match except when you wanted to." He started walking closer to me, and I somehow knew that if I tried to back away he'd rip my guts out in an instant.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" I shouted, even though it was doubtful that anybody but Hookwolf could hear me. "I'm just here for the money. I don't give a damn about you and your goddamn viking cult!"

Hookwolf laughed like he was having the time of his life, while I focused on all the reasons I had to hate this nazi piece of shit. Pissing him off could be dangerous, but showing cowardice was sure to be lethal, so I had to keep myself too angry to be afraid. With the way the smug metal-faced asshole was obviously toying with me, It wasn't hard.

"Either you're throwing matches to cheat the house," he continued, as if I hadn't said anything "or you've been sandbagging to keep a low profile." 'To avoid recruitment' went unspoken. The Empire was well known for drafting new members from the ring's best fighters. "I don't really care which. Either way, it stops tonight."

"I want to know," he bellowed, his voice gaining an inhuman reverb, "if the steel you've shown so far runs all the way to your core, or if your courage is only skin deep. So, we're going one on one until I have my answer. The more you impress me, the faster this goes, but if you let me get bored…"

A mass of gleaming metal erupted from under the skin of his right hand, shredding the microphone in an instant before vanishing back into his flesh. He stepped back, theatrically cracking his knuckles. Smug bastard.

I yelled right back at him. "Talk is cheap, asshole! What the hell are you waiting for?"

"That's more like it!" Hookwolf yelled to the rafters. "For that, whelp, I'll let you have the first shot."

I wasn't going to get a better opening than that. I took a stance, coiled my muscles, and burst across the ring as fast as I could run without drawing on my essence. Right before I would have come into his range, I sprung into the air, twisting my body around to hit him square in the chest with both feet. It was the kind of stupid move that would normally leave me wide open, but if Hookwolf was going to give me a free hit, I wasn't going to hold back.

If I'd channeled essence into the blow, I could have sent Hookwolf flying into the cage, probably cracked his ribs. If I did that, though, he'd figure out that I was a cape, and then he'd either force me into the Empire or kill me right here. Unfortunately, without essence infusing my strikes, I was still bound by all the normal laws of physics, especially the ones that meant I couldn't just casually bowl over someone who weighed at least half-again what I did. Hookwolf staggered back but kept his footing, while I practically bounced off him, contorting mid-air to land in a three-point stance in front of him.

I wasn't going to give him a chance to recover. I dashed forward again, jamming a fist into his solar plexus. Instead of the hard muscle I was expecting, my fist smashed against something that felt like solid steel. If it wasn't for brute powers, I was sure I'd have at least a few broken fingers. It was like all his muscles had been replaced with steel cables. Considering his powers, that might well have been the case.

I pushed the pain down and used my other fist to drive an uppercut right into his jaw, and heard the satisfying crunch of his teeth smashing together. Hookwolf reeled, and I was about to follow up with another hit, but all of my fighting instincts suddenly screamed 'danger.' I threw myself backwards just barely fast enough to avoid his vicious knee strike. The asshole had only been pretending to be stunned.

Dropping the facade, Hookwolf straightened up, and gave me a beckoning 'is that all you got?' gesture. We both knew that he could just hang back and force me to come at him every time, just so that he didn't get 'bored' enough to shred me into bleeding chunks. That was just fine to me.

I dashed at Hookwolf again, tensing up for another flying kick, but at the very last second I threw myself at the ground instead. I'd moved too suddenly for a soft fall, but being even a minor brute meant I didn't need to care. I slid between his legs, a move that would never have worked if he'd been in a proper fighting stance instead of showboating. In one fluid motion, I kicked back up onto my feet, spun around, and delivered a powerful kick to the back of his knee.

Even with all my strength behind the blow, it only bent Hookwolf's leg forward a few inches. Almost growling in frustration, I threw myself back at press against the fence behind me, kicked off it into the air, and brought my elbow down on the top of Hookwolf's head as hard as I could, filling the arena with the sickening sound of bone smashing against bone.

This time, Hookwolf didn't even pretend to be stunned. He threw himself backwards at me, using his body weight to crush me against the fence, driving all the air from my lungs. Before I could get my breath back, he turned around, grabbed me by the shoulders, and hurled me bodily across the ring. I only barely managed to right myself before I would have gone skidding over the mat, and I looked up to see Hookwolf charging at me way faster than someone that large should have been allowed to move.

I sidestepped his dodge and ducked under his follow-up right hook, but I only managed to block his third strike with both arms, and it still hit me hard enough that I could swear I heard my bones creak. I tried to back up, get myself some breathing room, but he was relentless, and it wasn't long before my arms started going numb from absorbing his strikes. I felt like I was trying to run blindfolded up a busy highway, surrounded by huge masses of metal moving at deadly speeds mere inches away, threatening to crush me to paste if I ever missed a step.

I didn't even see the attack that actually hit me; I felt a sudden flash of pain, spots of blackness swam over my vision, and I found myself sprawled across the mat, my jaw aching, blood trickling out of my nose. Hookwolf could have killed me then, but instead he just stood silently, his gaze fever-bright as he watched me pull myself back to my feet.

"Having fun yet?" I asked, earning another laugh in response. I wiped my face against my forearm, leaving both smeared with blood. I had the advantage of speed, but Hookwolf was vastly stronger than me, and so tough that even my strongest hits only seemed to tickle him. Worse than that, he was too smart to give me any easy openings or let me turn his own strength against him. At this rate, the best I could do was survive until he decided to stop, and I wasn't willing to bet my life on that happening any time soon.

It was time to try Plan B: Diplomacy. I'd been experimenting with my power for the last two weeks, trying to see if I they had any non-combat applications. I tried meditation, online video tutorials, even calling out magic spells in dog latin, but my first success had come while I was just people watching. If I observed someone and just sort let my physical senses fade into the background, concentrating on my essence instead, my power seemed to take in hundreds of little clues about my target and synthesize it all into a new understanding of how best to make them see me in a favorable light. It was a handy trick, even if it was a tiny bit too close to a Master power for my comfort, so I had practiced with it again and again until it became second nature.

I turned my instincts towards Hookwolf and let my power do its thing.

Do my best to die with dignity, my power advised. Well, fuck that. Time to come up with a Plan C, fast.

"You want a bit more?" I said, a manic grin spreading across my face. Hookwolf met my gaze, and I didn't need to see his face to tell how much fun he was having. "You want a bit more. I can do that."

I charged at Hookwolf, full speed, releasing just a trickle of essence to push me faster and further. I let myself glance down at his legs just for an instant, checking to make sure he was still keeping his stance too damn wide. Just as I'd hoped, Hookwolf noticed the tell. When he moved to counter a low blow, I flared my essence and leapt up as high as I could, skirting the limits of what should be physically possible for a non-parahuman. I planted my feet on Hookwolf's shoulders and pushed off again, vaulting just high enough to pull myself over the top of the fence and drop down into the crowd.

The area around me immediately erupted into chaos, the spectators struggling to get away from me running into the ones who were trying to press closer to the action. I moved as fast as I could away from the ring, towards one of the big concrete pillars, shoving people out of my way as I went. Behind me, I heard the sound of tearing metal, and a grotesque howl that could only have come from Hookwolf.

"Coward!" he yelled, his voice booming over the panicking crowd. "By the time I'm through with you, you're gonna wish I'd just killed you in the ring!" He still sounded mostly human, thank goodness. I'd gambled that he wouldn't be able to take his metal form without shredding the panicking crowd, and that he would have just enough human decency not to slaughter dozens of his own fans. I was still alive, which meant the gamble had paid off so far.

The concrete support was just wide enough to completely block Hookwolf's view of me when I ducked behind it. As soon as I was sure I'd vanished, I braced myself against and pillar and kicked the nearest burly-looking E88 goon right in the chest, while channeling my essence into a burst of explosive force. The skinhead went flying backwards, but thanks to the press of the crowd he only made it a couple inches before slamming into someone else. The two of them fell backwards together, still propelled by the momentum of my kick, and quickly knocked into someone else, setting off a chain reaction that moved through the crowd like a wave. Up close, anyone could see what I was doing, but from a distance it probably looked like I'd just kept running through the crowd.

Hookwolf laughed, his voice rapidly growing closer. "No escape, bitch!" I held my breath, willing myself to silence, and reached out to put my hand one of the nearby cinderblocks people had been sitting on. I drew on my essence as much as I could without starting to glow. I'd only get one shot at this.

An instant later, Hookwolf came into view on my right, dashing full tilt towards the disturbance in the crowd. I was already swinging the cinderblock, pushing as much essence into my limbs as possible until it felt like my veins should be blazing with golden light. With his wolf-mask cutting off his peripheral vision, the asshole never even saw it coming. I felt the impact rumble through my arms all the way down my spine, and it was the most beautiful sensation I'd ever experienced.

The concrete block didn't just break against Hookwolf, it exploded into powder. His mask shattered into a half-dozen metal shards, cutting deep into his face. His entire body hung in the air for a single, pristine moment before he crashed to the ground hard enough to shake the floor. By that time, though, I was already looking for another weapon. That hit was enough to kill any normal human twice over, but I was counting on Hookwolf being made of tougher stuff.

It only took me about ten seconds to find a sturdy looking length of metal pipe, but by the time I came back with it Hookwolf was already back on his knees, trying to use the support pillar to pull himself up to standing. Before he could get any further, I stepped up behind him and swung the pipe like a baseball bat against the back of his head. He actually gave a grunt of pain this time, though I could barely hear it above the crunch of his nose breaking as his face slammed into the concrete support.

Hookwolf slid backwards to sit on his heels, eyes glazed over in pain. I swung the pipe again, this time like a golfer going for a long drive, and hit him upside the head hard enough to send him sprawling on his back again. This time, he didn't try to get back up.

After Hookwolf managed to catch his breath, he grinned up at me through bloody teeth, and spoke in a hoarse, raspy voice. "That's more like it, Thrasher! I thought I was gonna have to kill you, but you've gone and impressed me enough to let you live."

He started to pull himself up, but I jammed one end of the pipe into his throat, pushing his head back to the ground and cutting off his breath.

"You're not 'letting' me do anything," I hissed down at him. "Yield."

He glared back up at me, and I saw fury kindle behind his eyes, only to fade a moment later. We both knew that he could pop his blades again and shred me before I could do anything, but that would ruin the little scene he'd set up. He slapped his hand against the concrete floor three times, loud enough that everyone around us could hear, and I lifted my weapon off of his windpipe. The whole time, that smile never left his face. I offered him my hand, as the little drama we were staging demanded, and he took it, letting me pull him back up to his feet. All around us, the crowd (what remained of it, at least) had gone silent.

It was Hookwolf who broke the quiet. "Holy shit," he said, sweeping his arms out to bring the whole crowd into his speech. "Will you look at the balls on this one?" He turned to face me fully, and reached out to pull me into one of those wrist-grip handshakes that movie action heroes were always so fond of.

"I owe you my thanks," he said, "for showing these pussies how a real predator fights. No hesitation, no remorse, just the instinct for violence! If I didn't yield, you were really going to try to kill me?"

Somehow, even with the way his broken nose pinched his voice, he still sounded imposing. I just met his gaze and shrugged.

"I had no intention of just 'trying,'" I told him, and grinned. It was pure macho bullshit, but Hookwolf must have loved it, because he threw his head back to laugh at the top of his lungs.

"Damn," he said, "I'm glad I didn't have to rip your goddamn arms of tonight. How do you like the sound of "Cinderblock" as a new arena name? Commemorate the occasion?"

I didn't know how to respond to that, because there was no way in hell I was ever stepping foot in this place ever again after tonight. Eventually, I just nodded.

"Eh," he said, shrugging, "we can work on it. Right now, I bet you're wondering what happens next?"

I nodded again. I kept my face impassive, but my thoughts were racing. If he was going to force me into joining the Empire, this is where it would start. I'd already chosen which exit to head for if I had to bolt out of here.

"Well," he said, "that depends on how you answer my next question."

I tensed, ready to duck away if he tried to grab me.

"So, young warrior," he said, leaning in closer, "do you drink?"

Hunh?

My confusion must have shown on my face, because half the crowd broke out laughing. When Hookwolf just kept looking at me with that same earnest expression, I eventually managed to shake my head.

"That's fine," he said, clasping a hand on my shoulder. "I can respect someone who wants to keep their body pure. That doesn't mean I can't stand a round of drinks for the rest of my crew so we can properly toast you name!"

A cheer went up through the crowd, and I realized just how someone like Hookwolf inspired so many people to follow him. He scared you so hard you thought you were going to die, then turned around and hit you with this sudden generosity. It made you feel like you'd earned his respect, and once you had that, you'd do anything to keep it. Hell, I had to stop myself from grinning and laughing along with him, and that was knowing full well that he'd happily make bratwurst from my intestines for any number of reasons. He wasn't going to force me to join because he didn't think he needed to.

"Don't worry," he continued, after the crowd quieted a bit, "I'm not gonna keep you here. Go home, lick your wounds, rest up, whatever you like. Just make sure to stop by the office on the way out to get your pay, plus a little bonus from me."

I nodded, then managed a small smirk. "Okay, but don't expect me to give you that nazi salute or anything."

He chuckled at that, as expected. "Nah," he said, "you're free to go. If you change your mind about the Empire, though, there's a place waiting for you on my personal team."

"I'll keep that in mind," I lied, and made my way towards the front office.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Hookwolf called out behind me, "Cinderblock!"

They were still cheering when the door closed behind me.

---

An hour later, I stumbled into my apartment with a white-knuckled grip on more money than I'd ever seen at once before in my life. Hookwolf's 'little bonus' was enough to keep me set up here for months without ever having to go back to the arena. No wonder he was so confident that I'd come back to join him; I knew way too many people who'd be willing to put up with a little fascism and murder for that kind of money.

I wasn't going back, of course. Before tonight, I was sure that no one had even suspected a thing about me. Hookwolf proved me wrong in a way I was never going to forget. I wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer, balancing between the need to avoid notice and the hunger to act at my full potential, especially since my powers were still growing stronger and showed no signs of stopping.

The time had come to move on. I'd been holding off on the next stage of my plan in order to keep training with my power, but the truth was I'd accomplished everything I really needed to do weeks ago. I was scared of what might happen next, but I had to go forward anyways.

I started packing up my apartment, putting a few changes of clothes into a duffel bag, and sorting the rest of my stuff based on how I'd be dealing with it. Dishes and spare clothes would end up in a box outside a goodwill. My notes, I would burn, as well as my phone and laptop once I'd smashed their hard drives and sim cards. I'd keep some of my money hidden with the rest of my belongings, and hide the rest somewhere only I could reach it, just in case. I didn't have to erase my entire existence here (which would probably mean setting fire to the whole building), but I needed to leave this life and never look back.

Tomorrow, I would join the Wards. I didn't like the idea of putting myself under the PRT's thumb, but with their backing I'd have access to training, gear, and information I couldn't get anywhere else. I would bide my time, pretending to be their perfect little teenage hero, all to make sure they had no reason not to trust me. At the same time, I'd be working alongside the other Wards, doing my best to be the ideal teammate and earn their respect, or even better, their loyalty.

Most people didn't find the Wards all that impressive, but when you stopped thinking like a hero and just focused on solving problems, there were a half dozen different ways they could be the most terrifying group in Brockton Bay. I wasn't trying to steal the Protectorate's junior hero team out from under them, of course. I just wanted to borrow them for a little bit. Manipulating them like that would probably burn any bridges I might have built with them, as well as royally pissing off the Protectorate, but what did that matter? I couldn't see them birdcaging me over it, and every other punishment was just time, in the end. Even if the whole hero thing didn't work out, I'd have plenty of chances to rebuild a life for myself once I'd made the world a bit more worth living in.

---

A/N: When I realized how long my part 2 really was, I considered splitting it into two chapters instead. I chose to go ahead with just one because A) it wasn't as enormous as some mega-updates I've seen on this site, and B) I managed to finish writing and editing a full chapter this week, which means my buffer remains intact. So, I hope you all enjoyed the second half of the prologue! From now on, we're not going to see nearly as many multi-week timeskips inside the same chapter.

Next time, on Daystar: Taylor joins the Wards! It doesn't go how anyone planned.

Thanks for reading!