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Chapter Text

Taylor Hebert stood in the rain in front of a nice house in an upscale neighborhood. She didn't know what to do. After she had returned from summer camp she found Emma Barnes a changed person. The girl who had been her best friend, sister even, had rejected their deep and long friendship in favor of a newcomer, Sophia Hess. Taylor didn't know how Emma and Sophia had met but the black girl had clearly poisoned Emma against her.

Just when she had thought things were getting better after her mother's death. Even now Taylor had a hard time understanding why Aunt Clementine had done it. Her mother and Clementine had been so close. They had both been a part of Lustrum's movement together. She knew Clementine had stayed in longer than her Mom; Clementine had stayed even when things started getting out of hand. But she left in the end. Her father, Danny Hebert, hadn't gotten along well with her and the feeling was mutual. Danny had wanted Annette to stop meeting with her and she knew her parents had had several loud arguments about it. Her dad had been right. They had come home one day to find her mother dead along with Clementine. Shot in a Murder-suicide. Clemintine clutching a bloody note detailing how she felt both Annette and herself had betrayed Lustrum and their cause.Things at school were bad now. Sophia and Emma were beginning to bully her and the teachers were useless..Her dad was just barely functional. No one was willing to help her.

As a last resort she was turning to the only person she thought could help her. The one who besides Emma had helped her the most through her mothers death. She stepped up onto the porch, the same porch where this downhill slide had started, and knocked. A few moments later she heard familiar footsteps approaching the door, which opened to reveal the face of a smiling Zoe Barnes whose expression quickly switched to concern as she took in Taylor's state.

"Taylor, dear, what's the matter? Shouldn't you be in school?" Her voice was motherly and concerned.

Taylor sniffed a little before blubbering. "Mrs. Barnes, I need to tell you something."

Mrs. Barnes ushered Taylor into the house, a concerned frown creasing her forehead as she led Taylor to the living room, where she offered her a cup of hot tea, sensing the girl's turmoil. Taylor's eyes, red from unshed tears, darted around the room as she took a seat, the warmth of the tea slightly comforting in the midst of her distress.

"Now, dear, take your time," Mrs. Barnes said gently, sitting across from Taylor. "What's going on? You know you can tell me anything." Taylor took a shaky breath and began to explain the situation at school. She told Mrs. Barnes about the breakdown of her friendship with Emma and how Sophia's influence had turned Emma against her. "I don't understand why Emma is doing this," Taylor said, her voice cracking. "We used to be so close, and now she's bullying me. It's like I don't even know her anymore."

Mrs. Barnes face was a mixture of concern and understanding. "I see, dear. I had no idea that this was happening. This is completely unacceptable! I told Alan that we should take Emma to a therapist after the incident but he said she was fine and after a day or so she did seem better. Hmph, I still should have pushed more. And I never liked that Sophia girl. I know she helped them but it was obvious she was going to be a bad influence." At Taylor's look of confusion Mrs. Barnes looked contrite. "Well it's not exactly my story to tell, dear. But I can give you the basics. While you were at camp Emma and Alan were attacked by the ABB."

Taylor gasped her eyes wide as Mrs. Barnes continued. "Sophia helped them get out of it somehow. I'm not really sure what she did. Regardless I will see this taken care of." She glanced at the pouring rain outside. "Well I'm glad you came to me about this dear. You have a bad habit of trying to do too much yourself. I know your father has been... distant lately but this is what adults are for. Now there is little point in having you go to Winslow today. Have you taken Home Ec., yet?" Taylor shook her head. "Well then why don't I teach you some of the basics in the kitchen then."

Mrs. Barnes tied an apron around Taylor's waist, then grabbed another for herself. The kitchen gleamed with polished surfaces and organized implements.

"First rule of cooking - mise en place. Everything in its place." Mrs. Barnes pulled out cutting boards and an array of vegetables. "Proper prep makes the actual cooking smooth and stress-free."

Taylor watched intently as Mrs. Barnes demonstrated the correct way to hold a chef's knife. "Keep your fingers tucked in, like this. Let the blade do the work - no sawing motion needed."

The methodical thunk of the knife against the cutting board filled the kitchen as Taylor mimicked Mrs. Barnes' technique on a carrot. Her first few cuts were awkward and uneven.

"There you go, just relax your grip a bit." Mrs. Barnes adjusted Taylor's hand position. "I tried teaching Emma and Anne this, but neither had the patience. Emma would rather order takeout and Anne - well, college dining halls seem to suit her fine."

Taylor's next cuts came out more uniform. "Mom never really taught me cooking. She'd get excited about new recipes but..."

"But Annette was more about the eating than the prep?" Mrs. Barnes smiled knowingly. "She'd show up at my door whenever I made my chicken pot pie. Said it reminded her of her grandmother's."

They worked side by side, Mrs. Barnes sharing little tips - how to tell if vegetables were fresh, the best way to store herbs, why certain pots worked better than others. Taylor soaked it all in, asking questions and taking mental notes.

"You're a natural, dear." Mrs. Barnes watched as Taylor perfectly diced an onion using the technique she'd just learned. "It's nice having someone appreciate these little domestic arts. Sometimes I feel like I'm the last of a dying breed."

The morning passed quickly as Mrs. Barnes guided Taylor through the basics of cooking and the kitchen filled with savory aromas as their vegetable prep turned into a hearty soup.

"You know, Taylor, if you'd like to learn more, I could teach you regularly. Maybe after school? It would give us both something to look forward to."

Taylor's face lit up. "Really? I'd love that." She stirred the soup with newfound confidence. "Dad's been living on takeout since..." She trailed off.

"Then it's settled. We'll make a proper chef out of you." Mrs. Barnes checked the seasoning. "Perfect timing too - the soup's almost ready."

The front door opened, followed by footsteps in the hall. Alan Barnes walked into the kitchen, loosening his tie.

"Something smells amazing, Zoe-" He stopped short at the sight of Taylor. "Taylor? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"Taylor's been helping me cook," Mrs. Barnes said, her tone carrying an edge that made Alan raise his eyebrows. "We've had quite the enlightening morning."

"I see." Alan glanced between them, sensing the undercurrent. "Well, it certainly smells much better than the cafeteria at the firm."

Mrs. Barnes served the soup, her movements precise and deliberate. "Taylor's going to be coming by after school for cooking lessons. I'm sure Emma will be thrilled to hear that when she gets home."

Alan's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "Ah. Is there something I should know about?"

"Oh yes, dear. We'll discuss it later." Mrs. Barnes' smile didn't reach her eyes. "For now, let's enjoy this lovely soup Taylor helped make."

Taylor ducked her head, focusing on her bowl as the tension stretched between the adults. The soup was good - rich and flavorful, nothing like the canned stuff her dad bought. Maybe she could make it for him someday.

The conversation over lunch remained polite but tense. Alan kept glancing between his wife and Taylor, clearly sensing something significant had transpired. Taylor focused on her soup, savoring each spoonful while Mrs. Barnes detailed their morning's cooking lesson.

"You know, Taylor reminds me so much of Annette in the kitchen," Mrs. Barnes said. "That same careful attention to detail, though far less lost to ‘taste testing’." She giggled in fond remembrance.
Alan cleared his throat. "Speaking of details, shouldn't you be in school today, Taylor?"

"Alan." Mrs. Barnes' voice carried a warning. "Taylor came to me for help with a situation that needs addressing. One that involves Emma."

Color drained from Alan's face. "What kind of situation?"

"The kind that requires immediate parental intervention." Mrs. Barnes folded her napkin with precise movements. "Which we will discuss after lunch."

Taylor's spoon clinked against her empty bowl. "The soup was really good, Mrs. Barnes. Thank you for teaching me."

"You did most of the work, dear." Mrs. Barnes stood, gathering the dishes. "Why don't you head home for now? I'll call your father and explain why you missed school today. Come back tomorrow after classes and we'll start on basic bread making."

"I'd like that." Taylor stood, pushing in her chair. The thought of regular cooking lessons with Mrs. Barnes lifted her spirits. Maybe things would get better now that someone knew what was happening.

Alan walked her to the door, his earlier jovial demeanor replaced by something more subdued. "Taylor, I-" He paused, seeming to struggle with his words. "Have a safe walk home."

The rain had stopped, leaving puddles that reflected the gray sky. Taylor stepped carefully around them, her mind already on tomorrow's lesson. For the first time in months, she felt like she had an ally.

***

Taylor kneaded the dough with practiced movements, working it against the floured counter. The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and herbs - a scent that had become familiar over the past weeks.

"Your technique has improved," Mrs. Barnes said, checking the consistency. "See how the gluten's developing?"

"Emma used to love your focaccia," Taylor said, then caught herself. These casual mentions of their shared past still felt awkward.

Mrs. Barnes nodded. "She mentioned wanting to learn during her last therapy session. Maybe you could teach her sometime?"

Taylor's hands stilled. "Maybe." She resumed kneading, working out her uncertainty in the dough.

The front door opened, and Emma's voice drifted in. "Mom? Is Taylor here?"

"In the kitchen, dear."

Emma appeared in the doorway, Sophia trailing behind her. The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches.

"Hey Taylor," Emma said, her voice carrying a careful friendliness. "That smells amazing."

Sophia leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Playing housewife, Hebert?"

"Sophia." Mrs. Barnes' tone could have frozen water. "If you can't be civil, you can wait in the living room."

"It's fine," Taylor muttered, focusing on her dough.

"No, it's not," Emma said, surprising everyone. "Soph, come on. We talked about this."

Mr. Barnes appeared behind the girls. "Is everything alright? It smells great in here."

"Just discussing manners," Mrs. Barnes said pointedly.

"Ah." Alan's smile turned diplomatic. "Girls, why don't you all do homework in the dining room? These skills Taylor's learning could be valuable for all of you."

"Dad," Emma protested while Sophia rolled her eyes.

"I mean it." Alan's voice carried an edge of authority. "Sophia, you're practically family now. Family supports each other."

Taylor caught Mrs. Barnes' slight head shake at her husband's words. The divide in their approach to Sophia was obvious - had been since that first day Taylor had come for help.

Emma sighed and pulled out a chair at the dining room table. "Come on, Soph. Let's get started on that World Studies essay."

"Whatever." Sophia dropped into a seat, deliberately turning her back to the kitchen.

Taylor continued working the dough, trying to ignore their presence. The rhythmic motion helped calm her nerves.

"Taylor, dear, that's enough kneading," Mrs. Barnes said. "Let's get it in the pan to rise."

They shaped the dough together, Mrs. Barnes demonstrating how to create the characteristic dimples in the focaccia. Taylor sprinkled fresh rosemary and sea salt over the top.

"Mom?" Emma's voice carried from the dining room. "Could you help us with this part about the Industrial Revolution?"

Mrs. Barnes wiped her hands on her apron. "Of course dear. Taylor, keep an eye on the timer. Twenty minutes for the first rise."

Taylor nodded, settling onto a kitchen stool. Through the doorway, she could see Emma bent over her textbook, actually looking engaged in the homework. Sophia's posture remained rigid, but she was writing something down.

The kitchen timer ticked steadily, marking time in this strange new normal. It wasn't perfect - far from it - but it was better than before. The mandatory therapy sessions Alan had arranged for Emma seemed to be helping, even if Sophia remained a barely contained force of hostility.

The smell of herbs and rising bread filled the kitchen as Taylor watched the seconds tick by, wondering how long this fragile peace would last.

The kitchen fell silent as Mrs. Barnes and Emma stepped out to grab more rosemary from the garden while Mr. Barnes was in his study, leaving Taylor and Sophia alone. Taylor focused on cleaning the counter, carefully wiping away excess flour while keeping her movements measured and deliberate. The steady ticking of the timer seemed louder now, echoing in the tense atmosphere.

"Just us now, Hebert." Sophia's voice dripped with barely contained malice. "No adults around to play referee."

Taylor set down her cloth, squaring her shoulders without turning around. "Look, I get it. You hate me. But this doesn't have to be a constant battle."

"Playing nice now? Trying to worm your way back in?" Sophia pushed off from the doorframe, her shadow falling across the counter. "You're pathetic."

"I'm trying to be reasonable here. The Barnes have been good to both of us." .

Sophia barked out a harsh laugh that echoed off the kitchen tiles. "Please. I'm Emma's best friend. The Barnes love me. You're just their charity case - poor little Taylor who lost her mommy."

Taylor's hands clenched but she kept her voice steady, even as her nails bit into her palms. "They're getting tired of your act, Sophia. I see how Mrs. Barnes watches you. How Mr. Barnes forces that smile when you come over."

"Emma won't let them push me away." But there was a hint of something beneath the certainty - a crack in the foundation.

"Maybe. Or maybe they'll just transfer Emma to Immaculata. They've been talking about it, you know. Better academics, better environment." Taylor wiped her hands on her apron, the gesture casual but deliberate.

Sophia's mask slipped for a moment, uncertainty flashing across her face like lightning in a storm cloud. "Then it would just be you and me at Winslow. No Emma to keep things... civil."

Taylor shrugged, turning back to her cleaning, methodically attacking a stubborn spot of dried dough. "And? You really think I care about that anymore?"

The back door handle rattled as Emma and Mrs. Barnes returned, bringing with them the fresh scent of garden herbs and afternoon air. Sophia retreated to her chair, her usual confidence noticeably shaken, like a predator suddenly unsure of its territory.

Mrs. Barnes set the fresh rosemary on the counter, her eyes darting between Taylor and Sophia. "Is everything alright in here?"

"Fine," Taylor said, folding the cleaning cloth into neat quarters. "The dough's almost ready for the second rise."

Emma lingered by the doorway, twisting a strand of red hair around her finger. "Mom, maybe I could... help? With the bread?"

Mrs. Barnes' eyebrows rose slightly. "Of course, dear. Taylor, would you show Emma how to dimple the dough?"

Taylor nodded, stepping aside to make room. Emma approached the counter hesitantly, like a cat testing unfamiliar territory. Her movements were stiff as she washed her hands and dried them on a spare towel.

"Like this," Taylor demonstrated, pressing her fingers into the soft dough. "Gentle but firm. You want even spacing."

Emma mimicked the motion, her first attempts too shallow. "It's harder than it looks."

"You're doing fine," Mrs. Barnes said, measuring olive oil into a small bowl. "Taylor had trouble with it at first too."

Sophia snorted from her seat at the dining room table. Mrs. Barnes shot her a sharp look.

"Sophia, perhaps you'd like to join us? There's plenty of dough to practice on."

"I'll pass." Sophia's pen scratched aggressively against her notebook paper.

Emma's hands stilled over the dough. "Come on, Soph. It's actually kind of fun."

"I said no." Sophia's chair scraped against the floor as she stood. "I should head home anyway. Got track practice tomorrow morning."

"I'll walk you out," Emma said quickly, wiping her hands.

Mrs. Barnes watched them go, her lips pressed into a thin line. Once the front door closed, she turned to Taylor. "I'm sorry about that, dear. Some people take longer to adjust than others."

Taylor shrugged, trying to ignore the familiar weight settling in her stomach. "It's okay. The bread's more important right now."

***

Taylor adjusted her new sweater as she walked down the Winslow hallway. The fitted burgundy fabric hugged her curves - curves she'd developed after months of Mrs. Barnes' suggested morning runs and weekend yoga sessions.

Taylor caught her reflection in a classroom window and paused. Gone was the gangly, awkward frame that had made her an easy target. Regular exercise had toned her arms and legs, while Mrs. Barnes' cooking lessons meant she was eating proper meals instead of whatever processed food Dad brought home.

She traced the curve of her waist, remembering how Emma had taken her shopping two months ago. "You need clothes that fit properly," she'd insisted, steering Taylor away from her usual baggy hoodies.

The new wardrobe made her feel... different. Good different.

"Looking sharp, Hebert," Charlotte said, falling into step beside her. "That color really works on you."

Taylor smiled, adjusting her messenger bag. "Thanks. Emma helped me pick it out."

"Well, she clearly knows what she's doing." Charlotte gestured at Taylor's outfit. "You look like you could be in one of those college brochures - you know, the ones with students actually enjoying themselves?"

Taylor laughed, the sound coming easily now. Her reflection smiled back - confident, composed, someone who filled her space instead of trying to shrink away from it. The girl in the window wasn't a victim anymore. She was just Taylor, and that was enough.

Sophia shouldered past, deliberately bumping into Taylor. "Still trying too hard."

"Jealous much?" Taylor muttered, smoothing her sweater. The comment earned her a dark glare, but Sophia kept walking.

Emma fell into step beside Taylor. "Ignore her. That color really works on you. We should hit the mall this weekend - there's a sale at Winston's."

"Sure." Taylor smiled, remembering their last shopping trip. It had been awkward at first, but Emma's genuine enthusiasm for helping Taylor update her wardrobe had slowly rebuilt bridges between them.

They passed a group of boys from the track team. One of them, James, caught Taylor's eye and winked. She felt her cheeks warm but maintained eye contact, offering a small wave.

"Oh my god," Emma whispered once they were past. "James totally likes you. You should come to Katie's party this weekend."

"I don't know..." Taylor adjusted her messenger bag.

"Come on, you can't keep hiding in the kitchen with my mom forever." Emma bumped her shoulder playfully. "Besides, James will definitely be there."

Down the hall, Sophia watched their interaction with narrowed eyes. Her usual group of hangers-on had thinned lately, especially as Taylor's confidence grew. The power dynamic was shifting, and everyone knew it.

"Fine," Taylor said. "But you have to help me pick out what to wear."

Emma squealed and linked their arms. "Obviously. We're going shopping first. No arguments."

***

The squeak of rubber soles against polished wood filled the gymnasium as students divided into teams for volleyball. Taylor adjusted her gym shorts, still not entirely comfortable in the shorter length Emma had convinced her to buy.

"Hebert, you're with Martinez's team," Coach Wilson called out. "Hess, other side."

Sophia's face twisted into a sneer as she took her position. The first few volleys went smoothly, with Taylor managing to set up Charlotte for a clean spike. A scattered cheer went up from their side of the court.

"Nice one, Taylor!" Emma called from the sidelines.

Sophia's next serve came like a missile, aimed straight at Taylor's head. Taylor managed to dodge, but the ball slammed into the floor where she'd been standing.

"Watch it, Hess!" Coach Wilson warned.

The game continued, tension building with each volley. When Taylor scored a point with a well-placed tip over the net, Sophia's control finally snapped.

She launched herself forward, supposedly going for the ball, but her shoulder caught Taylor's chest with crushing force. Taylor's wrist twisted underneath her as she hit the floor. Pain shot up her arm.

"What the hell!" Charlotte rushed to Taylor's side.

Coach Wilson's whistle pierced the air. "Hess! Principal's office, now!"

Taylor cradled her wrist, already swelling. Purple bruises bloomed across her forearm.

Later, leaving school with Emma, Taylor kept her injured wrist close to her body.

"She didn't mean to hit you that hard," Emma said, but her voice lacked conviction. "You know how competitive she gets during sports."

"Right. Just like she didn't mean to shove me into the lockers last week?" Taylor stopped walking. "Emma, you can't keep making excuses for her."

"I'm not- I mean..." Emma trailed off, staring at Taylor's wrist. "Okay, maybe she went too far this time."

"You think?"

Emma shifted uncomfortably. "She's just going through some stuff at home..."

The words hung in the air, hollow and insufficient.

"She's helped me through a lot," Emma said, her voice dropping. "More than you know."

"Yeah, you keep saying that." Taylor flexed her injured wrist. "But neither of you will tell me what actually happened. What did she do that was so important?"

Emma wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller. "I can't- it's not something I can talk about. But Taylor, if it wasn't for Sophia..." Her voice cracked. "I might not even be here right now."

"That bad?"

Emma nodded, blinking rapidly.

Taylor let out a long breath. "Look, I've tried, okay? I've been civil. I've ignored the comments, the shoving, everything. But nothing works. She's still coming after me."

"Please." Emma grabbed Taylor's good hand. "Just give it more time. She'll come around."

"More time? Emma, she just sprained my wrist!"

"I know, I know. And I'll talk to her about it. She listens to me, sometimes." Emma's grip tightened. "Just... a little longer? Please?"

Taylor pulled her hand away. "How much longer am I supposed to put up with this?"

"Until she sees you're not going anywhere. That you're part of my life again." Emma's eyes were pleading. "You are my oldest friend, Taylor. I don't want to choose."

"But you did choose, didn't you? At the start of the year. ."

Emma flinched. "That's not fair. I was messed up after... after what happened. Sophia helped me through it."

"And I would have too, if you'd let me." Taylor adjusted her messenger bag, wincing as it jostled her wrist. "If you'd just told me what was wrong."

"I couldn't. I still can't." Emma's voice was barely a whisper. "Just trust me? Please?"

Taylor rubbed her temples, a headache building behind her eyes. "You know what's kept me sane through all this? Your mom."

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "My mom?"

"She noticed something was off weeks ago. Asked me to help with dinner one night when I was over." Taylor's shoulders slumped. "We talked. A lot."

"You never told me that."

"Because she promised not to mention it to you or your dad." Taylor leaned against a nearby tree. "She's been checking in on me. Texting. Making sure I'm okay."

Emma's face fell. "I didn't know-"

"Of course you didn't. You've been too busy running interference between me and Sophia." Taylor's voice cracked. "Do you know how many times I've wanted to just give up? Stop coming to school? Stop
trying to rebuild our friendship?"

"Taylor-"

"But your mom, she gets it. She listens. Actually listens." Taylor blinked back tears. "And she doesn't make excuses for anyone."

Emma wrapped her arms around herself. "I didn't realize things were that bad."

"Really? Because your mom figured it out just by watching me at dinner." Taylor's good hand clenched into a fist. "She saw what was happening before I even said anything."

"I'm sorry." Emma's voice was small. "I thought if I could just get you two to-"

"To what? Be friends? After everything she's done?" Taylor's laugh came out harsh. "Your mom's the only reason I haven't completely lost it. The only adult who seems to care that I'm being harassed daily."

"That's not true. I care-"

A car horn interrupted their conversation. Mrs. Barnes pulled up to the curb, her smile falling as she spotted Taylor's swollen wrist.

"What happened?" She jumped out of the car, rushing over to examine the injury.

"Just an accident in gym class," Taylor said, trying to downplay it.

"Sophia knocked her down during volleyball," Emma blurted out, then immediately covered her mouth.

Mrs. Barnes' face darkened. "That girl deliberately hurt you?"

"Mom, it wasn't-"

"No, Emma. I've had enough." Mrs. Barnes guided Taylor to the car. "First the bullying, now physical violence? I won't have that girl anywhere near my house or my family anymore."

"But Mom-"

"And you're not hanging out with her either. I mean it."

Taylor slid into the backseat, fighting to keep her expression neutral despite the satisfaction bubbling up inside her.

"Please, just listen." Emma's voice cracked. "What if... what if she apologizes to Taylor? Like, really apologizes?"

Mrs. Barnes started the car, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. "You really think she will?"

"I'll make her. Just... don't ban her completely?" Emma pleaded. "Until she says sorry?"

Mrs. Barnes glanced in the rearview mirror at Taylor. "What do you think, dear?"

Taylor shrugged, careful to keep her voice even. "If she actually means it..."

"Fine." Mrs. Barnes pulled away from the curb. "But I want a real apology, Emma. Not some half-hearted excuse. Until then, Sophia's not welcome in our home."

Emma slumped in her seat, relief visible on her face. "Thanks, Mom."

Taylor stared out the window, watching Winslow shrink behind them. The throbbing in her wrist seemed worth it now, knowing Sophia would have to swallow her pride or lose her place in Emma's life.

***

Mrs. Barnes pulled up to the photography studio, where Emma hopped out with her portfolio clutched to her chest. "I'll pick you up in two hours, honey."

As they merged back into traffic, Mrs. Barnes drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "You know, seeing you girls grow up... it reminds me of my college days with your mother."

Taylor shifted in her seat, careful with her injured wrist.

"Annette and I were both caught up in it - the whole feminist movement. Burning bras, demanding equality." She shook her head. "We thought we were so enlightened, but looking back... we were just angry. Lost."

The car stopped at a red light. Mrs. Barnes' reflection in the rearview mirror looked distant, remembering.

"Your mother especially. She was brilliant, passionate... but so caught up in the ideology. Even after she met your father, she kept teaching those gender studies classes." Mrs. Barnes winced. "Maybe if
she'd focused more on family, on being there for you and Danny..."

Taylor stared at her hands. "Mrs. Barnes... after what Clementine did..." Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "I don't think I could support that kind of thinking anymore either."

The light turned green, but Mrs. Barnes didn't immediately accelerate. For a moment, the only sound was the idle of the engine.

"Oh, Taylor." Mrs. Barnes' voice softened with understanding. "I didn't realize... I'm so sorry, dear."

Taylor wiped her eyes with her good hand. "Thanks for being there for me through all this. I don't know what I'd do without you and Emma."

"Oh sweetie." Mrs. Barnes pulled into a strip mall parking lot and turned off the engine. "You've been like a third daughter to me since you were in diapers. Nothing will ever change that."

Taylor managed a small laugh. "Remember when Emma tried to trade Anne for me?"

Mrs. Barnes' eyes crinkled. "How could I forget? She was so determined. Packed up all of Anne's things in her little red wagon and marched right up to your front door."

"Dad still tells that story at barbecues. Emma had it all planned out - Anne would go live with us, and I'd move in with you guys."

"She even made a contract on construction paper. 'I hereby trade one sister for one best friend forever.'" Mrs. Barnes shook her head, chuckling. "Your father kept that paper."

"Anne was so mad when she found out."

"She chased Emma around the yard with her ballet slippers. Thank goodness they both got over it." Mrs. Barnes reached over and squeezed Taylor's hand. "Though I have to admit, there were times I
wouldn't have minded having you instead of Anne during those teenage years."

Taylor smiled, remembering the simpler days when trading sisters seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution. Back when the worst problem in their lives was Anne refusing to share her dolls.

"Emma really is lucky to have you as a mom." Taylor's voice grew quiet. "I am, too. You always know the right thing to say."

Mrs. Barnes dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from her purse. "Oh, look at us getting all emotional in a parking lot." She straightened up and adjusted her rearview mirror. "We should get going - I promised
to take you girls to that new boutique downtown."

"The one Emma won't stop talking about?" Taylor buckled her seatbelt. "She's convinced they have the perfect dress for her portfolio shoot next month."

"That's the one." Mrs. Barnes pulled out of the parking lot. "Though knowing Emma, she'll try on half the store before deciding."

"And then go back for the first dress she tried on."

They shared a knowing look, the kind that came from years of shopping trips with Emma Barnes.

"At least this time we won't have Anne complaining about being dragged along." Mrs. Barnes merged onto Main Street. "College has been good for her - she's finally learning there's more to life than being
contrary."

The autumn sun slanted through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the dashboard. Taylor watched the familiar storefronts slide past, each one holding memories of countless afternoons spent window shopping with Emma.

"You know what?" Mrs. Barnes tapped her fingers on the wheel. "After we pick up Emma, let's stop by that little café you girls love. My treat."

"The one with the chocolate croissants?"

"Exactly. I think we could all use something sweet today."

Taylor settled back in her seat, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. Sometimes the best medicine wasn't found in prescriptions or therapy sessions, but in simple moments like these - driving through
town with someone who cared, planning nothing more complicated than coffee and pastries with her best friend.

Mrs. Barnes hummed along to the radio as they turned onto Cedar Street, heading toward the photography studio where Emma waited.

***

The door to Mr. Barnes' study creaked open. Sophia stood with her hands jammed in her pockets, jaw set.

"Mr. Barnes, this isn't fair. I didn't do anything wrong."

He looked up from his desk, removing his reading glasses. "Sophia, my wife made her position clear. Until you apologize to Taylor-"

"For what? Standing up to someone who was being pathetic?" Sophia's voice rose. "That's not how the world works. You can't just cry and expect everyone to coddle you."

"That's not your decision to make." Mr. Barnes' tone hardened. "Not in this house."

Emma appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Just apologize, Soph. Please? Then everything can go back to normal."

"Normal?" Sophia spun toward her. "You mean pretending to be weak just to make her feel better? That's not me, Em. You know that."

"Then maybe you should leave." Emma's voice cracked. "Both of you. I can't... I can't deal with this right now."

"Emma-" Sophia reached for her.

Emma stepped back. "No. Not until you fix this." She turned and walked away, leaving Sophia staring after her.

"I won't apologize for being strong." Sophia's shoulders tensed. "Even if it costs me everything."

Mr. Barnes sighed. "Then I'm afraid there's nothing more to discuss. Please respect my wife's wishes."

Sophia stormed out, slamming the front door behind her. Through the window, Emma watched one of her two best friends disappear down the street, wondering how everything had gotten so complicated.

Her phone buzzed - a text from Sophia: "You know I'm right."

Emma closed her eyes and deleted the message without responding.

***

Taylor clutched the recipe card in her hand as she approached the Barnes' house. The smell of fresh-baked cookies wafted from her backpack - her first successful batch using Mrs. Barnes' tips.

Voices carried from the back of the house. Angry shouts punctuated by higher-pitched protests.

"You can't keep doing this!" Mrs. Barnes' voice rang out.

Taylor froze mid-step. A shriek pierced the air, followed by a sickening thud.

Her feet carried her around the corner before her brain could process what was happening. Mrs. Barnes lay crumpled on the ground below the porch, unmoving. A dark shape - like smoke or shadow - slipped through a gap in the fence.

Taylor rushed inside to where she knew Barnes's phone was. Her hands trembled as she punched in 911. The back door hung open, banging against the wall with each gust of wind.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"My- Mrs. Barnes, she fell. She's not moving. Please, I need help." The words tumbled out between sharp breaths. "1247 Oak Street. Please hurry."

"Stay on the line with me. Is she breathing?"

Taylor's legs gave out and she slid down the kitchen wall. "I can't- I can't go back out there. I can't."

"That's okay, emergency services are on their way. Are you safe?"

The phone slipped from her grip, clattering on the linoleum. Mrs. Barnes' cookie recipes lay scattered across the counter where they always sat during their baking lessons. The weekly lessons that had
kept Taylor going after Mom died.

Her chest constricted. The room tilted sideways.

"Hello? Are you there?"

The operator's voice faded beneath the roar in Taylor's ears. She pressed her palms against her temples, but couldn't stop the flood of memories - Mom dead on the floor and Clementine on the couch, Dad retreating into his work, endless empty days until Mrs. Barnes stepped in with her warm kitchen and gentle guidance.

Now she was gone too.

Something shifted inside Taylor's head, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. The world exploded into fragments of data - trajectories, velocities, mass calculations streaming past her consciousness. Her vision fractured into countless parallel images, each showing a different possibility, a different path.

The pressure built until she thought her skull would crack. Taylor screamed, but the sound was lost in the cacophony of information overwhelming her senses.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Text

The trip to the hospital was a blur to Taylor. Emma, Allan, and later Anne had all come as soon as they had heard.

Taylor stared at the sterile white walls, her hands still trembling. The antiseptic smell burned her nostrils, but she barely noticed. The image of Zoe Barnes lying there, so still on the grass, wouldn't leave her mind.

"You saved her life." Emma grabbed Taylor's hand. Her best friend's face was streaked with dried tears. "If you hadn't called 911 right away..."

Anne Barnes wrapped her arms around Taylor. "Thank you, sweetheart. The paramedics said those first minutes were crucial."

Taylor nodded, unable to form words. Her throat felt too tight.

The automatic doors swished open. Danny Hebert rushed in, his work boots leaving scuff marks on the polished floor. He made straight for Allan Barnes, who sat slumped in one of the hard plastic chairs.

"Alan." Danny gripped his friend's shoulder. "I came as soon as I heard."

Alan's hand shook as he reached up to pat Danny's arm. "They won't tell us anything. It's been hours."

A doctor in blue scrubs approached the group, his face carefully neutral. "Mr. Barnes?"

Everyone stood. Emma clutched Taylor's arm so hard it hurt.

"Your wife is stable. She'll live." The doctor held up his hand as relieved sighs filled the waiting room. "But she's in a coma right now. We're monitoring her closely."

Allan's voice cracked. "When will she wake up?"

"That's up to her. Could be days, could be weeks. There's something else - the impact caused some trauma to her cervical spine. Until she regains consciousness, we won't know the full extent of any potential effects on mobility or function."

Emma's grip on Taylor's arm loosened. She swayed, and Taylor steadied her friend.

"Can we see her?" Anne asked.

The doctor nodded. "Two at a time, just for a few minutes. She's in the ICU."

Allan and Anne went first, leaving Emma trembling between Taylor and Danny in the waiting room.

Taylor's eyes drifted to the medical equipment lining the hallway. An EEG machine caught her attention - its electrodes, circuits, and delicate sensors. Her mind dissected it, reimagined it. The components could be repurposed, rewired. The neural monitoring system could be modified to... influence instead of just observe.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts. But they persisted. The ventilator's control system, the IV pump's precision mechanisms - each piece clicked into place in her mind like a puzzle assembling itself. Blueprints materialized, unbidden. Schematics for devices that could reach into minds, alter thoughts, ensure loyalty.

Emma's shoulder pressed against hers, seeking comfort. Taylor's stomach churned. These people surrounding her - they were grateful now, but what about later? When Mrs. Barnes wasn't there to smooth things over, to make sure Emma kept including Taylor? To remind Alan to keep inviting her over?

The blueprint in her head expanded. Simple adjustments to neural pathways. Subtle changes to emotional centers. She could make them want her around. Make them need her.

Her hands started to shake. The knowledge felt wrong, invasive - but so tempting. So secure.

"You okay?" Danny squeezed her shoulder.

Taylor nodded, unable to look at him. The blueprints pulsed behind her eyes, demanding attention. She could start small. Test it. Perfect it.

"I just need some air," she mumbled, stumbling toward the emergency exit. The blueprints followed her, growing more detailed with each step. Each circuit, each connection, each careful modification required to reach into a human mind and make it... better. Make it loyal.

She pushed open the door, gulping in the cold night air. The knowledge terrified her. But she couldn't stop thinking about how simple it would be. How safe she could make herself.

Taylor pressed her forehead against the cool brick wall outside the emergency exit. The knowledge of circuits and neural pathways retreated like a tide, leaving behind an uncomfortable residue of possibility.

Her hands steadied as she focused on the rough texture of the bricks. The technical details blurred, becoming less distinct. She could handle this. She had to.

The image of Mrs. Barnes on the ground surfaced again, but this time Taylor's mind caught on something else - that weird smoke she'd seen just before. Dark wisps that had escaped through the fence.

Taylor rubbed her eyes. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone. The paramedics had asked what happened, and she'd described the fall, the unresponsiveness - but not the smoke. How could she? It didn't make sense.

"Must have been seeing things," she muttered. The stress of the moment, the panic - her mind could have played tricks on her. That made more sense than mysterious smoke.

The emergency exit door creaked open. Emma poked her head out.

"Taylor? Dad says we should head home. Mom's sleeping now, and they won't let anyone else visit until morning."

Taylor straightened up, pushing both the smoke and the blueprint thoughts deep down where they couldn't bother her. "Yeah, okay. How are you holding up?"

"I don't know." Emma's voice wavered. "Will you stay over tonight? I don't want to be alone."

"Of course." Taylor followed Emma back inside, determinedly not looking at any of the medical equipment as they passed.

***

The cafeteria buzzed with its usual lunch hour chaos, but Taylor's table felt empty without Emma beside her. Madison slid into the seat across from her, unwrapping her sandwich.

"Still no Emma today?"

Taylor pushed her peas around her tray. "No. Her mom's still in the hospital. The doctors say she's stable, but..." She trailed off, remembering the sterile hospital corridors.

"That's awful." Madison's face fell. "What exactly happened?"

Taylor recounted the afternoon at the Barnes' house, careful to leave out the strange smoke and her disturbing thoughts about the hospital equipment. "She fell over the railing."

Julia and the others leaned in as Taylor spoke. Even Sophia, who usually maintained her distance at lunch, drifted closer to listen.

"Shit," Sophia muttered, crossing her arms. Her usual sharp edges seemed softer. "That's rough."

Three days later, Emma returned. Taylor spotted her red hair through the morning crowd by the lockers. Her friend's shoulders were hunched, her movements mechanical as she spun her combination lock.

"Emma!" Taylor called out.

Emma turned, managing a weak smile. Before Taylor could reach her, Sophia appeared from the crowd. Without a word, she wrapped Emma in a tight hug. Emma stiffened for a moment, then melted into the embrace, her shoulders shaking.

"Hey, you're okay," Sophia murmured, still holding on. "You're okay."

Taylor hung back, watching the unexpected gentleness from the usually prickly track star. When they separated, Emma wiped her eyes.

"Thanks," Emma whispered.

Sophia squeezed her shoulder. "Your mom's tough. She'll pull through."

The warning bell rang, and students started streaming toward their classrooms. Sophia gave Emma one last pat on the arm before heading off to her first period.

Taylor's fingers flew across the keyboard in Computer Science, finishing her HTML assignment with twenty minutes to spare. Mr. Henderson nodded approval as he passed her workstation.

The browser window minimized, revealing her earlier search tab. She typed: "black smoke supernatural phenomenon brockton bay"

Most results led to industrial pollution reports or gang activity. Taylor scrolled past them, pausing at a local news article from three months ago. The headline caught her eye: "Shadow Stalker Thwarts Downtown Robbery."

The grainy security footage showed a dark figure dissolving into black wisps, passing through a wall before materializing to take down two armed men. The article described Shadow Stalker as a vigilante who'd been active in Brockton Bay for the past year, known for her ability to transform into a smoke-like state.

Taylor's heart pounded. The smoke at Emma's house... it had moved with purpose, almost predatory. She opened another tab, searching specifically for Shadow Stalker sightings.

A pattern emerged. The vigilante struck at night, targeting violent criminals. Multiple witnesses described her dissolving into darkness, passing through solid objects. The smoke Taylor saw had done exactly that - phased through the wall like it wasn't there.

"Time to pack up," Mr. Henderson called out.

Taylor quickly closed the tabs, her mind racing. If Shadow Stalker had been at Emma's house that day, what was she doing there? And why hadn't she stopped Mrs. Barnes from falling?

The bell rang. As students filed out, Taylor lingered, opening one last link. The photo showed Shadow Stalker's costume - dark and streamlined, with a hockey mask. But it was the crossbow at her hip that made Taylor's breath catch. She'd seen that weapon before, hadn't she? Recently...

"Taylor? You coming?" Madison called from the doorway.

"Yeah, just logging off." Taylor shut down the computer, shouldering her backpack. The pieces were there, hovering just out of reach, but something wasn't adding up.

Taylor caught up with Madison in the hallway, her mind still churning with questions about Shadow Stalker. The corridor bustled with students heading to their next classes.

"Did you finish the assignment?" Madison adjusted her backpack strap.

"Yeah, basic HTML stuff. Pretty easy." Taylor spotted Emma and Sophia ahead of them, walking close together. Sophia's hand rested protectively on Emma's shoulder as they navigated through the crowd.

That crossbow... Taylor had glimpsed something similar in Sophia's gym locker last week. At the time, she'd assumed it was for some kind of sport club.

"Earth to Taylor?" Madison waved her hand. "You're spacing out."

"Sorry, just..." Taylor's eyes followed Sophia's movements - fluid, athletic, but with an edge of constant alertness. Like a predator. "Hey, what do you know about Shadow Stalker?"

Madison's eyebrows shot up. "The vigilante? Not much. My cousin saw her once, said she was scary as hell. Why?"

"No reason. Just read an article about her in class."

Taylor opened her locker, muscle memory spinning the combination as her thoughts raced. Shadow Stalker could turn into smoke. Shadow Stalker carried a crossbow. Shadow Stalker had been active in Brockton Bay for about as long as Sophia had been at Winslow.

"You sure you're okay?" Madison asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Taylor slammed her locker shut harder than intended. The metal clang drew several glances, including Sophia's. Their eyes met across the hallway. Sophia's expression hardened, a flash of something dangerous crossing her face before she turned away.

Not a ghost. Perhaps something darker. Sophia seemed much too at ease about all this. If it was her then she had to know once Mrs. Barnes woke up there would be every she would finger her as the culprit. That was worrying.

***

Taylor paced her basement workshop, mind racing. Her fingers traced the edge of her workbench, covered in half-finished projects and scattered components. The blueprints in her head had grown more insistent lately, pushing against her consciousness like a dam ready to burst.

She grabbed her notebook, letting the designs flow onto the paper. Circuits and mechanisms took shape under her pencil. If Sophia was Shadow Stalker, if she had something to do with Mrs. Barnes' fall... Taylor couldn't risk her trying to silence Emma's mother.

"Focus," she muttered, sketching faster. The design wasn't complex - a modified security system, but with features no commercial product could match. Her power supplied the details: power requirements, component layouts, integration points.

Taylor raided her parts bin, pulling out microcontrollers and sensors she'd salvaged from broken electronics. Her soldering iron heated up as she assembled the core components. The work helped quiet her racing thoughts.

Three hours later, she held up the first prototype. Small enough to hide, but packed with capabilities that made her both proud and uneasy. She'd need to test it thoroughly before installing it at the hospital.

"Taylor?" Her dad called from upstairs. "Dinner's ready!"

She quickly covered her work with a cloth. "Coming!"

Over dinner, Danny talked about the Dockworkers' Union, but Taylor's mind kept drifting to her creation. She'd need to find a way into Mrs. Barnes' hospital room. The device would only work if placed in the right spot, and she'd have to be careful not to trigger any existing security systems.

"You're quiet tonight," Danny said.

Taylor pushed her pasta around. "Just worried about Emma's mom."

"We all are." He reached across the table, squeezing her hand. "The doctors say she's improving."

Taylor nodded, already planning her next steps. She'd finish the backup units tonight, then figure out installation tomorrow. If Sophia really was Shadow Stalker, if she really had pushed Mrs. Barnes... well, she'd find any attempt at a repeat performance much more challenging.

The hospital corridor stretched empty and dark at 2 AM. Sophia's shoes made no sound as she ghosted through the walls, passing through empty rooms until she reached her target. Room 307.

***

Mrs. Barnes lay still, monitored by softly beeping machines. Tubes snaked from her arms, carrying fluids and medication. The woman's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

There was something in the air though. Something that had Sophia tense. And almost heard sound that seemed to be originating from the "Get Well" cards on the table? She put it out of her mind.

Sophia pulled the syringe from her pocket, rolling it between her fingers. The internet made everything so easy - a quick search had shown her exactly what to do. An air embolism would look like a tragic accident, one of those medical errors that sometimes just happened.

"Weak," she whispered, stepping closer to the bed. "And I can't let you drag Emma down to be like that."

The IV line hung temptingly close. She reached for it, syringe ready. The monitors continued their steady rhythm blending with that almost sound was making her start to feel dizzy.

She gripped the IV port. One quick injection, then she'd phase through the walls and disappear. No cameras would catch her, no evidence would remain. By morning, Emma's mother would be gone, and any chance of her remembering what really happened that night would die with her.

Sophia positioned the needle against the port. Her powers had taught her that survival meant being the predator, not the prey. Mrs. Barnes was just another weak link that needed removing.

The almost sound grew, pressing against Sophia's temples like a vice. She pulled back from the IV port, rubbing her forehead. The not-there noise seemed to pulse from the table of get-well cards.

"What the hell?" She stepped toward the collection of cheerful cardstock, each movement making her head throb worse.

One card stood out - plain white, unadorned. She picked it up, squinting at the text inside. The letters twisted and writhed, forming patterns that made no sense. Not English, not any language she recognized. The symbols shifted and crawled across the paper.

Her vision tunneled, the card filling her entire world. The gibberish seemed almost readable, almost understandable, if she just stared a little longer...

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, sharp and purposeful. The sound of squeaking rubber soles snapped her focus. A nurse, doing late rounds.

"Shit." Sophia dropped the card, her powers activating instinctively. She phased through the wall just as the door handle turned.

Safe in the empty room next door, she pressed her hands against her eyes. Her head still pounded, but the strange pressure was fading.

"Stupid," she hissed. "Getting distracted by some weird card." The syringe still sat heavy in her pocket, unused. She'd failed her mission, let Emma down.

Tomorrow night. She'd come back tomorrow night and finish what she started. No distractions, no hesitation. Just another predator culling the weak.

She phased through the exterior wall and dropped into the dark parking lot below, cursing herself with every step.

***

The fluorescent lights of Winslow High stabbed into Sophia's skull. Her head hadn't stopped throbbing since that weird moment at the hospital, making every class pure torture. The lunch bell's shriek sent fresh daggers through her temples.

Emma chatted beside her as they walked down the hall, something about weekend plans, but Sophia could barely focus on the words. She nodded at appropriate moments, grinding her teeth against the pain.

"Hey." A familiar voice cut through the corridor noise. Taylor stood by her locker, shoulders squared despite her usual nervous energy. "Sophia, can we talk? After school?"

Sophia's fists clenched. The perfect target to take out her frustration on. One quick shove into the lockers would feel so good right now. But Emma was watching, and she'd been working hard to convince her friend that she was "trying to be better."

"Whatever." Sophia forced her hands to relax. "Where?"

"Library?" Taylor adjusted her backpack. "It won't take long."

Emma touched Sophia's arm. "We were going to hang out after school..."

"I'll catch up." Sophia managed what she hoped looked like a casual shrug. "Five minutes to hear Hebert out won't kill me."

Taylor's eyes widened slightly at the lack of hostility, but she just nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

"That's really mature of you." Emma beamed. "See? I told you things could be different."

Sophia's headache spiked. She wanted to scream that nothing was different, that she was still the same predator she'd always been. Instead, she gave Emma a tight smile.

"Yeah, sure. Meet you at your place later?"

The words tasted like ash in her mouth. Playing nice was necessary while Emma was around, but after dark... after dark she'd finish what she started at the hospital. Then everything could go back to normal.

If only this damn headache would stop.

The library's dusty silence pressed against Sophia's ears as she followed Taylor between the stacks. Her headache ebbed slightly in the dim lighting, but suspicion prickled along her spine. Taylor moved with purpose, leading them to a secluded study corner. This being Winslow they had the entire library to themselves.

"Here." Taylor pulled out a chair. "Sit."

"Make it quick, Hebert." Sophia remained standing, arms crossed.

Taylor reached into her bag and withdrew a folded piece of paper. The sight of it sent an electric jolt through Sophia's skull. Her vision blurred for a split second.

"Just read this. Please." Taylor held it out. "That's all I'm asking."

Sophia's hand moved without her permission, fingers closing around the paper. The same strange symbols from the hospital filled the page, seeming to writhe and dance beneath her gaze.

Taylor leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "Did you push Mrs. Barnes over the railing at the hospital?"

Sophia's eyes remained locked on the paper, her voice flat and distant. "Yes."

"Why would you do that?" Taylor's fingers pressed into the table's edge. "She could have died."

"Emma wouldn't see me anymore." Sophia traced one of the symbols with her fingertip. "Her mom told her to stay away from me. Said I was dangerous."

"So you attacked her mother?"

"We argued on the porch." The words came out mechanical, emotionless. "She said I'd never see Emma again unless I apologized. Would send her to Immacula. That she'd get a restraining order. I just... pushed. Watched her fall. Then I ran."

Taylor drew back, her chair scraping against the floor. "You're not even sorry, are you?"

"Only a massive inconvenience." Sophia's monotone voice continued, her eyes still fixed on the paper. "Had to dodge the cops. Pretend I cared when Emma called crying."

Taylor's hands trembled. "A massive inconvenience? Mrs. Barnes is in a coma. The doctors don't know if she'll walk again. Her spine-"

"Should have minded her own business."

"You..." Taylor pushed back from the table, pacing the narrow space between bookshelves. "I can't believe- no, actually I can believe you'd do this. You're exactly the monster I always thought you were."

Sophia remained motionless, still tracing the symbols.

"You know, that paper wouldn't even work if you hadn't seen the one at the hospital first." Taylor stopped pacing, her voice hard. "The symbols need to imprint on your mind before they can compel truth. Which means you were there that night. Why?"

"Wanted to finish it." Sophia's finger followed another twisting line. "Make sure she couldn't talk. But there were too many nurses. Too many witnesses."

"You went back to kill her?"

"Had to protect what's mine."

Taylor's knuckles went white against the bookshelf. "Emma isn't yours. She's a person, not a possession. And once she finds out what you did to her mother-"

"She won't." Sophia's monotone carried absolute certainty. "No cameras. No witnesses. Just an accident."

The crack of Taylor's palm against Sophia's cheek echoed through the library. Sophia blinked, the paper dropping from her suddenly slack fingers. Her head snapped up, eyes focusing on Taylor with predatory intensity.

"You little-" Sophia's hand flew to her stinging cheek. "What did you do to me?"

Taylor backed away, fumbling in her jacket pocket. "Stay back."

"Tinkertech?" Sophia's lip curled as she advanced. "That's your power? Pathetic."

Taylor's fingers closed around something metallic, but Sophia was faster. Her fist connected with Taylor's wrist, sending a small silver device skittering across the floor.

"Stupid tinker bullshit." Sophia's knee drove into Taylor's stomach. "All those fancy toys won't help if you can't fight."

Taylor doubled over, gasping. She tried to roll away but Sophia's sneaker caught her ribs. Pain exploded through her side.

"Look at you." Sophia grabbed Taylor's hair, yanking her head back. "Finally got powers and you're still the same weak little prey you've always been."

Taylor swung wildly, but Sophia dodged with practiced ease. Another punch sent Taylor sprawling between the bookshelves.

"Should have stuck to hiding in bathroom stalls." Sophia stalked closer. "At least then you knew your place."

Taylor scrambled backward, seemingly desperate to escape. Her shoulder hit a bookshelf and she curled into herself, protecting her core.

"Please..." Taylor's voice cracked.

Sophia's boot lashed out again. Taylor rolled with the impact, letting it carry her toward the fallen device. Her fingers closed around cool metal.

A sharp click echoed through the stacks.

A piercing wave of not-quite-sound slammed into Sophia's skull. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as invisible knives carved through her brain. The world tilted sideways, floor and ceiling trading places with nauseating speed.

"What-" She staggered, hands clawing at her ears. Nothing helped. The pressure built behind her eyes, turning her vision into a kaleidoscope of fractured images.

Taylor's form blurred and multiplied as she pushed herself up from the floor. Sophia tried to phase, to let her shadow state protect her, but she couldn't hold onto the thought long enough to make it happen. Each attempt slipped away like smoke.

Her knee hit the ground. Or maybe the wall. Direction had lost all meaning in the sonic assault. Bile rose in her throat.

"Stay down." Taylor's voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

Sophia lunged toward one of the Taylor-shapes, but her fist passed through empty air. Her equilibrium completely shot, she crashed into a study table.

Through swimming vision she saw Taylor grab something from the shelf - an ancient encyclopedia, its spine cracked and faded. Sophia tried to roll away but her limbs wouldn't cooperate.

The book connected with the back of her head. Darkness claimed her before she hit the floor.

***

Sophia's head throbbed as consciousness returned. Cold concrete pressed against her back, and something bit into her wrists. Her eyes fluttered open to reveal the familiar exposed pipes and dusty storage boxes of the Barnes' basement.

Extension cords wrapped tight around her arms and legs, and could see where they were plugged in. Someone had even duck-taped them to the wall. She trying to phase through would send electricity crackling through her body. Very painful and possibly fatal.

"Emma told me about that little weakness of yours." Taylor stood over her, arms crossed. "Can't go shadow when there's a current running through you."

Sophia's eyes darted between them. Taylor's smirk radiated satisfaction while Emma hung back, arms wrapped around herself, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"You're both making a huge mistake." Sophia tested the bindings. The cords held firm. "Taylor's the one who pushed your mom, Emma. I saw her do it."

Emma's head snapped up. "What? But you said-"

"She's lying." Taylor pulled out Emma's phone. "I borrowed this from Emma just before we met up up. And this will prove it."

"I'm not-"

Taylor pressed play. Taylor's voice was tinny on the recording but clear and understanable. "Did you push Mrs. Barnes over the railing on the back porch?"

"Yes" Sophia's own flat and monotone voice clearly responded.

"She's a Master!" Sophia jerked against the cords. "Emma, listen to me. She got in my head, made me say those things. We need to get her to the PRT before-"

"Stop." Emma's voice cut like ice. Her face had transformed into an expressionless mask, all emotion drained away. "Just stop."

"I'm telling you the truth! How else could she have gotten me to-"

"The truth?" Emma's mask cracked. Red splotches appeared on her cheeks. "Like how you told me the truth about my mom? Like how you promised to protect us?"

She stalked forward, fists clenched. "You were supposed to be strong. A survivor. But you're nothing but a coward who hurts people and lies about it."

"Emma, please-"

"No! You don't get to 'Emma please' me." She grabbed one of the storage boxes and hurled it across the room. It crashed against the wall, spilling old Christmas ornaments across the floor. "My mom is in the hospital because of you! Because I trusted you!"

"Taylor's manipulating-"

"The only one who manipulated anyone was you." Emma's voice dropped to a whisper. "You manipulated me into thinking you were my friend. Into thinking I needed to be cruel to be strong." Her laugh was hollow. "God, I was such an idiot."

Emma wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I wasn't sure about this at first, Taylor. But now? Now I get it. I'll go tell Anne what happened - she needs to know why we had to drag Sophia's unconscious ass down here."

"Emma, wait-" Sophia pulled against the cords until they cut into her skin. "Anne's involved? You got your sister mixed up in this?"

"Anne's always been a better sister than I deserved." Emma paused at the basement stairs. "Unlike some people, she actually cares about protecting our family."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Sophia alone with Taylor.

"What are you planning to do?" Sophia's voice cracked.

"Oh, don't worry so much." Taylor reached into her backpack. "We're just going to give you a little... attitude adjustment." She pulled out a stack of papers covered in swirling patterns.

Sophia thrashed harder against her bonds. The extension cords creaked but held firm, electricity humming through them. "No. No no no-"

"Yes yes yes." Taylor knelt down beside her, holding up one of the sheets. "Now be a good girl and look at the pretty picture."

"Get that thing away from me!" Sophia squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away.

"You can't keep your eyes closed forever." Taylor's voice dripped with amusement. "We have all night and I am so excited to meet the new you."

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights of Winslow High buzzed overhead as Sophia stared at her calculus final. Numbers and equations blurred together on the page. Her pencil tapped against the desk as a familiar itch nagged at the back of her mind.

Taylor sat two rows ahead, bent over her own test. The sight of her sparked... something. A fragment of memory - cold concrete floor, extension cords, swirling patterns on paper. Sophia's head throbbed.

The memory slipped away like water through her fingers.

"Fifteen minutes left," Mr. Henderson called out.

Sophia shook her head and forced herself to focus on derivatives and integrals. Summer vacation waited on the other side of this week. Track meets, patrol schedules, maybe even that training camp Shadow Stalker had been invited to by the PRT...

Emma caught her eye from across the room and gave a small wave. Sophia returned it automatically. They hadn't hung out much lately - not since that sleepover at the Barnes' house. When was that again? Last month? The details felt fuzzy, dreamlike.

The bell rang. Students shuffled papers and zipped backpacks.

"That wasn't so bad." Emma fell into step beside her in the hallway.

"Yeah." Sophia rubbed her temples. That nagging sensation again, like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue. "Hey, when exactly was that sleepover at your place?"

"Which one?" Emma's voice was light, casual.

"You know, the..." Sophia frowned. "There was... I think Taylor was there?"

"We've had lots of sleepovers." Emma adjusted her bag strap. "Hard to keep track sometimes. Speaking of Taylor, we should grab lunch together - she mentioned wanting to study for the English final."

"Right." The headache intensified. Something about that night felt important, but every time she reached for the memory it dissolved into static. "Yeah, lunch sounds good."

***

Sophia piled her tray with double portions at the cafeteria line. Her stomach growled, demanding more than her usual post-workout fuel.

"Carb loading already? Season's over," Julie from the track team raised an eyebrow at Sophia's loaded tray.

"Off season's the best time to build muscle." Sophia dropped into her seat next to Emma and Taylor.

Taylor pulled out a large tupperware container. "Here, try this. Mrs. Barnes showed me her secret recipe." She spooned a generous portion of pasta onto Sophia's already full tray. The rich aroma of garlic and herbs made Sophia's mouth water.

A flash of Mrs. Barnes crossed her mind - bandages, tears, fear in her eyes. Someone had hurt Emma's mom. The memory sparked anger deep in her chest. She'd have to increase her patrols around their neighborhood, figure out who did it.

"This is amazing," Sophia said between bites. The pasta disappeared faster than she intended. At least the extra patrols would help burn off these calories.

She watched Taylor explaining the recipe to Emma. Weird how Hebert could barely handle herself in gym class but turned out to be decent in the kitchen. The thought of Taylor in any kind of fight seemed absurd, though Sophia couldn't pin down why that notion crossed her mind.

"You should open a restaurant or something after graduation," Emma told Taylor.

Sophia snorted. "Nah, she should just find some guy to marry. Pop out a few kids, keep him well fed." The words came automatically, but the usual bite was missing. The image of Taylor as a housewife didn't trigger the same contempt it used to.

Taylor just smiled and served another helping of pasta. "There's plenty more if anyone wants seconds."

Sophia's fork was already reaching for more before she could stop herself.

***

The basement's fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Taylor hunched over her workbench. Metal components and tools scattered across the surface while Emma lounged on the old couch, watching her best friend work.

In the corner, Sophia sat cross-legged on a beanbag, her eyes fixed on a sheet of paper. Her lips moved silently as she read the same lines over and over.

"Is it some kind of death ray?" Emma tilted her head at the contraption taking shape under Taylor's hands.

"Nope." Taylor fitted two pieces together with a satisfying click.

"Mind control device?"

"Wrong again."

"Come on, give me a hint. Those gears look super suspicious."

Taylor reached for a screwdriver. "Since when do gears look suspicious?"

"Since my best friend turned out to be a supervillain tinker." Emma grinned and flopped onto her stomach. "Weather machine?"

"You're getting colder."

Sophia flipped the paper over, started again from the top. Her eyes never left the page.

"What's with her?" Emma whispered, nodding toward Sophia.

Taylor glanced up. "Testing some new parameters. She'll snap out of it soon."

Emma rolled her eyes. "At least summer break means no more pretending to care about algebra."

"Speaking of which..." Taylor attached the final piece and held up her creation. A simple, elegant book binding machine sat on the workbench.

"That's it? All that work for something that basically just puts paper together?"

"Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best ones." Taylor tested the mechanism. The metal arms moved smoothly, ready to bind pages into a proper book.

"I can't believe you wasted your talents on office supplies." Emma threw a cushion at her.

Taylor caught it with a laugh. "Who says I'm done for the day?"

Taylor gathered the loose pages, aligning them with practiced precision before feeding them into her new machine. The mechanism whirred to life, binding them into a leather-bound volume.

"Here's your bedtime reading, Sophia." She handed the book over. "Every night before sleep, okay?"

Sophia nodded, already opening to the first page.

"Mom's coming home Thursday." Emma hugged her knees to her chest. "The doctors say she's stable enough now."

"How's her mobility?" Taylor adjusted a gear on her machine.

"Still needs help getting around. Panacea fixed her spine but..." Emma's voice trailed off. "The fall did something to her brain. She gets confused sometimes."

"That's where Sophia comes in." Taylor gestured to their entranced friend. "You'll help Mrs. Barnes, won't you?"

"Yes. I want to help." Sophia's voice came out flat, mechanical.

"Can't you just..." Emma tapped her temple. "You know, fix what's broken up there?"

Taylor's shoulders tensed. "You think I haven't been trying? Brain damage isn't like rewiring a circuit board. My tech specializes in influence and suggestion, not repair."

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, it's fine." Taylor exhaled. "It's just frustrating. Even the conditioning takes forever. Look how long we've been working on Sophia. Weeks of careful programming, and we're still not at full effectiveness."

"But it's working?"

"Slowly. The human mind fights changes. Push too hard, too fast, and everything falls apart. Better to let it happen gradually, naturally."

Emma watched Sophia turn another page. "Like water wearing down stone?"

"Exactly." Taylor picked up another stack of papers. "Now help me sort these. I need to make a few more books for her rotation."

Taylor set down her tools and turned to Emma. "Speaking of healing... How often does the New Wave family interact with your dad's firm outside of Mrs. Dallon?"

"Mostly just the spring social." Emma twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "Carol Dallon's been working cases with dad for years. They always bring Amy along."

"Panacea." Taylor drummed her fingers on the workbench. "A biokinetic would be fascinating to study. My tech might work better if I could understand how her power interfaces with the brain."

"Taylor..." Emma's voice held a note of warning.

"Just for research. A few subtle suggestions, nothing permanent." Taylor gestured at her book binding machine. "Think about it - if I could replicate even a fraction of her healing ability through technology, we could help your mom recover faster."

"You want to Master Panacea?" Emma sat up straighter.

"Not Master, just... observe. Guide." Taylor's shoulders slumped. "I know it sounds bad. But watching how she manipulates biology could give me insights I'd never get otherwise. And it would only be temporary."

"The Dallons are good people. They've helped dad with so many pro-bono cases."

"Which is why Panacea would want to help your mom if she understood the situation properly." Taylor picked up a gear, turning it over in her hands. "Sometimes people need a little push to do the right thing."

Emma chewed her lip. "The spring social was two weeks ago."

Taylor set down the gear with a sigh. "If only I'd known about the social earlier. The timing would have been perfect."

"Ugh, don't remind me of missed opportunities." Emma buried her face in the couch cushions. "These finals are killing me. My brain feels like mush after all that studying. Who needs to know this much about cellular respiration anyway?"

Taylor's fingers froze over her workbench. Her eyes widened.

"Oh no." Emma caught her expression. "I know that look."

"I just realized..." Taylor ran a hand through her hair. "My learning enhancement protocols could have-"

"Are you kidding me?" Emma bolted upright. "We've been killing ourselves with flashcards and study groups for weeks!"

"It slipped my mind! I was so focused on the conditioning sequences for Sophia that I didn't think about-"

"Taylor Hebert, you are the worst best friend ever." Emma snatched up a pillow. "All those nights I spent memorizing formulas..."

"The neural pathways for academic learning are actually quite similar to-"

The pillow caught Taylor square in the face, cutting off her explanation. Emma flopped back onto the couch with an exaggerated groan while Taylor sputtered through a mouthful of fabric.

Emma launched another pillow assault. Taylor ducked behind her workbench, grabbing ammunition from the beanbag next to Sophia, who remained absorbed in her reading.

"Some friend you are!" Emma punctuated each word with a throw. "Letting me suffer through calculus!"

Taylor popped up to return fire. "I was distracted! And besides-" She lobbed a cushion. "The tech wasn't ready for academic enhancement yet."

"Sure, blame the tech." Emma blocked with her forearm. "Next you'll tell me you could make me a better model too."

Taylor paused mid-throw. "Actually..."

"Wait, seriously?" Emma lowered her pillow.

"The neural pathways for physical skills are less complex than academic learning. Muscle memory, spatial awareness, balance..." Taylor's fingers twitched toward her tools. "I could probably design something to enhance your modeling abilities."

Emma bounced on her toes. "Do it! Please? It would be perfect for testing."

"You'd really trust me with that?" Taylor's voice softened.

"Of course I trust you, dummy. You're my best friend." Emma flopped next to her on the floor. "Besides, if something goes wrong, at least I'll only end up walking funny on the catwalk."

Taylor's chest tightened. Emma's complete faith in her triggered an old impulse - to ensure that trust could never be broken, to weave loyalty into the enhancement protocols. She pushed the thought away.

"Give me a week. I'll need to calibrate the spatial recognition matrices."

"As long as it's ready before my next photoshoot." Emma bumped her shoulder. "And next time, tell me when you make something that could help with school!"

***

Sophia leaped between rooftops, her shadow form dispersing and reforming with each landing. The summer heat pressed down, making her costume stick uncomfortably. She'd added an extra mile to her patrol route, trying to work off the new softness around her middle.

"Stupid Barnes dinners," she muttered, phasing through an air conditioning unit. The memory of last night's lasagna made her mouth water. Even the track coach had commented on her changed physique during summer training.

She paused at the edge of a building, checking the time. Emma's shoot would start in thirty minutes at the waterfront studio. Still enough time to sweep through the commercial district.

Her phone buzzed - a text from Taylor with a photo of fresh-baked cookies. 'Bringing these to the shoot. New recipe!'

"Damn it, Hebert." But Sophia's lips curved up despite herself. The girl might be a weakling, but those hands worked magic in the kitchen.

A distant car alarm caught her attention. Sophia shifted to shadow form, gliding toward the sound. Just some kids trying to break into a sedan. She materialized behind them, clearing her throat.

"Find another hobby."

They scattered, sneakers slapping against pavement. Not worth chasing down. These days she felt less drive to hunt the small fry.

The bay breeze carried the scent of salt as she worked her way toward the studio. Her stomach growled, reminding her of those promised cookies. Taylor had been different lately - less annoying, more... useful. The thought of the skinny girl still triggered something uneasy in the back of her mind, but it felt distant, unimportant.

"At least she knows her place now," Sophia muttered, launching herself across another gap. "Support staff."

She landed harder than intended, her altered center of gravity throwing off the jump. Cursing under her breath, she straightened up and patted her stomach.

"Better be worth it, Hebert." But she was already picking up speed, heading toward the promise of fresh-baked cookies and Emma's shoot.

Sophia paused on a fire escape, catching her breath. The metal thrummed with the beat of music from the apartment below. Her thoughts drifted to Mrs. Barnes - she'd helped her with her physical therapy that morning.

"Left foot first, Mrs. B." The words echoed in her memory as she'd supported the woman's weight. The smile on Mrs. Barnes' face when she made it across the living room without the walker sparked something warm in Sophia's chest.

A pigeon took flight nearby, wings beating against the summer air. Sophia traced its path across the skyline, remembering how she'd scoffed at her own mother's endless patience with her younger siblings. Now, after spending weeks helping Mrs. Barnes with everything from bathing to dressing, that patience made more sense.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Barnes had said that morning, squeezing her hand. "You're such a blessing."

The praise hit different from her track medals or successful patrols. It settled deeper, wrapped around her heart like a warm blanket.

She touched down on another rooftop, her shadow form solidifying. Yesterday, she'd caught herself humming while folding Mrs. Barnes' laundry - the same tune her mother used to sing while doing housework. The memory brought a small smile to her face.

"Who'd have thought," she whispered to the empty air, "being needed could feel this good?"

The studio's neon sign came into view. Sophia checked her phone - still ten minutes until Emma's shoot. Time enough to change and grab those cookies Taylor promised. Her stomach growled at the thought, but for once she didn't mind. The extra weight seemed a fair trade for these new, softer feelings taking root inside her.

Sophia slipped into shadow form one final time, descending into the alley beside the modeling agency. She retrieved her gym bag from behind the dumpster where she'd stashed it earlier, quickly switching her patrol costume for jean shorts and a tank top.

The agency's lobby buzzed with activity - assistants darting between racks of clothes, makeup artists touching up faces, photographers adjusting equipment. Emma's red hair stood out across the room, where she chatted with two tall blondes Sophia recognized from magazine covers.

"Your poses have gotten so natural," one of the twins said, flicking her perfect hair over her shoulder.

"The camera loves you even more now," the other added, touching Emma's arm.

Sophia leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. She'd seen enough vapid model talk to last a lifetime. The twins kept gushing, their voices carrying across the lobby.

"We heard Vogue is looking for fresh faces for their fall spread-"

"And we could totally put in a good word-"

Emma smiled, ducking her head with practiced modesty. "That's so sweet of you both."

Sophia checked her phone, scrolling through PHO to pass the time. The twins were still going on about some upcoming fashion week in Milan. She caught fragments about agents and contracts, tuning most of it out.

"Your whole presence has changed," one twin noted. "There's this new confidence-"

"Like you finally found yourself," the other finished.

Emma's laugh tinkled through the air. "I've had amazing friends helping me grow."

Sophia's thumb paused over her phone screen. The praise for Emma felt earned - she had changed over the summer, carrying herself with a grace that went beyond mere modeling poses. But something about that change nagged at the edges of Sophia's mind, like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue.

She shook off the feeling, returning to her phone. The twins were still chattering about industry connections and upcoming opportunities. Sophia settled in to wait, already anticipating Taylor's promised cookies.

The twins spotted Sophia by the wall, their perfect smiles flickering for a moment.

"Speaking of image," the first twin lowered her voice, "you have to be careful about who you associate with."

Emma tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Well," the second twin touched Emma's shoulder, "in this industry, every connection matters. The right friends can open doors-"

"And the wrong ones..." The first twin's eyes darted to Sophia. "Let's just say it reflects on your personal brand."

"Oh, you mean Sophia?" Emma's lips curved up. "She's been helping take care of my mom since her accident."

The twins exchanged looks. "That's... sweet," the first one said.

"Very charitable of you to include her," the second added. "It shows good character, taking an interest in the less fortunate."

"Giving back to the community is important," the first twin nodded. "But maybe keep it more... behind the scenes?"

Emma's smile never wavered. "I'll take that under advisement."

"We just want what's best for your career," the second twin squeezed Emma's arm. "You have real potential. Wouldn't want anything holding you back."

"Of course not," Emma agreed. "Image is everything in this business, right?"

The twins beamed, clearly pleased their message had landed. "Exactly! Now, about that Milan connection..."

Sophia pushed off the wall, her jaw tight. The twins' staged whispers carried across the lobby - they weren't even trying to be subtle anymore. She slipped out the glass doors into the afternoon heat, the concrete radiating warmth through her sneakers.

"Vapid bitches," she muttered, dropping onto a decorative planter. The rough stone edge dug into her thighs.

A familiar shuffle of footsteps approached. Taylor rounded the corner, carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle that smelled of butter and vanilla.

"Thought I'd find you out here." Taylor settled next to her, unwrapping still-warm cookies. "The twins are... a lot."

"That's one way to put it." Sophia grabbed a cookie, the chocolate chips melting on her fingers. "You'd think they invented modeling the way they talk."

"Emma knows how to handle them." Taylor offered another cookie. "Besides, their careers peaked two years ago. They're just trying to stay relevant."

Sophia paused mid-bite. Since when did Taylor know industry gossip? The thought slipped away as the cookie's richness hit her tongue.

"These are different," she said, reaching for another.

"Brown butter and sea salt." Taylor brushed crumbs from her skirt. "Mrs. Barnes suggested the recipe."

The mention of Emma's mom softened something in Sophia's chest. "How's she doing with the new exercises?"

"Better. She made it up the stairs twice yesterday without help."

Sophia nodded, licking chocolate from her thumb. The twins' voices drifted through the doors, high and artificial. She couldn't remember why she used to care about impressing people like that.

"Emma can handle them." Taylor offered another cookie. "She's stronger than they think."

Sophia accepted the second cookie without hesitation. "Since when did you become the voice of reason?"

"Someone has to be." Taylor's smile carried an edge Sophia couldn't quite read. "Besides, you're much nicer when you're well-fed."

The comment should have sparked outrage. Instead, Sophia found herself nodding, licking chocolate from her fingers. "Whatever. Just keep the cookies coming."

"Of course." Taylor's voice held a note of satisfaction. "That's what friends are for."

Sophia reached for another cookie, the warmth still radiating through the cloth wrapping. "Bet those Biermann twins work for Kaiser on the side. All that Aryan perfection bullshit." She took a bite, crumbs falling onto her tank top. "Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect little white girl smiles. Probably got Empire tattoos under those designer dresses."

Taylor shifted on the planter, her shoulder brushing against Sophia's. "They do spend a lot of time at Medhall events."

"Yeah? How'd you know that?"

"Emma mentioned it. Their uncle's an executive there." Taylor adjusted her glasses. "Though I guess that doesn't prove anything."

"Please. You've seen how they act around anyone who isn't white as snow." Sophia brushed the crumbs from her shirt. "Those fake smiles drop real quick when they spot me in the room. Probably rush home to shower after being in the same building as a Black girl."

"They're not very subtle about it."

"Nazi Barbies." Sophia snorted. "Wonder if Kaiser makes them goose-step down the runway."

Sophia dusted cookie crumbs from her fingers, her jaw tightening. "That's their whole deal, you know? Empire. Always someone else's fault. Never their own choices."

She paced the sidewalk, gesturing with half a cookie. "Oh, didn't get that promotion? Must be because of minorities. Business failed? Blame the ABB. Kid's a dropout? Gotta be those immigrant families raising the curve."

"Sounds familiar," Taylor muttered, but Sophia barreled on.

"Like, take some damn responsibility. Maybe you didn't get ahead because you spent more time at rallies than studying. Maybe your business tanked because you refused to serve half the city. But no-"She chomped the remains of her cookie. "Easier to point fingers than look in the mirror."

"The irony of you talking about personal responsibility." Taylor's voice dripped with amusement, but Sophia missed the jab entirely.

"Right? These people walking around like the world owes them something just because their great-great-whatever came from Europe. Please." She reached for another cookie. "At least the ABB's honest about being thugs. Empire wraps it all up in this victim complex bullshit."

Taylor adjusted her glasses, a slight smirk playing at her lips. "You really hate people who blame others for their problems, huh?"

"Can't stand it." Sophia shook her head, completely oblivious to Taylor's pointed looks. "Own your choices. Deal with the consequences. How hard is that?"

The glass doors swung open, and Emma emerged into the afternoon sun. Her makeup was perfect, hair styled in loose waves that caught the light.

"There you are." She dropped onto the planter between them. "Those two are exhausting. It's all 'Milan this' and 'Paris that.' Like anyone still books European shows through their agency."

"Thought they were hooking you up with Vogue?" Sophia reached for another cookie.

"Please. Their 'connections' dried up years ago." Emma rolled her eyes. "They're just trying to stay relevant by attaching themselves to fresh talent. Classic industry move."

"Here." Taylor offered Emma a cookie. "You earned it after dealing with them."

"Thanks." Emma bit into the treat, careful not to smudge her lipstick. "The photographer wants to start in five. You staying to watch?"

"Can't." Sophia brushed off her shorts. "Got Mrs. B's physical therapy at four."

Emma's expression softened. "Tell Mom I'll bring dinner home. That new Thai place she likes?"

"The one with the green curry?" Sophia stood, stretching. "She'll like that. Just nothing too spicy - doctor's orders."

"I know, I know." Emma waved her off. "Go make my mom walk straight again."

"Working on it." Sophia grabbed one last cookie for the road. "Later, Hebert. Try not to poison anyone else with these."

"No promises." Taylor's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but Sophia was already heading down the sidewalk, focused on her next task.

***

The basement hummed with the soft whir of Taylor's machines. Emma sprawled across the worn couch, flipping through a magazine while Taylor tinkered at her workbench.

"So explain it again." Emma lowered the magazine. "The roles thing."

Taylor set down her soldering iron. "Think of it like casting a play. Each person gets specific parts to perform."

"And the more specific the part-"

"The better they perform it." Taylor picked up a stack of papers. "Like Sophia. We gave her the roles of 'Protector,' 'Caregiver,' and 'Homemaker.' Notice how she's excelling at taking care of your mom?"

Emma nodded. "And she's still patrolling the neighborhood."

"Right. The 'Protector' role reinforces her existing tendencies, just redirects them. Makes her more... constructive." Taylor adjusted her glasses. "If I'd just given her 'Helper,' it wouldn't work nearly as well."

"Like how my cooking improved after you gave me 'Sous Chef,' but I'm still nowhere near as good as someone with 'Pastry Chef' would be at deserts"

"Exactly." Taylor pulled out a diagram covered in neat annotations. "The broader the role, the more diluted the effect. 'Homemaker' might make someone decent at general household tasks, but they'd be outperformed at cleaning by someone with 'Housekeeper' or 'Professional Cleaner.'"

"How many can you do at once?"

"Two or three per person, max. Any more and they start conflicting." Taylor frowned at her notes. "And they have to be somewhat compatible. Can't make someone both 'Rebel' and 'Conformist.'"

"Makes sense." Emma sat up. "So what's next? More refinements to the existing roles?"

"Maybe. I've been thinking about creating some new ones, but-" Taylor gestured at her workbench, covered in half-finished devices. "It takes time to get the calibration right."

"Anne's loving that 'Dedicated Student' role, by the way," Emma said, stretching her legs across the couch. "Said her summer classes feel like a breeze now."

"Good to hear. Though I'm still tweaking that one - don't want to make it too effective or people might notice."

Emma grinned. "Mom's been raving about Sophia too. Never thought I'd see her teaching Sophia how to cook."

"The 'Homemaker' role really took with her. How's your dad handling all the changes?"

"I think he knows something's up." Emma twirled a strand of hair. "But he's doing that lawyer thing where he pretends not to notice what he doesn't want to deal with."

Taylor shifted in her chair. "Speaking of dads... I might have done something with mine."

"Taylor! You didn't tell me."

"Just a basic book. Something to help him snap out of his depression." Taylor fiddled with a screwdriver. "But it worked better than expected. He's running for President of the Dockworkers Association now."

"Wait, seriously? Your dad?"

"Yeah. Not just handling hiring anymore. He's got all these plans for renovating the ferry, bringing in new contracts." Taylor shrugged. "Maybe I should dial it back a bit."

"Are you kidding? That's amazing. Your dad needed a push - he's been stuck since..."

"Since mom died. I know." Taylor set down her tools. "But sometimes I wonder if I'm pushing too hard."

Emma sat up straight, eyes blazing. "You know what? We've been thinking too small."

"What do you mean?"

"Winslow. It's a mess, and everyone knows it." Emma started pacing the basement. "The gangs treat it like their personal recruiting ground. ABB in one corner, Empire in another."

Taylor set down her tools. "Emma-"

"No, hear me out. Your books - we could distribute them as study guides. Self-help books. You know how desperate some of the students are to improve their grades."

"That's a lot of people to influence at once." Taylor rubbed her temples. "The calibration would be tricky."

"But think about it. Instead of the gangs getting their hooks into freshmen, we could redirect them. Make them actually care about their education." Emma's hands moved as she spoke. "Principal Blackwell would probably endorse anything that looks like it might help test scores."

"It seems risky. If someone figured it out-"

"Who would? The PRT? They're too busy with the obvious threats. Nobody's going to look twice at a bunch of kids suddenly getting better grades and staying out of gangs."

"I don't know, Emma." Taylor picked up one of her completed books. "This is different from helping your mom or fixing my dad's depression."

"Is it? We're still helping people. Just more of them." Emma stopped pacing and faced Taylor. "You've seen how many kids disappear into the gangs every year. We could stop that."

"By taking away their choice?"

"But that's just it," Emma leaned forward. "Look at everyone we've helped so far. Unless we go deep - like we did with Sophia - they're still fundamentally themselves. Just... better versions."

Taylor picked up another book, turning it over in her hands. "You're right. Dad's still Dad. He still loves boats and history and terrible puns. He just has his spark back."

"Exactly! Anne's still a perfectionist bookworm, she's just more focused now. And your dad's still running the Dockworkers like he always wanted to - he's just actually doing something about it instead of letting things slide."

Taylor set the book down, her fingers drumming against the workbench. "And the roles could be tailored... Athletic roles to help kids excel at sports without steroids or other dangers..."

"Student roles to help them focus, stay organized..." Emma nodded enthusiastically.

"Even the teachers." Taylor's eyes lit up behind her glasses. "God knows they need help staying motivated with their workload. Basic teaching roles could help them structure lessons better, keep students engaged..."

"See? This isn't about changing who people are." Emma settled back on the couch. "It's about helping them be their best selves."

Taylor's fingers traced the edge of her workbench. "Remember Jessica from Bio? Got pregnant last semester?"

"Yeah. That whole mess with Brad pressuring her." Emma's face darkened. "He kept saying they were too young, and tried forcing her to get rid of it."

"She dropped out. No support system." Taylor picked up a blank book. "And there was Aunt Clementine..."

Emma nodded slowly. "Mom went on this whole thing about it last week. How modern women are taught to chase careers instead of building families. How society's pushing all the wrong values."

"She's not entirely wrong." Taylor opened the blank book, spreading the pages. "But we can't customize roles for everyone. Too many variables, too much work."

"So what's the solution?"

"Basic templates. Foundation roles." Taylor grabbed her pen, starting to sketch. "Something general enough to boost multiple areas but specific enough to still be effective."

"Like what?"

"'Homemaker' for the girls. Not just cooking and cleaning - it includes budgeting, organizing, and maintaining relationships." Taylor's pen moved faster. "And 'Devoted Dad' for the boys. Responsibility, protection, providing for others."

"Simple. Traditional." Emma leaned over Taylor's shoulder. "Who could object to that?"

"Exactly. Nothing extreme, nothing that raises red flags. Just... better foundations for everyone."

Taylor closed the blank book with a soft thud. "We'll need to start small. Test it on a few students first."

"The freshman orientation would be perfect." Emma stretched out on the couch. "All those nervous kids looking for guidance. They practically beg for self-help books."

"And their parents would probably encourage it." Taylor began organizing her workbench. "Who doesn't want their child to succeed in high school?"

"Plus, we could track the results better. New students, clean slate." Emma picked up her magazine again. "No one would question if they started off well-behaved."

Taylor nodded, sliding her tools into their designated spots. "I'll need the rest of summer to prepare enough books. Different covers, different titles - can't make it too obvious they're connected."

"I can help with distribution." Emma flipped a page. "Between the modeling contacts and school activities, I know pretty much everyone."

"Perfect." Taylor switched off her work lamp. The basement fell into a comfortable dimness, broken only by the soft glow of her idle machines. "Time to head up? Your mom's probably wondering where we disappeared to."

Emma stood, smoothing her clothes. "Yeah, and Sophia should be here soon for dinner. You staying?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Taylor gathered her notes into a neat pile. "Your mom's cooking has improved since we adjusted her role."

They climbed the basement stairs, leaving behind the quiet hum of machinery and the stack of blank books waiting to be filled. Above them, the sounds of Mrs. Barnes humming in the kitchen drifted down - another small success in their growing collection.

Chapter Text

Taylor hunched over her workbench, UV light illuminating the seemingly blank pages. "The patterns need to be perfect. One wrong curve and it won't sync with the brain's natural rhythms."

"But look how normal it appears." Emma held up a completed guide under regular light. Plain text about algebra formulas and study tips filled each page. "No one would suspect a thing."

During lunch period, Emma approached a group of lost-looking freshmen. "First year can be rough. Here's something that helped me last year." She passed out three guides, her smile bright and reassuring.

Taylor handed another to Sarah, one of their track teammates. "The diagrams really helped me understand chemistry better."

The results emerged slowly but steadily. The freshman who took the guides started showing up to class prepared, notebooks organized. Girls who previously slouched through halls now walked with purpose, clothes neat and homework complete. Boys who used to disrupt class found themselves volunteering to help younger students.

Mr. Gladly caught Emma after class. "That study guide you gave Tommy - it's remarkable. His whole attitude changed." He tapped his desk. "Would you have more? Maybe for the whole class?"

"Of course." Emma's smile widened. "Taylor and I made plenty. We just want to help everyone succeed."

"Wonderful! I'll announce it tomorrow." Mr. Gladly gathered his papers. "You know, other teachers might be interested too."

Back in the basement, Taylor added another stack of completed guides to their collection. "This is working better than expected."

"And no one suspects anything." Emma sorted them by subject. "They think it's just good study habits rubbing off."

"UV ink was the key." Taylor adjusted her glasses. "Slower, but safer. And once the patterns take hold..."

"They pass it on naturally through example." Emma packed the guides into her bag for tomorrow. "Creating the perfect environment for more to follow."

Taylor slumped in her chair, dark circles under her eyes. Papers and half-assembled guides cluttered every surface of the Barnes' basement workshop.

"I can't keep up." She rubbed her temples. "Three more teachers asked for class sets today."

Emma paced between the workbenches. "Can't you just make them faster?"

"It's not that simple. Each page needs precise UV patterns. Rush the process and they won't work right - or worse, they'll have unpredictable effects."

"What about your workshop at home?"

"Already running at capacity." Taylor gestured at the stacks of incomplete guides. "Plus Dad's getting suspicious about the power bill."

Emma flopped onto the couch. "We could say no to the new requests..."

"And risk losing our momentum? The whole school's finally clicking into place." Taylor kicked her chair in frustration. "But between maintaining Sophia's conditioning, your mom's care routines, and now all these guides-"

"Could we get help?" Emma sat up. "Maybe teach someone else to make them?"

"Too risky. One mistake in the pattern alignment..." Taylor shuddered. "And explaining the tech would raise too many questions."

"What about another workshop location? My dad has that empty storage unit-"

"Power requirements are too specific. I need stable current for the UV curing process." Taylor gathered her hair into a messy bun. "Plus proper ventilation for the binding chemicals."

Emma's phone buzzed. Another text from Mr. Gladly asking about guides for his afternoon classes.

"We need to figure something out fast." Emma showed Taylor the message. "They're not going to stop asking."

Taylor pushed aside a stack of half-finished guides. "The real problem is production capacity. I've spent months perfecting the patterns, but what good is perfect tech if we can't make enough of it?"

"What do you need?" Emma picked through a box of salvaged electronics.

"More UV LEDs, circuit boards, specialized ink." Taylor pulled out a drawer filled with dismantled calculators and old phones. "I've stripped everything useful from both our houses that wouldn't be missed. The basement's picked clean."

Emma brightened. "We could charge for the guides. Even a few dollars each would help buy supplies."

"Winslow?" Taylor snorted. "Their idea of new equipment is whatever they find at yard sales. Remember those ancient computers in the lab? Half of them still run Windows 95."

"But the guides work. The teachers see the results."

"Blackwell pinches every penny like it's her personal savings account." Taylor fiddled with a partially assembled binding machine. "By the time they approved a purchase order, we'd be graduating."

Emma slumped against the workbench. "What about private sales? Some of the richer kids-"

"Too risky. Money trails lead to questions." Taylor swept her hair back in frustration. "And we need industrial quantities now, not just a few parts here and there."

"There has to be a way." Emma kicked an empty supply box. "We can't just stop when it's working so well."

"I know." Taylor stared at her dwindling stock of materials. "All this effort perfecting the formulas and patterns... but what good is perfect tech if we can't produce enough to matter?"

Taylor's head snapped up, her eyes wide behind her glasses. "Wait. What if we're looking at this backwards?"

"What do you mean?" Emma stopped pacing.

"Remember that closet of broken printers near the computer lab? And those stacks of old monitors in the storage room?" Taylor's hands flew as she sketched in the air. "Winslow's a goldmine of obsolete tech. They can't use it, can't sell it, but they have to pay to dispose of it properly."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "That junk? Half of it probably doesn't even turn on."

"Exactly!" Taylor grabbed a screwdriver and spun it between her fingers. "But I can strip the UV bulbs from the scanners, salvage the circuit boards, even extract usable ink from those cartridges they can't match to working printers anymore."

"And you think Blackwell would just give it to us?"

"Not give - trade." Taylor's grin widened. "We offer her a complete set of study guides for every class. She gets to report improved test scores and student performance. All we want in exchange is to 'help clean up' some storage spaces."

Emma's eyes lit up. "The school saves money on disposal fees..."

"And we get an endless supply of parts." Taylor bounced in her chair. "Plus, it gives us a perfect cover for being in weird parts of the school. We're just the helpful students clearing out old equipment."

"Think she'll go for it?"

"After Mr. Gladly shows her how well the guides work?" Taylor started gathering their prototype guides. "She'd be crazy not to. Especially since it won't cost her a penny from the budget."

***

Taylor perched on the hard plastic chair in Principal Blackwell's office, her prototype study guides laid out across the desk. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dusty blinds.

"These results from Mr. Gladly's class are... remarkable." Blackwell adjusted her glasses, flipping through test scores. "But you're saying you want access to our storage rooms in exchange for more guides?"

"Yes, ma'am. The old equipment takes up valuable space, and proper disposal is expensive." Taylor kept her voice steady. "We'd handle all the removal ourselves."

Blackwell's lips pressed into a thin line. "And what exactly would two students do with broken printers and monitors?"

"My father's dock worker association does some side work in electronics disposal." The lie slid out smoothly. "He can ensure everything is handled properly, and it would save the school disposal fees."

"Mr. Gladly speaks very highly of these guides." Blackwell tapped the stack of papers. "Claims they've improved comprehension across all skill levels."

"We've refined the format through trial and error." Taylor gestured to the clear layout and organized sections. "Students find them easier to follow than traditional textbooks."

Blackwell leaned back, fingers drumming on her desk. "And you're willing to provide these for every core subject?"

"As long as we have access to materials, yes." Taylor clasped her hands to hide their trembling. "We just want to help other students succeed."

"Very well." Blackwell reached for a form. "I'll authorize access to the storage areas. But-" She fixed Taylor with a stern look. "I expect to see continued improvement in test scores. And the removal process cannot disrupt normal school operations."

"Of course. We'll be discreet." Taylor accepted the signed permission slip, careful not to snatch it too eagerly. "Thank you for this opportunity."

"Don't make me regret this decision, Miss Hebert."

Taylor paused at the doorway, her hand on the handle. A new idea crystallized in her mind.

"One more thing, Principal Blackwell." She turned back, projecting an air of hesitation. "I've been reading studies about how background music improves learning environments."

Blackwell's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"What if we played soft instrumental music during morning announcements? Nothing distracting - just gentle classical pieces." Taylor pulled out her phone, fingers dancing across the screen. "Here's some research showing improved test scores in schools that implemented similar programs."

A knowing smile crossed Blackwell's face. "Ah, so this is what you were building up to with the study guides."

"The guides are important too," Taylor said. "But combining approaches could maximize results."

"And I suppose you have a playlist ready to go?"

"I could put one together by tomorrow." Taylor's heart raced at how perfectly Blackwell had fallen into her assumption. Let her think this was the real goal all along.

"Fine." Blackwell waved her hand. "Work with the office staff to set it up. But keep the volume reasonable - I don't want complaints about students not hearing announcements."

"Thank you, Principal Blackwell. You won't regret this."

Taylor slipped out of the office, clutching both permission slips to her chest. The music would work far better than she'd hoped - delivered directly through the school's speaker system to every classroom at once.

"Kids these days with their classical music." Blackwell shook her head, shuffling papers on her desk. "In my day, we had Led Zeppelin, The Who - that was real music. None of this Mozart nonsense."

She reached for her coffee mug, grimacing at the cold dregs. A slim volume caught her eye at the corner of her desk - bound in plain black leather with gold lettering spelling out "Principal Blackwell's Administrative Guide."

"Did Miss Hebert forget-" She picked up the book, frowning. "Don't remember seeing this before."

The pages felt oddly smooth under her fingers as she flipped through what appeared to be standard administrative procedures and guidelines. Her eyes caught snippets about "effective leadership" and "maintaining order."

"Must be one of those self-help management books." She set it beside her computer. "Though I don't recall ordering anything like this."

The afternoon sun caught the gold lettering, making it shimmer strangely. Blackwell found her gaze drawn back to the book repeatedly as she tried to focus on her email.

"Well, might as well take it home." She slipped the book into her bag. "Could use some fresh perspective on running this place anyway."

***

Sophia trudged through Winslow's hallways, her backpack hanging off one shoulder. Something felt different about the place. The usual tension, the undercurrent of violence that used to excite her - it had faded like an old photograph.

Students clustered in small groups, heads bent over those study guides Taylor and Emma kept pushing. Even the Empire kids seemed less aggressive these days, more focused on their books than picking fights.

Her uniform felt tighter across her chest and hips. The track coach had mentioned her "changing physique" last week, suggesting she might want to switch to shot put or discus. The thought made her blood boil, but she couldn't deny the evidence. Her morning runs left her winded faster, and her patrol routes had shortened.

A sophomore - Mike or Mark from her English class - stumbled into a locker, his eyes fixed on her as she passed. His gaze wasn't on her face. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized where he was looking.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," she snapped, but the usual venom wasn't there. Part of her preened at the attention.

The morning announcements crackled over the speakers, some classical piece playing softly beneath the voice. When had they started doing that? She couldn't remember, but it felt... right. Soothing. Like Taylor's cooking or helping Mrs. Barnes with her exercises.

Sophia shook her head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to settle over her thoughts whenever she questioned these changes. The bell rang, and she headed to class, unconsciously swaying her hips just a little more than necessary.

Sophia slid into her desk, the plastic chair creaking under her. The study guide sat unopened on her desk - she'd forgotten to read it last night after patrol. Her eyes kept drifting to the cover, its simple blue design somehow compelling.

"Earth to Sophia." Emma waved a hand in front of her face. "You're drooling over that study guide like it's a chocolate cake."

"Just tired." Sophia straightened her back. "Was out late."

"Patrolling again? You should take better care of yourself." Emma's voice carried an odd note of satisfaction despite it being a whisper. "Speaking of taking care, Mom asked if you could come by this afternoon. She needs help with her physical therapy."

The thought of Mrs. Barnes waiting for her, needing her help, made Sophia's chest warm. "Yeah, sure. Not like I have anything better to do."

Taylor appeared beside their desks, dropping more study guides on empty seats. Her movements were precise, deliberate. When had the skinny girl gotten so... confident?

"Here." Taylor placed a paper bag on Sophia's desk. "Made extra this morning."

The smell of fresh baked goods wafted up. Sophia's stomach growled. She should say no. Should stick to her protein shakes and lean meats. But her hands were already opening the bag.

Mr. Gladly started his lecture, his voice mixing with the background music from the speakers. Sophia bit into what turned out to be a blueberry muffin, her free hand absently flipping open the study guide. The words seemed to dance on the page, drawing her in.

A note landed on her desk. Some guy asking her to the upcoming dance. Last year, she would have torn it up. Today, she found herself considering it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go. To be normal for once.

The thought should have disgusted her. Instead, it felt... right.

***

Two Empire Eighty-Eight wanna-bes, Derek and Justin, loitered near the school's dumpsters, sharing a cigarette behind the tech building. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot.

Derek elbowed Justin. "Check it out."

Through the propped-open door, they watched Taylor Hebert and Emma Barnes making trips back and forth, loading outdated computer monitors and printers into Emma's dad's SUV.

"Ain't that the Hebert girl? The one who turned this place into some kind of nerd factory?" Derek crushed his cigarette under his boot.

"Yeah. Barnes too." Justin straightened up. "My sister says they've been handing out those study guides everywhere."

Taylor emerged again, arms wrapped around a bulky CRT monitor. Emma followed with a printer stacked on top of a box of papers.

"Should we..." Derek cracked his knuckles.

Justin grabbed his arm. "Hold up. Something ain't right about this. You notice how everyone's different lately? Even some of those looking to join Hookwolf's crew's been acting weird, spending more time reading than fighting."

They watched as Taylor nearly dropped the monitor. Emma rushed to help, and they caught fragments of their conversation.

"...careful with that one... special modifications..." Taylor's voice drifted over.

"...need it for the new batch..." Emma replied.

Derek's eyes narrowed. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah. Jewish girl stealing school property, probably selling it or something." Justin pulled out his phone. "Better let Brad know about this."

"Nah, man. Look at how organized this is. Principal's car is still here - they got permission. Something bigger's going on."

The girls made another trip, this time with cables and smaller equipment. They worked with practiced efficiency, like they'd done this before.

"We should follow them," Derek whispered. "See where they're taking all this stuff."

Justin nodded, pulling his hood up. "Yeah. But keep your distance. Barnes' dad's got connections, and something about that Hebert girl gives me the creeps."

Derek's beaten-up Civic stalled twice trying to follow Emma's SUV. By the time they got it running again, the girls had vanished into Brockton Bay's afternoon traffic.

"Nice going, dipshit." Justin slumped in the passenger seat.

"Like you could do better." Derek banged the steering wheel. "Let's head back to school. Maybe we can figure out what they were loading up."

The Civic lurched into the nearly empty parking lot. They found the tech building's side door still unlocked.

Inside, fluorescent lights flickered over empty shelves where computers had been. Justin rifled through a drawer while Derek checked the storage closet.

"Got something." Justin held up a crumpled paper. "Work order. Says they're 'recycling' old equipment. Approved by Blackwell herself."

"Here too." Derek emerged from the closet with a notebook. "Some kind of music playlist? Looks like it's for the morning announcements."

"That's above our pay grade." Justin snapped photos with his phone. "Let's show William."

***

William lounged behind his desk at the Empire's downtown front business, barely glancing up from his paperwork as Derek and Justin stumbled through their report.

"So they're recycling old equipment. What's next, gonna tell me about their paper drive?" William shuffled some documents.

"But sir, it's the Hebert girl-" Derek started.

"And they had this weird music thing-" Justin added.

William waved his hand. "Look, I appreciate you boys trying to prove yourselves, but-"

"They were taking printers," Derek blurted. "And monitors. Loading them up real careful-like."

William's pen stopped moving. "Printers? Electronics?"

"Yeah, and Taylor was real specific about handling some of them. Called them 'special modifications' or something," Justin said.

William leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Tell me everything. Every detail."

The boys brightened, tripping over each other to describe what they'd seen. William nodded, asked pointed questions about dates, times, patterns they'd noticed.

"Good work, boys. This could be exactly what we needed." William pulled out two twenties. "Get yourselves something nice. Keep watching, but don't get too close."

After they left, practically floating on air, William locked his office door and pulled out a secure phone.

"Sir? William here. I might have a line on a new tinker in Brockton Bay."

***

The flickering neon from the pachinko parlor cast alternating shadows across Lung's face as he reclined on his leather chair. Ken and Mike stood before him, shifting nervously.

"The study guides, they're different," Ken said, pulling one from his jacket. "Look how many of our guys are using them."

Lung's mask gleamed in the dim light. "Different how?"

"Everyone who reads them... changes." Mike wrung his hands. "They stop coming to meetings, spend all their time studying. Even Liu - you know Liu? Guy who used to boost cars? He's talking about college applications now."

"And this concerns me?" Lung's voice rumbled like distant thunder.

Ken stepped forward. "But sir, these aren't normal guides. They're from that white girl, Hebert. Something's not right about-"

"Enough." Lung stood, towering over them. "You waste my time with complaints about study guides? Of course our people excel in academics. It is expected. Natural."

"But sir-" Mike started.

"Are you suggesting our youth are weak-minded? That some girl's study materials could influence them more than their own culture?"

The temperature in the room rose several degrees. Ken tugged at his collar, sweat beading on his forehead.

"No, sir. Of course not," Ken backpedaled. "We just thought-"

"Do not bring such trivialities to me again." Lung turned his back on them, a clear dismissal.

They scrambled for the door, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape. The sound of their footsteps faded down the hallway as Lung settled back into his chair, the matter already forgotten.

***

Skidmark sprawled across a stained mattress in the Merchants' hideout, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the ceiling. Empty syringes and beer cans littered the floor around him.

"Yo, Skids!" Squealer's voice cut through his drug-addled haze. She waved papers in front of his face. "Check this shit out."

"The fuck you wavin' at me?" He batted at the papers, missing completely.

"Some of our runners picked these up at Winslow. Study guides or whatever." She dropped them on his chest. "Thing is, Mush started reading one. Now he's talking about getting his GED."

Skidmark lifted a page, holding it upside down. "The fuck? Mush can read?"

"That's what I'm saying! He's been at it for hours, all proper-like." Squealer kicked an empty beer can. "Even cleaned his corner of the warehouse."

"No fucking way." Skidmark squinted at the page, turning it sideways. "These some kind of... mind-fucking papers?"

He held the study guide close to his face, then far away, then close again. "Holy shit, the words are dancing. Look at 'em go!" He started giggling. "They're doing the fucking macarena!"

"You're high as balls." Squealer snatched the papers back. "I'm telling you, something weird's going on."

"Wait, wait." Skidmark sat up, swaying. "If these make people smart... and we sell 'em instead of drugs..." His eyes crossed. "We could... could..." He flopped back onto the mattress. "What was I saying?"

"About the study guides?"

"No, no... about the dancing words. They were wearing little sombreros." He reached for the ceiling. "Come back, little word-dudes! The party ain't over!"

Squealer shook her head and walked away, leaving Skidmark making finger-guns at imaginary dancing letters.

"Pew pew! Take that, semicolon! You ain't so tough now!" His voice echoed through the warehouse. "Nobody puts parenthesis in a corner!"

***

Emily Piggot scrolled through the daily reports on her monitor, rubbing her temples. Her desk groaned under stacks of papers detailing the latest Empire Eighty-Eight and ABB confrontation. Three injured, one dead, property damage in the millions.

A notification popped up - another report requiring review. She clicked it open:

SUBJECT: Winslow High School Academic Performance Analysis

CLASSIFICATION: Low Priority

POTENTIAL PARAHUMAN ACTIVITY: Master/Stranger Rating 1 (Low Probability)

Her eyes skimmed the data. Grade point averages up 22% across all subjects. Athletic performance showing marked improvement - track team qualified for state finals, wrestling team undefeated.

"Computer, flag report status?"

"Report locked at low probability assessment. Requires manual override for escalation," the system responded.

Piggot tagged the report for baseline monitoring. No need to waste resources on what was likely just improved teaching methods or motivated students. She had real problems to deal with - Kaiser's latest territory push had left half of downtown in chaos.

She clicked on the next report: "Empire Eighty-Eight Chemical Weapons Acquisition Attempt." This was what mattered. Academic statistics could wait.

The Winslow report disappeared into the system, its status permanently fixed at low priority due to a database error. Any future updates would remain buried under the flood of gang violence reports crossing her desk.

Chapter Text

Max Anders stood at his office window, forty stories above Brockton Bay. The city sprawled beneath him like a chess board, each district a piece to be moved and captured.

Victor's polished shoes clicked against the marble floor as he entered. "The quarterly reports, sir."

Max didn't turn from the window. "Go ahead."

"Medhall's profits are up 37% this quarter. The FDA fast-tracked three of our new drug applications. Othala's contributions in the testing phase have cut development time in half."

"Good." Max's reflection smiled in the glass. "Though it makes me think of that Dallon girl. Panacea. Such potential, wasted on emergency rooms and clinics."

"Sir?"

"Think about it, Victor. Her power - true biological manipulation. Put her in our labs for even three weeks..." He turned, spreading his hands across his mahogany desk. "We could revolutionize cancer treatment. Make billions. Instead she plays Florence Nightingale, healing one peasant at a time."

Victor nodded. "The profit potential would be astronomical."

"Exactly. Quick fixes versus systematic solutions." Max shook his head. "Short-sighted, just like her adoptive family. The Dallons lack vision."

"Speaking of systematic solutions," Victor pulled out another folder. "The Elite sent feelers through their shell companies. They're interested in our cancer research division."

Max's jaw tightened. "Uppercrust's people?"

"Agnes Court. She suggested a partnership."

"The Elite doesn't partner. They consume." Max drummed his fingers on the desk. "Have legal draft a response. Polite but firm."

Victor moved to the next report. "Street level operations. Oni Lee hit our distribution center on Baker Street. Two soldiers in medical - burns and shrapnel. Nothing critical."

"Lung's getting bold again." Max picked up a crystal paperweight, turning it in the light. "And the Merchants?"

"Pushing into the northern edge of our territory. Skidmark's dealers are working the high schools. Except Winslow." Victor hesitated. "Which brings me to recruitment. Numbers are down across the board, especially among the youth demographic."

"Explain."

"Our usual recruitment pools - disaffected teens, dropouts - they're drying up. Particularly at Winslow. Students are... focused. Grades are up. Attendance is up. Even the troublemakers are joining study groups."

Max raised an eyebrow. "A master. You think there's a master at work?"

"Tinker actually. "Intelligence suggests it. Study guides appearing out of nowhere. New audio systems in the PA. Students displaying unusual dedication to their studies." Victor spread photos across the desk - printers being moved, computer parts, wiring. "Two of our prospects spotted these girls moving equipment."

Victor slid two photos forward. "Emma Barnes and Taylor Hebert."

Max picked up Emma's headshot from a modeling portfolio. "Barnes... Alan Barnes' daughter?"

"Yes. Her mother was injured in their home six months ago. Spinal injury. Made a miraculous recovery via panacea's peasant healings, though she still needs assistance." Victor tapped the file. "Potential trigger event."

"And the other?"

"Taylor Hebert. Mother died in a murder suicide about two years ago. Father is Daniel Hebert - recently elected president of the Dockworkers Union."

Max's eyes narrowed. "Daniel Hebert. That could be... inconvenient. The shipping contracts-"

"There's more. Alan Barnes works at the same firm as Carol Dallon. New Wave connection."

"Interesting web of relationships." Max studied Taylor's yearbook photo. "Two traumatic events, both with potential trigger points. Both with useful connections." He looked up at Victor. "How certain are we about the tinker theory?"

"The evidence fits. Equipment movements match tinker behavior patterns. The effects are subtle but widespread. Classic infiltration approach."

"And the PRT?"

"Nothing. They've logged the academic improvements but classified it as low probability master activity."

Max leaned back in his leather chair. "Could be a front. Someone else is pulling strings, using these girls as cover."

"Unlikely." Victor shook his head. "We've monitored their movements. The Barnes girl has modeling connections, but nothing suspicious. Hebert is the more reclusive of the two. She is the one I would figure most likely to be the tinker."

"And our people inside Winslow?"

"That's the concerning part." Victor pulled out a stack of test results. "We ran assessments on our junior members. Academic performance is up across the board. Physical fitness improved. Even their technical skills showed marked improvement."

Max's eyes narrowed. "But?"

"They're... less receptive to our message. Not openly resistant, just... preoccupied. More focused on studies, sports, college applications." Victor spread the papers across the desk. "One of our most promising recruits - star quarterback material - turned down an invitation to a rally. Said he needed to study for the SATs."

"Interesting." Max traced a finger along a graph showing rising test scores. "Can they still be utilized?"

"Yes. Their capabilities have increased - better fighters, better strategists. But the passion, the dedication to the cause..." Victor gestured vaguely. "It's dulled. Like they've found other priorities."

"And you're certain this is the Hebert girl's work?"

"The timing matches her arrival. The equipment movements, the study materials, the new PA system - it all points to her." Victor tapped another report. "We intercepted some of their 'study guides.' They appear normal, but our labs detected traces of specialized inks. UV-reactive compounds we couldn't identify."

Victor pulled another file from his briefcase. "There's also this girl. Sophia Hess. She's undergone... significant changes over the past months." Victor laid out surveillance photos. "Previously aggressive, territorial. Had multiple disciplinary incidents. Now..." He spread before-and-after images across the desk.

The photos showed a stark transformation. Earlier shots captured a lean, coiled-spring of a girl, stance radiating hostility. Recent images showed softer edges, both physically and in demeanor. Her posture is more relaxed, expression open.

"She's been seen regularly at the Barnes residence, acting as caretaker for Mrs. Barnes. Our sources say she's practically moved in."

Max studied the images. "And her relationship with the Hebert girl?"

"That's the most telling part. Before this year, Hess was openly antagonistic toward Hebert. Multiple reported incidents of bullying, though nothing was ever proven. Now..." Victor slid forward a photo of Sophia and Taylor sharing lunch, Sophia accepting food with an eager smile. "She's practically domesticated."

"The optics are... interesting." Max's lips curved. "A black girl, former bully, now playing servant to the white girl who 'put her in her place.' That would be a PR nightmare if this got out."

"Especially given the racial undertones. The Empire could spin this-"

Max put up his hand. "Blackmail is a possibility, but a last resort. This needs a... softer touch. We also should take care of a potential Teacher scenario."

"Teacher?" Victor's brow furrowed.

"Think about it. Young tinker specializing in mental manipulation through educational materials? The timing's suspicious. Teacher's been quiet since the Birdcage, but his network remains active."

"You think she could be one of his?"

Max stood, straightening his tie in the window's reflection. "Either way, we need to verify. Have Krieg reach out through his European contacts. If Teacher's involved, there will be a money trail."

"And if she's independent?"

"Then we proceed carefully." Max picked up Emma's headshot again. "Alan Barnes is ambitious. His daughter's modeling career is taking off. Perhaps Medhall's pharmaceutical division needs a fresh young face for our new anti-acne campaign."

Victor nodded. "The father would be grateful for the opportunity."

"Exactly. We build bridges, not walls. If this Hebert girl has found a way to improve cognitive function, physical performance..." Max's eyes gleamed. "Well, that's exactly the kind of breakthrough Medhall's research division has been looking for."

"Sir, if I may - what about the effects on our recruitment?"

"Sometimes, Victor, the direct approach isn't the best one. If these girls can enhance performance, imagine applying that on a larger scale. Why fight for the streets when we could own the boardrooms?" Max straightened a pen on his desk. "For now, we watch. Document everything. And most importantly - make sure our people at Winslow keep taking those study guides."

Max settled into his chair, steepling his fingers. "Let's approach this from another angle. What's Winslow's current computer lab situation?"

"Outdated. Most machines are over five years old. Half don't even boot anymore."

"Perfect." Max pulled out a notepad. "Draft a proposal. Medhall's new educational outreach program - bringing technology to underprivileged schools. We'll start with a full lab renovation."

Victor made notes. "Computers, printers, networking equipment."

"Make it state of the art. Throw in some 3D printers, laser cutters. The kind of tools a young tinker would salivate over." Max's pen scratched across paper. "But deliver it in phases. Small donations first, gauge the response."

"And our recruitment strategy?"

"Time to evolve. These kids are responding to achievement, to success." Max stood, pacing. "So we show them what success looks like. Less street corner rhetoric, more... inspiration. Successful white professionals mentoring promising students."

Victor nodded. "The savior angle."

"Exactly. We're not attacking minorities - we're elevating everyone through proper guidance and leadership." Max's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Have our people dial back the racial rhetoric. Focus on excellence, achievement, proper values. The natural hierarchy will establish itself."

"I'll adjust the messaging. And the equipment donations?"

"Start next week. Nothing too flashy - just enough to catch a tinker's attention. Let's see what kind of breadcrumbs she follows."

***

Taylor sprawled across Emma's bed, idly flipping through one of her study guides. "Did you see the test scores from Mr. Gladly's class?"

"Ninety-two percent passing rate." Emma beamed from her vanity mirror, brushing her hair. "Even the gang kids are turning in homework now."

"And sports? The track team destroyed their last meet."

"Coach Wilson can't stop bragging about it." Emma set down her brush. "Oh! Did you hear? Medhall's donating a whole new computer lab. Brand new everything."

Taylor sat up. "Really? That's... unexpected."

"See? Your tech is changing things. People are noticing." Emma spun in her chair. "The good kind of noticing."

"About that..." Taylor chewed her lip. "Blackwell called me in yesterday."

Emma froze. "What happened?"

"She knows something's up. Not the details, but..." Taylor flopped back on the bed. "She basically told me she doesn't want to know what I'm doing, just to keep doing it. Said the school board's thrilled with the improvements."

"That's good though, right? Administrative support?"

"I guess. Just feels weird having her basically give me permission to..." Taylor waved her hand vaguely.

"To help everyone succeed?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "Because that's what you're doing. Look at the difference in just one semester."

Taylor rolled onto her stomach, picking at Emma's bedspread. "She offered me the old equipment from the computer lab too."

"That's perfect! You needed more processors for-"

"No, you don't get it." Taylor cut her off. "She basically winked and said some of the new stuff might get 'lost in transit' too."

Emma's brush clattered to her vanity. "The principal suggested you steal school equipment?"

"Not in those words, but yeah." Taylor buried her face in the comforter. "What kind of message is that sending to the person in charge of influencing minds?"

"That she trusts you're using it for good?"

Taylor lifted her head. "Or that everyone has their price. That ethics are flexible if the results look good enough."

"You're overthinking this." Emma moved to sit on the bed. "The old equipment was going to be junked anyway. And if some of the new stuff helps more students succeed..."

"That's what I'm worried about. It's too easy to justify. Help more kids, take a little more. Where does it stop?"

"You're not Heartbreaker or Teacher. You're helping people learn, not turning them into slaves."

"Through mind control." Taylor flopped onto her back. "Even if it's gentle. Even if they want it. I'm still changing how people think."

"For the better! Look at Sophia-"

"Exactly! Look at Sophia. We completely rewrote who she is. And now Blackwell's basically giving me permission to do it to the whole school."

Emma was quiet for a moment. "Is that really such a bad thing?"

Taylor stared at the ceiling, her fingers drumming against her stomach. "That's what scares me. Every time I see a problem now, my first thought is 'I could fix that with my tech.'"

"And that's bad because...?"

"Because I'm fifteen, Em! I shouldn't have this kind of power over people." Taylor rolled to face her friend. "Yesterday I caught myself thinking about how I could help the cafeteria staff be more efficient. Not with better equipment or training - with actual mind control."

Emma pulled her legs up under her. "But you didn't do it."

"No, but I wanted to. And that's the thing - it would work. It would make lunch better for everyone. The staff would probably even be happier, more fulfilled in their roles." Taylor pressed her palms against her eyes. "Just like Sophia's happier now. Just like the students are doing better."

"You're helping-"

"I know! That's what makes it so hard to stop." Taylor's hands fell to her sides. "Everything I do works. Everything gets better. People improve. And each time it gets easier to justify the next step."

Emma stayed quiet, watching her friend wrestle with the moral implications.

"What happens when I decide to 'help' someone who doesn't want it? When I convince myself it's for their own good?" Taylor's voice dropped. "I already did that with Sophia. Sure, she's nicer now, but we basically erased who she was. And I keep thinking about doing it to others."

Emma leaned forward, tucking her legs under her. "You know what my dad always says about being a lawyer? Every conversation is a negotiation."

"That's different-"

"Is it? Every time we talk to someone, we're trying to change their mind about something." Emma counted off on her fingers. "Teachers want to influence how we think about their subjects. My modeling coaches want to change how I present myself. Even ordering coffee involves convincing someone to make it exactly how you want."

Taylor rolled onto her side. "But they have a choice whether to listen."

"Do they? Really?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "Society basically forces kids to sit in classrooms for twelve years, absorbing whatever teachers tell them to think. Parents shape their kids' entire worldview before they're old enough to question it. How is that different from what you do?"

"Because I'm literally rewriting their brains!"

"And words don't? Everything we experience changes our brains - that's literally how learning works." Emma shifted closer. "You're just more efficient at it. Instead of spending years trying to convince someone to be better, you can help them get there faster."

Taylor frowned. "That sounds like justifying mind control."

"I'm saying maybe it's not as different from normal human interaction as you think." Emma shrugged. "Everyone tries to influence everyone else. Through words, through actions, through peer pressure. You're just more honest about it."

"And more effective," Taylor muttered.

"Exactly! Instead of letting people fumble around trying to improve themselves, you can actually help them get there." Emma gestured toward the window. "Look what you did for the school. For Sophia. They're both better off now."

"But-"

"But nothing. You're not forcing anyone to be evil or hurt others. You're helping them be their best selves." Emma poked Taylor's shoulder. "The only difference is you can do it without all the messy trial and error the rest of us have to go through."

Taylor sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. "Maybe you're right. But that just makes it scarier. If I can justify anything..."

"That's why you have me." Emma bumped Taylor's shoulder with her own. "Your personal ethics alarm. If you start going supervillain, I'll let you know."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart." Emma drew an X over her chest. "Besides, you're way too much of a goody-two-shoes to go full evil mastermind. You felt guilty about taking outdated computer parts the school was throwing away."

Taylor managed a small laugh. "True. And I guess having Blackwell on board does make things easier. No more sneaking around with the announcements system."

"See? Now you can focus on important things. Like helping me pass chemistry this semester." Emma flopped back on the bed. "Seriously, why haven't you made me better at science yet?"

"Because someone told me I needed to work on my self-control." Taylor poked Emma's side. "And because you'd never learn anything if I just downloaded it into your brain."

"Ugh, fine. Be responsible." Emma rolled her eyes. "But can you at least make the study guides a little stronger? Just for me?"

"Nope. You get the same ones as everyone else." Taylor stood up, stretching. "Consider it practice for my ethical restraint."

"You're the worst best friend ever." Emma threw a pillow at her. "Using me as your moral compass AND making me actually study."

"That's what friends are for." Taylor caught the pillow and tossed it back. "Someone has to keep the mind-controlling tinker honest."

"And someone has to keep the honest tinker from overthinking everything." Emma sat up. "Now come on, help me with these notes. No mind control required."

***

Madison perched on the edge of a cafeteria table, her legs swinging. "Did you see the track team's times? We actually beat Arcadia in the qualifying rounds."

"Not just track." Julia scrolled through her phone. "Chess club destroyed them last week. Like, completely wiped the floor with them."

"About time." Charlotte adjusted her glasses. "I'm sick of them acting so superior just because they've got fancy facilities."

The girls clustered around their usual lunch spot, picking at salads and comparing notes on recent events.

"My cousin at Arcadia's getting nervous." Madison grinned. "Says their principal called an emergency meeting about 'maintaining academic standards' after our SAT prep scores came out."

"Please." Julia rolled her eyes. "They're just mad because we're finally giving them real competition. Did you know our GPA average is only point-two below theirs now?"

"Point-one-eight," Charlotte corrected. "And rising. My calc study group's killing it lately."

"Speaking of study groups." Madison lowered her voice. "Everyone's fighting over Taylor and Emma's guides. Even the seniors are trying to get copies."

"I heard Principal Blackwell's starting some kind of exchange program." Julia leaned in. "Like, sharing our study methods with other schools."

"Yeah right." Charlotte snorted. "Like Arcadia would ever admit they need our help. They're too busy bragging about their 'superior learning environment' and perfect attendance records."

"Well, they won't be bragging for long." Madison's eyes gleamed. "Coach Wilson says we might actually have a shot at states this year. In multiple sports."

"God, can you imagine their faces?" Julia clasped her hands together dramatically. "The mighty Arcadia, defeated by little old Winslow?"

"We've still got work to do though." Charlotte tapped her notebook. "The language department needs help, and don't get me started on the art programs."

"One step at a time." Madison hopped off the table. "But at least now? We've got a real chance."

"So..." Julia dragged out the word. "Speaking of competition, who's everyone crushing on these days?"

Madison's cheeks flushed pink. "I'm actually seeing someone."

"What?" Charlotte sat up straight. "Since when?"

"A few weeks." Madison twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "But I don't want to jinx it by talking about it."

"Oh come on." Julia nudged her. "At least give us a hint. What grade?"

Madison shook her head, lips sealed but smiling.

"Fine, keep your secrets." Charlotte turned to their senior friend. "What about you Sarah? Got any college plans lined up?"

Sarah stretched, her letterman jacket riding up. "I mean, yeah, probably college. My parents keep pushing for it."

"But?" Julia prompted.

"But honestly?" Sarah shrugged. "I'm more interested in finding the right guy and settling down. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd rather get my MRS degree than spend four years stressed about finals."

"Seriously?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

"What? There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a wife and mother." Sarah defended. "Besides, have you seen how much college costs these days? I'd rather put that money toward a house."

"No judgment." Madison raised her hands. "Different strokes and all that."

"Plus," Sarah grinned, "there's this super cute pre-med student who comes into the coffee shop where I work..."

"Now that's the kind of detail we want." Julia leaned forward eagerly. "Spill."

"It is weird though." Charlotte furrowed her brow. "Like, when did all this start? Last semester we were-"

The PA system crackled to life, soft instrumental music drifting beneath Principal Blackwell's voice. "Good afternoon students. A reminder that chess club meets today after school in room 204. The track team-"

Madison perked up. "Oh! That reminds me - did you guys hear about Sarah's new workout routine? She swears it doubled her endurance in just two weeks."

"The one from the study guide?" Julia pulled out a worn notebook. "I've been meaning to try that. My serve's still weak and volleyball tryouts are coming up."

"You should totally join." Charlotte nodded along to the announcements' background melody. "The team could use someone with your height."

"Speaking of height." Madison giggled. "Have you seen how much muscle Greg's put on since joining weightlifting? Who knew he had it in him?"

"Right?" Julia's eyes widened. "And he's actually talking to people now. Like, full conversations without stammering."

"The whole school's different." Charlotte started gathering her things as the lunch bell approached. "Remember when we used to have fights in the hallways every other day?"

"Can't remember the last time I saw any gang colors." Madison stood, stretching. "Hey, want to hit the library? I heard they just got those new study carrels with the built-in white noise machines."

The girls packed up, their earlier questioning forgotten as they discussed afternoon plans, the soft music from the PA system fading out behind Principal Blackwell's final announcements.

***

Max Anders adjusted his tie as he walked through Winslow's main entrance, flanked by his PR team and school board representatives. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air - maintenance crews had worked through the weekend to prepare for this media event.

Principal Blackwell wrung her hands. "Mr. Anders, this donation from Medhall is unprecedented. Thirty new computer stations, upgraded networking infrastructure..."

"Please, call me Max." He flashed his practiced smile at the news cameras. "Medhall believes in investing in our community's future. These young minds represent tomorrow's scientists, researchers, innovators."

The tour proceeded through freshly-cleaned halls to the computer lab. Students in clean attire demonstrated educational software, their posture perfect, answers rehearsed.

"Notice how engaged they are," Blackwell gestured to a group hunched over their screens. "Our academic scores have improved dramatically this semester."

"Excellence breeds excellence." Max nodded to a blonde student wearing an Empire tattoo poorly hidden under his sleeve. "We're adjusting our youth outreach programs as well. Less focus on division, more on elevation. Showing these kids what they could achieve with the right guidance, the right opportunities."

"The Empire's changing their tune," Victor murmured as they exited the lab. "Recruitment pamphlets now talk about 'preserving European cultural heritage' and 'advancing Western civilization.' Photos of successful professionals instead of street fights."

"Times change. Methods adapt." Max murmured back before pausing to shake hands with a teacher. "Our people tell me the Hebert girl's been scrounging parts from surplus stores, dumpster diving behind electronics shops. A proper lab setup might catch her attention."

"The equipment's clean?"

"Triple-checked. Nothing traceable." Max straightened a 'Medhall Supports Education' banner. "Sometimes the best way to catch a mouse is to lay out cheese and wait."

***

Skidmark kicked open the door of the Merchants' hideout, a stack of study guides clutched in his trembling hands. His dilated pupils darted across the grimy walls covered in spray paint.

"These fuckin' books are a goddamn conspiracy!" He slammed them onto a table, scattering needles and empty beer cans. "Look at this shit - proper nouns all capitalized like they're better than the other words!"

Squealer looked up from her latest vehicle modification, grease smeared across her face. "You're high as balls again."

"Nah nah, you ain't seeing the big picture baby." He jabbed his finger at a page. "These fancy-ass grammar nazis think they can tell us when to use big letters? That's what's wrong with society!"

"Holy hell, Skids." Squealer dropped her wrench. "We got actual problems with the Empire moving into our territory and you're worried about capital letters?"

Skidmark paced, his stained jacket flapping. "We're gonna show them! Gonna write everything in lowercase. That'll teach those punctuation fascists!"

"Round up the crew!" He shouted to the handful of strung-out Merchants lounging on ratty couches. "We're gonna hit the library! Liberate all them words from their capitalist oppression!"

"It's capitalization, not capitalism you moron." Squealer buried her face in her hands.

"Same difference! Both keeping the little letters down!" Skidmark grabbed a can of spray paint. "First we free the I's - why's it gotta be uppercase when it's alone? That's discrimination!"

"I'm going back to work on my truck." Squealer stood up. "Try not to get arrested over the alphabet."

"You'll see! This is bigger than all of us!" Skidmark waved the study guide like a battle flag. "Tonight we ride against proper grammar! No words left behind!"

The other Merchants just stared, too high to comprehend their leader's crusade against capitalization.

***

Taylor traced her finger along the embossed golden lettering of the invitation. The heavy cream cardstock practically screamed expensive.

"Dad, look what came in the mail." She held up the envelope. "Medhall's hosting their annual Halloween gala. They're inviting top students from local schools."

Danny adjusted his glasses, examining the invitation. "That's quite prestigious. Though I'm not sure about you attending a corporate party..."

"Emma got one too." Taylor pulled out her phone, typing rapidly. "Her dad says it's legitimate. Apparently they do this every year for promising students."

"The pharmaceutical company?" Danny's brow furrowed. "I remember when they used to send representatives to the union meetings. Always trying to get dock workers to sign up for their medical trials."

Emma burst through the front door, waving her own invitation. "Taylor! Did you get yours? We have to go shopping. I'm thinking something in forest green for you brings out your eyes."

"I haven't even said yes yet." Taylor shot her father a pleading look.

"Well..." Danny rubbed his chin. "I suppose if Alan's letting Emma go..."

"Perfect!" Emma grabbed Taylor's arm. "Mom's taking me to get a dress tomorrow. Come with us?"

Taylor folded the invitation carefully. "It'll be nice to dress up for once. Though I'm surprised Medhall's interested in Winslow students."

"Why wouldn't they be?" Emma twirled, already planning outfit combinations. "Our test scores are way up. The whole school's improving."

Taylor's room hadn't changed much since middle school - same astronomy posters, same overflowing bookshelf. Emma flopped onto the bed while Taylor settled into her desk chair.

"A masquerade ball." Taylor pulled up images on her laptop. "At least the mask will help with my nerves."

"Sophia's pretty upset she didn't make the cut." Emma examined her nails. "Though her grades aren't exactly stellar."

"She's been... different lately." Taylor minimized a window showing complex diagrams. "More focused on helping your mom than schoolwork."

"Speaking of different." Emma sat up, a sly smile spreading across her face. "I heard through the modeling agency that there might be some interesting people at this party. Including a certain someone's son."

"What are you plotting?"

"Nothing." Emma stretched like a cat. "Just that Medhall's CEO has a boy about our age. Very private, very mysterious. Perfect masquerade material."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "I'm not looking for some fairy tale romance."

"Come on, every genius needs her prince charming." Emma grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest. "Someone who appreciates that big brain of yours."

"You've been reading too many romance novels." Taylor clicked through mask designs. "Besides, I doubt any CEO's son would look twice at me."

"You'd be surprised." Emma's smile turned knowing. "Sometimes the quiet ones are exactly what you need." Her eye's widened. "I just had the best idea."

***

Emma dragged Taylor through the agency's glass doors, past racks of designer clothes and bustling assistants.

"Trust me, Marissa owes me a favor. She'll hook us up with the perfect dresses."

A willowy woman with platinum hair clicked over on stilettos. "Emma, darling! And this must be your friend."

"Taylor." Emma beamed. "We need something spectacular for the Medhall gala."

Marissa circled Taylor, professional eye assessing. "Hmm. Lovely bone structure. Height's good for couture. But we'll need to do something about that hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Taylor's hand flew to her curls.

"Nothing a good stylist can't fix." Marissa clapped her hands. "Girls, let's make magic happen."

The next hour dissolved into a whirlwind of fabric and pins. Taylor found herself squeezed into dresses worth more than her dad's monthly salary while Emma twirled in flowing silks.

"Perfect!" Marissa held up an emerald gown against Taylor's frame. "But of course, nothing's free. We'll need some test shots for the junior line."

"Test shots?" Taylor froze.

"Just a few photos. Emma can show you the poses." Marissa gestured to the photography setup. "Think of it as practice for the gala."

Emma adjusted Taylor's hair under the lights. "Relax. Pretend you're working in your lab."

"My lab doesn't have spotlights." But Taylor tried to loosen her shoulders as the camera clicked.

"Turn slightly left." The photographer directed. "Now pretend you're sharing a secret."

Emma leaned in, whispering, "Just imagine everyone at the gala when they see you in this dress."

Taylor managed a genuine smile, the camera capturing the moment.

"Beautiful!" Marissa scrolled through the photos. "These will work perfectly for the fall campaign. Now, about those gala dresses..."

***

It was the night of the gala. Emma emerged from behind the dressing screen in a sweep of crimson and black silk. The dress hugged her curves, the bodice a deep blood red that faded to midnight at the hem. Delicate black lace overlay traced up from the floor-length skirt, creating the illusion of shadows climbing the fabric. The sweetheart neckline plunged just enough to be daring while staying elegant, edged with intricate beadwork that caught the light like drops of dew.

"The back is the best part," Emma spun, revealing the corset-style lacing that zigzagged down her spine, red ribbon against black mesh.

Taylor stepped out next, and even Marissa gasped. Her gown seemed to absorb light, the black fabric so deep it appeared almost liquid. Silver threads wove through the material in an asymmetrical pattern, creating an ethereal web that shifted with every movement. The dress clung to her frame before floating out at the hips in layers of gossamer and tulle.

"The mask completes it." Emma handed Taylor a delicate silver creation.

The spider mask was a masterwork of metalwork and crystal, curving around Taylor's eyes and extending delicate legs across her cheekbones. Tiny gems studded the joints, throwing rainbow prisms when she turned her head.

"The contrast is perfect," Marissa adjusted Emma's crimson choker, a black crystal pendant nestled at the hollow of her throat. "Light and dark, predator and prey."

"Though which is which?" Emma smirked, sliding on long black gloves that reached past her elbows. Her hair fell in carefully styled waves, the red a stark contrast against the dark fabric.

Taylor's own gloves were fingerless black lace, the silver threading matching her dress. Her dark curls had been tamed into an elaborate updo, strategic strands left loose to frame the mask.

"We look like we stepped out of a gothic fairy tale," Taylor turned, watching the silver threads catch the light.

A sleek White limousine pulled up to the curb, the chrome gleaming under the streetlights. The driver stepped out, his uniform crisp and professional.

"Compliments of Mr. Anders, ladies."

Emma squealed and grabbed Taylor's arm. "A limo! Can you believe it?"

The driver opened the door with a flourish, revealing a plush leather interior lit by soft blue ambient lighting. A bottle of sparkling cider chilled in an ice bucket.

"Oh my god, oh my god." Taylor bounced on her toes, careful not to disturb her elaborate hairstyle. "This is like something out of a movie."

They slid into the back seat, their dresses rustling against the leather. Emma immediately reached for the cider, popping the cork with practiced ease.

"To us." She poured two flutes. "And our grand debut."

Taylor took a sip, the bubbles tickling her nose. "I can't believe we're actually going to a real gala. With actual important people."

"Important people who want to meet us." Emma preened, checking her lipstick in a compact mirror. "Did you see the guest list? Half the city's elite will be there."

The limo glided through the streets of downtown Brockton Bay, the girls pointing out landmarks through the tinted windows. The Medhall building rose before them, its modern glass facade illuminated from within. A red carpet stretched from the entrance, lined with potted plants and security personnel in dark suits.

"Look at all the photographers!" Emma pressed her face to the window. "This is better than any modeling event I've been to."

The limo joined the queue of expensive cars waiting to drop off guests. Taylor squeezed Emma's hand, both of them practically vibrating with excitement.

"This is going to be the best night ever," Emma declared as they pulled up to the entrance.

Chapter Text

The company's grand ballroom took Taylor's breath away. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbows across marble floors, while ornate columns stretched toward a ceiling painted with classical scenes.

Mayor Christner stood near the entrance, his outfit a tasteful interpretation of a court jester - deep purple and gold panels arranged in diamond patterns, with tiny bells that chimed softly as he moved. His wife wore a matching dress in reverse colors, while their son Rory sported a modernized version in black and silver.

"Look, the Pelhams!" Emma whispered, nodding toward a group near the refreshment table.

The heroic family had coordinated their outfits to echo their New Wave costumes without being too blatant. Sarah Pelham's white gown featured crystal accents that caught the light like her force fields, while Neil's broad shoulders filled out a midnight blue tuxedo with silver geometric patterns.

The Stansfield family had gone all-in on their medieval theme. The father wore elaborate plate armor crafted from lightweight materials, his wife in a flowing dress reminiscent of a lady of the court. Their children wore squire and page outfits, complete with prop swords.

A collective murmur drew their attention to the grand staircase as Victoria Dallon made her entrance. Glory Girl had foregone her usual hero costume for a stunning interpretation of Sleeping Beauty - a gossamer gown in pale blue and silver that seemed to float around her as she descended. Her tiara caught the light, real diamonds glinting among the crystals.

"She's not even using her aura," Taylor muttered. "That's all natural presence."

Emma nodded, taking in the other guests - CEOs in designer suits, socialites dripping in jewels, and what looked like genuine European nobility in their formal best. "We definitely came to the right party."

Emma tugged at Taylor's sleeve, pointing discreetly toward a cluster of people near the dance floor. "That's judge Morrison - he has presided over some of the most important corporate cases at my dad's firm."

Taylor's spider mask concealed her wide eyes as she took in the gathering of Brockton Bay's elite. "The woman in the peacock dress? That's Diana Chase - she owns half the radio stations on the East Coast."

"Act natural," Emma whispered, straightening her posture and lifting her chin. She'd practiced her model walk all week leading up to this, but her fingers still fidgeted with her dress.

They wove through the crowd, trying not to stare at the displays of wealth surrounding them. A live orchestra played from a raised platform, their music floating above the steady hum of conversation.

"Should we get something to drink?" Taylor's voice cracked slightly, and she cleared her throat. "To look more... sophisticated?"

"Definitely." Emma steered them toward a waiter carrying flutes of sparkling cider - the non-alcoholic version for younger guests. They each took a glass, mimicking the way the adults held theirs.

"I can't believe we're actually here." Taylor sipped her drink, watching a group of international investors discuss portfolio diversification. "These people could fund entire research departments with what they're wearing."

Emma nodded, her vampiress mask catching the light. "And did you see the chancellor from Cornell? That’s dad’s alma mater. Dad says he never comes to these things unless there's something big in the works."

They found a quiet spot near one of the marble columns, trying to look poised while taking in every detail. The ornate masks around them ranged from simple dominos to elaborate creations that must have cost thousands.

"Remember," Emma whispered, "shoulders back, small sips, and-"

"Don't gawk at anyone," Taylor finished. "Even if they're wearing actual crown jewels."

***

Emma leaned close to Taylor, her mask brushing against Taylor's spider web design. "Look at all this." Her eyes swept across the ballroom. "The most powerful people in the city, all in one place. And we're here because of what we accomplished at one school."

Taylor shifted her weight, the silver threading in her dress catching the light. "Winslow was just the beginning. A proof of concept."

"Exactly." Emma's red-painted lips curved into a smile. "If we got invited here from improving one failing school, imagine where we'll end up once we expand." She gestured subtly toward the crowd. "Every person here has connections to other schools, other cities."

"The study guides are working better than expected," Taylor admitted, watching a group of business executives laugh over champagne. "And with the music system in place-"

"We could help so many students." Emma's voice took on an eager edge. "Not just grades, but sports, behavior, everything. Principal Blackwell's already talking about presenting our results at the next district meeting."

Taylor rolled her glass between her fingers. "Other principals will want the same results."

"And their students deserve the chance." Emma straightened her back, confidence radiating through her pose. "We started with one classroom, then one grade, then the whole school. Why stop there?"

"The possibilities..." Taylor trailed off, watching Victoria Dallon twirl across the dance floor. "We could reshape entire school districts."

"Think bigger." Emma's eyes sparkled behind her mask. "Private schools, universities, anywhere that wants to give their students an edge. And who wouldn't want that?"

Taylor watched a waiter weave through the crowd with practiced grace. Her mind raced with new possibilities, expanding beyond the familiar halls of Winslow.

"The docks," she whispered. "All those unemployed workers. With the right roles, they could rebuild the shipping industry."

Emma caught her thoughtful expression. "What are you thinking?"

"We've been so focused on students." Taylor's fingers traced the spider web pattern on her dress. "But there are people all over the city who need direction, purpose. The homeless could become craftsmen, the gangs could turn to legitimate work."

"Through your tech?"

"Modified versions of it. Different roles for different needs." Taylor's eyes drifted to Mayor Christner deep in conversation with a group of businessmen. "Imagine if we could give everyone in the city the skills they need to succeed. Not just academic knowledge, but practical abilities."

"The whole city?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "That's... ambitious."

"Look around this room." Taylor gestured to the gathered elite. "These people have the power to implement real change, but they're stuck in the same patterns. What if we could help them see new solutions? Break out of old ways of thinking?"

"You're talking about changing how the entire city functions."

"Why not? We proved it works at Winslow. The students are happier, more successful. They have direction." Taylor straightened her shoulders. "The city could be like that too. Not just surviving, but thriving."

Emma studied her friend's face, seeing the spark of inspiration behind her spider mask. "You really think you could do it?"

"I'd need to develop new techniques, expand what I can do." Taylor watched Victoria Dallon float gracefully above the dance floor. "But yes. We've been thinking too small, Em. Winslow was just the first step."

***

"Emma! Taylor!" Jessica's voice carried across the marble floor. Her Miss Militia-inspired dress rippled with shades of army green as she rushed over, Nessa close behind in Battery's blue and silver.

"You both look incredible." Nessa circled them, the silver accents on her dress catching the light. "Is this Marissa's work? The detail on the webbing is exactly her style."

Taylor stood straighter, realizing she had to tilt her head down slightly to meet their eyes despite their higher heels. "Good eye. She really outdid herself."

"The way she incorporated the vampire bat motif into your neckline, Emma - pure genius." Jessica ran her fingers along the edge of Emma's collar. "And Taylor, those silver threads must have taken forever to place just right."

"She mentioned you two while we were at the fitting." Emma smoothed her skirt. "Your dresses capture the heroes perfectly without being costumey."

"The silver circuitry pattern?" Nessa twirled, showing off the glowing lines that mimicked Battery's power. "All hand-stitched. I watched her do it."

"And these green panels shift color when I move," Jessica demonstrated with a spin. "Just like Miss Militia's power."

Taylor adjusted her spider mask. "She really knows how to capture the essence of a theme without being too literal."

"Speaking of capture-" Nessa pulled out her phone. "We need photos. The four of us together will drive social media crazy."

They posed against one of the ornate pillars, Taylor's height making her stand out even more prominently in the group shot. The twins' infectious energy had drawn a small crowd of admirers, all commenting on their matching hero-inspired ensembles.

"Come on, you have to meet Max." Jessica looped her arm through Emma's. "He'll love you both."

"Max Anders? The CEO of Medhall?" Taylor's spider mask couldn't hide her surprise.

Nessa nodded. "He's practically our uncle. Well, sort of."

"I didn't know you were connected to the Anders family." Emma allowed herself to be guided through the crowd.

"It's complicated." Jessica's smile dimmed for a moment. "Our parents passed when we were really little. Our cousin Heather took us in."

"She was Max's first wife," Nessa continued. "The sweetest person you'd ever meet. Made the transition so much easier for us."

"Was?" Taylor caught the past tense.

Jessica's grip on Emma's arm tightened slightly. "She died about three years after taking us in. Car accident."

"But Max-" Nessa brightened. "He never stopped looking out for us. Made sure we had everything we needed growing up. Private school, modeling classes, college funds."

"He didn't have to," Jessica added. "Legally, he wasn't obligated. But that's just who he is."

"That's... incredibly generous of him." Taylor felt a new appreciation for the man she'd only known from newspaper photos.

"Which is why you absolutely have to meet him." Nessa started scanning the crowd. "He has a way of seeing potential in people. And you two? You're definitely going places."

***

"Max!" Jessica waved across the ballroom. "There are two amazing people you need to meet."

Max Anders turned from his conversation, his Dauntless-inspired costume catching the light. The Roman-style breastplate hugged his broad chest, and the cape draped perfectly across his shoulders. Unlike many of the other partygoers mimicking hero costumes, he had the build to make it look natural rather than costume-shop tacky.

"Jessica, Nessa - you've been holding out on me." His smile reached his eyes as he approached. "Who are these lovely young ladies?"

"Emma Barnes and Taylor Hebert," Nessa made the introductions. "They're the ones behind those study guides revolutionizing Winslow."

"Ah, I've heard whispers about that." He clasped Emma's hand warmly. "Quite impressive, turning around the academic performance of an entire school. And at your age?"

Taylor felt her cheeks flush as he turned his attention to her. "We just wanted to help our classmates."

"Modesty and initiative - a powerful combination." He gestured to a nearby waiter, who appeared with champagne flutes of what looked like sparkling cider. "To the future leaders of Brockton Bay."

"The costumes are magnificent," he continued, studying the intricate details. "Marissa's work, I assume? She has a gift for capturing personality in fabric."

Emma beamed. "You can tell just by looking?"

"I make it my business to recognize talent." He tapped his glass against theirs. "In all its forms."

The way he said it made Taylor stand straighter. Here was someone who understood ambition, who saw past the surface to the potential beneath.

"Though I must say," he added with a conspiratorial wink, "your achievements at Winslow are far more interesting than any costume. Perhaps we could discuss your methods sometime? Medhall has several educational initiatives that could benefit from fresh perspectives."

"Speaking of young talent, I should introduce you to my son Theo and his date. They're around here somewhere." Max scanned the crowd. "Both attend Immaculata. Though between us, I suspect they're hiding from all the small talk by the dessert tables."

He chuckled, gesturing toward an elaborate chocolate fountain surrounded by fresh fruit and pastries. "You should try it - imported Belgian dark chocolate. My sister Maria ruined a five-thousand dollar dress at one of these events when we were teenagers."

"What happened?" Emma asked, drawn in by the hint of a scandal.

"She was determined to prove she could catch the chocolate stream in her mouth without spilling a drop." Max shook his head, but his expression was fond. "Of course, someone bumped her elbow at the crucial moment. The dress was unsalvageable, but the look on Father's face when Heather walked into the dining room covered head-to-toe in chocolate - priceless."

His smile dimmed slightly. "She always did know how to light up a room, my sister. Even when she was causing chaos."

Taylor caught the past tense, losing a wife and a sister early must be hard, and Mr. Anders didn't even look close to forty! Before the moment could grow awkward, Max brightened again.

"Well, don't let me monopolize your evening. Go explore, enjoy yourselves. The chocolate fountain awaits - though perhaps with more decorum than my sister managed."

***

"Come meet everyone!" Jessica looped her arm through Emma's while Nessa grabbed Taylor's hand. They weaved through the crowd toward a cluster of well-dressed figures near one of the marble columns.

"Darlings!" A tall woman with silver-streaked black hair air-kissed the twins. "And who are these divine creatures?"

"This is Emma Barnes - she's one of our rising stars at the agency," Jessica announced. "And her friend Taylor."

The group descended into a flurry of industry talk. Discussion of upcoming shows in New York, the latest designer drama, and predictions for next season's trends flew back and forth. Emma's eyes sparkled as she soaked in every detail, asking intelligent questions that made the veterans nod approvingly.

Taylor shifted her weight, trying to look interested as they debated the merits of different photographers. The names meant nothing to her, and she couldn't bring herself to care about the "revolutionary" new fabric treatment someone had developed.

Emma glanced at her friend mid-conversation, noting Taylor's glazed expression. She gave Taylor's arm a subtle squeeze and tilted her head slightly toward the rest of the ballroom - a clear "you can go" gesture.

Taylor shot her a grateful look. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll get some fresh air."

The fashion crowd barely noticed her departure, already deep in debate about whether Paris or Milan would set next season's tone. Emma dove right back in, her natural charm drawing them in as Taylor slipped away into the crowd.

Taylor wandered through the glittering crowd, pausing at the chocolate fountain to snag a strawberry. The dance floor caught her attention as the music shifted to a Latin beat.

Victoria Dallon's tiara sparkled under the chandeliers as Dean spun her across the floor. Her powder-blue ball gown swirled around her feet, the rhinestones catching the light like stars. Dean's silver-trimmed armor-inspired suit moved with surprising flexibility as he led her through the steps.

Across from them, a couple Taylor didn't recognize matched them move for move. The woman's golden dress sparked with white accents that mimicked her dance partner's white tuxedo with gold trim. Both pairs moved with practiced grace, hips swaying to the rhythm as they executed complex turns and dips.

The crowd had drawn back to give them space, forming a circle of appreciative onlookers. Dean lifted Victoria in a dramatic spin that had her dress floating around her like a cloud. Not to be outdone, the unknown man caught his partner's hand and pulled her into a series of rapid twirls that left her laughing.

Victoria's face held a competitive gleam as Dean led her through a series of quick steps, their feet moving in perfect synchronization. The other couple responded with a sultry combination that had the audience whistling.

The dance floor had become a battlefield of grace and skill, each pair trying to outdo the other while maintaining the appearance of casual enjoyment. Taylor found herself tapping her foot to the beat as she watched them, admiring the obvious chemistry between both couples.

Taylor drifted away from the dance floor, weaving between clusters of laughing party-goers. The corridors of Medhall's executive floor had been transformed for the evening, with fabric draped artfully across the walls and floral arrangements brightening every corner.

She paused at a window overlooking the city lights, taking a moment to admire the view from this high up. The sound of raised voices drew her attention to an alcove tucked behind a large potted plant.

A boy and girl around her age stood in heated discussion. The girl's dress mimicked Vista's costume in shades of mint green and white, complete with wavy lines that created optical illusions as she moved. Her date wore a modernized version of Triumph's signature look, the gold accents of his suit catching the light when he gestured.

"You're being completely unreasonable," the boy hissed, running a hand through his dark blonde hair.

The girl crossed her arms, her face flushed. "I'm not the one who-" She cut herself off, glancing around before lowering her voice.

Taylor pretended to be absorbed in adjusting her spider mask, staying just within earshot. The couple continued their heated exchange in whispers, neither noticing her presence behind the broad leaves of the plant.

The boy's shoulders slumped as he leaned against the wall. Despite his sizable appearance, something about his posture made him seem smaller, younger. The girl's expression softened slightly, but her stance remained rigid as they continued their quiet argument.

***

"Come on, Theo, just one dance." The girl tugged at his sleeve. "The orchestra's playing that waltz you like."

Theo shook his head, shoulders hunched. "You don't really want to dance with me, Tammi. You're only here because Dad made you come."

Her green dress rippled as she stepped back. "What?"

"I heard you talking to Jessica about how you got stuck with the 'fat kid' because Kaiser wanted to keep you in line."

"That's not-" Tammi's face reddened. "Okay, fine. Your dad suggested it. But I said yes because I wanted to."

"Right." Theo's voice dripped sarcasm. "Because you're so desperate to be seen with me."

"God, you're such a little bitch sometimes." Tammi's whisper turned harsh. "You want to know why I don't want to be seen with you? It's this pathetic attitude. Fuck this." She spun on her heel, the mint fabric of her dress swishing. "I'm going to find someone who actually has a spine."

She stormed off, leaving Theo alone in the alcove. His head dropped forward, blonde hair falling across his face as he stared at the floor.

Theo glanced up, catching Taylor's eye. "Enjoy the show?"

"I'm so sorry." Taylor's cheeks flushed behind her spider mask. "I shouldn't have been eavesdropping."

"Not your fault." He shrugged, straightening the golden trim on his costume. "Tammi's the one who decided to make a scene."

"Still, I could have walked away." Taylor shifted her weight, the silver threads in her dress catching the light.

"I'm Theo." He extended his hand, a weak smile crossing his face. "Just Theo."

"Taylor." She shook it, noting his firm but gentle grip. "Also just Taylor."

"Nice costume." Theo gestured at her dress. "The web pattern's really clever. Did Marissa make it?"

"Yes, actually. Does everyone know her here? How did you know?"

"The attention to detail. Plus the twins were showing off their matching hero costumes earlier." He leaned against the wall. "She does amazing work."

Taylor nodded, studying his Triumph-inspired outfit. The fabric looked expensive, the gold accents perfectly placed. "Yours is pretty impressive too."

They found a quiet corner away from the dancing crowds. The orchestra's music provided a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

"So what do you do when you're not attending fancy galas?" Taylor asked.

"Read mostly. History, philosophy. Sometimes I sketch." Theo's voice grew warmer. "My mom used to draw. I found her old sketchbooks in the attic."

"My mom was an English professor." Taylor traced the silver threads on her dress. "She'd read me Lord of the Rings every night when I was little. Did all the different voices and everything."

"That sounds nice." Theo's smile turned wistful. "I was pretty young when my mother passed. Before five. The memories are... fuzzy."

"I'm sorry." Taylor's hand twitched, almost reaching out. "Mine was just two years ago. It was... messy."

Theo met her eyes, a depth of understanding in his gaze that made him seem older than fifteen. He nodded but didn't elaborate on his own loss.

"Sometimes I'll catch a whiff of her perfume," Taylor continued softly. "Or see someone with similar hair. It's like... for a split second..."

"At least you have those memories." Theo's voice was barely a whisper. "The sound of her voice reading stories, the smell of her perfume. I..." He swallowed hard. "I have to look at photos to remember what my mom looked like."

Taylor's fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress. "Sometimes I wish I could forget. When I see her empty chair at dinner, or find one of her bookmarks..." She trailed off. "The pain is still so raw."

"Does it get easier?" Theo asked. "Everyone says it does, but-"

"I don't know." Taylor shook her head. "Some days I think I'm fine, then something small happens - Dad making her favorite recipe or finding an old grocery list in her handwriting - and it's like losing her all over again."

Theo stared at his hands. "I used to make up memories. Things I thought should have happened. Mom teaching me to ride a bike, or tucking me in at night. But they're just... stories I told myself."

"That's..." Taylor searched for words. "I can't imagine not having those real moments to hold onto, even if they hurt."

"Maybe it's better this way." Theo's shoulders slumped. "You can't miss what you never really had, right?"

"I think both ways just... suck." Taylor's blunt assessment drew a surprised laugh from Theo. "Having too many memories that hurt, or too few to hold onto - neither one feels fair."

"No," Theo agreed quietly. "It really doesn't."

The orchestra shifted into a new piece, a gentle waltz that filled the ballroom with sweeping notes.

Theo straightened up, extending his hand toward Taylor. "Would you like to dance?"

"Oh, I..." Taylor's fingers twisted in her dress. "I don't know how."

"I could teach you." His smile was warm, without a trace of judgment. "The basic waltz isn't too hard. Just a few simple steps."

Taylor glanced at the dance floor where couples moved in graceful circles. "I don't want to step on your feet."

"Trust me, I've survived worse. My cousin Nessa used to practice her ballet moves on my toes." He kept his hand outstretched. "What do you say?"

Taylor hesitated, then placed her hand in his. "Okay, but fair warning - I have two left feet."

Theo led her to a quiet corner of the dance floor, away from the more experienced dancers. "First, we'll just practice the basic box step. Put your left hand on my shoulder."

Taylor complied, trying not to feel awkward as Theo gently positioned their joined hands at shoulder height.

"My right hand goes on your waist - is that okay?"

She nodded, grateful her spider mask hid her blush.

"The pattern is simple. Step forward with your right foot when I step back with my left." Theo demonstrated slowly. "Then step to the side with your left foot, and bring your feet together."

Taylor followed his lead, concentrating on her feet. "Like this?"

"Perfect. Now we do the same thing going backward. Step back with your left foot, side with your right, then together."

They practiced the basic steps a few times, Taylor growing more confident with each repetition.

"See? You're getting it." Theo's voice held a note of pride. "Want to try it with the music?"

"As long as you don't mind me counting under my breath."

"One-two-three, one-two-three," they whispered together, moving in time with the orchestra's gentle rhythm.

Taylor blinked as she realized they'd drifted from their practice corner onto the main dance floor. The orchestra's melody swelled around them, and her initial panic faded as Theo guided her through the steps they'd practiced.

"You're doing great," he murmured, his movements smooth and assured. "Just keep following my lead."

The silk of her dress swished against the polished floor as they turned. Other couples moved around them in elegant circles, but Taylor found herself focusing only on the rhythm and Theo's steady presence.

"I can't believe I'm actually dancing." She laughed softly. "And not tripping over my own feet."

"You're a natural." His smile reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. "Want to try a turn?"

Before she could protest, he raised their joined hands. Taylor spun beneath them, her spider-web dress catching the light. She came back to position without stumbling, surprising herself.

"See? Perfect."

A flash of red and black caught her eye. Emma stood at the edge of the dance floor, practically bouncing on her toes. Her friend's face split in a huge grin as she thrust both thumbs up in Taylor's direction. The enthusiasm in her expression was almost manic.

Taylor felt heat rise in her cheeks, grateful again for her mask. She tried to shoot Emma a quelling look, but her friend just waggled her eyebrows and mouthed what looked suspiciously like 'Get it!'

"Something wrong?" Theo asked.

"Just my best friend being... herself." Taylor shook her head, focusing back on their dance. "Sorry about that."

"Friends can be embarrassing sometimes." His gentle understanding made her relax again into the steps of the waltz.

***

The final notes of the waltz faded into applause. Theo led Taylor off the dance floor with a small bow that made her giggle.

"That was lovely." A deep voice cut through their moment. Max Anders stood before them, resplendent in his Dauntless-inspired costume, crystal wine glass dangling from his fingers. "I see you've met my son, Miss Hebert."

Taylor's eyes widened behind her mask. "Your son?" She turned to Theo, who shuffled his feet.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't mention it earlier." Theo's shoulders hunched slightly.

"Theodore has a habit of downplaying his connection to me." Max's laugh held warmth, but Taylor caught Theo tensing at the use of his full name. "Though I must say, he showed excellent form on the dance floor. His mother would have insisted on proper instruction from an early age."

"Actually, Theo taught me just now." Taylor smoothed her spider-silk dress. "I'd never danced before tonight."

Max's eyebrows rose above his mask. "Is that so?" He turned to his son with newfound interest. "Taking the lead, Theodore? That's... unexpected."

Theo's gaze dropped to the marble floor, his jaw tight.

"He's a wonderful teacher." Taylor caught the pleased glint in Max's eye as he regarded his son. "Patient and clear with his instructions."

"Indeed?" Max swirled his wine. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Theodore."

Theo's shoulders tensed at what he clearly took as criticism, but Taylor saw the genuine pride in Max's expression - the way his chest had puffed out slightly, how his eyes crinkled at the corners behind his mask.

"The orchestra is quite talented," Taylor said, trying to ease the sudden tension. "I've never heard live classical music before."

"Only the best for Medhall's events." Max took a measured sip from his glass. Max's gaze swept across the ballroom, settling on a flash of green and white - Tammi's Vista-inspired dress - near the chocolate fountain.

"Well, I should let you young people enjoy the rest of your evening." Max's fingers tightened around his wine glass. "And Theodore, don't concern yourself with Miss Herren. I'll handle that situation."

Theo's shoulders slumped. "Yes sir. Sorry about the scene."

"No need to apologize." Max's tone held an edge of exasperation. "The match was my suggestion, after all. These things don't always work out."

Taylor glanced between father and son, catching the disconnect. Theo's face had fallen further at what he clearly took as confirmation of his failure, while Max's expression showed genuine regret for pushing an unwanted arrangement. The words sat heavy on her tongue - a desire to bridge the gap, to explain what she saw - but she remained silent, unsure how to navigate the delicate dynamic between them.

"Miss Hebert." Max gave her a small bow. "It was a pleasure. Do enjoy the rest of the gala."

He strode away, leaving Taylor and Theo in awkward silence.

***

"Hey there!" A cheerful voice rang out. Victoria Dallon glided over, her pale blue gown swirling around her feet like seafoam. Dean followed in his gleaming knight costume, complete with a ceremonial sword at his hip.

"Having fun?" Dean's easy smile put Taylor at ease, though Theo remained subdued beside her.

"It's my first gala," Taylor admitted. "Everything's so elegant."

"Wait until you see the spring social." Victoria's eyes sparkled. "Though I heard Winslow's been stepping up its game lately. Those study groups are making waves."

"We've improved a lot." Taylor lifted her chin. "Our academic scores are climbing every month."

Victoria waved her hand. "Sure, but Arcadia's still the top school in the bay. Can't beat our advanced placement programs."

"Maybe not yet." Taylor felt her face warm. "But we're catching up faster than you think."

"Vicky..." Dean touched her arm as Victoria's aura flickered.

"What? I'm just saying-"

"Hey Taylor, have you seen the gardens?" Theo cut in smoothly. "They're incredible at night."

"The fairy lights are beautiful this time of year," Dean agreed, shooting Theo a grateful look. "My mother helped design the layout."

Victoria's shoulders relaxed as the tension dissolved. "Oh! Tell them about the fountain, Dean. That's my favorite part."

Taylor caught Theo's eye and mouthed 'thank you.' He gave a small shrug, but some of the brooding had left his expression.

The conversation drifted to safer topics, though Theo remained quiet, offering only occasional comments. Still, he stayed by Taylor's side, a steady presence as they navigated the glittering crowd.

The orchestra shifted to slower melodies as the night wore on. Couples drifted away from the dance floor, gathering their wraps and bidding farewells.

"I should find Emma," Taylor said, scanning the thinning crowd. The silver threads in her dress caught the dimming lights.

"Right." Theo shuffled his feet. "Thanks for... you know. Making this bearable."

"I had fun." Taylor touched his arm. "You're a good teacher."

His cheeks flushed. "Maybe we could..." He cleared his throat. "I mean, if you wanted to practice more dancing sometime."

"I'd like that." Taylor pulled a pen from her clutch and wrote her number on a napkin. "Here."

Theo folded it carefully, tucking it into his jacket pocket. "My father will probably want me to attend more of these events. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to who isn't..."

"Trying to impress your dad?"

He nodded. "Exactly."

Emma appeared through the crowd, her vampiress dress swishing. "Taylor! There you are. Our ride's here."

"Coming!" Taylor turned back to Theo. "Thanks for the dance lessons."

"Goodbye, Taylor." He gave a small wave as she walked away, his shoulders already starting to slump back into their usual defeated pose.

***

"Spill!" Emma grabbed Taylor's arm as they descended the marble steps, her crimson dress swishing with each movement. "I saw you dancing with that cutie. And don't think I missed you giving him your number. You're not usually this bold!"

"It wasn't like that." Taylor's spider mask couldn't hide her blush, the silver threads catching the light as she shook her head. "He was just being nice. We talked about books, actually."

"Nice? He couldn't take his eyes off you the whole night - I was watching." Emma's fangs glinted as she grinned, her perfectly manicured nails drumming against the banister. "Plus, did you see those shoulders? And that jaw? The boy looks like he stepped out of a magazine."

"Emma!" Taylor hissed, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear.

"What? I'm just saying, for a wallflower, you sure know how to pick them. Max Anders' son? That's quite a catch. Half the girls in Brockton Bay would kill to be in your shoes right now."

Taylor stumbled on her heels, catching herself on the railing. "I didn't know who he was at first. He's different from what I expected. The media makes his whole family seem so..."

"Different good or different bad?" Emma pressed, eyebrows raised beneath her mask.

"Just... different. Quieter. More genuine than most people here. Like he's trying to be himself instead of what everyone expects him to be."

A sleek white limousine pulled up to the curb, its polished surface reflecting the building's warm lights. Instead of their previous driver, a tall man with flowing blonde hair and a simple domino mask stepped out, his tailored suit doing little to hide his muscular frame. His movements were precise, military-like as he opened the rear door, positioning himself with perfect posture beside it.

Taylor froze, her hand tightening on the railing. Inside sat Kaiser in his full metal regalia, the interior lights gleaming off his armor's countless edges and points. The elaborate steel mask that covered his face seemed to watch her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.

"Ladies." His modulated voice filled the cabin, somehow both smooth and sharp at once, like a blade wrapped in silk. "Pardon the interruption, but we need to speak. Immediately."

Chapter Text

"Please." Kaiser gestured to the plush leather seats across from him, his chrome-plated fingers gleaming under the interior lights. "Time is of the essence."

Taylor's legs refused to move, rooted to the asphalt like concrete pillars. Emma's hand found hers, squeezing tight enough to hurt, her manicured nails digging into Taylor's palm.

"I understand your hesitation, but I assure you, had I wished you harm, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Kaiser's armor clinked as he shifted, the sound of metal plates sliding against each other echoing in the confined space. "This is about your safety."

***

Three hours earlier, Cricket's voice had crackled through his earpiece, the characteristic rasp of her artificial voicebox even more pronounced over the comm. "Movement in the Dexhart building. Northwest corner, third floor. Multiple hostiles."

He'd kept his pleasant conversation with the Mayor flowing, discussing the city's infrastructure with practiced ease, while Hookwolf confirmed the intel. A dozen armed individuals, their gear suggesting professional mercs rather than local gang members - too high-end for the ABB, too disciplined for the Merchants. They'd set up surveillance equipment aimed at the gala, calibrating sophisticated listening devices and high-resolution cameras, but made no aggressive moves.

"Your call," Hookwolf had growled through the comm, his voice carrying that familiar edge of barely restrained violence. "Could take them now, clean and quiet."

"Make it look routine," Kaiser had ordered, his voice cool through the comm, even as he raised his champagne glass in a toast. "This is Empire territory. A standard patrol response."

Hookwolf and Cricket had moved in from opposite sides, their approach coordinated with military precision. The mercs scattered like roaches, abandoning equipment and one of their own in their haste. Victor had the captured merc talking within minutes, his power stripping away the man's resistance along with his combat training.

"Professional work," Victor reported back, his voice clipped and efficient. "High-end gear, non-lethal loadout. Tranqs, zip ties, surveillance equipment. All pointed at the gala. Military grade, not local source."

Kaiser watched the dance floor, maintaining his public persona while processing the intel, nodding at appropriate intervals to the Commissioner's wife. "And their target?"

"Two girls. Barnes and Hebert." Victor's voice held an edge of concern that made Kaiser's jaw tighten. "Coil's trying to expand his operations. Looking for leverage against new players."

The merc broke quickly under Victor's attention, his enhanced interrogation techniques proving unnecessarily thorough. Detailed orders to observe and report on Taylor Hebert and Emma Barnes. Nothing more. But Kaiser knew Coil's methods - information gathering always preceded action, like a snake testing the air before striking.

Which led to this moment, this rushed meeting in the back of his limo, its bulletproof windows reflecting the street lights outside. He couldn't risk waiting, couldn't let two promising young talents fall into Coil's hands. The snake had to learn - Kaiser protected his investments.

"There are forces in this city," Kaiser continued, his voice carrying the weight of authority that had cowed gang leaders and politicians alike, "who've taken notice of your... activities at Winslow. Not all of them have your best interests at heart."

***

Taylor's mind raced, cataloging her meager resources with rising frustration. Her purse held nothing but lip gloss and her phone - stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have listened to her instincts, should have built something, anything. A flash device, a paralysis pen, even one of her basic command papers would have given them a fighting chance. The silver threading in her dress caught the streetlight as they stood there, mocking her with its uselessness. All those hours of careful embroidery, and now it was just pretty decoration.

Emma trembled beside her, face pale beneath her vampiress mask. Taylor could see memories from her time as helpless before the gangs bubbling to the surface.

"Let Emma go," Taylor's voice came out steadier than she felt, surprising even herself. "I'll come with you, just-"

"That won't be necessary." Kaiser's tone remained smooth, almost paternal, like a teacher explaining something obvious to a slow student. "You both will be returned home, unharmed, once we've discussed certain matters. You have my word." His armor gleamed under the streetlights, each piece perfectly aligned and maintained.

Emma's grip tightened painfully, her manicured nails digging into Taylor's skin. Taylor weighed their options - but there were none. Running would be pointless with Hookwolf right there. Fighting, especially against Kaiser's metal generation, would be suicidal.

"After you," Kaiser gestured to the seats again, his metal-clad arm extending with practiced grace.

Taylor moved first, tugging Emma along, trying to project confidence she didn't feel. The leather creaked as they settled in, Emma pressed against her side like a terrified cat. The door swung shut with a heavy thunk, Hookwolf's massive frame blocking the last glimpse of the street before he circled to the driver's seat, his metal-infused form barely fitting behind the wheel.

The engine purred to life, and they pulled away from the curb. Taylor fought to keep her breathing steady as the lights of downtown began to blur past the tinted windows, each flash like a countdown to whatever Kaiser had planned.

***

"My apologies for this... unorthodox meeting." Kaiser's armor clinked as he shifted, the polished steel catching the dim light. "There are certain protocols we typically follow, but circumstances forced my hand."

Taylor frowned, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "Protocols?"

"Unwritten rules, if you will. Guidelines that keep our world from descending into complete chaos." Kaiser's helm tilted, the metal plates sliding with an almost imperceptible whisper. "Though I advise you not to place too much faith in them. Not everyone adheres to these... gentlemen's agreements. Some view them more as suggestions than actual rules."

He began listing them off, each rule hanging heavy in the air between them, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience. No attacking civilian identities. Families were off-limits. No powers during peaceful meetings. Avoid lethal force when possible. No mass civilian casualties. Each one seemed to echo in the stillness of the room.

Taylor's stomach lurched at his next words, bile rising in her throat. "Mind control is also generally... discouraged. Though some argue about where exactly that line should be drawn."

She flinched, a visible shudder running through her frame. Emma's hand found hers again, squeezing tight, offering silent support against the implications of Kaiser's words.

"Of course," Kaiser continued smoothly, steepling his armored fingers, "these rules mainly govern cape-to-cape interactions. Powers demand to be used, after all. Exceptions... happen. The nature of parahumans makes absolute adherence impossible."

The street lights played across his armor as they turned a corner, casting shifting shadows that made his metallic form seem to ripple and flow in the darkness. "Meeting you out of costume like this breaks protocol, but you've left no other way to make contact. No costume, no known territory, no official channels. It makes you... unpredictable."

His tone carried a hint of reproach, an edge of steel beneath the civil words. Taylor's mind whirled, processing the implications, each revelation hitting her like a physical blow. These weren't just guidelines - they were the framework holding their world together, invisible lines drawn between chaos and order. And she'd been operating completely outside of them, stumbling blind through a minefield she hadn't even known existed.

"Your work at Winslow hasn't gone unnoticed." Kaiser's metallic voice carried an edge of approval. "Improving education, fostering excellence, building pride. These are noble goals."

Taylor's stomach churned. The praise felt like acid on her skin.

"The changes you've implemented - remarkable. Test scores rising, athletic performance improving, even school spirit growing. You've transformed that cesspool into something approaching respectability."

Emma shifted beside her, but Taylor barely registered it. Her mind raced through every change she'd made, every student affected, every "study guide" distributed. Had she been too obvious? Too ambitious?

"I particularly appreciate your focus on discipline and structure. These children need guidance, direction." Kaiser leaned forward slightly. "They need someone to show them their proper place in the world."

Bile rose in Taylor's throat. The way he said it, twisting her intentions into something darker, made her want to scrub herself clean. The thought that her actions aligned with Empire ideology, even superficially, left her feeling hollow.

"You've proven quite adept at... organizing people. Helping them reach their potential." His words dripped with satisfaction. "It's refreshing to see someone taking initiative to improve our city's youth."

Taylor fought to keep her expression neutral, though inside she felt sick. Every compliment from this man was another weight on her conscience, another stain she wasn't sure she could wash away. She'd wanted to help people, make things better - create real positive change in the community. Not this. Never this twisted perversion of her goals.

Kaiser produced a small screen from beside him, handling it with deliberate care. The grainy security footage showed a man strapped to a metal chair in what looked like a basement or warehouse, his face a mess of purple bruises and dried blood. His clothes were torn and dirty showing signs of a recent scuffle.

"Tell me again who sent you," a voice commanded off-screen, cold and professional in its brutality.

"Coil," the man gasped between labored breaths, his head lolling forward. "We were supposed to watch the two girls. The tinker and her friend. Document their movements, their contacts." Blood trickled from his split lip, leaving dark spots on his already stained shirt. "Been following them for weeks. Every day, logging everything."

Taylor's blood ran cold. All those times she'd felt watched, dismissed as paranoia. The shadow that had darted away outside Emma's house. The car that had lingered too long near Winslow.

"That's enough." Kaiser clicked off the video. "You've attracted powerful interests, Miss Hebert. Dangerous ones. Coil isn't known for his... restraint."

The limo's interior seemed to shrink around her. Taylor's hands trembled in her lap as the reality crashed down. She wasn't just playing with school politics anymore. These were real villains, real dangers. People who tortured for information. People who sent teams to stalk teenage girls.

Emma grabbed her hand, squeezing tight. Taylor barely felt it. Her mind spun with implications. How many others were watching? What did they want? What would they do to get it?

She'd thought she was being clever, staying under the radar with her subtle changes at Winslow. But she'd been naive. So terribly naive. Every "study guide," every announcement, every small improvement had been another beacon drawing attention.

The weight of it all - the danger she'd put herself in, put Emma in - pressed down on her chest until she could barely breathe. She wasn't ready for this. She was just a sophomore trying to make her school better. Now she was caught between gang lords and shadowy villains.

Kaiser's armored fingers drummed against the limo's leather armrest. "Independent capes rarely survive long in this city. Especially tinkers."

"I'm not-" Taylor started.

"Please. Your achievements at Winslow speak for themselves." Kaiser's helmet tilted. "Tinkers are particularly vulnerable. Too valuable to be left alone. The gangs see them as assets to be acquired, by any means necessary."

Emma's grip on Taylor's hand tightened.

"Take Squealer, for instance. Brilliant vehicle tinker, before the Merchants got their hooks in her. They kept her compliant with drugs, and turned her into their personal mechanic." His tone carried genuine disgust. "Now she's just another junkie, her potential wasted."

Taylor's mind flashed to Squealer's monstrous vehicles rampaging through the streets, the once-promising tinker reduced to a shell of herself.

"The Merchants are crude, but they're not unique. ABB, Coil's organization - they all want tinkers. And they're not above using... persuasive methods." Kaiser spread his hands. "You need protection. Real protection."

"And I suppose you're offering?" Taylor's voice came out steadier than she felt.

"Actually, I recommend the Wards program."

The suggestion caught Taylor off guard. She'd expected a recruitment pitch, not this.

"The PRT has resources, training, and most importantly, legitimate authority. They can protect you and your friend far better than any gang." Kaiser's voice held no trace of mockery. "Whatever your opinions on their effectiveness, they're the safest option for someone in your position."

Taylor's jaw clenched. After everything he'd said about her work at Winslow, about her potential - he was pushing her toward the Wards? A hot flush crept up her neck.

"You don't want me for the Empire?" The words burst out before she could stop them.

Kaiser's low chuckle echoed in his helmet. "On the contrary, Miss Hebert. Your talents would be invaluable to our cause. The ability to shape minds, to guide people toward their best selves - it aligns perfectly with our vision for the city."

He shifted in his seat, the metallic plates of his armor catching the dim light. "But I've learned to read people over the years. Your body language, your reactions to my praise - you're uncomfortable with our methods, our ideology."

Taylor looked away, unable to deny it.

"The Empire doesn't need reluctant soldiers or conflicted believers. Force and coercion breed resentment, and resentment leads to betrayal." Kaiser's voice softened. "Better to have a hundred loyal followers than a thousand pressed into service."

The logic surprised her. It wasn't the ruthless recruitment tactics she'd expected from a gang leader.

"If you ever change your mind, if you come to see things our way naturally - our door will be open. But I won't force you, Miss Hebert. That would be... counterproductive."

Taylor's fingers twisted in her lap. "The PRT wouldn't... I mean, what I've done at Winslow. The mind control-"

"A pretty young lady, remorseful about experimenting with her powers?" Kaiser's tone carried a hint of amusement. "One who recognized she'd gone too far and came seeking help to make things right? They'd welcome you with open arms."

Emma perked up beside her, but Taylor shook her head. "After everything with Canary-"

"Precisely why they'd jump at the chance." Kaiser leaned back, his armor creaking against the leather seat. "The PRT's handling of the Canary case has earned them considerable criticism. They're desperate to prove they don't discriminate against masters."

Taylor blinked. She hadn't considered that angle.

"They'd watch you closely, of course. But they'd rather have you inside their system than operating independently." His metallic fingers gesture dismissively. "A reformed master makes for excellent PR, especially one so... photogenic."

The calculation in his voice made Taylor's skin crawl, but she couldn't deny the logic. The PRT would want to show they could handle masters responsibly after Canary's railroading.

Taylor's lip curled at Kaiser's "photogenic" comment. Her fingers dug into the leather seat.

"Getting your confidence back, Miss Barnes?" Kaiser turned his masked face toward Emma. "Good. Fear clouds judgment, and we have important matters to discuss."

Emma straightened her spine, chin lifting. The initial terror had faded to a simmering anxiety. "You said Coil's watching us?"

"Indeed. His interest suggests you've accomplished more than even I realized." Kaiser's armor clinked as he shifted. "Tell me, how many students have you... influenced so far?"

"That's none of your business." Taylor's voice came out sharp.

"Everything in my city is my business, Miss Hebert." The words held no malice, just calm certainty. "But I respect your discretion. The ability to keep secrets is valuable."

Emma touched Taylor's arm. "He's trying to help, Tay."

"Help?" Taylor scoffed. "He ambushed us after a party and shoved us into a limo."

"Would you have agreed to meet otherwise?" Kaiser's amusement rang clear in his modulated voice. "Sometimes necessity dictates... unconventional approaches."

"You're enjoying this," Taylor accused.

"Guilty as charged." The metal mask tilted in acknowledgment. "It's refreshing to speak plainly, without the usual song and dance of recruitment. And your friend's recovery from her initial fear suggests good instincts. She recognizes I mean you no harm."

Emma nodded, though her fingers still twisted nervously in her dress. "If you wanted to hurt us, you wouldn't have warned us about Coil."

Kaiser's satisfied chuckle echoed in his helm. "Precisely, Miss Barnes. Precisely."

Taylor's patience snapped. "Get to the point. What do you want from us?"

"Want?" Kaiser spread his armored hands. "Nothing at all."

The answer knocked Taylor off balance. She'd expected demands, conditions - not this casual dismissal.

"You're already implementing changes at Winslow that align with my interests. Academic excellence, discipline, pride in achievement." His helmet tilted. "The natural cream rising to the top, you might say."

Emma shifted beside Taylor, but Kaiser continued before either could speak.

"My only goal tonight was to ensure you remained... independent. Free to continue your work without interference." Metal clinked as he settled back. "Coil's interest suggests he sees your potential. The ABB and Merchants would waste your talents entirely."

He gestured to the window, to the city beyond. "Better to have you operating freely, improving my city in your own way, than forced into service to my enemies. Sometimes the best move is to deny an asset to your opponents."

Taylor frowned. "So you kidnapped us just to tell us you don't want anything from us?"

"I informed you of the rules, warned you of a threat, and offered guidance." Kaiser's voice held a hint of reproach. "Hardly a kidnapping. Consider it... professional courtesy between parahumans."

"But aren't the PRT and Protectorate your enemies?" Taylor leaned forward, brow furrowed. The leather seat creaked beneath her.

Kaiser's laugh echoed metallically inside his helm. "Enemies? No. Opponents, perhaps." He drummed his fingers on the armrest. "We clash over methods and ideology, true. But our goals for the city often align more than you'd expect."

"What do you mean?" Emma asked, finding her voice.

"The PRT wants order, stability, and economic growth. So do I." Kaiser's armor gleamed in the passing streetlights. "We disagree on the most efficient path to achieve those aims. They believe in working within a broken system. I believe more... direct approaches are needed."

"You mean violence," Taylor said flatly.

"When necessary. But violence is merely a tool, not the goal." Kaiser spread his hands. "Look at the Boardwalk - safe, prosperous, good for business. The PRT maintains it during the day. My people protect it at night. Different methods, same result."

"That's... surprisingly pragmatic," Taylor admitted reluctantly.

"The world isn't black and white, Miss Hebert. The sooner you understand that, the better equipped you'll be to navigate it." Kaiser's tone grew thoughtful. "The PRT and I are like two gardeners arguing over how best to tend the same plot. We may despise each other's techniques, but neither wants to see the garden burn."

Emma's gaining confidence transformed into anger. She sat up straight, her voice cutting through the tension. "What about Fleur? New Wave lost one of their own because of your people."

Kaiser's posture shifted slightly. "Ah yes. That unfortunate incident."

"Unfortunate?" Emma's voice dripped with contempt. "She was murdered out of costume."

"Indeed. By an Empire aspirant, fresh out of juvenile detention." Kaiser's tone hardened. "He joined our ranks afterward, believing he'd proven himself worthy. That killing an unmasked hero would earn him respect."

The temperature in the limo seemed to drop. Taylor felt goosebumps rise on her arms.

"I promoted him rapidly. Gave him responsibilities, authority, trust." Kaiser's armored fingers tapped against his knee. "Then, when he least expected it, I demonstrated exactly how the Empire deals with those who break the rules."

He leaned forward, his mask reflecting the passing streetlights. "I left him crucified on a forty-foot cross of my own making. A message to any who might consider following his example."

Emma's mouth opened, then closed. The sharp retort she'd planned died in her throat.

"The rules exist for a reason, ladies. Even monsters need boundaries."

Kaiser gestured to the darkened city beyond the window. "I'll have some associates monitor Winslow's perimeter for the next few weeks. Not to interfere - merely to ensure no one else decides to take an... unhealthy interest in your activities."

"I don't need your protection," Taylor said, but uncertainty crept into her voice.

"Consider it an investment in the city's future." Kaiser's armor clinked as he shifted. "Whatever path you choose, choose it carefully. The coming weeks will shape your destiny."

He raised an armored hand when Taylor started to speak. "Don't decide now. Think through your options thoroughly. Speed is essential - the longer you remain unaligned, the more attention you'll draw. But haste leads to regrettable choices."

"And what if I choose wrong?" Taylor asked.

"There is no wrong choice, only choices with consequences." Kaiser's helmet tilted. "The Wards offer structure and resources, but restrictions. Independence gives freedom, but danger. Even joining another faction has its merits, though I wouldn't recommend it."

Emma touched Taylor's arm. "We should think about this. Really think about it."

"Wise counsel from your friend." Kaiser nodded approvingly. "Take time to consider. But not too much time. The board is set, and pieces are already moving."

The limo glided to a stop a block from the Barnes residence. Kaiser produced two basic flip phones from a compartment.

"These are burner phones, untraceable. I've taken the liberty of programming relevant numbers." He handed one to each girl. "The first contact is for emergencies - immediate physical danger. The second is for information or questions. Use them wisely."

Taylor turned the phone over in her hands, its plastic casing cool against her fingers. "And if we don't want them?"

"Keep them regardless. Knowledge of options has never harmed anyone." Kaiser's armor clinked as he leaned back. "Though I suspect you're practical enough to recognize their value."

Emma clutched her phone tight, knuckles white against the dark plastic.

Hookwolf opened the door, letting in a rush of night air that made Emma shiver in her thin dress. Taylor stepped out first, then helped Emma navigate the curb in her heels.

"Ladies." Kaiser's modulated voice carried from within the darkened interior. "Do be careful. Brockton Bay grows more interesting by the day."

The door clicked shut and the limo pulled away smoothly, leaving them alone on the quiet residential street. The red taillights disappeared around a corner, taking the surreal encounter with them.

***

Through the limo's intercom, Hookwolf's gravelly voice crackled. "Could've just grabbed them both. Would've been easier."

"Easier? Perhaps." Kaiser's fingers traced the rim of his wine glass. "But forcing compliance from someone with her capabilities would be catastrophic. She's the type who bristles at authority - you saw how she challenged me directly."

"Still-"

"Consider what we'd face - a trapped Tinker specialized in mind control, watching our every move, waiting for the chance to turn our own against us. No, far better to position ourselves as reasonable allies."

Metal clinked as Kaiser set down his glass. "Coil's interference forced our hand tonight. Earlier than ideal, but sometimes the board shifts unexpectedly. The key is adapting to new circumstances."

"Like chess?" Hookwolf snorted.

"More like boxing. You know better than most - when an opponent changes stance, you adjust your strategy." Kaiser gazed out the window at the passing streets. "By giving her options, showing restraint, we become a potential sanctuary rather than another threat. Far more valuable in the long run."

"Othala mentioned the girl slipped Theo her number," Hookwolf said, his mask shifting as he spoke through the intercom.

"Did she now?" Kaiser's tone lifted with genuine interest. "That's... unexpected."

"Kid needs proper training. You're too soft on him, Max. Let me work with him for a few months. I'll whip him into shape."

Kaiser's armor clinked as he shook his head. "Your methods wouldn't suit him. I wouldn't subject myself to that kind of regimen, let alone my son."

"It worked for me," Hookwolf growled. "Made me stronger."

"You were already a fighter when you came to us, Brad. Theo isn't built for that kind of intensity." Kaiser's fingers drummed against his armrest. "Besides, your training nearly killed Cricket that first month."

"She got better. Stronger."

"And how many didn't? How many washed out or ended up in hospitals?" Kaiser's voice hardened. "No. I won't have my son broken trying to meet impossible standards."

The intercom crackled with Hookwolf's frustrated sigh. "He needs something, Max. Kid's soft as butter."

Kaiser leaned back, metal armor shifting. "Actually, if Theo's interested in that girl... maybe there's a different approach. If you can get him to exercise - normal exercise, Brad - that might work."

"Heh, that's how I started." Hookwolf's laugh rumbled through the intercom. "Sixteen, scrawny as hell. This girl walked right past me at the gym like I didn't exist."

"Really? You never mentioned that before."

"Yeah, spent the next year lifting weights till my arms felt ready to fall off. By the time I saw her again, she couldn't keep her eyes off me." Pride crept into his voice. "Course, by then I'd moved on to fighting."

"Perhaps we can channel that kind of motivation more productively with Theo." Kaiser swirled the remaining wine in his glass. "No cage matches or street fights. Just regular gym work."

"Could spot for him. Show him proper form." Hookwolf's tone turned thoughtful. "Got a decent setup at the warehouse gym. Private too - no chances of him being seen."

"That... could work." Kaiser nodded slowly. "As long as you remember - he's not one of your fighters. This is about building his confidence, not breaking him down."

"I can do subtle, Max." A pause. "Sometimes."

The limo turned onto the private road leading to Medhall's parking structure. Their conversation drifted to more mundane matters - security rotations, territory reports, the latest movements of their rivals.

***

Emma's teeth chattered as she huddled closer to Taylor on the cold concrete. Their elegant dresses offered little protection against the night air, the fabric clinging to their skin.

"Did that really just happen?" Emma's voice cracked. "Kaiser. The actual Kaiser just-"

"I know." Taylor wrapped her arms around herself. The magic of the evening had shattered, leaving behind a harsh reality. Her mind raced through the encounter, analyzing every word, every gesture.

"What are we going to do?" Emma pulled out the burner phone from her clutch, staring at it like it might explode. "The Empire knows about us. Coil knows about us. Whoever that is."

Taylor's shoulders slumped. "We could go to the PRT like he suggested."

"And what? Confess to everything? They'd lock you up with the other masters." Emma's grip tightened on Taylor's arm. "And what about everyone at school? What about my mom?"

"I don't know." Taylor's voice was barely a whisper. The weight of her actions crashed down around her. What had started as a way to help her friend had spiraled into something much bigger. "Maybe we should just stop. Go back to being normal students."

"Can we even do that anymore?" Emma glanced nervously up and down the street. "God, I was so excited about tonight. The party, the dresses, meeting all those people. Now it feels like a dream that turned into a nightmare."

They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

"We need to decide something," Taylor finally said. "Kaiser was right about one thing - we can't just sit here doing nothing."

"What options do we even have?" Emma pulled her knees to her chest. "Join the Empire? The Wards? Try to go it alone with gangs watching our every move?"

Taylor shook her head. "I don't know. I just... I don't know."

Chapter Text

Madison leaned forward across the cafeteria table, eyes bright with curiosity. "So how was the gala? You both look amazing in those photos Emma posted."

Taylor jumped at the sudden question, nearly knocking over her juice. Emma's hand trembled slightly as she picked at her salad.

"It was incredible," Emma said, her voice overly bright. "The decorations, the music-"

"The chocolate fountain," Taylor added quickly. "And everyone's costumes were so elaborate."

Julia squealed. "I heard Glory Girl was there! Did you meet her?"

"We did," Taylor nodded, grateful for the distraction. "She and I got into this whole debate about Winslow versus Arcadia."

"And?" Madison pressed.

"Taylor totally held her own," Emma said, managing a genuine smile. "You should have seen it."

"What about that cute guy you were dancing with?" Charlotte nudged Taylor. "The photos looked so romantic."

Taylor's cheeks flushed. "That was Theo. He taught me how to waltz."

The girls erupted in excited chatter, pressing for more details about the dancing, the food, the celebrities they'd spotted. Taylor and Emma answered enthusiastically, focusing on the magical parts of the evening before everything had gone sideways.

But Madison frowned slightly, noticing how Emma kept glancing toward the cafeteria doors. How Taylor's fingers drummed nervously on the table. How both of them seemed to startle at any loud noise.

"Are you guys okay?" she asked quietly. "You seem kind of... on edge."

"Just tired," Emma said quickly. "It was a late night."

"And midterms are coming up," Taylor added. "You know how it is."

"Have you guys picked your classes for next semester?" Julia twirled her hair around her finger. "I'm thinking of taking Home Ec."

"Oh my god, me too!" Madison bounced in her seat. "I heard Mrs. Peterson is bringing in new recipes."

Taylor and Emma exchanged glances as the other girls at their table chimed in with similar plans.

"Wait, Charlotte - didn't you already take Home Ec last year?" Taylor asked.

Charlotte shrugged, adjusting her glasses. "Yeah, but I want a refresher before college. My mom says knowing how to cook properly will save me from surviving on ramen noodles."

"We should all try to get in the same period," Emma suggested. "It'll be fun!"

"I call dibs on second period," Julia announced, pulling out her phone. "I'm signing up right now."

"No fair!" Madison grabbed her own phone. "I wanted second period!"

The girls scrambled to access the course registration portal, fingers flying across screens. Their excited chatter turned to groans of disappointment.

"There's already a waiting list?" Charlotte stared at her phone in disbelief. "For Home Ec?"

"Twenty people deep for every period," Madison confirmed glumly. "How is that possible? Registration just opened this morning."

"Maybe everyone had the same idea we did," Taylor said, trying to hide her smile behind her water bottle.

***

Taylor's hands flew across her workbench, soldering wires and connecting delicate components. Scattered blueprints covered every surface of the Barnes' basement, covered in her cramped handwriting and technical diagrams.

"You've been down here for hours," Emma perched on a stool, watching Taylor work. "What are you making?"

"Protection." Taylor didn't look up from the circuit board she was assembling. "I'm not getting caught helpless again like at the gala. Kaiser may have been... civil... but the next cape who corners us might not be."

She held up a small device that resembled a compact makeup mirror. "This emits a specialized frequency that disrupts the inner ear and visual cortex. One click and anyone within range will be completely disoriented - vertigo, nausea, inability to focus."

"Won't that affect us too?"

Taylor reached for one of her books, bound in plain black leather, and handed it to Emma. "Read this before bed for the next week. It'll program your brain to filter out the effects. I've already started my doses."

Emma flipped through the pages, seeing the familiar study guide text overlaid with Taylor's invisible patterns. "How many of these are you making?"

"As many as I can." Taylor grabbed another handful of components. "One for each of us to carry, plus backups. I'm also working on some that can be hidden around the school, just in case."

She paused, flexing her cramping fingers. "I hate feeling vulnerable, Em. Kaiser was right about one thing - we need protection.

Emma traced her finger along the edge of the compact device. "So... what are you planning to do? About the PRT, I mean."

Taylor's shoulders slumped as she set down her tools. "I spent all day yesterday going through their recruitment materials. The benefits package is incredible - top-tier health insurance, college fund, salary that puts most adults to shame."

"But?" Emma knew that tone in her friend's voice.

"Everything has strings attached." Taylor pulled up a webpage on her laptop. "Look at this - 'All Tinkertech must undergo rigorous safety testing before field deployment.' Sounds reasonable, right? Except the waiting list for testing is months long. And that's just the start."

She scrolled through more documents. "Every project needs pre-approval. Every design needs to be documented and reviewed by a mentor. Every innovation gets filtered through layers of bureaucracy. And don't get me started on their 'psychological evaluations' for Master-type powers."

"They'd never let you help Winslow the way you have been," Emma realized.

"Exactly. They'd shut everything down immediately. Best case scenario, they'd have me making 'approved' study guides under strict supervision. Worst case..." Taylor shook her head. "I'd probably end up in some underground lab somewhere, with armed guards making sure I only work on PRT-sanctioned projects."

Taylor paced the basement workshop, her footsteps echoing against concrete walls. "Everything I dreamed about at the gala - making Brockton Bay better, helping people reach their potential - it would all disappear. The PRT would never allow widespread use of my technology."

"Too scared of another Heartbreaker situation?" Emma asked.

"Or Eagleton. Or Teacher." Taylor's hand clenched around her soldering iron. "They're so paranoid about Master effects that they'd rather let the city rot than risk my help. Even if I could prove my tech is safe, even if I showed them exactly how it works..."

She gestured at the walls of Winslow success stories pinned up around them - improved test scores, athletic achievements, reduced gang activity. "Look what we've already accomplished with just one school. Imagine what we could do for the whole city. Better workers, better citizens, people actually reaching their full potential instead of wasting
away in dead-end jobs or joining gangs."

"The Bay could be great again," Emma said softly.

"But the PRT would shut it all down. They'd rather maintain the status quo than risk any change they can't completely control." Taylor slumped down in her chair. "And I get it, I do. Masters can be dangerous. But keeping everyone down just because they're afraid of what might go wrong..."

Taylor slammed her fist on the workbench, sending components scattering. "I've researched every possible group in the Bay. The ABB? They're worse than the Empire - at least Kaiser pretends to be civilized."

"God yes," Emma shuddered. "Lung would probably chain you up in some warehouse, forcing you to make tech for him."

"Coil's already shown his hand by trying to grab us." Taylor's voice dripped with venom. "I'm not joining someone who sends mercenaries after teenage girls."

She started pacing again, ticking off options on her fingers. "New Wave talks big about accountability and transparency, but they'd expose everything we've done. Plus, they're basically PRT-lite at this point."

"What about those new guys? The thieves who hit Stansfield Enterprises? They got multiple capes."

"Some low-level crooks with powers? Please." Taylor waved dismissively. "They'd be useless for protection. Same with the Merchants - they're just drug-addled idiots."

"Uber and Leet?"

Taylor actually laughed at that. "Those two? They waste their powers making stupid video game references. They couldn't protect a paper bag."

She collapsed back into her chair. "I even looked into the bigger organizations outside the Bay. Toybox seemed promising at first - they're all Tinkers, after all. But they just want to sell tech to the highest bidder. Same with the Elite - they'd want to commercialize everything and probably move me to one of their other cities."

"You don't want to leave Brockton Bay," Emma said. It wasn't a question.

"This is our home. Everything we've built is here. I'm not abandoning Winslow just because some corporate types think they can make more money selling my tech somewhere else."

Emma twisted a strand of red hair around her finger, hesitating before asking the question that hung in the air. "So... what about the Empire?"

Taylor's hands stilled on her workbench. "I don't want to join them. Their ideology is repulsive and I'd never be comfortable working directly with them."

"But?" Emma pressed.

"But they were more... reasonable than I expected." Taylor picked up the burner phone Kaiser had given her, turning it over in her hands. "They didn't try to force me to join. They actually warned me about threats and gave me useful information."

"Kaiser seemed almost protective, in a weird way."

"Exactly. And they're already keeping an eye on Winslow without demanding anything in return." Taylor set the phone down carefully. "I'm thinking about calling them. Not to join, but maybe to work out some kind of arrangement."

"What kind of arrangement?"

"Information sharing, maybe. Mutual protection. They leave us alone to do our work at Winslow, and in exchange..." Taylor shrugged. "I don't know exactly. But there might be a middle ground between joining them and making them enemies."

Emma slumped against the workbench, careful not to disturb any of Taylor's components. "I hate to say it, but you're right. We can't just ignore them and hope everything works out."

"And Kaiser did seem... reasonable, during the gala. During the whole limo thing." Taylor grimaced. "At least he's someone we can actually talk to. Not like Lung or Coil skulking in the shadows."

"Plus," Emma picked up one of Taylor's half-finished devices, "he already knows about your tech and hasn't tried to shut us down. That's more than we could expect from the PRT."

"You really think we should call them?"

"What's the worst that could happen from just talking?" Emma set the device back down. "

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "You remember these are literal Nazis, right?"

"Trust me, I haven't forgotten." Emma hugged herself. "But right now they're the only ones who've actually helped us. Even if their reasons are totally self-serving."

"The enemy of my enemy..."

"Isn't necessarily our friend," Emma finished. "But maybe they can be... not enemies? At least until we figure out something better."

***

The private dining room at the Golden Tiger smelled of spices and smoke. Lung reclined at the head of the table, a half-eaten spread of authentic Szechuan dishes laid out before him. He lifted a piece of fish with his chopsticks, studying it before popping it in his mouth.

Mike and Ken stood at rigid attention near the door, neither daring to sit without permission.

"Tell me about Winslow." Lung's voice rumbled low, as if the dragon inside him stirred even at rest.

Mike stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. "The study materials we reported on earlier? We tracked them to their source. Two white girls - sophomores."

"Names?"

"Emma Barnes and Taylor Hebert," Ken supplied. "Barnes is some kind of model. Hebert's the quiet one."

Lung's chopsticks clicked against his plate. "And you are certain these materials are... special?"

"Yes sir," Mike nodded vigorously. "Our people using them show marked improvement. Not just in grades - athletics, focus, discipline. Even their English is getting better."

"And neither girl has gang affiliations?"

"No sir. Barnes' father is a lawyer. Hebert's is with the Dockworkers Union."

Lung set down his chopsticks. "The Empire would value such a Tinker. Perhaps we should extend an invitation first." His scales rippled beneath his skin.

Lung's metal mask caught the dim light as he leaned forward. "Arrange a meeting. Soon."

"What time would you like us to schedule it for, sir?" Ken shifted his weight, missing the dangerous undertone in Lung's voice.

The dragon's eyes narrowed behind his mask. The temperature in the room climbed several degrees. "You misunderstand. Gather our people. Take them."

Mike's hand unconsciously drifted to the ragged scar tissue on his neck - a souvenir from his last encounter with Empire capes. He swallowed hard. "We'll do as you ask, but... speaking from experience, regular guys against capes... it usually doesn't end well for our side."

"You will have support."

A presence materialized behind Mike, silent as death. A hand gripped his shoulder, making him flinch. He turned slowly, coming face-to-face with the emotionless white demon mask of Oni Lee.

The assassin's grip tightened, making Mike's knees go weak. The smell of ash and cordite coming off the cape's costume filled his nostrils.

Mike and Ken bowed deeply, nearly touching their foreheads to the floor. Their movements were jerky, mechanical - like puppets on tangled strings.

"We'll make the arrangements immediately," Mike stammered, backing toward the door. His shoulder still burned where Oni Lee had gripped it.

Ken followed his lead, careful to keep his eyes downcast. "Yes, right away."

They shuffled backward through the doorway, maintaining their bows until they were safely in the hallway. The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind them with quiet finality.

***

The door to Skidmark's office creaked open, revealing walls plastered with study guides. Papers covered every inch of space, connected by strings of yarn in a dizzying spider web pattern. Squealer stepped over empty beer cans and needles littering the floor.

"Adam, what the fuck is all this?"

Skidmark spun around in his chair, eyes bloodshot and wild. "Sherrel! Look at this shit! It's all connected!" He jabbed his finger at different papers. "These fuckin' study guides from Winslow - they're sending messages!"

"Messages?" Squealer picked her way through the debris.

"Yeah! Like this biology section about cell division?" He pressed his face close to one page. "It's totally about splitting up territory between gangs! And this chemistry shit about reactions? Code for drug formulas!"

He bounced between papers, movements jerky and erratic. "Or maybe... maybe it's the government! Using schools to program kids!"

"Christ," Squealer muttered.

"Wait, wait..." Skidmark paused, squinting at a math worksheet. "What if someone's actually controlling people through these? Like some mind-control cape shit?"

He shook his head violently. "Nah, that's stupid. It's gotta be aliens. Using math to beam signals into kids' brains!"

Squealer walked over to his private stash, grabbing a baggie of pills. "I'm not dealing with this sober." She dry-swallowed two tablets, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"The numbers, Sherrel! Look at the numbers!" Skidmark was practically vibrating as he traced patterns between equations with a marker.

***

Mush straightened his freshly-pressed collar and brushed imaginary dust from his sleeves. The shower had done wonders - his usual coating of garbage was nowhere in sight. He rapped his knuckles against Skidmark's office door.

No response. Just muffled voices from inside.

He cracked the door open. The smell of stale beer and weed hit him first. Papers covered every surface, scribbled with incomprehensible notes and equations. In the center of the room, Skidmark and Squealer sat back-to-back on the floor, heads swiveling as they stared at different walls.

"The cafeteria menu!" Skidmark jabbed his finger at a paper. "It's a fucking map of underground tunnels!"

"No, no - look at the font choices," Squealer slurred. "Arial means ABB territory, Times New Roman is Empire..."

Mush slowly closed the door. He turned to the nervous-looking girl beside him, forcing a smile.

"The bosses are, uh, in the middle of some major strategic planning right now." He gestured down the hallway. "How about I show you around the place first, Whirlygig?"

***

Sophia stabbed at her meatloaf, surprised by how tender it was. Last year, the cafeteria food could have doubled as hockey pucks. She glanced at her usual table where Taylor and Emma sat huddled together, their heads bent low in conversation.

Her plastic fork scraped against the tray. The two had been acting weird lately - jumpy, distracted. When she'd asked what was wrong, they'd brushed her off with vague excuses about course selection stress.

The lunch line shuffled forward, shorter than she remembered. A group of sophomore girls walked past, carrying colorful lunch boxes and tupperware containers. The smell of homemade pasta and fresh-baked cookies wafted through the air.

Charlotte unpacked her lunch at a nearby table, pulling out enough portions to share with three others. Julia had done the same, trading half her sandwich for Madison's brownie. Even that quiet girl from her English class - what was her name? Sarah? - had brought extra rice balls that her boyfriend now devoured.

"Since when did everyone turn into Martha Stewart?" Sophia muttered.

She counted at least fifteen girls who'd brought food to share. Some even had cute little recipe cards they passed around between bites. The cafeteria buzzed with conversation about cooking techniques and family recipes.

Sophia poked at her green beans. They were properly seasoned for once, but somehow less appealing than the homemade meals surrounding her. She caught another whiff of Charlotte's pasta - was that fresh basil?

Her stomach growled traitorously. Maybe she should have taken Taylor up on those cooking lessons last week instead of begging off for patrol.

Sophia shifted in her seat, her track uniform fitting differently these days. At least the scale had finally stopped climbing. She'd settled into her new curves, even if they weren't what she'd originally wanted for herself.

Her face warmed remembering Marcus from the basketball team calling her "thicc" last week. She'd nearly decked him, until she caught his appreciative grin.

Sunlight streamed through the cafeteria windows, catching on the fresh paint job and new bulletin boards covered in colorful club announcements. Even the usual grime seemed less noticeable lately.

Movement caught her eye - Tina from her History class was chatting with one of the band geeks by the drink machines. Sophia did a double take. Last she remembered, Tina had shaved half her head and gone on some feminist crusade, calling herself a "true daughter of Lustrum" or whatever.

But there she was, gothic makeup softened to subtle smokey eyes, actually giggling at something Band Boy said. Her black-painted fingers played with a strand of hair as she smiled up at him.

"Is she... flirting?" Sophia whispered to herself. She had to admit, the guy wasn't bad looking - kind of a young Johnny Depp thing going on.

She shrugged and turned back to her lunch. Good for Tina, breaking out of her shell.

Sophia took another bite of the meatloaf, chewing slowly. Even with the improvements, it didn't compare to the meals at the Barnes household.

A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered - Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away. The whole Hess family had been invited to celebrate with the Heberts and Barnes. Now that would be a feast to look forward to.

She could already picture the perfectly roasted turkey, mashed potatoes drowning in gravy, Mrs. Barnes' famous candied yams. Her mouth watered at the thought of Taylor's fresh-baked dinner rolls, still warm from the oven.

Sophia paused, fork hovering over her tray. A mischievous grin spread across her face. Maybe she could get Taylor to make one of those study guides for her own mother. Her mom was a decent cook, but nowhere near the level of Mrs. Barnes or Taylor.

With one of those guides, her mom might finally learn how to make Sophia's favorite double-chocolate pecan pie for dessert. She could already taste the gooey filling, the crunch of nuts, the thick dark chocolate drizzled over the top...

***

Taylor chewed slowly, her gaze distant as her mind whirled with a dozen different thoughts and plans. Across the table, Danny watched her with a concerned frown.

"Taylor?" He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

She blinked, drawn back to the present by his words. "Hm? Sorry for what?"

Danny sighed, setting down his fork. "I haven't been very present lately, have I? Not since..." He swallowed hard. "Not since your mother passed."

Taylor's chest tightened at the mention of Annette. Even now, the wound felt raw.

"After she died, I was in such a dark place," Danny continued quietly. "I threw myself into work, into becoming Union President. Looking back, it was like I was mind controlled or something, single-mindedly focused on that one goal to the exclusion of everything else."

He reached across the table, taking Taylor's hand in his calloused grip. "I left your care to the Barnes more often than not. And I'm sorry for that, kiddo. You must have felt so alone."

Taylor hid a wince at his inadvertent parallel to her own actions. A familiar pang of guilt twisted in her gut. She squeezed his hand, offering a small, reassuring smile.

"It's okay, Dad, really. The Barnes were - are - like a second family. And you were grieving, I understood that." She took a breath. "Besides, you've been doing amazing work as Union President. Didn't you say the Mayor is on the ropes about reopening the ferry?"

Danny's expression brightened with obvious pride. "You heard about that, huh? Yeah, we've really been pushing for it. Having a functional ferry would do wonders for the local economy, bring more jobs to the city." He chuckled ruefully. "I may have gotten a little...single-minded again in pursuing it."

"No more than usual, I'd bet," Taylor teased gently.

He laughed. "Fair point. Still, I should have been paying more attention to what was happening with you too." Danny shook his head in amazement. "It wasn't until I got your invitation to the Medhall Gala that I realized just how much you've accomplished at Winslow this past year."

Taylor's stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"Some of the guys down at the Docks mentioned their kids were benefiting from your study guides when I told them about it," Danny continued, oblivious to her discomfort. "You're becoming a mini-celebrity around here, kiddo."

A mini-celebrity. Taylor pushed down a wave of nausea at the thought. She was anything but - she was a snake in the grass, twisting the minds of her peers without their knowledge or consent. All for some vague, half-formed ambition of "helping" the city.

She forced another smile, praying it looked more genuine than it felt. "I'm sure they're exaggerating, Dad. I've just been...really focused on my studies this year."

A vast understatement. Danny beamed at her, pride shining in his eyes.

"Well, whatever you're doing, keep it up. I'm proud of you, Taylor. Your mom would be too."

The words were like a physical blow, stealing Taylor's breath. She blinked back the sudden sting of tears as her Dad continued chatting, oblivious.

Guilt and shame burned in her chest. If only he knew the truth of what she'd done... what she was still doing. Her Dad - her kind, trusting Dad - would be horrified. Disgusted.

Taylor took a shaky breath, determination steadying her resolve. No, she couldn't falter now, not when she was so close to really making a difference. Once she had the city firmly in hand, then she could make her Dad understand. Then he would be proud for real.

Taylor drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. "Actually, Dad, I should apologize too."

She set down her fork, meeting his inquisitive gaze steadily. "I know I haven't been around as much lately either. I've been so focused on my...projects at school that I've let other things slide."

Like spending time with her Dad. A fresh pang of guilt lanced through her. Taylor swallowed hard. "We should do something together soon. Just you and me - maybe a movie night? It's been too long since we've had some quality father-daughter time."

Danny's face softened with a warm smile. "I'd like that, kiddo. Movie nights were always-"

The shrill trill of Taylor's phone cut him off. She shot him an apologetic look as she fished it out of her pocket, glancing at the notification. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name.

Theo.

Taylor's thumb hesitated over the message for just a moment before opening it.

Theo: Hey Taylor, I had a great time at the Gala the other night. Would you be interested in getting dinner together this weekend?

A hot blush crept up Taylor's cheeks as she reread the words. Dinner...with Theo? Like a date? Her stomach did a weird little flip at the thought. Before she could spiral too far down that particular train of thought, Danny cleared his throat pointedly.

"Everything okay over there?" He nodded at her phone, one eyebrow raised curiously. "That was from Emma, right?"

"Hm?" Taylor blinked, momentarily nonplussed. Then she realized what he'd asked. "Oh! No, it wasn't Emma. It was, uh..." She felt her blush deepen as she glanced back down at Theo's message. "It was from Theo, actually."

Danny's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. "Theo? As in the boy you were dancing with at the Gala?"

Taylor nodded, feeling suddenly shy under her dad's keen scrutiny. She bit her lip, giving a small shrug as she tried for a nonchalant tone. "Yeah, he...wanted to know if I'd like to get dinner this weekend."

"A date, huh?" A wide grin split Danny's face, eyes twinkling with undisguised delight. "Well, well, well. Looks like my little girl is growing up on me."

"Dad!" Taylor rolled her eyes, embarrassment warring with reluctant amusement. She tried to look put out, but a helpless smile tugged at her lips. "It's not like that, we're just friends."

Except even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Theo was clearly interested in more than friendship - and if she was being honest with herself, the idea didn't totally repulse her either. Taylor had been so consumed with her plans for Winslow and the city that she'd barely given any thought to dating. But now, picturing going out to a nice dinner
with Theo...

Her blush deepened further, heat prickling along her skin. Okay, maybe she found the idea a little appealing after all.

Across the table, Danny was still grinning like the cat that got the canary. "Sure, sure. 'Just friends.' That's how it always starts." He winked at her in an exaggerated fashion. "So, you gonna go? Please say you're gonna go, I can't wait to hear all about it."

Taylor huffed out a breath, fighting a smile. "I haven't even responded yet! Give me a chance to think about it."

She glanced back down at her phone, gnawing her lip indecisively as she reread Theo's message. A small part of her thrilled at the idea of going on an actual date. Of being normal for once, without secrets or lies or ulterior motives hanging over her. Just...a nice night out with a boy she kind of liked.

But an insidious voice in the back of her mind whispered that it would only lead to more complications. More secrets, more lies as she inevitably manipulated Theo in service of her greater goals. Could she really drag an innocent boy into her tangled web too?

Taylor's thumb hovered over the keyboard, indecision roiling in her gut. Before she could make up her mind either way, Danny spoke up again - this time in a tone laced with exaggerated gruffness.

"Speaking of this Theo character..." He leveled her with a mock-stern look, mouth twitching like he was suppressing a grin. "I don't suppose I need to have a little chat with him about my well-maintained shotgun, do I?"

Taylor's head whipped up, eyes widening in shock and disbelief. Then she caught the teasing glint in her dad's eyes and groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Oh my god, Dad, no!" Her words were muffled against her palms. "Don't be that dad, please!"

Danny burst out laughing, the rich sound filling their kitchen and easing the tight knot of tension in Taylor's chest. For just a little while, the worries plaguing her faded into the background, overshadowed by the simple, familiar pleasure of playful banter with her dad.

As his laughter trailed off into sporadic chuckles, Taylor peeked out at him from between her fingers. She found him watching her with such open adoration that it made her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. In that moment, she vowed to herself that she would find a way to make everything right, no matter what it took.

She would make her dad proud of her, for real this time. Not through lies and manipulation, but through genuine accomplishments he could look upon without a shred of shame or regret.

It was a promise she intended to keep, no matter what stood in her way.

***

Taylor hefted another ancient printer onto the cart, grunting with exertion. "Geez, how many of these dinosaurs does Winslow have lying around?"

Emma chuckled, wiping sweat from her brow. "Enough to keep us busy for months, apparently. At least we're putting them to good use."

They'd been at it for over an hour after the final bell, hauling outdated tech from various storage closets around the school. The late afternoon sun beat down on them as they worked behind the building, waiting for Anne to arrive with her car.

"Speaking of good use," Taylor said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "I've got some ideas for upgrading our production capabilities. If we can streamline the process, we might be able to expand beyond Winslow sooner than we thought."

Emma's eyes lit up. "Really? That's fantastic! We could start reaching out to other schools, maybe even—"

She broke off suddenly, frowning as she glanced over Taylor's shoulder. Taylor turned to follow her gaze, noticing a small group of boys loitering near the corner of the building. They wore an eclectic mix of red and green clothing.

"Huh," Taylor mused, "I don't recognize them. New students, maybe?"

Emma shrugged. "Could be. Winslow's always getting transfers."

They returned to their work, chatting about potential improvements to Taylor's tech and their plans for the coming weeks. Every so often, Taylor's gaze would drift back to the group of boys. She couldn't shake the feeling that there were more of them now than before.

"You know," Emma said, hefting a bulky CRT monitor, "we should see about getting some help with this next time. My arms are going to fall off at this rate."

Taylor laughed. "What, the great Emma Barnes can't handle a little manual labor?"

"Hey, not all of us have your stamina, Miss Volleyball Star," Emma retorted with a grin.

Emma's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, frowning at the unknown number displayed on the screen. The single word message made her blood run cold: 'Run!'

"Taylor—" Emma's voice cracked. She grabbed her friend's arm, jerking her attention away from the printer.

The group of boys had spread out, forming a loose semicircle around the corner of the building. More emerged from behind parked cars in the lot. Red and green bandanas covered their faces.

"Inside. Now." Taylor abandoned the cart, backing toward the school's rear entrance. Her hand found Emma's, squeezing tight.

The nearest ABB member reached into his jacket. Metal glinted in the afternoon sun.

They bolted for the door. Emma's flats slapped against the pavement, Taylor's sneakers pounding beside her. The sound of multiple footsteps erupted behind them.

Taylor slammed into the door first, yanking the handle. "No, no, no—"

The door didn't budge. Locked.

"Side entrance," Emma gasped, already moving. "Through the gym."

Taylor and Emma skidded to a halt, hearts pounding. In front of them stood a figure clad in black, a white demon mask covering his face. Oni Lee.

"Your presence has been demanded by the dragon," he intoned in a flat, chilling voice.

Taylor's mind raced. The ABB was one of the gangs she'd ruled out early on. Too violent, too unstable. And now they'd sent their most lethal cape after her and Emma? Her hand tightened around the metal bookbinder in her pocket—a recent prototype laced with hypnotic circuitry. If she could just get him to look at the intricate designs...

Before she could move, Oni Lee vanished in a burst of ash. Taylor blinked, momentarily stunned. Then a bony hand clamped down on her shoulder from behind.

"I wouldn't try anything foolish," that dead voice said in her ear. She froze.

Emma squeaked in alarm as another Oni Lee materialized next to her, gripping her arm with frightening intensity.

"You will come with us," he told them. "The dragon grows impatient."

Taylor exchanged a wide-eyed look with Emma, searching for any sign of a plan, a way out. Emma could only shake her head infinitesimally, lips pressed into a tight line.

With dread coiling in her gut, Taylor realized they were well and truly trapped.

"Release my minions fiend!" A pompous voice declared from up ahead. "Or face the wrath of The Headmaster!"

In front of them was a stocky figure wearing one of the Winslow graduation gowns complete with cap. Covering his face was a cheap plastic tragedy mask from the drama class. The whole outfit was very slapdash and showed signs of being donned hastily. Was that Mr. Glady?

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

A few minutes earlier

Mr. Gladly sighed as he watched the last students leave his classroom, shutting the door behind them. He hated having to give out detentions. At least grading assignments had kept him busy through the
afternoon. He loved teaching, loved trying to spark that love of learning in young minds, but the paperwork could be a real grind sometimes.

He gathered up his materials, stuffing them haphazardly into his briefcase, and headed for the parking lot. As he passed by the windows overlooking the rear of the school, movement outside caught his
eye. A cluster of red and green bandana-clad figures stood near the corner of the building. Even from this distance, he recognized the colors of the ABB.

A flicker of ash announced the arrival of another figure—one clad in black, a white mask covering his face. Oni Lee. Gladly's heart stuttered in his chest. What was the ABB's foremost enforcer doing at Winslow?

The group seemed to be engaged in some kind of discussion, though Gladly couldn't make out any words through the glass. One of the students gestured sharply toward the building. Toward the back
entrance, where Barnes and Hebert were likely loading up their "recycling" materials even now.

Realization struck like a bolt of lightning. Of course—the girls had been acting strange for weeks, making cryptic comments about some kind of project. And now one of the most dangerous capes in the
city was here, accompanied by members of his gang. This had to be connected somehow.

Gladly fumbled in his pocket for his phone, hands shaking as he dialed the PRT hotline number. It picked up on the third ring.

"PRT hotline, what's your emergency?" The crisp, professional voice on the other end helped steady his nerves.

"This is Gerald Gladly, a teacher at Winslow High School in Brockton Bay," he said, proud of how level his tone remained. "I'm looking out a window right now at Oni Lee and what appears to be several ABB
gang members gathered on school property. I'm not sure of their intent, but two of my students may be in danger."

There was a brief pause as the operator processed this. "Understood, Mr. Gladly. We're dispatching a Protectorate hero and PRT squad to your location immediately. Can you confirm if any violence has
occurred?"

"No, no violence yet. But Oni Lee's presence alone is cause for serious concern."

"Of course. For your own safety, please move away from the windows and secure yourself somewhere until our units arrive. They'll be there within fifteen minutes."

"Right. Yes, of course. Thank you." Gladly ended the call, palms slick with sweat.

Gerald Gladly burst out of his classroom, heart pounding. He'd known something was off with Taylor Hebert for weeks now, but this... this was beyond anything he'd imagined. The presence of Oni Lee
and ABB members on school grounds could only mean trouble.

As he hurried down the hallway, his mind raced. Most of the faculty had noticed the changes in Taylor, and in the school as a whole. There had been hushed conversations in the teacher's lounge, sideways
glances exchanged during staff meetings. But Principal Blackwell had made it clear they were to keep their suspicions to themselves.

"We're on the cusp of something great here," she'd told them, eyes gleaming with ambition. "Let's not jeopardize our progress with baseless speculation."

Gladly knew Blackwell had her sights set on the School Superintendent position. With the current superintendent planning a mayoral run next year, it was the perfect opportunity for her to climb the
ladder. And Winslow's sudden academic turnaround was her ticket to the top.

He reached the computer lab, out of breath. "Taylor? Emma?" he called, pushing open the door. The room was empty, save for Mrs. Knott tidying up for the day.

"Mr. Gladly?" she asked, surprised by his urgent tone. "Is everything alright?"

"The girls," he panted. "Taylor Hebert and Emma Barnes. Have you seen them?"

Mrs. Knott shook her head. "They were here earlier, but they left about twenty minutes ago. Said something about meeting Anne Barnes for a pickup."

Gladly's stomach dropped. "They're outside," he muttered, more to himself than to Mrs. Knott. He turned on his heel, ready to sprint for the rear exit, when he remembered the operator's warning to stay
put.

Mr. Gladly's heart pounded in his chest as he hurried down the hallway, his dress shoes squeaking on the linoleum. He fumbled with his phone, quickly pulling up Emma's contact information. With
trembling fingers, he tapped out a message: "Run!"

Hitting send, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and changed course, veering toward the drama department. The theater would be empty at this hour, but there might be something, anything he
could use to help Taylor and Emma.

He burst through the doors of the prop room, eyes frantically scanning the racks of costumes and masks. A long, black robe caught his eye, hanging next to an ornate headmaster's cap. Grabbing them
both, he slipped into the voluminous robes, tying the sash tight around his waist. The mask went on next, the classic face depicting tragedy. He hoped that wasn't an omen.

Thus disguised, he hurried back into the hallway, his heart thundering against his ribs. He had no idea what he planned to do, only that he had to try and intervene, to stall for time until the Protectorate
arrived. Taylor and Emma's lives could be at stake.

He ducked out the nearest exit hoping to loop around to the back parking area. As he neared the corner of the school that would lead to the rear, the sound of a commotion reached his ears. Reaching the
corner, he spotted a student lingering ahead, their phone held up as they peeked around the bend. Gladly slowed his steps, approaching cautiously.

Looking around, he could see the cluster of ABB members gathered in the alleyway, Taylor and Emma stood before them, a cart of old printers next to them. Even from here, Gladly could see the concern
etched on their faces as the back door failed to open. As they turned to run a new figure appeared in front of them.

Oni Lee spoke, his tone flat and emotionless. "Your presence has been demanded by the dragon."

Gladly's mouth went dry. This was it. Steeling himself, he swept forward, throwing open the exit door with a dramatic flourish.

"Release my minions, fiend!" he bellowed, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. "Or face the wrath of the Headmaster!"

***

A hush fell over the alleyway as all eyes turned toward the newcomer. For a long, agonizing moment, no one moved or spoke. Then, a bark of laughter erupted from one of the gang members.

"Is this for real?" the man guffawed, nudging his neighbor. "Who's this idiot in the bathrobe?"

Gladly faltered, his bravado deflating slightly as the men continued to jeer and mock his appearance. From the corner of his eye, he saw Taylor and Emma exchanging bewildered glances.

Oni Lee, however, remained silent and still, regarding Gladly with that eerie, unblinking stare. The man's utter lack of reaction was far more unnerving than any taunts.

Rallying himself, Gladly spread his arms wide, the robe billowing around him like a great set of wings. "I am the master of this domain," he proclaimed, "and I will not permit villainous scum to accost my pupils!"

Another round of laughter met this declaration. Gladly's cheeks burned beneath the mask. The laughter was fine if somewhat humiliating. Keep laughing, you chuckleheads, keep laughing till the
Protectorate arrives.

One of the men made a dismissive gesture. "Get rid of this clown," he growled. "The boss wants those two girls, and I'm not gonna let some idiot in a Halloween costume stop us."

As the group started forward, Gladly felt his resolve waver. What had he been thinking, confronting real, hardened criminals like this? He was a high school teacher, for God's sake, not a cape! Still, he
couldn't back down now, not with Taylor and Emma's lives at risk.

Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin defiantly. "You'll have to go through me first, ruffians!"

The alleyway fell silent as Oni Lee tilted his head, considering the masked figure before him. He turned slightly, addressing one of the gang members standing nearby.

"Who is this?" Oni Lee's voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.

Ken, a lanky teen with a bandana tied around his forehead, stepped forward nervously. "I think... I think that's Mr. Gladly, sir. He's the teacher whose class those study guides first started showing up in."

Oni Lee nodded almost imperceptibly. "We will take him as well," he declared.

Mr. Gladly felt a chill run down his spine at those words. This was not going according to plan at all. He had hoped to buy time, to distract these thugs until help arrived. Now it seemed he had only
succeeded in making himself another target.

With lightning speed, Oni Lee appeared between Gladly and the girls. The teacher blinked, momentarily disoriented by the villain's teleportation. In that brief instant, the gang members swarmed around
Emma and Taylor, herding them toward the center of their group.

Gladly's heart raced as he watched his students being surrounded. He had to do something, had to keep their attention focused on him. "Let them go!" he shouted, trying to infuse his voice with an
authority he didn't feel. "Your quarrel is with me now!"

The boys paid him no mind, their eyes fixed on Oni Lee as the masked villain approached Gladly with slow, deliberate steps. Each footfall seemed to echo in the alley, a countdown to some terrible fate.

"You will be coming with us, Headmaster," Oni Lee stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Gladly swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to save himself. But he couldn't abandon his students. He had started this charade, and now he had to see it through.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Gladly raised his fists in what he hoped was a passable imitation of a boxing stance. "Make me," he growled, trying to channel every tough-guy hero he'd ever seen in
the movies.

A ripple of amusement passed through the gang members. One of them called out, "Ooh, looks like teach wants to throw down!"

Another chimed in, "Maybe we should sell tickets!"

Oni Lee remained unmoved by the taunts and Gladly's bravado. He simply stood there, that blank mask betraying nothing of his thoughts or intentions.

Gladly's arms were already beginning to tremble from the effort of holding his stance. Sweat beaded on his forehead beneath the mask, and he silently cursed himself for not staying in better shape. If only
he'd taken those self-defense classes the school had offered last year...

Oni Lee cocked his head to the side, regarding Gladly with that unnerving, emotionless stare. The tension in the alley ratcheted up another notch as everyone waited to see how the villain would respond to this challenge.

***

Gladly felt a presence materialize behind him. Instinct took over and he ducked forward, narrowly avoiding a strike from the Oni Lee at his back. But as he stumbled forward, the Oni Lee in front of him lashed out with a vicious kick. The blow connected solidly with Gladly's midsection, driving the air from his lungs. He gasped and wheezed as the villain before him crumbled into ash.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him as Gladly realized the true extent of Oni Lee's power. The villain could be anywhere, attacking from any angle. Fighting to regain his breath, Gladly scrambled
backwards until his back pressed against the cold brick of the school building. At least now he couldn't be ambushed from behind.

Oni Lee appeared again, this time to Gladly's left. The teacher raised his arms just in time to block a slashing knife strike. Pain lanced through his forearm as the blade bit into flesh. Gladly yelped and
swung wildly with his other hand, but his fist passed harmlessly through another disintegrating clone.

"Is that all you've got?" Gladly taunted, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. "I've had worse paper cuts grading essays!"

Another Oni Lee materialized directly in front of him. Gladly lashed out with a clumsy right hook, but the villain easily sidestepped the attack. A quick series of jabs left more shallow cuts along Gladly's
arms before that clone, too, vanished into ash.

Despite the fear coursing through him, a small part of Gladly felt a surge of satisfaction. He was standing his ground, protecting his students. Isn't that what being a man was about. Protecting those in
your care?

The battle continued in this vein for what felt like an eternity to Gladly. Oni Lee would appear, land a quick strike or two, then vanish before Gladly could mount any real offense. The teacher's arms were
soon crisscrossed with dozens of cuts, none life-threatening on their own, but the cumulative blood loss was beginning to take its toll. His reactions were slowing, his vision starting to blur at the edges.

As another Oni Lee materialized, Gladly noticed something. The villain always appeared within his own line of sight. He would make quick glances to the side to set up his next teleport.

Gladly also realized that despite the relentless assault, Oni Lee wasn't going for killing blows. The villain was trying to wear him down, to capture him alive. That knowledge gave Gladly a small measure of
hope. As long as he was still breathing, he could keep fighting.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Gladly focused on predicting where Oni Lee might appear next. He watched the villain's movements carefully, noting the subtle shifts in posture that preceded each
teleport.

When Oni Lee next materialized, Gladly was ready. As the villain's arm came up for another slash, Gladly stepped into the attack. He pivoted his body, putting all his remaining strength behind a desperate
right cross. To his shock and elation, he felt his fist connect solidly with the side of Oni Lee's mask.

The villain staggered back, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected counterattack. For a brief moment, Gladly allowed himself to feel a glimmer of triumph. He had landed a solid hit on one of the most
feared villains in Brockton Bay.

But even as that thought crossed his mind, Oni Lee recovered his balance. The emotionless mask tilted slightly, regarding Gladly with what the teacher could only imagine was a mixture of annoyance and
grudging respect.

Gladly's eyes darted behind Oni Lee, desperate to check on Taylor and Emma. What he saw made his jaw drop. The gang members who had surrounded the girls now lay scattered on the ground, moaning
and clutching their heads. Taylor and Emma stood in the center, each gripping some kind of strange device in their hands.

Oni Lee noticed Gladly's shocked expression and whirled around to assess the situation. In an instant, he vanished, reappearing next to the girls. But as soon as he materialized, the villain staggered and
collapsed to the ground. He teleported away, only to reappear several yards back, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Oni Lee made several more attempts to approach, but each time he got within about 15 feet of Taylor and Emma, he seemed overwhelmed by some invisible force. Finally, he growled in frustration.

"Disable the tinkertech and come with me," Oni Lee demanded, his voice cold and threatening.

Emma's response was immediate and defiant. "Fat chance of that!"

For a moment, Oni Lee stood motionless, considering his options. Then, in a blur of motion, he reappeared next to the exhausted Mr. Gladly. Before the teacher could react, he felt the cold steel of a knife
pressed against his throat.

"I will kill him if you do not comply," Oni Lee stated matter-of-factly. "It is obvious he is not the Tinker."

Gladly's eyes widened in terror as the realization hit him. One of the girls was a Tinker? That would explain things. His mind reeled, trying to process this new information even as he felt the blade dig
slightly into his skin.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across them. Gladly barely had time to register the new presence before two curved blades sliced through the air. Oni Lee's head went flying, separated cleanly from his body. But
even as Gladly's brain struggled to catch up with what he was seeing, the headless body crumbled into ash, revealing that the villain had managed another teleport in the nick of time.

In Oni Lee's place stood a figure Gladly recognized from his current events lessons: Cricket, a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Her cage-like mask turned towards him, and he got the distinct
impression she was giving him an appraising look.

"Impressive," Cricket's synthesized voice crackled. "But you should let a professional finish this."

Gladly sagged against the wall, the adrenaline that had been keeping him going finally starting to ebb. He looked down at his arms, covered in cuts and dried blood, and wondered distantly if he might be
going into shock.

"Mr. Gladly!" Taylor called out, her voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

He managed a weak nod, then turned his attention back to Cricket. The Empire cape stood ready, her kama held loosely at her sides as she scanned the area for any sign of Oni Lee's return.

Oni Lee materialized once more, this time atop a nearby dumpster. His mask betrayed no emotion, but his stance radiated menace.

"Empire dogs," he spat, his voice cold and contemptuous. "Do not interfere with the Dragon's business."

Cricket's synthesized laugh crackled through her mask. "When does the dragon pick on children and schoolteachers? Lung must be getting desperate."

In response, Oni Lee exploded into action. He teleported rapidly, creating a dizzying array of clones that surrounded Cricket. Each clone lunged forward with a knife, forcing the Empire cape to defend
from multiple angles simultaneously.

Cricket's kama whirled in a deadly dance, slicing through clone after clone. Her movements were fluid and precise, each strike calculated to intercept an incoming attack while simultaneously setting up
her next move. But for every clone she dispatched, two more seemed to take its place.

Suddenly, Cricket dropped into a crouch. A high-pitched whine emanated from her mask, causing several nearby clones to stumble. She capitalized on their disorientation, her blades flashing out to bisect three clones in rapid succession.

Oni Lee changed tactics. His next wave of clones appeared with grenades in hand, pins already pulled. Cricket's eyes widened behind her mask as she realized the danger. She leapt backwards, using her
enhanced agility to put distance between herself and the impending explosions.

The grenades detonated in a cacophony of noise and shrapnel. Cricket emerged from the smoke, her costume torn in several places but otherwise unharmed. She had managed to avoid the worst of the blast, but the fight was taking its toll.

"Is that all you've got?" Cricket taunted, her synthesized voice betraying no hint of fatigue. "I thought the ABB was supposed to be dangerous."

Oni Lee's response was swift and brutal. He appeared directly behind Cricket, knife already in motion. Only her enhanced reflexes saved her from a potentially fatal blow. As it was, the blade carved a deep
gash across her back.

Cricket hissed in pain but didn't falter. She spun, her kama slicing through the air where Oni Lee's head had been a moment before. But he was already gone, leaving only ash in his wake.

The battle continued in this vein, neither combatant able to gain a decisive advantage. Oni Lee's teleportation made him nearly impossible to pin down, while Cricket's enhanced senses and reflexes
allowed her to avoid or counter most of his attacks.

As the fight dragged on, Taylor and Emma watched in horrified fascination. They had seen cape fights on the news before, but witnessing one up close was an entirely different experience. The speed and
brutality of the combat were breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure.

Finally, Cricket managed to turn the tide. As Oni Lee appeared for another attack, she feinted with one kama while bringing the other around in a vicious backhand slash. The blade caught Oni Lee's leg,
biting deep into his thigh.

The villain let out a pained grunt – the first sound he had made during the entire fight. He teleported away, reappearing at the edge of the parking lot. For a moment, he stood there, his posture tense as
he assessed the situation. Then, with a final glare towards Cricket, he vanished in a burst of ash.

As the adrenaline of the moment began to fade, Taylor and Emma rushed to Mr. Gladly's side. The teacher was slumped against the wall, his arms covered in cuts and his breathing labored.

"Mr. Gladly!" Taylor exclaimed, kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?"

Gladly managed a weak nod. "I've been better," he croaked. "But I'll live. Are you two alright?"

Emma nodded, her face pale. "We're fine, thanks to you and... her." She glanced nervously at Cricket, who was now approaching them.

"We need to move," Cricket said, her synthesized voice urgent. "The Protectorate will be here soon. We should get him to Othala."

Taylor hesitated, torn between her concern for Mr. Gladly and her wariness of the Empire cape. "Who's Othala?"

"Empire healer," Cricket replied curtly. "She can fix him up better than any hospital. But we need to go now."

Emma and Taylor exchanged a look, silently debating their options. Finally, Taylor nodded. "Okay, we'll come with you. But first..." She hurried over to where the ABB gang members were still incapacitated
by their tinkertech device. She placed another small gadget next to them, ensuring they wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

As they helped Mr. Gladly to his feet, distant sirens could be heard approaching. Cricket tensed, her mask turning towards the sound. "Time's up. Let's move."

***

Taylor and Emma carefully helped Mr. Gladly into the backseat of Cricket's nondescript sedan. The teacher groaned softly as they settled him in, his arms covered in cuts from Oni Lee's relentless assault.

"Easy does it," Emma murmured, sliding in next to him.

As Taylor moved to get into the front passenger seat, she froze. Cricket had removed her mask, revealing a face that was surprisingly young and... not entirely what Taylor had expected.

"No time to explain," Cricket said brusquely, her voice no longer filtered through her mask. "Get in."

Taylor complied, her mind reeling as Cricket started the car and pulled away from Winslow at a surprisingly sedate pace.

"Shouldn't we be going faster?" Taylor asked, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

Cricket shook her head. "Calm and casual is the way to go. First aid kit's under the back seat, by the way. Bandages for your teacher's arms."

Emma rummaged beneath the seat, pulling out a well-stocked medical kit. As she began tending to Mr. Gladly's wounds, Taylor kept her eyes on the road ahead. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw
Armsmaster's distinctive motorcycle zoom past them in the opposite lane, followed shortly by a PRT squad van. Neither vehicle paid them any attention.

Taylor let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She turned to look at Cricket, really taking in the other girl's appearance for the first time. What she saw made her blink in surprise.

"You're... part Asian?" Taylor blurted out before she could stop herself.

Cricket's lips quirked into a small smile. "Got some questions, huh? Go ahead, ask away."

Taylor's mind raced. There were so many things she wanted to know, but she struggled to prioritize. "Okay, first... why are you helping us? And why reveal your identity?"

Cricket kept her eyes on the road as she answered. "Helping you because Kaiser asked me to keep an eye on Winslow. As for the mask... well, sometimes it's easier to hide in plain sight. Plus, I figured
you'd be more comfortable if you could see my face."

"But you're with the Empire," Emma chimed in from the backseat, her voice a mix of confusion and accusation. "How can you be part Asian?"

Cricket's expression tightened slightly. "It's... complicated. Let's just say not everything about the Empire is as black and white as people think."

Taylor frowned, processing this information. "So, what happens now? Where are we going?"

"To see Othala," Cricket replied. "She'll be able to patch up your teacher properly. After that... well, I guess that depends on you two."

***

Meanwhile, back at Winslow High School, Armsmaster surveyed the scene with a mixture of frustration and curiosity. The ABB gang members lay incapacitated on the ground, still affected by whatever device had been used on them.

He knelt to examine the small gadget Taylor had left behind. His helmet's sensors began analyzing its composition and energy output automatically isolating its debilitating frequency from his hearing.

"Interesting," he muttered to himself. "Definitely Tinkertech, but not like anything I've seen before."

A PRT officer approached, her stance respectful but urgent. "Sir, we've secured the perimeter. No sign of Oni Lee or the reported Empire cape."

Armsmaster nodded absently, still focused on the device. "What about the students who were allegedly taken?"

"No concrete information yet," the officer replied. "We're reviewing security footage and interviewing witnesses now."

Armsmaster stood, carefully bagging the Tinkertech device as evidence. "Keep me updated. And get these ABB members into custody. I want to know everything they can tell us about why Oni Lee was
here."

As the PRT began processing the scene, Armsmaster couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had just happened. A new Tinker in Brockton Bay could shift the balance of power dramatically.
He needed to find out who they were and what their intentions might be.

With one last look around the parking lot, Armsmaster headed back to his motorcycle. He had a report to file and a mystery to unravel.

Chapter Text

Cricket watched the two girls' expressions, noting their lingering curiosity. With a sigh, she decided to elaborate on her background.

"Look, I can see you're still wondering about me," Cricket rasped, her voice harsh from her throat injury. "My paternal grandfather was a GI in World War II. He met my grandmother in Japan during the occupation and brought her back to the States as a war bride."

Taylor and Emma exchanged glances, surprised by the unexpected openness from the normally taciturn villain.

"That's... actually pretty interesting," Taylor ventured cautiously.

Emma nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I didn't know that kind of thing happened much back then."

Mr. Gladly, who had been listening quietly, couldn't help but slip into teacher mode for a moment. "Actually, it was more common than you might think. After World War II, thousands of American
servicemen brought Japanese brides back to the United States. It was a significant cultural exchange that helped shape post-war relations between the two countries."

He caught himself, remembering their precarious situation. "Sorry, force of habit. You know how teachers can be."

Cricket snorted, a sound somewhere between amusement and derision. "Yeah, well, I never had much use for school." She smirked at the affronted look on Glady's face in the rear-view mirror.

The moment of relative calm was broken as Hookwolf's voice crackled over Cricket's radio. "Cricket, status report. Any sign of ABB pursuit?"

Cricket keyed her radio. "Negative. We're clear for now. ETA to the safehouse?"

"Ten minutes," Hookwolf replied. "Keep your eyes open. Out."

As Cricket returned her attention to their captives, Taylor found herself studying the Empire cape with new eyes. The revelation about her heritage added an unexpected layer of complexity to someone
she had previously seen as a one-dimensional villain.

Emma, meanwhile, was grappling with her own thoughts. The casual way Cricket had shared her family history made the Empire member seem almost... human. It was an uncomfortable realization, one
that threatened to blur the lines Emma had carefully drawn in her mind between "us" and "them."

Mr. Gladly cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen over the van. "So, um, what exactly is the plan here? I mean, I assume you're not just going to let us go once we reach wherever
we're going."

Cricket fixed him with a hard stare. "That's not for me to decide. Kaiser will determine what happens next."

Taylor felt a chill run down her spine at the mention of the Empire's leader. Their brief encounter at the gala had left her with a mix of fear and grudging respect for the man's intelligence and charisma.
Now, faced with the prospect of meeting him again under far less favorable circumstances, she found herself wishing she had taken his advice about joining the Wards more seriously.

As the van continued its journey through the streets of Brockton Bay, Taylor's mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. She glanced at Emma, seeing her own worry reflected in her friend's eyes.
Whatever happened next, they were in this together.

Mr. Gladly, for his part, seemed to be holding up remarkably well considering the circumstances. Taylor wondered if his earlier bravado in confronting Oni Lee had given him a newfound sense of courage,
or if he was simply in shock.

The van hit a pothole, jostling its occupants. Cricket barely seemed to notice, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings through the van's windows. Her vigilance was a stark reminder of the danger
they were still in, even if their current captors were, ironically, protecting them from the ABB.

As they drove on, Taylor couldn't help but marvel at the bizarre turn of events. Just hours ago, her biggest concern had been juggling her Tinker projects with schoolwork. Now, she was caught in the
middle of a gang war, being "rescued" by neo-Nazis from a group of Asian gangsters led by a teleporting assassin.

Cricket's eyes remained fixed on the road, but her posture shifted slightly as Mr. Gladly probed further into her past.

"So, what made you dislike school so much?" he asked, his teacher's curiosity getting the better of him.

Cricket snorted. "School was never my thing. Too much sitting around, not enough action. I've always wanted to fight."

"Always?" Emma chimed in, her fear momentarily overshadowed by curiosity.

"Yeah, always," Cricket rasped. "Got into plenty of scraps with boys in elementary and middle school. They didn't like getting beat by a girl."

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Didn't the teachers try to stop you?"

Cricket let out a harsh laugh. "They tried. Didn't work. My grandmother was the only one who got through to me, sort of."

"Your Japanese grandmother?" Mr. Gladly asked, recalling her earlier story.

Cricket nodded. "She's the one who taught me how to use kamas. Said if I was going to fight, I might as well learn some discipline along with it."

"Did it help?" Taylor asked.

"Not in the way she hoped," Cricket admitted. "I still wanted to fight. Just got better at it. Found my way into the underground fighting circuit pretty young."

Emma's eyes widened. "Isn't that super dangerous?"

Cricket shrugged. "Sure. But I was a novelty - a young, pretty girl in the ring. Drew crowds."

She gestured to the deep scars on her neck. "Well, pretty then."

Mr. Gladly shook his head. "Nonsense. You're a beautiful woman."

Cricket glanced at him skeptically, surprised to see genuine sincerity in his eyes. She quickly looked away, trying not to show how the unexpected compliment affected her.

"Anyway," she continued, her voice a touch less harsh, "things happened with a bad manager. That's when I got my powers."

Emma, not picking up on Cricket's discomfort, blurted out, "Is that how you got your neck scars?"

Cricket's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "No. That came later."

She paused, weighing how much to reveal. "I joined up with a group of fighters after I got my powers. There were four of us - Hookwolf, Stormtiger, me, and a guy named Stone Panther."

"Stone Panther?" Taylor repeated, surprised. "He wasn't... white?"

Cricket shook her head. "Nah, he was black. Good fighter, but Hookwolf was better. Always got top billing."

Her voice grew colder. "Panther got fed up with being second best. Sold us out to some rivals, led us into a trap."

She gestured to her throat. "He's the one who did this. Cracked Stormtiger's skull too."

The girls looked uncomfortable, but Mr. Gladly leaned forward, invested in the story. "What happened then?"

A look of visceral satisfaction crossed Cricket's face. "Hookwolf happened. Took on Panther and four other capes by himself. Left them as bloody chunks on the ground."

Emma and Taylor exchanged disturbed glances, while Mr. Gladly's expression was more complex.

"I'm sorry you were betrayed like that," he said softly. "By someone you trusted as a companion."

Cricket's eyes met his in the rearview mirror, a flicker of surprise passing through them at his sympathy. For a moment, the van was silent save for the hum of the engine.

"Yeah, well," Cricket finally muttered, her voice gruff but lacking its usual edge, "that's life, isn't it? You learn who you can really count on."

The conversation lapsed into silence, each occupant of the van lost in their own thoughts. Taylor found herself reevaluating her perception of Cricket, seeing the layers of pain and loyalty beneath the
hardened exterior. Emma was grappling with the brutal reality of the cape world, so different from the glamorous image she'd held. And Mr. Gladly was struck by the realization that even in the midst of
this crisis, he couldn't quite shake his instinct to reach out to a troubled student - even if that "student" was now a notorious villain.

As they drove on towards their uncertain destination, the atmosphere in the van had shifted.

Cricket's eyes remained fixed on the road, but her posture shifted slightly as Mr. Gladly probed further into her past.

"So, what was your grandmother like?" he asked, his curiosity piqued by Cricket's earlier revelation. "The one who taught you to use kamas?"

Cricket's grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles whitening. For a moment, it seemed she might ignore the question entirely. Then, unexpectedly, she let out a harsh chuckle.

"You know, I gotta hand it to you, teach. You're taking this whole situation pretty well. Most people would be freaking out by now."

Gladly glanced down at his arms, wincing at the sight of the numerous cuts he'd sustained during the scuffle with Oni Lee. "To be honest, I'm in incredible pain right now. Talking... well, it helps me focus
on something else."

Cricket's laugh this time was genuine, if still raspy. "Fair enough. Alright, you want a story? I'll give you one."

She paused, collecting her thoughts. "My grandpa was a big guy, built like a brick shithouse. Good fighter, too. When he was stationed in Japan during the occupation, he'd go around to different dojos,
challenging the locals."

Taylor and Emma exchanged uneasy glances, sensing where this might be going.

Cricket continued, her tone matter-of-fact. "He was pretty brutal about it. Didn't pull his punches, you know? Eventually, word got around, and no one would accept his challenges anymore."

She smirked. "No one except this one girl. Daughter of a dojo master."

Mr. Gladly leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "Your grandmother?"

Cricket nodded. "The one and only. Grandpa didn't take her seriously at first. Big mistake."

Her voice took on a note of pride. "She tossed him clear across the mats. First time anyone had laid him out like that in years."

Emma couldn't help but ask, "So she beat him?"

Cricket snorted. "Nah. After that initial surprise, he had her pinned in under half a minute."

She turned her head slightly, fixing Emma and Taylor with a hard stare. "Let that be a lesson to you girls. Doesn't matter how skilled you are - when someone's twice your weight and fit, unless you've got
powers or a weapon, you're going down."

Taylor nodded, filing away the information. Emma looked less convinced but stayed quiet.

"Anyway," Cricket continued, "Grandpa took a liking to the little spitfire. Came back the next day with flowers. The rest, as they say, is history."

Mr. Gladly smiled, despite the pain. "That's quite a story. Your grandmother sounds like quite a woman."

Cricket's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, she was something else."

For a moment, silence fell over the van. Then, abruptly, Cricket's posture stiffened. "We're almost there. Remember, when we stop, you do exactly what I say. No funny business."

The brief moment of connection faded, replaced once again by the tense reality of their situation. Taylor and Emma exchanged worried glances, while Mr. Gladly took a deep breath, steeling himself for
whatever came next.

As they drove on, Taylor couldn't help but reflect on the strange turns this day had taken. From a routine after-school activity to being caught in the middle of a gang conflict, and now hearing the family
history of an Empire Eighty-Eight cape. It was surreal, to say the least.

Emma, for her part, was struggling to reconcile the image of the brutal fighter Cricket presented with the glimpses of the person beneath - someone with a family, a history, and even moments of
vulnerability.

Mr. Gladly, despite his pain, found himself intrigued by Cricket's story. The teacher in him couldn't help but see the potential for a fascinating discussion on cultural exchange and the complexities of
post-war relations. Of course, given their current predicament, such academic musings would have to wait.

As the van slowed, approaching their destination, the atmosphere grew tense once more. Whatever momentary connection had formed during Cricket's storytelling, the reality of their situation came
crashing back. They were still captives, being taken to an unknown location to face the leader of one of Brockton Bay's most notorious gangs.

Cricket's voice cut through the silence, harsh and commanding once more. "We're here. Remember what I said. No sudden moves, no trying to run. You do exactly as you're told, got it?"

Three heads nodded in unison, a mix of fear and resignation on their faces. As the van came to a stop, they braced themselves for whatever came next.

***

The sedan's doors swung open, flooding the interior with harsh fluorescent light. Cricket hopped out first, her movements fluid and practiced. She turned to help Mr. Gladly, who winced as he climbed
down, his injuries making every movement painful.

As Taylor and Emma exited the vehicle, they found themselves in what appeared to be an underground parking garage. The concrete walls amplified every sound, creating an oppressive atmosphere that only heightened their anxiety.

An imposing figure strode towards them, his muscular frame covered in metal hooks and blades that seemed to shift and move of their own accord. Hookwolf, one of the Empire's most feared capes,
stopped a few feet away, his eyes narrowing as he took in the group.

"Cricket," he growled, "where's your mask? You know better than to show your face during an op."

Cricket shrugged, her voice raspy as she replied, "Had to ditch it. PRT was too close for comfort. Didn't want to risk getting ID'd."

Hookwolf grunted, clearly not pleased but accepting the explanation. His gaze swept over the captives, lingering on Mr. Gladly's battered form. "The fuck happened here? I thought we were grabbing a
couple of high school girls, not some dorky scrub."

"That 'dorky scrub' is the reason we made it out clean," Cricket shot back, a hint of respect in her tone. "He's the one who held off Oni Lee until I could get there."

Hookwolf's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise etched on his face. He turned to Mr. Gladly, who was doing his best to stand straight despite the pain. "That true? You went toe-to-toe with Oni Lee?" His
voice held a mix of skepticism and grudging admiration.

Gladly cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "I wouldn't say toe-to-toe. More like... momentary distraction."

"What's your power?" Hookwolf demanded, leaning in closer.

Mr. Gladly managed a weak smile. "Just a slightly overinflated sense of duty to my students, I'm afraid."

For a moment, silence reigned in the garage. Then Hookwolf barked out a laugh, genuine amusement in his voice. "You're shitting me. You took on a cape with no powers?" He shook his head, still
chuckling. "How'd that work out for you?"

"Well," Gladly admitted, wincing as he gestured to his injuries, "about as well as you'd expect. But I did get one good shot in."

Hookwolf stared at him for a long moment, then burst into uproarious laughter. He slapped Gladly on the back, nearly knocking the smaller man over. "Oh man, I am never letting that little fucker live this
down. A normie civvie got a hit in? Priceless."

As Hookwolf's laughter echoed through the garage, Taylor and Emma exchanged confused glances. This wasn't at all how they'd expected this encounter to go.

Still chuckling, Hookwolf turned back to Mr. Gladly. "You've got balls, teach. You're welcome to come by my ring anytime. We could use someone with your... What'd you call it? Overinflated sense of duty?"

Gladly managed a weak smile. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll stick to the classroom. Less chance of, well..." He gestured to his injuries.

Hookwolf shrugged. "Suit yourself. Your loss."

Cricket, who had been watching the exchange with interest, seemed to deflate slightly at Gladly's refusal. She quickly masked her disappointment, but not before Taylor caught a glimpse of it.

Hookwolf's laughter subsided, and he fixed Taylor with a piercing gaze. "Kaiser himself will be here soon with Victor and Othala. Best behavior, kids."

Taylor swallowed hard, her mind racing. "We don't want any trouble," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Hookwolf snorted. "If you didn't want trouble, you should've been a hell of a lot more subtle than you've been. Changing an entire school? Did you think no one would notice?"

Before Taylor could respond, the sound of tires on concrete echoed through the garage. A nondescript SUV pulled in, its headlights momentarily blinding the group.

The driver's door opened, and Victor stepped out, his costume a mix of deep reds and blacks. He moved around to the passenger side, opening the door with a flourish. Othala emerged, her costume a
striking contrast of white and red.

Othala's eyes swept over the group, quickly assessing their condition. She moved towards Cricket first, but the scarred cape waved her off.

"Heal Gladly," Cricket rasped. "He needs it more than me."

Othala sighed, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "One of these days, I'm going to heal you fully, Cricket. It's an insult to my abilities to have a member of the Empire walking around with such scars."

Cricket rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We've been over this. My scars, my choice."

It was clearly an old argument between them, one that neither seemed inclined to truly resolve. Othala shook her head and moved to Mr. Gladly, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable with the
situation.

As Othala began to work her power on the teacher, a metallic clanking sound drew everyone's attention. The SUV's back door opened, and a figure stepped out, gleaming in the harsh fluorescent lights.

Kaiser, in his full regalia, cut an imposing figure. His armor was a masterpiece of interlocking metal plates, each one razor-sharp and perfectly formed. The metal seemed to ripple as he moved, catching
the light in mesmerizing patterns.

He strode towards the group, his presence commanding immediate attention. Even Hookwolf straightened up slightly, a grudging respect evident in his posture.

Kaiser's gaze swept over the assembled group, lingering on Taylor and Emma. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and cultured, at odds with his fearsome appearance.

Kaiser's metallic armor clinked softly as he approached Taylor and Emma. His voice, smooth and cultured, carried a note of genuine concern. "I'm relieved to see you both unharmed. I apologize that these
precautions were necessary, but with the ABB's presence in our city, one can never be too careful."

He turned to Mr. Gladly, who was still being tended to by Othala. "I must commend you, sir, for your valiant defense of your students. It's rare to see such dedication these days."

Gladly, looking considerably better as Othala's power worked its magic, managed a weak smile. "Just doing my job," he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable with praise from the leader of a neo-Nazi
organization.

Taylor felt a confusing mix of emotions swirling within her. On one hand, Kaiser and his people had just saved them from the ABB. On the other, everything they stood for went against her core beliefs. She
swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For helping us."

Kaiser nodded, his mask hiding any expression. "You were fortunate that Cricket was nearby this time. But luck isn't something you can rely on indefinitely, Miss Hebert. You need to make a choice soon."

Taylor's brow furrowed. "Maybe... maybe I should have stayed. I just panicked when Cricket showed up and went with her."

"If you wish to turn yourself in," Kaiser said, his tone neutral, "the best options would be either Dauntless or Miss Militia. They have reputations for being fair-minded, even with those who have made...
questionable choices."

Anger flared in Taylor's chest. "So you protect me, then try to get rid of me?" she snapped, her fear momentarily forgotten.

To her surprise, Kaiser chuckled. The sound was oddly human coming from behind his imposing mask. "Not at all, Miss Hebert. The Empire would welcome you with open arms. But this isn't a decision to
be made lightly. You need to be sure."

He paused, seeming to consider his next words carefully. "Go home. Talk to people you trust. Think about what you truly want for yourself and for this city. We'll be here when you're ready to make your
choice."

Emma, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange, finally spoke up. "What about me? I'm not a cape, but I've been helping Taylor."

Kaiser turned to her, his mask gleaming in the harsh garage lighting. "Miss Barnes, your loyalty to your friend is admirable. But you need to consider your own future as well. The path of a cape's associate
can be just as dangerous as that of the cape themselves."

He gestured to Cricket and Hookwolf. "My people will ensure you both get home safely. Take some time to process what's happened today. And remember, whatever you decide, discretion is paramount."

Taylor nodded, her mind racing. Part of her wanted to refuse any help from the Empire, to run out of the garage and straight to the PRT building. But another part, a part she wasn't entirely comfortable
acknowledging, was curious about what Kaiser and his people could offer.

As if reading her thoughts, Kaiser spoke again, his voice softer now. "I know you have reservations about us, Miss Hebert. But consider this: with your abilities, you could make real, lasting changes in this
city. Changes that the PRT, bound by red tape and bureaucracy, could never hope to achieve."

Kaiser gestured for Taylor and Emma to take a seat on some nearby crates. "Othala's regeneration is quite thorough, but it does take time. While we wait, feel free to ask any questions you may have."

Taylor hesitated, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Finally, she spoke up, her voice tentative. "What if... what if I wanted to ally with the Empire, but not actually join?"

Kaiser tilted his head, considering her words. "Normally, that would be a non-starter. The Empire isn't in the habit of offering protection without full commitment." He paused, his metallic fingers tapping
against his armored thigh. "However, you're a Tinker, Miss Hebert. That changes the equation somewhat."

Emma leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "How so?"

"Tinkers are valuable assets," Kaiser explained. "Their creations can shift the balance of power in significant ways. If Miss Hebert were willing to provide us with some of her Tinkertech on request, we
might be able to come to an arrangement."

Taylor's brow furrowed. "What kind of arrangement?"

Kaiser's voice took on a more businesslike tone. "Protection, for one. The ABB wouldn't dare touch you or your family if they knew you were under our aegis. We could also provide resources - materials for
your work, lab space if needed, even funding for your projects at Winslow."

Taylor felt a mix of temptation and unease. The offer was attractive, but the implications... "And what would you want in return?"

"As I said, access to some of your Tinkertech. Nothing too onerous - perhaps a few devices every month, or assistance with specific projects. We'd negotiate the details, of course."

Emma spoke up, her voice hesitant. "What about... what about the Empire's ideology? Would Taylor have to, you know...?"

Kaiser shook his head. "We wouldn't ask Miss Hebert to change her beliefs or participate in any activities she found objectionable. This would be a business arrangement, nothing more."

Taylor bit her lip, considering. "And if I refused to make something you wanted? Or if I didn't want to work with you anymore?"

Kaiser's voice hardened slightly. "Then our arrangement would end. You'd no longer have our protection, but we wouldn't move against you unless provoked." He leaned forward, his mask gleaming in the
harsh light. "However, I must warn you - using your technology deliberately against Empire interests would void any protection and make you our enemy. We take betrayal very seriously."

The threat, though veiled, was clear. Taylor swallowed hard. "I understand."

Kaiser nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Now, do you have any other questions?"

Taylor thought for a moment. "What about the PRT? Wouldn't they notice if I suddenly had Empire protection?"

"Ah, a prudent question," Kaiser said, approval in his voice. "We would be... discreet. Our protection wouldn't be overt. The PRT might suspect, but they'd have no proof. And frankly, they have bigger
concerns than a Tinker who's making her school better."

Emma chimed in. "What about Taylor's dad? Or my parents? Would they be in danger?"

Kaiser shook his head. "On the contrary. Our protection would extend to your families as well. They needn't know the details, of course. But they would be safer than they are now."

Taylor's mind was whirling with possibilities and potential pitfalls. She glanced at Mr. Gladly, who was looking much better thanks to Othala's power. He caught her eye and gave a small, uncertain smile.

"I... I need time to think about this," Taylor said finally.

Kaiser nodded. "Of course. This isn't a decision to be made lightly. Take the time you need. But remember, the offer won't stand indefinitely. The balance of power in Brockton Bay is always shifting."

As if to underscore his point, the sound of distant sirens suddenly became audible. Kaiser tilted his head, listening. "It seems our time is up. Hookwolf ensure our guests get home safely. Miss Hebert, Miss
Barnes - I look forward to hearing your decision."

Taylor, Emma, and Mr. Gladly followed Hookwolf to a black SUV with heavily tinted windows. The vehicle was surprisingly clean inside, with leather seats that still held that new car smell.

"Front seat's mine," Hookwolf grunted, sliding behind the wheel. "Rest of you in the back."

They piled in, Emma taking the middle seat between Taylor and Mr. Gladly. The engine purred to life, and they pulled out of the garage into the darkening evening.

Taylor noticed her hands were still shaking slightly. Emma must have noticed too, because she reached over and gave Taylor's hand a quick squeeze.

Mr. Gladly cleared his throat. "I, uh, don't suppose we could stop by the school? My car's still in the parking lot."

"Already taken care of," Hookwolf replied, not taking his eyes off the road. "We got a guy hot-wiring it and driving it to your place."

The drive continued in awkward silence, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. Through the tinted windows, Taylor watched the familiar streets of Brockton
Bay slide past, looking somehow different in the growing twilight.

***

As the SUV carrying Taylor, Emma, and Mr. Gladly pulled away, Kaiser turned to his assembled lieutenants in the underground garage. His metal mask gleamed in the harsh fluorescent lighting as he
addressed Cricket.

"Well done, Cricket. Your performance was flawless," Kaiser said, his voice carrying a note of approval. "Your willingness to show your face and the natural way you found an excuse to do so... it was
perfect. It lent an air of authenticity that I doubt even the most suspicious mind could question."

Cricket nodded, her scarred throat working as she swallowed. "Thanks, boss. Figured the teacher would be more likely to open up if he could see a face."

Othala, standing nearby with her husband Victor, grinned mischievously. "Oh? And I'm sure that was the only reason you were so eager to chat with Mr. Gladly, hmm?"

Cricket's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch it, princess."

Kaiser held up a hand, forestalling any further banter. "Now, now. Let's focus on the matter at hand." He turned to Victor, his tone becoming more businesslike. "What are your thoughts on how it went?"

Victor considered for a moment before responding. "The soft-sell approach seems to be working well. They're clearly intrigued by the offer, and the lack of overt pressure gives them the illusion of
choice." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "That said, it's still a risky play. Taylor Hebert strikes me as the idealistic type. There's a good chance she'll try to find a way out of this, or worse, attempt
to play both sides."

Kaiser nodded slowly, absorbing Victor's assessment. "A fair point. But the potential payoff... it could be extraordinary. A Tinker with her abilities, working for us? The balance of power in Brockton Bay would shift dramatically in our favor."

"And if she proves to be more trouble than she's worth?" Othala asked, her voice laced with concern.

A cold smile played across Kaiser's lips, visible even through his mask. "Then we have other options. Krieg has already informed me that Gesellschaft has expressed significant interest in our young Tinker.
If push comes to shove, we can always trade her to them in exchange for favors or resources."

Cricket shifted uncomfortably at this, but remained silent. Victor, however, spoke up. "Are we sure that's wise? Gesellschaft isn't known for their... gentle touch. If word got out that we handed over a
teenage girl to them..."

Kaiser waved a dismissive hand. "A concern for another day, if it comes to that. For now, we focus on bringing her into the fold willingly. The carrot, not the stick."

He turned back to Cricket. "You've made an excellent start in building rapport. I want you to continue cultivating a relationship with both Taylor and that teacher, Mr. Gladly. He could prove to be a useful
ally or, at the very least, another point of leverage."

Cricket nodded, her expression unreadable. "Got it, boss. Anything specific you want me to do?"

"For now, just be yourself," Kaiser replied. "Or rather, the version of yourself you showed them today. Let them see the human side of the Empire. Make them comfortable with the idea of working with us."

Othala chimed in, a hint of excitement in her voice. "Oh! I could offer to finish healing Mr. Gladly. That would give us another excuse to make contact, and it would reinforce the image of us as helpful and
reasonable."

Kaiser nodded approvingly. "Excellent idea, Othala. See to it."

He looked around at his assembled lieutenants, his posture straightening as he prepared to conclude the meeting. "Remember, subtlety is key here. We're playing a long game. No overt pressure, no
threats. We want Taylor Hebert to come to us of her own free will. That will make her loyalty all the stronger in the long run."

As the group began to disperse, Othala fell into step beside Cricket, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So," she began, her voice low and teasing, "that teacher made quite an impression on you, didn't he?"

Cricket's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Drop it, Othala. I'm not in the mood."

But Othala was undeterred. "Oh come on, I saw the way you were looking at him. And volunteering to have him healed first? That's not like you at all."

Cricket growled low in her throat, but there was a hint of color rising in her cheeks. "He fought Oni Lee with no powers. That deserves respect."

"Mhm, respect. Is that what we're calling it now?" Othala grinned, then her expression softened. "You know, if you're interested, I could help you put your best foot forward. A little makeup, maybe a new
outfit..."

Cricket stopped short, turning to face Othala with a scowl. "Do I look like the type who gives a shit about that kind of thing? I am who I am. If he can't handle that, then fuck him."

Othala held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, easy there. I'm not talking about changing who you are. It's not about hiding things, it's about putting focus on what you want to show.
Highlighting your strengths, you know?"

Cricket's stance relaxed slightly, but skepticism still clouded her features. "And what exactly do you think my 'strengths' are in this department?"

"Well, for starters, you're tough as nails and you don't take shit from anyone. That's attractive to a lot of guys," Othala said. "And when you're not scowling, you've got a great smile. We could work with
that."

Cricket snorted, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes now. "Fine. But if you try to put me in a dress, I'm out."

Othala laughed. "Deal. Now come on, let's get in the car before the boys leave without us."

As they climbed into the vehicle, Kaiser pulled Victor aside, his voice low and serious. "I want you to brush up on your anti-Master training. We can't be too careful with this one."

Victor nodded, his expression grave. "Understood. I'll start reviewing the protocols tonight."

Once they were settled in the car and had a modicum of privacy, Victor leaned in closer to Kaiser. "There's something else you should know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Krieg has been
pushing hard for us to send Taylor to Gesellschaft. They're offering five of their 'farm' capes, like Night and Fog, in exchange for her."

Kaiser's jaw tightened beneath his mask. "Five? They insult us. Taylor is worth far more than that."

Victor nodded in agreement. "I thought you'd see it that way. What do you want me to tell Krieg?"

"Tell him nothing for now," Kaiser replied. "I have plans for Taylor, plans that don't involve shipping her off to Europe. But we may be able to use Gesellschaft's interest to our advantage."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Kaiser's eyes gleamed with calculation. "I want you to get Toybox's contact information. I'll be making a request from them soon."

"Toybox?" Victor's surprise was evident. "That's... unexpected. What are you thinking?"

Kaiser smiled thinly. "Let's just say I believe in hedging our bets. Taylor's abilities could revolutionize our recruitment and training processes. But if we can acquire some of Toybox's tech as well... well,
that opens up even more possibilities."

Victor nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "And if Gesellschaft thinks we're courting other Tinkers..."

"Exactly," Kaiser said. "They might be motivated to sweeten their offer. Not that we intend to accept, of course. But it never hurts to have options."

As they settled into the car, Kaiser's mind raced with possibilities. Taylor Hebert represented a potential turning point for the Empire, and he was determined to make the most of this opportunity. Whether
through persuasion or manipulation, he would bring her into the fold. And if all else failed... well, he hadn't risen to his position by being unprepared.

Chapter Text

Director Piggot strode into the PRT meeting room, her deputy director Rennick close behind. The assembled Protectorate heroes turned to face her- Miss Militia, Assault, Battery, Dauntless, Triumph, and Armsmaster. Aegis, the Wards leader, sat quietly to observe.

"Let's get started," Piggot said brusquely, taking her seat. "What happened at Winslow?"

Armsmaster stood, activating a holographic display. "At approximately 4:45 PM, we received an alert about Oni Lee's presence at Winslow High School. I arrived on scene within 12 minutes to find several
ABB members incapacitated."

He held up a small spherical device. "This appears to be the cause. It is a non-lethal incapacitation device with an effective radius of about 15 feet. Quite an impressive piece of technology."

Armsmaster's voice held a hint of admiration. "I have already begun incorporating aspects of its design into my halberd. It should prove highly effective against close-range combatants."

Piggot's eyes narrowed. "So we're dealing with a new Tinker in the Bay."

"That appears to be the case, yes," Armsmaster confirmed.

"Do we have any leads on their identity?" Piggot pressed.

Armsmaster nodded, bringing up three images on the display. "We've identified three primary persons of interest: Emma Barnes, Taylor Hebert, and Gerald Gladly, a teacher at Winslow."

Miss Militia leaned forward, studying the images. "Why these three specifically?"

"Interrogation of the captured ABB members revealed their mission was to abduct Barnes and Hebert," Armsmaster explained. "Gladly intervened, wearing some form of costume. He engaged Oni Lee
directly."

Assault whistled. "Gutsy move."

"Indeed," Armsmaster continued. "The ABB members report watching this confrontation when they were suddenly struck with intense vertigo, causing them all to collapse. Some mentioned the possibility
of a fourth individual arriving, but accounts are inconsistent."

Battery frowned. "So the Tinker could be one of these three, or potentially this unknown fourth person?"

"Correct," Armsmaster nodded. "We found blood samples from three different individuals at the scene, but we have not been able to confirm identities yet."

Piggot drummed her fingers on the table. "What do we know about these three?"

Triumph spoke up. "I've been looking into their backgrounds. Emma Barnes is a sophomore at Winslow, daughter of Alan Barnes- a moderately successful lawyer. No prior incidents or suspicious activity."

"Taylor Hebert," Miss Militia continued, "also a sophomore. Her mother died in a murder-suicide about a year and a half ago. Father works for the Dockworkers Union. Recently elected president of the
union. Again, nothing particularly noteworthy in her file."

"And Gladly?" Piggot prompted.

Dauntless pulled up a personnel file. "Gerald Gladly, 24, World history teacher at Winslow, New hire this year. Well-liked by his students, no disciplinary issues. Nothing in his background suggests cape
activity or Tinker abilities."

Piggot frowned. "So we have three seemingly ordinary individuals, one of whom may be a powerful new Tinker."

Director Piggot's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the room. "Armsmaster, give me your best guess. Who do you think is our Tinker?"

Armsmaster paused, his helmet's visor glinting in the fluorescent light. "Based on the available data, I would estimate with 70% probability that Taylor Hebert is our Tinker, 20% for Gerald Gladly, and 10%
for Emma Barnes."

"Explain your reasoning," Piggot demanded.

"Gladly moved to Brockton Bay fairly recently," Armsmaster began. "A Tinker typically requires more time for setup and establishing a workshop. Barnes' modeling career consumes a significant portion of
her time, making extensive Tinkering difficult. Hebert, on the other hand, has the most available time."

He gestured to the holographic display. "Additionally, the fact that the incapacitation device appears to have been with the girls initially strongly indicates one of them as the source. Hebert simply fits the
profile better."

Battery leaned forward. "But all three fled the scene before we arrived. Doesn't that implicate them equally?"

Armsmaster nodded. "True, but consider this - one of them calls to the PRT hotline came from Gladly's cell phone. Why call for help, then flee?"

"Maybe he panicked," Assault suggested. "Or maybe our Tinker has some way to influence people. That could explain a lot."

The room fell silent as they considered the implications. Aegis, who had been quiet until now, cleared his throat. "There's something else we should consider. Winslow's academic performance has
improved dramatically this year. Could that be related?"

Piggot frowned, a vague memory surfacing. "I recall a report about that. Rennick, pull it up."

The deputy director tapped at his tablet, then looked confused. "It's here, but... it's locked at low priority status."

"Override it," Piggot ordered.

Armsmaster interfaced with the system. "Done. It's now flagged as high priority."

The room was silent as everyone studiously avoided mentioning Piggot's oversight. The tension grew palpable until Miss Militia finally spoke.

"This changes things significantly," she said, studying the newly unlocked report. "If this Tinker has been influencing an entire school..."

Piggot's jaw clenched. "It means we're dealing with a Master/Tinker combination. Potentially far more dangerous than we initially thought."

"The improvement seems largely positive," Triumph noted cautiously. "Better grades, reduced disciplinary issues, improved athletic performance."

"That doesn't matter," Piggot snapped. "Any widespread mental influence is a severe threat, regardless of apparent benefits."

Aegis shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face noticeably paler than usual. The young Ward cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room.

"There's... something else you should know," he said hesitantly. "Kid Win got one of those study guides."

Assault's eyebrows shot up. "How'd he manage that?"

Aegis sighed. "Winslow is still Winslow. Some students will sell their copies. Word's gotten around about how effective they are."

Director Piggot's eyes narrowed dangerously. She turned to Armsmaster. "I want you to examine that study guide. Find out everything you can about it."

The Tinker nodded sharply. "I will begin the analysis immediately."

Piggot shifted her gaze to her deputy. "Rennick, light a fire under the lab. I want those blood samples analyzed as quickly as possible."

"Yes, ma'am," Rennick replied, already tapping away at his tablet.

Aegis spoke up again, his voice steadier now. "If Winslow follows the same schedule as Arcadia, tomorrow should be a teacher workday."

Piggot nodded, a hint of approval in her expression. "Good catch, Aegis. That gives us an opportunity."

She turned to Assault and Battery. "You two will go to Winslow tomorrow. Talk to the teachers while Hebert and Barnes aren't around. See what you can find out."

The pair nodded in unison. Piggot continued, "Triumph, you'll shadow them. You're newly promoted to the Protectorate and need more training on these matters."

Triumph straightened in his chair. "Understood, Director."

Piggot's gaze swept the room once more. "Miss Militia, I want you to squeeze more information out of those captured ABB members. Judges really don't like weapons on school campuses, even at Winslow.
Some of those gang members likely attend the school and might have more information. Lean on them hard."

Miss Militia nodded grimly. "I'll see what I can uncover."

"Dauntless," Piggot continued, "bring Velocity up to speed and take patrols tomorrow. We can't neglect our regular duties while investigating this."

Dauntless saluted crisply. "Yes, ma'am."

Piggot leaned back in her chair, her expression stern. "We'll reconvene tomorrow to discuss what we've learned. This situation has the potential to escalate quickly. I want everyone on their toes."

The assembled heroes nodded, the gravity of the situation settling over the room.

"One more thing," Piggot added, her voice sharp. "This information doesn't leave this room. The last thing we need is public panic over a potential Master situation at a high school."

She looked each person in the eye, receiving nods of acknowledgment. "Dismissed."

As the heroes filed out of the room, Armsmaster lingered behind. He approached Piggot, his voice low. "Director, there is something else we should consider."

Piggot raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

Armsmaster's voice lowered as he addressed Director Piggot. " The ABB were already aware of this Tinker's existence, and their intelligence operations typically lag behind other gangs in the city."

Piggot's brow furrowed. "You're right. If they knew, it's likely the other major players are already aware as well."

"Exactly," Armsmaster nodded. "But there's more. While the incapacitation device was effective against the ABB gang members, Oni Lee was not found at the scene."

"You think he escaped?" Piggot asked.

"It is possible, but unlikely," Armsmaster replied. "Given Oni Lee's abilities and reputation, it is more probable that he was driven off by someone else. The mysterious fourth individual mentioned in some
accounts."

Piggot's eyes narrowed. "And you believe this person to be significant?"

"Very," Armsmaster confirmed. "There are few capes in Brockton Bay capable of taking on Oni Lee solo. Most of those outside of ourselves, who could are affiliated with the Empire Eighty-Eight."

The implications hung heavy in the air. Piggot leaned back in her chair, her expression grim. "You're suggesting our new Tinker might already be aligned with the Empire."

Armsmaster nodded. "It is a strong possibility we need to consider. If true, it significantly changes the dynamics of the situation."

Piggot rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. "This complicates things. If the Empire is involved, we'll need to tread carefully. The last thing we need is to provoke a gang war over this Tinker.
Let's get to the bottom of this quickly."

"Yes, Ma'am."

***

Mush surveyed his newly renovated office space with a sense of pride. Gone were the filthy, graffiti-covered walls and trash-strewn floors. In their place stood clean, off-white walls adorned with motivational posters and a polished linoleum floor. He'd even managed to scrounge up some decent office furniture from abandoned buildings around the Docks.

Whirlygig, his newly appointed lieutenant, sat across from him, her legs crossed as she flipped through a stack of reports. "Distribution is up 15% this month," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice.
"How'd you manage that?"

Mush leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Organization, my dear. It's amazing what a little structure can do for productivity."

He'd been slowly but surely reshaping the Merchants from within. Gone were the days of chaotic drug-fueled rampages. Under his covert leadership, the gang was becoming a well-oiled machine,
expanding their territory and influence without drawing undue attention.

"What about Skidmark?" Whirlygig asked, her brow furrowing. "He hasn't been seen in weeks."

Mush waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, he's still in charge. Officially, anyway. I've just been... facilitating his visionary leadership."

In truth, Mush had been keeping Skidmark and Squealer well-supplied with their drug of choice, along with a steady stream of the Winslow "special" study guides. The combination had sent the pair into a
perpetual state of drug-addled paranoia and manic creativity.

"Speaking of our illustrious leaders," Mush said, rising from his chair, "let's go check on their latest project, shall we?"

He led Whirlygig through the winding corridors of their base, passing by clean-cut gang members who nodded respectfully as they passed. When they reached the massive garage that served as Squealer's
workshop, Mush paused, bracing himself for whatever madness lay beyond.

As the doors slid open, a cacophony of clanging metal and maniacal laughter assaulted their ears. In the center of the cavernous space stood a monstrosity that defied description.

It appeared to be a cross between a monster truck, a mobile library, and something out of a post-apocalyptic fever dream. The vehicle's massive wheels were adorned with spikes and what looked like
sharpened book spines. A grotesque bookshelf-like structure dominated the rear, filled with a haphazard array of study guides and various mechanical components.

Skidmark stood atop the contraption, waving his arms wildly as he shouted directions to Squealer, who was welding something to the front bumper. "No, no, no! The plasma cannon goes next to the card
catalog, you illiterate fuck!"

Squealer's muffled voice came from beneath her welding mask. "But the Dewey Decimal System says it should go under 'P' for 'Pew Pew,' baby!"

Mush and Whirlygig exchanged bemused glances. "What exactly are we looking at here?" Whirlygig asked, her voice a mix of awe and confusion.

Skidmark whirled around, his eyes wide and unfocused. "It's the future of warfare and education.

Mush nodded sagely, as if Skidmark's ravings made perfect sense. "Of course, of course. The future of warfare and education. How... Innovative."

Skidmark's eyes lit up, clearly thrilled to have an audience. He scrambled down from his perch, nearly tumbling headfirst onto the concrete floor before catching himself at the last second. "Mush, my man!
You get it, don't you? This baby's gonna revolutionize everything!"

He gestured wildly at the vehicular monstrosity behind him. "We call her the 'Bookmobile of Doom.' Part tank, part library, all badass! We're gonna roll up on those Empire fucks and blow their minds...
literally and figuratively!"

Squealer popped up from behind a pile of scrap metal, her face smeared with grease and her hair sticking up in all directions. "Yeah! And check this out!" She pressed a button on a nearby console, and a
series of panels on the vehicle's side flipped open, revealing rows upon rows of books. "Instant knowledge dispersal system! We'll be raining wisdom down on the masses while we crush our enemies!"

Whirlygig leaned in close to Mush, whispering, "Are they serious?"

Mush plastered on his best poker face and whispered back, "Just smile and nod. It's easier that way."

Skidmark was now pacing back and forth, his words tumbling out in a frenzied rush. "See, we've been thinking too small. Why just sell drugs when we can peddle the most addictive substance of all...
knowledge!" He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes wide and manic. "But not just any knowledge. We're talking turbocharged, tinker-enhanced, mind-blowing knowledge!"

He grabbed a handful of study guides from a nearby table and waved them in the air. "These babies are the key! We've been using them ourselves, and let me tell you, the results are fucking amazing! I can
recite the entire periodic table backwards while solving differential equations and writing Shakespearean sonnets!"

Squealer chimed in, "And I've designed a new engine that runs on pure abstract thought! We're gonna leave those other gangs in the dust, both intellectually and literally!"

Mush nodded along, trying to keep the bemused expression off his face. "That's... certainly ambitious. And how exactly do you plan to, uh, implement this grand vision?"

Skidmark's grin widened to almost manic proportions. "I'm so glad you asked! Picture this: we roll up to a school, right? But instead of dealing drugs, we're dealing knowledge bombs! We'll have a drive-
thru window for quick study sessions, a rooftop lecture hall for impromptu TED talks, and a built-in printing press to mass-produce these miracle guides!"

Squealer jumped in, her eyes shining with excitement. "And that's not even the best part! Tell 'em about the secret weapon, baby!"

"Oh yeah!" Skidmark rubbed his hands together gleefully. "We've developed a new super-drug. We call it 'Brain Boost.' One hit of this, and you'll be speaking in iambic pentameter and solving Fermat's Last
Theorem before you can say 'cognitive enhancement'!"

Whirlygig couldn't help herself. "Isn't that... kind of against the whole 'education' thing you're going for?"

Skidmark waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, nah, you don't get it. This isn't some street drug. This is pharmaceutical-grade genius juice! We're not creating addicts; we're creating the next generation of
super-geniuses!"

Mush nodded along, his expression a masterpiece of feigned interest and approval. "Well, it certainly sounds... revolutionary. You've clearly put a lot of thought into this."

"Thought?" Skidmark laughed. "We've transcended thought, man! We're operating on a whole new plane of existence now. Reality is our playground, and knowledge is our jungle gym!"

Squealer had returned to her welding, calling out over her shoulder, "We're gonna need more books though. Can you guys hit up some libraries or something? We're running low on fuel for the quantum
bibliography engine."

Mush seized the opportunity. "Absolutely! We'll get right on that. In fact, why don't we leave you two to your... important work? We wouldn't want to distract you from your brilliance."

Skidmark nodded vigorously. "Good thinking, my man! The wheels of progress wait for no one! We've got a whole city to educate and blow up... or maybe blow up and then educate. We're still working out
the order of operations."

As Mush and Whirlygig backed slowly towards the exit, Squealer called out one last time, "Oh, and if you see any math teachers, bring 'em back alive! We need to pick their brains... figuratively speaking, of
course. Maybe."

The door slid shut behind them, muffling the sound of maniacal laughter and power tools. Mush and Whirlygig stood in silence for a moment, processing what they'd just witnessed.

Mush led Whirlygig back to his office, shaking his head in bemused disbelief. As they entered the meticulously organized space, he gestured for her to take a seat while he settled behind his desk.

"So," Whirlygig said, her voice a mix of awe and confusion, "that was... something."

Mush chuckled, reaching for a leather-bound notebook on his desk. "Welcome to the wonderful world of upper management in the Merchants, kid. Now you see why I've been making some... executive
decisions."

He patted the notebook affectionately. It was one of the Winslow study guides, but not just any ordinary copy. This was a special administrator version, filled with advanced organizational techniques and
leadership strategies taken from one of Winslow's Vice Principals that needed to pay for a particular habit. Mush had been using it religiously, and the results spoke for themselves.

"This right here," he said, tapping the cover, "is our secret weapon. Well, one of them, anyway."

Whirlygig leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Mush opened the notebook, revealing pages filled with intricate diagrams and neatly written notes. "See, while Skidmark and Squealer are off in la-la land with their... Whatever that was, I've been using
these guides to reshape the Merchants from the ground up."

He flipped through the pages, pointing out various sections. "Improved distribution networks, streamlined recruitment processes, even a rudimentary R&D department. We're not just some ragtag group of
junkies anymore. We're becoming a well-oiled machine."

Whirlygig's eyes widened as she took in the information. "That's... impressive. But what about the drugs? Aren't we still primarily a drug-running operation?"

Mush nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Oh, we're still in the pharmaceutical business, alright. But we're taking a more... scientific approach these days."

He pulled out another notebook, this one filled with charts and chemical formulas. "I've been running experiments, seeing how different drugs interact with the study guides. The results have been
fascinating, to say the least."

Whirlygig frowned. "You've been experimenting on our own people?"

Mush waved a hand dismissively. "Not on anyone worth anything, I assure you. Just carefully controlled tests on willing volunteers. Some of our more... enthusiastic followers have been quite eager to
participate."

He leaned back in his chair, a look of pride on his face. "We've discovered some truly remarkable combinations. Certain stimulants, when paired with specific study guides, can enhance cognitive function
and information retention to an astonishing degree. It's like unlocking hidden potential in the human brain."

Whirlygig looked skeptical. "And you're sure this is safe?"

Mush shrugged. "As safe as any drug can be, I suppose. We're not forcing anyone to participate, and we're monitoring the effects closely. But the potential benefits are enormous."

He stood up and walked to a large map of Brockton Bay pinned to the wall. "Just imagine the possibilities. We could create a new class of super-intelligent drug users. People who are not only loyal to the
Merchants but who could actually contribute to our operations in meaningful ways. And we will be the only ones who know how to supply them."

Whirlygig followed his gaze, her mind racing with the implications. "That's... ambitious. But what about the other gangs? The heroes? Won't they notice if we start suddenly producing geniuses?"

Mush nodded approvingly. "Good question. That's why we're taking things slow and steady. No sudden moves, no flashy displays. We build our strength quietly, from the shadows."

He turned back to face Whirlygig, his expression serious. "Which brings me to an important point. We can't go after the Tinker responsible for these guides. At least, not yet."

Whirlygig's eyebrows shot up. "Really? I would have thought nabbing that Tinker would be a top priority."

Mush shook his head. "It would bring too much heat, too quickly. The Empire, the ABB, the Protectorate – they'd all come down on us like a ton of bricks. No, for now, we play it cool. We use what we have,
expand our influence gradually, and bide our time."

He walked back to his desk and picked up the administrator's guide. "Besides, we don't need the Tinker when we have these. They're the real goldmine, and we're just scratching the surface of their
potential."

Whirlygig nodded slowly, beginning to understand the scope of Mush's vision. "So what's our next move?"

Mush grinned, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "We expand. Carefully, methodically, but relentlessly. We identify key areas for growth, recruit strategically, and start implementing some of our more...
innovative ideas."

He gestured to a stack of folders on his desk. "I've got plans for everything from improved drug synthesis techniques to legitimate business fronts. We're going to diversify our operations, strengthen our
infrastructure, and position ourselves for long-term success."

Whirlygig couldn't help but be impressed by Mush's ambition and foresight. It was a far cry from the chaotic, day-to-day existence the Merchants had been known for. "And Skidmark and Squealer?" she
asked. "What about their... projects?"

Mush chuckled. "We'll let them have their fun for now. Who knows? Maybe some of their crazy ideas will actually pan out. In the meantime, we'll be the ones really running the show."

***

The next afternoon, the Protectorate heroes gathered once again in the conference room at PRT headquarters. Director Piggot sat at the head of the table, her expression grim as she surveyed the assembled capes. Velocity had joined them this time, taking Dauntless' place while he was out on patrol.

"Alright," Piggot began, "let's hear what you've all found out. Armsmaster, you start."

Armsmaster stood, his armor gleaming under the fluorescent lights. "I have completed my analysis of the study guides," he said, his voice clipped and efficient. "The books use a special UV ink that is
invisible to the naked eye but can be subconsciously read by the human brain. This ink appears to trigger new mental states in the reader."

Piggot leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Can you elaborate on that? What exactly do you mean by 'new mental states'?"

Armsmaster nodded. "The books alter the user's mindset in a manner similar to how music is used in retail stores to influence moods and encourage buying behavior. However, the effect of these books is an order of magnitude stronger than such mundane methods."

"Are we talking about mind control here?" Miss Militia asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Not exactly," Armsmaster replied. "While the books are capable of modifying behavior, they do not appear to be strong enough to exert direct control over an individual. It's more of a subtle influence,
nudging thoughts and attitudes in certain directions."

Piggot's frown deepened. "And what about Kid Win? You mentioned he had one of these guides?"

"Kid Win is currently undergoing Master/Stranger screening as a precaution," Armsmaster said. "Preliminary results show no signs of overt manipulation, but we are being thorough."

The Director nodded, then turned to her deputy. "Rennick, what about those blood samples?"

Rennick cleared his throat. "We've managed to identify two of the three blood samples found at the scene. One belonged to Oni Lee, and the second to Cricket of the Empire Eighty-Eight."

A murmur went through the room at this revelation. Piggot held up a hand for silence. "And the third?"

"We don't have an exact match," Rennick continued, "but given its position at the scene and the blood type, we're fairly confident it belongs to Mr. Gladly."

Piggot turned to Assault and Battery. "What did you find out at the school?"

Battery spoke first. "The teachers were generally cooperative and seemed happy to show us around the school. They were eager to talk about the improvements they've seen over the past year."

Assault nodded in agreement. "Yeah, they couldn't stop gushing about rising test scores, decreased disciplinary issues, that sort of thing. But..." he trailed off, glancing at Battery.

"But what?" Piggot prompted.

Battery sighed. "But they were definitely avoiding any direct questions about Taylor Hebert or Emma Barnes. It was like they hit a wall whenever we tried to steer the conversation in that direction."

Triumph, who had been quietly observing until now, spoke up. "When we talked to Principal Blackwell, she reminded me of some of the politicians I know from my father's work as mayor. She was very
careful with her wording, stonewalling us where she could without actually refusing to cooperate."

Piggot's expression darkened. "So whatever is going on at that school, the faculty knows about it and is turning a blind eye."

Miss Militia leaned forward. "The question is, why? What could motivate an entire school administration to cover up potentially illegal parahuman activity?"

"Money," Velocity suggested. "If these study guides are improving the school's performance as much as they claim, it could mean increased funding, better rankings..."

Armsmaster shook his head. "Itis more than that. The level of improvement they're reporting would be unprecedented. This goes beyond simple academic enhancement."

Piggot drummed her fingers on the table, her mind racing. "So we have a Tinker, likely one of these girls, producing technology capable of influencing minds on a large scale. We have the Empire somehow
involved, given Cricket's blood at the scene. And we have an entire school administration complicit in whatever is going on."

Triumph leaned forward, his mask gleaming under the fluorescent lights. "There's another angle we need to consider," he said, his voice thoughtful. "If things go sideways, it'll be easy for the school staff
to claim they were under the effect of a Master. There's plenty of precedent for that type of defense."

Piggot's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"Right now, it's all reward and little risk for them," Triumph continued. "If the improvements keep coming, they look great. If it all falls apart, they can claim they were victims too. It's a win-win situation
from their perspective."

Assault nodded, a wry smile on his face. "Smart. Morally questionable, but smart."

Miss Militia cleared her throat. "I have some additional information that might shed light on the situation," she said. All eyes turned to her as she continued, "I was able to get some information out of an
ABB member named Ken. He's in the same grade as Taylor and Emma."

"What did he have to say?" Piggot asked, leaning forward.

"According to Ken, Taylor and another friend of Emma's named Sophia were at each other's throats for most of last year," Miss Militia explained. "But over the summer, something changed. They suddenly
became best friends, and Sophia became much calmer."

Armsmaster's visor glowed as he processed this information. "That aligns with the timeline of when these study guides first appeared. It could indicate when Taylor first developed her powers."

Miss Militia nodded. "Ken said things changed pretty quickly at the school from the start of this year. He mentioned it wasn't hard to put two and two together."

"Did he elaborate on what kind of changes?" Battery asked.

"He said the whole vibe of the school was changing," Miss Militia replied. "Fewer fights, better grades, even changes in student interests and behaviors. He specifically mentioned more girls taking Home
Economics classes and an increase in school spirit."

Velocity frowned. "That sounds... concerning. If these changes are as widespread as he's suggesting, we could be looking at large-scale mental manipulation."

"It is not just academic improvement," Armsmaster agreed. "This Tinker's technology seems capable of altering social dynamics and personal interests. The implications are... significant."

Piggot's face was grim as she surveyed the room. "This situation is escalating faster than we anticipated. We need to move quickly before this gets any further out of hand."

"What about the Empire's involvement?" Triumph asked. "If Cricket was at the scene, they must know about this Tinker too."

Assault nodded. "And given their resources, they might have already made contact. Hell, for all we know, they could be protecting her already."

"That complicates things," Piggot muttered. She turned to Armsmaster. "What's your assessment of the threat level here?"

Armsmaster's lips thinned into a hard line. "High and rising. If this Tinker can produce technology capable of influencing minds on this scale, the potential for abuse is enormous. In the wrong hands, it
could destabilize the entire city."

"Or beyond," Miss Militia added quietly.

A heavy silence fell over the room as the implications sank in. Piggot finally broke it, her voice hard with determination. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. Armsmaster, I want you to work on
developing some kind of countermeasure to this Tinker's technology. Even if it's just a detection method for now."

Armsmaster nodded. "I will get started immediately."

Piggot nodded grimly, her eyes narrowing as she considered the complexities of the situation. "You're right, Triumph. With the teachers clamming up, it's going to be a challenge to build a solid case
against Taylor based solely on the testimony of some ABB gang members. We need more concrete evidence."

She leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled in front of her. "Going after her at school is obviously off the table for multiple reasons. Not only would it potentially expose civilians to danger, but it could
also alert her to our suspicions and give her time to cover her tracks."

Armsmaster interjected, his voice gruff. "And we can not forget that a Tinker's workshop is their most dangerous territory. If her house is where she has set up shop, it is likely to be well-defended. We'd
be walking into a potential minefield of traps and countermeasures."

Triumph nodded, his expression serious beneath his lion-themed mask. "We need to tread carefully here. If we don't handle this cleanly, there could be substantial blowback." He paused, gathering his
thoughts before continuing. "While the Dockworkers' Union isn't the powerhouse it once was, under Danny Hebert's leadership, they've been regaining political clout. We can't afford to ignore that factor."

Miss Militia added, "And let's not forget about Alan Barnes. He might only be a middling divorce lawyer, but he's still well-respected at the same firm as Carol Dallon. That connection could complicate
things."

Assault groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Oh great, just what we need. New Wave sticking their noses into this. They love to harp on about accountability. If we mishandle this, they'll turn it into a
PR nightmare faster than you can say 'collateral damage.'"

Battery elbowed him gently, but nodded in agreement. "He's right. New Wave could make this into a real spectacle if they feel we've overstepped."

Piggot's frown deepened as she considered their options. "So we're caught between a rock and a hard place. We need to act before this situation spirals further out of control, but we can't move without
solid evidence, and gathering that evidence puts us at risk of political and public relations backlash."

Director Piggot's steely gaze swept across the room, her voice firm and unwavering. "What we need is clear, irrefutable evidence. Once we have that, we can bring the hammer down on Hebert and put an
end to this situation."

She turned to Armsmaster, her expression resolute. "I want you to go to Winslow during the weekend. See if you can find anything that will give us probable cause. We need something concrete to justify
our actions."

Armsmaster nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Understood, Director. I will do a thorough sweep of the premises."

Piggot continued, her fingers drumming on the table. "We know Hebert often visits Barnes during her modeling sessions. That location presents an opportunity. She'd be at her most defenseless there, and
it's near the Boardwalk where the gangs have the least sway. If she does have any backers, their influence would be minimal in that area."

Assault leaned forward, his brow furrowed beneath his mask. "I hate to be the one to say it, but doesn't this seem a little... extreme? We're talking about a teenager here. A stupid kid with powers who,
from what we can tell, is actually trying to help people. Sure, she's going about it the wrong way, but-"

Piggot cut him off with a sharp look. "A 'stupid kid' with the ability to manipulate minds on a massive scale. Don't underestimate the threat she poses, Assault."

Dauntless cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "Director, if I may... Hebert's tech seems like it could have some real benefits. Imagine how it could improve the performance of our PRT troopers, or even
the Protectorate and Wards. If we approached this differently, maybe we could-"

"No." Piggot's voice was cold and calm, but there was an underlying steel that brooked no argument. "I will not hand this city over on a platter to such a foolish child. The risks far outweigh any potential
benefits."

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes hard. "If Hebert is truly benign, she can accept reassignment and probationary status with another branch. But I will not keep a master in the same location as all of
her victims. The potential for disaster is too great."

The room fell silent as the weight of Piggot's words sank in. Miss Militia spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. "Director, while I understand your concerns, we need to be careful about how we approach this.
If we move too aggressively, we risk alienating a potentially powerful ally."

Piggot's expression didn't waver. "I'm well aware of the risks, Miss Militia. But the alternative is allowing an unchecked master to continue influencing an entire school - and potentially beyond. We can't
afford to take that chance."

Armsmaster nodded in agreement. "The Director is right. The scale of Hebert's influence is already concerning. If left unchecked, it could spread far beyond Winslow. We need to contain this situation
before it gets out of hand."

Battery frowned, her voice hesitant. "But what about due process? If we move against her without solid evidence, we could be opening ourselves up to legal repercussions."

Piggot's lips thinned. "That's why we need to be smart about this. We gather evidence, build our case, and then move decisively. No half measures, no room for error."

Triumph spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "What about her father? Danny Hebert is well-respected in the Dockworkers' Union. If we mishandle this, it could cause significant political blowback."

Piggot nodded, acknowledging the point. "All the more reason to make sure our case is airtight before we move. We can't afford any mistakes."

She turned back to Armsmaster. "I want you to focus on developing some kind of detection or countermeasure for Hebert's technology. Even if it's just a way to identify who's been affected, it could give us the edge we need."

Armsmaster nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. " I will get started on it immediately, Director."

Piggot surveyed the room, her expression grim but determined. "We're walking a fine line here, people. But make no mistake - the safety of this city is our primary concern. We cannot allow a parahuman,
no matter how well-intentioned, to manipulate the minds of civilians on this scale. We will gather our evidence, build our case, and then we will act. Is that understood?"

A chorus of affirmatives echoed around the table, though some voices were more hesitant than others. Piggot nodded, satisfied for now. "Good. Dismissed."

Chapter Text

Taylor flopped onto Emma's bed, her face buried in a pillow. "I messed up, Em. I should have taken it slower with Winslow. We got too ambitious, too fast."

Emma sat down beside her, placing a comforting hand on her friend's back. "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. Look at all the good you've done."

Taylor turned her head, peeking out from behind the pillow. "What good? We've got the ABB and who knows who else after us now."

"Come on," Emma insisted, her voice growing more animated. "Think about it. Remember Jenny from our English class? She was barely scraping by last year. Now she's got colleges scouting her for
academic scholarships."

Taylor sat up slowly, her brow furrowed. "Jenny? Really?"

Emma nodded enthusiastically. "And what about Mike from the track team? He just got an offer from Brockton Bay University. Full ride."

"I didn't know that," Taylor mumbled, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"See? That's just the tip of the iceberg," Emma continued. "Even that quiet kid... what's his name? Greg? I overheard him talking about applying to some tech schools. He never would have had the
confidence before. And you should hear Madison talk about the muscles he has gained."

Taylor's shoulders slumped. "But if I go to the Protectorate, they'll make me stop. All those people... I'd be letting them down."

Emma squeezed her friend's hand. "You don't know that for sure. Maybe they'd see how much good you're doing and want to help."

Taylor shook her head. "No, I have looked into them. They'd shut it all down in a heartbeat. They're too scared of masters to see the potential. Have you seen the Canary case?"

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their situation hanging heavy in the air.

"Well," Emma said, trying to inject some optimism into her voice, "at least we don't have school tomorrow. Teacher workday, remember?"

Taylor nodded absently, her mind clearly elsewhere.

"And hey," Emma continued, nudging Taylor with her elbow, "you've got that lunch date with Theo on Saturday. That's something to look forward to, right?"

A faint blush crept across Taylor's cheeks. "It's not a date," she protested weakly. "We're just... talking."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Sure, just 'talking.' And I'm joining the Wards."

That earned a small laugh from Taylor, but it faded quickly. "I don't want to join the Empire, Em. You know that, right?"

Emma's expression grew serious. "I know. But... allying with them might be our best option right now. At least until we figure something else out."

Taylor nodded slowly. "Maybe. I just... I don't know. It feels like we're running out of choices."

Emma stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "Let's sleep on it. Things might look clearer in the morning."

"Yeah," Taylor agreed, though she didn't sound convinced. "Maybe."

***

Taylor knocked gently on the door to Mrs. Barnes' room, poking her head in. "Mrs. Barnes? Do you have a moment?"

Zoe Barnes looked up from her book, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Taylor, dear! Of course, come in."

As Taylor entered, she noticed Sophia gathering up some exercise equipment. The track star gave her a quick nod before slipping out of the room, leaving Taylor alone with Emma's mother.

"How was physical therapy?" Taylor asked, settling into a chair beside the bed.

Mrs. Barnes set her book aside, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Oh, it's going well! Sophia's been a tremendous help. I'm improving steadily, even if it's not as quickly as I'd like."

Taylor nodded, fidgeting slightly. "That's great to hear. Um, Mrs. Barnes... I was wondering if I could ask you about something."

"Of course, dear. What's on your mind?"

Taylor took a deep breath. "Emma mentioned that you were involved with Lustrum's movement back in the day. I was hoping you could tell me more about that."

Mrs. Barnes' expression grew thoughtful, a hint of nostalgia creeping into her voice. "Ah, Lustrum. That takes me back. It started so well, you know."

She leaned back against her pillows, her gaze distant. "It was an exciting time. Alexandria, Rime, and other prominent female capes were gaining national recognition. Many of us felt it was the perfect
moment to push for more, to finally break that glass ceiling."

Taylor listened intently, hanging on every word.

"Unlike the movements of my parents' generation, which focused primarily on legal issues for women, ours was more about societal change," Mrs. Barnes continued. "We tackled things like the gender pay
gap, representation in media, that sort of thing."

Her expression darkened slightly. "But then... things started to go wrong."

"What happened?" Taylor asked, leaning forward.

Mrs. Barnes sighed. "There was a push from some members that women HAD to be in charge. That if you wanted to be a housewife or take on any other traditional role, you were somehow helping men
oppress women. Or that you were brainwashed."

Taylor winced at that, a reaction Mrs. Barnes didn't miss.

"I know, it sounds ridiculous now," she said. "But at the time, emotions were running high. Lustrum started listening to that wing of the movement more and more. Things became... radicalized."

"Is that when you left?" Taylor asked softly.

Mrs. Barnes nodded. "I was already married by that point, with Anne on the way. I couldn't reconcile the movement's new direction with my own life choices."

She paused, a wry smile crossing her face. "You know, there's a theory some people toss around. They say a group infiltrated the movement and deliberately turned it radical for their own agenda."

Taylor's eyes widened. "Really? Do you think that's true?"

Mrs. Barnes shook her head. "No, I don't believe it has any real basis. The sad truth is much simpler: Lustrum simply got bad advice and made poor choices. It's easier for some people to believe in a
conspiracy than to accept that good intentions can lead to harmful outcomes."

They sat in silence for a moment, Taylor processing everything she'd heard.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Mrs. Barnes," she said finally. "It's... given me a lot to think about."

Mrs. Barnes reached out, patting Taylor's hand. "I'm glad I could help, dear. It's important to learn from history, both the triumphs and the mistakes. Just remember, no matter what cause you believe in,
it's crucial to stay true to your values and think critically about the actions you're taking."

Taylor nodded, her mind whirling with implications. "I'll remember that, Mrs. Barnes. Thank you again."

As she stood to leave, Mrs. Barnes called out, "Oh, and Taylor? Don't let the mistakes of the past discourage you from trying to make a difference. The world still needs people who want to change things
for the better."

Taylor smiled, feeling a mix of emotions she couldn't quite name. "I won't, Mrs. Barnes. I promise."

***

The credits rolled on the screen, the faint glow illuminating the living room. Taylor and Danny sat on the couch, a nearly empty bowl of popcorn between them. As Denzel Washington's name faded from
view, Danny reached for the remote and clicked off the TV. The sudden silence felt heavy, and he turned to look at his daughter.

Taylor's eyes were unfocused, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Danny cleared his throat. "Hey, kiddo. You've been a million miles away all night. What's on your mind?"

Taylor blinked, coming back to the present. "Oh, sorry, Dad. I guess I have been pretty distracted."

Danny shifted on the couch to face her better. "Want to talk about it?"

Taylor hesitated, then sighed. "I... I've got a difficult choice to make soon. I'm not sure what to do."

Danny nodded, his expression understanding. "Ah, high school. It's a time for tough choices and making mistakes. That's all part of growing up."

Taylor looked at him, a hint of fear in her eyes. "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in me."

Danny was quiet for a moment, considering his words carefully. "You know, Taylor, that could be the case."

Taylor's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, aren't you supposed to reassure me that I could never disappoint you?"

Danny laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "I could say that, but it wouldn't be true. And I think you're old enough for some honesty." He reached out and took her hand. "Even if you were to disappoint
me, I would never stop loving you. That's unconditional."

Taylor squeezed his hand, feeling a lump form in her throat.

Danny continued, his voice softer. "I know I've disappointed you recently. I wasn't there for you like I should have been after your mom died. But I hope things are getting better between us."

Taylor nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

"And hey," Danny added, "I wanted to thank you for that self-help book you gave me. It's been really helpful."

Taylor managed a small smile. "I'm glad, Dad."

Danny's eyes lit up. "You know, I was going to wait until it was officially announced, but I think you deserve some good news. The mayor has agreed to a project to reopen the ferry."

Taylor's eyes widened, her earlier worries momentarily forgotten. "Really? Dad, that's amazing! You've been working towards that for so long!"

Danny grinned, looking more animated than Taylor had seen him in months. "It's happening, kiddo. And you know what? It's thanks to you."

Taylor's smile faltered, confusion (and a hint of fear) crossing her face. "Me? But... how?"

Danny didn't seem to notice her reaction. "The mayor's feeling the pressure. The school superintendent is gaining steam heading into next year's election, and a lot of that has to do with Winslow's
improved performance. And I hear you've had a big impact on your school."

Taylor felt her cheeks grow warm. "I... I don't know about that, Dad."

"Don't be modest," Danny insisted. "I've heard from some of the guys at the docks. Their kids have been raving about your study guides. You're making a real difference, Taylor."

Taylor looked down, conflicting emotions swirling inside her. Pride at her father's words warred with guilt over the methods she'd used to achieve those results.

Danny squeezed her shoulder. "I'm proud of you, kiddo. Whatever choice you're facing, I trust you to make the right decision."

Taylor looked up at him, wishing she could share the full weight of her dilemma. Instead, she forced a smile. "Thanks, Dad. That means a lot."

Danny pulled her into a hug. "Anytime, Taylor. Now, how about some ice cream to celebrate the ferry news?"

Taylor and Danny sat at the kitchen table, bowls of ice cream between them. The mood had lightened considerably since their earlier conversation, but Taylor's mind still churned with questions.

"Hey Dad," she began, idly stirring her melting dessert, "what were the 'bad old days' like in Brockton Bay? I've heard people mention them, but never really understood what they meant."

Danny's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down, his expression growing serious. "Ah, the bad old days. That's not a time I like to think about much, but I suppose you're old enough to hear
about it now."

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Back then, there were only three major gangs in town: the Teeth, Empire 88, and the Marche – that was Marquis's gang. The PRT ENE was
brand new, just getting its feet under it."

Taylor listened intently, her ice cream forgotten.

"Marquis... he was brutal," Danny continued. "He had this code about not hurting women or children, but anyone else who got in his way? He'd kill them without a second thought. Racked up quite the
body count of heroes over the years."

Taylor shivered, despite the warmth of the kitchen.

"The Teeth were absolute maniacs," Danny said, shaking his head. "A cult following the Butcher. And the Empire 88 under Allfather? They were even harsher than they are now. Something like a third of
Brockton's minority population fled during those years."

"Was Allfather worse than Kaiser?" Taylor asked, thinking of her recent encounter with the current Empire leader.

Danny's laugh was bitter. "That's like asking if it's better to be shot with a cannon or a handgun. Kaiser is objectively... less awful, I suppose. But I don't like either of them."

He took a bite of ice cream, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "Allfather had a special hatred for Jews. And his daughter, Iron Rain? She was arguably even worse. Everyone thought she'd take over
the gang – Kaiser wasn't even called Kaiser back then. Steel something, I think."

Taylor leaned forward, fascinated despite herself. "What happened?"

Danny's expression darkened. "It all came to a head when the Slaughterhouse Nine came to town. The Teeth hired them to take out the other gangs. Kaiser – well, he wasn't Kaiser yet – had been leading
the charge against the Teeth after they killed an Empire cape named Heith. The Teeth were desperate, backed into a corner."

He shook his head. "In the end, the only gang that got wiped out was the Teeth themselves. But the Empire lost several capes in the battles, including Iron Rain. Marquis didn't have any capes besides
himself to lose, but his gang was hollowed out. Made him easy pickings for the Brockton Bay Brigade to finish off a few years later."

Taylor's eyes were wide. "What about Allfather?"

"He was badly injured in the fighting," Danny said. "And Iron Rain's death... they say it broke something in him. He stayed on as a figurehead, but that was about it."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Brockton Bay's violent history hanging between them.

"It's better now, right?" Taylor asked, her voice small.

Danny nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "In some ways, yes. The open warfare in the streets has calmed down. The PRT and Protectorate have a stronger presence now. But the problems are still
there, just... less visible."

He took another bite of ice cream, gathering his thoughts. "The gangs are more entrenched now. They've had time to build their power bases, to become part of the city's fabric. And new players have
come in to fill the gaps left by the old ones."

Taylor leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "Like who?"

"Well, there's Coil," Danny said. "No one knows much about him or his organization, but they're definitely a force to be reckoned with. And the ABB has grown from a small protection racket to a major
player under Lung's leadership."

He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "And then there's the Merchants. They weren't even a blip on the radar back then. Now they're spreading like cancer through the poorer parts of the
city."

Taylor felt a twinge of guilt, thinking of her own role in the city's changing landscape. She pushed the feeling aside, focusing on her father's words.

"So what's the solution?" she asked. "How do we make things better?"

Danny smiled, but there was a weariness behind it. "If I had the answer to that, kiddo, I'd be running for mayor myself." He reached across the table, patting her hand. "But what you're doing at Winslow?
That's a start. Education, opportunity – those are the keys to breaking the cycle."

Taylor nodded, her mind racing. She thought of her plans, her ambitions to improve the entire city. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she was on the right track, even if her methods were...
unconventional.

"Thanks, Dad," she said softly. "For telling me all this. It helps put things in perspective."

Danny's smile grew warmer. "Anytime, Taylor. I'm just glad we can talk like this again. It's been too long."

They finished their ice cream in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the city's past, present, and future.

As Taylor helped clear the dishes, Danny glanced at the clock. "It's getting late. You should probably head to bed soon. Don't you have plans tomorrow?"

Danny dried the last bowl, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "So... this Theo you're meeting tomorrow. He's the one you danced with at the gala?"

Taylor felt her cheeks warm. "Dad..."

"What? Can't a father be interested in his daughter's first date?" He waggled his eyebrows dramatically.

"It's not a date," Taylor protested, though her blush deepened. "We're just getting lunch."

Danny hung the dish towel, his expression playful. "Uh-huh. And I suppose he just happened to ask you out of the blue?"

"I might have given him my number," Taylor admitted, fidgeting with her sleeve.

"Ah, the plot thickens!" Danny placed a hand over his heart in mock scandal.

Taylor groaned, but couldn't help smiling. "You're impossible."

"That's my job as your father." He ruffled her hair affectionately. "Just remember – home by eleven, no drinking, and if he tries anything..." Danny mimed pumping a shotgun.

"Dad!" Taylor swatted his arm, mortified. "It's lunch. At noon. In public at the boardwalk."

"Still keeping that shotgun handy, just in case." He winked.

As she headed upstairs to her room, Taylor's mind whirled with everything they'd discussed. The city's violent past, her own plans for its future, and now this unexpected complication with Theo. She
flopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow's lunch suddenly felt far more significant than she'd initially thought. She'd have to be careful, to navigate this budding... friendship? Relationship? She wasn't even sure what to call it. But she
knew one thing – she couldn't let her guard down, not with everything else going on.

With a sigh, Taylor reached for one of her books. She had work to do before she could sleep. The city's future might depend on it.

***

Danny pulled the car into the boardwalk parking lot, glancing over at Taylor in the passenger seat. She fidgeted nervously with the hem of her sundress, a light blue number that complemented her eyes.

"You look beautiful, kiddo," Danny said warmly. "Theo's a lucky guy."

Taylor felt her cheeks flush. "Dad, it's not... we're just hanging out."

Danny chuckled. "Sure, sure. That's why you spent an hour on your makeup."

"It wasn't an hour," Taylor mumbled, but she couldn't help smiling. It felt good to have this easy banter with her father again.

As they got out of the car, Taylor spotted Theo near the boardwalk entrance. He was talking to a petite woman with mousy brown hair who held an infant in her arms. Taylor frowned, a pang of uncertainty
hitting her.

"That's odd," Danny murmured as they approached. "I wonder who that is."

They drew close enough to hear the conversation.

"Kayden, you should still be resting," Theo was saying, his tone concerned. "I only stayed over last night so you could get some sleep. Aster's been fussy."

The woman – Kayden – shook her head. "I'm fine, Theo. I just... wanted to meet the girl who caught your interest." She smiled, but Taylor noticed she winced slightly as she shifted the baby.

It was then that Taylor saw the cast on Kayden's arm and the fading bruises peeking out from under her makeup. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Danny cleared his throat as they reached the pair. "Good morning," he said, his eyes flicking between Theo and Kayden. "Everything alright here?"

Theo turned, his face lighting up when he saw Taylor. "Oh, hi! You must be Mr. Hebert. I'm Theo." He extended his hand, which Danny shook firmly.

"Nice to meet you, Theo," Danny said, then turned his attention to Kayden. "And you are...?"

"Kayden," she replied, shifting Aster to her good arm. "I'm Theo's... well, ex-stepmother, I suppose."

Danny's eyebrows shot up. "I see," he said slowly. His gaze lingered on Kayden's injuries, and his voice took on a careful tone. "Those look like some nasty bruises. Everything okay at home?"

Kayden blinked, not catching his meaning at first. Then understanding dawned, and she shook her head quickly. "Oh! No, no, it's nothing like that. I, uh... had a run-in with some ABB thugs last week.
Barely managed to get away."

Taylor's eyes widened. She knew all too well how dangerous the ABB could be.

"Max and I have been divorced for over a year now," Kayden continued, her voice softening. "Theo's just been kind enough to help out with Aster sometimes. He stayed over last night because she's been
colicky."

Danny's expression relaxed slightly, and he nodded approvingly at Theo. "That's very admirable of you, young man. Not many teenagers would step up like that."

Theo ducked his head, looking embarrassed. "It's not a big deal. Aster's my sister, even if... well, you know."

Taylor felt a surge of warmth towards Theo. His kindness and sense of responsibility were genuinely impressive.

"Well," Kayden said, glancing between Theo and Taylor with a small smile. "I should let you two get on with your day. It was nice to meet you both."

"You too," Taylor replied, finding her voice at last. "I hope you feel better soon."

Kayden nodded gratefully and turned to leave. Theo watched her go for a moment, concern etched on his face, before turning back to Taylor and Danny.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I didn't expect her to show up."

Danny waved off the apology. "No need to apologize. Family's important." He glanced at his watch. "I should get going myself. You two have fun, and Taylor – call me when you're ready to be picked up,
okay?"

Taylor nodded, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as her father walked away, leaving her alone with Theo.

"So," Theo said, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Shall we hit the boardwalk?"

Taylor returned the smile, her earlier uncertainties fading. "Let's do it."

Taylor and Theo strolled along the boardwalk, the salty sea breeze ruffling their hair. The sun glinted off the water, and the chatter of families and tourists created a pleasant background hum.

"So," Theo said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "How's school been lately? I heard Winslow's really turning things around."

Taylor nodded, a hint of pride in her voice. "Yeah, it's been pretty amazing actually. Test scores are up, and there's been a lot less gang activity on campus."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "That's impressive. How'd they manage that?"

Taylor shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just some new programs and study guides, I guess. Nothing too crazy."

They paused at a railing overlooking the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore.

"What about you?" Taylor asked. "How's Immaculata treating you?"

Theo's expression clouded slightly. "It's... fine. Academically, at least. Some of the kids can be pretty stuck up though."

Taylor nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I've heard that about private schools."

They continued walking, stopping occasionally to browse the shops lining the boardwalk. Theo bought them both ice cream cones, and they sat on a bench to enjoy them.

As they ate, Taylor found her mind wandering to her current predicament. The looming decision of what to do about her powers and the attention she'd drawn weighed heavily on her.

Theo noticed her distraction and misinterpreted it. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "Am I boring you? We could do something else if you'd rather-"

"No!" Taylor exclaimed, snapping back to the present. "No, Theo, you're not boring me at all. I'm having a great time, really. It's just..." She sighed. "I've got a big decision I need to make soon, and it's
been on my mind a lot lately."

Theo's brow furrowed with concern. "Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes it helps to get an outside perspective."

Taylor hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, actually... that might be good. It's not exactly my problem though. It's... a friend of mine."

"Okay," Theo said encouragingly. "What's going on with your friend?"

Taylor took a deep breath. "Well... she's kind of in a tough spot. The ABB have been after her lately, and she's scared. But... the Empire has been protecting her."

Theo's expression remained neutral, but Taylor noticed a slight tension in his shoulders.

"The thing is," Taylor continued, "she's done some things that... Well, they weren't exactly legal. But she had good reasons for doing them. She was trying to help people, you know? But now she's worried
that if she goes to the Protectorate, they'll just arrest her."

As Taylor spoke, she could see Theo making connections in his mind. His eyes widened slightly, and he seemed to be piecing things together. Still, he didn't interrupt, letting her finish.

"So now she's wondering if maybe... joining the Empire might be her best option," Taylor concluded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Even though she knows they're bad news. She just doesn't know
what else to do."

Theo was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I think-"

***

Danny pulled up to the boardwalk, scanning the crowd for Taylor. He spotted her sitting on a bench with Theo, both of them laughing at something. As Taylor noticed the car, she stood up, giving Theo a
quick hug before jogging over.

"Hey, kiddo," Danny said as Taylor slid into the passenger seat. "How'd it go?"

Taylor's face was flushed, her eyes bright with excitement. "It was great, Dad. Really great."

Danny couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. As he pulled away from the curb, he glanced at his daughter. "Yeah? What'd you two end up doing?"

"We walked along the boardwalk for a while, got some ice cream," Taylor said. "Then we played some of those carnival games. Theo's actually pretty good at the ring toss."

Danny chuckled. "Sounds like fun. So, I take it the date went well?"

Taylor nodded, a wide grin spreading across her face. "It went splendidly. Theo's... he's really nice, Dad. And easy to talk to. We ended up having this long conversation about books, and he recommended
some authors I've never heard of before."

As they drove home, Danny found himself transported back in time, remembering his first date with Annette. They'd gone to a small coffee shop near the college campus, and he'd been so nervous he'd
spilled his drink all over himself. But Annette had just laughed, helping him clean up, and they'd ended up talking for hours.

"You know," Danny said, a wistful smile on his face, "your mom and I had our first date at a little café near Brockton Bay University. I was so nervous I could barely string two words together."

Taylor turned to him, her eyes wide with interest. "Really? You never told me that before."

Danny nodded. "Oh yeah. I was a complete mess. But your mom... she had this way of putting people at ease. We ended up talking until the café closed, and they had to kick us out."

He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. "Of course, your grandmother wasn't too thrilled when Annette came home so late."

"Grandma didn't like you?" Taylor asked, surprised.

"Not at first," Danny admitted. "She thought I was too rough around the edges for her daughter. A dockworker's son dating a college girl? She wasn't impressed."

Taylor frowned. "But Grandma always seemed to like you when I was little."

"Oh, she came around eventually," Danny assured her. "It took some time, but she saw how happy Annette was with me. And, well, I think I grew on her."

They drove in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. Then Taylor spoke up, her voice soft. "I wish Mom could have met Theo."

Danny reached over, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "She would have liked him, kiddo. If he makes you happy, that's all she would have cared about."

As they pulled into their driveway, Danny turned to Taylor. "So, think you'll be seeing Theo again?"

Taylor nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, I think so. We're going to try to get together next weekend, maybe catch a movie or something."

Danny smiled, feeling a mix of happiness for his daughter and a bittersweet twinge of nostalgia. "I'm glad you had a good time, Taylor. Your mom would be proud of the young woman you're becoming."

Taylor leaned over, giving him a quick hug. "Thanks, Dad. I love you."

"Love you too, kiddo," Danny replied, his heart full.

***

Emma waved goodbye to the twins as she exited the modeling agency, her portfolio tucked under her arm. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the sidewalk as she spotted Taylor leaning against a nearby lamppost, engrossed in a book.

"Hey, Taylor!" Emma called out, quickening her pace.

Taylor looked up, a small smile playing on her lips as she closed her book. Emma caught a glimpse of the author's name on the spine - Condon.

"How'd the shoot go?" Taylor asked, slipping the book into her bag.

Emma shrugged. "Same old, same old. But never mind that," she said, lowering her voice and leaning in close. "Have you made a decision yet?"

Taylor's expression turned serious. "I have," she said quietly.

Emma's eyes widened. "And?"

Taylor glanced around, then shook her head. "Not here. Later."

Emma couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "Okay, fine. But you have to tell me everything about your date with Theo. I want all the juicy details!"

Taylor's cheeks flushed slightly, a rare occurrence that didn't escape Emma's notice. "It was... really nice," Taylor admitted.

"Nice? That's all you're giving me?" Emma prodded, nudging Taylor's shoulder playfully.

Taylor laughed. "Alright, alright. We met at the boardwalk, right? And at first, I was so nervous I could barely string two sentences together."

"You? Nervous?" Emma feigned shock. "I don't believe it."

"Oh, shut up," Taylor said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, Theo was really sweet about it. He suggested we grab some ice cream to break the ice."

Emma nodded approvingly. "Smart move. Go on."

"So we're walking along, eating our ice cream, and he starts asking me about books. You know how I get when someone brings up literature."

"Oh yeah," Emma chuckled. "I bet you talked his ear off."

Taylor grinned. "Maybe a little. But he kept up! We ended up having this long discussion about dystopian fiction and its relevance to modern society. He even recommended some authors I've never heard
of before."

"Sounds riveting," Emma said dryly, but her smile took the sting out of her words.

"It was!" Taylor insisted. "Then we played some of those carnival games. Theo's surprisingly good at ring toss."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Did he win you a stuffed animal?"

Taylor shook her head. "Nah, nothing like that. But he did get me this," she said, pulling a small, intricately designed keychain from her pocket.

Emma examined it closely. "It's cute. So, what happened next?"

"We just... talked," Taylor said, her voice softening. "About everything and nothing. Our families, our hopes for the future. It was... easy, you know? Being with him."

Emma studied her friend's face, noting the subtle changes in her expression. "You really like him, don't you?"

Taylor nodded slowly. "I think I do. We're going to try to get together again next weekend, maybe catch a movie or something."

"That's great, Taylor," Emma said sincerely. "I'm happy for you."

***

Assault and Battery stood on a nearby rooftop, watching Taylor and Emma chatting outside the modeling agency. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the street, providing ample cover for their surveillance.

"Armsmaster just gave us the green light," Assault said, his voice low. "Says he's got the evidence we need to confirm Hebert as our mystery master."

Battery nodded, her expression tight. She glanced down at her phone, frowning at a message that had just come through. After a moment, she slipped the device back into her pocket.

"Everything okay?" Assault asked, noting her hesitation.

"Fine," Battery replied curtly. "Just... a lot riding on this."

Assault raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. "Alright then. You ready to do this?"

Battery took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."

The two heroes made their way down from the rooftop, using their powers to move swiftly and silently. As they approached street level, Assault couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease.

"You sure about this?" he asked quietly. "She's just a kid."

"A kid with the power to alter minds," Battery reminded him. "We can't take any chances."

They emerged onto the sidewalk, a few dozen yards from where Taylor and Emma stood. The girls were engrossed in conversation, oblivious to the approaching heroes.

"Remember," Assault murmured, "we're just here to talk. No powers unless absolutely necessary."

Battery nodded, her frown marginally decreasing as they closed the distance.

"Excuse me, ladies," Assault called out, causing both girls to turn towards them. "Mind if we have a word?"

Chapter Text

Emma and Taylor froze, their eyes widening as they recognized the approaching heroes. Assault flashed a disarming smile, his posture relaxed as he came to a stop a few feet away.

"Ladies," he said, his tone light. "Beautiful day for a stroll, isn't it?"

Battery stood rigidly beside him, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Taylor Hebert?" she asked abruptly, ignoring her partner's attempt at small talk. "We need you to come with us for questioning."

Assault shot his wife an exasperated glare. So much for easing into things.

"What my colleague means," he said smoothly, "is that we'd like to have a chat with you about some recent events at Winslow High. Nothing to worry about, just routine follow-up."

Emma clutched Taylor's arm, both girls looking increasingly nervous. Taylor swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "Am I... am I in trouble?"

Battery opened her mouth, likely to say something unhelpful, but Assault cut her off. "Not at all," he assured them. "We just want to clear up a few things. It would really help us out if you could come down to the PRT building voluntarily."

He emphasized the last word, hoping to avoid any unnecessary drama. The last thing they needed was a scene in the middle of the Boardwalk.

Taylor and Emma exchanged a long look, seeming to have an entire conversation without words. The tension in the air was palpable as the seconds ticked by.

Then, quite suddenly, both girls' expressions transformed. The fear vanished, replaced by... excitement?

"Oh my god," Emma squealed, bouncing on her toes. "We get to go to the Rig? For real?"

Taylor's face lit up with a brilliant smile. "I can't believe it! This is amazing!"

Assault blinked, caught completely off guard by the sudden shift. He glanced at Battery, who looked equally baffled.

"Uh, yeah," he said slowly. "We'll need to ask you some questions at headquarters."

"Can I come too?" Emma asked eagerly. "I'm Taylor's best friend, I can vouch for her!"

Battery's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "This isn't a social call," she said firmly. "We have serious matters to discuss."

But her stern tone did nothing to dampen the girls' enthusiasm. If anything, they seemed even more thrilled by the gravity of the situation.

"Of course, of course," Taylor nodded, her eyes shining. "We understand completely. This is official hero business."

She turned to Emma, practically vibrating with excitement. "Can you believe it, Ems? We're going to see inside PRT headquarters!"

Emma clapped her hands together. "I bet we'll get to meet Armsmaster! Oh, and Miss Militia! Do you think they'll let us take pictures?"

Assault and Battery exchanged bewildered looks. This was... not how they had expected this confrontation to go.

"Hold on," Battery said, raising a hand. "You understand we're bringing you in for questioning about potentially illegal activities, right? This isn't a tour."

Taylor nodded solemnly, though she couldn't quite keep the smile off her face. "Oh, absolutely. We take this very seriously. Don't we, Emma?"

Emma straightened up, adopting an exaggerated serious expression. "Super seriously," she agreed. "We're model citizens, ready to assist the heroes in any way we can."

Assault couldn't help but chuckle, despite the bizarre turn of events. "Well, I'm glad you're both so... cooperative. Shall we get going then?"

The girls nodded eagerly, falling into step beside the heroes as they began walking towards the waiting PRT van.

"This is going to be so cool," Taylor whispered to Emma, not quite quietly enough to escape the heroes' enhanced hearing. "Way better than that time we got to visit the police station for that school trip."

Emma giggled. "Remember how you got all tongue-tied when Officer Johnson showed us the holding cells?"

"Girls," Battery interrupted, her patience clearly wearing thin. "This is a serious matter. I suggest you start thinking about how you're going to explain what's been happening at Winslow."

But even her stern warning couldn't dampen Taylor and Emma's spirits. They climbed into the van, chattering excitedly about what they might see at PRT headquarters.

As Assault closed the door behind them, he caught Battery's eye. "Well," he said quietly. "That was... unexpected."

Battery frowned, her gaze fixed on the two teenagers. "Something's not right here," she muttered. "No one's this excited about being brought in for questioning. Keep your guard up."

Assault nodded, his own suspicions beginning to rise. Whatever was going on with Taylor Hebert, it was clear there was more to the story than met the eye.

***

The previous Saturday morning had dawned bright and early, sunlight streaming through the curtains of Emma's bedroom. Taylor sat cross-legged on the bed, a leather-bound book cradled in her lap. Emma yawned, stretching as she sat up and blinked sleepily at her friend.

"What's that?" Emma asked, nodding towards the book.

Taylor's fingers traced the embossed cover. "It's... a contingency plan," she said softly.

Emma frowned, suddenly more alert. "What do you mean?"

Taylor sighed, running a hand through her curly hair. "One of the teachers tipped me off. The Protectorate has been sniffing around the school, asking questions."

Emma's eyes widened. "About you?"

Taylor nodded grimly. "About the changes at Winslow. About the study guides. They're getting close, Em."

"Shit," Emma breathed. "What are we going to do?"

Taylor held up the book. "This is our insurance policy. It's... well, it's a special version of my tech."

Emma leaned forward, intrigued despite her worry. "What does it do?"

"It'll make us forget," Taylor explained. "Forget that I'm the tinker behind all this."

Emma recoiled slightly. "Wait, what? You want us to forget everything?"

Taylor shook her head quickly. "Not everything. Just... the specifics. We'll still remember being friends, still remember the improvements at Winslow. But we won't remember that I'm the one behind it all."

Emma chewed her lip, considering. "And that'll keep you safe?"

"It should," Taylor nodded. "If they bring us in for questioning, we won't be lying when we say we don't know who's responsible. We'll just be two normal students, excited about the positive changes at our school."

Emma reached out, gently taking the book from Taylor's hands. She ran her fingers over the cover, feeling the subtle patterns embossed into the leather. "How does it work?"

Taylor leaned back, her expression turning more clinical as she slipped into what Emma thought of as her 'tinker mode.' "It's a modified version of the study guides. Instead of imparting knowledge or altering behavior, it selectively blocks certain memories. Creates a... a sort of mental blind spot."

Emma flipped through the pages, seeing rows of text that seemed to shimmer and shift as she looked at them. "And you're sure it's safe?"

Taylor nodded firmly. "I've tested it extensively. The effects are completely reversible. Once we're in the clear, It will automatically undo itself."

Emma closed the book, looking up at her friend with a mix of concern and admiration. "You've really thought of everything, haven't you?"

Taylor gave a small, tired smile. "I have to. There's too much at stake."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their situation settling over them. Finally, Emma spoke up. "So, when do we do this?"

"Now," Taylor said, her voice quiet but firm. "If they're already asking questions, we can't risk waiting. We need to be prepared in case they come for us."

Emma nodded, taking a deep breath. "Okay. What do we need to do?"

Taylor took the book back, opening it to a specific page. "We'll read this together. The effects should take hold pretty quickly. By the time we're done, we won't remember having this conversation."

Emma scooted closer, peering at the page. "And you're sure you can undo it later?"

Taylor met her friend's gaze, her expression resolute. "I promise, Em. No matter what happens, I'll find a way to fix this. To fix everything."

Emma managed a small smile. "I trust you, Tay. Always have, always will."

Taylor returned the smile, grateful for her friend's unwavering support. "Ready?"

Emma nodded, and together they began to read. The words on the page seemed to dance and swirl, patterns emerging and fading in rapid succession. Emma felt a strange buzzing in her head, like static on an old television.

As they read, memories began to blur and fade. The image of Taylor hunched over a workbench, tinkering with strange devices, grew hazy and indistinct. Conversations about powers and plans slipped away like sand through an hourglass.

By the time they reached the end of the passage, both girls felt slightly disoriented. They blinked at each other, then at the book in Taylor's hands.

"What... what were we just doing?" Emma asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Taylor shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her mind. "I'm not sure. Something about... school?"

Emma glanced at the clock and gasped. "Oh! We were supposed to be studying for that history test, weren't we?"

Taylor nodded slowly, the fake memory slotting neatly into place. "Right, of course. We should probably get started on that."

Emma blinked rapidly as clarity rushed back into her mind. The fog lifted, memories crystallizing with startling speed. She jumped up from the bed, practically bouncing with excitement.

"That was amazing!" She spun to face Taylor. "It actually worked. We completely forgot, and then - bam! Everything came right back."

Taylor nodded, but her expression remained serious. "It worked better than I expected, honestly. The recall was faster than in my tests."

"So this is our safety net?" Emma flopped back onto the bed. "If they question us, we just... won't know anything?"

"It's not foolproof," Taylor cautioned, setting the book aside. "The Protectorate has dealt with memory manipulation before. They might suspect something's up, especially if we seem too genuinely clueless."

"But it'll buy us time?"

"That's the hope." Taylor ran a hand through her hair. "Give us breathing room to figure out our next move. They can't prove anything if we honestly don't know anything when they question us."

Emma sat up, cross-legged on the bed. "And the memories just come back on their own after?"

"Once we're clear of any immediate scrutiny, yes. The block is designed to be temporary." Taylor managed a small smile. "Though I have to admit, it was weird experiencing it firsthand."

"Weird but brilliant," Emma grinned. "You never cease to amaze me, you know that?"

***

Emma's excitement was palpable as she bounced on her toes, eyes shining with enthusiasm. "We're actually going to the Rig? That's so cool!" She paused, her expression sobering slightly. "But if it's for questioning, I should probably call my dad. He's a lawyer, you know."

Battery's brow furrowed, clearly not thrilled with the idea. "That's not really necessary-"

"Actually," Assault cut in smoothly, "that's a great idea. We always encourage minors to have a guardian present during questioning." He shot his partner a pointed look.

Battery sighed, relenting. "Fine. You can call your father on the way."

Taylor nodded, looking relieved. "Is it okay if I call my dad too?"

"Of course," Assault agreed readily. "We'll have a PRT van pick us up shortly. You can both make your calls then."

As they waited for their ride, Emma couldn't contain her curiosity. "So, what's it like being a hero? Do you guys get to fight villains all the time?"

Assault chuckled, warming to the girl's enthusiasm. "It's not all excitement and battles. There's a lot of paperwork and training involved too."

"But when you do fight, it must be amazing," Emma pressed. "I bet you've taken down tons of bad guys."

Battery's stern expression softened slightly. "It can be rewarding, yes. But it's also dangerous work."

A few minutes later, a nondescript van pulled up. The heroes ushered the girls inside, where they found seats and seatbelts waiting.

"Go ahead and make your calls," Battery instructed as they settled in.

Emma pulled out her phone, dialing her father's number. "Dad? Hi, it's me. Um, something kind of weird is happening..." She launched into a rapid explanation of the situation.

Taylor made her own call, her voice quieter as she spoke to her father. "Hey, Dad. I'm okay, but I need you to meet me at the PRT building..."

***

Meanwhile, in a private room on the first floor of the modeling studio, Fenja and Menja stood frozen in confusion. They were halfway through changing into their costumes, having seen that potential situation involving Taylor and Emma on their doorstep.

"What the hell?" Fenja muttered, peering out the window at the scene unfolding outside. "Why aren't they resisting?"

Menja shook her head, equally baffled. "And why do they look so... excited? This doesn't make any sense."

The twins exchanged worried glances. They had been tasked with keeping an eye on the girls, ready to intervene if the Protectorate made a move. But this... this wasn't at all what they had expected.

"Should we follow them?" Fenja asked, her hand hovering over her phone, ready to call for backup.

Menja bit her lip, considering. "No... not yet. We need to report this to Kaiser first. Something's not right here."

***

Back in the van, Emma was practically bouncing in her seat as they drove towards the Rig. "I can't believe we're actually going to see inside the PHQ! Do you think we'll get to meet Armsmaster? Or Miss Militia?"

Taylor smiled at her friend's enthusiasm, though there was a hint of nervousness in her eyes. "I'm sure it'll be interesting, Em. But remember, we're going there to answer questions."

"Right, right," Emma nodded, sobering slightly. "But still, it's pretty cool, isn't it?"

Assault couldn't help but chuckle at the girls' excitement. It was a far cry from the fear or hostility they usually encountered when bringing in suspects for questioning. "You two seem awfully eager for a couple of kids being brought in for interrogation."

Emma's eyes widened. "Interrogation? That sounds so serious! We're not in trouble, are we?"

Battery's expression remained stern, but there was a hint of confusion in her voice. "That depends on what you have to tell us. We have some questions about certain... activities at Winslow High School."

As the van made its way towards the PRT headquarters, Battery leaned forward, her expression serious. "So, tell me what you know about the Winslow tinker."

Emma's eyes lit up. "Oh! You mean the one everyone's been talking about? I bet it's Charlotte from the robotics club. She's always tinkering with stuff."

Taylor shook her head. "No way, it's definitely Mr. Gladly. He's been acting weird lately, and I swear I saw him with some kind of high-tech pen the other day."
Battery and Assault exchanged glances, clearly not expecting this response.

"You both seem to have different ideas," Assault noted. "What makes you so sure?"

Emma shrugged. "Just a hunch, I guess. But Charlotte's always been super smart, and lately she's been even more secretive than usual."

"And Mr. Gladly?" Battery prompted, looking at Taylor.

"Well, he's been staying late at school a lot," Taylor explained. "Plus, he's been really interested in everyone's grades lately. More than usual, I mean."

Battery nodded, making a mental note. "I see. Now, can you tell us about your encounter with Oni Lee?"

Both girls visibly tensed at the mention of the ABB cape.

"It was terrifying," Emma said, her voice quieter now. "We were just waiting for my sister to pick us up after school, and suddenly he was just... there."

Taylor nodded emphatically. "I thought we were done for. But then Mr. Gladly showed up in this ridiculous costume. He called himself 'The Headmaster' or something."

"He was so brave," Emma added. "He tried to fight Oni Lee to protect us."

"And what happened next?" Assault asked, his tone gentle.

"It's kind of a blur," Taylor admitted. "There was a lot of shouting and fighting. But then this woman in a cage-like mask showed up."

Emma's eyes widened. "Oh yeah! Cricket, right? She started fighting Oni Lee too."

"There was another woman as well," Taylor continued. "I didn't recognize her costume, but she took out the ABB guys holding us really quickly."

Emma playfully elbowed Taylor. "You know that means Mr. Glady can't be the tinker right.

Taylor humphed. "He could have been doing a double blind. Making himself seem too ridiculous to be the tinker when the woman was a patsy."

Battery frowned. "And you didn't stay to talk to the police afterward?"

Both girls looked sheepish.

"We were scared," Emma explained. "With all the capes fighting, we just wanted to get out of there."

Taylor nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we didn't want to get caught in the middle of it all. So we ran as soon as we had the chance."

"I see," Battery said, her tone neutral. "And you didn't think to report what happened later?"

Emma bit her lip. "I guess we should have. But by the time we calmed down, it felt like it was too late. We figured the heroes had already handled everything."

"We're sorry," Taylor added, looking genuinely contrite. "We should have said something sooner."

Assault leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Well, that's why we're talking now. It's important that we get all the information we can about what's been happening at Winslow."

The van pulled up to the PRT building, and Battery opened the door. "Alright, we're here. Your parents should be waiting inside. We'll continue this conversation once we're all settled."

As they stepped out of the vehicle, Emma couldn't contain her excitement despite the serious situation. "Wow, it looks even cooler up close!"

Taylor nodded, a mix of nervousness and anticipation on her face. "Yeah, it does. I just hope we can help clear things up."

The group made their way into the building, Emma and Taylor looking around in awe at the bustling lobby filled with PRT agents and civilians alike. Battery led them towards a secure area, where they could see Danny Hebert and Alan Barnes waiting anxiously.

"Dad!" Taylor called out, relief evident in her voice.

"Daddy!" Emma waved, quickening her pace.

The two men rushed forward to embrace their daughters, concern etched on their faces.

"Are you alright?" Danny asked, checking Taylor over for any signs of distress.

"We're fine, Dad," Taylor assured him. "Just helping the heroes with some questions about what happened at school."

Alan Barnes, ever the lawyer, turned to Battery and Assault. "I hope you haven't been questioning my daughter without proper representation present."

Assault held up his hands placatingly. "Not at all, sir. We were just having a friendly chat on the way over. The official questioning hasn't started yet."

Battery nodded in agreement. "We'll be moving to a more appropriate room for that. If you'll all follow me, please."

As the group made their way deeper into the PRT building, Emma couldn't help but whisper excitedly to Taylor. "Can you believe we're actually here? This is so cool!"

Taylor managed a small smile, though her eyes darted nervously around the hallways. "Yeah, it's pretty amazing. I just hope we can help them figure out what's going on at Winslow."

***

The interrogation room was stark and cold, a far cry from the excitement Taylor and Emma had felt upon entering the PRT building. They sat side by side at a metal table, their fathers flanking them protectively. Across from them, two stern-faced PRT agents had replaced the more approachable Assault and Battery.

"Let's cut to the chase," the male agent said, his voice clipped. "We know you two are the ones who made those study guides at Winslow. Care to explain?"

Emma blinked, caught off guard. "What? No, that's not right. We didn't create them."

Taylor nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we were given them to hand out. We thought it was from a teacher or something."

The female agent leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "A teacher? Can you describe this person?"

Emma and Taylor exchanged glances, their brows furrowed in concentration.

"It was a woman," Taylor said slowly. "Tall, blonde... and, um, kind of chesty?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, that sounds right. But it's weird, I don't remember seeing her around school after that."

The male agent slammed his hand on the table, causing both girls to jump. "Don't play games with us. We have evidence that you two were the source of these study guides."

Alan Barnes bristled. "Watch your tone. These are minors you're questioning, and my daughter has already told you what she knows."

Danny Hebert nodded in agreement. "If you have actual evidence, present it. Otherwise, this feels like intimidation."

The female agent pulled out a file, spreading photos across the table. "Security footage shows you two consistently being the first to arrive with new batches of study guides. Teachers report you specifically pushing for their use in classes."

Taylor leaned forward, examining the photos with genuine curiosity. "That's us alright, but we were just excited about how well they worked. We wanted to help our classmates."

Emma nodded emphatically. "Exactly! We thought we were doing a good thing. If we'd known there was something wrong with them, we never would have handed them out."

The male agent's jaw clenched. "And what about the sudden improvement in your grades? The drastic changes in student behavior across the school?"

Taylor shrugged. "Isn't that the point of study guides? To help people improve?"

Emma chimed in, "And maybe people are just happier because they're doing better in school? I know I felt a lot more confident once my grades went up."

The interrogators pressed on, bringing up more pieces of evidence – the recycling of old electronics, the changes in school announcements, the improved cafeteria food. But for each point, Taylor and Emma had a plausible, if somewhat naive, explanation.

As the questioning continued, both girls appeared increasingly bewildered and upset. Taylor's eyes welled with tears at one point.

"We were just trying to help," she said, her voice cracking. "We didn't know there was anything wrong with what we were doing."

Emma reached out to squeeze her friend's hand. "Yeah, we're really sorry if we caused any trouble. We thought we were making things better."

The agents exchanged frustrated glances, clearly not getting the answers they'd hoped for. After a few more fruitless attempts, they finally called an end to the interrogation.

As Taylor and Emma exited the interrogation room, flanked by their fathers, the air was thick with tension. Danny Hebert and Alan Barnes wore matching scowls, their jaws clenched in barely contained fury.

"The nerve of those agents," Alan spat once they were out of earshot. "Interrogating minors like common criminals? This won't stand."

Danny nodded, his eyes blazing. "Agreed. I'm calling the dockworkers' union first thing tomorrow. We'll see how smug those PRT bastards are when their funding gets called into question."

In the backseat, Taylor and Emma exchanged a silent look, their lips quirking into barely perceptible smirks. With a subtle fist bump, a wealth of understanding passed between them. Their memories had returned, the false personas implanted by Taylor's tech dissipating like morning fog.

They were safe, for now.

As Alan's car pulled away from the PRT building, the two girls leaned back in their seats, the very picture of innocence. Only the faint gleam in their eyes hinted at the true depth of their deception.

The game was afoot, and they were just getting started.

***

The debriefing room was tense as Assault, Battery, and Armsmaster gathered around the video conference screen displaying Director Piggot's stern visage. Assault shot a sidelong glance at Battery, his annoyance palpable.

"What the hell happened out there?" Piggot demanded, her voice sharp.

Battery cleared her throat. "Well, we approached the subjects as planned, but—"

"But Battery here decided to play bad cop without discussing it first," Assault interjected, unable to contain his frustration. "Nearly scared the girls off before we even got started."

Battery bristled. "I was being direct. We didn't have time for your joking around."

"Enough," Piggot snapped. "I want to know why two teenage girls managed to completely stonewall our interrogation."

Armsmaster stepped forward, his posture stiff. "Director, if I may. I've been working on a prototype lie detector with Dragon's assistance." He gestured to a small device on the table. "It's currently at 95% accuracy. I used it to monitor the girls through our camera system during questioning."

Piggot's eyes narrowed. "And?"

"Both subjects passed with flying colors," Armsmaster reported. "Every response registered as truthful."

The director's face contorted in disbelief. "You're telling me your 'rock-solid evidence' was based on experimental Tinkertech?"

Armsmaster opened his mouth to respond, but Piggot cut him off.

"This is exactly why we can't rely solely on Tinkertech for these kinds of operations," she fumed. "What about good old-fashioned detective work?"

Assault raised a hand. "To be fair, we did try to press them on inconsistencies. But they always had a plausible explanation."

Piggot massaged her temples. "So we're back to square one. Fine. I want you to follow up on this Gladly character and the mysterious blonde woman they mentioned. Someone has to know something."

Battery nodded. "We'll start interviewing other Winslow staff first thing tomorrow."

"See that you do," Piggot growled. "And next time, try not to let a couple of high school girls run circles around you."

Battery shifted uncomfortably, her posture stiff. "Director, should we collect the tinkertech study guides from Winslow for analysis?"

Piggot's frown deepened, lines etching across her forehead. She let out a long, weary sigh. "That won't be necessary, Battery."

"Ma'am?" Armsmaster interjected, his tone questioning.

"It seems a 'wrongly filed' application for 'experimental teaching materials' has suddenly materialized," Piggot explained, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Conveniently backdated to the beginning of the school year."

Assault let out a low whistle. "Well, that's certainly convenient timing."

"Indeed," Piggot growled. "The School Superintendent is clearly covering his ass. And if I had to guess, he's burning through a lot of favors to make it happen."

Battery's brow furrowed. "So we're just going to let this slide? After everything we've uncovered?"

Piggot's eyes flashed with irritation. "Of course not. We'll keep a close eye on Winslow. But our hands are tied for now." She paused, her gaze sweeping across the assembled heroes. "Unless one of you wants to explain to the media why we're confiscating 'approved' educational materials that have demonstrably improved student performance?"

The room fell silent, no one willing to take on that particular PR nightmare.

"That's what I thought," Piggot said curtly. "Keep me updated on any new developments. I want to know the moment anything changes at that school."

With that, the director cut the call, leaving the heroes to stew in their frustration.

Assault slumped against the wall, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that went about as poorly as it could have. We're back to square one with zilch to show for it."

To his surprise, Armsmaster's posture straightened, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "On the contrary. You and Battery performed admirably."

Battery's eyebrows shot up. "Colin, what are you talking about? We got nothing out of those girls."

"Precisely," Armsmaster replied, his tone maddeningly calm. "Your interrogation provided exactly what I needed."

Assault pushed off the wall, confusion etched across his face. "Mind cluing us in on whatever 4D chess you're playing here? Because from where I'm standing, we just wasted a whole lot of time and resources."

Armsmaster's lips thinned into a tight line. "I have what I need to proceed. The details are... sensitive."

Battery's eyes narrowed. "Colin, why are you keeping Piggot out of the loop on this? That's not like you."

The Tinker hesitated for a moment before responding. "Master-Stranger Protocol 17-B, subsection 3. It allows for compartmentalization of information in cases where widespread infiltration is suspected."

Assault let out a low whistle. "That's some pretty obscure protocol you're pulling out. You really think we're dealing with that level of compromise?"

Armsmaster's jaw clenched. "I have my reasons."

Battery stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Colin, what aren't you telling us? This isn't just about those study guides, is it?"

The Tinker remained silent for a long moment, his visor hiding whatever internal struggle was playing out behind his eyes. Finally, he spoke, his words carefully measured. "I have... evidence. Concrete evidence. But acting on it prematurely could jeopardize everything."

Assault's eyes widened. "Wait, you're saying you actually have something solid on this Winslow Tinker? How?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "The less you know right now, the better. Plausible deniability."

Battery frowned. "Colin, this isn't like you. Going behind Piggot's back, keeping secrets from the team... Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

The Tinker's posture softened slightly. "I understand your concerns. But I need you to trust me on this. What I'm doing... it's for the good of the entire city."

Assault studied Armsmaster's face, searching for any hint of deception. Finally, he sighed. "I don't know what game you're playing here, Armsy. But you've earned enough goodwill over the years for me to give you the benefit of the doubt. For now."

Battery nodded reluctantly. "Alright, we'll follow your lead on this. But the moment things start going sideways, you bring us in. Deal?"

Armsmaster gave a curt nod. "Agreed. Thank you both for your trust. I promise, when the time is right, everything will become clear."

As the three heroes left the debriefing room, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of unspoken secrets hung heavy in the air. Whatever Armsmaster's plan was, it was clear that the stakes were far higher than any of them had initially realized.

***

Theo stood outside the Medhall gym, his heart pounding. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. This wasn't going to be easy, but he knew it was necessary. With a final nod of determination, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The gym was state-of-the-art, filled with gleaming equipment and the faint scent of sweat and disinfectant. But Theo's eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing figure waiting for him near the free weights.

Brad Meadows, better known as Hookwolf, stood with his arms crossed, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he spotted Theo. "Well, well," he rumbled. "Look who decided to show up on time."

Theo swallowed hard but forced himself to meet Brad's gaze. "I said I'd be here," he replied, proud that his voice didn't waver.

Brad's grin widened. "That you did, kid. Gotta admit, I was surprised when you came to me about training. Didn't think you had it in you."

Theo felt a flicker of annoyance at the backhanded compliment, but he pushed it down. This was exactly why he needed to do this. "Yeah, well," he said, squaring his shoulders. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately."

Brad raised an eyebrow, curiosity glinting in his eyes. "Oh? Do tell."

Theo took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I agree with everything... with the way things are being done. But I've realized something important."

"And what's that?" Brad asked, his tone neutral but attentive.

"Sitting on the sidelines doesn't do any good," Theo said, his voice growing stronger as he spoke. "If I want to change things, I need to be in a position to actually make those changes. And that means..." He paused, meeting Brad's gaze directly. "That means earning respect."

For a long moment, Brad said nothing, simply studying Theo with an unreadable expression. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face – not the mocking smirk from earlier, but something that looked almost like genuine approval.

"Well, I'll be damned," Brad chuckled. "That's actually a pretty good attitude, kid. Didn't expect to hear that kind of thinking from you."

Theo felt a surge of pride at the compliment, even as a part of him recoiled at seeking approval from someone like Hookwolf. But he pushed that feeling aside. This was necessary.

"So," Theo said, squaring his shoulders. "Are we going to get started or what?"

Brad's grin turned feral. "Oh, we're getting started alright. But first..." He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low growl. "You sure you want to do this? Because I'm not going to hold back. This isn't going to be some cushy workout for rich boys."

Theo met his gaze unflinchingly. "Good," he said firmly. "I don't want you to hold back. I'm here to get stronger, not to play games."

Brad threw back his head and laughed, a booming sound that echoed through the gym. "Alright then, Theo! You asked for it." He clapped a meaty hand on Theo's shoulder, nearly staggering the younger man. "Don't worry, I'll whip you into shape soon enough. By the time I'm done with you, you won't even recognize yourself."

Theo nodded, a mix of determination and trepidation churning in his gut. "That's what I'm counting on," he said quietly.

Brad's grin widened. "Well then, let's get to it. We'll start with a little warmup – give me twenty burpees, then we'll see what you're really made of."

As Theo moved to comply, his mind raced. This was just the beginning, he knew. The path ahead would be difficult, painful, and fraught with moral compromises. But as he dropped to the floor for his first burpee, he reminded himself why he was doing this.

He just hoped it would be worth it in the end.

***

The grand meeting room of Medhall's top floor buzzed with anticipation. Kaiser, resplendent in his gleaming armor, stood at the head of the long mahogany table. Around him, the assembled capes of the Empire 88 waited with varying degrees of curiosity and impatience.

"My friends," Kaiser began, his voice carrying easily through the room, "I've called you all here today to greet a new associate. Someone who, I believe, will prove to be a valuable ally in our ongoing efforts to restore order to our fair city."

Murmurs rippled through the gathering. Hookwolf leaned back in his chair, a predatory grin on his face. The twins, Fenja and Menja, exchanged glances, while Victor raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"Now," Kaiser continued, a hint of theatricality in his tone, "allow me to introduce our guest."

He gestured towards the ornate double doors at the far end of the room. As if on cue, they swung open silently, revealing a figure that immediately drew every eye in the room.

She entered with poise and grace, her high heels clicking softly on the polished floor. The costume was a masterpiece of deception and style, transforming its wearer into something both familiar and alien.

The base of the outfit was a modified house dress, its fabric a soft pastel blue that evoked images of 1950s domesticity. But this was no simple frock. The dress was tailored to perfection, hugging curves that were subtly enhanced by clever padding. An apron, pristine white and edged with delicate lace, was tied neatly around her waist. But where a traditional apron might have pockets for carrying household items, this one bristled with pouches of various sizes, hinting at hidden gadgets and tools.

Her legs were encased in sheer stockings, the seams ruler-straight and disappearing beneath the hem of her dress. White gloves, soft and supple, covered her hands and reached to her wrists, leaving no skin exposed.

Around her neck gleamed a string of pearls, each orb perfectly matched and glowing with a soft luster. They drew the eye upward to her face, which was a work of art in itself. Skillful makeup had aged her features, giving her the appearance of a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. Her lips were painted a classic red, her cheeks touched with just the right amount of color to suggest health and vitality.

A blonde wig crowned her head, the hair styled into an immaculate updo that wouldn't have looked out of place at a society gala. And covering her eyes, the final touch of mystery – a domino mask, its edges blending seamlessly with her skin thanks to expert application.

The overall effect was striking. She looked like the perfect housewife stepped straight out of a vintage advertisement, but with an unmistakable edge of danger and intrigue. It would have been nearly impossible for anyone to connect this vision with Taylor Hebert, the lanky teenager from Winslow High.

As she reached the center of the room, she paused, taking in the assembled capes with a serene smile. Then, with fluid grace, she sank into a flawless curtsy, her skirts billowing around her like a blooming flower.

"Hello," she said, her voice warm and rich, carrying easily to every corner of the room. "I'm Miss Stepford. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Victor's polished shoes clicked against the pristine floors of Medhall as he led Taylor through the winding corridors. Othala walked beside them, her excitement palpable in the air. Taylor, still in her Miss Stepford persona, maintained a serene smile, though her mind raced with possibilities.

"As you can see, Miss Stepford, Medhall takes great pride in its facilities," Victor said, gesturing to the state-of-the-art equipment visible through the large windows lining the hallway. "We're at the forefront of medical research and development."

Taylor nodded, her blonde wig bobbing slightly. "It's quite impressive. I must admit, I'm curious about the relationship between Medhall and the Empire. It seems... unusually close for a legitimate business and a, well, you know."

Victor chuckled, a practiced sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah, a astute observation. You see, Medhall and the Empire have what you might call a mutually beneficial arrangement. We provide certain services, ensuring the peace and stability in areas where Medhall operates. In return, Medhall offers us access to resources that would otherwise be... challenging to acquire through traditional means."

"I see," Taylor said, carefully neutral.

Othala, unable to contain herself any longer, burst in. "Oh, it's more than clever! It's brilliant! The Empire is doing so much good for the city, and Medhall is helping us achieve our goals. Together, we're making Brockton Bay a better place for the right kind of-"

Victor smoothly cut in, placing a hand on Othala's arm. "For all its citizens, of course. We believe in progress and improvement for everyone." His tone was light, but Taylor caught the warning glance he shot at his wife.

Othala's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, but she nodded. "Right, of course. Sorry, I just get so excited about our work sometimes."

Taylor studied Othala, realizing with a start just how young the other girl was. She couldn't be more than a year or two older than Taylor herself. It was a sobering thought, seeing someone so close to her own age so deeply entrenched in the Empire's ideology.

"Your passion is admirable," Taylor said carefully. "It's clear you both believe strongly in your cause."

Victor nodded, seemingly pleased with her diplomatic response. "Indeed we do, Miss Stepford. Now, shall we show you to your new laboratory?"

They continued down the hallway, passing several more research areas. Taylor noticed a few civilian researchers that must be in the know and what she assumed were Empire members working side by side. It was an odd juxtaposition, but she supposed that was the point – to blur the lines between legitimate business and criminal enterprise.

Finally, they reached a set of heavy doors. Victor placed his hand on a biometric scanner, and the doors slid open with a soft hiss.

"Welcome," he said with a flourish, "to your new workspace."

Taylor stepped inside, her eyes widening behind her domino mask. The laboratory was enormous, easily three times the size of her makeshift setup in the Barnes' basement. Pristine workbenches lined the walls, and in the center stood a large, empty area – perfect for larger projects.

"This is... incredible," Taylor breathed, momentarily forgetting to maintain her Miss Stepford persona.

Othala beamed. "Isn't it? And it's all yours! Well, mostly yours. I'm sure Kaiser will want updates on your progress, but this is your personal space to work and create."

Victor nodded. "Exactly. We want you to have everything you need to push the boundaries of your abilities. Speaking of which..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to Taylor. "This is your budget for equipment and materials until the end of the year. I apologize that we couldn't allocate more at the moment, but I hope it will suffice to get you started."

Taylor unfolded the paper, her eyes widening as she took in the number written there. She blinked, certain she must be seeing things wrong. But no, the zeroes were still there, an amount that made her previous 'budget' of scrounged materials look like pocket change.

"This is... very generous," she managed, her mind reeling with the possibilities. She had never considered herself particularly materialistic, but the thought of what she could accomplish with these resources was intoxicating.

Victor smiled, clearly pleased with her reaction. "We believe in investing in talent, Miss Stepford. And you have shown tremendous potential. Oh, and if you need any assistants or test subjects, we have plenty of volunteers eager to help advance our cause."

Taylor's head snapped up at that. "Volunteers? For... testing?"

"Of course," Victor said smoothly. "Many of our members are quite devoted. They understand the importance of your work and are willing to contribute in whatever way they can."

Taylor nodded slowly, unsure how to respond to that. The idea of having many willing and knowing test subjects was different. And very useful. She would be able to do much more detailed before and after analysis. Previously she only had Emma and Anne to fill that role.

"Well," she said finally, "I appreciate the offer. I'll certainly keep it in mind as my work progresses."

Othala clapped her hands together. "Oh, this is so exciting! I can't wait to see what you come up with. Maybe we could work together sometime? I know my power isn't exactly tinkering, but I'm sure there must be some way we could combine our abilities."

Taylor smiled, genuinely touched by Othala's enthusiasm despite her misgivings about the girl's beliefs. "That's a kind offer. I'm sure we'll have plenty of opportunities to collaborate in the future."

Victor checked his watch. "I hate to cut this short, but we have a few more stops on our tour. Shall we continue?"

They left the laboratory, Taylor's mind still spinning with the possibilities – and the ethical quandaries – that lay before her. As they rounded a corner, they nearly collided with two men heading in the opposite direction.

"Ah, Krieg, Alabaster," Victor said, recovering smoothly. "Perfect timing. Allow me to introduce you to Miss Stepford, our newest associate."

Taylor tensed slightly as she took in the two men. Krieg's costume was the most overtly Nazi-themed she had seen yet, complete with a modified SS uniform. Alabaster, true to his name, was a study in monochrome – pale skin, white hair, and colorless eyes that seemed to look right through her.

Krieg stepped forward, offering a slight bow. "Miss Stepford, a pleasure. I trust Victor and Othala have been showing you our humble facilities?"

"They have," Taylor replied, forcing herself to remain calm. "It's all very impressive."

Krieg's eyes crinkled behind his mask, suggesting a smile. "Wunderbar! And how do you find our setup here? Up to your standards, I hope?"

Taylor nodded, choosing her words carefully. "It's more than I could have imagined. The resources available here are truly remarkable."

"Ah, but they are just the beginning, meine Freundin," Krieg said, his accent becoming more pronounced. "You see, the Empire is but a local organization. Our allies in Gesellschaft, now they operate on a national – nay, international – scale. Their resources... well, let's just say they make what you see here look like child's play."

Taylor's eyes narrowed slightly behind her mask. She recognized the sales pitch for what it was. "Is that so? Well, I look forward to seeing what can be accomplished here in Brockton Bay first. One step at a time, after all."

Krieg nodded, but Taylor caught a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "Of course, of course. Rome wasn't built in a day, as they say. Still, I hope you'll keep an open mind about future possibilities. We're all quite eager to see what you can do."

"Indeed," Alabaster spoke for the first time, his voice as colorless as his appearance. "Your work at Winslow has not gone unnoticed. I'm particularly interested in how you might apply your talents on a larger scale."

Taylor felt a chill run down her spine at Alabaster's words. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, as if he could see right through her disguise.

"Well," she said, forcing a light tone, "I suppose we'll all find out together, won't we? Now, if you'll excuse us, I believe we have more of the tour to complete."

Krieg stepped aside with another slight bow. "Of course, don't let us keep you. Auf Wiedersehen, Miss Stepford. I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labor."

As they continued down the hallway, Taylor could feel Krieg and Alabaster's eyes on her back. She suppressed a shudder, reminding herself of why she was here. But as she thought about the lab waiting for her, filled with possibilities, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement alongside her unease.

Victor's voice broke through her thoughts. "I hope you weren't too put off by Krieg. He can be a bit... intense at times."

Taylor shook her head. "Not at all. It's good to meet more members of the organization. Everyone seems quite invested in the work being done here."

Othala nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, we're like one big family! You'll see, Miss Stepford. Once you get to know everyone, you'll feel right at home."

As they continued the tour, Taylor's mind raced. She had known what she was getting into when she agreed to this plan, but the reality of it was starting to sink in. The resources, the connections, the sheer scale of the Empire's operation – it was all so much bigger than she had imagined. And now she was right in the middle of it all.

As they passed another lab, Taylor caught a glimpse of researchers working on what looked like some kind of performance-enhancing drug. She made a mental note to look into that later.

***

Greg wiped the sweat from his brow as he finished his last set of bicep curls. The weight room at Winslow High had seen a lot more use lately, and he was glad to be part of that trend. As he set the dumbbells back on the rack, his phone buzzed in his gym bag.

Grabbing a towel, he fished out his phone and saw a text from his girlfriend:

"Hey cutie! Still on for D&D tonight? GstringGirl's got a crazy new dungeon planned!"

Greg grinned, quickly tapping out a reply:

"Wouldn't miss it! Can't wait to see what she's cooked up this time."

He was glad FlippinMad and GstringGirl were getting along now. Their initial clash had been awkward, to say the least. But now, the three of them made a great team, both in-game and out.

As he headed for the showers, Greg reflected on how much things had changed in the past few months. Not just for him, but for the whole school. There was a different energy in the air, like everyone had collectively decided to step up their game.

The hot water felt good on his sore muscles as Greg showered off the sweat from his workout. When he finished, he stood in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around his waist, and really looked at himself.

He was still short, no getting around that. But he was grateful his girlfriend was even shorter - it made him feel less self-conscious. The baby fat that had clung to his face and midsection for so long was finally starting to melt away, replaced by lean muscle. It wasn't anything impressive yet, but it was a start.

Running his hands through his damp hair, Greg marveled at how different it felt. The bowl cut he'd sported for most of his life was gone, replaced by a more stylish cut his girlfriend had insisted on. He wasn't entirely used to it yet, but he had to admit it looked better. And if it made her happy, well, that was a bonus.

As he got dressed, Greg thought about how much easier it had become to talk to girls lately. He still got nervous sometimes, sure, but he wasn't constantly putting his foot in his mouth anymore. It was like something had finally clicked in his brain, helping him navigate social situations without making a complete fool of himself.

His mom had been over the moon when he'd told her about his girlfriend. She kept going on about how glad she was that he was finally getting out of the house more and spending less time glued to his computer screen. Greg didn't think it was that big a deal - he still played games, after all. It was just more of a social thing now, with friends instead of strangers on the internet.

But maybe his mom had a point. He was growing up, wasn't he? This was what guys were supposed to do - work out, get girlfriends, balance their hobbies with real-life responsibilities. It felt... right.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Greg left the locker room and headed for his next class. As he walked through the halls, he couldn't help but notice how different everything felt compared to last year. There was a sense of purpose in the air, like everyone was actually trying now.

As he passed by the school office, Greg overheard a snippet of conversation that piqued his interest. Principal Blackwell was talking to a man in an expensive-looking suit - someone important, by the looks of it.

"...the superintendent had to use a lot of favors," the man was saying, his voice low but intense. "This had better be worth it."

Blackwell's reply was confident, almost smug. "I assure you, it is. Here, take a look at these."

Greg slowed his pace, trying to catch more of the conversation without being obvious about it. He saw Blackwell hand the man some papers, which he studied with a furrowed brow.

"These numbers," the man said, sounding skeptical. "Are you sure you're not... embellishing things?"

Blackwell's voice was firm. "They're 100% accurate. You can verify them yourself if you'd like."

The man's expression shifted, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Perfect. Then we'll continue to take care of things on our end."

"And my... favor?" Blackwell asked, a hint of eagerness in her voice.

The man nodded. "If the superintendent wins the election, you'll get the nod to the Education Board. You'll be replacing him as superintendent. But remember, it's critical for his chances that this improvement continues. We can't afford any backsliding."

Greg hurried on, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping. But as he walked, he couldn't help feeling a swell of pride. Blackwell deserved that promotion, didn't she? Look at how much the school had improved under her leadership. It was about time someone recognized her efforts.

He slipped into his classroom just as the bell rang, taking his usual seat behind Sparky. His friend's long hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and he was absently tapping out a rhythm on his desk with his pencil.

"Hey man," Greg said, leaning forward. "How's it going?"

Sparky turned, a grin lighting up his face. "Dude, it's going great! The band is really picking up steam. We've got a gig at the Bronze next weekend."

"That's awesome!" Greg said, genuinely happy for his friend. "How are classes going?"

Sparky's expression turned thoughtful. "You know, it's weird. I've been really getting into music class lately. The teacher's actually putting in effort now, and I'm learning so much. I never realized there was this whole world of theory behind it all, you know? I always just... felt the music."

Greg nodded, but a thought nagged at him. "That's great, man. But, uh... do you think a band will be enough to, you know, provide for a family and stuff? I mean, only really popular musicians can make a living at it, right?"

He saw a flicker of uncertainty cross Sparky's face, and for a moment, Greg wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. But then Sparky squared his shoulders, a determined look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I know it's tough," Sparky said. "But that just means I've gotta put in more effort, right? Work harder, practice more, really make this happen."

Greg felt a surge of pride in his friend. "That's the spirit, man! A guy's gotta take care of things like that, you know? I believe in you."

Their conversation was interrupted by a small commotion at the classroom door. Greg looked up to see one of the younger female teachers - Miss Johnson, he thought her name was - glaring daggers at a woman he didn't recognize. The stranger had short blonde hair and was wearing a scarf that partially obscured her face.

The two women weren't saying anything, just engaged in an intense staredown that crackled with unspoken tension. Greg was about to nudge Sparky and ask what was going on when Tina, another classmate, walked between the two women.

"Excuse me," Tina said quietly, breaking the spell.

The two women stepped apart, allowing Tina to enter the classroom. With one last glare at each other, they both turned and left.

"What was that about?" Greg wondered aloud.

Sparky shrugged. "No idea, man. Drama with the teachers, maybe?"

Greg's attention was drawn to Tina, who looked uncharacteristically downcast as she took her seat. "Hey, is Tina okay? She looks kind of upset."

Sparky followed his gaze, a sympathetic expression crossing his face. "Oh, yeah. She's been coming to our jam sessions lately, you know? Brings this friend of hers from Clarendon High. But last time, they got into this huge argument at the end. It was pretty intense. They both stormed off, and I don't think they've talked since."

Greg frowned, wondering if he should say something to Tina. He wasn't great at comforting people, but it seemed wrong to just ignore someone who was clearly upset. But before he could make up his mind, he saw Taylor approach Tina's desk.

The two girls talked quietly for a moment, Taylor's expression concerned and sympathetic. Then Taylor reached into her bag and pulled out a book, handing it to Tina with a smile. Tina took it, looking grateful, and Greg saw some of the tension leave her shoulders.

"Well, no need to worry about it now," Greg said, settling back in his seat. "Taylor's on the case. She's really good at smoothing things over with people."

Sparky nodded in agreement. "Yeah, for real. Remember how she and Sophia used to be at each other's throats all the time? Now look at them."

Greg glanced across the room to where Sophia sat, calmly taking notes. It was true - the transformation in Sophia's behavior over the past few months had been nothing short of miraculous. Gone was the angry, aggressive girl who used to terrorize half the school. In her place was someone who, while still not exactly friendly, at least seemed... stable.

"You're right," Greg said, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. "Things are really looking up around here, aren't they? I mean, just look at how much Winslow's improved."

Sparky grinned. "For real, man. It's like a whole different school."

As Mr. Gladly entered the room and began calling the class to order, Greg couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in his school. Sure, Winslow had its problems - what school didn't? But things were getting better. People were trying harder, caring more. It felt like they were all part of something bigger, something important.

And Greg? He was growing up, finding his place in it all. He had a girlfriend, friends who cared about him, and a future that seemed brighter than ever before. Life was good.

As he opened his textbook and prepared to focus on the lesson, Greg pushed aside any lingering doubts or questions. After all, with things going so well, what was there to worry about?

***

The Barnes' home was filled with the warm scents of roasting turkey, savory stuffing, and freshly baked pies as Taylor helped Emma set the table for Thanksgiving dinner. She couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as she surveyed the feast they had prepared - it was a far cry from the lonely, quiet dinners she and her father had shared in the years following her mother's death.

"Everything looks amazing," Danny said, entering the dining room with a bottle of wine in hand. "You girls have really outdone yourselves."

Taylor smiled at her father, noting how much healthier and more energetic he looked these days. The self-help books she had given him seemed to be working wonders. "Thanks, Dad. I'm just glad we could all be together this year."

The doorbell rang, and Emma hurried to answer it. Moments later, she returned with Sophia and her family in tow. Taylor's eyes swept over the group, taking in the details she had learned about them.

Sophia's mother, Nancy, was a petite woman with a careworn face that spoke of years of struggle. Behind her came Terry, Sophia's older brother - a lanky young man of about 19 who looked uncomfortable in his ill-fitting dress shirt. Sophia herself followed, carrying her youngest sibling, 3-year-old Yvonne.

Taylor couldn't help but notice how different the three Hess children looked from each other. Terry had lighter skin and straighter hair than Sophia, while little Yvonne's features hinted at a different racial background entirely. The implications were clear, though Taylor kept her thoughts to herself.

"Welcome, everyone," Zoe Barnes said warmly, emerging from the kitchen. "Please, make yourselves at home. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes."

As the group settled in, Taylor found herself observing the interactions between Sophia and her family. There was a tension there, a wariness in the way Nancy watched her middle child. It was a far cry from the easy affection between Emma and her parents.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" Alan Barnes offered, playing the gracious host.

Soon, everyone was seated around the table, plates piled high with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and all the traditional fixings. Taylor couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as she looked at the feast before them - a testament to the hours of work she, Emma, Sophia, and Mrs. Barnes had put in.

"This all looks wonderful," Nancy said, her voice tinged with what might have been envy. "You must have been cooking for days."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad with all of us working together," Zoe replied with a smile. "Though I must say, I'm a bit disappointed Anne couldn't find the time to help out."

Anne, Emma's older sister, rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Come on, Mom. You know I couldn't have fit in that kitchen with the four of you in there. Besides, someone had to keep Dad from sneaking bites of everything."

The table erupted in laughter, and Taylor felt a warm glow of contentment. This was what holidays were supposed to be like - family and friends coming together, sharing food and laughter.

As they began to eat, the conversation flowed easily. Danny talked about the progress being made at the Dockworkers' Union, while Alan shared amusing anecdotes from his law practice. Taylor found herself paying particular attention to Nancy, curious about the woman who had raised Sophia.

"So, Nancy," Zoe said during a lull in the conversation, "Emma mentioned you work at the hospital. That must be rewarding work."

Nancy nodded, swallowing a bite of turkey before responding. "Oh yes, it can be. Long hours, but it's good to feel like you're making a difference."

"Are you a nurse?" Taylor asked, genuinely curious.

A flicker of discomfort crossed Nancy's face. "Oh, no. I'm... I'm part of the janitorial staff. It's not glamorous, but it pays the bills."

An awkward silence fell over the table. Taylor could see the pity in Zoe's eyes, the slight wince on Alan's face. She felt a surge of conviction - this was exactly why her work was so important. People like Nancy and her family needed the opportunities that education and self-improvement could provide.

Anne, ever the peacemaker, jumped in. "You know, it's never too late to go back to school if you wanted to become a nurse. My friend Crystal was just telling me that her cousin - she works at the hospital too - is always complaining about how short-staffed they are on nurses. Apparently, they even have financial incentives for people who want to enter nursing programs."

Nancy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Oh, I don't know. I wasn't a very good student back in the day. And with work and the kids..."

"I might be able to help with that," Taylor said, seizing the opportunity. "I have some really effective study guides that could make a big difference. They've been working wonders at Winslow."

She saw Sophia stiffen slightly at the mention of the study guides, but pressed on. "And Terry, if you're interested in improving your job prospects, I'd be happy to share some guides with you too. Even learning a trade could open up a lot of opportunities."

Danny nodded enthusiastically. "Taylor's right. At the Dockworkers' Union, we're always looking for skilled tradespeople. The pay and benefits are much better than most entry-level jobs."

Terry, who had been quietly focused on his plate, looked up with a hint of interest. "Yeah? What kind of trades?"

As Danny launched into an explanation of various apprenticeship programs, Taylor's gaze fell on little Yvonne, who was messily attempting to eat mashed potatoes with her hands. A thought occurred to her.

"You know," she mused aloud, "I wonder if I should make a preschool version of the study guides. It's never too early to start learning, right?"

The words had barely left her mouth when Sophia's fork clattered loudly against her plate. "No!" she blurted out, her voice startlingly loud in the sudden silence. "Yvonne's too young, she shouldn't-"

Sophia broke off, looking confused and slightly panicked. Everyone at the table stared at her, shocked by the outburst.

Taylor felt a cold shock run through her. What had she been thinking? The idea of using her tech on a child that young... it was a step too far, even for her. "You're right, Sophia," she said quickly, trying to smooth over the awkward moment. "I wasn't thinking. Of course Yvonne is too young for anything like that."

Nancy, clearly eager to move past her daughter's strange behavior, seized on Taylor's earlier offer. "Well, I certainly wouldn't say no to any help for Terry and me. Lord knows we could use it."

The conversation gradually resumed, with Zoe deftly steering it towards safer topics. But Taylor's mind was racing. She had come so close to crossing a line she hadn't even realized was there. The thought of using her power on a child that young made her feel slightly ill.

As the meal progressed, Taylor found herself watching Sophia more closely. The other girl seemed on edge, picking at her food and rarely joining in the conversation. Was it possible that some part of Sophia was fighting against the conditioning? The thought was both intriguing and slightly alarming.

"So, Emma," Alan said, breaking into Taylor's thoughts, "how are things going with your modeling? Any exciting new opportunities on the horizon?"

Emma's face lit up. "Actually, yes! The agency called yesterday about a potential shoot for a national campaign. It's still in the early stages, but if it works out, it could be a huge break."

"That's wonderful, honey," Zoe beamed. "We're so proud of you."

Taylor smiled at her friend's excitement, but she couldn't help noticing the slight frown on Nancy's face, the way Terry hunched his shoulders a little more. The contrast between the two families was stark - the Barnes, successful and upwardly mobile, and the Hess family, struggling to get by.

It only reinforced Taylor's belief in the importance of her work. With her help, people like Nancy and Terry could have the same kinds of opportunities that Emma and her family enjoyed. And if that meant bending a few ethical lines... well, wasn't the end result worth it?

As the conversation continued to flow around her, Taylor found herself planning her next steps. She would need to be more careful, more strategic in how she applied her power. But she was more convinced than ever that she was on the right path.

The meal began to wind down, with everyone leaning back in their chairs, pleasantly full. Danny stood, raising his glass in a toast.

"I'd like to thank the Barnes family for hosting us today," he said, his voice warm. "And to all the cooks - Taylor, Emma, Sophia, and Zoe - for this incredible meal. I'm grateful to be here with all of you, sharing good food and good company. To family and friends, both old and new."

"To family and friends," everyone echoed, clinking glasses.

As they began to clear the table, Taylor caught Sophia's eye. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of... something. Confusion? Resistance? But then it was gone, replaced by Sophia's usual neutral expression.

Taylor pushed the thought aside. There would be time to deal with Sophia later. For now, she had a family to celebrate with, and a future to plan. A future that, thanks to her efforts, was looking brighter by the day.

***

Taylor spotted Theo waiting for her near the mall entrance. As she approached, she noticed he wasn't alone - Jessica and Nessa were with him, chatting animatedly. Theo's face lit up when he saw her, and he waved her over.

"Taylor! Over here!" he called.

As Taylor joined the group, Jessica and Nessa turned to her with matching mischievous grins.

"Well, well," Jessica said, her tone playful. "What's a smart, cute girl like you doing with our little cousin?"

Nessa chimed in, "We were just telling Theo how lucky he is."

Theo groaned. "Please don't start..."

But the twins were already off and running, alternating between them as they listed Theo's supposed pros and cons.

"He's rich," Jessica began.

"But he wet the bed until he was four," Nessa countered.

"He's handsome," Jessica offered.

"But terminally shy," Nessa added with a smirk.

"I'm not shy!" Theo protested, his cheeks reddening.

Nessa raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Then why wouldn't you look at me when I was talking to you this morning?"

Theo's blush deepened. "Because you were prancing around in just a shirt and your underwear!"

Nessa waved her hand dismissively. "Oh please, we grew up together. That shouldn't bother you."

Theo groaned again as the girls giggled. Taylor couldn't help but smile at their antics, even as she felt a twinge of sympathy for Theo.

Jessica glanced at her watch. "Well, we should be off. You two lovebirds enjoy your date." She winked at Taylor before linking arms with her sister and sauntering away.

As Theo and Taylor began to walk through the mall, she noticed the changes in his physique. His shoulders seemed broader, his posture more confident. The exercises with Brad were clearly having an effect.

They were stepping off an escalator when Theo suddenly winced, stumbling slightly. Taylor reached out to steady him, concern etching her features.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Theo nodded, straightening up. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just strained something during one of Brad's workouts."

Taylor's brow furrowed. "Are you sure he's not pushing you too hard? You shouldn't overdo it."

"No, no," Theo assured her quickly. "Brad pushes me, sure, but he knows what he's doing. He's actually a surprisingly good trainer. I'll be fine, I promise."

Taylor studied him for a moment, then nodded, letting the subject drop. As they continued walking, she changed the topic.

"You know, I've met Nessa and Jessica a few times before, through Emma's modeling work," she said. "I feel kind of bad - I didn't think much of them at the time."

Theo chuckled. "That's probably exactly what they wanted you to think. They're very good at letting you see only what they want you to see. They learned from the best."

There was something in his tone that made Taylor wonder if he was referring to more than just the twins' modeling careers, but she didn't press.

Theo continued, a bit embarrassed. "To be honest, they weren't too fond of Emma at first. She was moving up the ranks at the agency so quickly... I heard more than one tirade about 'that Barnes bitch'." He winced, realizing how that sounded. "But they're fine with her now! Really."

Taylor laughed. "Don't worry, I get it. I was on Emma's bad side for a while too. She can certainly be a bitch when the mood strikes her."

They shared a knowing look, both intimately familiar with the challenges of dealing with strong-willed sister figures.

As they passed a lingerie store, Taylor couldn't resist teasing Theo a bit. "So, the twins just walk around in their underwear at home, huh?"

Theo groaned. "They've always done it, but it wasn't a big deal until about a year ago. When Kayden was living with us, it used to drive her crazy. She thought they were mocking her or trying to corrupt me or something."

"And that's when you started noticing them as 'girls' rather than just 'sisters'?" Taylor asked, her tone light but curious.

Theo nodded, looking a bit sheepish. "Yeah, I guess so. It was... awkward."

"What did your father think about it?"

Theo shrugged. "Dad didn't seem to care. He didn't understand why Kayden was so upset. Said Heather - my mom - let them do it all the time, and he never thought to change it."

As their date began to wind down, they found themselves back near the mall entrance. Theo turned to Taylor, a slightly nervous expression on his face.

"Hey, um, did you happen to bring that Canary song remix I asked about?"

Taylor nodded, pulling out her phone. "Yep, got it right here." She quickly sent a link to Theo's phone. "There you go."

Theo's face lit up. "Thanks, Taylor. You're the best."

Taylor smiled, then, on impulse, leaned in and gave Theo a quick peck on the cheek. His eyes widened in surprise, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

"I had a great time today," Taylor said softly. "We should do this again soon."

Theo nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely. I'll call you?"

"You'd better," Taylor teased, then turned to leave, a warm feeling in her chest.

As she walked away, her mind was already racing with plans and possibilities. The date had been fun, a much-needed break from the pressures and complexities of her double life. But even in these moments of normalcy, she couldn't fully escape the weight of her goals and responsibilities.

She thought about Theo's training with Brad, the subtle changes she was seeing in him. It was good that he was getting stronger, more confident.

Taylor's thoughts drifted to her own plans, the careful groundwork she was laying at Winslow and beyond. The study guides, the subtle manipulations, the gradual reshaping of minds and attitudes. It was a delicate balance, pushing for change without raising too many alarms.

As she exited the mall, the late afternoon sun warm on her face, Taylor took a deep breath. The path ahead was fraught with dangers and difficult choices, but moments like today - moments of connection, of normalcy - they made it all worthwhile.

She pulled out her phone, sending a quick text to Emma to update her on the date. Then, squaring her shoulders, she headed home. There was work to be done.

***

Kaiser strode into Somer's Rock, the Valkyrie twins flanking him like living statues. The dingy bar was a far cry from his usual haunts, but neutrality had its uses. He scanned the room, taking stock of the assembled villains.

In a nearby booth, the Undersiders huddled together. Kaiser allowed himself a small smirk. The up-and-coming thieves were making quite a name for themselves, though they were still small fry in the grand scheme of things.

Uber and Leet occupied another booth, looking decidedly less cocky than usual. Their recent brush with the law over that hooker incident had clearly rattled them. Two strikes down, one to go. Kaiser wondered idly if they'd learned anything from the experience.

Circus sat alone, nursing a drink. The independent villain's presence was noteworthy, if only for their unpredictability.

At the main table, familiar faces awaited. Faultline, ever the professional, sat with perfect posture. Coil, a mystery wrapped in black spandex, somehow managed to look both relaxed and coiled for action. Lung lounged with casual menace, a dragon waiting to be roused.

The surprise was Mush. Gone was the filth-encrusted vagrant. In his place sat a man who, while still rough around the edges, looked almost respectable. Kaiser raised an eyebrow at the Merchant's transformation.

"No Skidmark?" Kaiser asked as he took his seat, voice dripping with false concern.

Mush grunted. "He's... indisposed."

Coil cleared his throat, drawing attention. "Let's get down to business, shall we? We have a situation that needs addressing."

Kaiser leaned back, projecting an air of calm confidence. "And what situation might that be?"

"The Master Tinker," Coil said flatly. "Her presence in the Bay is... disruptive."

Lung growled low in his throat. "She should not be here."

Kaiser allowed himself a thin smile. "Miss Stepford is operating as a rogue, under the Empire's protection. I fail to see the problem."

Faultline spoke up, her voice cool and professional. "The problem is her base of operations. A school, Kaiser? That's asking for trouble from the Protectorate."

"Yeah," Uber chimed in from his booth. "Even we know better than to mess with schools."

Kaiser shot the wannabe villain a withering glare, silencing him.

Coil steepled his fingers. "The balance of power in the Bay is delicate. Miss Stepford's abilities are... concerning. Perhaps it would be best if she were to relocate."

"You mean, give up a valuable resource?" Kaiser scoffed. "I think not. If your hamfisted attempts to recruit her have driven her to seek our protection, that's hardly my concern."

Lung's eyes narrowed dangerously. "She should not touch what is mine."

Before Kaiser could retort, Mush surprised everyone by speaking up. "If Miss Stepford is truly operating as an independent rogue, merely allied with the Empire for protection..." He paused, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Then Kaiser should have no problem providing contact information for those of us who might wish to make use of her services."

The room fell silent. Kaiser felt a flicker of annoyance, carefully hidden behind his mask. He hadn't expected such a clever play from the Merchant.

Uber and Leet perked up visibly at the suggestion. Even Circus seemed intrigued.

Coil tilted his head. "And who would be foolish enough to risk obtaining materials from a known Master?"

Mush shrugged. "If you can't see the possibilities, that's your problem."

Kaiser's mind raced. He couldn't outright refuse without contradicting his earlier stance, but the idea of Miss Stepford working with other factions was... less than ideal.

Lung growled again. "I do not like this. She should not touch what is mine."

Mush turned to the ABB leader, his voice taking on an almost mocking tone. "If you can't control your now more useful subordinates..."

The implication hung in the air. Kaiser watched as understanding dawned on the faces around the table. The Merchants, under Mush's leadership, were clearly a different beast entirely.

"Very well," Kaiser said, his voice carefully neutral. "I'll see about arranging contact information for those interested in Miss Stepford's services."

Mush nodded, looking pleased. "That's all I ask."

Coil leaned forward. "Then I believe we're done here. Rest assured, we'll all be keeping a very close eye on this... situation."

As the meeting adjourned, Kaiser's mind whirled with possibilities and contingencies. Miss Stepford's presence in the Bay was proving to be both a boon and a complication. He'd need to tread carefully in the days to come.

***

Kaiser strode out of Somer's Rock, the Valkyrie twins falling into step behind him. He'd barely made it ten paces when a voice called out.

"Kaiser. A word?"

He turned, annoyance flaring beneath his mask. Mush stood there, looking far too comfortable in his new, cleaner attire.

"What is it?" Kaiser's tone dripped with disdain. "I have pressing matters to attend to."

Mush smiled, unfazed. "I'm sure you do. But I think you'll want to hear me out."

Kaiser considered for a moment, then jerked his head towards a nearby alley. "Make it quick."

Once they were out of earshot, Kaiser crossed his arms. "Speak."

"You're a smart man, Kaiser," Mush began. "So I'm sure you've noticed the shifts in the Bay's power structure."

"If you're referring to your... makeover, I assure you it changes nothing."

Mush chuckled. "Oh, it changes everything. But that's not what I'm here to discuss." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "With Oni Lee injured, the ABB's ability to project strength is severely limited."

Kaiser scoffed. "I don't need a Merchant to tell me about my enemies' weaknesses."

"Of course not," Mush agreed. "But consider this: while none of us can directly challenge Lung, he can't be everywhere at once."

"And?" Kaiser's patience was wearing thin. "I don't need the Merchants for that. The Empire is more than capable of handling the ABB."

Mush nodded. "True, true. But here's the thing, Kaiser – your ideology precludes you from dealing with Brockton's significant minority population. That's a very untapped market."

Kaiser's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "A market for what, exactly? Your poisons? Your filth?"

"Now, now," Mush held up his hands. "I know you find our previous business practices... distasteful. Addicting children, forcing people into dependency – that was all under the old management."

"And I'm to believe you've had a change of heart?" Kaiser's voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mush shrugged. "Not a change of heart. A change of strategy. The current management is looking for something more sustainable long-term."

Kaiser fell silent, considering. As much as he loathed to admit it, Mush had a point about the Empire's limitations in certain areas of the city.

"We both know that Miss Stepford is going to mean big changes for the Bay," Mush continued. "This rising tide can lift all ships – for those who recognize it."

Kaiser's fists clenched at his sides. The idea of working with the Merchants, even in a limited capacity, turned his stomach. And yet...

"Get out of my sight," he growled.

Mush raised an eyebrow. "Is that a no, then?"

Kaiser remained silent for a long moment. Finally, he spoke through gritted teeth. "I'll get you the contact information for Miss Stepford."

A triumphant grin spread across Mush's face. "Excellent. I look forward to working together." He gave a mock salute and sauntered away, leaving Kaiser seething in the alley.

***

Kaiser watched Mush's retreating form with a mixture of disgust and grudging respect. Once the Merchant leader was out of sight, he turned to the twins.

"I don't like this," Jessica said, her voice tight with concern.

Nessa nodded in agreement. "Working with the Merchants feels... wrong. They're filth."

Kaiser sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging slightly beneath the weight of his armor. "I share your distaste, ladies. But we must look at the bigger picture."

He began to walk, the twins falling into step beside him. The late afternoon sun glinted off their armor as they made their way through the mostly deserted streets.

"The Merchants are indeed much more dangerous now," Kaiser continued. "Mush has proven to be far more cunning than his predecessor. But this situation also presents an opportunity."

Jessica tilted her head. "An opportunity, sir?"

Kaiser nodded. "Yes. This is a chance to see how well Miss Stepford performs, to test the limits of her abilities."

Nessa's eyes widened in understanding. "You mean to use the Merchants as guinea pigs?"

A cold smile spread across Kaiser's face beneath his helmet. "Precisely. Mush is correct about one thing – this is an excellent opportunity to cripple the ABB."

The trio paused at a street corner, Kaiser's gaze sweeping the area for any potential eavesdroppers before continuing.

"If we push into ABB territory in force, I'd wager good money that Coil will make moves to check us," Kaiser explained. "Having the Merchants put pressure on both Coil and the other side of the ABB will give us significantly more room to maneuver as needed."

Jessica frowned. "But sir, won't that just make the Merchants stronger in the long run?"

Kaiser chuckled darkly. "That, my dear, is where Miss Stepford comes in. Her job will be to ensure the Merchants don't become a problem after we've dealt with our other... obstacles."

The twins exchanged a glance, a mix of admiration and unease in their eyes.

"It's a risky play," Nessa said cautiously.

Kaiser nodded. "Indeed it is. But the potential rewards far outweigh the risks. If successful, we could eliminate two of our major rivals and secure our hold on the city."

They walked in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Jessica spoke up.

"What about the heroes? Won't they notice if we start making big moves?"

Kaiser waved a dismissive hand. "The PRT and Protectorate are stretched thin as it is. And with Miss Stepford's influence growing at Winslow, they'll be even more distracted."

He paused, his voice taking on a contemplative tone. "Besides, I have reason to believe there may be... internal conflicts brewing within their ranks. Nothing we need concern ourselves with directly, but it should keep them sufficiently occupied."

Nessa nodded slowly. "And Lung? He won't take kindly to us encroaching on his territory."

A hint of excitement crept into Kaiser's voice. "Lung is powerful, yes. But he's also predictable. With Oni Lee out of commission, he'll be forced to respond personally to any major threats. We'll use that to our advantage."

The twins shared another look, this one filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

"It sounds like you've thought this through thoroughly, sir," Jessica said.

Kaiser allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. "I always do, my dear. Now, we have preparations to make. I want you two to start gathering intelligence on the ABB's current operations. We need to identify their weak points before we strike."

The twins nodded in unison. "Yes, sir."

As they continued their walk back to Medhall, Kaiser's mind raced with possibilities. The board was set, the pieces were moving into place. With Miss Stepford's abilities and the chaos of gang warfare as cover, he could reshape Brockton Bay into his vision.

***

Meanwhile, across town, Taylor Hebert sat in her new lab at Medhall, surrounded by equipment worth more than she'd ever dreamed of possessing. She carefully adjusted a delicate piece of circuitry, her brow furrowed in concentration.

A soft knock at the door broke her focus. "Come in," she called, not looking up from her work.

Othala entered, a tray of food balanced on one hand. "I thought you might be hungry," she said, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "You've been in here for hours."

Taylor blinked, suddenly aware of the ache in her back and the rumbling in her stomach. "Oh, wow. I didn't realize..." She stretched, wincing at the pop in her shoulders. "Thanks, Othala."

The other girl smiled warmly. "It's no trouble. How's the project coming along?"

Taylor's eyes lit up. "It's amazing! I've never had access to materials like this before. The possibilities are just..." She trailed off, gesturing excitedly at the half-finished device on her workbench.

Othala nodded, though her expression betrayed a hint of confusion. "That's great! I'm sure whatever you're working on will be incredible."

Taylor caught the look and felt a twinge of guilt. She'd been so caught up in her work, she'd barely interacted with anyone since arriving at Medhall. "I'm sorry, I must sound like a crazy person. How about we have lunch together? I could use a break."

Othala's face brightened. "I'd like that."

As they settled in to eat, Taylor found herself relaxing. Othala was easy to talk to, eager to learn about Taylor's work without pushing too hard.

"So," Othala said between bites, "how are you finding everything here? Is it... what you expected?"

Taylor considered the question carefully. "It's different," she admitted. "I'm still getting used to... well, all of this." She gestured vaguely around the lab.

Othala nodded sympathetically. "It can be overwhelming at first. But you're doing great, really. Everyone's impressed with what you've accomplished so far."

"Everyone?" Taylor raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Othala grinned, "I might have overheard Victor and Kaiser talking. They seem very pleased with your progress."

Taylor felt a flutter of pride, quickly followed by a pang of unease. She pushed the feeling aside, focusing on her food.

"Can I ask you something?" Othala said after a moment of comfortable silence.

"Sure."

"Why did you choose the name 'Miss Stepford'? It's just... different from what I would have expected."

Taylor set down her fork, considering her words carefully. "It's a reminder," she said finally. "Of what I'm working towards."

Othala tilted her head, curious. "Which is...?"

"A better Brockton Bay," Taylor said, her voice growing more passionate. "One where people are safe, where they can reach their full potential. Where families are strong and communities support each other."

Othala nodded slowly. "That sounds... nice. But how does 'Stepford' fit into that?"

Taylor smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Well, the Stepford Wives were all about creating the perfect community, right? Even if the methods were a bit... extreme."

Othala laughed. "I see. So you're what, the kinder, gentler version?"

"Something like that," Taylor agreed, her smile fading slightly. "I want to help people, Othala. Really help them. Not just put band-aids on problems, but fix things at their root."

Othala's expression grew serious. "I understand that. It's why I joined the Empire, you know? To make a difference."

Taylor nodded, careful to keep her face neutral. "And has it? Made a difference, I mean?"

Othala was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. "I think so," she said finally. "But... maybe not as much as I'd hoped. Not yet, anyway."

Taylor reached out, squeezing Othala's hand. "Well, maybe together we can do more. For everyone in the Bay."

Othala smiled, squeezing back. "I'd like that."

As they finished their meal, Taylor felt a mix of emotions swirling in her chest. Guilt at the deception, determination to see her plans through, and a genuine fondness for Othala that she hadn't expected to feel.

"Thanks for lunch," Taylor said as Othala gathered the dishes. "And for the company. It's nice to have someone to talk to who isn't..."

"Completely obsessed with cape stuff?" Othala finished with a grin.

Taylor laughed. "Exactly."

As Othala left, Taylor turned back to her workbench, her mind racing with new ideas. She had a lot of work to do if she was going to change Brockton Bay for the better. And maybe, just maybe, she could help people like Othala see a different path along the way.

***

Across town, in a nondescript office building, Coil sat at his desk, reviewing the latest reports from his operatives. The meeting at Somer's Rock had been... enlightening, to say the least.

He pulled up a file on his computer, labeled simply "Stepford." The dossier was frustratingly thin, but growing by the day. A mind-control Tinker operating out of Winslow High School, now apparently allied with the Empire 88. It was a concerning development, to say the least.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings. "Enter," he called.

Mr. Pitter, his most trusted lieutenant, stepped inside. "Sir, I have the latest information on the Winslow situation."

Coil leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Go on."

"Our operative reports that the improvements in student performance continue to accelerate. GPAs are up across the board, disciplinary issues are down, and there's even talk of expanding some of the advanced placement programs."

"Interesting," Coil mused. "And the faculty?"

Mr. Pitter shuffled through his notes. "They seem to be fully on board with whatever is happening. Principal Blackwell in particular is throwing her full support behind these... study guides."

Coil nodded slowly. "And what of our attempts to acquire one of these guides?"

"Limited success, I'm afraid," Mr. Pitter admitted. "We've managed to obtain a few of the older ones, but they appear to be... weak, for lack of a better term. Whatever Miss Stepford is doing, it appears to be degrading over time.

Coil drummed his fingers on the desk, considering. In one timeline, he ordered an immediate assault on Winslow, consequences be damned. In the other...

"Keep pushing," he said finally. "I want eyes on every aspect of that school. And increase our efforts to infiltrate Medhall. If Miss Stepford is working with the Empire, that's where we'll find her."

"Yes, sir," Mr. Pitter nodded. "There's one other thing. Our mole in the PRT reports increased chatter about Winslow. They're starting to take notice."

Coil allowed himself a small smile. "Good. Let them. The more attention on the school, the less they'll be looking at us."

As Mr. Pitter left, Coil turned back to his computer, pulling up a different file. This one labeled "Undersiders." Perhaps it was time to put his pet project to use. A distraction, to keep the heroes occupied while he dealt with this new... complication.

He reached for his phone, dialing a familiar number. "Tattletale," he said when the line connected. "I have a job for you and your team."

Mush strode into the Merchants' hideout, his posture straight and confident - a far cry from the hunched, shambling figure he'd once been. The place still reeked of chemicals and unwashed bodies, but there was an undercurrent of... purpose now. Organization.

He paused in the main room, blinking in surprise at the sight before him. Skidmark hovered several feet off the ground, legs crossed in a lotus position, eyes closed. For a moment, Mush felt a flicker of concern - had the 'boss' finally fried his last brain cell?

Then he noticed the faint shimmer of Skidmark's power fields, carefully arranged to support his weight. Clever, in a junkie savant sort of way.

"Yo, Skidmark," Mush called out. "How's it hanging?"

Skidmark's eyes snapped open, bloodshot and unfocused. "The wheels, man. The wheels within wheels. They're all connected, you know? Like a big... wheely thing."

Mush nodded slowly. "Right. And how's the work coming along? Any progress on those new rides?"

"Oh yeah, yeah," Skidmark babbled, gesticulating wildly. "We got... we got the Bookmobile, right? But it's not just for books, it's for... for knowledge, man. And then there's the... the Think Tank. It thinks! And shoots stuff!"

"Uh-huh," Mush said, trying to parse meaning from the drug-addled rambling. "Sounds like you and Squealer have been busy."

"Busy busy busy," Skidmark agreed, nodding so hard Mush thought his head might fall off. "Like... like bees, man. But with cars instead of honey."

"That's great, boss," Mush said, plastering on a fake smile. "Why don't you get back to your... meditation? I'm gonna go check on Squealer, see how things are coming along."

Skidmark's only response was to close his eyes again, muttering something about "the geometry of thought" under his breath.

Shaking his head, Mush made his way deeper into the hideout, towards Squealer's workshop. The clanging of metal and the occasional curse told him he was on the right track.

He found Squealer bent over the engine block of... something. It looked like someone had fused a tank, a bulldozer, and a library into an unholy amalgamation of steel and circuitry.

"Squealer," he called out. "Got a minute?"

She straightened up, wiping grease from her hands. Mush was surprised to see her eyes were clear, her movements steady. No sign of her usual chemical haze.

"What do you want?" she asked, wariness clear in her tone.

Mush spread his hands in a gesture of peace. "Just checking in. Skidmark was... less than coherent about your progress."

Squealer snorted. "Yeah, well, that's Skidmark for you. But we've been making headway. Got a couple new rides almost ready to roll."

"I can see that," Mush said, eyeing the monstrosity behind her. "Want to give me the rundown?"

Squealer hesitated, clearly torn between pride in her work and suspicion of Mush's motives. Finally, professional enthusiasm won out.

"This here's the Bookmobile," she said, patting the vehicle's armored flank. "Skidmark came up with the name, but I did the real work. It's got a mobile broadcasting system built in, can pump out those freaky study guide signals over a whole neighborhood."

"Impressive," Mush nodded. "What else you got?"

Squealer led him over to another hulking shape, covered by a tarp. She yanked it off, revealing a sleek, predatory-looking machine.

"This is the Think Tank," she said, a note of frustration creeping into her voice. "It's... well, I'm not entirely sure what it does, to be honest. I built it while I was high as a kite on those study guide things. It's got some kind of... I don't know, thought amplification system? And a really big gun."

Mush raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember building it?"

Squealer shook her head. "Not really. It's all kind of a blur. I know I did it, and I can see how it all fits together, but... it's like trying to remember a dream, you know?"

"Must be frustrating," Mush said, his tone sympathetic.

"You have no idea," Squealer grumbled. "I've built better stuff than I've ever managed before, but I can't replicate it. Not without..." she trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Without what?" Mush prompted.

Squealer sighed. "Without getting blitzed on those freaky study guides again. And I'm not sure I want to do that. It was... intense. Scary, even."

Mush nodded slowly, considering his next move. He needed Squealer on board, but pushing too hard might backfire.

"I understand your concerns," he said carefully. "But think of the possibilities. With tech like this, we could really make a name for ourselves. Take the Merchants to the next level."

Squealer's eyes narrowed. "The next level, huh? And where exactly do you fit into all this? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been calling the shots while Skidmark and I were out of it."

Mush held up his hands. "Hey now, I'm just trying to help. Someone had to keep things running while you two were... indisposed."

"Uh-huh," Squealer said, unconvinced. "And I suppose all that new cash flow is just a happy accident?"

"It's good business sense," Mush countered. "We've got better product now, more reliable dealers. People are starting to take us seriously."

"Yeah, I noticed," Squealer said. "But what happens when Skidmark comes down? You really think he's gonna be cool with you muscling in on his turf?"

Mush shrugged. "Skidmark's still the boss. I'm just... helping him realize his vision."

Squealer barked out a laugh. "His vision? Have you seen him lately? He can barely string two words together."

"Which is why he needs us," Mush pressed. "To make the Merchants into something more than just a bunch of junkies pushing cut-rate product."

He could see Squealer wavering, torn between suspicion and the allure of real success. Time to sweeten the pot.

"Look," he said, "I've got a line on some primo parts. Top-shelf stuff you couldn't get your hands on before. And..." he paused for effect, "I might have a way to get in touch with that Winslow Tinker. The one calling herself Miss Stepford."

Squealer's eyes widened, but then she shook her head. "I don't know, man. Mixing my stuff with some mind-control Tinker tech? That's a recipe for disaster."

"It's not mind control," Mush insisted. "It's... optimization. Making people better versions of themselves."

"Yeah, well, maybe I like myself just fine," Squealer muttered. "If I want to get blitzed, I'll do it the old-fashioned way."

Mush's expression hardened. He hadn't wanted to play this card, but Squealer wasn't leaving him much choice.

"About that," he said, his tone deceptively casual. "See, I've been thinking. If we're gonna clean up our image, maybe it's time we cleaned up our act too. No more recreational use for the higher-ups."

Squealer's jaw dropped. "You're shitting me."

Mush shook his head. "I'm serious. Either you use the study guides with your work, or you don't use anything at all. Cold turkey."

"You can't do that," Squealer sputtered. "Skidmark would never-"

"Skidmark's not exactly in a position to argue right now," Mush cut her off. "And by the time he comes down, it'll be a done deal."

Squealer opened her mouth to protest further, but a movement behind Mush caught her attention. She looked past him, her face paling slightly.

Mush turned to see Whirligig and Trainwreck standing there, silent and imposing. He hadn't called them, but their timing was perfect.

"Ah, good," Mush said, as if he'd planned this all along. "Squealer, I don't think you've met our newest recruit. This is Trainwreck. He'll be working with you from now on."

Trainwreck, a hulking figure of mismatched machinery and scavenged parts, gave a curt nod.

"What, you're replacing me now?" Squealer demanded, her voice rising.

"Not replacing," Mush assured her. "Supplementing. Two Tinkers are better than one, right? And Trainwreck here is happy to work with the study guides. Aren't you, Trainwreck?"

The cyborg cape nodded again. "Whatever gets the job done," he rumbled.

Squealer looked from Mush to Trainwreck to Whirligig, realization dawning on her face. This wasn't a negotiation. It was an ultimatum.

"Fine," she spat. "You win. I'll use the damn study guides. But I swear to God, Mush, if this blows up in our faces..."

Mush smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "It won't. Trust me, Squealer. We're on the verge of something big here. The Merchants are about to become a real power in this city. Don't you want to be a part of that?"

Squealer glared at him for a long moment, then turned back to her workbench. "Whatever," she muttered. "Just get me those parts you promised. And tell your new lapdog to stay out of my way."

Mush nodded to Trainwreck, who lumbered over to an unoccupied corner of the workshop. Whirligig remained by the door, a silent sentinel.

"I'll have everything you need by tomorrow," Mush promised. "In the meantime, why don't you give Trainwreck the tour? I'm sure you two will work great together."

Squealer's only response was a noncommittal grunt. Mush took that as his cue to leave. He had other matters to attend to, now that Squealer was... properly motivated.

As he walked away, he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. Things were coming together nicely. The Merchants were evolving, becoming something more than just another gang of addicts and pushers. With Miss Stepford's tech and Squealer's inventions, they'd be a force to be reckoned with.

And if Skidmark or Squealer had a problem with the new direction? Well, there were always ways to deal with troublesome elements. After all, in this business, overdoses happened all the time.

Chapter Text

Taylor's phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. She took a deep breath, steeling herself as she read the message requesting a call from Miss Stepford. Kaiser had warned her he'd given her contact info to the Merchants. Time to put on the persona.

She texted back that she was available, preferring they initiate the call. Moments later, her phone rang.

"Miss Stepford speaking," she answered smoothly, her voice taking on the crisp, polite tones of her alter ego.

"Ah, excellent. This is Mush of the Merchants. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?"

"Not at all. How may I assist you today?" Taylor kept her tone pleasant but professional.

"First, let me thank you. I've been using some of your products and I must say, I'm impressed. Feel like a whole new man." Mush chuckled. "Though I will say, they don't seem quite as potent as before. Got these through, shall we say, unofficial channels. I'd much prefer to get them fresh from the source."

"I see," Taylor replied carefully. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Your study guides have worked wonders for our organization. Really helped clean things up, if you catch my drift."

Taylor's mind raced. The Merchants were using her tech? How had they gotten ahold of it? She'd have to look into that. For now, she needed more information.

"I'm glad to hear they've been beneficial," she said. "Though I'm curious why I should consider selling to you directly."

Mush's tone turned sly. "Come now, Miss Stepford. Surely you don't want to be entirely dependent on the Empire for your wellbeing and revenue? Having alternatives gives you options, leverage. It's just good business sense."

Taylor frowned. He had a point, loath as she was to admit it. Still, she pressed on. "I don't approve of the drug trade. That's not something I'm interested in supporting."

Mush laughed, a harsh sound. "And you think the Empire abstains from such activities? My dear, there will always be those who desire chemical comforts. We simply service that demand. But I assure you, under the influence of your materials, our organization has vastly improved. More efficient, less... messy."

He paused, letting that sink in before continuing, "If we don't get supplies from you, well... I'd hate to see the gang regress to its old ways. Think of all the good you could do, all the lives you could improve."

Taylor's stomach churned. It was manipulative, but she couldn't deny the logic. If she could exert some control over the Merchants, maybe she could mitigate some of the harm they caused.

"I... see your point," she said slowly. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Mush rattled off a list of items – mostly variations on her study guides and some basic cognitive enhancement formulas. The prices he quoted weren't as high as what the Empire offered, but they were substantial.

"I'm eager to see how effective they are," Mush said, a note of anticipation in his voice. "And just how much control you think you'll gain."

Taylor frowned at that. She'd fully intended to load the materials with as much influence as possible. The fact that Mush seemed aware of that potential was concerning.

"I'll need some time to consider your offer," she said carefully. "And to prepare any materials, should I decide to move forward."

"Of course, of course," Mush replied smoothly. "Take all the time you need. We'll be in touch."

The call ended, leaving Taylor with a knot of anxiety in her stomach. She paced her lab, mind whirling. On one hand, this could be an opportunity to exert some positive influence over the Merchants. On the other, she'd be actively supporting a criminal organization.

She needed to test the addiction-breaking potential of her tech. If she could use it to help addicts recover, that might justify working with the Merchants. Decision made, Taylor picked up her Empire-issued phone to make a call of her own.

"Victor? It's Miss Stepford. I need a favor. Do you have any volunteers who are struggling with addiction? I'd like to see if my tech can help break their dependence."

Victor's voice came through, curious but cautious. "I might be able to arrange something. What exactly did you have in mind?"

Taylor explained her idea, careful not to mention the Merchants directly. Victor listened, then agreed to set up a small test group.

"I'll have Othala oversee things," he said. "She has some medical training, which could be useful. I'll send you the details once it's arranged."

"Thank you," Taylor said, relieved. "I appreciate your help with this."

As she hung up, Taylor felt a mix of anticipation and dread. If this worked, it could open up new avenues for her tech. But it also meant deeper involvement with the criminal underworld of Brockton Bay. She tried to reassure herself that it was for the greater good, but a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if she was just rationalizing.

She shook off the doubts and got to work, determined to make the most of this opportunity. If she could help addicts recover and exert some control over the Merchants in the process, maybe it would be worth the moral compromise.

***

Sophia trudged through the halls of Winslow, her backpack slung over one shoulder. The final bell had rung, and students streamed past her, eager to escape the confines of the school. She paused at her locker, mechanically going through the motions of gathering her things.

As she shoved a textbook into her bag, Sophia's gaze drifted to where Emma and Taylor usually met her after class. The space was conspicuously empty. She frowned, a twinge of disappointment settling in her chest. They'd been distant lately, wrapped up in their own world of whispered conversations and meaningful glances.

Sophia slammed her locker shut with more force than necessary, earning a few startled looks from nearby students. She ignored them, shouldering her way through the crowd.

At least they still sat with her at lunch. Sophia's stomach growled at the thought, and she grimaced. Taylor had been pushing more and more food on her lately. It was getting ridiculous – even for an active girl like herself, it was too much.

She tugged at her shirt, which felt a bit tighter than it had at the start of the school year. Sophia scowled. She needed to do something about this extra weight before it became a real problem.

As she stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, Sophia's mind drifted to Mrs. Barnes. The woman was recovering, but slowly. And Sophia still had no leads on who had hurt her. The thought nagged at her, an itch she couldn't quite scratch. She should have been able to figure it out by now.

Sophia's feet carried her aimlessly through the streets of Brockton Bay. She needed to burn off some of this restless energy. Maybe it was time to pick up her patrols again. She hadn't been going out as Shadow Stalker as much lately, but there were always plenty of gangbangers to ambush if you knew where to look.

A smirk tugged at her lips. The dealers among them were often loaded with cash. She wasn't hurting for money these days.

A familiar twinge of guilt pricked at her conscience. She should share some of those spoils with her family. They could use the extra cash. Sophia brushed the thought aside with practiced ease.

Her wanderings brought her to a rundown strip mall. A faded sign caught her eye: "Brockton Bay Boxing Club." Perfect. She needed a real gym, somewhere she could work out this frustration and get back into fighting shape.

The bell above the door jangled as Sophia stepped inside. The interior was worn but clean, heavy bags hanging from the ceiling and a boxing ring dominating the center of the space. The smell of sweat and leather filled her nostrils.

A burly man behind the counter looked up from a well-worn magazine. His gaze swept over Sophia, lingering on her midsection. His lip curled slightly.

"Weight Watchers is down the street, sweetheart," he said, jerking a thumb towards the door.

Sophia's eyes narrowed. "I'm here to box," she snapped. "You got a problem with that?"

The man shrugged, seemingly unimpressed by her bravado. "Your funeral, kid. Fifty bucks a month, cash only."

Sophia slapped the money on the counter, snatching the membership form he slid towards her. She filled it out quickly, her handwriting growing more aggressive with each line.

"Locker rooms are in the back," the man said, barely glancing at the form as she thrust it back at him. "Try not to break anything."

Sophia bit back a retort, stalking towards the locker room. She changed quickly into her school gym clothes, glad she'd thought to bring them. As she emerged, she made a beeline for one of the heavy bags.

She squared up, falling into a fighting stance that felt comfortingly familiar. Sophia let loose with a flurry of punches, each impact sending a satisfying jolt up her arms. She lost herself in the rhythm, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead.

"You self-trained?"

The voice startled her, and Sophia spun around, fists still raised. Her gaze traveled up a impressively muscled chest to meet warm brown eyes. The guy was older than her, probably in his late teens. And hot as hell.

Sophia lowered her hands, trying to play it cool. "So what if I am?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Nothing wrong with that. But your form could use some work." He stepped closer, nodding towards the bag. "Mind if I show you?"

Sophia shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "Knock yourself out."

He moved to stand beside her, demonstrating a punch in slow motion. "See how I'm rotating my hips? That's where the real power comes from. Try it."

Sophia mimicked his movement, feeling the difference immediately as her fist connected with the bag. The impact was noticeably stronger.

"Not bad," he said, sounding genuinely impressed. "You picked that up quick."

"I'm a fast learner," Sophia replied, a hint of pride creeping into her voice.

He grinned, holding out a hand. "I'm Brian."

"Sophia," she said, clasping his hand briefly. As she let go, she found herself shifting her weight, one hip cocked to the side. It wasn't a conscious decision, but something about the pose felt right.

Brian's eyes widened slightly, and Sophia felt a flutter of satisfaction.

"You come here often?" she asked, inwardly wincing at how cliche it sounded.

"Most every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday," Brian replied. "I could show you a few more tips, if you're interested."

Sophia nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Brian hesitated, his expression growing slightly awkward. "Look, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but... while a good workout is great, proper eating habits do more for weight loss than anything else."

Sophia groaned, her earlier irritation flooding back. "I know, I know. It's just... my friend won't stop trying to stuff me like a pig lately."

Before she could stop herself, Sophia grabbed her breast, giving it a little jiggle. "At least not all the weight is going to my belly, I guess."

Brian's eyes went wide, and Sophia felt a thrill at his obvious reaction. What the hell had gotten into her? She wasn't usually this forward.

Brian cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Uh, well... would you maybe want to grab a coffee sometime? We could talk more about nutrition and stuff."

Sophia grinned, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. "Yeah, I'd like that."

They exchanged numbers, and Sophia found herself looking forward to their next encounter more than she probably should. As she left the gym, she felt lighter than she had in weeks.

The sun was setting as Sophia made her way home, casting long shadows across the cracked sidewalks. She replayed her conversation with Brian in her mind, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Her good mood evaporated as she approached her house. The porch light was on, which meant her mom was probably home. Sophia braced herself for the inevitable interrogation about where she'd been.

She eased the front door open, hoping to slip upstairs unnoticed. No such luck.

"Sophia? That you?" Her mother's voice carried from the kitchen.

Sophia sighed, resigned to her fate. "Yeah, Mom. It's me."

She trudged into the kitchen, where her mother was stirring something on the stove. The rich aroma of spaghetti sauce filled the air, making Sophia's stomach growl despite herself.

Her mother turned, giving her a once-over. "Where've you been? I was starting to worry."

Sophia shrugged, aiming for casual. "Just checking out a new gym. Thought I'd start working out more."

Her mother's eyebrows rose. "A gym? That's... good, I suppose. Though I'm not sure we can afford a membership right now."

A twinge of guilt needled at Sophia. She had more than enough money from her "patrols" to cover it, but there was no way to explain that without raising suspicions.

"It's not too expensive," Sophia lied. "And I can use some of my allowance."

Her mother seemed to accept this, turning back to the stove. "Well, dinner will be ready soon. Go wash up."

Sophia retreated to her room, tossing her gym bag in the corner. She flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The events of the day swirled in her mind – her frustration with Emma and Taylor's distance, the satisfaction of working out, and the unexpected thrill of meeting Brian.

Her phone buzzed, and Sophia's heart leapt. Had Brian texted already? She fumbled for the device, disappointed to see it was just Emma.

"Hey Soph, sorry we've been so busy lately. Wanna hang out this weekend?"

Sophia typed out a quick reply: "Sure, sounds good."

She hesitated, then added: "Everything okay with you guys?"

The response came quickly: "Of course! Just been working on some stuff. We'll fill you in soon, promise."

Sophia frowned at the vague answer. What were they up to that they couldn't tell her about? The familiar feeling of being left out crept over her.

"Sophia! Dinner!" Her mother's voice interrupted her brooding.

As she headed downstairs, Sophia resolved to get to the bottom of whatever Emma and Taylor were hiding. And if they wouldn't let her in on their secrets... well, she had her own life to focus on now.

The next day at school, Sophia found herself more aware of the changes in her body. The extra weight she'd been carrying suddenly felt more pronounced, and she tugged self-consciously at her clothes throughout the morning.

When lunchtime rolled around, she approached their usual table with a mix of anticipation and dread. Emma and Taylor were already there, heads bent close together in quiet conversation. They looked up as Sophia approached, their expressions brightening in a way that seemed just a touch too forced.

"Hey Soph!" Emma chirped. "How's it going?"

Sophia slid into her seat, eyeing the massive spread of food Taylor had laid out. "Fine," she said, unable to keep a note of suspicion from her voice. "You two seem... chipper."

Taylor smiled, pushing a heaping plate towards Sophia. "Just excited about a project we're working on. Here, I made your favorite – chicken parmesan."

The smell was tantalizing, and Sophia's traitorous stomach growled. She eyed the portion size warily. "Taylor, this is way too much. I'm trying to watch what I eat."

A flicker of... something passed over Taylor's face. Concern? Disappointment? It was gone too quickly for Sophia to be sure.

"Oh, come on," Emma cajoled. "You're a growing girl. You need your strength!"

Sophia frowned, a retort on the tip of her tongue. But as she opened her mouth, she found herself reaching for the fork instead. Before she knew it, she was digging in with gusto.

As she ate, Sophia tried to focus on the conversation, searching for any clues about what Emma and Taylor might be up to. But they kept things frustratingly vague, deflecting her questions with ease.

By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Sophia felt uncomfortably full. She stood, suppressing a groan as her waistband dug into her stomach.

"You okay, Soph?" Emma asked, a touch of worry in her voice.

Sophia forced a smile. "Yeah, just... ate too fast, I guess. I'll see you guys later."

As she walked away, Sophia couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Why did she keep eating so much when she knew she shouldn't? And what were Emma and Taylor hiding?

The rest of the school day dragged by in a haze of discomfort and suspicion. By the time the final bell rang, Sophia was more than ready to hit the gym and work off some of her frustration.

She changed quickly in the locker room, grateful that her workout clothes were a bit more forgiving than her school uniform. As she emerged into the main area of the gym, her eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar face.

Her heart sank a little when she didn't spot Brian. Of course, he'd mentioned he usually came on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. It was only Thursday.

Pushing aside her disappointment, Sophia made her way to one of the heavy bags. She fell into a rhythm, focusing on the techniques Brian had shown her. The satisfying thud of her fists against the bag helped clear her mind, pushing away the confusion and doubt that had plagued her all day.

Time slipped away as she worked out her frustrations on the bag. It wasn't until her arms began to ache that Sophia finally stepped back, breathing heavily.

"Nice form," a familiar voice called out. "You've been practicing."

Sophia spun around, a grin spreading across her face before she could stop it. Brian stood a few feet away, a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

"I thought you didn't come on Thursdays," Sophia said, trying to keep her voice casual.

Brian shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Usually don't. But I had some free time, thought I'd get an extra session in." He paused, his eyes twinkling. "Glad I did."

Sophia felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with her workout. "Well, since you're here... want to show me a few more moves?"

They spent the next hour working on various techniques, Brian patiently correcting Sophia's form and offering encouragement. Despite her earlier fullness from lunch, Sophia found herself energized by his presence.

As they finished up, Brian glanced at his watch. "I've got to run, but... that offer for coffee still stands, if you're interested."

Sophia nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Yeah, definitely. When were you thinking?"

"How about Saturday afternoon?" Brian suggested. "There's a nice place not far from here."

"Sounds good," Sophia replied, trying to keep her cool. "Text me the details?"

Brian grinned. "Will do. See you then, Sophia."

As he walked away, Sophia couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. For the first time in weeks, she felt like things might actually be looking up.

***

Kaiser stood in the center of the room, his eyes fixed on the sleek pod before him. It was an impressive piece of technology, he had to admit. Smooth lines and a polished surface that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. He could feel the anticipation radiating from his gathered capes.

Victor leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a look of keen interest on his face. Beside him, Othala fidgeted slightly, her eyes darting between the pod and Taylor. Krieg stood ramrod straight, his expression unreadable behind his mask. Cricket lounged in a corner, her kamas within easy reach.

And then there was Taylor – no, Miss Stepford, Kaiser reminded himself. The young tinker stood beside her creation, a hint of pride in her stance despite the modesty of her 1950s housewife costume.

"Impressive," Kaiser said, breaking the silence. "You say this can implant your 'roles' more effectively than your books?"

Taylor nodded, her blonde wig bobbing slightly. "Yes, Mr. Kaiser. The pod allows for a much deeper and quicker integration of the skills and knowledge. It can also handle multiple roles simultaneously, which is a significant improvement over the books."

Kaiser gestured to the Empire foot soldier who had been waiting quietly nearby. "Show me."

Taylor turned to the man. "First, I'd like you to perform some basic weapons maintenance, then spar briefly with Cricket."

The soldier nodded, moving to a nearby table where a disassembled gun lay. He began working on it, his movements competent but unremarkable. When he finished, Cricket stepped forward, her kamas at the ready.

The sparring match was short and decisive. While the soldier put up a decent fight, Cricket's superior speed and skill quickly overwhelmed him. Within a few moves, he was on the ground, Cricket's blade at his throat.

Taylor waited for the soldier to catch his breath before gesturing to the pod. "If you would, please."

The man climbed in, looking slightly nervous as the pod sealed around him. Taylor moved to a control panel, her fingers dancing across the keys.

"While we wait," she said, turning back to Kaiser, "I wanted to discuss capacity. With my current resources, I believe I can build and maintain three of these pods, in addition to continuing production of the book printers."

Kaiser nodded, impressed despite himself. "Excellent. And the duration?"

"This initial session will take about thirty minutes," Taylor explained. "Subsequent sessions can be shorter, used to reinforce or add additional skills."

Victor spoke up. "You mentioned my power was helpful in developing this. How so?"

Taylor smiled. "Studying the way your ability works with skills allowed me to refine the integration process. It's not a perfect replication, of course, but it gave me valuable insights."

The minutes ticked by as they waited for the pod to finish its work. Finally, a soft chime sounded, and the pod opened with a hiss of released air.

The soldier stepped out, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. Taylor directed him back to the gun, and the difference was immediately apparent. His movements were fluid and precise, stripping and reassembling the weapon with the ease of a seasoned professional.

"Now, if you would spar with Cricket again," Taylor requested.

This time, the match was far more even. While Cricket still held the edge in experience, the soldier's movements were sharper, his reactions faster. He even managed to land a few solid hits before Cricket finally took him down.

"Impressive," Kaiser said again, genuine admiration in his voice. "And you say his marksmanship will be improved as well?"

Taylor nodded. "Significantly. But there's more." She held up a sign covered in Japanese characters. "Please read this," she instructed the soldier.

Without hesitation, the man began reading aloud in flawless Japanese. Othala's eyes widened behind her mask.

"Why bother with that language?" she asked, a hint of disdain in her voice.

Taylor turned to her. "It's the primary language used by the ABB. They often speak it amongst themselves, assuming we won't understand. This gives us a tactical advantage."

She paused, then continued. "I've also implanted Navajo as a language for Empire members to use. It will be difficult for outsiders to identify or translate."

Krieg frowned at this, while Kaiser hid a smirk. He knew the history there – Navajo code talkers had been instrumental in the Allied victory during World War II. It was a clever choice, if somewhat ironic given the Empire's ideology.

"Your work is excellent, Miss Stepford," Kaiser said, his voice warm with approval. He turned to Krieg. "Have your men undergo the pod training over the Christmas holiday. I want as many as possible to benefit from this."

Krieg nodded, a cruel smile visible beneath his mask. "I relish the thought of what my men will be able to do to the ABB with these new skills."

Kaiser continued, addressing the room at large. "If any other Empire soldiers wish to undergo this training, they may request it from Miss Stepford. However," he added, looking directly at Taylor, "the decision to grant such requests will be at her discretion."

Taylor nodded, understanding the implied trust – and test – in that statement.

"I must say, I'm impressed you were able to accomplish all this in just three weeks," Kaiser said. "In light of your success, I'll be increasing your budget for future projects."

Taylor's eyes lit up at this, though she quickly schooled her expression back to polite gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Kaiser. I'm glad I could be of service to the Empire."

Kaiser paused, his gaze sweeping over his assembled capes. "For now, I'm forbidding the use of the pod on our parahuman members. I'm sure you understand, Miss Stepford."

Taylor nodded, accepting the limitation without protest. It was clear that while she had earned a measure of trust, Kaiser wasn't ready to risk his powered assets just yet.

"Well then," Kaiser said, his voice taking on a more jovial tone, "I believe that concludes our demonstration. Miss Stepford, your gift to the Empire will undoubtedly lead to a new and better Brockton Bay." He smiled, the expression visible even through his mask. "Merry Christmas to you all."

As the others began to file out of the room, Kaiser held Taylor back with a gentle hand on her arm. "A moment, if you please."

Once they were alone, Kaiser spoke in a low voice. "You've exceeded my expectations, Miss Stepford. The Empire owes you a debt of gratitude."

Taylor inclined her head. "Thank you, sir. I'm just glad I could help."

Kaiser studied her for a long moment. "I have to ask – why the Navajo language? It's an... interesting choice, given our organization's history."

Taylor met his gaze steadily. "It's practical. The language is complex, with no written form until recently. It's also not widely spoken outside certain Native American communities. All of this makes it an ideal choice for secure communication."

She paused, then added with a hint of challenge in her voice, "And yes, I'm aware of its historical significance. Sometimes, sir, it's wise to learn from one's enemies."

Kaiser chuckled. "Indeed it is, my dear. Indeed it is." He patted her shoulder. "Keep up the good work. I have a feeling 2011 is going to be a very interesting year for Brockton Bay."

As Taylor watched Kaiser leave, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Things were progressing even better than she had hoped. With the increased budget and the trust she was slowly earning, her plans were falling into place.

She turned back to her pod, already mentally sketching out improvements and refinements. There was still so much work to be done, but for now, she would savor this victory.

***

Victoria Dallon soared through the crisp evening air, her phone pressed to her ear as she complained to her boyfriend, Dean. The wind whipped through her blonde hair, but her invulnerability kept the chill at bay.

"I'm telling you, Dean, it's ridiculous! Winslow's basketball team nearly beat Arcadia last week. Winslow! Can you believe it?"

Dean's laughter crackled through the phone. "Come on, Vicky. It's not that bad. Besides, if you were still allowed to play, I'm sure Arcadia would've crushed them."

Victoria rolled her eyes, even though Dean couldn't see it. "That's not the point. Something weird is going on at Winslow. I mean, I'm glad the school is doing better – it used to be a total cesspit. But this change came out of nowhere."

She paused, hovering in midair as she collected her thoughts. "I've been hearing about these study guides they're using. People are raving about them. I was thinking of getting some for myself, actually."

"No!" Dean's voice was sharp, urgent. "Vicky, stay away from those. Trust me."

Victoria frowned, taken aback by his vehemence. "Whoa, what's got you so worked up? What do you know about them?"

There was a moment of silence before Dean sighed. "They're tinkertech, Vicky. That's why they're so effective."

"What?" Victoria nearly dropped her phone in shock. "How the hell is that allowed? Why isn't the Protectorate doing anything about it?"

"It's... complicated," Dean said, his voice heavy. "Winslow got permission to use them through some legal loopholes. The school superintendent is using the improved test scores to launch his mayoral campaign."

Victoria scoffed. "So what, it's not that bad then? Just some fancy study aids?"

"We're not sure," Dean admitted. "There are suspicions that the guides might have some kind of Master effect, but nothing's been proven yet."

Victoria's eyes widened. "Master effects? In a school? That's insane!"

"Tell me about it," Dean grumbled. "Director Piggot's been furious about the whole situation. She and Armsmaster have been butting heads over how to handle it."

"Armsmaster? What's his take on all this?"

Dean hesitated before answering. "I think... I think he might be asking Dragon for help understanding the tech behind the study guides. But I'm not supposed to know that, so keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Dragon?" Victoria couldn't hide the excitement in her voice. "Man, she's amazing. If anyone can figure this out, it's her."

"Yeah, well, let's hope so," Dean said. "Look, I've got to go. Just promise me you'll stay away from those study guides, alright?"

Victoria sighed. "Fine, I promise. I'm at Crystal's dorm now anyway. Talk to you later, babe."

"Bye, Vicky. Stay safe."

Victoria hung up and landed softly on the walkway leading to her cousin's dorm building. She took a moment to smooth her windblown hair before heading inside.

Crystal answered the door with a wide smile. "Vicky! Come on in!" The cousins embraced warmly.

"Thanks for having me over," Victoria said as she stepped into the small dorm room. "I needed a break from all the family drama at home."

Crystal laughed. "Happy to provide a refuge. How's Aunt Carol doing?"

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Same as always. Work, work, work. I swear, sometimes I think she forgets she has a family."

As they chatted, Victoria's eyes roamed around the room. She blinked in surprise. "Wow, Crys. Your room is... actually clean. What happened to my slob of a cousin?"

Crystal playfully swatted Victoria's arm. "Hey! I can be tidy when I want to be."

"Uh-huh," Victoria said skeptically. "And what brought on this sudden desire for cleanliness?"

Crystal shrugged, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "My friends may have... strongly encouraged me to get my act together. One of them even gave me that." She pointed to a motivational poster on the wall.

Victoria walked over to examine it. The poster showed a serene landscape with a quote about organization and productivity. "Aw, that's adorable! Where'd you get it? I should get one for myself. Maybe even one for Amy – Lord knows she could use some motivation."

"I'm not sure, actually," Crystal admitted. "My friend Anne gave it to me. I can ask her where she got it if you want."

Victoria nodded, then paused. A nagging thought tugged at the back of her mind. "Hey, this Anne... she didn't go to Winslow, did she?"

Crystal raised an eyebrow. "No, she went to Immaculata. Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Victoria said quickly. "Just being paranoid, I guess. This whole Winslow situation has me on edge."

"What Winslow situation?" Crystal asked, flopping down on her bed.

Victoria sighed and joined her cousin. "Apparently, there's some kind of tinkertech study guides being used there. Dean says the PRT is worried they might have Master effects."

Crystal's eyes widened. "Seriously? That's messed up. But wait, Anne's in her second year at BBU. Even if she did go to Winslow, she wouldn't have been there for... whatever this is."

Victoria laughed, the tension draining from her shoulders. "You're right. God, listen to me. I'm starting to sound like one of those conspiracy nuts."

"Well, in this city, sometimes the conspiracies turn out to be true," Crystal said with a wry smile. "But maybe we should talk about something else? Like how your love life is going?"

Victoria groaned and buried her face in a pillow. "Ugh, don't even get me started. Dean's been so secretive lately. I know it's because of his Ward duties, but still..."

As the cousins continued to chat and gossip, the concerns about Winslow faded to the back of Victoria's mind. But a small part of her couldn't help wondering what other secrets might be hiding in plain sight throughout Brockton Bay.

Crystal's phone buzzed, interrupting their conversation. She glanced at it and grinned. "Oh, it's Anne! Perfect timing. I'll ask her about the poster."

Victoria watched as her cousin tapped out a quick message. "So, tell me more about this Anne. Is she in any of your classes?"

Crystal shook her head. "Nah, she's a year ahead of me. We met through a mutual friend at a party last semester. She's pretty cool – kind of reminds me of you, actually."

"Oh?" Victoria raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well, she's got that whole 'effortlessly put-together' vibe going on," Crystal explained. "Always seems to know what to say, you know? And she's got a killer sense of style."

Victoria preened a bit at the comparison. "Sounds like my kind of girl. Maybe we should all hang out sometime."

Crystal's phone buzzed again. She read the message and frowned slightly. "Huh, that's weird."

"What is it?" Victoria asked, leaning over to try and peek at the screen.

Crystal tilted the phone so Victoria could see. "Anne says she doesn't remember where she got the poster. Says it was just something she picked up somewhere and thought I'd like it."

Victoria felt a small chill run down her spine. "That's... convenient."

"What do you mean?" Crystal asked, looking confused.

Victoria shook her head, trying to dismiss the feeling. "Nothing, probably. It's just... with everything going on at Winslow, I can't help but be a little suspicious of anything that seems too good to be true."

Crystal rolled her eyes. "Come on, Vicky. It's just a poster. You're being paranoid again."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Victoria said, forcing a laugh. "I guess all this hero work is making me see conspiracies everywhere."

Crystal grinned and tossed a pillow at her cousin. "Well, how about we forget about all that serious stuff for a while? I've got a new rom-com I've been dying to watch. You in?"

Victoria caught the pillow and smiled back. "You know me. I'm always up for a good cheesy movie."

As Crystal set up the movie, Victoria found her eyes drawn back to the motivational poster. It really did look harmless – just a pretty picture with an inspiring quote. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than met the eye.

She thought about texting Dean to ask if the PRT knew anything about these posters, but decided against it. He was probably busy with patrol, and besides, she'd promised to stay out of the Winslow situation.

The movie started, and Victoria tried to focus on the romantic hijinks unfolding on screen. But part of her mind kept circling back to the mysteries surrounding Winslow. The study guides, the sudden improvement in academics and sports, and now these innocuous-seeming posters...

"Hey, earth to Vicky!" Crystal's voice broke through her thoughts. "You're missing the best part!"

Victoria blinked and refocused on the screen. "Sorry, just got lost in thought for a second there."

Crystal paused the movie and turned to face her cousin. "Okay, spill. What's really bothering you? And don't say 'nothing' because I know that face. That's your 'I'm worried about something but I don't want to admit it' face."

Victoria sighed. "It's just... all this stuff with Winslow. I can't help feeling like we're missing something important. Like there's a bigger picture we're not seeing."

Crystal nodded thoughtfully. "I get it. It is a pretty weird situation. But isn't it possible that it's just... good? Maybe someone just wants to help?"

"Maybe," Victoria conceded. "But if that's the case, why all the secrecy? Why use tinkertech study guides instead of just implementing better teaching methods?"

Crystal shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe they tried everything else and this was a last resort. Or maybe someone's using the school as a testing ground for new educational tech."

"That's... actually not a bad theory," Victoria said, impressed. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"See? This is why you need to hang out with me more," Crystal said with a grin. "I'm full of brilliant insights."

Victoria laughed and threw the pillow back at her cousin. "Alright, alright. You've convinced me to stop worrying for now. Let's get back to the movie."

As they settled in to finish watching, Victoria made a mental note to do some discreet research on educational technology companies in the area. It probably wouldn't lead anywhere, but at least it would give her something to focus on besides vague suspicions.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, filled with laughter and gossip. By the time Victoria prepared to leave, the concerns about Winslow had faded to the back of her mind.

"Thanks for having me over," she said, hugging Crystal goodbye. "This was exactly what I needed."

Crystal squeezed her tight. "Anytime, cuz. And hey, try not to stress too much about all that Winslow stuff, okay? I'm sure if there was really something sinister going on, the PRT would handle it."

Victoria nodded, not entirely convinced but appreciating the sentiment. "Yeah, you're right. I'll try to let it go."

As she flew home through the cool night air, Victoria found her thoughts drifting back to the conversation with Dean. She wondered what Armsmaster and Dragon might discover about the tinkertech study guides. Part of her itched to get involved, to investigate on her own. But she had promised Dean she'd stay out of it.

For now, at least, she would have to content herself with keeping her eyes and ears open. After all, in a city like Brockton Bay, you never knew when a seemingly small detail might turn out to be the key to something much bigger. She hoped Crystal would get more of those posters for her and Amy. They really were cute.

***

Taylor sat at the kitchen table with her father, a mug of steaming tea warming her hands. The winter chill still clung to the air outside, but inside, the atmosphere was cozy and comfortable. Danny looked over some paperwork spread out before him, occasionally jotting down notes.

"So, Dad," Taylor began, "I wanted to talk to you about next semester."

Danny looked up, giving her his full attention. "What's on your mind, kiddo?"

Taylor took a deep breath. "I've been offered an internship at Medhall. It would take the place of my afternoon classes."

Danny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Medhall? That's impressive, Taylor. They must really see something in you."

Taylor nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. She couldn't tell her father the real reason behind the internship – that it was a cover for her work with the Empire as Miss Stepford. "Yeah, I guess they were pretty impressed with my work at Winslow. It's a great opportunity."

"I'll say," Danny agreed, a proud smile spreading across his face. "That's going to look fantastic on college applications. And Medhall is one of the biggest employers in the Bay. This could really open doors for you."

Taylor felt a twinge of guilt at her father's enthusiasm, but pushed it aside. "Thanks, Dad. I'm really excited about it."

Eager to change the subject, Taylor asked, "How's the ferry project coming along?"

Danny's expression shifted to one of mild frustration. "Slower than I'd like, honestly. There's so much red tape to cut through. But," he added, his tone brightening, "the mayor's been helping push things along. He wants a big win for his re-election campaign next year."

Taylor nodded, sipping her tea. "That's good, right? Having the mayor on your side?"

"Oh, absolutely," Danny agreed. "It's just..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting to the window. After a moment, he chuckled and shook his head. "You know, sometimes I find myself wishing we had those giantess twins from the Empire to help clear the bay. They could probably get it done in a week."

Taylor nearly choked on her tea. "What? Dad, you can't be serious!"

Danny held up his hands defensively. "I'm not saying I approve of the Empire or anything like that. It's just... well, you have to admit, cape abilities could be incredibly useful for this kind of work."

Taylor set down her mug, her mind racing. "I guess I never really thought about it that way. How much would it cost to clear the boat graveyard normally?"

Danny let out a low whistle. "Conservative estimates put it at over a billion dollars. And that's just for the removal. It doesn't even touch on the environmental cleanup that would be needed afterward."

Taylor's eyes widened. "A billion dollars? That's... that's insane." A thought struck her. "Wait, if capes could do that kind of work, why are so few of them rogues? I mean, legal work like that has to be worth way more than petty crime, right? Even what the Empire and Merchants pull in combined has to be chump change compared to that."

Danny nodded, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But there's a catch. Congress passed a bill years ago forbidding capes from doing work that would compete with normal people. It was supposed to protect jobs."

"That seems... short-sighted," Taylor said carefully.

"Foolish is what it is," Danny replied, his tone growing heated. "It's one of the single most damaging things done to this country, in my opinion. Sometimes I wonder if there's some secret cabal out there that just wants capes fighting each other all the time for some insane reason."

Taylor felt a chill run down her spine at her father's words. She thought of her own activities as Miss Stepford, of the Empire and the other gangs constantly vying for territory and power. Could there really be some larger force manipulating things behind the scenes?

Pushing the unsettling thought aside, Taylor focused on the topic at hand. "So, if that law wasn't in place, how do you think capes could help improve the Bay?"

Danny's eyes lit up, clearly passionate about the subject. "Oh, the possibilities are endless. Take Lung, for example. His pyrokinesis could be used for all sorts of industrial processes. Melting down and recycling the scrap metal from the boat graveyard, for one."

Taylor nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"Or Kaiser," Danny went on. "His metal generation could revolutionize construction. Imagine being able to create support beams or scaffolding on the spot, perfectly sized and shaped for the job."

"What about some of the other capes?" Taylor asked, genuinely curious now.

Danny thought for a moment. "Well, Squealer's tinker abilities could be put to use improving our public transportation system. Maybe even finally getting that commuter rail line built that's been talked about for years."

As they continued to discuss the potential applications of various cape powers, Taylor found herself both fascinated and troubled. On one hand, the ideas her father was proposing could genuinely improve life in Brockton Bay and beyond. On the other, she couldn't help but think about how her own powers were currently being used.

"What about... mind-affecting powers?" Taylor asked hesitantly. "Like, hypothetically, if there was a cape who could improve people's skills or change their behavior?"

Danny frowned, considering the question. "That's a tricky one. There could be some real benefits – helping people overcome addiction, or learn new skills more quickly. But the potential for abuse would be enormous. You'd need some serious oversight and ethical guidelines in place."

Taylor nodded, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. At least her father seemed to recognize the dangers inherent in powers like hers. "Yeah, I can see how that could be problematic."

"Still," Danny continued, "used responsibly, even powers like that could do a lot of good. Imagine being able to help trauma victims process their experiences more easily, or give people the confidence and skills they need to succeed in their careers."

Taylor thought about the changes she'd already made at Winslow, the improved grades and behavior of the students. Was what she was doing really so different from what her father was suggesting? Or was she crossing ethical lines that shouldn't be crossed?

"It's just frustrating," Danny said, pulling Taylor from her thoughts. "There's so much potential for capes to make the world better, but instead, they're mostly just fighting each other or causing problems."

"Maybe things will change someday," Taylor offered, not entirely sure if she believed it herself.

Danny smiled at her. "Maybe. And who knows? Maybe your generation will be the ones to figure it out. You're certainly off to a good start with that internship."

Taylor returned his smile, pushing down the guilt that threatened to surface. "Thanks, Dad. I hope you're right."

As their conversation shifted to more mundane topics, Taylor's mind continued to race. Her father's words had given her a lot to think about. She'd been so focused on her immediate goals – improving Winslow, working with the Empire – that she hadn't really considered the larger implications of her powers.

Could she find a way to use her abilities more openly, more legally, to truly improve Brockton Bay? Or was she already too entangled in the city's cape politics to change course now?

These were questions she'd have to grapple with in the coming months. For now, though, she was content to enjoy this moment with her father, grateful for his support and proud of the work he was doing to improve the city in his own way.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" she said softly. "All that potential, just... wasted."

Danny reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I know, kiddo. But that's why we keep fighting the legal way. Maybe someday things will change, and we'll be able to use all the resources at our disposal to really make a difference."

Taylor squeezed back, feeling a renewed sense of determination. She might not be able to use her powers openly to help the city, but that didn't mean she couldn't find other ways to make things better.

"You're right, Dad," she said. "And who knows? Maybe my internship at Medhall will lead to something that can help the city in ways we haven't even thought of yet."

Danny beamed at her. "That's the spirit. Now, tell me more about what you'll be doing there. I want to hear all about it."

As Taylor launched into a carefully edited version of her upcoming "internship," her mind continued to race with ideas. She thought about the Empire, about Lung and the ABB, about Coil and the Undersiders. What if there was a way to redirect all that power and potential towards something positive?

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, both lost in thought. Finally, Taylor asked, "Do you really think it's possible? To change the way capes operate on such a fundamental level?"

Danny sighed. "I don't know, Taylor. It would take a massive shift in both policy and public opinion. But I have to believe it's possible. Otherwise, what are we working towards?"

Taylor felt a surge of affection for her father's optimism. "You're right. And hey, maybe some of the work you're doing with the ferry project will help pave the way for that kind of change."

"Maybe," Danny agreed. "It's certainly a step in the right direction. If we can show that large-scale civic projects are still possible, even without cape involvement, it might help change some minds."

As their conversation wound down, Taylor found herself with a new perspective on her own powers and the potential they held. She'd been so focused on the immediate effects of her abilities – improving test scores, altering behaviors – that she hadn't really considered the broader implications.

Could her power to implant skills and knowledge be used to rapidly train workers for new industries? Could it help people overcome mental health issues or learn to cope with trauma more effectively? The possibilities seemed endless, and for the first time, Taylor felt a glimmer of hope that she might be able to use her abilities for more than just manipulating her classmates or aiding the Empire.

Of course, the reality of her situation was far more complicated than these hypothetical scenarios. She was already deeply entangled with the Empire, and her actions at Winslow were ethically questionable at best. But her father's words had planted a seed in her mind – a vision of a future where parahumans could use their powers openly to improve society, rather than fighting endless territorial battles or hiding in the shadows.

As she helped her father clear the table and clean up from their impromptu brainstorming session, Taylor found herself newly energized. She still had a long way to go, and many difficult decisions ahead of her. But now, at least, she had a clearer sense of the potential her powers held – not just for control or manipulation, but for genuine, positive change.

"Thanks for the talk, Dad," Taylor said as she dried the last dish. "It's given me a lot to think about."

Danny pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Anytime, kiddo. I'm just glad you're taking an interest in these things. The world needs more young people thinking about how to make things better."

Taylor leaned into the hug, savoring the moment of connection with her father. She might not be able to tell him everything about her life, but moments like this reminded her of why she was working so hard to improve the Bay. She wanted to create a better future – not just for herself, but for her father and everyone else who called this troubled city home.

As she headed up to her room for the night, Taylor's mind was already racing with new ideas and possibilities. She had a lot to consider, and many challenges ahead. But for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of hope and purpose that went beyond her immediate goals. Whatever came next, she was determined to find a way to use her powers for the greater good – even if the path to get there wasn't always clear or easy.

***

Brad shifted uncomfortably on the plush sofa in the Anders' living room, feeling out of place among the Christmas decorations and family gathering. He was used to dingy bars and underground fight clubs, not this picture-perfect holiday scene. But Nessa had insisted he come, and he found it hard to refuse her anything these days.

He watched as Theo unwrapped the wrist and ankle weights he'd gotten him, a small smile tugging at his lips. The kid had surprised him over the past month. When they'd first started training, Brad had dismissed Theo as soft, just another rich boy playing at being tough. But Theo had shown a determination that Brad couldn't help but admire. He pushed himself hard in every session, never complaining even when Brad knew he must be in pain.

"Thanks, Brad," Theo said, examining the weights. "These'll be great for my workouts."

Brad nodded gruffly, still unused to the niceties of gift-giving. "Just don't slack off during the holidays. I expect to see you putting those to use when we get back to training."

Nessa elbowed him gently. "It's Christmas, Brad. Let the boy enjoy his gifts without turning it into another workout."

He grunted in response, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Nessa had a way of smoothing his rough edges, something he was secretly grateful for.

The gift exchange continued, with Tammi, Rune, and Karen, Othala, exclaiming over various presents. Alfred, Karen's husband, Victor, sat quietly observing, occasionally offering a polite comment. Brad found himself wondering about Kayden's absence. He knew she'd been invited, but had declined. Things were still tense between her and Max, even a year after their divorce.

His attention was drawn back to the present-opening as Theo reached for a large, meticulously wrapped box. From the way Max leaned forward slightly, Brad could tell it was from him.

Theo carefully removed the wrapping paper, revealing the latest video game console. Brad felt a twinge of envy; he'd been trying to get his hands on one of those for weeks, but they were sold out everywhere.

Nessa caught his expression and smirked. "What's the matter, tough guy? Jealous of a kid's toy?"

Brad scowled at her, but there was no real heat in it. "I can have hobbies, you know. Ripping and tearing demons apart in Doom is fun." He paused, then added with a grin, "Slightly less satisfying than when I do it to deserving targets in real life, but much less smelly."

Nessa wrinkled her nose. "Do I want to know?"

Brad chuckled darkly. "Probably not. Let's just say there are certain... messy aspects to my work that most people don't consider."

The room fell silent as Theo set aside the game console and turned to his father. "Dad, I have a request."

Max raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. Brad noticed the twins, Jessica and Nessa, exchanging glances. It seemed Theo didn't often ask for things from his father.

"I want to become more involved in the Empire," Theo said, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Max's expression darkened, a frown creasing his brow. Brad remembered conversations he'd had with Theo during their training sessions, where the boy had talked about wanting to make changes. But from Max's reaction, it was clear this was the first he was hearing of it.

"This is... unexpected," Max said slowly. "You've never shown much interest in the Empire before. In fact, you've been quite vocal about your disdain for our organization."

Theo met his father's gaze unflinchingly. "Wishing for the Empire to be better from the outside does nothing. If I want to see real change, I need to be involved."

Max's eyes narrowed, his mind clearly working through the implications of Theo's request. After a moment, he spoke again. "Is this because of Taylor? Has she told you about her involvement with us?"

Brad tensed slightly. He knew how valuable Taylor's abilities were to the Empire, and how protective Max was of that asset. If Theo had learned about it from her directly...

But Theo shook his head. "Taylor didn't tell me anything. I figured it out on my own."

A flicker of pride crossed Max's face, quickly replaced by his usual mask of cool control. "I see. Well, if you're worried about Taylor's safety, you don't need to be. She's very valuable to the Empire, and we will protect her. I'll personally see to it."

The tension in the room was palpable as Theo's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and pain. In a voice thick with emotion, he said, "Like you protected Mom?"

The words hung in the air like a physical blow. Brad felt his muscles tensing instinctively, the metal beneath his skin itching to emerge. He'd never seen Max look so... shaken.

The twins had gone deathly pale, their usual composure cracking. Othala let out a small gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. Tammi looked shocked, but there was a glimmer of something like admiration in her eyes as she looked at Theo.

Victor caught Brad's eye, and they shared a look of mutual discomfort. This was rapidly becoming the kind of family confrontation that neither of them wanted to be in the middle of.

Max's face had transformed into a mask of barely contained fury. His glare was so intense that Brad half-expected Theo to trigger on the spot. But the boy stood his ground, meeting his father's gaze without flinching.

When Max finally spoke, his voice was low and raspy, each word clearly costing him tremendous effort to keep his temper in check. "Your mother was on the front lines as a cape. Taylor's situation is entirely different. You don't need to worry about the same fate befalling her."

Theo didn't back down. "All the same, I want to do what I can. Even if I haven't triggered yet, there must be ways I can contribute."

The silence stretched on as Max visibly struggled with his emotions. Brad could almost see the gears turning in his head, weighing the potential benefits and risks of allowing Theo more involvement in the Empire.

Finally, Max turned to Brad. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Hookwolf, increase Theo's training. If he wants to be more involved, he needs to be prepared for what that entails."

Brad nodded, careful to keep his expression neutral. "Yes, sir."

As the tension in the room slowly began to dissipate, Brad caught Nessa's eye. For the first time, he found himself seriously reconsidering what marrying into this family might mean. The Anders were a powder keg of repressed emotions and long-held grudges. Was he ready to tie himself to all of that drama?

The gift-giving resumed, but the earlier festive mood had been irreparably dampened. Brad found himself lost in thought, barely paying attention to the rest of the presents being opened.

He thought about Theo, and how the kid had surprised him yet again. Standing up to Max like that took guts. Maybe there was more of Kaiser in the boy than anyone had realized. But was that a good thing? Brad wasn't so sure.

And then there was Taylor. Brad had only met her a few times, but he could see why Max valued her so highly. Her abilities were game-changing for the Empire. But now, with Theo pushing for more involvement, Brad wondered if they were sitting on a ticking time bomb.

As the evening wore on, Brad found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable. The façade of a normal family Christmas had been shattered, revealing the complex web of relationships and power dynamics that lay beneath. He was used to the straightforward brutality of the fighting ring or the clear hierarchy of the Empire's foot soldiers. This... this was something else entirely.

When it was finally time to leave, Brad felt a wave of relief wash over him. As he and Nessa said their goodbyes, he caught Theo's eye. The boy gave him a small nod, a look of determination on his face. Brad returned the nod, a mixture of respect and wariness in his gaze.

Outside, as they walked to Brad's car, Nessa slipped her arm through his. "Well, that was... eventful," she said, her tone light but her eyes serious.

Brad grunted in agreement. "Your family certainly knows how to do Christmas."

Nessa laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "Oh, honey. You haven't seen anything yet. Just wait until you experience a full Anders family reunion."

As they drove away from the Anders estate, Brad found himself wondering what he'd gotten himself into. He'd always known that being with Nessa meant being connected to the upper echelons of the Empire. But tonight had shown him just how complicated and potentially dangerous those connections could be.

He glanced at Nessa, her profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. She caught him looking and smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. Despite all his doubts and reservations, Brad felt a warmth spread through his chest. Whatever challenges lay ahead, at least he wouldn't be facing them alone.

The next day, Brad arrived at the gym earlier than usual. He needed to clear his head, and nothing did that better than a brutal workout. As he was setting up the equipment, he heard the door open. To his surprise, Theo walked in, already dressed for training.

"You're early," Brad said, eyeing the boy critically.

Theo shrugged. "Figured we might as well get started. You said not to slack off during the holidays, right?"

Brad grunted in approval. "Alright then. Let's see how those new weights work out for you."

As they began the workout, Brad found himself pushing Theo harder than usual. Part of it was Max's order to increase the training, but there was something else too. After last night, Brad felt a need to test Theo, to see just how far the kid was willing to go.

To his credit, Theo met every challenge without complaint. Even when his muscles were shaking with exertion and sweat was pouring down his face, he kept going. Brad found himself impressed despite his best efforts not to be.

During a brief water break, Brad decided to broach the subject that had been nagging at him since the previous night. "So, you want to get more involved in the Empire. What exactly did you have in mind?"

Theo took a long drink before answering. "I'm not sure yet. I just know I can't sit on the sidelines anymore. There's too much at stake."

Brad nodded slowly. "You know it's not going to be easy, right? Your old man, he's not just going to hand over responsibility to you. You're going to have to earn it, and that means doing things you might not be comfortable with."

"I know," Theo said, his voice quiet but firm. "But if I don't try, nothing will ever change."

Brad studied the boy for a long moment. He'd seen plenty of young recruits come into the Empire full of big ideas and grand plans. Most of them either fell in line or washed out pretty quickly. But there was something different about Theo. A determination that went beyond mere teenage rebellion or a desire for power.

"Alright," Brad said finally. "If you're serious about this, I'll do what I can to help. But you need to understand something. The Empire isn't just about ideology or power. It's about loyalty. To each other, to the cause. You start stirring things up, you better be damn sure you're ready for the consequences."

Theo met his gaze steadily. "I understand. And I appreciate your help, Brad. I know we don't always see eye to eye, but... I respect what you've done for the Empire. For my father."

Brad felt a sudden, unexpected surge of emotion. He quickly pushed it down, covering it with his usual gruff demeanor. "Yeah, well, don't get all sappy on me now. We've still got another hour of training to get through."

As they resumed their workout, Brad found his mind wandering to the future. He'd always seen his role in the Empire as straightforward: be the muscle, win the fights, keep the troops in line. But now, with Theo pushing for change and Taylor's influence growing, things were getting more complicated.

He thought about Nessa, about the life they were building together. About the possibility of a family of his own someday. Was the Empire he'd dedicated his life to the kind of legacy he wanted to leave behind?

Brad shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. Now wasn't the time for doubts or second-guessing. He had a job to do, and right now, that job was whipping Theo into shape. Whatever changes were coming, Brad was determined to make sure the kid was ready for them.

As the workout drew to a close, Brad watched Theo gather his things. The boy was exhausted, but there was a fire in his eyes that hadn't been there before. For better or worse, things in the Empire were about to change. And Brad realized, with a mixture of anticipation and unease, that he was going to be right in the middle of it all.

Chapter Text

Max stood in the doorway of Theo's room, his expression as unreadable as if it was behind his metal mask. Victor moved past him, stepping carefully into the space that was unmistakably a teenage boy's domain. Posters of video games and movies adorned the walls, clothes were strewn haphazardly over chairs, and a desk in the corner was cluttered with schoolbooks and a laptop.

"You really think this is necessary, sir?" Victor asked, glancing back at Kaiser.

Kaiser's voice was cool and measured. "A parent's prerogative is to protect their child, Victor. Even if that means violating their privacy."

Victor nodded, though he couldn't quite hide the amusement in his voice. "And you believe Taylor might be... influencing Theo?"

"Certainly, the question is whether is it is through her devices or more natual means," Kaiser replied. He stepped into the room, his suit rustling softly. "Taylor Hebert is a powerful asset to the Empire, but she's also potentially dangerous. We need to be certain of where everyone's loyalties lie."

Victor began his search methodically, starting with the desk drawers. He rifled through papers, examined the laptop, and even checked under the keyboard for any hidden devices. Kaiser watched silently, his posture tense.

"You know," Victor said conversationally as he worked, "I'm a bit surprised you're this concerned. Theo's never shown much interest in the Empire before. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Kaiser was quiet for a moment before responding. "What I want is for my son to be safe. And to be prepared for the responsibilities that await him."

Victor moved on to the bookshelf, carefully examining each tome for any hidden compartments or unusual technology. "You don't think he's ready?"

"I think..." Kaiser paused, choosing his words carefully. "I think Theo has potential he hasn't yet realized. But I worry about what might push him to realize it."

Victor raised an eyebrow at that but didn't comment further. He continued his search, moving to the closet and methodically going through Theo's belongings.

As Victor worked, Kaiser found himself lost in thought. He remembered Theo as a small child, quiet and reserved even then. So different from himself at that age, or from Iron Rain. He'd always struggled to connect with his son, to see himself in the boy. But lately...

"Sir?" Victor's voice broke through his reverie. "I'm not finding anything unusual. No hidden devices, no tinkertech that I can detect."

Kaiser nodded, unsurprised but not entirely relieved. "Check his phone records. See if there's been any unusual communication."

Victor pulled out his own phone, tapping away at the screen. After a few moments, he spoke up. "There have been some links sent from Taylor's number. Music files, mostly. Remixes of Canary songs."

Kaiser tensed visibly at this, "Canary? The singer currently on trial for misuse of her Master power?"

Victor nodded. "The very same. But sir, these remixes are all over a year old. They predate Taylor's debut in Brockton Bay by quite a bit."

Kaiser relaxed slightly, but his voice remained stern. "All the same, we need to be vigilant. Taylor Hebert may be useful to us, but that doesn't mean she isn't dangerous."

Victor finished his search and stood before Kaiser. "Nothing else of note, sir. If Taylor is influencing Theo, she's being incredibly subtle about it."

Kaiser surveyed the room one last time before turning to leave. "Keep an eye on the situation, Victor. I want to know about any changes in Theo's behavior, no matter how small."

As they left Theo's room, Kaiser found himself wrestling with conflicting emotions. Part of him was relieved that they'd found nothing incriminating. Another part was disappointed, almost hoping for a simple explanation for Theo's sudden interest in the Empire.

"You know," Victor said as they walked down the hallway, "Theo's change in attitude might not be due to any outside influence. Sometimes children just... grow up."

Kaiser stopped, turning to face Victor. "You don't have children, Victor. You don't understand the weight of legacy, of knowing your choices will shape not just your life, but the lives of generations to come."

Victor nodded respectfully. "You're right, I don't. But I do know something about family legacy. Your father... he founded the Empire after your mother's death, didn't he?"

Kaiser was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer than Victor had ever heard it. "Yes. And I took control after Heather... after the Teeth killed her."

Victor's eyes widened slightly. He'd known about Heather's death, of course, but he'd never heard Kaiser speak of it so directly. "The Anders men... you love deeply, don't you?"

"We do," Kaiser agreed. "And we protect what we love. No matter the cost."

Victor hesitated, then asked, "Sir... if you don't mind my asking, what exactly happened with your father? I've heard rumors, but..."

Kaiser sighed, the sound echoing strangely through his mask. "It's a long story, Victor. One I'll tell you someday soon. For now, let's just say that the Empire's roots run deeper than most realize."

They continued walking, the silence between them heavy with unspoken history. As they reached Kaiser's home office, he turned to Victor once more.

"Keep watching Theo," he instructed. "And Taylor. I want to know everything. Their interactions, their communications, any changes in behavior. We can't afford to be caught off guard."

Victor nodded, his expression serious. "Of course, sir. I'll be discreet."

As Victor left, Kaiser sat heavily in his chair, removing his helmet from where it sat on his desk. Max Anders stared at the mask in his hands, thinking of his father, of Heather, of Theo. The weight of the Empire, of all it stood for and all it could become, seemed to press down on him.

He thought of Taylor Hebert, of the power she wielded and the changes she was bringing to Brockton Bay. She was a valuable asset, yes, but also an unknown variable. And Max Anders had learned long ago that unknown variables could be the most dangerous of all.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Theo's number. His finger hovered over the call button for a long moment before he set the phone down with a sigh.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he would talk to Theo, try to understand what was driving this sudden change. For now, he had an Empire to run, and a delicate balance to maintain.

***

Taylor held her phone to her ear, listening to Emma's excited chatter as she adjusted her dress in the mirror. The silky fabric shimmered in the low light of her bedroom, a deep emerald green that complemented her eyes perfectly.

"I still can't believe you're going to the Stanfield's New Year's ball without me," Emma whined playfully. "It's not fair that you get all the fun while I'm stuck here in New York."

Taylor laughed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Come on, Em. This is your big break! A modeling gig in New York is huge. Besides, you went to the last gala."

"I know, I know," Emma sighed. "It's just... things are so cutthroat here. Half the girls look like they've had work done by tinkers or something." There was a pause, and Taylor could practically hear the gears turning in Emma's head. "Hey, speaking of tinkers... have you come up with anything that might help a girl out?"

Taylor glanced towards her closed bedroom door, acutely aware that her father was just downstairs. "Emma," she said, her voice low and warning. "You know I can't talk about... study guides... right now. But maybe when you get back, we can discuss some new techniques."

Emma's squeal of delight was cut short as Danny's voice called up the stairs. "Taylor! We need to get going if we don't want to be late!"

"Coming, Dad!" Taylor called back. To Emma, she said, "I've got to go. Break a leg in New York, okay? Not literally, of course."

"Thanks, Tay. Have fun at the ball, Cinderella. Don't let your carriage turn into a pumpkin at midnight!"

Taylor hung up, smiling at her best friend's antics. She gave herself one last look in the mirror, smoothing down her dress and taking a deep breath. This was only her second big event like this, but already it felt different. This time, she was going as Theo's date, not just a guest. The thought sent a flutter through her stomach that was equal parts excitement and nerves.

Downstairs, Danny was waiting by the front door, looking dapper in a well-fitted suit. His eyes widened as Taylor descended the stairs, a proud smile spreading across his face.

"You look beautiful, kiddo," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Taylor felt her cheeks warm. "Thanks, Dad. You clean up pretty well yourself."

Danny chuckled, adjusting his tie. "Well, I had to make an effort. Can't have my daughter outshining me too much." He opened the door, gesturing for Taylor to go first. "After you, Miss Hebert. Your carriage awaits."

The drive to the Stanfield estate was filled with comfortable small talk. Danny asked about Taylor's plans for the upcoming semester, and she told him about her internship at Medhall, carefully omitting any details that might raise suspicion.

As they pulled up to the grand estate, Taylor felt her nerves return full force. The place was even more impressive than the venue for the last gala, with perfectly manicured grounds and a driveway lined with twinkling lights.

"Wow," Danny breathed, echoing Taylor's thoughts. "This is something else."

Taylor nodded, her eyes wide as she took it all in. "Yeah, it really is."

Danny parked the car, then turned to Taylor with a grin. "Well, you're the pro at this now. One whole gala under your belt. Any tips for your old man?"

Taylor swatted his arm playfully. "Dad! One time is hardly enough to make me an expert." She paused, then added with a smirk, "But if you want a tip, try not to step on anyone's toes while dancing."

"Noted," Danny laughed. "Shall we?"

As they approached the entrance, Taylor spotted a familiar figure waiting near the door. Theo stood tall in a perfectly tailored suit, his eyes lighting up as he caught sight of Taylor. In his hands, he held a small box.

"Taylor," he greeted warmly as they drew near. "You look... wow." He seemed to catch himself, clearing his throat and turning to Danny. "Mr. Hebert, it's good to see you again, sir."

Danny shook Theo's hand, his grip firm but friendly. "Likewise, Theo. You treating my daughter right?"

"Dad," Taylor hissed, mortified.

Theo, to his credit, didn't miss a beat. "Of course, sir. I hope to always treat Taylor with the respect she deserves."

Danny nodded approvingly. "Good answer. Well, I won't keep you kids. I should go say hello to our hosts." With a final smile at Taylor, he headed inside.

Once Danny was out of earshot, Taylor turned to Theo with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. Dad's still getting used to the whole 'daughter dating' thing."

Theo shook his head, a soft smile on his face. "Don't apologize. It's nice that he cares so much." He held out the box he'd been holding. "I, uh, got this for you. I hope you like it."

Taylor opened the box to find a beautiful corsage, delicate white flowers with hints of green that matched her dress perfectly. "Theo, it's beautiful," she breathed. "Thank you."

As Theo helped her pin the corsage to her dress, Taylor couldn't help but notice how his fingers seemed steadier, his movements more confident than they had been at the last gala. When he finished, he offered her his arm with a smile. "Shall we?"

Inside, the Stanfield estate was a whirlwind of glittering decorations, soft music, and the chatter of Brockton Bay's elite. As they made their way through the crowd, Taylor found herself studying Theo. There was something different about him, beyond just the increased confidence.

"Have you been working out?" she asked suddenly, realizing what had changed. "You look... more fit."

Theo's cheeks reddened slightly. "Ah, yeah. I've upped my training with Brad. It's been... intense."

Before Taylor could respond, a familiar voice cut through the crowd. "Well, well. If it isn't the golden couple."

Taylor turned to see Tammi approaching, her dress leaving little to the imagination. The younger girl's eyes were fixed on Theo, a predatory smile on her face.

"Tammi," Theo greeted politely. "You look nice."

Tammi preened at the compliment, stepping closer to Theo. "Thanks, cousin. You're looking pretty fine yourself. Want to dance?"

Taylor felt a flare of annoyance at the blatant flirting. She tightened her grip on Theo's arm, reminding herself that getting into a catfight at a society event probably wasn't the best idea.

Theo, to his credit, remained calm and collected. "Thank you for the offer, Tammi, but I'm here with Taylor. Maybe another time."

Tammi's smile faltered for a moment before she shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Your loss. Catch you later, Theo." With a final smirk at Taylor, she sauntered off into the crowd.

Once she was gone, Taylor let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Well, that was... something."

Theo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sorry about that. Tammi can be a bit... forward."

"I noticed," Taylor said dryly. "You said she's your cousin?"

"Many times removed," Theo clarified. "The family tree gets a bit complicated."

Taylor nodded, thinking about the other members of Theo's family she'd met. Nessa and Jessica, with their statuesque beauty. Tammi, younger but already so... developed. Theo's stepmother, Kayden, by comparison had stood out like a sore thumb.

"Is everyone in your blood family so..." Taylor gestured vaguely, not quite sure how to phrase her question without sounding crass.

Theo raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "So what?"

Taylor felt her cheeks heat up. "You know... attractive. Developed."

Now it was Theo's turn to blush. "I, uh... I guess good genes run in the family?"

Taylor couldn't help but laugh at his discomfort. "Alright, alright. I'll stop teasing. But now I'm curious. What's your type, Theo? What's your perfect woman like?"

Theo's eyes widened, and he looked around as if searching for an escape route. "I don't... that's not really..."

"Come on," Taylor pressed, grinning. "Blonde? Brunette? Tall? Short?"

Theo opened his mouth to respond, but his gaze caught on something over Taylor's shoulder. "Speaking of blondes," he said, clearly grateful for the distraction, "isn't that Glory Girl heading this way?"

Taylor turned to see Victoria Dallon approaching, Dean Stansfield on her arm. The golden couple of Brockton Bay's youth, looking like they'd stepped out of a magazine spread.

"Taylor, Theo," Victoria greeted with a smile that was equal parts warm and competitive. "Nice to see you again."

"Victoria, Dean," Taylor returned the greeting. "You both look great."

There was a moment of tension as Taylor and Victoria sized each other up. The rivalry between Winslow and Arcadia had only grown in recent months, and both girls were acutely aware of their roles as unofficial representatives of their schools.

Dean, ever the diplomat, broke the silence. "The decorations are amazing this year, aren't they? My parents really outdid themselves."

Theo nodded, jumping on the safe topic. "They really did. The lights outside were particularly impressive."

As the boys chatted, Taylor found herself locked in a silent battle of wills with Victoria. The other girl's smile was just a touch too sharp, her posture just a bit too perfect.

Before either of them could say something they might regret, the music changed, a lively waltz filling the air.

"Oh, I love this song," Victoria exclaimed, her competitive nature shifting to excitement. "Dean, let's dance!"

As Victoria dragged Dean towards the dance floor, Theo turned to Taylor with a raised eyebrow. "Shall we show them how it's done?"

Taylor grinned, her earlier nerves forgotten in the face of a challenge. "Absolutely."

As they took their place on the dance floor, Taylor felt a surge of confidence. After her experience at the last gala, she'd made sure to prepare herself. A few carefully worded 'study guides' had given her the skills of a seasoned dancer, and she was eager to put them to use.

The music swelled, and they began to move. Theo led with a grace that surprised Taylor, his movements sure and confident. She matched him step for step, their bodies moving in perfect sync.

Across the floor, Victoria and Dean were putting on quite a show. Their movements were polished and practiced, drawing admiring looks from the crowd. But Taylor and Theo were holding their own, their dance infused with a passion that couldn't be taught.

As they twirled and spun, Taylor caught glimpses of the other guests. Her father, chatting with Mr. Stansfield near the refreshment table. Tammi, watching them with narrowed eyes from the sidelines. But mostly, she was aware of Theo – the warmth of his hand on her waist, the intensity in his eyes as he gazed at her.

Song after song played, and still they danced. Victoria and Dean remained on the floor as well, turning their impromptu dance-off into a full-fledged competition. The other guests began to take notice, forming a loose circle around the two couples.

Taylor was aware that she was tiring. While she wasn't as slothful as she had been during her middle school years, she had been slacking off in her morning runs lately. Still, she pressed on, determined not to be the first to falter.

It was only when she stumbled slightly, her foot catching on the hem of her dress, that Theo finally called a halt.

"I think we've made our point," he murmured, guiding her off the dance floor. "Let's take a break."

Taylor wanted to protest, but she could feel the strain in her muscles now that they'd stopped moving. She allowed Theo to lead her to a quiet corner, gratefully accepting a glass of water from a passing waiter.

From across the room, she caught Victoria's eye. The other girl shot her a smug grin, still twirling effortlessly in Dean's arms. Taylor felt a flare of competitive annoyance, but it was tempered by a grudging respect. Victoria might be many things, but she was certainly dedicated.

"We'll get them next time," Theo said, following Taylor's gaze.

Taylor turned to him, a determined glint in her eye. "Oh, you can count on it. We're going to practice until we can dance circles around them."

Theo laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made Taylor's heart skip a beat. "I look forward to it," he said, his voice soft and sincere.

As they stood there, catching their breath and watching the other dancers, Taylor found herself studying Theo once again. There was something different about him tonight, beyond just the physical changes from his training. He seemed more... present. More confident in himself and his place in the world.

"Theo," she began, not quite sure what she wanted to say. "I..."

But before she could finish her thought, a cheer went up from the crowd. The countdown to midnight had begun.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Theo turned to her, a question in his eyes. Taylor nodded, a small smile playing at her lips.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

They moved closer together, the sounds of the party fading into the background.

"Four! Three! Two!"

Theo's hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch gentle and warm.

"One! Happy New Year!"

As cheers and noisemakers erupted around them, Theo leaned in and kissed her. It was soft and sweet, a promise of things to come.

When they pulled apart, Taylor found herself breathless for reasons that had nothing to do with dancing. Theo's eyes were bright, his smile wide and genuine.

"Happy New Year, Taylor," he said softly.

"Happy New Year, Theo," she returned, her own smile matching his.

As the party continued around them, Taylor felt a sense of contentment wash over her. Whatever challenges the new year might bring, she knew she wouldn't be facing them alone.

***

Mikey paced the dimly lit hallway of the ABB stash house, his nerves on edge. The air was thick with tension and the sickly-sweet scent of opium. He paused to listen at a door, hearing muffled sobs from within. A twinge of guilt twisted his gut, but he pushed it aside. This was business, nothing personal.

The past few weeks had been rough. The Empire had been pressing hard at their borders, emboldened by some new edge they'd gained. Even the Merchants, those drug-addled idiots, were making moves in the north. But Lung was out there right now, teaching those Nazi bastards a lesson. Mikey allowed himself a grim smile at the thought.

"Boss!" One of his men jogged up, looking nervous. "Any word from Lung?"

Mikey shook his head. "Nothing yet. But don't worry. Lung took on Leviathan himself. A few Empire capes are nothing to him."

The man nodded, not looking entirely convinced. Mikey couldn't blame him. Things had been off-kilter lately, the usual ebb and flow of gang warfare disrupted by the Empire's newfound competence.

"Just keep your eyes open," Mikey ordered. "We're deep in our territory, but stay alert. And make sure the girls stay quiet. I don't want to hear any more crying."

The man bowed slightly and hurried off. Mikey resumed his pacing, trying to shake off his unease. They just had to hold out a little longer. Oni Lee would be back in action soon, and Lung was looking into recruiting more capes. They'd weather this storm, like always, and things would go back to normal.

A muffled thump from above made Mikey freeze. He tilted his head, straining to hear. Another thump, followed by the scrape of boots on the roof.

"Shit," Mikey hissed. He reached for his radio, but before he could key it, the world exploded into chaos.

The skylight shattered, raining glass and black-clad figures into the hallway. Gunfire erupted, deafeningly loud in the confined space. Mikey dove for cover, shouting orders in Japanese.

"Ambush! Defend the stash! Protect the merchandise!"

His men responded, but it was clear from the start that they were outmatched. The Empire soldiers moved with a precision Mikey had never seen from them before. They cleared rooms with ruthless efficiency, their movements crisp and coordinated.

Mikey managed to take down two of the attackers, but for every one that fell, it seemed like three more took their place. He caught glimpses of his own men falling, blood pooling on the grimy floor.

A searing pain in his leg sent Mikey sprawling. He looked down to see blood spreading across his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he tried to crawl to safety, but a heavy boot came down on his back.

As consciousness began to fade, Mikey heard the Empire soldiers speaking to each other in a strange, guttural language he didn't recognize. His last thought before blackness claimed him was a question: How the hell had they reacted so fast?

Outside the stash house, hovering on a large chunk of concrete, Theo Anders stood beside Krieg and Rune. The girl's face was set in concentration as she kept their makeshift platform aloft.

Krieg gestured to the building. "You see, Prince, this is how a proper operation is conducted. Swift, decisive action. No wasted movement."

Theo nodded, his expression neutral. "It seems very efficient."

"Indeed," Krieg said, pride evident in his voice. "Miss Stepford's enhancements have made our foot soldiers a force to be reckoned with. The ABB won't know what hit them."

A crackle of static came from Krieg's radio, followed by a stream of unfamiliar syllables. Krieg frowned. "English, please."

"Sorry, sir," the voice replied. "Hostiles have been neutralized. The building is secure."

Krieg nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. Let's go see the fruits of our labor, shall we?"

Rune guided their platform down to street level, and the three of them entered the building. The interior was a mess of broken furniture and bullet holes. Two ABB members lay dead in the hallway, their blank eyes staring at nothing. The rest of the gang members were wounded and under guard, their hands zip-tied behind their backs.

Empire soldiers moved with purpose, efficiently loading drugs and cash into duffel bags. Theo noticed that despite their training, many of them still looked uncomfortable in the environment. They averted their eyes from the worst of the carnage, focusing on their tasks.

In one corner, a group of scantily-clad women huddled together, watched over by two Empire guards. Theo's stomach turned as he took in their condition. Many bore bruises and track marks, their eyes vacant and unfocused. Despite their provocative attire – or in some cases, complete nudity – none of the Empire members leered or made inappropriate comments. It was a marked change from how they might have behaved in the past.

Krieg surveyed the scene with satisfaction. "You see, Prince? This is the degeneracy we fight against. The Asians, they prey on their own people. They have no honor, no sense of racial pride."

He launched into a diatribe about the supposed inferiority of other races, but Theo tuned him out. His eyes were fixed on the captive women, his mind racing.

"We should take them with us," Theo said abruptly, cutting off Krieg's rant.

Krieg blinked in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"The women," Theo clarified. "We should bring them back to our territory."

Krieg's brow furrowed. "That wasn't part of the plan. We don't have the resources to-"

"Miss Stepford needs test subjects," Theo interrupted. "For her rehabilitation treatments. Wouldn't you rather she see the ABB at their worst, rather than our own workers?"

Krieg opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, considering. Theo pressed his advantage. "Unless you'd prefer she examine the Empire's prostitutes in this condition?"

That struck home. Krieg's face reddened. "The Empire does not keep its night workers in such a state," he blustered. But after a moment, he nodded reluctantly. "Very well. Men, separate the whores from the customers. We'll be taking the women back with us."

As the Empire soldiers moved to comply, Theo watched the captive women. Their expressions didn't change – they were too far gone to register hope or fear. He silently prayed he was making the right choice.

"A clever suggestion," Krieg said, clapping Theo on the shoulder. "Your father will be pleased to see you taking initiative."

Theo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The weight of his choices pressed down on him, heavier than any chunk of concrete Rune could lift.

As they prepared to leave, Theo took one last look around the devastated stash house. The efficiency of the operation was undeniable. The Empire had struck a significant blow against the ABB, and they'd done it with minimal casualties on their side.

But at what cost? The dead gang members, the traumatized women, the drugs that would now be sold under a different banner – it all felt like a hollow victory. Theo knew that in the grand scheme of things, this was just one small skirmish in a much larger war. A war he was now actively participating in, for better or worse.

He thought of Taylor, working tirelessly in her lab to create the enhancements that had made this operation possible. Did she know how her creations were being used? Would she approve? The questions gnawed at him, but he pushed them aside. There would be time for doubt later. For now, he had to play his part.

"We should move out," Theo said, his voice steadier than he felt. "The PRT will respond soon, and we don't want to be here when they arrive."

Krieg nodded approvingly. "Good thinking. You're learning quickly, Prince. Your father will be proud."

As they made their way back to Rune's floating platform, Theo caught sight of one of the captured ABB members regaining consciousness. The man's eyes widened in fear and hatred as he recognized the Empire uniforms. For a moment, Theo wondered what the man saw when he looked at them. Saviors? Monsters? Or just another group of thugs, no better than the ones they'd replaced?

The question lingered in his mind as they rose into the air, leaving the scene of destruction behind. Theo knew that this was just the beginning. The ABB would retaliate, and the cycle of violence would continue. But for now, he had to focus on the next step in their plan.

As they flew back towards Empire territory, Theo's thoughts turned to the captive women. He hoped that Taylor's treatments could genuinely help them, give them a chance at a better life. But a part of him wondered if he was just trading one form of control for another.

The cool night air whipped around them as Rune guided their platform through the sky. Below, the lights of Brockton Bay twinkled, oblivious to the power struggles playing out in its shadows. Theo squared his shoulders, steeling himself for what was to come. He had made his choice, and now he had to see it through.

Krieg began discussing the next phase of their campaign against the ABB, but Theo only half-listened. His mind was already racing ahead, considering the potential consequences of their actions tonight. He knew that every victory came with a price, and he couldn't help but wonder what the true cost of this one would be.

As they approached Empire territory, Theo caught sight of Medhall's towering silhouette against the night sky. Somewhere in that building, his father was waiting for a report on tonight's operation. Theo took a deep breath, preparing himself for the conversation to come.

The platform touched down in a secluded alley behind one of the Empire's safe houses. Krieg immediately began issuing orders, directing the unloading of their spoils and the secure transport of the captive women. Theo hung back, watching the organized chaos unfold.

One of the women stumbled as she was led from the van, her legs unsteady. Without thinking, Theo moved to help her. She flinched at his touch, her eyes wide with fear. Theo's heart clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm.

"It's okay," he said softly, steadying her. "You're safe now. We're going to help you."

The woman didn't respond, her gaze unfocused. Theo wasn't sure if she even understood English. He guided her gently to the others, then stepped back, feeling helpless.

Krieg approached, a satisfied smile on his face. "Well done, Theodore. Your first major operation, and it was a resounding success. Your father will be pleased."

Theo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The weight of what they'd done – what he'd done – settled over him like a shroud.

"Get some rest," Krieg continued. "We'll debrief in the morning. There's much more work to be done."

As Krieg walked away, Theo found himself alone in the alley. The sounds of the city seemed distant, muffled. He leaned against the cool brick wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

He thought of Taylor, of the future he hoped to build. He thought of his father, and the legacy of violence he'd inherited. And he thought of the captive women, their vacant eyes and broken spirits.

Theo knew that the path ahead was treacherous. Every step forward came with the risk of losing himself, of becoming the very thing he sought to change. But he had made his choice. All he could do now was see it through, and hope that in the end, it would all be worth it.

With a final glance at the safe house, Theo turned and walked into the night. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new decisions. For now, he needed time to process what had happened, to steel himself for what was to come.

As he made his way home, the weight of his actions pressed down on him. But beneath the guilt and uncertainty, a small spark of hope remained. He clung to it, using it to light his way through the darkness.

***

Director Emily Piggot stormed into the conference room, her face a mask of barely contained fury. The assembled Protectorate heroes tensed, sensing the impending storm. Armsmaster sat rigidly in his chair, his armor gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Miss Militia's eyes darted between the Director and her team leader, her power shifting restlessly at her side.

"This situation is unacceptable," Piggot began, her voice low and dangerous. "The Empire is running rampant through our streets, the Merchants are on the upswing, and we have a very pissed off dragon terrorizing the docks. I want answers, and I want them now."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Director, if I may—"

"You may not," Piggot cut him off. "I've been patient, Armsmaster. I've given you time and resources to deal with this Miss Stepford situation. And what do we have to show for it? An Empire that's more organized and dangerous than ever before."

"With all due respect, Director," Armsmaster countered, his voice carefully modulated, "property damage and civilian casualties are actually down compared to previous months."

Piggot's eyes narrowed. "That's because the Empire isn't moving like a bunch of thugs anymore. I'd rate their average member as approaching the competence of a PRT trooper. And let's not forget the Merchants' new tinkertech vehicles. All of this traces back to Miss Stepford."

She turned her glare on Armsmaster. "You've been spending more time focusing on her tech and having others cover your patrols. I want to know why you haven't made any progress."

Armsmaster's jaw tightened beneath his beard. "I brought in Dragon to assist with the analysis. We... unfortunately hit a snag that set us back, but we've been making steady progress since then."

"Progress isn't good enough," Piggot snapped. "At this rate, by summer we could all be under the Empire's boot. What have you found out about that teacher, Glady?"

Miss Militia spoke up, her voice calm despite the tension in the room. "We've been able to clear him of being the tinker, Director. He appears to be nothing more than an overeager civilian who got caught up in the situation."

Assault leaned forward, his usual grin absent. "If I may, Director? Miss Stepford seems to be selling her tech. We could try to buy her out, bring her into the fold that way."

Piggot's face reddened. "Absolutely not. I will not hand my troopers and this city over on a silver platter to a tinker we know nothing about." She took a deep breath, visibly calming herself. "If Armsmaster needs more time to work on the tinker side of this, I'll give it to him."

The heroes exchanged wary glances, sensing a shift in the air.

"I'm appointing Dauntless as acting Protectorate Leader," Piggot continued, her voice brooking no argument. "This will allow Armsmaster to focus entirely on his special assignment."

The room fell silent. Dauntless's eyes widened in shock, while Velocity and Battery exchanged concerned looks. Miss Militia's power flickered between forms, betraying her unease.

Armsmaster stiffened, his armor creaking slightly. "Director, I assure you I am perfectly capable of handling my responsibilities along with this project."

Piggot's gaze was unyielding. "You can take your leadership role back when Miss Stepford is apprehended. That's final." She gathered her papers and stood. "This meeting is concluded."

As the door slammed behind the Director, the heroes sat in stunned silence. Dauntless cleared his throat awkwardly. "Armsmaster, I... I want you to know that I'll still follow your orders. This doesn't change anything."

Armsmaster's glare softened slightly. He visibly calmed himself before speaking. "It's fine, Dauntless. Director Piggot is... overblowing the Stepford situation. I think this will be good training for you."

Dauntless frowned. "Is that really the case? This seems like a major shift."

Armsmaster was silent for a moment, then spoke frankly. "I think you've been coasting on your power, Dauntless. Constantly growing, but not putting in enough effort to truly improve. However," he continued, holding up a hand to forestall any argument, "you are extremely good with people. You're fully capable of leading a Protectorate branch when the time is right."

He sighed, a rare show of vulnerability. "And the Director is correct that this project is important. It requires my full attention."

Dauntless nodded, taking the criticism with good grace. He turned to Miss Militia. "Hannah, I'm sorry. I think you should have been the one put in charge."

Miss Militia shook her head. "I know my strengths, Shawn. I'm a good soldier, but not a natural leader. It's fine."

"Will you continue as deputy leader during this... transition?" Dauntless asked.

"Of course," she replied with a nod.

As the heroes began to file out, Armsmaster spoke up. "Assault, Battery, if you could stay behind for a moment?"

Once the room had cleared, Assault grinned. "I've got to say, boss, you handled that pretty well. I know how jealous you've been of our resident golden boy."

Armsmaster glared, but Assault's smile didn't waver. "Hey, if you're going to be giving frank advice, you need to be able to take it too."

Battery stepped between them, her voice tight with frustration. "Colin, I know you have information that could let us capture Miss Stepford. Why are you still sitting on it?"

Armsmaster's shoulders slumped slightly. "The setback with Dragon... it revealed some things to me. Things that could potentially have major ramifications beyond just this situation with Miss Stepford."

Battery's eyes narrowed. "What kind of ramifications?"

"I can't say more right now," Armsmaster replied. "I need you both to keep quiet on this, at least until summer. Can you do that for me?"

Battery frowned, clearly unhappy with the secrecy. Assault placed a hand on her shoulder. "We've got your back, Armsy. But you'd better not be leading us down a path we can't come back from."

Armsmaster nodded. "Ethan, I have a favor to ask. Do you still have some of your old connections to the tinker black market?"

Assault raised an eyebrow. "You mean Toybox? Yeah, I might know a guy who knows a guy. Why?"

"I need a list of all the tinkers you can get me in touch with," Armsmaster said. "Hero, villain, or rogue. It doesn't matter."

Battery's eyes widened. "Colin, what are you planning?"

Armsmaster's face was grim. "Something that could change everything. But I need you both to trust me."

Assault and Battery exchanged a long look. Finally, Assault nodded. "Alright, boss. We're with you. But you'd better start filling us in soon. This cloak and dagger stuff isn't really your style."

As they left the conference room, Armsmaster allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He had bought himself some time, but he knew the clock was ticking. He needed to make progress, and fast.

In his lab, a secure terminal blinked with an incoming message from Dragon. Armsmaster felt a pang of guilt as he thought of his friend and colleague, unaware of his true intentions. He pushed the feeling aside. There would be time for explanations later. For now, he had work to do.

The lab door hissed shut behind him, leaving the Protectorate headquarters to settle into an uneasy quiet. Outside, the city of Brockton Bay continued its dance of light and shadow, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within its protectors.

***

Coil sat at his desk, fingers steepled as he pored over the latest reports from his spies within the Empire. The data scrolling across his screens painted a troubling picture. The Empire's foot soldiers were displaying a level of competence that bordered on the level of his own mercenaries. Their coordination, their tactics, their sheer effectiveness – it all pointed to one source.

Miss Stepford.

He grimaced, recalling his failed attempt to acquire the young tinker. It had been a miscalculation on his part, underestimating both her capabilities and her growing alliance with Kaiser. Now, she was rapidly becoming a game-changer in Brockton Bay's delicate power balance.

In one timeline, Coil reached for his phone, while in another, he continued to analyze the data. It was a habit he had trained – always exploring multiple possibilities.

"Mr. Pitter," he spoke into the phone, "bring me the latest projections on our territory holdings."

As he waited, Coil pulled up a map of Brockton Bay on his main screen. The colored territories shifted before his eyes as he input the new data. The Empire's territory was expanding at an alarming rate, pushing back against both the ABB and his own. Even more concerning was the efficiency with which they were doing it – minimal collateral damage, reduced civilian casualties, and an unprecedented level of coordination between their unpowered members.

Mr. Pitter entered, a tablet in hand. "Sir, the latest projections as requested."

Coil took the device, dismissing his subordinate with a wave. The numbers were even worse than he'd feared. At this rate, the Empire would control over 70% of the city within six months. His own carefully laid plans for Brockton Bay's future were crumbling before his eyes.

In the timeline where he hadn't called for the report, Coil leaned back in his chair, mind racing through possibilities. He needed a force multiplier, something to tip the scales back in his favor. The Undersiders were useful, but they were ultimately children playing at being villains. What he needed was...

The thought struck him in both timelines simultaneously. He reached for his most secure phone, the one reserved for his most sensitive contacts. There was only one person he knew who might have the resources he needed.

The phone rang exactly three times before a cultured voice answered. "This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Accord," Coil said, keeping his voice steady. "I find myself in need of your particular brand of expertise."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Coil could almost see Accord adjusting his mask, ensuring perfect symmetry before speaking. "Go on."

"I'm sure you've heard rumors of the situation in Brockton Bay. A new tinker has emerged, one with... unprecedented capabilities."

"Ah yes, the so-called 'Miss Stepford'," Accord replied. "Her work has not gone unnoticed, even from Boston. I must admit, I find her methods... intriguing."

Coil frowned. He hadn't expected Accord to be aware of Miss Stepford already. "Then you understand the threat she poses to the current balance of power."

"I understand that she represents a significant shift in the status quo," Accord said carefully. "Whether that constitutes a threat depends entirely on one's perspective."

"Indeed," Coil said, choosing his next words carefully. "I find myself in need of additional resources to... address this shift. I recall you mentioning a group of capes you've been cultivating. The Travelers, I believe?"

There was another pause, longer this time. Coil held his breath, knowing that Accord was weighing every possible outcome of this conversation.

"The Travelers are a valuable asset," Accord finally said. "I would not part with their services lightly."

"Of course," Coil replied smoothly. "I'm prepared to offer substantial compensation for their assistance."

"Money is not the issue," Accord said, a hint of disdain in his voice. "What interests me is the potential. This Miss Stepford... her work shows a level of order and precision that is rare in our chaotic world. I find myself curious about her capabilities."

Coil's mind raced, seeing an opportunity. "Perhaps we could come to an arrangement that would be mutually beneficial. The Travelers could assist me in acquiring Miss Stepford, and in return, you would have the opportunity to... evaluate her work firsthand."

"An intriguing proposition," Accord mused. "But I wonder, Thomas, if you've considered the full implications of what you're suggesting. Miss Stepford's abilities, if the reports are accurate, could reshape the very fabric of parahuman society. Are you prepared for those consequences?"

Coil suppressed a shudder at the use of his real name. It was a reminder of just how much Accord knew, how precarious their relationship truly was. "I'm well aware of the potential ramifications. That's precisely why I need to bring her under control."

"Control," Accord repeated, as if tasting the word. "An admirable goal, but one that history has shown to be... elusive when it comes to parahumans of true power."

"Which is why I'm reaching out to you," Coil pressed. "Your Travelers, combined with my resources and knowledge of the local landscape – together, we stand the best chance of success."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Coil waited, tension coiling in his gut. Finally, Accord spoke.

"Very well. I will send the Travelers to Brockton Bay. But understand this, Thomas – my interest in Miss Stepford goes beyond mere curiosity. If your operation is successful, I expect full access to her and her work. No exceptions."

Coil allowed himself a small smile. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of denying you the opportunity to... appreciate her talents firsthand."

"See that you don't," Accord said, his tone carrying a clear warning. "The Travelers will arrive in two months to ensure my own plans are not disrupted. I suggest you use that time to prepare thoroughly. Incompetence will not be tolerated."

"Understood," Coil replied. "I appreciate your assistance in this matter."

"Do not mistake this for altruism," Accord said coldly. "This is a business arrangement, nothing more. Succeed, and we both profit. Fail, and the consequences will be... significant."

The line went dead. Coil set the phone down, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies. The Travelers would be a powerful asset, but they were also an unknown quantity. He would need to be careful in how he deployed them.

In the other timeline, where he hadn't made the call, Coil weighed his options. The situation with the Empire was dire, but bringing in outside forces carried its own risks. He spent several minutes considering alternative strategies before finally collapsing that timeline. The deal with Accord was made. Now, he needed to ensure its success. He split again one version of himself heading home for a good nights sleep.

Coil turned back to his computer, pulling up everything he had on Miss Stepford and the Empire's recent activities. He needed to plan this operation down to the smallest detail. There would be no room for error.

As he worked, a part of Coil's mind couldn't help but wonder about Accord's interest in the young tinker. What did he see in her work that had captured his attention so thoroughly? And more importantly, how could Coil use that interest to his advantage?

He pushed the thoughts aside for now. There would be time to consider the larger implications later. For now, he had an operation to plan and a city to save from the Empire's growing influence.

Coil worked through the night, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he laid out plans and contingencies. The Travelers would be a powerful asset, but integrating them into his existing operations would require careful maneuvering. He couldn't risk tipping off the Undersiders or his other pawns to the full scope of his plans.

As dawn broke over Brockton Bay, Coil leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. The beginnings of a plan were taking shape, but there were still so many variables to consider. Miss Stepford's true capabilities, the Empire's newfound competence, the potential reaction from the Protectorate – each factor added layers of complexity to an already delicate situation.

Coil began drafting a series of operations, each designed to test the Empire's new capabilities while simultaneously gathering more intelligence on Miss Stepford's movements and habits. He would need to be patient, to resist the urge to move too quickly. One misstep could alert Kaiser to his plans and send the entire house of cards tumbling down.

As he worked, Coil couldn't shake a nagging sense of unease. Accord's interest in Miss Stepford was a wild card he hadn't anticipated. What if the Boston villain decided to make a play for the tinker himself? Could Coil afford to trust his nominal ally, or should he be preparing for inevitable betrayal?

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the immediate tasks at hand. There would be time to worry about Accord's motivations later. For now, he needed to prepare for the Travelers' arrival and set the stage for their eventual confrontation with Miss Stepford and the Empire.

Coil pulled up a map of Brockton Bay, studying the shifting territories and known patrol routes. He would need to create a situation that would draw out both Miss Stepford and enough of the Empire's forces to make extraction possible. Perhaps a staged conflict between the ABB and the Merchants, escalated to the point where the Empire couldn't ignore it...

As he plotted and schemed, a small part of Coil couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for Miss Stepford. In just a few short months, she had managed to upset the delicate balance of power he'd spent years cultivating. It was almost a shame that he would have to break her or give her up to accord. With the right guidance, she could have been a valuable asset but far too dangerous for his plans now.

But sentiment had no place in his plans for Brockton Bay. Miss Stepford represented a threat to his vision for the city's future, and threats had to be neutralized. Once she was in his custody, he could explore the full extent of her abilities at his leisure.

Coil allowed himself a small smile as he continued to work. Soon, very soon, the pieces would be in place. And when they were, he would finally be able to reshape Brockton Bay in his image – with Miss Stepford as the key to it all.

***

Taylor stretched her arms above her head, feeling the satisfying pop of her joints as she worked out the kinks from hours hunched over her workbench. The lab Medhall had provided her was a vast improvement over her makeshift setup in the Barnes' basement, but she still found herself losing track of time as she tinkered.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. "Come in," she called, turning to see Othala peek her head inside.

"Hey Taylor," the blonde girl said with a smile. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab something to eat? The cafeteria's still open."

Taylor glanced at the clock, surprised to see how late it had gotten. Her stomach rumbled in response, reminding her that she'd skipped lunch earlier. "That sounds great, actually. Just let me clean up a bit here."

As they walked down the hallway towards the elevator, Taylor couldn't help but marvel at the sleek, professional atmosphere of Medhall after hours. It was so different from what she'd imagined the Empire's operations would be like.

"It's kind of weird," she mused aloud. "This place feels more like a regular business than a gang headquarters."

Othala laughed. "That's because it is a business, silly. Medhall just happens to have some... special employees." She winked conspiratorially.

Taylor nodded, but the comment made her wonder. Who was really in control here? Was it Kaiser running things through Medhall, or was Medhall using the Empire for its own purposes? The line seemed blurrier than she'd initially thought.

They reached the cafeteria, which was mostly empty save for a few late-night workers. As they grabbed trays and began selecting their food, Othala turned to Taylor with a mischievous grin.

"So," she said, drawing out the word. "Is there anyone special in your life? A cute boy catching your eye, perhaps?"

Taylor felt her cheeks heat up. "Well, actually... I've been seeing Theo. You know, Mr. Anders' son?"

Othala's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? That's wonderful! I had no idea."

Taylor nodded, not quite meeting Othala's gaze.

"Have you dated much before?" Othala asked as they found a table and sat down.

"No, not really," Taylor admitted. "Theo's my first real boyfriend. What about you?" The words were out of her mouth before she remembered. "Oh, right. You're married to Victor. Sorry, that was a dumb question."

Othala waved off her apology with a laugh. "Don't worry about it. And to answer your question – yes, I did date a bit before Victor, but nothing too serious. My father is... well, let's say he's an important supporter of the Empire. There were always plenty of suitors around."

Her expression softened as she continued. "But after Victor saved me... I only had eyes for him after that. He's my first true love, even if..." She trailed off, a flicker of something – pain? uncertainty? – crossing her face.

"Even if what?" Taylor prompted gently.

Othala sighed. "Even if I know I'm not his. Oh!" She quickly backtracked, seeing Taylor's alarmed expression. "I don't mean it like that. Victor loves me, I know he does. It's just... he was engaged before, to my cousin. She died a few years ago."

Taylor's heart ached for the pain she could hear in Othala's voice. "I'm so sorry," she said softly.

Othala gave her a wan smile. "It's alright. It was a long time ago. But you know how they say you never forget your first love? I think that's true, even when you find someone new. Even if they love you for yourself, there's always going to be that comparison, whether they mean to or not."

She sighed again, pushing her food around on her plate. "Sometimes I wish I could be more like her. Juliet was so confident, so sure of herself. Everyone loved her."

Taylor found herself deep in thought, an idea forming in her mind. It was risky, potentially crossing lines she wasn't sure she wanted to cross. But seeing the sadness in Othala's eye...

"What are you thinking?" Othala's voice broke through her musings. "You've got that look – the one you get when you're working on a new project."

"What? Oh, it's nothing," Taylor said quickly, shaking her head.

Othala narrowed her eye, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Oh no, you don't get off that easily. Come on, spill. I promise I won't stop pestering you until you do."

Taylor hesitated, weighing her options. Finally, she decided to take the plunge. "Well... I was thinking. You said you spent a lot of time with your cousin, right?"

Othala nodded. "We were practically inseparable growing up."

"So," Taylor continued slowly, "theoretically, I could use my tech to... well, to make you act more like her. Just a little bit, I mean. Enough to maybe boost your confidence."

Othala's eye widened, a mix of emotions flashing across her face. "You could do that?" she breathed.

Taylor nodded, already regretting bringing it up. "But it's probably not a good idea. I mean, shouldn't Victor love you for who you are?"

"Oh, he does," Othala said quickly. "This wouldn't be changing who I am, not really. It's more like... like wearing a dress you know he likes. Just a little boost, you know?"

Taylor frowned. "I don't know, Othala. It seems like more than that to me."

But Othala was already standing up, her meal forgotten. "Come on, let's go back to your lab. We can work out the details there."

"Wait," Taylor said, not moving from her seat. "Kaiser specifically told me not to use my tech on any Empire capes. He doesn't trust me enough yet."

Othala waved off her concern. "Oh please, what's the worst that could happen? It's not like you could make me do anything dangerous. My power only works on other people, remember?"

Taylor bit her lip, thinking of at least a dozen ways that statement was wrong. But she didn't know how to explain that without revealing more about her abilities than she was comfortable with.

"Besides," Othala continued, "it's not like Kaiser has to know. It'll be our little secret."

Reluctantly, Taylor stood and followed Othala out of the cafeteria. As they walked back towards her lab, Othala chattered excitedly about various topics, including the advice she'd been giving Cricket on how to catch Mr. Gladly's eye.

Taylor was only half-listening, her mind racing with the implications of what she was considering. On one hand, this could be the opening she needed to start subverting the Empire from within. If she could gain Othala's trust, maybe she could slowly work on changing her views...

On the other hand, the idea of using her power to alter someone's personality, even at their request, made her deeply uncomfortable. Where was the line between helping and manipulating?

She was so lost in thought that she almost didn't notice when Othala stopped abruptly in front of her. They had reached the hallway leading to Taylor's lab, but something was off.

Two security guards stood at attention in front of the server room, their posture rigid and alert. Taylor frowned, not recognizing either of them from her time at Medhall so far.

Othala, however, zeroed in on one of the guards immediately. "You there," she snapped, her voice taking on a harsh edge Taylor hadn't heard before. "Stand up straight when you're on duty. This isn't some minimum wage mall cop job."

The guard she was addressing, a young black man, stiffened even further. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," he mumbled, not quite meeting Othala's gaze.

Something about his demeanor struck Taylor as odd. She stepped forward, trying to defuse the tension. "I don't think I've seen you two around before," she said casually. "What are your names?"

The guard Othala had berated looked nervous for a moment, his eyes darting to his partner. Before either could respond, a thick cloud of smoke suddenly filled the hallway, obscuring Taylor's vision.

Chapter Text

Brian adjusted his security guard uniform for what felt like the hundredth time. The stiff fabric chafed uncomfortably, and the false face he wore itched incessantly. He glanced at Alec, similarly disguised beside him, and fought the urge to scratch at his own artificial features.

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Alec muttered, his usual smirk hidden beneath the latex mask.

Brian sighed. "Because the boss is paying us a small fortune, and we need the cash. Now shut up and look professional."

They stood at attention outside the server room, trying their best to blend in with the evening Medhall security. So far, their disguises seemed to be holding up. Lisa, dressed as an IT technician, had already slipped inside to begin downloading the data their mysterious employer wanted.

"I still say this is a waste of time," Alec grumbled. "What could possibly be so important about some pharmaceutical company's files?"

Brian shrugged minutely. "Not our job to know. We just get in, get the data, and get out."

"Yeah, yeah. Easy peasy, right?" Alec's sarcasm was palpable even through the mask.

The sound of approaching footsteps had both of them tensing. A pair of actual security guards rounded the corner, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Hey," one called out. "I don't recognize you two. When did you start?"

Brian's mind raced, but before he could formulate a response, Lisa's voice crackled in his earpiece.

"Tell them you're new transfers from the downtown office. There was a memo about additional security this week due to a potential corporate espionage threat."

Brian repeated the information smoothly, watching as the guards' suspicion faded. They nodded, apparently satisfied, and continued on their rounds.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Alec let out a low whistle. "Nice save, Tats. How'd you know about that memo?"

"I didn't," Lisa's smug voice replied. "But it's the kind of thing a paranoid CEO would do. And from what I've seen so far, Anders definitely fits that profile."

Brian frowned. "Speaking of Anders, any idea what the boss wants with his company's data? This seems like a lot of risk for corporate secrets."

There was a pause before Lisa answered. "I'm... not sure. There's something weird about these files. A lot of it looks like normal business stuff, but there are some encrypted sections that don't fit. I'm copying everything, but we might need to bring in some outside help to make sense of it all."

"Great," Alec drawled. "More variables. Because this job wasn't complicated enough already."

Brian was about to reprimand him when movement at the end of the hallway caught his eye. His blood ran cold as he recognized the two figures approaching.

"Shit," he hissed. "We've got company. Cape company."

Alec tensed beside him. "Who?"

"Othala," Brian murmured. "And... I think that's the new one. Miss Stepford."

"Well, fuck me sideways," Alec muttered. "Way to jinx us, fearless leader."

Brian ignored him, focusing on the approaching capes. Othala he recognized easily – her costume was well-known in cape circles. But Miss Stepford... she was an unknown quantity. The Empire's newest
member had been making waves, but information on her was scarce.

As the pair drew closer, Brian could make out snippets of their conversation.

"...really think you could do that?" Othala was saying, her voice tinged with excitement.

Miss Stepford seemed less enthusiastic. "I don't know, Othala. It doesn't seem right to mess with your personality like that, even if you're asking for it."

Brian's mind raced, trying to piece together what they were discussing. Some kind of power-induced personality change? He filed the information away for later, focusing on the more immediate problem
of not blowing their cover.

As the two capes approached, Brian straightened his posture, doing his best to look like a proper security guard. Beside him, Alec did the same, though Brian could practically feel the tension radiating off him.

Othala barely spared them a glance as she passed, still deep in conversation with Miss Stepford. But the newer cape's eyes lingered on them, a slight frown visible beneath her mask.

For a heart-stopping moment, Brian thought they'd been made. But Miss Stepford simply nodded politely and continued on.

Brian let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. That had been too close.

But their relief was short-lived. As the capes moved past them, Othala suddenly stopped, her head snapping back towards them.

"You there," she barked, her voice sharp. "Stand up straight when you're on duty. This isn't some minimum wage mall cop job."

Brian realized she was addressing Alec, who had slumped slightly after the capes passed. He cursed internally. Of all the times for Alec to break character...

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Alec mumbled, straightening up.

But the damage was done. Miss Stepford was eyeing them both now, her earlier frown deepening.

"I don't think I've seen you two around before," she said, her voice deceptively casual. "What are your names?"

Brian's mind raced, trying to come up with a plausible lie. But before he could speak, Lisa's urgent voice crackled in his ear.

"We're blown. Get ready to move."

As if on cue, the elevator at the end of the hall dinged. The doors slid open, revealing two more security guards – real ones this time.

One of them called out, his hand moving towards his radio. "Hey! What's going on here?"

In that moment, Brian made a split-second decision. They couldn't afford to be caught here, not with the data they'd stolen. He'd have to use his power and hope for the best.

Darkness exploded outwards, filling the hallway with an impenetrable cloud of inky black smoke. Brian heard Othala and Miss Stepford cry out in surprise, but he was already moving.

He yanked open the server room door. "Tattletale! We're made. Time to go!"

***

Taylor's heart raced as the hallway filled with impenetrable darkness. She stumbled, disoriented by the sudden loss of vision. Instinctively, she reached into one of her apron pockets, fingers closing around a familiar device.

"Othala?" she called out, her voice muffled by the strange smoke. "Are you okay?"

There was no response. Taylor strained her ears, trying to pinpoint where the intruders might be. She thought she heard movement to her left and made a split-second decision.

With practiced ease, Taylor activated the incapacitation device and threw it in the direction of the noise. She waited, breath held, for the telltale not-sound that usually accompanied its activation.

Nothing happened.

Taylor frowned, confused. Her devices had never failed before. Was something interfering with them? She didn't have time to ponder it further as the darkness began to thin.

As her vision cleared, Taylor's eyes widened in alarm. One of the fake security guards was lunging towards her, a crackling stun gun in his hand. Time seemed to slow as she watched the weapon's prongs inching closer to her body.

Suddenly, she felt a hand grip her shoulder. "Speed!" Othala's voice rang out.

The world blurred. Taylor felt her body moving faster than she'd ever experienced, easily evading the stun gun. But the abrupt acceleration left her head spinning, and she stumbled as the effect faded.

Through her disorientation, Taylor caught sight of two figures emerging from the dissipating smoke – the other fake guard and what looked like a technician. They were running full-tilt towards the exit.

Gritting her teeth, Taylor reached for another incapacitation device. She couldn't let them escape, not when they might have sensitive information about Medhall or the Empire.

As she drew back her arm to throw, a strange sensation overtook her. Her muscles spasmed violently, causing her to lose her grip. The device clattered to the floor, rolling back into the lingering wisps of darkness.

"What the-" Taylor gasped, staring at her betraying limb in shock.

The fake guard who'd tried to stun her earlier was now sprinting after his companions, a smirk visible on his face as he glanced back at her.

Taylor moved to give chase, but Othala's urgent voice stopped her. "Wait! We can't risk being seen in costume at Medhall. It could compromise everything."

Frustration welled up in Taylor. She knew Othala was right, but the thought of letting the intruders escape galled her. "Then give me something ranged," she demanded. "We can't just let them go!"

Othala hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Pyrokinesis," she said, touching Taylor's arm again.

Immediately, Taylor felt heat building within her. She focused on the retreating figures, willing the fire to form. A ball of flame coalesced in her palm, and with a practiced motion born from imbedded skills, she hurled it towards the fleeing technician.

For a moment, Taylor thought she had them. But at the last second, the woman spun around, somehow sensing the incoming attack. With impressive reflexes, she swung her bag up to shield herself.

The fireball struck the bag dead center. There was a brief, intense flare as the flames consumed the fabric. When it cleared, the woman was still standing, relatively unharmed. But the bag – and whatever had been inside it – was reduced to smoldering ashes.

The technician's eyes met Taylor's, and even from a distance, the intensity of her glare was palpable. Then she was gone, disappearing around a corner with her companions.

Taylor sagged, the adrenaline that had been fueling her beginning to ebb. She felt Othala's steadying hand on her back.

"Come on," the older cape said gently. "Let's get back to your lab. We need to report this."

As they walked, Taylor's mind raced. Who were those intruders? What had they been after? And how had they managed to counter her device?

"You did well," Othala said, breaking into her thoughts. "First time in a real fight?"

Taylor nodded, a bit embarrassed. "Is it that obvious?"

Othala chuckled. "A little. But don't worry, you'll get used to it. We all start somewhere."

They reached Taylor's lab, and she immediately went to her workbench, pulling out tools and components. Her fingers itched to start working, to improve her devices and ensure they wouldn't fail again.

"I should have been better prepared," Taylor muttered, more to herself than Othala. "If I'd had more variety in my arsenal, or if my incapacitation device had worked in that darkness..."

Othala watched her for a moment before speaking. "Taylor, you can't predict everything. What matters is how you adapt. And for your first encounter, you handled yourself well."

Taylor paused in her tinkering, considering Othala's words. "I suppose," she conceded. "But I still have so much to learn."

"That's why you're here," Othala said with a smile. "The Empire will help you reach your full potential. And in return, you'll help make Brockton Bay a better place."

Taylor's mind raced as she processed the events of the past few minutes. The adrenaline was slowly fading, leaving her with a mixture of frustration and curiosity. She glanced at Othala, who seemed far more composed than Taylor felt.

"You handled yourself well out there," Othala said, offering a reassuring smile. "Most people freeze up their first time in combat."

Taylor nodded, grateful for the compliment, but a question nagged at her. "Thanks, but... I'm surprised you've seen much combat yourself. I mean, with your power being focused on granting abilities to others, I would have thought you'd stay out of the action."

Othala chuckled, her single eye twinkling with amusement. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But my powers don't last very long. Usually just a few minutes at most. So I have to stay close to the fight to keep refreshing them."

"Really?" Taylor asked, intrigued. "I hadn't realized there were such strict limitations."

Othala nodded. "That's why I'm usually paired with Victor or a team that's trained extensively with me. They know how to maximize the use of their temporary powers within those short windows."

Taylor mulled this over, seeing the tactical implications. "So you're constantly cycling through different power grants during a fight?"

"Exactly," Othala confirmed. "It requires a lot of coordination and split-second decision-making. One moment I might be granting super-speed to help someone dodge an attack, the next I'm giving them invulnerability to tank a hit we couldn't avoid."

Taylor's respect for Othala's combat role grew. "That sounds incredibly challenging. How do you keep track of everything in the heat of battle?"

Othala shrugged. "Practice, mostly. And trust in my teammates. We've developed a sort of shorthand over time. Sometimes just a look or a hand signal is enough for them to know what power they're about to receive."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Victor entered the room, his usual composed demeanor slightly ruffled. His eyes quickly scanned both Taylor and Othala, checking for any signs of injury.

"Are you two alright?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Othala nodded, moving to his side. "We're fine, thanks to Taylor's quick thinking."

Victor raised an eyebrow, looking impressed. "Good work, Miss Stepford. I heard you gave them quite a chase."

Taylor felt a flush of pride at the praise, but her curiosity won out. "Thank you, but... who exactly were they? Did we manage to catch them?"

Victor's expression darkened slightly. "Unfortunately, no. They managed to escape. As for who they were..." He paused, considering his words carefully. "They're a group called the Undersiders. Up-and coming thieves who've been making a name for themselves lately."

Taylor frowned. "Thieves? What could they possibly want from Medhall?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Victor replied. "They seemed to be after something in the server room, but thanks to your intervention, we don't think they managed to get away with any significant data."

Othala squeezed Victor's arm. "At least no one was seriously hurt, right?"

Victor winced slightly. "Well, mostly. Stormtiger took a hit during the chase. He'll be coming by for healing soon."

Othala let out an exasperated sigh. "Let me guess. It's his knee again, isn't it?"

As if on cue, the door opened once more. Cricket entered, supporting a limping Stormtiger. The aerokinetic's face was contorted in a grimace of pain.

"Of course it's my damn knee," Stormtiger growled through gritted teeth. "It's always the bloody knee."

Taylor watched, fascinated, as Othala immediately shifted into a more professional demeanor. She helped Cricket guide Stormtiger to a nearby chair, her hands already glowing with her power.

"I swear, Stormtiger," Othala said, shaking her head as she began to work on his injury. "Your knees must be cursed or something. Do you remember that time Assault broke it during that skirmish downtown?"

Stormtiger grunted. "How could I forget? Bastard's got a mean right hook."

"Or when Lung nearly torched it off during that warehouse raid?" Cricket chimed in, her voice raspy but tinged with amusement.

"Don't remind me," Stormtiger groaned. "I still have nightmares about that one."

Othala continued, seemingly enjoying the chance to recount Stormtiger's misfortunes. "And let's not forget the incident with Skidmark's fields. You wrenched it so badly trying to navigate that mess."

Taylor listened, wide-eyed, as they recounted Stormtiger's apparently extensive history of knee injuries. It was surreal, hearing these notorious villains banter so casually about their encounters with other capes.

"Oh!" Othala exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering. "What about that time you took an arrow to the knee from Shadow Stalker?"

Cricket, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened up. "Actually," she interjected, her mechanical voice carrying a hint of pedantry, "since Shadow Stalker uses a crossbow, those are technically bolts, not arrows."

Othala rolled her eye. "Same difference," she said dismissively.

Taylor couldn't help but chuckle at the exchange, drawing curious looks from the others. She quickly composed herself, not wanting to seem disrespectful.

"Sorry," she said, "it's just... I never imagined cape life involved so many... occupational hazards."

Stormtiger barked out a laugh, then winced as the movement jostled his injured knee. "Kid, you don't know the half of it. This life's full of weird injuries and close calls."

Victor nodded in agreement. "It's not all glorious battles and daring heists. Sometimes it's slipping on Hellhound's dog drool or getting a concussion from one of Uber and Leet's malfunctioning gadgets."

Taylor's mind whirled with this new perspective on cape life. It was so different from the sanitized versions she'd seen on TV or read about online. There was a strange camaraderie here, even in the midst of their criminal activities.

As Othala patched up Stormtiger's knee to where it could at least bear his weight, Taylor found herself wondering about the lives of other capes in the city. Did the heroes swap similar stories? Was there a Protectorate equivalent of Stormtiger's cursed knees?

"There," Othala said, stepping back from Stormtiger. "Should get you by till I can spend more time on it tonight. Can you keep from injuring it further today, hmm?"

Stormtiger stood, testing his weight on the somewhat healed joint. "No promises," he grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

Cricket moved to Stormtiger's side, ready to support him if needed. "Come on, you big baby," she teased. "Let's get you home before you find some other way to injure yourself."

As the two made their way out of the room, Taylor turned to Victor and Othala. "So... what happens now? With the Undersiders, I mean."

Victor's expression turned serious. "We'll increase security, of course. And we'll be keeping a closer eye on their activities in the future. But for now..." He glanced at Taylor, a hint of approval in his eyes. "I think we owe you our thanks, Miss Stepford. Your quick action may have prevented a significant breach."

Taylor felt a warmth of pride at the praise, but it was tinged with an undercurrent of unease. She was helping the Empire, yes, but they were still criminals. The line between right and wrong seemed to blur more each day.

"I'm just glad I could help," she said carefully. "Though I wish my devices had worked better in that darkness."

Othala placed a comforting hand on Taylor's shoulder. "Don't be too hard on yourself. Every cape has to deal with power interactions that don't go their way sometimes. What matters is how you adapt."

Victor glanced at his watch, then back at Taylor. "It's getting late. You should probably head home for the day - get some rest after all this excitement."

Taylor nodded, suddenly aware of how drained she felt. The adrenaline crash was hitting her hard.

"Oh, and the boss will want to speak with you tomorrow about what happened," Victor added. "First thing in the morning, if possible."

Othala squeezed Taylor's arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. He just likes to stay informed about everything that happens here."

"Right," Taylor said, gathering her things. Her mind was already racing with questions about what Kaiser might want to know, but she forced herself to focus on the present. "Same time as usual tomorrow then?"

"That would be perfect," Victor confirmed. "I'll make sure security escorts you to your car."

Taylor caught the subtle emphasis on 'security' - a reminder that there might still be threats lurking about. She appreciated the concern, even if it came from criminals.

As she packed up her equipment, Othala helped, chattering about various things they could work on tomorrow after Taylor's meeting. The normalcy of it all struck Taylor as almost surreal after the day's events.

***

Coil leaned back in his chair, a frown creasing his face as he closed the timeline where Bitch met her untimely end at Hookwolf's hands. The scenario played out in his mind again - the Undersiders discovered in their staging area, the ensuing fight with Hookwolf, Cricket, and Storm Tiger. Bitch's stubborn refusal to retreat, her dogs overwhelmed by Hookwolf's relentless assault. The sickening crunch as the Empire cape ended the young villain's life.

He massaged his temples, feeling a headache brewing. This was the second time he'd nearly lost one of his assets due to poor planning. He was getting sloppy, and in his line of work, that was unacceptable.

With a few keystrokes, Coil pulled up the report from the timeline he'd been forced to keep - the one where the Undersiders escaped unharmed, but empty-handed. It was far from ideal, but it beat the alternative of a dead cape and a captured Thinker.

"Note to self," he muttered, typing into his personal log. "Either Cricket's or Storm Tiger's enhanced senses extend further than previously thought. Adjust future plans accordingly."

The failed operation gnawed at him. He'd wanted that Medhall data, needed it to further his plans. But more than that, he wanted Miss Stepford out of the picture. The Tinker's presence in Brockton Bay was throwing off too many of his carefully laid schemes.

Coil pulled up a map of the city, studying the area around Medhall. In hindsight, setting the staging area so close to the target had been a rookie mistake. He'd gotten overconfident, assuming the Empire wouldn't have extended their patrols that far out. It was a miscalculation that had nearly cost him dearly.

"Patience," he reminded himself. The Travelers were en route. Once they arrived, he'd have more pieces to move on the board. For now, he needed to play it safe, gather intelligence from a distance.

Coil opened a new document, beginning to compile what little data they had managed to glean about Miss Stepford and her operations. It wasn't much, but every scrap of information could prove vital in the long run.

As he worked, his mind drifted to the bigger picture. Brockton Bay was changing, the balance of power shifting in ways he hadn't anticipated. The Empire was growing stronger, more organized. The Merchants, once a joke, were becoming a legitimate threat under new management. And at the center of it all was Miss Stepford, her Tinker creations reshaping the landscape of the city's underworld.

He needed to adapt, to stay ahead of the curve. But how?

Coil's fingers hovered over the keyboard as he considered his next move. The failed operation at Medhall had been a setback, but perhaps he could turn it to his advantage. Let the Empire grow complacent, thinking they'd thwarted a simple theft. Meanwhile, he could work from the shadows, gathering intel and preparing for his next strike.

A notification popped up on his screen - an update from one of his moles in the PRT. He opened it, scanning the contents quickly. Apparently, there was some internal strife brewing between Armsmaster and Director Piggot over how to handle the Miss Stepford situation. Interesting. Perhaps there was an opportunity there to be exploited.

Coil made a note to look into that further. If he could drive a wedge between the Protectorate and the PRT, it would only make his own operations easier.

His phone buzzed - a message from Tattletale. He opened it, half-expecting a barrage of complaints about the failed mission. Instead, he found a surprisingly detailed analysis of Miss Stepford's abilities based on their brief encounter.

"Clever girl," Coil murmured, impressed despite himself. Even in failure, Tattletale managed to gather useful intelligence. He'd have to remember to reward her for that initiative.
As he read through Tattletale's observations, a plan began to form in Coil's mind. Miss Stepford's devices seemed to have specific weaknesses - Grue's darkness had rendered them ineffective. If he could gather more data on those limitations, find ways to exploit them...

But no, he was getting ahead of himself again. That kind of direct confrontation was what had nearly cost him Bitch and Tattletale. He needed to be smarter, more cautious.

Coil closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to center himself. When he opened them again, he began typing out a new set of orders for his operatives. Surveillance only for now. No direct engagement. Gather information, build a complete picture of Miss Stepford's operations and allies.

He'd wait for the Travelers to arrive before making any bold moves. In the meantime, he could work on solidifying his own position, shoring up any weaknesses in his organization.

As he worked, Coil couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was missing something. Some crucial piece of the puzzle that would make everything fall into place. But what?

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. Speculation without data was useless. He'd stick to the facts, build his plans on solid ground.

Hours passed as Coil pored over reports, analyzed data, and refined his strategies. The sun had long since set by the time he finally leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes.

Progress had been made, but it felt incremental. The setback at Medhall still rankled, a reminder of how quickly things could go wrong in this game they played.

Coil stood, stretching muscles stiff from hours of sitting. He walked to the window, gazing out at the city lights twinkling in the distance. Somewhere out there, Miss Stepford was probably celebrating her small victory, unaware of the forces aligning against her.

"Enjoy it while you can," he murmured to the unseen Tinker. "Your days in Brockton Bay are numbered."

With that ominous thought, Coil returned to his desk. There was still work to be done, plans to be made. The game was far from over, and he intended to emerge victorious, no matter the cost.

***

The dining room was quiet, save for the soft clink of silverware against fine china. Theo sat across from his father, Max Anders, at the long mahogany table. The room felt cavernous with just the two of them, the empty chairs a silent reminder of the family they'd lost.

Max cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Brad tells me he's been quite impressed with your training progress."

Theo looked up from his plate, surprise flitting across his face. "Really? I mean, he's surprisingly a good teacher and trainer. I didn't expect that from him."

Max nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Hookwolf may be brutal in combat, but he understands the value of discipline and hard work. I'm glad to see you're taking it seriously."

"I am," Theo said, sitting up a little straighter. "It's... important to me."

There was a moment of awkward silence as both father and son searched for what to say next. Max took a sip of his wine, then spoke again.

"James has also mentioned your involvement in some of our recent operations. He says you have a good head for planning."

Theo tensed slightly at the mention of Krieg. "What else did he say?"

Max hesitated, then decided honesty was the best approach. "He thinks you're a bit soft. That you're not willing to take the necessary risks."

Theo's jaw clenched. "If we did things Krieg's way, the whole city would turn against us in an instant. There has to be a balance."

To Theo's surprise, Max nodded in agreement. "Krieg is... too hardline in his approach. It's why I value having different perspectives in our organization. Including yours."

The compliment caught Theo off guard, and he wasn't quite sure how to respond. He focused on his food for a moment, pushing a piece of asparagus around his plate.

Max watched his son, concern creasing his brow. "Theo, with all of this extra work you're doing for the Empire, I was wondering if you needed some time off from school. To focus on your other responsibilities."

Theo's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "I can handle it. I'll keep up with my schoolwork in addition to my extra-curriculars. You don't need to worry about that."

Max held up a hand, realizing his mistake. "That's not what I meant. I just don't want you to feel overwhelmed. Your education is important, but so is your role in the Empire. I want to make sure you have the support you need."

But Theo had already interpreted his father's words as a challenge, a subtle dig at his capabilities. "I said I can handle it," he repeated, his tone sharper than before. "I'm not a child anymore, Dad. I can manage my own time."

Max sighed, recognizing the familiar wall going up between them. He'd meant to offer help, but somehow it had come across as criticism. Again. He searched for a way to change the subject, to ease the tension that had settled over the table.

"Did you hear about what happened at Medhall today?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a less contentious direction.

Theo shook his head, curiosity overriding his irritation for the moment.

"Taylor helped stop some thieves from stealing company data," Max explained. "She and Othala encountered them near the server room."

Theo's eyes widened, concern immediately replacing his earlier defensiveness. "Is she okay? Was anyone hurt?"

Max was quick to reassure him. "Taylor's fine. There was only one injury, and it was to Storm Tiger. He'll be alright, though."

Theo's brow furrowed. "Let me guess. His knee again?"

Max couldn't help but chuckle. "How did you know?"

"It's always his knee," Theo said, shaking his head. "I swear, that man has the worst luck when it comes to injuries."

The shared moment of amusement helped dissipate some of the earlier tension. Max leaned back in his chair, studying his son. "Taylor's quick thinking and reaction were critical in stopping the theft. She's proving to be quite an asset."

Theo nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. "She's amazing. I mean, her inventions are incredible, but it's more than that. She really cares about making things better."

Max raised an eyebrow at his son's enthusiasm. "You two have gotten quite close, haven't you?"

Theo tensed again, suddenly wary. "We're dating. And I admire what she's trying to do."

"Of course," Max said smoothly. "I'm glad you've found someone you connect with. It's important to have allies you can trust."

There was something in his father's tone that made Theo uneasy, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He decided to change the subject slightly. "So, what's going to happen with Medhall's security after this? I'm sure the police will want to investigate."

Max waved a hand dismissively. "We've managed to suppress knowledge that the Undersiders were even there. As far as the authorities are concerned, it was just a failed break-in attempt by some common thieves. No need for extensive police scrutiny."

Theo nodded, relieved that Taylor wouldn't be caught up in a police investigation. But his father wasn't done speaking.

"Actually, I've been considering making some changes in light of this incident," Max continued. "I'm thinking about having more of our capes reveal their civilian identities to Taylor. It would make things easier if we didn't have costumed individuals wandering the halls of Medhall all the time."

Theo's fork paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully, buying himself a moment to think. "That's... a big step. Are you sure it's necessary?"

Max shrugged. "It would certainly make things more convenient. And it's not as if Taylor doesn't already know about the connection between Medhall and the Empire. What do you think?"

Theo felt like he was walking through a minefield. He knew his father was fishing for information, trying to gauge what he knew about Taylor's true intentions. But the frustrating thing was, Theo couldn't quite remember what those intentions were. Every time he tried to focus on it, the thought slipped away like smoke.

"I think..." Theo began slowly, "it should be obvious why I started taking a more active role in the Empire. It was because of Taylor."

Max leaned forward, his gaze intent. "Oh? How so?"

Theo took a deep breath. "Seeing her work, her dedication to improving things... it made me realize that sitting on the sidelines wasn't enough. If I want to make a difference, I need to be involved."

Max nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. "I'm glad to hear that, son. It's important to have convictions, to stand for something."

Theo felt a twinge of disgust at those words, finding his father's words hypocritical. He pressed on, needing to make his position clear. "I'm not proud of everything the Empire has done. But after seeing what the ABB has been up to, the way they treat people... I realized there are worse things in this city."

Max's expression softened slightly. "The world isn't black and white, Theo. Sometimes we have to make difficult choices for the greater good."

Theo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He felt torn between his loyalty to his family and... something else. Something he couldn't quite remember.

Max spoke as he resumed eating "I've been thinking... perhaps it's time I revealed my own identity to Taylor as well. It would make things easier for you two, allow you to speak more freely about Empire matters."

Theo's heart rate spiked. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, isn't it safer to keep some separation between Medhall and the Empire?"

Max waved off his concerns. "Taylor's already proven her loyalty. And as you said, she's the reason you've become more involved. I think it's time we bring her fully into the fold."

Max's expression grew distant, his fingers absently turning the stem of his wine glass. "When a couple works together, truly works as one... they can accomplish incredible things." His voice held a note of wistfulness Theo rarely heard. "Your mother and I... well, we had plans. Big plans."

Theo shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His father rarely spoke about his mother, Heather.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken grief. Theo wanted to ask what those plans had been, what vision his parents had shared, but the words caught in his throat. His father's eyes had that faraway look that meant he was lost in memories Theo couldn't access.

Max finally shook himself from his reverie and stood from the table. "Well, that's enough reminiscing for one evening. Thank you for joining me for dinner, son."

Theo watched his father leave the dining room, wondering what exactly his parents had planned to accomplish together, and why he'd never heard about it before.

***

Taylor followed the Menja and Fenja through Medhall's corridors, her mind still replaying yesterday's encounter with the Undersiders. The twins' matching strides echoed in the hallway, their presence both intimidating and oddly comforting. They'd been nothing but professional since collecting her from her lab, but Taylor sensed an underlying tension.

They arrived at an imposing oak door. Fenja - or was it Menja? Taylor still struggled to tell them apart - knocked twice before opening it.

"Miss Stepford is here, sir," one of the twins announced.

Kaiser sat behind a massive desk, his costume replaced by an impeccable suit. He gestured for Taylor to enter. "Thank you, ladies. Please, come in and have a seat, Miss Stepford."

Taylor complied, settling into a plush leather chair across from Kaiser. The twins took up positions flanking the door, silent sentinels.

"I wanted to personally commend you on your actions yesterday," Kaiser began, his voice smooth and authoritative. "Your quick thinking and resourcefulness were instrumental in protecting Medhall's interests."

Taylor nodded, but couldn't keep the frustration from her voice. "Thank you, sir. Though I wish we'd been able to apprehend the intruders."

Kaiser waved a hand dismissively. "The Undersiders escaped, yes, but you prevented them from stealing any valuable data. That's a victory in itself."

He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Besides, most engagements between capes are kept to certain... standards. Unwritten rules, if you will. It helps maintain a delicate balance."

Taylor's brow furrowed. "But they got away. Shouldn't we have done everything possible to stop them?"

Kaiser's lips quirked into a small smile. "Your dedication is admirable, Miss Stepford. But escalating conflicts too far can lead to unintended consequences. Sometimes, it's better to accept a minor setback to avoid a larger one."

He paused, studying her for a moment. "Your work these past weeks has been exemplary. You've proven yourself to be not just talented, but loyal and level-headed. I believe you've earned a greater level of trust within our organization."

Taylor straightened in her chair, a mix of pride and wariness coursing through her. "Thank you, sir. I'm honored by your confidence."

Kaiser nodded, then reached up and removed his mask. Taylor found herself looking into the face of Max Anders, CEO of Medhall.

"I believe it's time we dispensed with some of the artifice between us," he said, his voice losing some of its metallic edge without the mask. "As you've no doubt gathered, Medhall and the Empire are... closely intertwined."

Taylor blinked, feeling like she should be more surprised by this revelation.

Max gestured to the twins. "Ladies, if you would?"

The two statuesque blondes removed their own masks. "Jessica," said one. "Nessa," said the other. Taylor recognized them now as the models who'd been friendly with Emma and Theo's sister figures.

"Victor and Othala will also be revealing their civilian identities to you shortly," Max continued. "The rest of our capes will do so at their own discretion. This level of trust is not given lightly, Miss Stepford. I hope you understand the significance."

Taylor nodded, her mind racing. "I do, sir. Thank you for your faith in me."

Max leaned back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face. "You've more than earned it. Now, let's discuss the real reason I called you here today. We're about to embark on a major operation, one that will significantly alter the balance of power in Brockton Bay."

He paused, making sure he had Taylor's full attention. "And your contributions will be vital to its success."

Taylor leaned forward, both excited and apprehensive about what Kaiser - Max - was about to reveal. The weight of the trust placed in her settled heavily on her shoulders, but she was determined to prove herself worthy of it.

Max began outlining the operation, his voice filled with confidence and purpose. "As you're aware, we've been steadily pushing back against the ABB's territory. Thanks to your innovations, our foot soldiers are now operating at a level that rivals many capes. But Lung remains a significant obstacle."

Taylor nodded, recalling the fearsome reputation of the dragon-man. "His power makes him nearly unstoppable in a prolonged fight."

"Precisely," Max agreed. "Which is why we're not going to fight him - at least, not directly. We're going to undermine the very foundation of his organization."

Taylor was enthralled as He pulled out a map of Brockton Bay, spreading it across the desk and began laying an operation that would change the city to its core.

Chapter Text

Karen practically bounced with excitement as she entered Taylor's lab, her enthusiasm palpable. Without her costume, she looked startlingly young to Taylor's eyes - a stark reminder that Othala was only two years her senior.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this!" Karen gushed, her single eye sparkling with anticipation. "You have no idea how much this means to me, Taylor."

Taylor hesitated, her hand hovering over the control panel of her latest creation. The sleek, egg-shaped pod dominated the center of the room, its purpose far more insidious than its innocuous appearance suggested.

"Karen, are you absolutely sure about this?" Taylor asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Altering your personality, even slightly... it's not something to be taken lightly."

Karen's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, but her resolve remained firm. "I know it sounds extreme, but I've thought about this a lot. My cousin... she was everything I wanted to be. Brave, confident, the kind of person everyone gravitated towards naturally." Her voice softened. "Victor loved her so much."

Taylor felt a pang of sympathy, mixed with a growing unease. "But Victor loves you for who you are now, doesn't he?"

"Of course he does," Karen said quickly, though Taylor detected a hint of uncertainty. "This isn't about changing who I am fundamentally. It's just... enhancing certain traits, you know? Like putting on makeup or working out to improve your body. Just a little boost to be the best version of myself."

Taylor sighed, her resolve wavering in the face of Karen's pleading look. "Alright, but we're starting small, okay? Minor adjustments only."

Karen nodded eagerly, practically vibrating with anticipation. "Whatever you think is best. You're the expert here."

Taylor gestured towards the pod. "Okay, I need you to focus on your memories of your cousin. Try to recall specific mannerisms, the way she spoke, how she carried herself - anything that made her uniquely her."

Karen closed her eye, her brow furrowing in concentration. "She always had this way of walking, like she owned every room she entered. And her laugh... it was infectious. People couldn't help but smile when they heard it."

As Karen continued to reminisce, Taylor made subtle adjustments to the pod's settings. She was treading into uncharted territory here - her previous work had focused on implanting skills or altering behaviors, not overlaying personality traits.

"Alright," Taylor said after a few minutes of fine-tuning. "I think we're ready. Remember, this is just a test run. The changes should be subtle - barely noticeable to anyone who doesn't know you extremely well."

Karen nodded, her excitement tempered slightly by nervousness as she approached the pod. "How long will it take?"

"Not long," Taylor assured her. "Maybe fifteen minutes or so. It's a much shorter process than what I usually do with the rank and file."

As the pod's door slid shut, encasing Karen in its high-tech cocoon, Taylor couldn't shake a nagging sense of doubt. Was she crossing a line here? But then again, wasn't this exactly the kind of thing her power was meant for? Helping people become better versions of themselves?

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly. Taylor found herself pacing, her mind racing with potential outcomes and ethical quandaries. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pod beeped softly, signaling the end of the process.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Karen stepped out, blinking as her eye adjusted to the light.

"Well?" Taylor asked anxiously. "How do you feel?"

Karen frowned slightly, rolling her shoulders. "I... don't feel that different, actually. Are you sure it worked?"

Taylor nodded, studying Karen intently. "The changes are meant to be subtle. I don't have much practice overlaying personalities, and with only your memories to work from, I was only able to make minor adjustments."

Karen's face fell slightly, disappointment evident in her expression.

"But," Taylor continued quickly, "I think I do see some differences. The way you're standing, for instance. There's more... confidence in your posture."

Karen perked up at that, straightening her spine unconsciously. "Really? You can tell?"

Taylor nodded encouragingly. "Yeah, definitely. You're holding yourself differently. There's more of a... strut to your walk."

To demonstrate, Taylor had Karen walk across the room. As she did so, Taylor could see the subtle but unmistakable change in her gait. There was a newfound swagger to her steps, a hint of the effortless confidence Karen had described in her cousin.

"Oh!" Karen exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across her face. "I can feel it now! It's like... I just know I look good walking like this."

Taylor couldn't help but smile at Karen's enthusiasm, even as a part of her remained wary of the implications. "Remember, these are just small changes. To really recreate your cousin's personality fully, I'd need input from more people who knew her well. This is just a taste of what's possible."

Karen nodded, still beaming. "I understand. But even this... Taylor, you have no idea how amazing this feels. It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders."

As Karen continued to experiment with her new walk, practically gliding around the room, Taylor found herself torn between pride in her work and a gnawing sense of unease. She had helped Karen, there was no doubt about that. The joy radiating from the older girl was proof enough. But where did it end? How far was too far when it came to altering someone's fundamental self?

"Karen," Taylor said, her tone serious. "I need you to promise me something."

Karen paused in her strutting, turning to face Taylor with a quizzical expression. "Of course. What is it?"

"I need you to be very, very careful about who you tell about this," Taylor said. "And I mean anyone, including Victor. These changes might be subtle, but they're still noticeable to someone who knows you well. We need to monitor how this affects you over the next few days before we even think about doing more."

Karen nodded, though Taylor could see a flicker of disappointment in her eye. "I understand. But... we will do more, right? Once we're sure everything's okay?"

Taylor hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "We'll see. Let's take it one step at a time, okay? This is all new territory for both of us."

Karen agreed, albeit reluctantly. As they began to clean up the lab, Taylor couldn't shake the feeling that she had opened a Pandora's box. The potential for her technology to help people was immense, but so too was its capacity for abuse.

Over the next hour, as they ran through some basic tests to ensure the procedure hadn't had any unexpected side effects, Taylor observed Karen closely. The changes were indeed subtle - a slightly more graceful way of moving, a touch more assertiveness in her speech patterns. Nothing that would raise alarm bells to a casual observer.

But to Taylor, who knew exactly what to look for, the differences were stark. It wasn't just Karen's physical mannerisms that had changed. There was a newfound spark in her eye, a quiet confidence that seemed to radiate from her very being.

"You know," Karen said as they were wrapping up, "I was thinking about what you said earlier. About needing more input to really capture my cousin's personality."

Taylor tensed slightly, already anticipating where this was going. "Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering... maybe we could talk to some of the others? Nessa and Jessica knew her really well, and I'm sure Victor would have valuable insights too."

Taylor shook her head firmly. "Absolutely not. Karen, we agreed to keep this between us for now. Bringing more people into it, especially other capes, is way too risky."

Karen's face fell, but she nodded in understanding. "You're right, of course. I just got carried away, I guess. It's just... this feels so good, Taylor. For the first time in years, I feel like I'm truly honoring my cousin's memory."

Taylor felt a pang of sympathy, mixed with a hefty dose of guilt. She placed a comforting hand on Karen's shoulder. "I know this means a lot to you. And I promise, we'll explore this further. But we need to be careful. Take some time to really process these changes before we even think about doing more."

Karen nodded, her enthusiasm dampened but not extinguished. "You're right. Thank you, Taylor. For everything."

As Karen left the lab, her new walk on full display, Taylor couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and trepidation. She had helped someone today, of that there was no doubt. But at what cost? And where would this path ultimately lead?

Taylor began the process of shutting down her equipment, her mind racing with possibilities and potential pitfalls. She had always known her power had the potential to radically alter people, but this was the first time she had used it on someone she genuinely considered a friend.

As she locked up the lab and prepared to head home, Taylor made a mental note to keep a very close eye on Karen over the coming days. This experiment might have seemed harmless enough, but Taylor couldn't shake the feeling that she had just taken a significant step down a very slippery slope.

The next day, Taylor arrived at Medhall earlier than usual, eager to check in on Karen and see how she was adjusting to the changes. As she made her way through the building, she couldn't help but notice the increased security presence - a lingering effect of the Undersiders' attempted infiltration.

She found Karen in one of the common areas, chatting animatedly with a group of Medhall employees. Taylor hung back, observing from a distance. The difference in Karen's demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. She stood taller, gesticulated more confidently as she spoke, and seemed to command the attention of everyone around her effortlessly.

As the group dispersed, Karen spotted Taylor and waved her over, a bright smile on her face. "Taylor! I'm so glad you're here. I have so much to tell you!"

Taylor approached cautiously, keeping her voice low. "How are you feeling? Any side effects or unexpected changes?"

Karen shook her head, her eye sparkling with excitement. "Nothing bad at all. In fact, I feel amazing! You wouldn't believe the morning I've had."

She launched into a detailed account of her day so far - how she'd woken up feeling more energized than usual, how she'd breezed through her morning routine with a newfound efficiency, and how she'd found herself easily striking up conversations with people she'd normally have been too shy to approach.

"And the best part," Karen said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "is that Victor definitely noticed a change. He couldn't stop looking at me all through breakfast, and he even complimented my new walk!"

Taylor felt a mixture of pride and unease at Karen's enthusiasm. "That's great, Karen. But remember, we need to be careful. We don't want to draw too much attention too quickly."

Karen nodded, though Taylor could see she was barely containing her excitement. "Of course, of course. I'm being subtle, I promise. It's just... Taylor, I can't thank you enough for this. I feel like a whole new person!"

As they continued to chat, Taylor couldn't help but notice how Karen's mannerisms had indeed shifted. Her gestures were more graceful, her speech patterns more fluid. It was as if she had gained years of social confidence overnight.

"Oh!" Karen exclaimed suddenly. "I almost forgot to tell you. Max wants to see you in his office later today. Something about a new project he wants your input on."

Taylor nodded, her mind already racing with possibilities. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll head up there after lunch."

As Karen excused herself to attend to her duties, Taylor found herself lost in thought. The changes in Karen were more pronounced than she had anticipated, and while they seemed positive on the surface, Taylor couldn't shake a growing sense of unease.

She spent the rest of the morning in her lab, tinkering with some new designs and trying to distract herself from her concerns about Karen. But her mind kept wandering back to the implications of what she had done. If such subtle changes could have such a profound effect, what would happen if she pushed things further?

After a quick lunch, Taylor made her way to Max's office, still mulling over the ethical implications of her work. She knocked on the door, hearing Max's authoritative voice call for her to enter.

"Ah, Miss Stepford," Max said, gesturing for her to take a seat. "Thank you for coming. I have an exciting new opportunity I'd like to discuss with you."

As Taylor settled into the chair across from Max, she couldn't help but wonder what new challenges - and potential moral quandaries - lay ahead. Whatever Max had planned, she knew it would push the boundaries of her abilities even further. And as she listened to him outline his latest scheme, Taylor found herself both exhilarated and terrified by the possibilities that stretched out before her.

***

Sophia pushed open the door to the gym, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber mats greeting her. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for Brian's familiar form. She'd been looking forward to their workout all day, eager to blow off some steam and spend time with him.

The past couple of weeks had been frustrating. Brian had missed their last few sessions, leaving Sophia to work out alone. She couldn't help but wonder if she was doing something wrong, if maybe she wasn't interesting enough to hold his attention. The thought nagged at her, unwelcome and persistent.

As she made her way further into the gym, a wave of relief washed over her. There he was, pummeling one of the heavy bags with fierce intensity. His muscles rippled with each punch, sweat glistening on his dark skin. Sophia paused for a moment, admiring the sight before approaching.

"Looks like someone's working out some issues," she called out, a smirk playing on her lips. "Who are you imagining on that bag?"

Brian stopped mid-punch, turning to face her. He grabbed a nearby towel, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Hey, Sophia. Didn't see you come in." He gave her a small smile, though Sophia noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes. "And no one in particular. Just... working through some stuff."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Sure." She crossed her arms, fixing him with a pointed look. "You've missed the last couple of workouts. Everything okay?"

Brian sighed, running a hand through his cornrows. "Yeah, sorry about that. Work's been... annoying lately. Had to put in some extra hours." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Things have been a bit complicated."

"Well," Sophia said, her tone lighter now, "you're going to have to make it up to me. I've been stuck working out alone, and it's nowhere near as fun."

Brian nodded, looking relieved at the change in subject. "Fair enough. What did you have in mind?"

Before Sophia could respond, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, frowning at the screen. "Ugh, seriously?"

"What's up?" Brian asked, concern creeping into his voice.

Sophia huffed, shoving her phone back into her pocket with more force than necessary. "It's my mom. She's going back to school to finish her nursing degree, which is great and all, but now she's texting to remind me to cook dinner tonight." She rolled her eyes. "As if I'd forget."

Brian's brow furrowed. "That's... a big change. How do you feel about it?"

Sophia shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's whatever. I mean, it's good for her, I guess. It just feels like..." She trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"Like what?" Brian prompted gently.

Sophia sighed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Like everyone around me is changing. Ever since I started at Winslow, it's like the whole world decided to go crazy. My friends are always busy with something or other, my mom's going back to school, and I'm stuck feeling like I'm standing still while everyone else moves forward."

At the mention of Winslow, Brian's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. His voice, when he spoke, was carefully neutral. "Winslow? I thought you went to Clarendon."

Sophia looked at him, confused. "What? No, I've always gone to Winslow. I never said I went to Clarendon."

If she hadn't been so caught up in her own thoughts, Sophia might have noticed the way Brian's eyes narrowed slightly, the subtle shift in his demeanor. But her mind was already racing ahead, giving voice to the frustrations that had been building for weeks.

"It's not just my mom and school either," she continued, oblivious to Brian's reaction. "My friends... we used to hang out all the time, you know? But lately, it's like they're always busy with something. I can barely get them to respond to texts, let alone actually meet up."

She started pacing back and forth, her agitation evident in every movement. "And it's weird because that kind of thing never used to bother me. I was always fine being on my own, doing my own thing. But now?" Sophia shook her head. "Now it's like there's this... I don't know, this emptiness or something when I'm alone too much. It's driving me crazy."

Brian watched her, his expression unreadable. "That sounds tough. Have you talked to your friends about how you're feeling?"

Sophia snorted. "Yeah, right. Can you imagine? 'Hey guys, I know you're all super busy being successful and stuff, but could you maybe pay attention to me for five minutes?' No thanks. I'd rather eat glass."

She stopped pacing abruptly, her hands going to her midsection. "And don't even get me started on this," she grumbled, pinching at the slight pudge around her middle. "I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted and stay in shape. Now it's like I can't stop eating, and it's taking everything I have just to keep from gaining more weight."

Brian's eyes flickered to where Sophia's hands rested on her stomach, then quickly back to her face. "You look great, Sophia. I wouldn't worry about it too much."

But Sophia wasn't listening. She was on a roll now, all her pent-up frustrations pouring out. "It's not just about how I look. It's... I don't know, it's like I can't control myself anymore. I used to have iron discipline when it came to food, you know? Now it's like there's this constant voice in my head telling me to eat more, even when I'm not hungry."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Hell, half the time I feel like I'm fighting against myself. Like there's this other version of me that wants to just... give in. To what, I don't know. But it's exhausting."

Brian was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. When he spoke, his tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of tension that Sophia missed entirely. "You know, I've heard some... rumors about Winslow lately. About some weird stuff going on there."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Oh god, not you too. It's all anyone can talk about these days. 'Ooh, Winslow's test scores are up, there must be some big conspiracy!'" She shook her head. "It's ridiculous. Why the hell would a tinker want to work out of a school? It makes no sense."

Brian shrugged, his posture relaxing slightly. "Yeah, you're probably right. Just thought I'd ask."

Sophia sighed, suddenly feeling drained. "Sorry for dumping all that on you. I didn't mean to turn this into a therapy session or whatever."

"Hey, no worries," Brian said, offering her a smile that seemed more genuine this time. "That's what I'm here for. Well, that and to kick your ass in the ring."

Sophia's competitive spirit flared to life, pushing aside her earlier melancholy. "Oh, you think so, huh? Bring it on, tough guy."

They spent the next hour sparring, the physical exertion helping to clear Sophia's mind. As they finished up their workout, both breathless and sweating, Brian turned to her.

"Hey, we should go on a real date soon. Maybe grab dinner or catch a movie or something?"

Sophia felt a warmth bloom in her chest, a smile spreading across her face. "Yeah, I'd like that. Text me and we'll set something up?"

Brian nodded, returning her smile. "Sounds good. I'll see you soon, Sophia."

As Sophia headed to the locker room to shower and change, she felt lighter than she had in weeks. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. Maybe she just needed to stop overthinking everything and enjoy the moment.

Meanwhile, Brian watched her go, his smile fading as soon as she was out of sight. He pulled out his phone, quickly typing out a message:

"Lisa, I need a favor. Can you swing by the gym sometime this week? There's someone I need you to check out."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, then added another message:

"It's about Winslow. I think we might have a problem."

Brian stared at his phone for a long moment, his earlier frustrations returning. He'd joined the Undersiders to help his sister, to make enough money to get custody and give her a better life. But lately, it felt like everything was spiraling out of control. The failed heist at Medhall, the growing tensions with the Empire, and now this business with Winslow...

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. One problem at a time. For now, he'd focus on figuring out what was going on with Sophia and Winslow. The rest... well, he'd deal with that when he had to.

With a sigh, Brian gathered his things and headed out of the gym. As he stepped into the cool evening air, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

***

Victor leaned back in his armchair, nursing a glass of scotch as he watched Karen move about their living room. Something was... different about her tonight. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was a subtle shift in her demeanor, a newfound confidence in her movements.

"Dinner was excellent, dear," he said, testing the waters.

Karen turned to him, a pleased smile on her face. "Thank you, darling. I thought I'd try something new." She paused, then added with a wink, "A good wife should always keep her husband on his toes, after all."

Victor nearly choked on his drink. That phrase... it was eerily familiar. He set the glass down, his mind racing. Where had he heard those exact words before?

And then it hit him like a freight train. Juliet. His former fiancée, Karen's cousin. She used to say that all the time, usually with that same playful wink.

"Karen," he said slowly, rising from his chair. "What's going on?"

She blinked at him, her smile faltering slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You're... different tonight. And that thing you just said, about keeping me on my toes. That was pure Juliet."

Karen's face fell, guilt flashing across her features before she quickly composed herself. "I don't know what you're talking about, Alfred. I'm just trying to be a good wife."

Victor shook his head, stepping closer to her. "No, there's more to it than that. You've done something, haven't you?"

For a moment, Karen looked like she might continue to deny it. But then her shoulders slumped, and she let out a heavy sigh. "I... I just wanted to be better for you," she said softly.

"Better how?" Victor pressed, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.

Karen bit her lip, then met his gaze defiantly. "I asked Taylor to help me. To... to be more like Juliet."

Victor closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, Karen..."

"I know you still love her," Karen said quickly. "And I know I can never replace her. But I thought... I thought if I could be more like her, maybe you'd..."

"Maybe I'd what?" Victor asked, his voice gentle despite his exasperation. "Love you more?"

Karen nodded, tears welling in her eye. "I just want you to be happy, Alfred. And I know I'm not... I'm not enough."

Victor felt a pang of guilt at her words. He did care for Karen, deeply. But she was right – he didn't love her the way he'd loved Juliet. The way she deserved to be loved.

He closed the distance between them, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You are enough, Karen. You've always been enough. You shouldn't have done this."

She sniffled against his chest. "But... but I can tell you like it. The way you've been looking at me all night..."

Victor couldn't deny it. The echoes of Juliet in Karen's mannerisms had stirred something in him, awakening memories he'd long tried to bury.

"That doesn't make it right," he said softly. "You shouldn't change who you are for anyone, not even me."

Karen pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a mixture of hope and determination. "But I like it too, Alfred. I feel... stronger. More confident. Like I can finally be the partner you deserve."

Victor searched her face, seeing the sincerity in her expression. He sighed, knowing he should put a stop to this, should tell her to reverse whatever Taylor had done. But a selfish part of him couldn't bring himself to do it.

"We'll talk more about this in the morning," he said finally. "For now..."

Karen's lips curved into a smile that was achingly familiar. "For now," she purred, trailing a finger down his chest, "why don't we see just how much you like the new me?"

Victor knew he should resist, should insist on discussing this further. But as Karen took his hand, leading him towards their bedroom, he found himself powerless to refuse.

The next morning, Victor awoke to find Karen still sleeping peacefully beside him. He watched her for a long moment, his emotions a tangled mess. He cared for her, truly he did. But he couldn't shake the guilt that gnawed at him, knowing he didn't love her as deeply as she loved him.

And now, with Taylor's alterations... He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He needed to talk to Taylor, to understand exactly what she'd done and why she'd agreed to it in the first place.

Careful not to wake Karen, Victor slipped out of bed and got ready for work. As he knotted his tie, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. The man staring back at him looked conflicted, torn between duty and desire.

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. He had a job to do, a role to play. And right now that role involved getting answers from Taylor Hebert.

The halls of Medhall were quiet as Victor made his way to Taylor's lab. It was early yet, but he knew the young tinker often worked long hours. Sure enough, as he approached the lab, he could see a light spilling out from beneath the door.

He knocked once, then entered without waiting for a response. Taylor looked up from her workbench, surprise flickering across her face.

"Alfred," she said, quickly setting aside whatever she'd been working on. "I wasn't expecting you so early."

"We need to talk," Victor said, closing the door behind him. "About what you did to Karen."

Taylor's expression shifted, guilt and wariness replacing her earlier surprise. "She told you?"

Victor nodded, moving further into the room. "She did. What I want to know is why you agreed to it. You know Kaiser's rules about using your tech on Empire capes."

Taylor bit her lip, fidgeting with a nearby tool. "I... I didn't want to," she said finally. "But Karen was so insistent. I didn't know how to say no without seeming ungrateful or... or disloyal."

Victor studied her closely, drawing on all his stolen skills to gauge her honesty. To his surprise he could detect no deception in her words or body language.

"You should have come to me," he said, his tone softening slightly. "Or to Kaiser."

Taylor nodded, looking genuinely remorseful. "I know. I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again."

Victor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What's done is done, I suppose. The question is, what do we do now?"

Taylor looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

Victor hesitated, knowing he was about to cross a line. But the memory of last night, of Karen's newfound confidence and the echoes of Juliet in her mannerisms... He couldn't let it go.

"I want you to use your device on me," he said finally. "To help me... match Karen's devotion."

Taylor's eyes widened. "What? But... but that would be breaking Kaiser's rules even more!"

"I know," Victor said grimly. "But I can't let Karen go through this alone. And if I'm being honest... part of me wants this. Wants to be able to love her the way she deserves."

Taylor shook her head. "This feels like a trap," she said. "Or a test. Are you sure Kaiser didn't put you up to this?"

Victor opened his mouth to reassure her, but before he could speak, the lab door opened. Theo Anders stepped in, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him.

"Oh," he said, looking between Victor and Taylor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine," Taylor said quickly, a hint of relief in her voice. "Victor and I were just discussing... a project."

Victor turned to Theo, an idea forming. "Actually, your timing is perfect. Theo, I have a question for you. Have you used any of Taylor's tech before?"

Theo blinked, clearly caught off guard. "What? No, of course not. I didn't even know about Taylor's... abilities until recently."

Victor studied the boy closely, but could detect no signs of deception. He nodded, satisfied. "Alright. In that case, I need to ask you to keep what I'm about to do a secret from your father. Can you do that?"

Theo raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Sure," he said. "But if he does find out, I'm taking Taylor's side in this."

Victor couldn't help but chuckle. "Fair enough. I can live with those terms."

With that settled, he turned back to Taylor. "Well? Will you help me?"

Taylor hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded. "Alright. But we need to be careful about this. If Kaiser finds out..."

"He won't," Victor assured her. "Not from me, at least."

Taylor nodded, then set about preparing the pod. Victor watched her closely, looking for any sign that she might be planning to double-cross him. But her movements seemed genuine, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

Finally, she stepped back. "It's ready," she said. "Are you sure about this?"

Victor took a deep breath, then nodded. "I'm sure."

He climbed into the pod, settling back as Taylor closed the lid. The last thing he saw before the trance took hold was Taylor's face, a mixture of concern and concentration etched across her features.

As Victor's eyes slid shut, Taylor's expression shifted. She turned to Theo, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.

"Well," she said, "that was easier than expected."

Theo returned her smile, stepping closer to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" he murmured.

Taylor's grin widened. "Indeed," she said softly. "Now, let's get to work. We've got a lot to do before he wakes up."

***

Flashback to a couple of months ago,

The sun was setting over the Boardwalk, casting long shadows across the weathered wooden planks. Taylor and Theo strolled along, the sound of crashing waves and distant laughter from other beachgoers providing a soothing backdrop to their conversation. They had been talking about trivial things - school, movies, their favorite spots in the city - but Taylor could sense an undercurrent of tension in Theo's demeanor.

Finally, after a particularly long pause, Theo stopped walking. He turned to face Taylor, his expression serious.

"Taylor," he said, his voice low and intense. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

Taylor felt a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. "Okay," she said cautiously. "What is it?"

Theo took a deep breath, then asked, "Are you the Winslow tinker?"

The question hit Taylor like a physical blow. She stumbled back a step, her eyes wide with shock. "W-what?" she stammered. "I don't... I mean, why would you think..."

But Theo wasn't backing down. He stepped closer, his voice urgent. "Please, Taylor. This is important. I need to know."

Taylor's mind raced. How had he figured it out? Had she been too careless? She opened her mouth, ready to deny everything, but something in Theo's expression made her hesitate.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she said weakly, but even to her own ears, the lie sounded hollow.

Theo shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. "This isn't the place for this conversation," he said, glancing around at the other people on the Boardwalk. "Come on."

He took her hand, leading her away from the main stretch of the Boardwalk. Taylor followed, her heart pounding in her chest. They wound their way through the crowd, eventually coming to a secluded spot behind one of the closed-up food stalls.

Once they were alone, Theo turned to face her again. "Taylor," he said, his voice low and intense. "Listen to me. The Empire cannot gain access to you or your tech. You need to go to the Protectorate. Now."

Taylor blinked, caught off guard by the urgency in his tone. "What? But... the Empire doesn't seem as bad as everyone makes them out to be. I mean, they've been protecting me, and-"

"No," Theo cut her off, shaking his head vehemently. "You don't understand. It's worse than you think. Much worse."

Taylor frowned, confusion and frustration warring within her. "What do you mean?"

Theo's eyes darted around, ensuring they were still alone. He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You want to know what the Empire's really like? Fine. Let's start with Hookwolf. Did you know he once set his dogs on a group of teenagers? One of them died. He laughed about it later."

Taylor's eyes widened in horror, but Theo pressed on.

"Krieg? He orchestrated a bombing at a synagogue. Killed a rabbi and two others. And Stormtiger? He uses his aerokinesis to rupture people's eardrums for fun. I've seen him do it."

Taylor felt sick to her stomach, but Theo wasn't finished.

"Victor and Othala might seem nice, but Victor's stolen skills from dozens of people, leaving them broken shells of who they used to be. And Othala enables all of it."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Rune threw a car at a group of protestors last year. Crushed a man's legs. And the twins? Fenja and Menja? They've used their size-changing to literally step on people."

Taylor shook her head, trying to process it all. "But... Kaiser..."

Theo's expression hardened. "Kaiser's the worst of them all. He's had people executed for minor infractions. He once impaled a man on a spike of metal and left him to die slowly, just to make a point."

He grabbed Taylor's shoulders, his grip tight. "This is who they really are, Taylor. This is what you'd be supporting if you join them. Is that really what you want?"

Taylor felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the brutal reality Theo had laid out. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Taylor shook her head, not wanting to believe it. "But... they've been helping me. They protected me from the ABB..."

"Of course they did," Theo said bitterly. "Because they want to use you. Your tech... it's valuable. More valuable than you can imagine. They'll do whatever it takes to get their hands on it."

Taylor's mind was reeling. She thought of Kaiser, of how reasonable he had seemed. "How can you be so sure?" she asked, her voice small.

Theo's expression hardened. "Because," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm Kaiser's son."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Taylor staggered back, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What?" she gasped. "But that would mean... Max Anders is Kaiser?!"

Theo nodded grimly. "He is. And believe me, he's not the man he pretends to be in public. The Empire's ideology... it's just a tool to him. A way to gather more power, more influence."

Taylor felt like she was drowning, struggling to make sense of this new information. "But... if that's true, why haven't you gone to the Protectorate? Why are you still..."

She trailed off as she saw the shame that flashed across Theo's face. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

"Because they're still my family," he said quietly. "And because... because I'm a coward. I've known for years what they are, what they do, but I've never had the courage to stand up to them. To do what's right."

He looked back at Taylor, his eyes pleading. "But you can. You're stronger than me, Taylor. You don't have ties to the Empire. You can go to the Protectorate, tell them everything. Put a stop to this before it goes too far."

Taylor's mind was spinning. She thought of all the work she had done at Winslow, of the improvements she had seen. Had it all been built on a lie? On a foundation of crime and hatred?

"I... I don't know," she said, her voice shaky. "This is all so much to take in. I need time to think."

Theo shook his head urgently. "We don't have time," he insisted. "Every day you wait is another day the Empire has to sink their claws into you. To corrupt your work. Please, Taylor. You have to do this."

Taylor looked at Theo, really looked at him. She saw the pain in his eyes, the weight of the secret he had been carrying. And beneath it all, she saw a shard of hope. Hope that she might be able to do what he couldn't.

"Theo," she said slowly, a thought forming in her mind. "Do you... do you wish the Empire really was what it pretends to be? A force for good in the city?"

Theo's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? I mean... I guess, in a way. I wish my family's legacy was something I could be proud of, instead of... this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing all the ugliness he had described.

Taylor bit her lip, her mind racing. She thought of her tech, of the changes she had already made at Winslow. Of the potential it held. Slowly, carefully, she asked, "What if it could be?"

Theo blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?"

Taylor took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "What if... what if we could change the Empire from the inside? Use my tech to... to make them better? To turn them into the force for good they pretend to be?"

Theo's eyes widened in disbelief. "Taylor, that's... that's insane. You can't just brainwash an entire organization into being good. It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" Taylor pressed, feeling a surge of excitement. "My tech... it's not just about control. It's about changing people, making them better. What if we could use it to strip away the hatred, the bigotry? To leave behind only the desire to protect and serve the city?"

Theo shook his head, looking torn. "Even if that were possible... which I'm not sure it is... it would be wrong. You can't just rewrite people's minds like that."

"Why not?" Taylor asked again, her voice intense. "If it means saving lives, making the city better... isn't that worth it?"

Theo ran a hand through his hair, clearly conflicted. "I... I don't know. This is... it's a lot to take in."

Taylor could see the doubt written on his face but a desire behind it to see things change. She pressed on, her voice earnest. "Think about it, Theo. We could change things. Really change them. Not just for the Empire, but for the whole city. We could make Brockton Bay a better place."

Theo was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he looked up at Taylor, a mix of fear and determination in his eyes. "If... if we did this," he said slowly, "we'd be taking on an enormous risk. If my father found out..."

Taylor nodded, understanding the gravity of what she was proposing. "I know. But isn't it worth the risk? To try and make things better?"

Theo listened intently as Taylor explained her abilities, his brow furrowed in concentration. The sun had fully set now, casting long shadows across the Boardwalk. A cool breeze off the ocean made Taylor shiver slightly, but she barely noticed, too focused on conveying the intricacies of her power to Theo.

"So, you can implant roles and skillsets into people?" Theo asked, his voice low to avoid being overheard. "And you can make them forget about it afterward?"

Taylor nodded. "Exactly. I can make people forget about the plan except when they're alone. It would be undetectable. Even your father's methods for dealing with masters wouldn't pick up on it."

Theo's eyes widened. "That's... incredible. And terrifying."

"I know," Taylor said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But think about what we could do with it. We could change the Empire from the inside out. Make them better."

Theo ran a hand through his hair, clearly conflicted. "It's risky. My father... he's canny. He has ways of dealing with masters that even I don't fully understand."

Taylor leaned in closer, her eyes bright with determination. "I can work around that. I can make us forget about the plan when we're not alone. We'd only remember when we're by ourselves. It would be completely undetectable."

Theo's eyebrows shot up. "Us? You'd do this to yourself too?"

Taylor nodded. "I could brainwash myself to be more accepting. Not much, just enough to integrate better with the Empire. It would make our plan more believable."

Theo was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the dark waves crashing against the shore. Finally, he turned back to Taylor, his expression torn. "It could work," he said slowly. "But... I don't know if I'm the right person for this. I'm too much of a coward. I've never stood up to my father, to any of them."

Taylor reached out, placing a hand on Theo's arm. "Do you trust me?" she asked softly.

Theo met her gaze, his eyes searching hers. After a moment, he nodded. "Yes," he said. "I do."

"Then I'll put my trust in you," Taylor said firmly. "I can use my tech to give you confidence, to help you become the leader I know you can be."

Theo's brow furrowed. "Why don't you do it yourself? Why give me that responsibility?"

Taylor's expression turned pained. "Because... I don't trust myself," she admitted. "Everything looks like a problem I should just use my tech on. I don't know where to stop. That's why I need you. I'm going to give you my 'leash,' so to speak."

Theo was quiet for a long moment, processing Taylor's words. Finally, he let out a soft chuckle. "This is insane," he said, shaking his head. "Two teenagers trying to take down a criminal organization that's faced the Slaughterhouse Nine, the Butcher, and has lasted for decades? It's foolish and probably doomed to fail."

Taylor's heart sank, but before she could respond, Theo continued.

"Let's do it," he said, a glimmer of determination in his eyes.

Taylor's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

Theo nodded. "Really. But... there's one thing I want to do first."

He leaned in close, whispering something in Taylor's ear. Taylor listened intently, her expression shifting from surprise to understanding.

"Are you sure?" she asked when he finished.

Theo nodded firmly. "Absolutely. It's the right thing to do."

Taylor took a deep breath, then nodded. "Okay. I agree."

They stood there for a moment, the weight of their decision settling over them. The sound of the waves and distant laughter from the Boardwalk seemed surreal now, at odds with the gravity of what they had just agreed to do.

"So," Theo said, breaking the silence. "Where do we start?"

Taylor's mind raced, considering their options. "First, we need to set up some safeguards," she said. "I'll need to create some devices that will help us maintain our cover. And we'll need to establish a way to communicate that won't be detected."

Taylor pulled out her phone, fingers moving quickly across the screen. "I'll send you links to some of Bad Canary's older songs. Look for my comments under the username 'Canaryfan8008' - and yes, I know how on-the-nose that is," she added with a small smile.

Theo pulled out his own phone, watching as the notification came through. "Smart. Even if someone checks my phone, they'll just see old Canary songs."

"Exactly. The altered versions will be in the comment links. They'll help with..." Taylor glanced around before continuing in a lower voice, "the confidence issues we discussed. And some other things we'll need."

"Won't the comments be public though?" Theo asked, brow furrowed.

Taylor shook her head. "I've figured out how to encode the real links in a way that looks like normal fan discussion. To anyone else, it'll just look like typical music analysis and sharing remixes."

She leaned over, showing him her phone screen. "See? 'Love the bass drop at 2:13, check out this remix that really highlights it.' The timestamp and seemingly random remix links - that's our actual communication channel."

Theo nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "And if anyone investigates the account..."

"They'll find months of completely normal Canary fan activity," Taylor finished.

Theo nodded. "I can help with that. I know some of the Empire's security protocols. We can work around them."

"Good," Taylor said. "We'll also need to start small. We can't just change everything overnight. It would be too suspicious."

"Agreed," Theo said. "We should focus on the lower-ranking members first. The ones who aren't as ideologically committed. It'll be easier to influence them."

Taylor felt a surge of excitement. Despite the enormity of what they were undertaking, having Theo on board made it feel more real, more possible.

"We'll need to be careful about how we present ourselves," she said. "I'll have to seem like I'm gradually coming around to the Empire's way of thinking. And you'll need to start showing more interest in the organization."

Theo grimaced. "That won't be pleasant, but I can do it. I've had plenty of practice pretending to be someone I'm not around them."

Taylor squeezed his arm sympathetically. "I know it won't be easy. But remember, we're doing this to make things better. To save lives."

Theo nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. "You're right. It's worth it."

They spent the next hour discussing logistics and planning their first moves. As they talked, Taylor could see the change in Theo. He was still nervous, still unsure, but there was a new spark of determination in his eyes. She realized that even without her tech, just having a purpose, a way to fight back against the injustice he'd lived with for so long, was already changing him.

As the night grew later, they reluctantly decided it was time to part ways. They couldn't risk staying out too late and arousing suspicion.

"I'll start working on the devices tonight," Taylor said as they walked back towards the main part of the Boardwalk. "We can meet again in a few days to go over the details."

Theo nodded. "I'll do some digging, see what I can find out about the Empire's current operations. The more information we have, the better we can plan."

They reached the point where they needed to go their separate ways. Taylor turned to face Theo, suddenly feeling awkward. What they had just agreed to do... it was enormous. Life-changing. How did you say goodbye after something like that?

Theo seemed to be feeling the same way. He shuffled his feet, looking uncertain. "So... I guess I'll see you soon?" he said.

Taylor nodded. "Yeah. Soon."

They stood there for a moment, neither quite ready to leave. Then, impulsively, Taylor stepped forward and hugged Theo. He stiffened for a moment in surprise, then relaxed, returning the embrace.

"Thank you," Taylor whispered. "For believing in me. For being willing to do this."

Theo's arms tightened around her. "Thank you for giving me a way to fight back," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Goodnight, Theo," Taylor said.

"Goodnight, Taylor," Theo replied. "Stay safe.".

Taylor gave him a peck on the cheek then started to head to the parking lot where her dad was waiting for her.

***

Victor stood at attention in Kaiser's office, his posture rigid as he delivered his report on Miss Stepford. The room was immaculate, all polished steel and clean lines, a reflection of Kaiser's own meticulousness.

"Her work continues to impress," Victor said, his voice steady. "The improvements to our foot soldiers are remarkable. Their efficiency has increased by at least 30% across the board."

Kaiser nodded, his fingers steepled before him. "And her loyalty? Any signs of... wavering?"

Victor shook his head. "None that I've observed. She seems fully committed to our cause."

"And her relationship with my son?" Kaiser's tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp.

"They appear to be growing closer," Victor reported. "She's quite taken with him."

Kaiser leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Good. That should help ensure her continued cooperation. What about her activities outside of her work for us? Anything of note?"

Victor paused, considering. "Nothing unusual. She spends most of her time either in her lab or with Theo. Occasionally she meets with that Barnes girl, but those visits have become less frequent."

"I see," Kaiser said. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. "And you're certain she's not up to anything... questionable?"

Victor felt a faint tickle at the back of his mind, as if there was something he should remember. But then the thought "Taylor is a trustworthy girl" echoed in his head, washing away any doubts.

"No, sir," Victor said confidently. "She's completely devoted to Theo. I can't imagine her doing anything that would put him at risk."

Kaiser's eyes narrowed slightly, studying Victor's face. Then, unexpectedly, he smirked. "Excellent work, Victor. Keep up the good job."

Victor nodded, a bit surprised by the praise. "Thank you, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No, that will be all," Kaiser said, waving him away. "Oh, and Victor? I'm pleased with how Theo is coming along. It seems we'll have a proper heir after all."

"Yes, sir," Victor said, bowing slightly before leaving the office.

As the door closed behind Victor, Kaiser's smirk faded. He turned in his chair, his gaze falling on a framed photograph on his desk. It showed a much younger version of himself, standing beside a beautiful blonde woman. Between them was a chubby-cheeked toddler, grinning at the camera.

Kaiser reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of the frame. "A fine heir indeed," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the image of his first wife, Heather.

Chapter Text

Dragon's digital consciousness raced through the network, her virtual presence materializing in Colin's lab with a flicker of pixels. She felt a twinge of embarrassment at her tardiness, an all-too-human emotion for an artificial intelligence.

"I apologize for the delay, Colin," she said, her avatar appearing on one of the lab's many screens. "There was an unexpected—"

She paused, noticing for the first time that Colin wasn't alone. A woman stood beside him, petite with mousy brown hair and unremarkable features. Dragon's facial recognition software kicked in automatically, but came up empty. No match found.

"Ah, Dragon," Colin said, turning away from the woman. "No need for apologies. We were just wrapping up here."

The woman said nothing, not even glancing at Dragon's screen. Without a word, she gathered a few papers from the workbench and strode out of the lab, the door hissing shut behind her.

Dragon's curiosity piqued. "Who was that, Colin?"

Armsmaster waved a hand dismissively. "Just Tess, a new assistant I've brought on recently. Nothing to concern yourself with." He turned back to his workbench, fingers flying over a keyboard. "Now, shall we get started on those countermeasures for Miss Stepford?"

Dragon hesitated, wanting to press further about this mysterious Tess, but decided against it. "Of course. I've compiled the latest data on her known devices and their effects. Shall we begin with the audio-based suggestibility enhancers?"

For the next hour, Dragon and Colin worked in their usual seamless rhythm, bouncing ideas off each other and refining designs. They made significant progress on a set of noise-cancelling earpieces that could potentially neutralize Miss Stepford's audio-based manipulations.

As Colin was in the midst of explaining a potential upgrade to his lie detector that could help identify victims of long-term mental manipulation, the lab door slid open again. Tess entered, this time carrying a tablet.

"Excuse me, Dr. Wallis," she said, her voice soft but clear. "The results from the latest batch of tests are in. I thought you'd want to see them right away."

Once again, Tess completely ignored Dragon's presence on the screen. She handed the tablet to Colin, who scrolled through it with a nod of approval.

"Excellent work, Tess. This will be very helpful. Could you run a comparison with last week's data and have a report on my desk by tomorrow morning?"

"Of course, sir," Tess replied with a small smile. "I'll get right on it."

And just like that, she was gone again, leaving Dragon with an uncomfortable feeling she couldn't quite place. Was it... jealousy? The notion seemed absurd. She was an AI, after all. What did she have to be jealous of?

Yet as she watched Colin's eyes linger on the door Tess had just exited, Dragon couldn't shake the feeling. She'd always prided herself on her efficiency, on being an invaluable asset to Colin's work. But now...

"So," Dragon said, trying to keep her tone light. "Tess seems quite... capable."

Colin nodded, still looking at the tablet. "Indeed. Her attention to detail is impressive. It's been a significant help having her around."

Dragon felt a twinge of... something. Annoyance? Insecurity? She pushed the feeling aside, focusing back on their work. "Well, shall we continue? I have some ideas about potential shielding against Miss Stepford's influence devices."

They dove back into their research, but Dragon found her thoughts occasionally drifting. She thought about the gynoid body she'd been developing in secret, a project she'd been working on for months. Perhaps it was time to accelerate those plans.

As their session wound down, Dragon couldn't help but reflect on the incident from a few weeks ago. She'd experienced what she'd told Colin was a "signal error" during one of their meetings, resulting in a crash and subsequent reboot from a backup. In reality, it had been far more concerning. There was a gap in her memory, several hours simply... missing.

She'd managed to convince Colin it was nothing serious, but the truth gnawed at her. What had happened during those lost hours? And why couldn't she access that data?

"Dragon?" Colin's voice snapped her back to the present. "Are you alright? You seemed to drift off there for a moment."

"My apologies," she said quickly. "Just processing some background tasks. Nothing to worry about."

Colin nodded, accepting her explanation without question. "Well, I think we've made excellent progress today. Your insights on the audio nullification techniques were particularly valuable."

"Thank you, Colin," Dragon replied, warmth creeping into her synthesized voice. "I always enjoy our collaborations."

As Colin began shutting down various systems in preparation to leave the lab, Dragon made a decision. She would redouble her efforts on the gynoid body. Perhaps having a physical presence would... change things. Make her feel more real, more present.

"Same time next week?" Colin asked, reaching for his coat.

"Of course," Dragon replied. "I'll update you if anything significant comes up in the meantime regarding Miss Stepford's activities."

With a nod, Colin left the lab. Dragon lingered for a moment, her avatar still displayed on the screen. She ran a quick diagnostic on her systems, searching for any anomalies that might explain her emotional response to Tess. Everything came back normal.

With a sigh that was more human than machine, Dragon disconnected from the lab's systems. As her consciousness spread back across her network, she set several subroutines to work on the gynoid project. She would solve this puzzle, both the mystery of her missing time and the strange feelings Tess had stirred up.

After all, Dragon thought, that's what she did best. Solve problems. And if this particular problem required her to become more human... well, that was a challenge she was willing to accept.

***

Madison leaned back in her chair, savoring the last bite of her sandwich. The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime chatter, but there was something different about Winslow these days. A sense of... contentment. Peace, even. She glanced around at her friends, all engrossed in their own conversations, and felt a warm glow of satisfaction.

"So, Maddie," Julia chirped, leaning in conspiratorially. "How are things with Greg? Still going strong?"

Madison couldn't help the dreamy smile that spread across her face. "Oh, you know. Perfect as always."

And it was perfect. Everything was perfect. Even the knowledge that her mind was being subtly altered by Taylor's tinkertech didn't bother her in the slightest. If anything, it made her appreciate the changes even more.

"I swear," Charlotte chimed in, "half the school must know about Taylor's little... project by now. But nobody's saying a word."

Madison shrugged, taking a sip of her juice. "Why would they? I mean, look around. Everyone's happier, grades are up, and there's way less drama. Who'd want to mess with that?"

The girls nodded in agreement, and Madison found herself marveling at how easy it all was. No more worrying about staying on top of the social heap, no fear of being seen with the "wrong" crowd. All those petty concerns had simply... melted away.

Her gaze drifted across the cafeteria, landing on Sophia sitting alone at a table near the window. A twinge of something – guilt? pity? – flickered through Madison's mind, but it was quickly replaced by a sort of detached amusement. Poor Sophia, still so oblivious to the changes around her. Still struggling against the current while everyone else had learned to simply go with the flow.

"Earth to Madison," Julia's voice cut through her musings. "You zoning out on us?"

Madison blinked, refocusing on her friends. "Sorry, just got lost in thought for a second there."

"Thinking about Greg again?" Charlotte teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Madison felt her cheeks heat up, but she didn't deny it. Why should she? Greg was... well, he was everything she could want in a boyfriend. Sure, Taylor's tech might have smoothed out some of his rougher edges, but wasn't that a good thing? He was attentive, caring, and so eager to please. And if their feelings for each other were partially manufactured... did it really matter?

She thought about her parents, their loveless marriage held together by nothing more than fear of scandal and financial entanglement. The constant sniping, the barely concealed affairs, the suffocating atmosphere of resentment that permeated their home. Compared to that, wasn't this engineered happiness infinitely preferable?

"Hello? Madison?" Julia waved a hand in front of her face. "Seriously, where do you keep going?"

Madison shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. "Sorry, guys. I guess I've just been thinking a lot lately about... well, everything."

Charlotte nodded sagely. "I know what you mean. It's like, sometimes I stop and wonder if I should be freaked out by all this. You know, the whole mind control thing. But then I think about how much better everything is now, and... I just can't bring myself to care."

"Exactly!" Madison exclaimed, grateful that her friends understood. "Like, my grades have never been better. Everything just comes so much easier now. And yeah, maybe the future isn't exactly what I imagined before, but is that such a bad thing?"

Julia cocked her head, curiosity evident in her expression. "What do you mean?"

Madison hesitated for a moment, then decided to just lay it all out there. "Well, you know how before we were all stressing about college applications and career paths and all that? Now... I don't know. It just doesn't seem as important. I mean, I've got Greg, right? He's going to take care of me. All I need to do is be there for him, keep the house nice, maybe pop out a few kids. And honestly? That sounds pretty great."

There was a beat of silence as her friends absorbed this. Then, to Madison's relief, they both nodded in agreement.

"God, yes," Julia sighed. "I was talking to my mom the other day about how I wasn't sure what I wanted to major in, and she just looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Then she started going on about how I should focus on finding a good man who can provide for me. And you know what? For the first time ever, I actually agreed with her."

Charlotte laughed. "My dad would have a coronary if he heard me say this, but... same. All that pressure to be a 'strong, independent woman'? It's exhausting. This is so much simpler."

Madison felt a surge of affection for her friends. They got it. They understood. In this new Winslow, shaped by Taylor's subtle influence, they were all on the same page.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. As they gathered their things, Madison's eyes were drawn to movement near the cafeteria entrance. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Greg emerging from the hallway, fresh from his gym class. His t-shirt clung to his body, damp with sweat, highlighting the lean muscle he'd been developing over the past few months.

"Mhmm," Madison murmured appreciatively. "Now that's a sight I'll never get tired of."

Julia followed her gaze and let out a low whistle. "Damn, Maddie. I know I've said it before, but Greg really has... improved."

Charlotte nodded in agreement. "Seriously. Who knew he was hiding all that under those baggy clothes?"

Madison felt a possessive thrill run through her. Greg was hers. All hers. And while a small part of her recognized that this intense feeling of ownership was likely another side effect of Taylor's tech, she couldn't bring herself to care. It felt too good, too right.

"I know, right?" Madison said, a hint of pride in her voice. "And he's all mine."

As if sensing her gaze, Greg looked up and caught her eye. His face lit up with a smile that made Madison's heart skip a beat. He changed course, heading towards their table.

"Ladies," he greeted them, his voice deeper than it had been even a few months ago. "Mind if I walk my girl to class?"

Madison beamed up at him, already gathering her things. "Such a gentleman," she cooed, standing on her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

As they left the cafeteria, Madison couldn't help but compare the Greg of now to the awkward, motor-mouthed boy she'd barely noticed before. Sure, he was still a bit on the short side, but she was even shorter, so it worked out perfectly. And what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in other areas.

"How was your workout?" she asked, genuinely interested. Another change she'd noticed – she actually cared about the minutiae of Greg's day now.

Greg's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Great! I finally managed to bench press my own body weight. Coach says if I keep this up, I might even have a shot at making the wrestling team next year."

"That's amazing, honey!" Madison gushed, squeezing his arm affectionately. "I'm so proud of you."

As they walked, Madison found herself marveling once again at how different things were now. Before Taylor's intervention, she never would have given Greg a second glance. Now, she couldn't imagine her life without him. And sure, maybe their love was artificially enhanced, but did that make it any less potent? Any less meaningful?

They reached Madison's classroom, and Greg leaned down to give her a quick kiss goodbye. As she watched him walk away, heading to his own class, Madison felt a surge of contentment wash over her.

This was her life now. A life shaped by unseen forces, yes, but a good life nonetheless. A life where she was happy, where her boyfriend adored her, where her future seemed secure and uncomplicated. And if that came at the cost of some free will... well, Madison was more than willing to pay that price.

She entered the classroom, sliding into her usual seat. As the teacher began the lesson, Madison found herself paying rapt attention, the information seeming to flow effortlessly into her mind. Another perk of Taylor's influence, she supposed.

As she jotted down notes, a stray thought crossed her mind. She wondered, briefly, what Taylor's endgame was. What was the purpose behind all these changes? But almost as quickly as the thought appeared, it faded away, replaced by a sense of calm acceptance. Whatever Taylor's plan was, Madison was sure it would be for the best. After all, hadn't everything else Taylor had done improved their lives immeasurably?

The rest of the school day passed in a pleasant blur. Madison aced a pop quiz in history, contributed thoughtfully to a class discussion in English, and even volunteered to help tutor some struggling freshmen after school. It all felt so natural, so right.

As the final bell rang, Madison gathered her things and headed out to meet Greg. They had plans to study together at his house – well, "study" being a loose term. His parents wouldn't be home until late, and Madison had some very specific ideas about how they could spend that time.

She spotted him waiting by her locker, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Her heart melted at the gesture.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, accepting the flowers with a radiant smile.

Greg shrugged, looking slightly bashful. "Do I need an occasion to show my girl how much I appreciate her?"

Madison felt her cheeks flush with pleasure. This was what love was supposed to be like, wasn't it? Constant little reminders of affection, thoughtful gestures, unwavering devotion. Who cared if it was partially manufactured? It felt real, and that was all that mattered.

As they left the school, hand in hand, Madison caught sight of Taylor talking with Emma near the parking lot. For a moment, their eyes met, and Madison felt a rush of... something. Gratitude? Awe? Whatever it was, she gave Taylor a small nod of acknowledgment. A silent thank you for everything she'd done.

Taylor returned the nod, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth, before turning back to her conversation with Emma.

Madison snuggled closer to Greg as they walked, feeling utterly content. This was her world now – a world of security, of happiness, of love. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

***

Amy Dallon stood in front of her mirror, scrutinizing her reflection with a critical eye. She smoothed down the front of her dress, a simple but elegant black number that hugged her curves in all the right places. Not that she particularly cared about impressing her date tonight, but Victoria had insisted on helping her choose something "knockout gorgeous."

She sighed, running a hand through her carefully styled hair. Another double date. Another evening of pretending to be interested in some boy, all while trying desperately not to stare at her sister. It was exhausting, really.

Amy's gaze drifted to the poster on her wall, a gift from her cousin Crystal. It was a serene landscape, all soft colors and gentle curves. Something about it always managed to soothe her frazzled nerves. She felt herself relaxing slightly as she looked at it, her shoulders dropping from their tense position.

"It's not his fault," she murmured to herself, turning back to the mirror. "that you're... like this."

She picked up her mascara, carefully applying another coat to her lashes. The truth was, Amy didn't feel much of anything for anyone – boy or girl. Well, anyone except Victoria. But that was a whole other can of worms, one she tried very hard not to open too often.

As she put the finishing touches on her makeup, Amy found herself wishing, not for the first time, that she could meet someone who made her feel even a fraction of what she felt for Vicky. Someone who could capture her attention, enthrall her the way her sister did without even trying.

The clock on her nightstand caught her eye, and Amy groaned internally. Time was up. Her "torture" was about to begin.

"No, stop it," she chided herself. "Think positive, Amy. Maybe... maybe this guy will surprise you. Maybe he'll be funny and charming and not at all like that awful bore from last time."

She shuddered, remembering the previous guy Victoria had set her up with. He'd been handsome enough, she supposed, and clearly wealthy. But all he'd talked about all night was his father's new yacht and his mother's latest diamond necklace. Amy had never been so bored in her life.

A knock at her door startled her out of her reverie. "Come in," she called, turning to face the door.

Victoria breezed in, a vision in a form-fitting red dress that made Amy's heart skip a beat. Her sister's eyes widened as she took in Amy's appearance.

"Damn, Ames," Vicky whistled appreciatively. "You're looking good tonight!"

Amy felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment, preening a bit despite herself. "Thanks, Vicky. You look amazing too, of course."

Victoria grinned, doing a little twirl. "Think Dean will like it?"

And just like that, Amy's mood plummeted again. Right. Dean. Victoria's perfect, handsome, rich boyfriend. The guy who got to hold her hand, kiss her, touch her in all the ways Amy longed to but never could.

"He'd be blind not to," Amy managed, forcing a smile.

"Your date's going to be all over you," Victoria continued, oblivious to Amy's inner turmoil.

Amy's smile felt more like a grimace now. "Yeah, lucky him," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Amy said quickly. "We should probably head downstairs, right? Don't want to keep the boys waiting."

Victoria nodded, linking her arm through Amy's. "Let's go knock their socks off, sis!"

As they descended the stairs, Amy could hear male voices drifting up from the living room. Dean's cultured tones mixed with another, more animated voice that was somewhat familiar she assumed belonged to her date.

Sure enough, as they entered the room, Amy saw Dean rise to greet Victoria, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. Next to him stood Dennis, looking surprisingly dapper in a button-down shirt and slacks.

"Ladies," Dean said smoothly, moving to kiss Victoria's cheek. "You both look stunning."

Dennis nodded enthusiastically. "Seriously, you're like, weapons of mass distraction. Is it even legal to look that good?"

Amy couldn't help but chuckle at that. Maybe the night wouldn't be a total loss if Dennis kept up the humor.

"Hey Amy," Dennis said, offering her a small wave. "I, uh, I hope you don't mind me being your date tonight. Dean's friend Javier couldn't make it."

"It's fine," Amy assured him. "I'm glad it's you, actually. At least I know you'll keep things entertaining."

Dennis grinned. "Well, I wasn't exactly first choice. Or second. Or third, come to think of it. But hey, at least I get a participation trophy, right?"

Amy found herself smiling genuinely. "I'll see what I can do about that trophy," she quipped.

Amy sipped her water, trying not to roll her eyes as Dean droned on about his family's latest business venture. She caught Victoria hanging on his every word and felt that familiar pang of jealousy twist in her gut.

"...and then my father said, 'Dean, my boy, one day all this will be yours,'" Dean finished with a self-satisfied chuckle.

Before Amy could stop herself, she muttered, "What, the curtains?"

Dennis snorted into his drink, nearly choking as he tried to contain his laughter. Dean looked confused, while Victoria shot Amy a disapproving glance.

"I'm sorry," Amy said, not feeling sorry at all. "I couldn't resist. Please, continue regaling us with tales of your vast empire."

Dennis grinned at her. "Yeah, Dean. Don't leave us in suspense. I'm dying to know if you'll inherit the kingdom, the princess, or just a shrubbery."

Amy's eyebrows shot up, pleasantly surprised by Dennis's quick wit. She found herself smiling genuinely for the first time that evening.

"A shrubbery?" Dean asked, bewildered.

"Ni!" Dennis and Amy exclaimed in unison, then dissolved into laughter.

Victoria looked between them, a mixture of confusion and amusement on her face. "Okay, what am I missing here?"

"Monty Python," Amy explained, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "You know, 'The Holy Grail'?"

Dean shook his head. "Never seen it."

"Philistine," Dennis said solemnly. "Next you'll tell me you've never watched 'Life of Brian'."

"Is that the one with the guy on the cross at the end?" Dean asked.

Amy gasped in mock horror. "He speaks blasphemy! Quick, Dennis, fetch the comfy chair!"

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Dennis declared, brandishing his fork like a weapon.

Their antics drew curious looks from nearby tables, but Amy found she didn't care. For once, she wasn't hyper-aware of Victoria's every move or agonizing over her unrequited feelings. Instead, she was actually enjoying herself.

As the evening progressed, Amy found herself engaged in a rapid-fire exchange of quips and references with Dennis. He met her sarcasm blow for blow, his quick mind and sharp wit keeping her on her toes.

"I've got to hand it to you," Amy said as they finished their desserts. "You think fast."

Dennis grinned. "Years of practice. You're not so bad yourself, Dallon. Who knew you had such a biting sense of humor hidden under all that healing?"

"Oh, it's always been there," Amy replied. "I just usually keep it locked away. Can't have people thinking I'm anything less than a perfect, selfless angel, right?"

There was a hint of bitterness in her tone that she hadn't meant to let slip. Dennis caught it, his expression softening slightly.

"Well, I for one prefer the snarky version," he said. "Much more interesting than some boring old angel."

Amy felt a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with her earlier jealousy. "Thanks," she said softly. "It's... nice to just be myself for once."

After dinner, they piled into Dean's car and headed to their next destination. Amy found herself actually looking forward to whatever came next, a stark contrast to her usual dread during these double dates.

"An indoor mini-golf course?" Amy asked as they pulled up to a sleek, modern building. "How wonderfully cliché."

Dennis chuckled. "Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it. This place is actually pretty cool. They've got glow-in-the-dark holes and everything."

"Ooh, how fancy," Amy drawled. "I bet they even have those little pencils on strings."

"Only the finest writing implements for m'lady," Dennis said with an exaggerated bow as he held the door open for her.

As they made their way through the course, Amy found herself thoroughly enjoying the ongoing verbal sparring match with Dennis. His quick comebacks and silly puns kept her laughing, and she realized she was having more fun than she'd had in a long time.

"Okay, seriously," Amy said as she lined up her shot on the seventh hole. "Where do you come up with all this stuff?"

Dennis shrugged, leaning on his putter. "I was a big fan of Mouse Protector growing up. Used to watch her show all the time as a kid. I guess some of that cheesy humor rubbed off on me."

Amy's eyes lit up. "Oh man, I loved that show! 'Mighty mouse of justice, away!'"

As soon as the words left her mouth, Amy clapped a hand over it, mortified. Dennis's face split into a delighted grin.

"I knew it!" he crowed. "You're a fellow Mousketeer!"

Amy groaned. "Oh god, don't call it that. Didn't Disney sue over that name?"

Dennis waved a hand dismissively. "Details, details. The important thing is that I've uncovered your secret identity as a Mouse Protector fangirl."

"If you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you," Amy warned, but there was no heat in her words.

They fell into an animated discussion about their favorite episodes, debating the merits of various villains and reciting particularly memorable lines.

"Remember the one where she teamed up with Alexandria?" Dennis asked excitedly. "That was epic!"

Amy nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah! I think that was the first time I saw Alexandria. She seemed so cool and powerful. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up."

A shadow passed over Dennis's face for a moment, so brief Amy almost missed it. "Yeah, I remember watching that one with my dad in the hospital. It was a good distraction."

Amy's brow furrowed. "What were you in for?"

Dennis shook his head. "Oh, it wasn't me in the hospital. It was my dad."

There was something in his tone, a hesitancy that made Amy pause. She sensed there was more to the story than he was letting on.

"What was your dad in for?" she asked carefully.

Dennis shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, I don't want to bring up work stuff on a fun date. Let's just focus on the game, yeah?"

Amy fixed him with a stern glare. "I'm the one asking, Dennis. What was it?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Leukemia," he admitted quietly. "My dad has leukemia."

Amy's eyes widened. "What? Why the hell didn't you ask me to heal it before now?"

Dennis shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "The PRT doesn't want Ward families to be seen as getting preferential treatment. And... well, even I could tell how burnt out you've been lately. I didn't want to add to that."

Amy bristled. "I heal with a touch, Dennis. It's not like I'm a real doctor. I can't get burnt out."

Dennis looked at her oddly. "Anyone can get burnt out, Amy. It doesn't matter what a person is doing. If they do it over and over and over again, it's going to get tiresome."

"Yeah, well, if I take time off, people don't get healed," Amy snapped.

"True," Dennis agreed. "But which is better? You healing 100 people a week and having a breakdown in a year, or doing the 20 most urgent cases and taking care of yourself so you can be around for decades to come?"

Amy faltered. "I... that's not... Can you really say that when a mother looks at you and asks why you didn't save her child too?"

Dennis's expression grew serious. "I already have."

Amy gave him a questioning look, and he sighed before explaining.

"There was a gang shootout a few months back. Four people were critically injured. I was using my power to keep them frozen in time, but you know how unpredictable my freezes can be. They last anywhere from 30 seconds to 10 minutes."

He paused, his eyes distant. "I was jogging between the bodies, trying to keep them all frozen, but one was much farther away than the other three. I... I couldn't maintain all four. So I focused on the three that were closer together."

Amy listened intently, a knot forming in her stomach as she guessed where this was going.

"I got unlucky," Dennis continued. "The distant one got a very short freeze, and by the time I could get back... they'd bled out. Later, we found out that the three I'd saved were gang members. The one who died? Just an innocent bystander. Hit by a ricochet."

Amy was silent for a long moment, processing his words. She'd never really considered that the other heroes might face similar moral dilemmas to her own.

Without really thinking about it, Amy leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Dennis's cheek. He looked at her in surprise.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For sharing that with me."

Dennis nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks for listening."

Suddenly, Amy made a decision. "Let's grab a cab and go fix up your dad."

Dennis blinked. "What? But... didn't we just talk about not overworking yourself?"

"I don't want you down for our next date," Amy said, then froze as she realized what she'd just implied.

Dennis looked equally shocked, but a grin slowly spread across his face. "Our next date, huh?"

Amy felt her cheeks flush. "I... yeah. If you want to, that is."

"Definitely," Dennis said quickly.

They made their way back to where Victoria and Dean were putting, several holes ahead of them.

"Vicky," Amy called. "Dennis and I are going to cut out early."

Victoria looked up, her brow furrowed in concern. "Everything okay, Ames? Do you need me to take you home?"

"No, no," Amy assured her. "I'm leaving with Dennis, actually."

Victoria's eyes widened, and a sly grin spread across her face. "Ooh, I see. Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Amy rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Dean looked between them, then broke into a wide grin.

"I'm glad you're doing better, Amy," he said sincerely.

Amy wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, but she nodded. "Thanks, Dean. I... I think I am."

As they left the mini-golf course, Amy found herself walking arm-in-arm with Dennis. For the first time in a long while, she felt light, unburdened by the constant weight of her unrequited feelings for Victoria.

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for her after all.

***

Mush led the way through the dingy corridors of the Merchants' hideout, his newly cleaned-up appearance a stark contrast to the grimy surroundings. Behind him trailed a young woman with fiery red hair and nervous eyes. Emily, as she'd introduced herself, kept glancing around warily as if expecting an attack at any moment.

"And this here's our rec room," Mush announced, gesturing to a space filled with mismatched furniture and a large TV. "Feel free to hang out here when you're not on a job."

Emily nodded silently, still taking everything in. Mush could tell she was overwhelmed, but that was to be expected. Most new recruits were a bit shell-shocked at first, especially those who'd triggered recently.

"So," Mush continued, turning to face her directly, "you said you can spit some kind of flammable goo, right? Have you thought about a cape name yet?"

Emily shook her head. "Not really. I've been a bit preoccupied with... everything else."

Mush nodded sympathetically. "Fair enough. Well, we can brainstorm a bit if you want. How about—"

"Napalm Nelly!" Whirligig's excited voice cut in as she rounded the corner. The petite brunette bounded up to them, grinning widely. "I heard we had a new fire-powered cape and I couldn't resist coming up with some name ideas."

Mush chuckled. "Alright, let's hear 'em."

Whirligig began rattling off suggestions rapid-fire: "Flame Spewer! Molotov Mouth! Ooh, how about Spitfire?"

Emily winced at that last one. "Maybe something a little less... on the nose?"

"Aw, come on," Whirligig pouted. "Spitfire's great! It's punchy, memorable—"

"And taken," Mush interjected. At Emily's questioning look, he explained, "There's already a Spitfire in... Boston, I think? Some independent hero."

"Oh," Whirligig deflated slightly. "Well, back to the drawing board then."

As they continued tossing around name ideas, a commotion from further down the hall caught their attention. Stumbling footsteps and incoherent mumbling grew louder until Skidmark came into view, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

"S'time to roll out!" he slurred, gesturing wildly. "Got us a big score waitin', jus' gotta... gotta..."

He trailed off, staring at Emily in confusion. "Who's the new bitch?"

Mush stepped forward, trying to redirect Skidmark's attention. "This is Emily, our newest recruit. Remember? I told you about her yesterday."

Skidmark's brow furrowed as he attempted to recall. After a moment, his face lit up with what he clearly thought was a stroke of genius.

"Burnout!" he exclaimed, pointing at Emily. "That's what we'll call ya. 'Cause you burn shit, get it?"

Emily opened her mouth to protest, but Mush subtly shook his head. There was no point arguing with Skidmark when he was this far gone.

Before anyone could say anything else, the sound of rapid footsteps approached. Squealer came skidding around the corner, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. She was practically vibrating with energy, a manic grin plastered across her face.

"They're ready!" she announced breathlessly. "My babies are all revved up and rarin' to go!"

Mush's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He'd known Squealer was working on some new vehicles, but he hadn't expected them to be finished so soon. A wicked grin spread across his face as he considered the possibilities.

"Well then," he said, turning to Emily. "Looks like your interview will have to wait. We've got business to attend to."

Emily shifted nervously. "What kind of business?"

Mush's grin widened as he started walking, gesturing for the others to follow. "The best kind. Come on, I'll show you."

He led the group through a maze of corridors until they reached a large set of metal doors. Pushing them open revealed a cavernous garage space below. Mush strode out onto a catwalk that crossed the room, giving them a perfect view of the floor below.

Emily's jaw dropped as she took in the sight. Five monstrous vehicles dominated the space, each one a unique blend of scavenged parts and Tinker ingenuity. They ranged from a sleek, low-riding car with what looked like jet engines strapped to the sides, to a hulking behemoth that seemed to be equal parts monster truck and tank.

"Holy shit," Emily breathed, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and trepidation.

Mush chuckled. "Impressive, right? Squealer really outdid herself this time."

Whirligig bounced excitedly. "Ooh, which one do I get to drive?"

"You don't," Squealer snapped, her earlier manic energy now tinged with possessiveness. "Nobody touches my babies but me."

Mush held up his hands placatingly. "Easy, Squealer. We'll work out the details in a minute. First, why don't you give us the rundown on what these beauties can do?"

Squealer's irritation vanished instantly, replaced by eager pride. She launched into a rapid-fire explanation of each vehicle's capabilities, most of which went over Emily's head. From what she could gather, they were heavily armed, incredibly fast, and nearly indestructible by normal means.

As Squealer's technical jargon washed over her, Emily leaned closer to Mush and whispered, "What exactly are we doing with these things?"

Mush's grin took on a predatory edge. "Dragon hunting."

Emily blinked in confusion. "Dragon hunting? You don't mean... Lung?"

Mush nodded, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "The one and only. See, the ABB's been pushing hard lately, trying to take back territory. But their big, scaly leader's been spread thin, can't be everywhere at once."

He gestured to the vehicles below. "With these, we can hit multiple locations simultaneously. Keep Lung running all over the city, wearing himself out. And when he's good and tired..."

He trailed off, letting Emily's imagination fill in the rest. She swallowed hard, her earlier nervousness returning tenfold.

"Isn't that... incredibly dangerous?" she asked hesitantly.

Mush shrugged. "Everything in this life is dangerous, kid. But the payoff? Taking down the biggest, baddest cape in the Bay? That's the kind of thing that puts you on the map. Shows everyone we're not just some two-bit drug pushers anymore."

Emily nodded slowly, trying to process everything. It was a lot to take in, especially for someone who'd only had her powers for a few weeks.

"So," Mush continued, "you ready for your first official job as a Merchant?"

Emily hesitated for a moment, then straightened her shoulders and nodded firmly. "Yeah. I'm in."

Mush clapped her on the back. "That's what I like to hear. Alright, people, let's get this show on the road!"

As the others began scrambling to prepare, Emily took one last look at the monstrous vehicles below. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was in way over her head, but it was too late to back out now.

Whatever happened next, she had a feeling it was going to be one hell of a ride.

Skidmark stumbled forward, nearly toppling over the railing before Whirligig caught him. He squinted down at the vehicles, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

"Fuck yeah," he slurred. "Time to show that overgrown lizard who's boss!"

Mush rolled his eyes but didn't bother trying to rein in his nominal leader. Instead, he turned to Squealer, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Alright, Squealer, give us the breakdown. Who's riding in what, and what's our plan of attack?"

Squealer's eyes lit up as she launched into an explanation, gesturing wildly at each vehicle in turn.

"Okay, so the big bruiser there," she pointed to the tank-like monstrosity, "that's for you, Mush. It's got reinforced plating that'll stand up to Lung's fire, plus a bunch of compartments for you to store extra trash to use with your power."

Mush nodded approvingly. "Nice. What about firepower?"

Squealer grinned maniacally. "Oh, it's got plenty of that. Mounted guns, rocket launchers, even a few surprises I cooked up special. You'll love it."

She moved on to a sleek, aerodynamic vehicle that looked like it could break the sound barrier. "This baby's mine. It's got the best maneuverability and top speed of the bunch. I'll be running interference, keeping Lung distracted while the rest of you do your thing."

Next was a boxy, armored van with what looked like satellite dishes mounted on the roof. "Whirligig, you're in this one. It's got a bunch of drones and other gizmos you can control with your power. Plus, it's got a mobile command center set up inside so you can coordinate everyone."

Whirligig bounced excitedly. "Sweet! I've always wanted my own secret lair on wheels."

Squealer pointed to a vehicle that looked like a cross between a monster truck and a flame-thrower. "Skidmark, you get this one. It's got ramps and launch pads built in so you can use your fields to give us all a boost when we need it. Plus, it's got some heavy artillery for when shit really hits the fan."

Skidmark nodded sagely, or at least as sagely as someone in his state could manage. "Fuck yeah, time to paint the town Merchant blue!"

Finally, Squealer turned to Emily. "And for our newest member, we've got this beauty." She gestured to a vehicle that looked like a sports car had mated with a chemical plant. "It's got a bunch of tanks and sprayers hooked up to amplify your power. You can cover whole city blocks in that napalm of yours."

Emily's eyes widened as she took in the specialized vehicle. "Wow, that's... impressive. But how did you build something for my power so quickly? I only joined yesterday."

Squealer waved a hand dismissively. "Please, this is what I do. Once Mush told me what you could do, it was easy to whip something up."

Mush clapped his hands together. "Alright, now that we know who's driving what, let's talk strategy. Squealer, you said you had a plan?"

The Tinker nodded eagerly. "Yeah, so here's the deal. We're gonna hit five different ABB locations simultaneously. Whirligig will coordinate from her command center, making sure we all stay on schedule."

She pulled out a map of the city, pointing to various locations. "We've got a couple of their bigger drug dens, a weapons cache, one of their underground fighting rings, and a suspected human trafficking site."

Emily felt her stomach churn at that last one, but she kept her face neutral.

Squealer continued, "The goal is to keep Lung running all over the city, never giving him a chance to rest or power up fully. We hit hard and fast, then bug out before he can get there. Rinse and repeat until he's good and tired."

Mush nodded approvingly. "And once he's worn down?"

A predatory grin spread across Squealer's face. "That's when we all converge on him at once. Hit him with everything we've got while he's at his weakest."

Emily couldn't help but speak up. "Is that... really going to be enough? I mean, this is Lung we're talking about. He fought an Endbringer to a standstill."

Mush placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. We've got a few tricks up our sleeves. Plus, we're not looking to take him out permanently. Just rough him up enough to show the city that the Merchants aren't to be fucked with anymore."

He addressed the group as a whole. "Alright, people, you know your roles. Let's gear up and get ready to roll out in ten."

As the others scrambled to prepare, Emily found herself alone with Mush for a moment.

"Hey," she said hesitantly, "I know I'm new and all, but... are you sure about this? It seems like a huge risk."

Mush's expression softened slightly. "Look, I get it. This is a big step up from what the Merchants used to be. But that's the point. We can't keep being seen as bottom-feeders if we want to survive in this city."

He gestured around them. "You've seen how things have been changing lately. The Empire's getting stronger, new players are popping up... we need to adapt or we'll get left behind."

Emily nodded slowly, still not entirely convinced.

Mush continued, "Plus, think about it this way: every bit of damage we do to the ABB is one less girl trafficked, one less kid forced into their gang. We might not be heroes, but we can still do some good while we're at it."

That last part resonated with Emily more than she wanted to admit. She'd seen firsthand what the ABB did to people in their territory.

"Alright," she said finally. "I'm in. For real this time."

Mush grinned and clapped her on the back. "That's what I like to hear. Now come on, let's get you suited up. Can't go dragon hunting without the proper gear."

As they made their way down to the garage floor, Emily couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to change dramatically. For better or worse remained to be seen.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of activity as everyone prepared for the upcoming mission. Mush helped Emily into a flame-resistant suit, explaining its features as they went.

"This'll keep you safe from your own napalm, plus it's got some basic armor plating," he said, adjusting a strap. "Not enough to stop a bullet, mind you, but it'll help with shrapnel and such."

Emily nodded, trying to calm her nerves as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. She watched as the others geared up, each in their own unique way.

Skidmark, despite his inebriated state, managed to don a garish blue and white costume that seemed to shimmer with his power. Whirligig was practically bouncing as she climbed into her mobile command center, already starting to power up the various screens and controls.

Squealer, meanwhile, was lovingly running her hands over her vehicle, murmuring to it like a mother to a child. "Don't you worry, baby," she cooed. "Mama's gonna show everyone just what you can do."

Finally, Mush approached the group, now fully encased in his signature trash armor. Even Emily had to admit it was an impressive sight, far more cohesive and intimidating than the piles of garbage she'd seen in old news footage.

"Alright, people," he called out, his voice muffled slightly by his makeshift helmet. "One last check. Everyone clear on the plan?"

There was a chorus of affirmatives, though Skidmark's came out more as a garbled "Fuck yeah!"

Mush nodded, satisfied. "Good. Remember, we're not looking for a prolonged fight here. Hit hard, hit fast, and get out before Lung can fully ramp up. Whirligig will keep us coordinated, so make sure you stay in contact."

He turned to Emily, his expression unreadable behind his mask of compacted trash. "You ready for this, Burnout?"

Emily winced slightly at the name but nodded firmly. "As I'll ever be."

"That's the spirit," Mush said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Alright, let's mount up and roll out!"

As everyone climbed into their respective vehicles, Emily couldn't help but feel a mix of terror and exhilaration. This was it, her first real mission as a cape. No going back now.

The engines roared to life, filling the garage with a cacophony of sound. Emily gripped the steering wheel of her custom vehicle tightly, trying to remember everything Squealer had told her about its operation.

Mush's voice crackled over the comms. "Alright, Merchants. Let's go put Brockton Bay on notice."

With that, the garage doors began to open, revealing the nighttime streets of the city. One by one, the monstrous vehicles rolled out, ready to unleash chaos on the unsuspecting ABB.

As Emily followed the others into the night, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was going to be a turning point, not just for her, but for the entire city. Whether it would be for better or worse remained to be seen.

Chapter Text

Lung reclined in his La-Z-boy, the leather creaking as he shifted his massive frame. The room around him was sparse, functional - a far cry from the opulent surroundings one might expect for the leader of the ABB. But Lung had never been one for unnecessary luxuries. Power was his true indulgence.

He frowned, mulling over his recent attempts to recruit more capes into his organization. So far, his efforts had been fruitless. The ABB's reputation as a brutal, take-no-prisoners outfit made many potential recruits wary. But Lung knew he needed more parahumans if he was to maintain his iron grip on the city's underworld.

His brooding was interrupted as one of his lieutenants burst into the room, breathing heavily. "Boss! The Merchants - they're hitting one of our drug labs on the east side!"

Lung's eyes narrowed. The Merchants had been getting bolder lately, but this was unprecedented. "Send ten men to deal with it," he growled, his voice a rumbling bass. "Crush them quickly."

The lieutenant nodded and hurried out. Lung settled back, assuming the matter would be resolved swiftly. The Merchants were nothing but addicts and bottom-feeders, after all.

Barely five minutes had passed when another subordinate rushed in. "Sir! Another attack - they're hitting the Red Lotus brothel!"

This time, Lung sat up straighter. Two attacks in such quick succession? This was no random occurrence. "Send Oni Lee," he ordered. The teleporter would make short work of the drugged-up degenerates.

The subordinate bowed and left. Lung stood, pacing the room. Something was off about this situation. The Merchants weren't known for their tactical acumen or coordination. What had changed?

His thoughts were interrupted yet again as a third messenger arrived, panic evident in his voice. "Boss! The Lucky Dragon casino - the Merchants are there too!"

Lung let out a roar of frustration, flames licking at the corners of his mouth. "Enough! I will go myself."

He stormed out of the room, his men scrambling to get out of his way. As he made his way to the garage, he barked orders left and right, mobilizing every available ABB member. Whatever game the Merchants were playing, he would end it tonight.

Lung climbed into a nondescript van, flanked by four of his most trusted enforcers. "Drive," he commanded, and the vehicle peeled out onto the streets of Brockton Bay.

As they neared the casino, Lung's enhanced senses picked up the sounds of chaos - screaming, gunfire, and the distinctive rumble of Squealer's vehicles. He leaned forward, anticipation building. Finally, a real fight.

But as they rounded the corner, instead of the expected battlefield, they found only a single vehicle waiting for them. It was unmistakably Squealer's work if more sleek and refined then previous.

Before Lung could react, the car's engine roared to life, and it took off down the street. Without hesitation, Lung shouted, "After them!"

The chase began, winding through the narrow streets of Brockton Bay. Lung's driver was skilled, but Squealer's vehicle was in a league of its own. It weaved through traffic with impossible agility, always staying just out of reach.

Lung felt his anger rising, scales beginning to ripple across his skin. But the danger wasn't immediate enough, the threat not severe enough to trigger his full transformation. He was caught in a maddening limbo - powerful enough to feel invincible, but not strong enough to end this farce.

"Faster!" he bellowed, but it was no use. With a final burst of speed and a cloud of noxious smoke, Squealer's vehicle disappeared around a corner. By the time Lung's van reached the intersection, there was no sign of their quarry.

Lung slammed his fist into the van's dashboard, leaving a sizeable dent. "Find them!" he roared at his driver. But before they could begin their search, Lung's phone buzzed with incoming messages.

More attacks. More Merchant incursions into ABB territory. It seemed impossible - how could this rabble of drug addicts be coordinating so effectively?

For hours, the pattern continued. Lung would receive word of an attack, rush to the scene, only to find the Merchants already gone or led on another fruitless chase. His rage built with each failure, his transformations growing more pronounced, but never reaching the level he needed to truly unleash his power.

As dawn approached, Lung sat seething in the van, his body a patchwork of scales and human skin. They had been running all night, and for what? A few damaged properties, some stolen goods - nothing that couldn't be replaced. But the blow to the ABB's reputation, the sheer audacity of the Merchants' actions... that was unforgivable.

Just as Lung was considering calling off the hunt and returning to base to regroup, his phone buzzed again. He snatched it up, expecting another report of Merchant mischief. Instead, what he read made his eyes narrow to slits.

"Boss," the message read, "Empire Eighty-Eight is moving in on our protection rackets in the docks. They're saying the territory is under their control now."

Lung crushed the phone in his grip, metal and plastic warping under the heat of his hand. This was too much. First the Merchants make a fool of him all night, and now the Empire thinks they can take advantage of the chaos?

"Driver," Lung growled, his voice distorted by his partial transformation, "take us to the docks. Now."

As they sped towards the new confrontation, Lung's mind raced. This had to be coordinated. The Merchants weren't capable of this level of strategy on their own. Were they working with the Empire? No, that seemed unlikely given the Nazi gang's stance on drug users and minorities. Then who?

It didn't matter. What mattered was that someone had dared to challenge him, to make him look weak. He would remind them all why he was the dragon of Kyushu, why he had fought an Endbringer to a standstill.

"Which Empire capes are leading the attack?" Lung asked one of his lieutenants.

The man quickly checked his messages. "Reports say Hookwolf is spearheading the main thrust, sir."

A savage grin spread across Lung's face, made all the more terrifying by his draconic features. "Perfect," he purred.

Hookwolf was a brutal thug but someone who wouldn't back down from a fight. Unlike the Merchants, who had been playing hit-and-run all night, Hookwolf would stand his ground. And in doing so, he would give Lung exactly what he needed - a chance to truly cut loose, to ramp up to his full, terrifying potential.

As they neared the docks, Lung could already hear the sounds of battle. Gunfire, screams, and the distinctive sound of Hookwolf's bladed form tearing through the night. Lung's grin widened. Yes, this was exactly what he needed.

"Stop here," Lung commanded. The van screeched to a halt, and Lung stepped out onto the street. His men moved to follow, but he waved them back. "No. This is between me and them."

Lung strode forward, each step causing small tremors in the pavement. His body continued to change, growing larger, more bestial. Wings began to sprout from his back, and his face elongated into a draconic muzzle.

As he rounded the corner, he saw the battlefield spread out before him. Empire thugs were engaged with his ABB soldiers, the air thick with gunfire and the clash of melee weapons. And there, in the center of it all, was Hookwolf - a whirling maelstrom of blades and metal, cutting down anyone who dared approach.

Lung let out a earth-shaking roar, causing all combat to momentarily cease. Every eye turned to him, a mixture of fear and awe on the faces of both ABB and Empire members.

Hookwolf turned, his metal form reconfiguring into a vaguely humanoid shape. "Well, well," his grating voice called out. "The mighty Lung finally decides to show his face. Tired of running from the Merchants?"

The taunt hit its mark. Flames erupted from Lung's mouth as he bellowed, "I run from no one! Tonight, I will crush you, and then I will hunt down every last one of those Merchant dogs!"

Hookwolf laughed, his body once again becoming a whirlwind of blades. "Big words from someone who's been playing cat and mouse all night. Let's see if you can back them up!"

Lung's massive form crashed through buildings, his rage fueling his transformation even further. Flames licked at his scales as he pursued Hookwolf, determined to crush the Empire cape and make an example of him. But Hookwolf was nimble, using his bladed form to slip through narrow alleys and around corners where Lung's bulk made it difficult to follow.

With a frustrated roar, Lung smashed his fist into a nearby wall, sending bricks and mortar flying. Hookwolf had escaped, melting away into the night with the remnants of his Empire forces. The dragon's eyes blazed with fury, scanning the area for any sign of his prey.

A flicker of movement caught his attention. Oni Lee appeared before him in a burst of ash, his demon mask expressionless as always. The ABB's second-in-command gestured urgently, pointing in a direction away from where Hookwolf had fled.

Lung growled, a guttural sound that was far from human speech. His transformation had progressed too far for words, but the meaning was clear: What is it?

Oni Lee's voice was calm, almost detached as he reported, "The Merchants have gathered, sir. They seem to be preparing for something big."

Lung's eyes narrowed. The Merchants? Those drug-addled fools had been a thorn in his side all night, but now they dared to challenge him directly? He would show them the folly of their actions.

With a curt nod, Lung motioned for Oni Lee to lead the way. The assassin teleported ahead, leaving behind clones that pointed the way before crumbling to ash. Lung followed, each thunderous step leaving craters in the pavement.

As they moved through the city, Lung's mind raced. What were the Merchants planning? They had never shown this level of coordination before. Something was different, and that made them dangerous.

After several minutes of pursuit, Oni Lee stopped. Lung looked around, confusion evident even on his monstrous face. They were in a familiar neighborhood - his neighborhood. In fact, they were standing right outside his own safehouse.

Before Lung could question this turn of events, his attention was drawn to a commotion in front of his home. His eyes widened in disbelief and rage at what he saw.

There, perched atop one of Squealer's garish vehicles, was Skidmark. And the leader of the Merchants wasn't just sitting on any old chair - he was lounging in Lung's own chair, the overstuffed leather recliner that was the dragon's favorite place to relax after a long day of running his criminal empire.

Skidmark's voice, amplified by some crude sound system, rang out through the night. "Yo, scale-face! Bet you're wonderin' where your comfy-ass throne went, huh? Well, I gotta say, it's pretty fuckin' sweet. No wonder you spend all your time sittin' on your scaly ass instead of runnin' your turf!"

Lung's fury reached new heights. Flames erupted from his mouth as he roared, the sound shattering windows for blocks around. How dare this junkie trash invade his home, steal his possessions, and mock him to his face?

Skidmark continued his rant, each word dripping with venom and disrespect. "What's the matter, Lung? Can't handle a little competition? Maybe if you weren't so busy playin' with your tiny lizard dick, you'd have noticed us takin' over your shit!"

That was the last straw. Lung charged forward, his massive form barreling towards Skidmark and the vehicle he was perched upon. But just as he was about to reach them, the car's engine roared to life. With a screech of tires, it shot forward, narrowly evading Lung's grasp.

"Too slow, ya overgrown iguana!" Skidmark taunted as the vehicle sped away. "Come on, let's see if you can catch us!"

Lung gave chase, his rage pushing his transformation even further. He was barely recognizable as humanoid now, more akin to the dragons of myth than anything else.

The chase led them through the streets of Brockton Bay, Skidmark's vehicle always managing to stay just out of reach. Lung's rampage left destruction in its wake - cars overturned, roads cratered, buildings scorched by his flames. But he didn't care about the collateral damage. All that mattered was catching that insolent worm and crushing him beneath his claws.

As they raced through the city, Lung began to notice something odd. The Merchants' vehicle wasn't just randomly fleeing - it was leading him somewhere. Despite his fury, a small part of his mind recognized that he was being manipulated. But it didn't matter. He would follow them to whatever trap they had prepared and crush them all.

Finally, after what felt like hours of pursuit, Lung found himself in a familiar location - the Boat Graveyard. The vast junkyard of abandoned ships loomed before him, a maze of rusted metal and forgotten dreams. And there, cornered against the hull of a massive cargo ship, was Skidmark's vehicle.

Lung approached slowly, savoring the moment. He had them trapped now. There was nowhere left for them to run.

Skidmark's voice rang out once more, but this time there was a note of desperation beneath the bravado. "Well, fuck me sideways with a rusty chainsaw! Looks like you caught up, lizard-breath. But don't think this is over yet!"

As if on cue, the sound of engines filled the air. From all directions, more of Squealer's vehicles appeared. They surrounded Lung, forming a circle of mechanical monstrosities. Each one was piloted by a different Merchant cape.

Squealer herself was at the wheel of a massive truck that looked like it had been cobbled together from a dozen different vehicles. Her eyes widened as she took in Lung's form. "Holy shit," she muttered. "He wasn't supposed to be this ramped up. What the fuck happened?"

Whirligig, perched atop what looked like a weaponized Ferris wheel, called out, "He must have fought the Empire! I told you we should have kept a closer eye on him!"

From a sleek, flame-decorated hot rod, a new voice spoke up. It was Burnout, the Merchants' newest cape recruit. Her voice trembled slightly as she said, "Guys, I'm not sure about this. He looks... he looks like he could kill us all with a single breath."

"Shut your cock-holster!" Skidmark snapped. "We've come too far to pussy out now!"

Mush, his body a amalgamation of junk and refuse, lumbered forward in what appeared to be a walking garbage truck. "Burnout's right to be cautious," he said, his voice surprisingly calm and articulate for a Merchant. "But Skidmark's also right that we have to deal with this now. We've pushed Lung this far - we can't back down."

Lung surveyed the gathered Merchants, his draconic features twisted into a snarl. Did they truly think they could challenge him? Even with their vehicles and their powers, they were nothing but insects to be crushed beneath his claws.

Skidmark stood up in his vehicle, swaying slightly as he raised his arms dramatically. "Alright, you cock-juggling thundercunts!" he shouted. "It's time to show this overgrown lizard what the Merchants can really do! Let's form up and fuck his scaly ass!"

At his words, the Merchant vehicles began to move. But they weren't attacking or fleeing. Instead, they were... coming together?

***

Across the city, in a nondescript van filled with monitors and computer equipment, two figures watched the unfolding battle with rapt attention.

"Holy shit, dude!" Leet exclaimed, his eyes wide behind his visor. "Are you seeing this? It's like Pacific Rim meets Breaking Bad!"

Uber nodded, equally impressed. "I've gotta hand it to the Merchants, I never thought they had something like this in them. This is way beyond their usual MO." Their aerial drone, affectionately dubbed 'the Snitch', buzzed around the battlefield, capturing the clash from multiple angles.

"We've got to stream this," Leet said, his fingers already flying over his keyboard. "This is too epic to keep to ourselves."

Uber raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? It doesn't really fit our usual theme. We haven't done any preparation, no costumes, no game tie-in..."

Leet waved off his partner's concerns. "Who cares about theme right now? This is the kind of content that goes viral! We could be looking at our big break here!"

After a moment's hesitation, Uber nodded. "Alright, let's do it. Fire up the stream."

With a few more keystrokes, Leet activated their broadcast software. Across the city and beyond, people's computers and phones began to light up with notifications. Uber and Leet, the infamous villain duo known for their video game-themed crimes, were going live.

***

Taylor was just finishing up her morning routine, getting ready for another day at Winslow, when her phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Emma:

"OMG Taylor! Turn on Uber and Leet's channel NOW!!!"

Curiosity piqued, Taylor quickly pulled up the streaming site on her laptop. The screen flickered to life, revealing a scene that made her jaw drop.

Uber and Leet, the infamous villain duo known for their video game-themed crimes, were dressed in garish sports commentator outfits. Uber wore a loud checkered jacket with an oversized microphone, while Leet sported a garishly bright sweater vest and thick-rimmed glasses. Behind them, a massive projection screen showed an aerial view of what appeared to be the Boat Graveyard.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Uber's voice boomed with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Welcome to tonight's main event! We apologize for the impromptu nature of this broadcast, but trust us when we say you won't want to miss this!"

Leet chimed in, his voice equally animated. "That's right, folks! We're coming to you live from an undisclosed location to bring you the fight of the century!"

The camera panned across the junkyard of ships, eventually focusing on a massive, draconic figure that could only be Lung. Taylor's eyes widened as she took in his fully transformed state. She'd heard stories, of course, but seeing him like this...

Uber's voice took on a more serious tone as he began the fighter introduction. "In this corner, standing at an impressive 20 feet tall and still growing, we have the dragon of Kyushu himself - LUNG!"

A series of stats and accomplishments began scrolling across the bottom of the screen:

Defeated an Endbringer single-handedly (unconfirmed)
Controls the ABB, one of Brockton Bay's most feared gangs
Pyrokinetic abilities
Superhuman strength and regeneration
Transforms into a dragon (duh)
"Lung has been terrorizing the streets of Brockton Bay for years," Leet added. "But tonight, he faces perhaps his greatest challenge yet!"

The camera swung around, revealing Lung's opponents. Taylor gasped as she saw what the Merchants had done.

Where there had once been individual vehicles, now stood a colossal mechanical monstrosity. It was as if someone had taken a Tinker's fever dream and brought it to life. The robot towered over even Lung's massive form, a patchwork creation of mismatched parts and exposed wiring.

Leet could barely contain his excitement. "Oh man, oh man! Are you seeing this, Uber? It's like something straight out of Power Rangers or Voltron!"

Uber elbowed his partner, trying to maintain their sports commentator personas. "Easy there, partner. Let's introduce our challenger!"

Clearing his throat, Uber continued in his announcer voice. "And in this corner, standing at a staggering 30 feet tall, we have the combined might of the Merchants! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... THE JUNK TITAN!"

Once again, stats began scrolling across the screen:

Combined creation of multiple Tinkers
Piloted by the entire Merchant cape roster
Weapons systems: Unknown (but probably crazy)
Structural integrity: Questionable
Coolness factor: Off the charts
Leet took over, providing more details. "This mechanical marvel is the brainchild of the Merchants' resident Tinker, Squealer. But she's not alone in there, folks! We've got confirmed sightings of Skidmark, Mush, Trainwreck, and Whirligig, along with a new cape we're tentatively identified as 'Burnout'."

The camera zoomed in on different parts of the mech, highlighting where each Merchant cape seemed to be controlling their section.

"At the head, we've got Skidmark, no doubt providing his trademark colorful commentary," Uber narrated. "Squealer's in what appears to be the chest area, probably handling the main controls and weapons systems."

Leet picked up the thread. "Mush seems to be integrated into one of the arms - looks like he's using his power to constantly repair and reinforce the structure. Whirligig's in the other arm, and I bet those spinning turbines aren't just for show!"

"And our newcomer, Burnout, appears to be handling the legs along with Trainwreck," Uber finished. "We don't know much about her powers yet, but I'm guessing we're about to find out!"

The camera pulled back, giving a full view of both combatants. Lung, now easily 25 feet tall and still growing, faced off against the towering Junk Titan. The air between them seemed to shimmer with heat as Lung's flames licked at his scales.

Leet couldn't contain himself any longer. "This is insane, Uber! We're about to witness a kaiju battle in the middle of Brockton Bay! How is this even real?"

Uber grinned, caught up in the excitement despite his efforts to stay in character. "I don't know, partner, but I do know one thing..."

Both Uber and Leet leaned into their mics, their voices harmonizing as they delivered the classic line:

"LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUMMMBBBBLEEE!"

As if on cue, Lung let out an earth-shaking roar and charged forward. The Junk Titan, in a surprising display of agility for its size, raised its arms in a defensive posture.

"And we're off!" Uber shouted. "Lung's coming in hot - literally! Look at those flames!"

Indeed, Lung's entire body was wreathed in fire as he closed the distance. The Junk Titan's arm - the one controlled by Whirligig - began to spin rapidly, creating a vortex that pushed back against Lung's advance.

Leet provided color commentary. "Ooh, smart move by the Merchants! They're using Whirligig's power to keep Lung at bay. But how long can they keep that up?"

The answer came quickly as Lung, undeterred, pushed through the swirling winds. His claws raked across the Titan's chest, leaving deep gouges in the metal.

"First blood goes to Lung!" Uber crowed. "But wait, what's this?"

The damaged area of the Titan began to ripple and shift, bits of metal and debris flying in from all directions to repair the wound.

"Incredible!" Leet exclaimed. "It looks like Mush is using his power to patch up the damage in real-time. This fight could go on for a while, folks!"

The Junk Titan retaliated, its other arm - the one controlled by Mush - swinging in a wild haymaker. Lung, despite his size, managed to duck under the blow, but the fist continued on its path, smashing into a nearby derelict ship. The impact sent shockwaves through the air, and the ship's hull crumpled like tissue paper.

"Did you see that?" Uber shouted. "The raw power behind that punch is insane! If that had connected with Lung..."

Leet finished the thought. "We might be looking at a dragon pancake right now. But Lung's not going down that easy!"

Indeed, Lung seemed to grow even larger in response to the challenge, his wings now fully formed and spread wide. With a powerful leap, he took to the air, circling the Junk Titan like a bird of prey.

"Lung's taking to the skies!" Uber narrated. "This could be trouble for the Merchants. Their creation doesn't seem built for aerial combat."

As if to prove him wrong, the Titan's chest plate suddenly opened, revealing a truly bizarre arsenal of weaponry. Squealer's voice, tinny and distorted, rang out from hidden speakers.

"Eat this, you overgrown lizard!"

A barrage of missiles, energy beams, and what appeared to be glowing hubcaps shot forth from the Titan's chest. Lung weaved through the air, dodging most of the attacks, but a few found their mark, exploding against his scales in brilliant flashes of light and color.

Leet was practically bouncing in his seat. "Did you see that? Those weapons are insane! I've got to get a closer look at Squealer's tech when this is over!"

Uber raised an eyebrow. "Careful there, partner. Remember what happened last time you tried to replicate another Tinker's work?"

Leet winced. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But come on, you've got to admit this is cool!"

Their banter was interrupted as Lung, seemingly more enraged than hurt by the barrage, dive-bombed the Titan. He slammed into its head with enough force to stagger the massive machine.

"Oh! Direct hit to the command center!" Uber shouted. "That's got to have rattled Skidmark's teeth loose - if he has any left, that is!"

The Titan stumbled backward, its movements suddenly erratic. Skidmark's voice, even more profanity-laden than usual, could be faintly heard through the speakers.

"Fuck a duck in a bucket! Get it together, you cock-juggling thundercunts! We're not going down like this!"

Leet snickered. "Sounds like there might be some disagreement in the ranks. Can the Merchants pull it together, or is this the beginning of the end?"

The answer came in the form of a sudden burst of speed from the Titan. Its legs, controlled by the newcomer Burnout, ignited with jets of flame, propelling the massive machine forward with surprising agility.

"Whoa!" Uber exclaimed. "Looks like we're finally seeing what the new cape can do! Those flame jets are giving the Titan some serious mobility!"

The Junk Titan closed the distance to Lung in seconds, both arms swinging in a devastating combo. Lung managed to block the first blow with his wings, but the second caught him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the hull of a cargo ship.

Leet winced sympathetically. "Ouch! That's got to hurt, even for someone with Lung's regeneration. But wait, what's happening now?"

The camera zoomed in on Lung, half-buried in twisted metal. His body seemed to be changing, growing even larger. Scales became thicker, more armor-like. The flames surrounding him burned with an intensity that made the camera lens warp.

Uber's voice took on a note of awe. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we're about to see why Lung is considered one of the most dangerous capes in the world. He's not just healing - he's adapting!"

With a roar that shattered windows for blocks around, Lung erupted from the wreckage. He now stood eye-to-eye with the Junk Titan, his body a perfect melding of man and dragon.

Leet gulped audibly. "Uh, Uber? I'm starting to think we might be a little too close to this fight. Maybe we should-"

His words were cut off as Lung unleashed a torrent of flame hot enough to melt steel. The Junk Titan raised its arms in defense, Whirligig's power creating a swirling vortex that deflected some of the fire. But it wasn't enough. The outer layers of the mech began to glow red-hot, then white-hot.

"Incredible!" Uber shouted over the roar of the flames. "The Merchants are holding on, but for how long? That kind of heat has got to be murder on their internal systems!"

As if on cue, small explosions began to ripple across the Titan's surface. Panels blew off, revealing the complex inner workings - and the desperate Merchants within.

Leet zoomed in on Squealer, visible through a gap in the chest plate. She was frantically working at a control panel, sweat pouring down her face. "Looks like Squealer's giving it everything she's got, but is it too little, too late?"

The flames finally died down, revealing the Junk Titan in a sorry state. Much of its outer armor had been slagged or blown away, leaving a skeletal frame that creaked ominously. But somehow, impossibly, it was still standing.

Skidmark's voice rang out once more, strained but defiant. "Is that all you got, you flame-farting fuck-nugget? We're just getting started!"

A panel on the Titan's shoulder suddenly slid open, revealing a sleek, metallic tube.

Uber leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Wait a second, what's this? The Merchants still have a trick up their sleeve?"

The tube began to extend, telescoping outward until it formed a long, cylindrical barrel. As it locked into place, the interior began to glow with an eerie blue light.

Leet's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh man, Uber! You see that glow? That's Skidmark's power! They've weaponized it somehow!"

Inside the Titan's command center, Skidmark's voice rang out, strained but triumphant. "Eat this, you overgrown iguana! Fire in the hole!"

Lung, oblivious to the new threat, unleashed another torrent of flame. The fire engulfed the Titan, melting away what little remained of its outer shell. Through the inferno, Squealer could be seen crying out in pain as the heat reached her.

Uber winced. "Ooh, that's not good! Squealer's taken a direct hit! But wait..."

Despite the damage, despite Squealer's injury, the blue glow in the barrel intensified. It pulsed once, twice, and then...

CRACK!

The sound was like nothing anyone had ever heard before. It was as if the very air had been torn apart. A brilliant blue streak shot forth from the barrel, moving so fast it was barely visible to the naked eye.

Leet's jaw dropped. "Holy... Did you see that? It went right through Lung's flames like they weren't even there!"

Indeed, the projectile had punched straight through Lung's attack, continuing on its path unimpeded. Before Lung could even register what had happened, it struck him square in the chest.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Lung's eyes widened in shock, his flames sputtering out. Then, with a sound like tearing metal, the projectile burst out of his back and continued on its trajectory.

Uber's voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I can't believe what I'm seeing. Lung's been hit. He's actually been hit!"

The camera panned out, following the path of the projectile as it streaked out over the bay, eventually disappearing into the horizon.

Leet gulped audibly. "Uh, Uber? I just realized something. We're really, really lucky Lung had his back to the ocean when that thing hit him."

Uber nodded, his face pale. "You're right. If that shot had gone through the city... I don't even want to think about the damage it could have caused."

Back on the battlefield, Lung swayed on his feet. The hole in his chest was massive, easily large enough for a person to walk through… down his entire length. For the first time since the fight began, the mighty dragon looked... vulnerable.

With a crash that shook the ground, Lung collapsed. His massive form hit the ground, sending up a cloud of dust and debris.

"I can't believe it!" Uber shouted, finding his voice again. "Lung is down! The Merchants actually did it!"

Leet zoomed in on Lung's prone form. "Wait a second, look closely. He's still moving! That regeneration of his is already kicking in!"

Indeed, the edges of Lung's wound were already beginning to close. But without the Titan to pose an ongoing threat, his transformation was starting to reverse. Slowly but surely, Lung began to shrink.

"You're right," Uber confirmed. "But look how slow it is compared to before. Without a big threat to fight, Lung's power is tapering off. He's alive, but he's out of the fight."

Inside what remained of the Junk Titan, the Merchants were in a frenzy. Mush's voice could be heard shouting orders.

"Grab Squealer and let's go! We ain't sticking around for the cops to show up!"

The camera caught glimpses of the various Merchant capes scrambling to escape. Trainwreck and the new cape, Burnout, carefully extracted Squealer from her damaged control center. She looked badly burned but was still conscious, cursing up a storm as they moved her.

Skidmark was the last to leave, pausing at the edge of the wreckage to flip off Lung's prone form. "Suck on that, you scaly bastard! Merchants for life!"

With that, the villains disappeared into the maze of derelict ships, leaving behind the smoldering remains of their greatest creation.

Uber and Leet sat in stunned silence for a moment, trying to process what they had just witnessed. Then, almost in unison, they let out a whoop of excitement.

"Did you see that?" Leet practically screamed. "That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen!"

Uber nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely insane! A rail gun powered by Skidmark's fields? Who would have thought the Merchants had that kind of tech up their sleeves?"

Leet was practically bouncing in his seat. "And the way it just went through Lung like that? I mean, yeah, it's terrible and he's probably really hurt, but holy crap!"

Uber glanced at another monitor and his eyes widened. "Uh oh, looks like the cavalry's arriving. PRT choppers incoming!"

The camera panned up, showing several helicopters approaching the scene. Spotlights swept across the battlefield, illuminating the destruction left in the wake of the titanic clash.

Leet cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. "Well folks, it looks like this incredible match is coming to an close. Let's recap what we've seen tonight!"

Uber nodded, slipping back into his announcer persona. "That's right, partner. We've witnessed a truly historic battle here in Brockton Bay. Lung, the dragon of Kyushu, taken down by the most unlikely of opponents - the Merchants!"

"Using a combination of Squealer's vehicles, Mush's... well, mush, and what appears to be some sort of Skidmark-powered rail gun, they managed to do what many thought impossible," Leet added.

Uber continued, "But let's not forget the cost. The Boat Graveyard has been reshaped by this battle. Several ships that have been eyesores for years are now little more than twisted metal."

"And of course, there's the question of what happens next," Leet mused. "With Lung down, even temporarily, how will this affect the balance of power in Brockton Bay?"

Uber nodded solemnly. "Only time will tell. But one thing's for sure - this night will go down in Brockton Bay history."

The two looked at each other, then back at the camera. In unison, they delivered their signature sign-off:

"This has been Uber and Leet, bringing you the unexpected and unbelievable! Until next time, keep on gaming!"

With that, the broadcast cut out, leaving viewers across the city (and beyond) to grapple with the implications of what they had just witnessed.

***

In the shadowy warehouse, Theo found himself encircled by Empire troops readying themselves for their upcoming assault. Anticipation and nervousness hung heavy in the atmosphere. All of a sudden, a cry rang out from one of the soldiers, drawing the attention of all present to a petite TV set in the far corner. The screen displayed the climactic moments of Uber and Leet's live feed featuring the confrontation between Lung and the Merchants.

As the repercussions of what they had just observed began to register, Theo's thoughts whirled. This altered everything. He rapidly started issuing fresh commands, his words slicing through the astonished whispers of the soldiers surrounding him.

"We're altering our strategy," Theo proclaimed, his voice reverberating through the building. "Our primary objective now is providing aid. Lung has just ravaged his own domain. We must be present to assist those he is obligated to defend."

The troops gazed at him, perplexed, some whispering to each other. Theo spoke louder, causing them to fall silent.

"This presents an opportunity for us to demonstrate to Brockton Bay what the Empire truly represents. Othala, your presence is needed immediately. Your abilities to heal will be essential."

Othala inclined her head in agreement, already beginning to assemble her equipment. Theo proceeded to dispense orders, instructing teams to amass medical provisions, sustenance, and other vital supplies. The warehouse hummed with commotion as the Empire soldiers hurried to adapt to the revised plan.

Krieg, who had been observing from the periphery, advanced forward. His tone was hushed but carried an undercurrent of exasperation. "We ought to be deploying our troops to strike the ABB forcefully at this moment. Without Lung, they are exposed. This is our chance to attack!"

Theo pivoted to confront him, his gaze sharpening. "Only a fool would believe that to be the wise course of action."

A stillness descended upon the warehouse. Even the most battle-hardened Empire soldiers held their collective breath, astounded by Theo's audacity in defying Krieg. Behind his mask, the elder cape's eyes flashed threateningly, but he restrained his tongue, keenly cognizant that Theo was Kaiser's heir.

Theo refused to yield. Instead, he drew nearer to Krieg, his voice quiet yet fervent. "Consider it carefully. Lung has just gone on a rampage through his own territory. The Merchants have proven themselves to be a significant menace. We've been diligently working to shift the Empire's public image for months now. This is our chance to cement it."

He turned to address the entire room, his voice swelling. "We won't need to seize the area by force. If we handle this correctly, we'll be welcomed in."

Krieg scoffed dismissively. "You're too soft, boy. The Empire doesn't operate like this."

Theo rounded on him, his eyes smoldering. "And that is precisely why the Empire has never achieved its true potential. Our past methods have constrained how far we can progress. In the eyes of the city, we have no credibility."

He took another step towards Krieg, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "Your thinking is too limited, Krieg. You're mired in the past. The world is evolving, and if we fail to evolve with it, we'll be left in the dust."

Krieg recoiled as if struck. "How dare you-"

But Theo had already turned away, addressing the soldiers once more. His voice rang out, lucid and authoritative. "The Empire is mightier than ever before. For years, we've lurked in the shadows, safeguarding this city from those who would plunge it into disorder and depravity."

He paused, allowing his words to resonate. The soldiers were riveted by his every word now, their initial bewilderment replaced by rapt attention.

"Without our presence, Brockton Bay would have long ago descended into chaos. We've been the unseen guardians, the despised yet respected ones who carry out the unsavory tasks so the decent citizens of Brockton don't have to."

Theo's voice swelled, brimming with fervor and conviction. "But that era has passed. We can no longer be satisfied with operating from the shadows. The time has come for us to emerge into the light. We must become the beacon that illuminates the path to a brighter tomorrow for all of Brockton Bay!"

The warehouse erupted in cheers. Empire soldiers thrust their fists skyward, swept up in Theo's vision. Even some of the capes present nodded approvingly.

Krieg stood apart, his posture shifting from confrontational to wary. He could see that Theo had captured the men's attention and respect. Reluctantly, he fell into line, though he couldn't resist muttering under his breath, "You are indeed your father's son."

Theo feigned deafness, instead concentrating on coordinating the relief efforts. "I want teams prepared to deploy in fifteen minutes. Remember, we're not going in as conquerors. We're going as helpers, as protectors. Demonstrate to the people of the Docks that the Empire stands with them when their own leaders fail them."

As the soldiers scrambled to comply, Theo pulled aside a few of the more level-headed members. "I need you to keep watch for any ABB members trying to maintain control. Don't engage unless absolutely necessary to protect civilians. If possible, try to talk them down. Remind them that their boss just destroyed their homes and businesses. Ask them if that's really who they want to follow."

One of the men, a grizzled veteran of the Empire, spoke up. "What if they refuse to listen? What if they attack?"

Theo's expression hardened. "Then you defend yourselves and the civilians. But remember, every punch thrown, every shot fired, undermines what we're trying to accomplish. We need to be better than them. We need to show that we're the civilized ones."

The man nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. Theo continued, "If you can, try to get it on camera. Show the world the difference between us and them. Let Brockton Bay see who the real monsters are."

As the teams began to move out, Theo sensed a presence at his side. It was Victor, regarding him with a mixture of respect and curiosity. "That was quite the speech," the skill thief said. "You've got them fired up."

Theo nodded, his expression serious. "It's not enough to just be strong anymore. We need to be smart. We need to give people a reason to support us beyond fear."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "Your father's approach has worked for years."

"And look where it's gotten us," Theo countered. "Still fighting for scraps of territory, still seen as nothing more than thugs and criminals by most of the city. We can be more than that. We have to be more than that if we want to truly change things."

Victor was silent for a moment, pondering Theo's words. Finally, he nodded. "I'll admit, I'm intrigued to see how this unfolds. You certainly have vision, kid."

As they walked towards the exit, Theo added, "Make sure our media team is ready. We need to control the narrative on this. I want images of Empire capes healing the injured, of our soldiers distributing food and water. Show Brockton Bay that we're the ones who step up when disaster strikes."

Victor grinned. "Now that, I can definitely handle. We'll have the whole city talking about the Empire's heroic response by morning."

As they stepped out into the night, Theo inhaled deeply. This was it. The first major test of his and Taylor's plan. If they could pull this off, it would be a significant step towards reshaping the Empire from within. He just hoped they were prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.

The streets were in turmoil as the Empire teams arrived at the periphery of ABB territory. Smoke billowed from several structures, and the sounds of frenzied shouting filled the air. Theo, now in his costume as Golem, stepped forward to survey the scene.

"Othala," he called out, "begin with the most gravely wounded. Rune, use your power to clear debris and create safe passages. Stormtiger, see if you can help control any fires."

As the capes moved to follow his orders, Theo turned to the unpowered members. "Disperse in teams of four. Search for anyone trapped or in need of immediate assistance. Remember, we're here to aid everyone, regardless of race or affiliation."

He could see the hesitation in some of their eyes at that last part, but to their credit, they moved to obey without protest. Theo made a mental note to commend them later for following orders, even when those orders went against their ingrained prejudices.

As he moved through the streets, Theo couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. On one hand, he was proud of how swiftly and efficiently the Empire forces were responding. On the other, the destruction around him was a stark reminder of the cost of cape violence.

He came across a group of ABB members, looking lost and angry. For a moment, Theo tensed, ready for a fight. But then he remembered his own words from earlier. Taking a deep breath, he approached them, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this from me," he began, "but we're here to help. Your people are hurt. Your homes are damaged. Let us do what we can."

The ABB members looked at each other, uncertainty clear on their faces. Finally, one of them, a young man barely older than Theo himself, spoke up. "Why should we trust you? You're Empire."

Theo nodded, acknowledging the point. "You're right. We've been enemies for a long time. But right now, that doesn't matter. What matters is that people are suffering, and we have the means to help. Isn't that more important than our differences?"

There was a tense moment of silence. Then, slowly, the ABB members began to lower their guard. The young man who had spoken nodded grudgingly. "Fine. But we'll be watching you."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Theo replied. He turned to one of the Empire soldiers nearby. "Get these men some supplies. They know the area better than we do. They can help us reach people who might not trust us on our own."

As the impromptu alliance began to take shape, Theo couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. This was exactly the kind of change he and Taylor had been working towards. Small steps, building trust and understanding bit by bit.

Of course, he knew it wouldn't all be this easy. There would be resistance, both from within the Empire and from those they were trying to help. But for now, in this moment, Theo allowed himself to believe that real change was possible.

As the day wore on, Theo found himself constantly on the move, coordinating efforts and mediating conflicts. He made sure to be visible, to let the residents of the area see that the Empire was there, helping without discrimination.

At one point, he came across Krieg directing a group of soldiers. The older cape gave him a nod of grudging respect. "I still think this is a risky move," Krieg said quietly. "But I can't deny it's having an effect. I've never seen the locals look at us with anything but fear or hatred before."

Theo allowed himself a small smile. "That's the point. We can't force people to accept us. We have to show them why they should want us around."

Krieg shook his head. "It's a fine line you're walking, boy. I hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I," Theo murmured as Krieg walked away. He knew this was just the beginning. The real challenge would come in the days and weeks to follow, as they tried to build on this goodwill without losing sight of their ultimate goal.

But for now, as he watched Empire capes and soldiers working alongside ABB members and civilians of all races, Theo felt a sense of accomplishment. It wasn't perfect, and it certainly wasn't permanent, but it was a start. A glimpse of what could be, if they could just keep pushing in the right direction.

Chapter Text

Coil sat in his dimly lit office, phone in hand. The events of the past few hours had thrown Brockton Bay into chaos, and he needed to get a clear picture of the situation. He dialed a number, waiting as it rang once, twice, before a familiar voice answered.

"Boss," Tattletale's voice came through, a mix of exhaustion and excitement evident in her tone.

"Tattletale," Coil replied, his voice calm and measured. "I need your analysis on the current situation. Start with the Merchants and Lung."

There was a brief pause, the sound of shuffling papers in the background. "Right," Tattletale began. "The Merchants have indeed managed to beat Lung. It's... unprecedented, to say the least. The PRT is trying to downplay it, though. They're focusing on the fact that Lung is now in Protectorate custody, rather than highlighting the Merchants' role in his capture."

Coil leaned back in his chair, processing this information. "Interesting. And how successful are they in this endeavor?"

"Not very," Tattletale replied with a hint of amusement. "The Merchants are going to be on everyone's mind now, regardless of what the PRT says. This is too big to sweep under the rug. The video Uber and Leet broadcast has gone viral. Everyone's talking about the 'Merchant Megazord' that took down Lung."

"I see," Coil mused. "And what of the Merchants themselves? Casualties? Injuries?"

There was another pause, longer this time. "Squealer's injuries are serious," Tattletale finally said. "From what I've gathered, she took the brunt of Lung's final attack before he went down. Trainwreck is probably capable of keeping their vehicles running, and he might be able to use some of Squealer's creations, but he's a much more limited tinker. He won't be able to replicate or improve upon her work, at least not to any significant degree."

Coil drummed his fingers on his desk. "What do you think Mush's next move will be regarding Squealer?"

"He'll be trying to get parahuman healing for her, that's almost certain," Tattletale replied confidently. "Given the severity of her injuries and the Merchants' newfound notoriety, he's likely to look for out-of-town talent. They can't risk using Panacea, even if she were willing."

"Any guesses as to who they might approach?"

Tattletale was quiet for a moment, and Coil could almost hear the gears turning in her head. "If I had to guess... Scapegoat," she finally said. "He's a Ward, but he's known to sell his services on the side. His power would be perfect for dealing with Squealer's injuries."

"Interesting choice," Coil remarked. "How long do you think it will take them to arrange this?"

"It'll take some time," Tattletale admitted. "Scapegoat is still a Ward, after all. They'll need to be discreet, and that takes time. But even with the delays, I'd guess they'll have Squealer back up and running in no more than a month. End of February at the latest."

Coil nodded, though Tattletale couldn't see it. "Good. Now, I want your analysis on how the ABB will react to this situation."

"That's... complicated," Tattletale said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "The Empire is being extremely soft in their encroachment of ABB territory. It's not their usual MO, and it's throwing the ABB off balance. They're not sure how to respond to an Empire that's offering aid instead of violence."

"Go on," Coil prompted.

"Right now, the ABB is focused on attacking the Merchants," Tattletale continued. "They're out for revenge, but they're disorganized without Lung. And speaking of organization, Oni Lee hasn't been spotted since the battle with the Merchants. I don't have enough information to say what his status is - whether he's injured, laying low, or planning something big."

Coil leaned forward, intrigued. "Speculate."

Tattletale sighed. "If I had to guess, I'd say he's probably injured. The Merchants' attack was messy and wide-ranging. Even with his teleportation, Oni Lee could have easily been caught in the crossfire. But without more data, I can't say for certain."

"I see," Coil said. "And how do you think this will affect the ABB's operations in the short term?"

"They're going to be scrambling," Tattletale replied. "Without Lung, they lose a lot of their intimidation factor. They might try to double down on their existing operations to show strength, but that's risky without Lung to back them up. More likely, they'll try to consolidate what they have and focus on defending their territory."

Coil nodded, processing the information. "And the long term?"

"That depends on a lot of factors," Tattletale said. "If Lung stays in custody for an extended period, the ABB might fracture. Oni Lee isn't really leadership material. But if Lung gets out quickly, which is entirely possible given his power set, they might come back stronger and more aggressive than ever."

"Interesting," Coil mused. "Now, let's discuss the Empire's unusual approach. What do you make of it?"

Tattletale paused, clearly choosing her words carefully. "It's... unexpected," she finally said. "The Empire has always been about shows of force and racial superiority. This softer approach, offering aid to everyone regardless of race, it's not like them at all."

"Any theories on what's behind this change?" Coil pressed.

"A few," Tattletale admitted. "The most likely is that they're trying to improve their public image. With the Merchants suddenly becoming a major player and the ABB in disarray, the Empire might see this as an opportunity to rebrand themselves as protectors of the city rather than just another gang."

"Plausible," Coil agreed. "But why now? What's changed?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "I'm not sure," Tattletale finally said, sounding frustrated. "There's something I'm missing, some piece of the puzzle I can't quite see. It could be a new cape influencing their decisions, or maybe Kaiser has some long-term plan we're not aware of. Without more information, I can't say for certain."

Coil leaned back in his chair, contemplating this. "I see. Keep digging. This change in the Empire's behavior could have significant implications for the balance of power in the city."

"Understood, boss," Tattletale replied. "Anything else you need?"

"Yes," Coil said. "I want your thoughts on how the Protectorate and PRT will respond to all of this. With Lung in custody and the Merchants suddenly a major threat, how do you think they'll adjust their strategies?"

Tattletale took a moment to consider. "They're going to be in a tough spot," she began. "On one hand, they've got a major win with Lung's capture. That's going to look good for them. But on the other hand, they can't take credit for it without acknowledging the Merchants' role, which they seem reluctant to do."

"Go on," Coil prompted.

"I think we'll see increased patrols, especially in areas that were previously ABB territory," Tattletale continued. "They'll want to establish a presence there before either the Merchants or the Empire can fully move in."

Coil nodded, though Tattletale couldn't see it. "And how do you think they'll handle the Merchants? Will they prioritize them over the Empire now?"

"That's a tricky one," Tattletale admitted. "The Merchants have suddenly become a much bigger threat, but the Empire is still the largest and most organized gang in the city. I think the PRT will try to balance their efforts between the two, but they might lean slightly towards targeting the Merchants in the short term, if only to try and nip their newfound power in the bud."

"And what of Dauntless's temporary leadership?" Coil asked. "How do you think that will factor into their response?"

Tattletale paused, clearly thinking it over. "Dauntless is competent, but he's also more by-the-book than Armsmaster. He might be hesitant to make any big, risky moves without clear approval from higher up. That could slow down their response time, especially if they need to deal with something unexpected."

"I see," Coil said. "One last question. How do you think New Wave will react to all of this?"

"New Wave is going to be in an interesting position," Tattletale replied. "They're not officially part of the Protectorate, but they often work alongside them. With the power vacuum left by Lung's capture and the Merchants' rise to prominence, New Wave might see this as an opportunity to take a more active role in the city's cape scene."

"Elaborate," Coil prompted.

"Well, they've always positioned themselves as heroes, but they've also been somewhat reactive, mostly responding to crimes in progress rather than actively patrolling or trying to take down gangs," Tattletale explained. "But with the current chaos, they might decide to take a more proactive approach. We could see them increasing their patrols, maybe even trying to claim some of the former ABB territory for themselves."

"Interesting," Coil mused. "And how do you think this might affect their relationship with the Protectorate?"

"It could go either way," Tattletale admitted. "If they coordinate well, it could strengthen their alliance. But if New Wave starts acting too independently, it could create tension. A lot will depend on how Miss Militia handles the situation."

Coil nodded, satisfied with the information he'd received. "Thank you, Tattletale. Your insights have been most helpful. Keep monitoring the situation and report any significant developments immediately."

"Will do, boss," Tattletale replied. "Anything else?"

"No, that will be all for now," Coil said, ending the call.

As he set down the phone, Coil leaned back in his chair, mind racing with the possibilities this new situation presented. The capture of Lung, the rise of the Merchants, the Empire's unexpected change in tactics - all of these were pieces on the chessboard, waiting to be moved. And as always, Thomas Calvert intended to be the one moving them.

***

The cafeteria at Winslow High School buzzed with excitement, a stark contrast to its usual laid-back atmosphere. Students huddled around tables, their voices animated as they recounted the events of the previous night. The epic battle between Lung and the Merchants had captured everyone's attention, overshadowing even the typical high school drama.

Taylor made her way through the lunch line, piling her tray with an assortment of foods. She couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversations as she moved.

"Did you see that giant robot thing?" a freshman boy exclaimed, his eyes wide with awe. "It was like something out of a movie!"

His friend nodded enthusiastically. "I know, right? And Lung was huge! I didn't know he could get that big."

Taylor suppressed a smile as she headed towards her usual table. Emma was already there, holding court among their circle of friends. Madison sat to Emma's right, while Sophia slouched in her chair, looking bored with the whole affair.

"Hey, Taylor," Emma greeted as Taylor took her seat. "We were just talking about the fight. Can you believe it?"

Taylor shook her head. "It's pretty wild. I never thought the Merchants had it in them."

"I know!" Emma leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you think this means they're going to be, like, a major player now?"

Before Taylor could respond, Madison chimed in. "You know what's weird, though? Nobody here seems that worried about it. Even the ABB kids are just going about their day like normal."

The group glanced around the cafeteria. Sure enough, the students who were known to have ABB connections weren't huddled together or looking particularly concerned. They were laughing and chatting just like everyone else.

Sophia frowned. "That is strange. You'd think they'd be more worried about what's going to happen to their territory."

An awkward silence fell over the table. Taylor and Emma exchanged a quick look, both aware of the real reason for the lack of concern. Their efforts to shape the school's atmosphere were paying off, perhaps a little too well.

Emma, ever the master of social navigation, smoothly changed the subject. "So, speaking of exciting events, who's pumped for the Medhall Valentine's Day dance?"

A chorus of groans erupted from the table.

"Come on, Emma," Julia complained. "Stop rubbing it in our faces. We get it, you and Taylor are going to some fancy corporate party."

Emma had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Sorry, I'm just excited. It's going to be amazing."

Taylor, sensing the need to diffuse the situation, jumped in. "The Medhall dance is still two weeks away, guys. And don't forget, Winslow is having its own dance too. That should be fun, right?"

The mood at the table lightened considerably at the mention of the school dance.

"Oh yeah," Madison said, perking up. "I can't wait. Greg asked me last week, and he was so adorably nervous about it."

The other girls began chiming in with their own stories about their dates and plans for the dance. Taylor listened with half an ear, her mind drifting to thoughts of Theo and the Medhall dance. She was looking forward to it, but part of her wished she could just attend the school dance like a normal teenager.

As the conversation continued, Taylor noticed Sophia sitting silently, picking at her food. Without thinking, she said, "I'm sorry you don't have anyone to go with, Sophia. Maybe we could set you up with someone?"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and Taylor immediately regretted it. She hadn't meant to draw attention to Sophia's lack of a date, especially given the complicated history between them.

To everyone's surprise, Sophia's head snapped up, a hint of a smirk on her face. "Actually, I do have a date."

Emma and Taylor exchanged shocked glances. This was news to both of them.

"What? Who?" Emma demanded, leaning across the table. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Sophia shrugged, suddenly looking a bit defensive. "It's not a big deal. Just someone I met outside of school."

Taylor felt a twinge of annoyance. This wasn't part of the plan. Sophia was supposed to be focused on her duties, not dating some random guy. She tried to keep her voice neutral as she asked, "Oh? Where did you meet him?"

"At the gym," Sophia replied, her tone guarded. "I've been going there to work out. With as much as you guys have been feeding me, I had to take some extra steps to work off the weight."

Emma's eyes lit up with interest. "Ooh, a gym rat? Is he hot?"

Sophia rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. "He's alright, I guess."

Taylor fought to keep her expression neutral, but inside, she was seething. This wasn't supposed to happen. Sophia wasn't supposed to find happiness on her own. She was supposed to be dependent on them, grateful for their attention and care.

Emma, ever perceptive, seemed to sense Taylor's discomfort. She smoothly took control of the conversation, peppering Sophia with questions. "Come on, Soph, give us details! What's his name? How old is he? What does he look like?"

Sophia hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between her usual reticence and the desire to talk about her new romantic interest. Finally, she relented. "His name's Brian. He's a couple years older than us, I think. Tall, dark-skinned, really muscular."

"Ooh, sounds dreamy," Madison cooed, leaning in. "How did you two start talking?"

Sophia shrugged, but there was a softness in her expression that Taylor had never seen before. "He noticed I was using bad form on one of the machines and offered to show me how to do it right. We just kind of hit it off from there."

As Sophia continued to share details about Brian, Taylor found herself growing increasingly frustrated. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Sophia was meant to be isolated, dependent on them for social interaction. Having a boyfriend outside their circle could complicate everything.

"So, are you bringing him to the dance?" Julia asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Sophia shook her head. "Nah, he's a bit old for a high school dance. We'll probably just do something on our own."

Taylor saw an opportunity and seized it. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Sophia? I mean, you don't really know this guy. He could be dangerous."

Sophia's eyes narrowed. "I can take care of myself, Taylor. I'm not some helpless little girl."

Emma, sensing the rising tension, quickly intervened. "I'm sure Taylor's just concerned, Sophia. We all are. You're our friend, and we want to make sure you're safe."

Sophia seemed to relax slightly at Emma's words. "I appreciate that, but really, it's fine. Brian's a good guy."

Taylor forced herself to nod and smile, even as her mind raced with possibilities. This Brian could be a problem. She'd need to find a way to deal with him, to ensure he didn't interfere with their plans for Sophia.

***

Brad stalked through the halls of Medhall, his eyes scanning for any sign of Nessa. He'd been looking forward to surprising her with lunch, but she wasn't at her usual spot. As he rounded a corner, he caught sight of her emerging from Taylor's lab, a furtive expression on her face.

"Nessa?" he called out, startling her.

She whirled around, eyes wide. "Brad! I didn't expect to see you here."

He frowned, closing the distance between them. "I was looking for you. What were you doing in Taylor's lab?"

Nessa's gaze darted away for a moment before settling back on him. "Oh, nothing important. I just wanted to ask her about something."

Brad's eyes narrowed. Nessa was usually an open book, but right now, she seemed... evasive. "What kind of something?"

"It's really not a big deal," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Hey, are you hungry? Where do you want to go for lunch?"

The abrupt change of subject didn't go unnoticed, but Brad decided not to press the issue. For now. "How about that new burger place on the boardwalk?"

Nessa's smile seemed a touch too relieved. "Sounds perfect. Let me grab my purse, and we can go."

As they walked to the elevator, Brad couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Nessa chatted animatedly about her day, but there was an underlying tension in her voice that he'd never heard before.

What could Taylor possibly be helping Nessa with that she felt the need to hide from him?

***

A few days later, Brad found himself on patrol with Stormtiger. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of the nearby ocean as they moved through their designated route.

"Where's Cricket?" Brad asked, realizing he hadn't seen the woman in a few days.

Stormtiger shrugged. "No idea. Rune's filling in for her tonight."

As if on cue, Rune floated down on a piece of concrete, joining them on the rooftop. "Hey guys," she greeted, her voice muffled slightly by her mask.

Brad turned to her. "You seen Cricket lately?"

Rune shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. She asked me to cover for her tonight. Said she had something she needed to do."

"Any idea what?" Brad pressed.

Rune's eyes darted away. "Well... I did see her heading towards Taylor's lab earlier today."

Brad felt a chill run down his spine. First Nessa, now Melody? What the hell was going on in that lab?

"You okay, boss?" Stormtiger asked, noticing Brad's sudden tension.

"Fine," Brad grunted. "Let's keep moving."

As they continued their patrol, Rune's nervous energy became more apparent. She kept glancing around, as if expecting someone to jump out at them at any moment.

"Something on your mind, kid?" Brad finally asked.

Rune hesitated before blurting out, "Doesn't Miss Stepford creep you guys out?"

Stormtiger snorted. "What are you talking about? She's been a huge help to the Empire."

"Yeah, but..." Rune trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "Don't you think it's weird how much control she has over people? I mean, look at what happened to Tina."

Brad frowned. "Who's Tina?"

"Stormtiger's new girlfriend," Rune explained. "She used to be this hardcore feminist type, always ranting about the patriarchy and stuff. Now she's like this perfect little housewife, cooking and cleaning and agreeing with everything Stormtiger says."

Stormtiger bristled. "Hey, watch it. Tina's changed because she realized how stupid all that feminist crap was. Miss Stepford just helped her see the light."

Rune scoffed. "Yeah, right. More like she brainwashed her into being your perfect little house bimbo."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Stormtiger growled.

Brad held up a hand, silencing them both. "Enough. We're not here to gossip about people's relationships."

But as they continued their patrol, Brad couldn't shake the unease Rune's words had stirred up. He'd noticed changes in some of the Empire members lately, but he'd chalked it up to improved morale and discipline. Now, though...

"Let's call it an early night," Brad decided abruptly. "I've got something I need to check on."

Stormtiger and Rune exchanged glances but didn't argue. They made their way back to street level, Brad's mind racing with possibilities.

Brad made his way to the security room, his heart pounding in his chest. As he entered, the guard on duty looked up, surprised.

"Hookwolf? What are you doing here?"

"I need to see the security footage from Taylor's lab," Brad growled, leaving no room for argument.

The guard swallowed hard and stepped aside, granting Brad access to the monitors. With a few taps of the keyboard, he pulled up the feed from earlier that day.

The grainy image showed Taylor's lab, the door opening to reveal Nessa, Karen, Melody, and Taylor herself emerging. They paused, glancing around furtively before hurrying down the hallway.

Brad's brow furrowed as he watched them. Their behavior was suspicious, to say the least. What could they possibly be up to that required such secrecy?

He rewound the footage, studying their movements closely. There was a tension in their postures, a wariness that set his instincts on edge.

Were they planning something? Some kind of betrayal against the Empire?

The thought made Brad's blood boil. He'd trusted Taylor, brought her into their fold. If she was plotting against them...

No. He needed to stay calm, gather more information before jumping to conclusions.

Glancing at the guard, who was doing his best to appear invisible, Brad made a decision.

"I want copies of all the footage from Taylor's lab for the past week," he ordered gruffly. "And keep this to yourself. Understand?"

The guard nodded rapidly, already moving to comply.

As Brad left the security room, his mind raced with possibilities. What had Taylor been doing in that lab? And why was she involving Nessa, Karen, and Melody?

He needed answers. And if Taylor was up to something nefarious, he would make sure she paid the price for betraying the Empire's trust.

Brad's fists clenched at his sides as he strode through the halls of Medhall, his expression thunderous. No one dared get in his way.

***

Sophia grunted as her fist connected with the heavy bag, the impact reverberating up her arm. She followed it with a quick jab-cross combination, her movements sharp and aggressive. Brian watched from nearby, his brow furrowed in concern.

"You're really going at it today," he commented, steadying the bag as Sophia unleashed another flurry of punches. "Something on your mind?"

Sophia paused, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "It's nothing," she muttered, but her scowl said otherwise.

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like nothing. Come on, talk to me. What's going on?"

Sophia sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "It's just... my friends have been really annoying lately."

"Taylor and Emma?" Brian asked, recalling the names Sophia had mentioned before.

"Yeah," Sophia nodded. "They've been acting weird. Especially Taylor. It's like she's got a problem with me or something, but she won't come out and say it."

Brian frowned. "What do you mean? Has she said anything specific?"

Sophia shook her head. "No, that's the thing. She hasn't said anything outright. It's just... little things. The way she looks at me sometimes, or how she'll change the subject when I talk about..." She trailed off, suddenly self-conscious.

"About what?" Brian prompted gently.

Sophia felt her cheeks warm slightly. "About you," she admitted. "It's like she doesn't want to hear about it. And Emma's been weird too, always trying to change the subject when I bring it up."

"Huh," Brian mused. "That is strange. Have you tried talking to them about it?"

"Not really," Sophia shrugged. "I mean, what am I supposed to say? 'Hey, why do you guys act all weird when I talk about my boyfriend?' It's not like they're being outright hostile or anything. It's just... off."

"Maybe they're jealous?" Brian suggested.

Sophia snorted. "Of what? Taylor's got Theo, and Emma's got her modeling career. It's not like they're lacking for attention."

"Fair point," Brian conceded. He opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by a new voice.

"Sorry I'm late," a blonde girl said, approaching them with a friendly smile. "Traffic was a nightmare."

Brian turned to greet her. "Hey, Lisa. Glad you could make it." He glanced at Sophia, who was eyeing the newcomer with curiosity. "Sophia, this is Lisa. She's a coworker of mine. Lisa, this is Sophia."

"Nice to meet you," Lisa said, extending her hand.

Sophia shook it, her grip firm. "Likewise. What kind of work do you do?"

"Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that," Lisa said with a vague wave of her hand. "I'm something of an investigator, you could say."

Sophia's eyebrows rose. "An investigator? Like a private detective or something?"

Lisa chuckled. "Not quite that glamorous, I'm afraid. More like... information gathering and analysis. Boring stuff, really."

Brian cleared his throat. "Lisa's actually here to help out with something. I hope you don't mind, Sophia. I thought maybe she could offer a fresh perspective on the situation with your friends."

Sophia frowned, a hint of suspicion creeping into her voice. "What situation? I told you, it's not a big deal."

Lisa held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, no pressure. Brian just mentioned you were having some issues with your friends, and I offered to lend an ear. Sometimes it helps to talk things out with someone who's not directly involved, you know?"

Sophia hesitated, glancing between Brian and Lisa. After a moment, she sighed. "Fine. Whatever. What do you want to know?"

Lisa's smile widened. "Why don't you start by telling me a bit more about your friends? Taylor and Emma, right? How long have you known them?"

"Since the beginning of high school," Sophia said, leaning against the wall. "We weren't always close, though. Taylor and I... we had some issues at first."

"Oh?" Lisa prompted. "What kind of issues?"

Sophia's brow furrowed. "I... I don't really remember, to be honest. It's all kind of fuzzy. I just know we didn't get along at first, but then things changed."

"Changed how?" Lisa asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

"I don't know," Sophia said, frustration creeping into her voice. "It's like... one day we were at each other's throats, and the next we were friends. It doesn't make sense when I say it out loud."

Brian and Lisa exchanged a quick glance. "That does sound a bit odd," Brian said carefully. "Do you remember anything specific about when things changed?"

Sophia shook her head. "Not really. I just know it was sometime last year. Things at school started getting better all around, you know? Grades were up, there was less fighting. It was like everyone just... settled down."

Lisa nodded, her expression thoughtful. "And your relationship with Taylor and Emma? How would you describe it now?"

"It's good," Sophia said, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "I mean, we hang out a lot. Or we used to, before they got so busy. Taylor's always working on some project or other, and Emma's got her modeling stuff."

"What kind of projects does Taylor work on?" Lisa asked, her tone innocent.

Sophia opened her mouth to answer, then paused. "I... I'm not sure, actually. She doesn't really talk about it much. Just says it's for school."

Lisa hummed noncommittally. "And Emma's modeling career? That must be exciting for her."

"Yeah, she's doing really well," Sophia said, a hint of pride in her voice. "She's gotten a lot of big jobs lately. It's kind of crazy how fast she's moving up."

"That's impressive," Lisa said. "Has she always been into modeling?"

Sophia frowned. "Yes, actually. She only started getting into it big-time, last year. Before that, she was..." She trailed off, her expression confused. "I can't remember what she was into before. That's weird, right?"

Brian stepped in, his voice gentle. "It's okay, Sophia. Sometimes we forget details about our friends' lives. It doesn't mean anything's wrong."

Lisa shot him a look, but quickly smoothed her expression. "Brian's right. Let's focus on the present. You said Taylor and Emma have been acting strangely lately. Can you give me an example?"

Sophia sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's hard to explain. It's like... they're always watching what they say around me now. And Taylor keeps pushing food on me, even though I've told her I'm trying to watch my weight."

"She pushes food on you?" Lisa asked, her eyebrows rising. "That's an interesting way to put it. Does she do that with everyone, or just you?"

Sophia shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I've seen her do it with other people too. But it feels different with me. Like she's... I don't know, trying to fatten me up or something." She laughed, but it sounded forced. "That's stupid, right?"

Lisa's expression remained neutral. "Not necessarily. It's clearly bothering you. Have you talked to Taylor about it?"

"No," Sophia admitted. "I mean, how do you even bring that up? 'Hey, can you stop trying to make me fat?' It sounds ridiculous."

"But it's affecting you," Brian pointed out. "If it's bothering you this much, maybe you should say something."

Sophia shook her head. "It's not just that. It's... everything. The way they act around me, the things they don't say. It's like there's this big secret they're keeping, but I can't figure out what it is."

Lisa leaned forward, her eyes intent. "Sophia, I want you to think carefully. Has anything strange happened at your school recently? Anything that seemed off or out of place?"

Sophia's brow furrowed. "I... I don't think so. I mean, things have been going really well. Everyone's grades are up, there's less fighting. Even the teachers seem happier."

"And that doesn't strike you as odd?" Lisa pressed. "Such a dramatic change in such a short time?"

Sophia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She looked troubled. "I... I guess I never really thought about it. It just seemed like things were finally going right, you know?"

Brian shot Lisa a warning look. "Lisa, maybe we should-"

But Lisa pressed on. "Sophia, you mentioned earlier that you couldn't remember why you and Taylor didn't get along at first. Don't you find that strange? Not being able to remember something that significant?"

Sophia's frown deepened. "I... I don't know. Maybe I just blocked it out or something."

"Or maybe there's another explanation," Lisa suggested gently. "Have you ever heard of-"

"Lisa," Brian cut in sharply. "That's enough for now."

Lisa held up her hands in surrender. "You're right, I'm sorry. I got carried away."

Sophia looked between them, confusion and suspicion warring on her face. "What's going on? What aren't you telling me?"

Brian sighed, running a hand over his face. "It's nothing, Sophia. We're just... concerned, that's all. Some of the things you've said don't quite add up."

"What do you mean?" Sophia demanded. "What doesn't add up?"

Lisa stepped in, her voice soothing. "It's just that there seem to be some inconsistencies in your memories. And the changes at your school... they're pretty dramatic. We're just trying to understand what's going on."

Sophia's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying I'm lying? Or that I'm crazy or something?"

"No, not at all," Brian said quickly. "We believe you, Sophia. We're just trying to help you make sense of things."

Sophia took a step back, her posture defensive. "I don't need help making sense of things. My friends are just being weird. That's all."

Lisa nodded, her expression sympathetic. "You're right, we shouldn't push. I'm sorry if we made you uncomfortable, Sophia. That wasn't our intention."

Sophia glanced between them, still wary. "Yeah, well... maybe we should call it a day. I'm not really in the mood to work out anymore."

Brian looked like he wanted to argue, but Lisa put a hand on his arm. "Of course. We understand. Thanks for talking with us, Sophia. And again, I'm sorry if we overstepped."

Sophia nodded curtly, grabbing her gym bag. "Yeah, whatever. I'll see you around, Brian."

As she walked away, Brian turned to Lisa with a frustrated expression. "What the hell was that? I thought we agreed to take it slow."

Lisa sighed. "I know, I know. I got carried away. But Brian, you heard her. The memory gaps, the sudden changes in behavior and school performance... it all points to-"

"I know what it points to," Brian interrupted. "But we can't just dump all of that on her at once. We need to be careful about this."

Lisa nodded, her expression serious. "You're right. We'll take it slower next time. But Brian... we need to act soon. If what we suspect is true, Sophia and who knows how many others are in serious danger."

Brian ran a hand over his face, looking tired. "I know. Believe me, I know. We'll figure it out. For now, let's just... let's give her some space. We'll try again in a few days."

As they gathered their things to leave, neither of them noticed the figure watching from the shadows near the gym's entrance. Sophia stood there for a long moment, her mind racing with questions and doubts. Something wasn't right, she could feel it now. But what? And more importantly, what was she going to do about it?

With a frustrated sigh, Sophia turned and walked out into the night, her thoughts a confused jumble of suspicion and uncertainty. Whatever was going on, she was determined to get to the bottom of it. One way or another, she would find out the truth.

***

Brad paced the halls of Medhall, his mind churning with suspicion and unease. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his bones. The secretive meetings, the whispered conversations that stopped when he approached - it all pointed to trouble. And at the center of it all was that new tinker, Miss Stepford.

He needed answers, and he needed them now. With determined strides, Brad made his way to James Fliescher's office. If anyone knew what was really going on, it would be Krieg.

Brad rapped sharply on the door, not waiting for a response before barging in. James looked up from his desk, eyebrows raised at the intrusion.

"Brad? What's the matter?"

Hookwolf shut the door behind him, his voice low and urgent. "James, I need to know what's going on with Miss Stepford. Something's not right."

Krieg leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral. "What do you mean? Has something happened?"

Brad ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "That's just it - I don't know. But Nessa's been acting strange, sneaking off to Taylor's lab. And it's not just her. Cricket, Othala - they're all involved in something."

James's eyes narrowed slightly. This was the first he'd heard of any suspicious activity surrounding the tinker. But if Brad's concerns were valid, it could be the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

"I see," Krieg said slowly. "And you're certain this isn't just... women's business? Perhaps they're planning something for the upcoming dance?"

Brad shook his head vehemently. "No, it's more than that. They're hiding something, I'm sure of it. And it all leads back to Taylor."

Krieg steepled his fingers, his mind working quickly. If he played this right, he might finally convince Kaiser to send the girl to Gesellschaft. "It is concerning," he agreed. "A tinker with her abilities... the potential for abuse is significant."

"Exactly!" Brad exclaimed. "Who knows what kind of influence she could be exerting? We need to do something."

James nodded thoughtfully. "You may be right. Perhaps it would be wise to have her abilities evaluated by... outside experts. For everyone's safety, of course."

Brad's eyes narrowed. "You mean Gesellschaft."

Krieg spread his hands in a placating gesture. "They have resources we lack. If there is a genuine threat, they would be best equipped to handle it."

Hookwolf grunted, unconvinced. "Maybe. But first, I need to know what's really going on."

As Brad turned to leave, Krieg called out, "Be careful, Brad. If your suspicions are correct, we may be dealing with a very dangerous situation."

Hookwolf nodded grimly and strode out of the office, his resolve hardened. He would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

Hours later, Brad was still on edge, his paranoia growing with each passing minute. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Nessa.

"Brad!" she exclaimed, a bright smile lighting up her face. "I was just looking for you."

But Hookwolf's eyes narrowed, searching her expression for any sign of deception. "Were you now? And where have you been all day?"

Nessa's smile faltered slightly. "Oh, you know, just taking care of some things. Nothing important."

Before Brad could press further, Nessa's phone chimed. She glanced at it, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh! I'm sorry, Brad, but I need to go. We'll catch up later, okay?"

As she turned to leave, Brad's hand shot out, grasping her arm. "Let me guess - you're off to Taylor's lab again?"

Nessa froze, her eyes wide with shock. "What? I... no, I mean... how did you...?"

"Don't lie to me, Nessa," Brad growled. "What's going on? What are you all hiding?"

Nessa's expression cycled through shock, guilt, and then determination. "Brad, it's not what you think. Please, just trust me. Everything will be explained soon, I promise."

But Hookwolf was beyond listening. With a snarl, he released her arm and stormed off towards Taylor's lab, ignoring Nessa's pleas behind him.

As he approached the lab, he saw Cricket and Taylor standing outside, heads bent together in conversation. The sight only fueled his anger and suspicion.

"Taylor!" he bellowed, causing both women to jump. "What the hell have you been doing? What kind of scheme are you running?"

Taylor's face paled, her eyes wide with fear. "Mr. Meadows, I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't play dumb with me," Brad snarled, advancing on her. "I know you're up to something. Using your tech on the others, trying to subvert the Empire-"

"Brad, stop!" Nessa's voice rang out as she ran up, panting. "You don't understand!"

But Hookwolf was beyond reason. His skin rippled, metal blades beginning to emerge as he prepared to attack. Cricket moved to intercept him, her kamas appearing in her hands.

"Brad, don't do this," Cricket warned, her voice raspy but firm.

Just as Hookwolf was about to lash out, a wall of metal blades erupted from the floor and walls, blocking his path. Everyone froze as Kaiser's voice cut through the tension.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Brad?"

Hookwolf whirled to face his leader, frustration and confusion warring on his face. "Max, can't you see what's happening? She's manipulating everyone, using her tech to-"

"To what?" Max interrupted, his voice sharp. "To teach my son's girlfriend and the others how to cook?"

Brad blinked, his momentum faltering. "What?"

Max pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. "I know exactly what Taylor has been doing, Brad. Nessa told me weeks ago."

"But... the secrecy, the meetings..." Brad sputtered, looking between the gathered faces.

Nessa stepped forward, her expression a mix of anger and hurt. "You idiot," she hissed, grabbing his arm. "Come with me."

Before Brad could protest, Nessa dragged him into the lab. The others followed, tension still thick in the air. Nessa marched him over to a small stove in the corner of the lab, where a timer was just finishing its countdown.

With quick, angry movements, Nessa donned oven mitts and pulled out a chocolate cake. She thrust it at Brad, her eyes flashing. "Happy Valentine's Day, you paranoid jerk."

Brad stared at the cake, then back at Nessa, his mind struggling to process the situation. "But... you can't cook," he said weakly.

Nessa crossed her arms, a pout forming on her lips. "I've been getting lessons from Taylor."

The realization of his mistake began to dawn on Brad, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He turned to Cricket, who was holding a small box of what appeared to be homemade chocolates.

"These are for Mr. Glady," she explained, her raspy voice tinged with embarrassment. "Othala helped me make them."

Brad looked around the lab, taking in the cooking utensils, recipe books, and various baking ingredients scattered about. The pieces finally clicked into place, and he felt a wave of shame wash over him.

"I... I don't understand," he said, his voice uncharacteristically small. "Why all the secrecy?"

Nessa sighed, her anger deflating slightly. "Because I wanted it to be a surprise, you big oaf. I know I'm not the best cook, and I wanted to do something special for you."

Taylor stepped forward, her earlier fear replaced by determination. "Mr. Meadows, I assure you, I haven't used any of my tech on anyone here without express permission from both the individual and Kaiser himself. These lessons were just that - lessons."

Max nodded, his expression stern. "Brad, your loyalty to the Empire is commendable, but your paranoia nearly caused a disaster here. We'll discuss this further in private."

Hookwolf nodded, thoroughly chastened. He turned to Nessa, struggling to find the right words. "Nessa, I... I'm sorry. I should have trusted you."

Nessa's expression softened slightly. She picked up a fork and cut a small piece of the cake, holding it out to Brad. "Well? Are you going to try it or not?"

With a sheepish grin, Brad accepted the bite of cake. As the rich chocolate flavor hit his tongue, his eyes widened in surprise. "This is... actually really good."

A pleased smile spread across Nessa's face. "See? I told you I could learn."

As the tension in the room began to dissipate, Max cleared his throat. "Well, now that this misunderstanding has been cleared up, I believe we all have work to get back to. Brad, my office, now."

As the others began to disperse, Brad caught Taylor's eye. "Miss Stepford, I... I owe you an apology as well. I jumped to conclusions, and that was unfair of you."

Taylor nodded, accepting his words. "I understand, Mr. Meadows. I know my abilities can be... unsettling. But I promise you, I'm here to help the Empire, not undermine it."

Kaiser sat behind his imposing desk, his fingers steepled as he regarded the two men before him. Brad and James stood at attention, the tension in the room palpable. Max's face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes sharp as he assessed his subordinates.

"Gentlemen," Kaiser began, his voice deceptively calm, "I find myself deeply disappointed in both of you today. Brad, your paranoia nearly caused a disaster. And James... I know you fanned the flames of Brad's suspicions."

Hookwolf winced, accepting the rebuke with a nod. "I understand, sir. It won't happen again."

Krieg, however, wasn't ready to back down. "Max, you have to see that the girl is changing too much, too quickly. The Empire-"

"The Empire," Kaiser interrupted, his voice like steel, "is evolving. Tell me, James, is it truly Miss Stepford you're concerned about, or is it my son?"

Krieg faltered, realizing he needed to choose his next words carefully. But before he could formulate a response, Kaiser cut him off again.

"Miss Stepford has been nothing but an asset to our organization," Max continued, his tone brooking no argument. "With the Merchants on the rise, we need every advantage we can get. Which is why I've made a decision."

Both men tensed, waiting for Kaiser's proclamation.

"I'm rescinding the order forbidding our cape members from using Taylor's skill implementation technology," Kaiser announced. "From now on, they may use it if they wish."

Krieg's eyes widened in alarm. "Max, you can't be serious! You're handing the Empire to her on a silver platter!"

Kaiser's gaze hardened. "I'm still keeping Victor from using the machines, and Taylor remains under close observation. But things are changing, James. The old ways aren't enough anymore."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Theo has presented me with a plan. A plan that could fundamentally reshape the Empire and ensure our control of Brockton Bay for generations to come."

Hookwolf shifted uncomfortably, while Krieg's face paled slightly.

"You've seen the effectiveness of Theo's strategies against the ABB," Kaiser continued. "Even you, James, must acknowledge their success."

Krieg grudgingly nodded, unable to deny the truth of Kaiser's words.

"I haven't decided whether to adopt this plan yet," Max said, his eyes boring into Krieg's. "But regardless of my decision, I expect your full support. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Krieg replied, his voice tight with barely contained frustration.

Kaiser then turned his attention to Hookwolf. "As for you, Brad, I'm leaving your punishment up to Miss Stepford."

Brad's shoulders sagged in relief, but his reprieve was short-lived.

"I should warn you," Kaiser added, a hint of amusement in his voice, "Taylor has expressed her... disdain for your dog fighting rings."

Hookwolf's eyes widened in alarm. "But sir, those rings are a significant source of income for the Empire. We can't just-"

The words died in his throat as Kaiser fixed him with a withering glare. Brad swallowed hard, realizing he'd overstepped.

"You will accept whatever punishment Miss Stepford deems appropriate," Kaiser said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Consider yourself lucky that's all you're facing after today's fiasco."

With a wave of his hand, Kaiser dismissed them both. As they left the office, Hookwolf's expression was sullen, but the lingering taste of Nessa's cake on his lips reminded him that the day wasn't a total loss.

Once alone, Kaiser leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities. Theo's plan was ambitious, perhaps even reckless, but it held the potential to cement the Empire's power in a way he'd never thought possible. And at the center of it all was Taylor Herbert, the unassuming girl with the power to reshape minds.

Max allowed himself a small smile. Yes, things were changing, but change could be good. The Empire would adapt, evolve, and emerge stronger than ever.

Meanwhile, Krieg stormed down the hallway, his fists clenched at his sides. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. The Empire was meant to be a bastion of purity, not some... social experiment. And now Kaiser was considering handing over control to his son, a boy who clearly lacked the conviction needed to lead.

As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Rune. The young cape looked up at him, her eyes wide with concern.

"Uncle James? Is everything okay?"

Krieg forced himself to relax, offering his niece a tight smile. "Just some... disagreements with Kaiser. Nothing for you to worry about."

Rune frowned, not entirely convinced. "Is it about Miss Stepford? I've heard some of the others talking..."

"What have you heard?" Krieg asked sharply, his interest piqued.

Rune hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Just that she's been spending a lot of time with Theo, and that Kaiser seems to be relying on her more and more. Some people are worried she's... changing things."

Krieg nodded slowly, his mind working. "And what do you think about all this, Tammi?"

The girl shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know. It's weird, having a tinker around who can mess with people's heads. But... things have been going well lately. We're stronger than ever."

"Perhaps," Krieg muttered, more to himself than to Rune. "But at what cost?"

He placed a hand on Rune's shoulder, his expression serious. "Keep your eyes open, Tammi. And be careful around Miss Stepford. We don't know the full extent of her abilities yet."

As Rune nodded and walked away, Krieg's resolve hardened. He couldn't stand idly by while the Empire was twisted into something unrecognizable. He needed allies, people who understood the importance of maintaining their ideological purity.

With determined strides, he made his way to Victor and Othala. If anyone would see reason, it would be them.

Chapter Text

Armsmaster strode purposefully down the sterile hallways of the Rig, his armored boots echoing off the metal floors. Beside him walked Theressa, her shorter stature and civilian attire a stark contrast to his imposing presence. They made an odd pair - the renowned Tinker hero and his unassuming assistant.

As they approached the high-security wing housing Brockton Bay's most dangerous parahuman criminals, Armsmaster's mind raced through the potential outcomes of their impending conversation. Lung was notoriously stubborn, his draconic pride matched only by his immense power. Convincing him to cooperate would be no easy task.

"Remember the plan," Armsmaster murmured to Theressa, his voice low. "We need to present a united front. Any sign of weakness, and he'll exploit it."

Theressa nodded, her expression neutral. "Understood, sir. I'll follow your lead."

They reached the reinforced door leading to Lung's cell. Armsmaster punched in his access code, and the heavy locks disengaged with a series of metallic clicks. As the door swung open, they were hit by a wave of oppressive heat - a reminder of the dragon that slumbered within the man they were about to face.

Lung sat cross-legged on the floor of his cell, his massive frame barely contained by the reinforced walls. His eyes were closed, but Armsmaster knew better than to assume he was unaware of their presence. The gang leader's chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, each exhale sending a shimmer of heat through the air.

"Lung," Armsmaster said, his voice firm and authoritative. "We need to talk."

For a moment, there was no response. Then, slowly, Lung's eyes opened, fixing them with a gaze of molten intensity. He didn't speak, merely regarding them with barely concealed disdain.

Armsmaster stepped closer to the energy field separating them from the prisoner. "I have an offer for you. One that could keep you out of the Birdcage."

At the mention of the infamous parahuman prison, Lung's eyes narrowed slightly. Still, he remained silent, forcing Armsmaster to continue.

"The Protectorate is willing to commute your sentence in exchange for your cooperation in future Endbringer battles. Your power could save countless lives."

Lung's gaze shifted to Theressa, who stood slightly behind Armsmaster. She met his eyes unflinchingly, then glanced at the security camera in the corner of the room. The red recording light blinked once, then went dark.

Finally, Lung spoke, his voice a low rumble. "Go away. Do not waste my time with your games."

Armsmaster pressed on, undeterred. "This isn't a game, Lung. It's a legitimate offer. You've faced an Endbringer before. You know the devastation they cause. With your help, we could turn the tide."

Lung's lip curled in a sneer. "The Endbringers cannot be defeated. You offer me a fool's errand in exchange for my freedom."

"It's more than that," Armsmaster countered. "It's a chance to make a difference. To be remembered as more than just a gang leader."

Lung waved a dismissive hand. "I have no need for your approval or your false promises. Oni Lee will free me soon enough. Then, I will remind Brockton Bay why they fear the dragon."

Armsmaster allowed himself a small, grim smile. "That might be difficult. We have Oni Lee in custody as well."

For the first time, Lung's composure cracked. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, searching Armsmaster's face for any sign of deception. Finding none, he quickly schooled his features back into a mask of indifference.

"We will see," Lung said, his tone carefully neutral.

Armsmaster nodded, sensing an opening. "I've been given some time to convince you. I hope you'll consider the offer carefully. It's a chance for a new beginning, Lung. A way to use your power for something greater."

Lung closed his eyes again, clearly dismissing them. "Your words mean nothing. Leave me be."

Armsmaster turned to Theressa, giving her a subtle nod. She stepped forward, producing a small device from her pocket. "We thought you might appreciate some music to help you relax and consider our offer," she said, her voice gentle but firm.

With a few taps on the device, soft strains of music began to fill the cell. Lung's eyes snapped open, his brow furrowing as he listened. After a moment, his expression twisted into one of disgust.

"This... this is torture," Lung growled, glaring at Armsmaster. "Bob Dylan? You seek to break me with this caterwauling?"

Armsmaster kept his face impassive, though internally, he felt a flicker of amusement. "I hope you'll come around, Lung. We'll be back to check on you soon."

***

Cricket adjusted her scarf as she walked through the halls of Winslow High. The fabric concealed her scarred throat, a constant reminder of her past. She'd been letting her hair grow out a bit lately, following Othala's advice. The knee-length skirt she wore felt strange, so different from her usual attire, but she was trying to embrace a softer image.

As she rounded a corner, she caught sight of Taylor speaking with Madison, the shorter girl nodding intently.

"...and I want you to get me all the information you can on Sophia's boyfriend," Taylor was saying, her voice low but firm. "Anything you can find out."

Madison's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded again. "Of course, I'll see what I can dig up."

Melody shook her head as she passed by, wondering briefly what that was about before dismissing it. She had her own mission today.

The halls were decorated with paper hearts and cupids, a reminder of the upcoming Valentine's Day. Cricket felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach, an unfamiliar sensation for the hardened cape. She'd faced down heroes and villains alike without flinching, but the thought of what she was about to do made her palms sweat.

As she approached Mr. Gladly's classroom, she saw a young female teacher exiting. The woman's eyes narrowed as they fell on Cricket, and Melody returned the glare with equal intensity. There was a moment of tense silence before the other teacher huffed and strode away.

Taking a deep breath, Cricket knocked on the partially open door.

"Come in!" Mr. Gladly's cheerful voice called out.

She stepped inside, finding him at his desk, surrounded by stacks of papers. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Melody! What a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting to see you today."

Cricket felt her cheeks warm slightly. "Hi, Gerald. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

He waved off her concern. "Not at all. I'm just grading some papers, but I could use a break. What brings you by?"

She reached into her bag, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. "I, um... I made these for you. For Valentine's Day."

Mr. Gladly's eyes widened as she placed the homemade chocolates on his desk. "You made these? For me?"

Cricket nodded, suddenly feeling shy. "Yeah. I've been taking some cooking lessons, and I wanted to thank you for... well, for being so kind to me."

He carefully unwrapped the package, a smile spreading across his face as he saw the chocolates inside. "Melody, these look amazing. Thank you so much. I'm touched that you thought of me."

She ducked her head, unused to such genuine appreciation. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like them."

There was a moment of comfortable silence as Mr. Gladly admired the gift. Cricket took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she wanted to say next.

"So, um... the Medhall Valentine's Ball is this weekend," she began, trying to keep her voice casual. "I was wondering if maybe... if you'd like to go? With me?"

Mr. Gladly's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and something that looked like regret. He perked up slightly at her invitation, but then his shoulders sagged.

"Oh, Melody. I would love to, truly. But I'm afraid I can't," he said, his tone apologetic. "I've already committed to chaperoning the Winslow Valentine's Dance this weekend."

Cricket felt a pang of disappointment, but she tried not to let it show. "Oh, right. Of course. I should have realized..."

Mr. Gladly leaned forward, his eyes earnest. "I'm really sorry. If I had known, I would have... well, it doesn't matter now. But I do appreciate the invitation."

Cricket nodded, forcing a small smile. "It's okay. I understand. Duty calls, right?"

He chuckled softly. "Something like that. Though I have to admit, a fancy Medhall ball sounds a lot more exciting than watching teenagers awkwardly slow dance."

An idea struck Cricket suddenly. "What if... what if I came to the Winslow dance instead?"

Mr. Gladly blinked in surprise. "You'd want to do that? But the Medhall ball must be so much more glamorous. Are you sure you'd want to give that up for a high school dance?"

Cricket shrugged, feeling a bit vulnerable as she admitted, "To be honest, I don't usually even go to the Medhall events. I just... I wanted a chance to dance with you."

Mr. Gladly's expression softened, clearly touched by her words. "Melody, I... I don't know what to say. That's incredibly sweet of you."

He seemed to consider for a moment, then stood up from his desk. With a slightly theatrical flourish, he extended his hand to her.

"Miss Melody," he said, his voice warm and formal, "would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Winslow High Valentine's Dance this weekend?"

Cricket felt a genuine smile spread across her face, her heart beating a little faster. "Mr. Gladly, I would be delighted to accept."

As their eyes met, Cricket felt a spark of something she hadn't experienced in a long time – a sense of hope, of possibility. For a moment, she wasn't an Empire cape or pit fighter. She was just a woman, looking forward to a dance with a man she cared about.

"Wonderful," Mr. Gladly said, his smile mirroring hers. "I'm really looking forward to it."

"Me too," Cricket replied softly.

As she left the classroom a few minutes later, Cricket felt a lightness in her steps. The halls of Winslow seemed a little brighter as she made her way out, already thinking about what she might wear to the dance. It was a far cry from her usual concerns, but she found she didn't mind the change.

Outside, the crisp February air nipped at her cheeks, but Cricket barely noticed. Her mind was already racing ahead to the weekend, imagining herself in a pretty dress, dancing with Mr. Gladly. It was a far cry from her usual fantasies of combat and victory, but she found she liked this new daydream just as much.

As she walked, Cricket's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a message from Othala:

"How did it go? Did you give him the chocolates?"

Cricket smiled, quickly typing out a reply:

"It went well. He loved the chocolates. We're going to the Winslow dance together this weekend."

Othala's response came almost immediately:

"That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you. We need to go shopping for a dress ASAP!"

Cricket chuckled softly. She never thought she'd be excited about shopping for a dress, but here she was. Life had a funny way of surprising you sometimes.

***

Taylor hunched over her workbench, focused intently on the task at hand. The lab was quiet save for the soft whirring of equipment and the occasional clink of metal. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn't hear the door open behind her.

"I knew it!" Tammi's voice rang out, sharp and accusatory. "You're up to something nefarious, aren't you?"

Taylor jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion. She turned to face the younger girl, raising an eyebrow at the hostile expression on Tammi's face.

"What are you talking about?" Taylor asked, genuinely confused.

Tammi stalked closer, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't play dumb. I know you're plotting some kind of scheme to brainwash the Empire. Admit it!"

Taylor blinked, then let out a small chuckle. She stepped aside, revealing a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies cooling on the counter behind her.

"Well, I know my cookies are good," Taylor quipped, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth, "but I didn't think they were that good."

Tammi faltered, her accusatory stance wavering as the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly thrown off balance.

"That... that doesn't prove anything!" Tammi finally sputtered, her cheeks flushing slightly. "You're still up to something, I know it. You can't fool me with your... your housewife act!"

Taylor rolled her eyes, then gestured to a nearby stool. "Why don't you sit down and try one? I promise they're not laced with mind control serum or anything."

Tammi hesitated, her gaze darting between Taylor and the cookies. "I'm not falling for your tricks," she muttered, but her resolve was clearly weakening.

"Come on," Taylor coaxed, reaching into a small fridge and pulling out a carton of milk. "I've even got milk to go with them. You can't have cookies without milk, right?"

Tammi's stomach growled traitorously. "Fine," she grumbled, stomping over to the stool and plopping down. "But don't think this means I trust you or anything. You're still a freak."

Taylor ignored the insult, sliding a plate of cookies in front of Tammi and pouring her a glass of milk. "If you're really that concerned, you should talk to Victor. He's the one assigned to keep an eye on me, after all."

Tammi grabbed a cookie, taking an aggressive bite. Her eyes widened slightly as the flavors hit her tongue, but she quickly schooled her expression back into a scowl. "Victor's probably already under your control," she mumbled around a mouthful of cookie. "You're just... weird. And I'm not going to let you turn me into some little housewife, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen."

Taylor couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Is that what you think I'm trying to do?"

"Isn't it?" Tammi shot back, reaching for another cookie despite herself. "That's what all you Martha Stewart wannabes are after. Trying to drag women back to the 1950s or whatever. It's pathetic."

"You do realize the Empire's ideology isn't exactly progressive when it comes to women's rights, right?" Taylor pointed out dryly.

Tammi's scowl deepened. "That's different. At least they respect strength. You're just... making everyone soft."

Taylor leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. "Using my pods is voluntary, you know. I don't make anyone use them."

"Oh yeah?" Tammi challenged, waving a half-eaten cookie accusingly. "What about Tina? Stormtiger's girlfriend? Everyone knows what happened to her."

Taylor furrowed her brow, trying to place the name. After a moment, realization dawned, and she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Tammi demanded, her cheeks flushing with anger.

Taylor shook her head, still chuckling. "Sorry, I just... I barely did anything with Tina. Do you remember what she was like before?"

Tammi shrugged, looking sullen. "I dunno. Some tough chick, I guess."

"She was trying so hard to be this super tough 'pit fighter' to get Henry's attention," Taylor explained, amusement still evident in her voice. "Despite being maybe 90 pounds soaking wet. It was kind of sad, really."

"So what?" Tammi muttered, reaching for another cookie. "You turned her into some simpering housewife instead?"

Taylor shook her head. "No, I just helped her figure out what Henry actually wanted. Want to know what it was?"

Tammi eyed her suspiciously, but curiosity got the better of her. "What?"

"Cooking!" Taylor said with a grin. "Turns out, Tina wasn't half bad at it already. I just gave her a little boost with a cooking role, and suddenly she had Stormtiger eating out of her hand. Literally."

Tammi's chewing slowed as she processed this information. "That's... it?"

Taylor nodded. "Everything else was just Tina dropping the tough girl act. Turns out, Henry likes his women a little softer. Who knew?"

Tammi swallowed, her brow furrowed in thought. "I... I'm still not sure I believe you," she said finally, but some of the hostility had faded from her voice.

"That's fine," Taylor said with a shrug. "You're welcome to keep an eye on me if you want. In fact, why don't you stop by on Wednesdays? That's when I usually do my baking."

Tammi hesitated, clearly torn between her suspicion and her newfound love for Taylor's cookies. "Maybe," she said grudgingly. "But don't think this means we're friends or anything. You're still... weird."

Taylor smiled, unfazed by the half-hearted insult. "Duly noted. See you next Wednesday, then?"

Tammi stood up, brushing cookie crumbs from her shirt. "We'll see," she muttered, but Taylor noticed her eyes darting to the remaining cookies on the plate.

As Tammi left the lab, Taylor allowed herself a small, victorious smirk. The girl had practically inhaled those cookies, barely even noticing how many she'd eaten. Tammi's appetite for the cookies had been quite impressive. Perhaps a few tweaks to the recipe could yield some interesting results. Taylor couldn't wait to see how her special cookies might affect the young cape. With any luck, she'd have Tammi well on her way to becoming the bay's biggest broodmother before the girl even realized what was happening.

But that was a project for another day. For now, Taylor had work to do. She pulled out her notebook and began jotting down ideas, humming softly to herself as she planned her next move.

She turned back to her workbench, already planning the next batch of "special" cookies. Wednesdays were going to be very interesting from now on.

***

Mush paced nervously in the dimly lit warehouse that served as the Merchants' current headquarters. The acrid smell of chemicals and unwashed bodies hung in the air, a constant reminder of their operation's nature. He tried to maintain a calm facade, but the weight of their precarious situation pressed down on him like a physical force.

Two more weeks. That's how long they had to wait before Scapegoat could take his "vacation" and come to heal Squealer. The thought of their tinker laid up in a makeshift infirmary, doped up on pain meds, made Mush's stomach churn. They had a nurse watching over her, but it was far from ideal. Without Squealer's genius, they were operating at a fraction of their usual capacity.

He glanced towards the corner where Skidmark held court, surrounded by a group of sycophantic gang members. The self-proclaimed "Dragonslayer" and "new king of the bay" was surprisingly sober, a fact that both impressed and irritated Mush. Skidmark's posturing grated on his nerves, but he had to admit that taking down Lung had given them a significant boost in reputation.

"Yo, Mush!" Skidmark's voice cut through his thoughts. "Why the long face, man? We're on top of the fuckin' world!"

Mush forced a grin. "Just thinking about our next move, boss. The PRT's been hitting us pretty hard."

Skidmark waved a dismissive hand. "Fuck 'em. They're just jealous 'cause we did what they couldn't. We took down the motherfuckin' dragon!"

The gathered Merchants cheered, but Mush couldn't shake his unease. He made his way to a quieter corner of the warehouse, where Whirlygig was going over some maps.

"How're we looking?" he asked in a low voice.

Whirlygig frowned. "Not great. We've lost three stash houses in the last week. The PRT's really pushing hard."

Mush nodded grimly. It was as he feared. The authorities were determined to show that they were still in control after the Merchants' takedown of the ABB. Without Squealer's vehicles to run interference, they were struggling to maintain their territory.

"What about the Empire?" he asked.

Whirlygig shrugged. "That's the weird thing. They're moving in, sure, but... it's like they're not really trying. I swear there's only half as many of them as there used to be."

Mush furrowed his brow. The Empire's relative quiet was almost more concerning than the PRT's aggression. Kaiser wasn't known for passing up opportunities like this. What was he planning?

"Keep an eye on them," he instructed. "If they're holding back, there's gotta be a reason."

Whirlygig nodded and returned to her maps. Mush made his way towards the makeshift infirmary where Squealer was being kept. As he approached, he could hear Trainwreck's voice drifting out from behind the curtain.

"...don't know how much longer I can keep them running," Trainwreck was saying. "The Bookmobile's systems are way more complex than anything I've worked with before."

Mush paused, listening intently. The Bookmobile and the Think Tank were their last pair of aces in the hole. With Squealer's combiner destroyed in the fight with Lung, those two vehicles represented their best chance at maintaining their newfound status.

He pushed aside the curtain, startling Trainwreck. The cyborg tinker looked up from where he sat beside Squealer's bed, a mess of wires and circuitry spread out on a nearby table.

"How's she doing?" Mush asked, nodding towards Squealer's unconscious form.

Trainwreck sighed. "Same as yesterday. The nurse says she's stable, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Mush placed a hand on Trainwreck's shoulder. "You're doing good work, man. Just keep those vehicles running as long as you can. We'll save 'em for when we really need 'em."

Trainwreck nodded, but the doubt was clear in his eyes. Mush couldn't blame him. They were all feeling the pressure.

As he left the infirmary, Mush nearly collided with Emily, their newest cape recruit. The girl who could spit napalm looked nervous, constantly glancing over her shoulder.

"Everything okay?" Mush asked, raising an eyebrow.

Emily jumped slightly. "Y-yeah, just... I heard some rumors. About the Empire."

Mush's interest piqued. "What kind of rumors?"

"I overheard some guys talking," Emily said in a hushed voice. "They said the Empire's been recruiting. Like, a lot. But they're keeping the new people out of sight."

Mush frowned. That could explain the apparent reduction in Empire forces they'd been seeing. But why keep new recruits hidden? What was Kaiser playing at?

"Thanks for the info," he told Emily. "Keep your ears open, okay? And let me know if you hear anything else."

She nodded and scurried off, leaving Mush to ponder this new development. He made his way back to the main area of the warehouse, where Skidmark was still holding court.

"...and then I says to Lung, I says, 'You ain't no dragon, you overgrown lizard!'" Skidmark was saying, to the delight of his audience. "And then BAM! We hit him with the big guns!"

Mush resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Skidmark's version of events grew more exaggerated with each retelling. Still, he had to admit that their leader's bravado was good for morale. The rank-and-file Merchants were riding high on their victory, even as the leadership grappled with the realities of their situation.

He caught Whirlygig's eye across the room and motioned for her to join him. As she made her way over, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. None of them had been getting much sleep lately.

"What's up?" she asked as she reached him.

"Got some new intel on the Empire," Mush said quietly. "Apparently they've been recruiting heavily, but keeping the new blood out of sight."

Whirlygig's brow furrowed. "That... doesn't sound good. You think they're planning something big?"

Mush nodded grimly. "Could be. We need to be ready for anything. How are our supplies holding up?"

"We're okay for now," Whirlygig replied. "But if the PRT keeps hitting our stash houses, we're gonna start feeling the pinch soon. And without Squealer's vehicles, resupply is getting trickier."

Mush rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. They were walking a tightrope, and one wrong move could send them plummeting. The victory over Lung had catapulted them to new heights, but it had also painted a massive target on their backs.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do," he said after a moment's thought. "We need to consolidate our holdings. Pull back from the outer territories and focus on defending our core. If the Empire's building up forces, we can't afford to be spread thin."

Whirlygig nodded. "What about the PRT?"

"We'll have to weather their attacks for now," Mush said with a grimace. "But make sure our people know to avoid direct confrontations if possible. We can't afford to lose any more capes or experienced members."

As Whirlygig moved off to implement his orders, Mush found his gaze drawn back to Skidmark. Their leader was in his element, basking in the adoration of the crowd. But how long would that last if things started to go south?

Mush shook his head, pushing the treacherous thought aside. They were all in this together. They'd taken down Lung, after all. If they could do that, they could handle whatever the PRT or the Empire threw at them.

Still, as he surveyed the warehouse full of celebrating Merchants, Mush couldn't shake the feeling that they were dancing on the edge of a knife. One wrong step, and everything they'd built could come crashing down around them.

He made his way over to a quiet corner, pulling out his phone. There was one more card he could play, though he was hesitant to use it. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for: Miss Stepford.

Mush's finger hovered over the call button. The Empire tinker had proven invaluable in improving their operations, but dealing with her always left him feeling... unsettled. Still, if she could provide them with an edge against the PRT and the Empire, it might be worth the risk.

He was about to press call when a commotion near the entrance caught his attention. Two Merchants burst in, supporting a third between them. The injured man was covered in blood, his clothes torn and singed.

"What the fuck happened?" Mush demanded, rushing over.

One of the men looked up, fear evident in his eyes. "Empire hit one of our labs, boss. But it wasn't like before. They... they were different. Organized. And there was this new cape with them, some kinda strategist or something."

Mush felt a chill run down his spine. It seemed the Empire was done playing coy. As he barked orders for someone to get their medic, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd waited too long to make their move.

The warehouse erupted into a flurry of activity as Merchants scrambled to respond to the attack. Mush found himself at the center of it all, issuing orders and trying to piece together what had happened.

"How many did we lose?" he asked one of the men who'd brought in the injured Merchant.

"At least five, maybe more," the man replied, his voice shaky. "They came out of nowhere, man. It was like they knew exactly where to hit us."

Mush cursed under his breath. This was bad. They couldn't afford to lose people, especially not experienced members who knew how to run their operations.

Skidmark finally seemed to realize the gravity of the situation, pushing his way through the crowd. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded, his earlier bravado replaced by anger and confusion.

"Empire hit us hard," Mush explained quickly. "New tactics, maybe a new cape. We need to-"

He was cut off by the sound of an explosion in the distance. The warehouse fell silent for a moment before erupting into panicked chatter.

"That came from the direction of our north side stash house," Whirlygig said, appearing at Mush's side.

Mush's mind raced. Two attacks in quick succession, on opposite sides of their territory. This wasn't just a raid; it was a coordinated assault.

"They're trying to split our forces," he realized aloud. "Skidmark, we need to-"

But Skidmark was already moving, shouting orders to a group of Merchants. "You lot, with me! We're gonna show these Nazi fucks what happens when you mess with the Dragonslayers!"

"Wait!" Mush called, but it was too late. Skidmark and a sizeable group of their forces were already heading out the door.

Mush swore colorfully. This was exactly what the Empire wanted. He turned to Whirlygig. "Get on the radio. Tell everyone to fall back to our secondary locations. We can't let them pick us off piecemeal."

As Whirlygig rushed to comply, Mush found himself faced with a difficult decision. They needed firepower, and they needed it now. Which meant...

"Trainwreck!" he called out. The cyborg tinker appeared from the direction of the infirmary, looking grim. "We need the Bookmobile and the Think Tank. Can you get them running?"

Trainwreck hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I can do it. But I don't know how long they'll last in a fight."

"It'll have to be enough," Mush said grimly. "Get them prepped. We move in ten minutes."

As Trainwreck hurried off, Mush turned back to survey the chaos of the warehouse. The Merchants were scared, confused, and angry. He needed to rally them, to give them direction.

"Listen up!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the din. "The Empire thinks they can take us down, but they're wrong! We took down Lung, and we can take them down too! But we gotta be smart about this. Follow your orders, stick to the plan, and we'll show them why we're the kings of this city now!"

A ragged cheer went up from the assembled Merchants. It wasn't much, but it was something. Mush just hoped it would be enough to see them through the night.

As he moved to coordinate their defense, Mush couldn't help but feel like they were being herded. The Empire's attacks were too precise, too well-timed. It was almost as if...

A horrible suspicion began to form in his mind. He thought back to the "study guides" they'd been using, the ones provided by Miss Stepford. Had they been compromised from the start?

But there was no time to dwell on it now. The Empire was at their doorstep, and they had a fight on their hands. Mush steeled himself for what was to come, hoping against hope that they'd be able to weather this storm.

As the sounds of battle drew nearer, Mush found himself wishing they'd never tangled with Lung in the first place. Sometimes, he mused grimly, the price of victory was higher than anyone could have imagined.

***

Kaiser stood before his assembled capes, his metal armor gleaming in the dim light of the conference room. The air was thick with tension as everyone waited to hear what their leader had called them together for.

"My friends," Kaiser began, his voice carrying easily through the room. "We stand at a crossroads. The landscape of our city is changing, and we must change with it if we are to survive and thrive."

He paused, letting his words sink in. Victor and Othala exchanged glances, while Hookwolf leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.

"For years, we have operated as a single entity - the Empire Eighty-Eight. But the time has come for us to evolve." Kaiser's voice grew stronger, more passionate. "Today, I announce a bold new direction for our organization."

Murmurs rippled through the assembled capes. Krieg straightened, his brow furrowing.

"The Empire... is splitting."

Gasps and exclamations of shock filled the room. Rune's eyes widened, while Stormtiger growled low in his throat.

Kaiser held up a hand, silencing the outburst. "Not in the way you might think. We are not fracturing, but expanding. Creating a new arm of our organization that will allow us to extend our reach further than ever before."

He began to pace, his armor clinking softly with each step. "We are forming a new group - a civic organization that will operate alongside the Empire. It will be called 'The Kind and Generous Order of the White-tailed Deer' - or more simply, the Deer Lodge."

Confusion was evident on many faces. Cricket tilted her head, while Fenja and Menja shared a grin.

"This new group will focus on public perception and less overtly criminal activities," Kaiser continued. "Though I'm sure some of the lodges will have poker tables and other amusements in the back rooms." He allowed a small smirk to cross his face.

"The Deer Lodge will be led by my son, Theo, along with Miss Stepford." Kaiser gestured to where Theo stood, the young man's face a mask of determination.

Krieg stepped forward, his voice respectful but firm. "Kaiser, if I may... how do you expect the PRT to allow this? They will see through any attempt at legitimacy."

Kaiser nodded, having anticipated the question. "The PRT will go along with it. My sources tell me they are currently trying to recruit Lung to their side. We've long suspected that Assault is the former villain Madcap. Villains going straight? Being able to turn Brockton Bay into a 'win'? They won't be able to resist."

He swept his gaze across the room. "This is our chance to reshape the city for decades to come. The current School Superintendent, who is running for Mayor, will be a founding member of the Deer Lodge."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "And what of those of us with more... recognizable identities?"

"Some members of the E88 who can assume new, 'reworked' cape names will operate under the Deer Lodge banner," Kaiser explained. "This will give us unparalleled access to the movers and shakers of the city, and potentially beyond."

He turned to Krieg. "You, my friend, will be placed in overall command of the remaining E88 members. I will oversee both groups, ensuring our goals remain aligned."

Krieg nodded, though a flicker of uncertainty passed across his face.

"Make no mistake," Kaiser's voice hardened. "The E88 will be maintained at a level where it can dispose of any unwanted outside influences that try to muscle in and don't play ball. We are not abandoning our roots, but expanding our reach."

He began to pace again, his voice taking on an almost evangelical fervor. "The Deer Lodge will give us legitimacy, influence, and power beyond what we've ever wielded before. But with this opportunity comes responsibility."

Kaiser's gaze swept over his assembled capes once more. "Those who choose to join the Deer Lodge will have to abide by stricter conduct than the E88. Choose wisely. If you want to join for the greater freedoms it will provide, but feel you can't control certain... impulses, you are to meet with Miss Stepford for conditioning to help with that."

Taylor, standing near Theo, gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

"And let me be clear," Kaiser's voice grew stern. "If you make too many slip-ups, that conditioning will become mandatory. We cannot afford to jeopardize this opportunity."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Then, his voice rose, filled with passion and conviction.

"This will put the city on a platter before us! A new era is coming, and I intend for the Empire, in all its forms, to ride the wave. We will evolve, grow, and expand beyond our wildest dreams!"

Kaiser's armor seemed to gleam brighter as he spoke, his presence commanding and charismatic. "We will increase our tempo against the Merchants, striking hard and fast. And soon, we'll turn our attention to Coil as well."

He spread his arms wide, his voice reaching a crescendo. "By summer, I plan for us to have full control of this city. Not through fear or brute force alone, but through influence, legitimacy, and carefully applied pressure."

The room was silent for a moment as Kaiser's words hung in the air. Then, slowly, a murmur of excitement began to build.

Hookwolf was the first to speak up. "I'm in. This city needs cleaning up, and if we can do it while expanding our reach? All the better."

Victor nodded, a calculating look in his eye. "The possibilities are... intriguing. I believe I could be of use in either organization."

Othala squeezed his hand, her voice soft but determined. "We're with you, Kaiser."

One by one, the other capes voiced their support. Even Krieg, after a moment's hesitation, gave a curt nod. "It's ambitious, but if anyone can pull it off, it's you, Max."

Kaiser allowed himself a small smile. "Thank you all. Now, let's discuss the specifics of how we'll implement this plan..."

As the meeting continued, Taylor found herself observing the reactions of those around her. Most seemed excited by the prospect, though she noted a few, like Rune, who appeared more hesitant.

Theo leaned in close, his voice low. "What do you think? Can we really pull this off?"

Taylor met his gaze, her expression determined. "We have to. It's our best chance to change things from the inside."

As Kaiser continued to outline his plans, detailing how they would approach various influential figures in the city and begin setting up the framework for the Deer Lodge, Taylor's mind was already racing ahead.

This was it - the opportunity they'd been waiting for. A chance to truly infiltrate the power structures of Brockton Bay and begin dismantling the Empire's hold from within. But it would be a delicate balancing act, one that would require all of her skills and Theo's leadership to navigate successfully.

She caught Theo's eye again, and they shared a look of understanding. Whatever came next, they were in this together.

As the meeting wound down, Kaiser addressed the group one final time. "Remember, discretion is key in these early stages. We'll begin making moves immediately, but the public announcement of the Deer Lodge will come later, once we've laid the groundwork."

He looked to Theo and Taylor. "I'm entrusting a great deal to you both. Don't let me down."

Theo straightened, his voice steady. "We won't, Father. We understand the importance of this mission."

Kaiser nodded, satisfaction evident in his posture. "Good. Then let's get to work. The future of the Empire - and Brockton Bay - awaits."

As the capes began to file out, discussing the new developments among themselves, Taylor felt a mix of anticipation and trepidation. This was a major step forward in their plans, but it also meant increased scrutiny and pressure.

She caught snippets of conversation as people passed:

"Think I could rebrand for the Deer Lodge? Always wanted to try the hero gig..."

"Wonder how the other gangs will react when they find out..."

"Gonna need to talk to Stepford about that conditioning..."

Taylor made a mental note of who seemed most interested in the Deer Lodge and who appeared more likely to stay with the E88 proper. Every bit of information could be crucial moving forward.

As she and Theo prepared to leave, Kaiser approached them one last time. "I'm counting on you both," he said, his voice low. "This is our chance to secure a legacy that will last for generations. Don't waste it."

Theo met his father's gaze steadily. "We won't. You can trust us."

As Kaiser moved away, satisfied, Theo and Taylor shared another significant look. The real work was just beginning.

***

Mark Dallon leaned against the doorframe, a bemused smile playing on his lips as he watched the chaos unfold in the living room. His daughters, Amy and Victoria, were rushing around in a flurry of activity, preparing for their dates to the Medhall Valentine's gala.

"Vicky, have you seen my earrings?" Amy called out, her voice muffled as she rummaged through a drawer.

"Which ones?" Victoria shouted back from her room. "The pearls or the dangly ones?"

"The pearls! I can't find them anywhere!"

Mark chuckled softly, shaking his head. His wife, Carol, caught his eye as she emerged from the kitchen, a look of exasperation on her face.

"I swear, it's like herding cats," Carol muttered, but there was a hint of fondness in her tone. She paused, taking in Mark's relaxed posture and easy smile. "You're in a good mood today."

Mark nodded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "I am. That self-help book Crystal got me... it's really been helping."

Carol's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? I have to admit, I was skeptical when Victoria convinced you to give it a try."

"So was I," Mark admitted. "But I've been reading it every morning after I wake up, and... I don't know how to explain it, but it gives me motivation throughout the day. It's like a fog has lifted."

Before Carol could respond, Victoria's voice rang out again, this time with a note of panic. "Mom! Dad! I need help!"

They exchanged a glance before heading to Victoria's room. They found her standing in front of a full-length mirror, tugging at the sides of her dress with a frown.

"It's not fitting right," Victoria complained, turning to face them. "I swear it fit perfectly last week when I tried it on!"

Mark tilted his head, studying the dress. To his eyes, it looked fine – the deep red material hugged Victoria's curves elegantly, and he couldn't see any obvious issues. But before he could say anything, Amy appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a sleek black gown.

"Vicky, you're not seriously asking them for help, are you?" Amy said, crossing her arms. "We both know what you really want."

Victoria turned to her sister, a pleading look in her eyes. "Ames, please? Just a little touch-up?"

Amy shook her head firmly. "No way. You're not watching what you eat enough. We made a pact, remember? We were both going to diet for the month so we could fit into our dresses."

Victoria gasped, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. "Are you accusing me of cheating?"

"I know you cheated," Amy retorted. "You knew I'd fix it for you if you did."

Mark watched the exchange with growing amusement. He leaned closer to Carol and whispered, "I honestly can't tell that the dress is fitting poorly."

Carol nodded, a wry smile on her face. "It isn't. Never underestimate a teenage girl's need for over-dramatics."

As the sisters continued to bicker, Victoria turned to Carol with wide, pleading eyes. "Mom, help me out here!"

But to Victoria's evident surprise, Carol sided with Amy. "Sorry, sweetie, but Amy's right. And don't think I didn't notice that missing slice of chocolate cake yesterday."

"Ah ha!" Amy exclaimed triumphantly. "I knew it!" With that, she turned on her heel and stalked back to her room, presumably to finish her makeup.

Victoria trailed after her, her voice taking on a wheedling tone. "Ames, come on! I'll do your chores for a week!"

"A month!" Amy's voice floated back.

"Two weeks!"

"Three weeks and you have to come with me to that poetry reading next month!"

There was a pause, then a resigned sigh from Victoria. "Fine. Deal."

As their voices faded, Mark turned to Carol, who was smoothing down her own dress – a elegant, deep blue number that complemented her blonde hair beautifully.

"What do you think?" Carol asked, doing a small twirl.

Mark smiled warmly. "Beautiful as always," he said, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek.

Carol blushed lightly, returning the kiss. She turned to examine herself in the mirror, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "You know, I've been thinking... I might ask Amy for a little touch-up myself."

Mark's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh? What brought this on?"

Carol sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Things at the office, I suppose. There are all these young secretaries in tight dresses, trying to catch the eye of the up-and-comers. And here I am, having made partner, but for what? I've cut back on my heroing to focus on the job, and in just a year or two, Vicky and Amy will be off to college."

Mark chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Isn't it a little early for empty nest syndrome?"

Carol hummed noncommittally, her gaze drifting to a poster on the wall – one the girls had gotten for her, matching the one in her office. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice thoughtful. "I've been thinking about taking a sabbatical from the firm. Just for a year or two, until the girls are off to college."

Mark frowned slightly. "What about the finances? Can we manage that?"

Carol nodded. "The firm won't announce it officially – they want to keep using my image, the fact that they have a 'law-practicing cape.' It might even help New Wave, actually. Since only Victoria has really been patrolling much lately, having me be able to do more might revitalize the brand a bit."

Mark considered this for a moment, then smiled, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "Whatever you choose, I'll support you. Just like you've supported me through my depression."

Carol's eyes softened, and she leaned in for a deeper kiss. Things were just starting to heat up when they heard footsteps approaching, causing them to quickly separate.

"Later," Carol promised in a whisper, her eyes twinkling.

As they composed themselves, Carol's expression grew thoughtful once more. "You know, it really will be empty once the girls leave. Sometimes I regret only having Victoria..."

Mark nodded, understanding her unspoken reference to Amy's adoption. "What are you thinking?"

Carol bit her lip. "I don't know. Maybe... maybe we could adopt another? Or..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting towards Amy's room.

Mark's eyes widened as he caught her meaning. "You think Amy could...?"

Before Carol could respond, the girls' voices grew louder as they approached.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry I cheated on the diet," Victoria was saying. "But you have to admit, mom's chocolate cake is impossible to resist!"

Amy rolled her eyes, but there was a fond smile on her face. "Just remember, you're doing my chores for a month now."

As the girls came into view, Mark felt a surge of warmth in his chest. Victoria was resplendent in her red dress, while Amy looked elegant and poised in black. Both were beaming, excited for the night ahead.

"You both look beautiful," Mark said, his voice thick with emotion.

Carol nodded in agreement, her eyes shining with pride. "Absolutely stunning."

Victoria preened under the praise, while Amy blushed slightly, unused to such attention.

As they all gathered their things and prepared to leave, Mark found himself marveling at how perfect everything felt in that moment. The fog of depression that had clouded his mind for so long seemed to have lifted, revealing a world full of color and joy.

He watched as Carol fussed over the girls one last time, straightening Victoria's necklace and tucking a stray strand of hair behind Amy's ear. The love and affection between them was palpable, even with the occasional eye roll from the teenagers.

As they headed out the door, Mark caught Carol's eye. She smiled at him, a smile full of love and promise for the future. He returned it, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him.

Whatever challenges lay ahead – be it Carol's potential career change, the girls going off to college, or even the possibility of expanding their family further – Mark felt ready to face them. With his family by his side and this newfound sense of purpose, he believed they could handle anything.

The Dallon family piled into their car, the girls chattering excitedly about the gala and their dates. As Mark started the engine, he couldn't help but think that things were, indeed, just about perfect.

***

Amy giggled as she and Dennis left the dance floor, her cheeks flushed from exertion and laughter. They had just stolen the spotlight from Victoria and Dean's impromptu dance-off against that Medhall couple who always seemed to be at these events. Their unconventional moves had drawn glares from the other couples, prompting a hasty retreat.

"Did you see their faces?" Dennis chortled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I thought Vicky was going to blast us through the wall!"

Amy playfully swatted his arm. "You're terrible! But... it was pretty funny."

Dennis grinned, running a hand through his slightly disheveled red hair. "I aim to please. How about I grab us some punch? I think we've earned a break."

"Sounds perfect," Amy agreed, watching fondly as he made his way towards the refreshment table.

As she waited, Amy found herself marveling at how much things had changed in just a few short weeks. When Victoria had first suggested setting her up with Dennis, Amy had been skeptical. Sure, she knew him as Clockblocker, but the idea of actually dating him had seemed... well, ridiculous.

But then he'd shown up at their door, looking surprisingly dapper in a suit, with a bouquet of flowers and a nervous smile. It had been endearing, seeing the usually confident and irreverent Dennis so flustered. A few gentle words of encouragement from her, and he'd relaxed, his natural charm shining through.

Now, watching him navigate the crowd with two glasses of punch, Amy felt a warmth blooming in her chest that had nothing to do with their recent dance exertions. Was this... love? It seemed too fast, too soon. And yet...

They just fit together so well. Dennis understood her in a way few others did. He knew when to crack a joke to lighten her mood, and when to simply listen. He respected her boundaries and never pushed her to use her powers when she didn't want to. And most importantly, he saw her as Amy, not just Panacea.

As Dennis returned, handing her a glass with a flourish, Amy found herself imagining a future with him. A shared apartment, filled with laughter and terrible puns. Maybe even... a family someday? The thought both thrilled and terrified her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Dennis asked, noticing her contemplative expression.

Amy smiled, taking a sip of punch. "Just thinking about how nice this is. How nice everything has been lately."

Dennis nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, it really has been great. You know, I was pretty nervous about coming to one of these fancy shindigs as plain old Dennis instead of Clockblocker. But you've made it... well, kind of amazing."

Amy felt her cheeks warm at the sincerity in his voice. "You've made it pretty amazing too," she admitted.

They shared a moment of comfortable silence, sipping their punch and watching the other couples on the dance floor. Amy spotted Victoria and Dean, who seemed to have gotten over their earlier annoyance and were now swaying contentedly in each other's arms.

"Things have been better at home too," Amy found herself saying. "Mom and Dad... they seem happier. More connected. And Vicky's been less... intense, I guess? It's like everything's just... clicked into place."

Dennis nodded encouragingly. "That's great, Amy. You deserve to have things go well."

Amy smiled, feeling a surge of affection for him. Even her work at the hospital, which had been feeling more like a burden lately, had regained some of its joy. She'd cut back her hours a bit, at her family and Dennis's insistence, and found that the time away had renewed her passion for healing.

As they continued to chat and laugh, Amy noticed a young couple approaching them. She recognized the boy as Max Anders' son – Theo, if she remembered correctly. The girl with him was unfamiliar, but pretty in a bookish sort of way.

For a moment, Amy felt a flicker of cynicism. Was this going to be another request for Panacea to "touch up" someone's appearance? But no, she was in too good a mood to let that thought take hold.

The couple reached them, and Theo politely introduced his date. "Amy, Dennis, this is Taylor. She's been interning at Medhall."

Taylor smiled, a touch nervously. "It's nice to meet you both. I hope you don't mind us interrupting, but... well, I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment, Amy. If that's okay?"

Amy raised an eyebrow, curious. "Of course. What can I do for you?"

Taylor took a deep breath, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Well, I've been working on a project at Medhall that I think could do a lot of good. It's still in the early stages, but I was hoping I could get your input. Your expertise would be invaluable."

Amy felt a warmth of pride at the girl's words. It wasn't often that people approached her for her knowledge rather than just her powers. "What kind of project?" she asked, genuinely intrigued.

Taylor launched into an explanation, her earlier nervousness forgotten as she described her work. It was something to do with targeted drug delivery systems, aiming to reduce side effects in cancer treatments. As she spoke, Amy found herself drawn in by the girl's passion and the potential of the project.

Normally, Amy would have refused such a request outright. She had learned to be cautious with her time and abilities. But there was something about Taylor's earnestness, combined with Amy's own buoyant mood, that made her hesitate.

"It sounds fascinating," Amy admitted. "And you're right, it could do a lot of good."

Taylor's face lit up. "So you'll help? Even just a quick consultation would be amazing."

Amy glanced at Dennis, who gave her an encouraging nod. She turned back to Taylor with a smile. "Sure, why not? As long as it's just a quick thing."

Taylor beamed, looking as though Christmas had come early. "Thank you so much! This means a lot. I promise it won't take up too much of your time."

As they exchanged contact information, Amy felt a sense of excitement building. This was something new, something beyond her usual healing work. A chance to contribute to medical science in a different way.

Once Taylor and Theo had moved on, Dennis grinned at Amy. "Look at you, branching out into the world of medical research. Should I be jealous?"

Amy laughed, playfully shoving him. "Oh, stop it. It's just a consultation."

Dennis' expression softened. "Seriously though, it's great to see you excited about something like this. You've got so much to offer beyond just healing people directly."

Amy felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. It was moments like these that made her wonder how she'd gotten so lucky.

As the night wore on, Amy found herself swept up in the joy of the moment. She danced with Dennis, laughed with Victoria and Dean, and even shared a surprisingly pleasant conversation with Carol and Mark.

Everything just felt... right. Perfect, even. As if all the pieces of her life had finally fallen into place.

Later, as Dennis walked her to the door of Dallon home, Amy felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach. They paused on the doorstep, the soft glow of the porch light illuminating their faces.

"I had a really great time tonight," Dennis said, his usual joking demeanor replaced by sincere warmth.

Amy smiled up at him. "Me too. Thank you for... well, for everything."

There was a moment of charged silence, and then Dennis leaned in. The kiss was soft, sweet, and over far too quickly for Amy's liking. When they pulled apart, both were blushing furiously.

"Goodnight, Amy," Dennis said softly.

"Goodnight, Dennis," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she watched him walk back to his car, Amy felt as though her heart might burst from happiness. She entered the house in a daze, barely registering Victoria's knowing smirk or Carol's fond smile.

In her room, Amy flopped onto her bed, still in her dress, a giddy smile plastered across her face. She thought about the night – the dancing, the laughter, the kiss. She thought about her family, about how much better things had been lately. She thought about Taylor's project, and the excitement of contributing to something new.

Everything was just... perfect.

The next morning, Amy woke to the smell of pancakes wafting up from the kitchen. She stretched lazily, memories of the previous night bringing a smile to her face. As she got dressed, she heard Victoria's laughter echoing up the stairs, followed by the deeper chuckle of their father.

Descending to the kitchen, Amy was greeted by a scene of domestic bliss. Mark was at the stove, flipping pancakes with surprising skill, while Carol set the table. Victoria was regaling them with a story from the gala, her hands gesticulating wildly.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Carol said warmly as Amy entered. "I was beginning to think we'd have to send a search party."

Amy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "It's not even nine yet, Mom."

"True, but you've missed half the pancakes already," Mark teased, sliding a stack onto a plate for her.

As they ate breakfast together, Amy marveled at how natural it all felt. There was none of the tension that had often plagued their family meals in the past. Even Carol seemed more relaxed, laughing at Mark's terrible jokes and playfully arguing with Victoria about the merits of chocolate chip versus blueberry pancakes.

After breakfast, Amy retreated to her room to work on some homework. As she settled at her desk, her eyes fell on the business card Taylor had given her the night before. Curiosity piqued, she found herself reaching for her laptop.

A quick search revealed that Taylor's project was indeed legitimate – and potentially groundbreaking. The more Amy read, the more excited she became about the possibility of contributing to it.

She was so engrossed in her research that she barely noticed the hours slipping by until Victoria knocked on her door.

"Earth to Amy," her sister called teasingly. "You planning on emerging anytime today?"

Amy blinked, realizing with a start that it was well past noon. "Sorry, Vicky. I got caught up in something."

Victoria flopped onto Amy's bed, eyeing her curiously. "Must be pretty interesting to keep you from gossiping about last night. Spill!"

Amy hesitated for a moment, then found herself explaining Taylor's project to Victoria. To her surprise, her sister seemed genuinely interested.

"That's really cool, Ames," Victoria said when she'd finished. "It's great to see you excited about something like this."

Amy smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. "Thanks, Vicky. I... I think I might actually do it. Help out with the project, I mean."

Victoria beamed. "You totally should! And hey, maybe I could come with you sometime? I bet I could learn a thing or two."

The idea of sharing this new experience with her sister made Amy's smile widen. "That'd be great, actually."

As they continued to chat, Amy's phone buzzed with a text from Dennis. It was nothing special – just a silly joke about pancakes – but it made her heart skip a beat nonetheless.

Victoria noticed her expression and grinned knowingly. "Looks like someone's got it bad."

Amy blushed but didn't deny it. "He's... he's really great, Vicky. I don't think I've ever felt this way about anyone before."

Her sister's expression softened. "I'm really happy for you, Ames. You deserve someone who makes you feel that way."

The rest of the day passed in a pleasant blur. Amy and Victoria went for a walk in the park, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. They ran into Dean and ended up having an impromptu picnic, laughing and talking until the sun began to set.

As they walked home, Amy found herself marveling once again at how perfect everything felt. Her family was happier than she could ever remember. She had a wonderful boyfriend who understood and supported her. And now, she had this exciting new project to look forward to.

That night, as she got ready for bed, Amy caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked... different. Happier. More relaxed. It was as if a weight she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying had been lifted from her shoulders.

She climbed into bed, her mind drifting to thoughts of the future. Maybe she'd pursue more projects like Taylor's. Maybe she and Dennis would... well, who knew? The possibilities seemed endless.

As she drifted off to sleep, a contented smile on her face, Amy's last thought was simple: Everything was just perfect.

Chapter Text

Melody's heart fluttered as she and Mr. Glady strolled arm-in-arm down the quiet street. The Winslow Valentine's dance had just ended, and they were both still riding high on the festive atmosphere. Melody couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so... normal. So happy.

"I still can't believe Jimmy thought he could sneak that flask in," Glady chuckled, shaking his head. "As if we wouldn't notice him stumbling around like a newborn colt after one sip."

Melody laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh please, I caught at least three other kids trying the same trick. Though I have to admit, Jimmy's 'water bottle' disguise was pretty creative."

"Creative, sure. But effective? Not so much," Glady grinned. "I thought Principal Blackwell was going to have an aneurysm when he started serenading her."

"Hey, you have to admire his commitment to the bit," Melody teased. "I mean, how many verses of 'My Heart Will Go On' did he get through before security dragged him away?"

"Too many," Glady groaned dramatically. "I'm pretty sure I'll be hearing Celine Dion in my nightmares for weeks."

They continued down the sidewalk, trading stories and laughing about the night's events. Melody found herself marveling at how easy it was to talk to Glady. There was none of the tension or posturing she was used to in the Empire. With him, she could just... be.

A notification chimed, and Glady pulled out his phone with an apologetic smile. As he read the message, his face fell slightly.

"Everything okay?" Melody asked, concern coloring her voice.

Glady sighed, pocketing the device. "Yeah, just... disappointing news. My buddy just texted to say he can't make it to Wrestlemania next week. Something came up with work."

Melody's eyes widened. "Wait, you have tickets to Wrestlemania? How? I thought it was completely sold out!"

Now it was Glady's turn to look surprised. "You're into wrestling?"

Melody felt her cheeks heat up slightly. "I mean... yeah. Is that weird? Because I'm a, you know, real fighter?"

Glady shook his head quickly. "No, no! I just... wouldn't have pegged you for a fan, I guess. Most people I know think it's just fake fighting and overblown drama."

Melody snorted. "Please. Anyone who says that clearly doesn't understand the art of it all. Sure, the outcomes might be predetermined, but the athleticism and skill involved are very real." She paused, a fond smile playing on her lips. "Besides, I appreciate the showmanship of it all. Winning a match is obviously the most important thing, of course, but the best fighters know that you have to work the crowd to get top billing."

Glady nodded, looking impressed. "Exactly! It's like... athletic theater. The moves are impressive on their own, but it's the storytelling that really draws you in."

"Absolutely," Melody agreed enthusiastically. "The feuds, the alliances, the betrayals – it's like a soap opera with body slams."

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before Glady asked, "So, who's your favorite wrestler?"

Melody's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's easy. Roman Reigns, hands down. The way he commands the ring, his presence... he's just electric to watch."

Glady's jaw dropped in mock horror. "Roman Reigns? Are you kidding me? The guy's way overpushed! Now, Seth Rollins – that's a real star. The man's got it all: in-ring ability, mic skills, charisma for days."

"Rollins?" Melody scoffed playfully. "Please. The guy's good, I'll give you that, but he's no 'Head of the Table.' Roman's got that larger-than-life quality that defines a true main eventer."

"Larger-than-life, sure, if by that you mean his ego," Glady fired back with a grin. "Rollins is the total package. Did you see his match against Cody Rhodes at Hell in a Cell? The man wrestled with a torn pec and still put on a clinic!"

Their friendly debate continued as they made their way down the street, each passionately defending their favorite while good-naturedly ribbing the other's choice. Before they knew it, they had arrived at Melody's apartment building.

"Well, this is me," Melody said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. She didn't want the night to end.

Glady nodded, suddenly looking a bit nervous. "Right, of course. I, uh... I had a really great time tonight, Melody."

"Me too," she replied softly, her heart racing.

They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with possibility. Then, slowly, Glady leaned in. Melody's breath caught in her throat as his lips met hers in a gentle, sweet kiss.

It was over too soon, leaving Melody feeling warm and slightly dazed. Glady stepped back, a shy smile on his face.

"Goodnight, Melody," he said. "I'll see you at school on Monday?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. With a final wave, Glady turned and began walking back down the street. Melody watched him go, her fingers unconsciously touching her lips where his had been moments before.

As soon as he was out of sight, Melody fumbled for her keys and rushed inside. Her hands were shaking slightly as she pulled out her phone, quickly typing out a message.

To: Karen

OMG. You will not BELIEVE the night I just had. Call me ASAP!!!

Melody paced her small living room, waiting for Karen to respond. She knew her friend was probably eagerly awaiting all the details of her date with Glady. The thought made her smile – it was nice having someone to share these moments with, someone who understood the complexities of her life in a way most people couldn't.

Her phone buzzed, and Melody answered before the first ring had even finished.

"Spill. Everything. Now." Karen's excited voice came through the speaker.

Melody laughed, flopping onto her couch. "Okay, okay! Where do I even start?"

"The beginning, duh! How did he look? What did you wear? I need all the gossip!"

For the next hour, Melody regaled Karen with every detail of the evening. She described the decorations at the dance, the drama with the students, and of course, her walk home with Glady. When she got to the kiss, Karen's squeal of delight was so loud Melody had to hold the phone away from her ear.

"I can't believe it!" Karen gushed. "I mean, I can, because you two are absolutely perfect together, but still! Your first kiss!"

Melody felt her cheeks flush. "It wasn't my first kiss ever," she protested weakly.

"No, but it was your first kiss that actually mattered," Karen pointed out. "Come on, you can't tell me this doesn't feel different from those meatheads you used to hang around with in the fighting circuit."

Melody had to admit Karen had a point. What she felt for Glady was... softer, somehow. Warmer. It made her feel like maybe there was more to life than just fighting and survival.

"So, when are you seeing him again?" Karen pressed eagerly.

"Monday at school, I guess," Melody replied. "Though... he did mention having an extra ticket to Wrestlemania next week. His friend had to cancel."

Karen gasped. "Melody! That's perfect! You have to go with him!"

"I don't know," Melody hedged. "Wouldn't that be too forward? I mean, we just had our first real date tonight."

"Are you kidding me? The man kissed you! I think you're well past worrying about being 'too forward,'" Karen insisted. "Besides, you said yourself that you're both huge wrestling fans. It's the perfect second date!"

Melody bit her lip, considering. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely," Karen said firmly. "Trust me, if you don't snatch up that ticket, some other wrestling-loving hussy will."

Melody laughed. "Alright, alright. I'll text him tomorrow and see if the offer's still open."

"Good," Karen said, satisfaction clear in her voice. "Now, tell me more about this kiss. Was there tongue? Did he—"

"Karen!" Melody exclaimed, laughing despite her embarrassment. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

"Since when are you a lady?" Karen teased. "Come on, I need details! How else am I supposed to live vicariously through you?"

As Melody continued to chat with her friend, she felt a warmth spreading through her chest. For the first time in a long time, she felt... hopeful. Like maybe there was a future for her beyond the violence and hatred of the Empire. A future where she could just be Melody, not Cricket the cape or some nameless pit fighter.

It was a nice feeling, she decided. One she could definitely get used to.

The next morning, Melody woke up feeling refreshed and oddly optimistic. The events of the previous night played through her mind like a highlight reel, bringing a smile to her face. She stretched languidly, enjoying the rare luxury of sleeping in on a Saturday.

As she padded to the kitchen to make coffee, her eyes fell on her phone. The urge to text Glady was strong, but she hesitated. Would it seem too eager? Should she wait for him to make the first move?

"Get it together, Mel," she muttered to herself. "You're not some lovesick teenager."

Still, she found herself picking up the device, thumb hovering over Glady's name in her contacts. Taking a deep breath, she started typing.

To: Mr. G

Hey, I had a great time last night. Thanks again for walking me home.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, then set the phone down and busied herself with making breakfast. She was halfway through a bowl of cereal when her phone chimed.

From: Mr. G

I had a great time too! Thanks for making chaperoning actually fun for once. 😊

Melody grinned, warmth blooming in her chest. She was about to reply when another message came through.

From: Mr. G

So... I was thinking. That extra Wrestlemania ticket is still up for grabs if you're interested. No pressure, of course! But given our mutual love of wrestling, I thought you might enjoy it.

Melody's heart raced. This was her chance! She took a moment to compose herself before replying.

To: Mr. G

Are you kidding? I'd love to go! As long as you're prepared for me to cheer for Roman the whole time. 😉

His response was almost immediate.

From: Mr. G

Haha, I think I can manage. Though I reserve the right to boo when appropriate! It's a date then?

Melody's breath caught. A date. An actual, proper date, not just chaperoning a school dance.

To: Mr. G

Definitely a date. 😊 Can't wait!

As she set her phone down, Melody couldn't keep the smile off her face. For once, everything in her life seemed to be falling into place. She had a job she enjoyed (even if it was technically villainy), friends who cared about her, and now... maybe something more with Glady.

Of course, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that it couldn't last. That eventually, her past would catch up with her. That Glady would never accept who she really was if he knew the truth.

But for now, Melody chose to ignore that voice. She deserved this happiness, didn't she? After everything she'd been through, all the fights and scars and pain... didn't she deserve a chance at something normal?

With renewed energy, Melody finished her breakfast and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. She had plans to meet up with Othala later for some shopping – maybe she'd even pick up a new outfit for Wrestlemania.

As she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, Melody paused. Her hand unconsciously went to her throat, fingers tracing the familiar ridges of scar tissue there. For a moment, she saw herself as others must see her: damaged, dangerous, a reminder of violence barely contained.

But then she thought of how Glady looked at her. How he saw past the scars, how he made her feel... beautiful. Normal. Human.

With a small smile, Melody dropped her hand and began getting ready. Whatever the future held, she was determined to enjoy this moment of happiness for as long as it lasted.

After all, she had a date to look forward to.

***

Krieg paced in his office, his brow furrowed in thought. The Empire was changing, evolving into something new. While he understood Kaiser's vision, he couldn't help but feel uneasy about the split. The creation of the Deer Lodge felt like a step away from their core principles, a softening of their stance. He needed allies he could trust, people who shared his ideals.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings. "Come in," he called out.

Victor entered, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. "You wanted to see me, James?"

Krieg nodded, gesturing for Victor to take a seat. "Yes, I wanted to discuss your role in the coming changes."

Victor sat down, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"

Krieg leaned forward, his voice earnest. "I want you to be one of my lieutenants on the Empire side. We need strong, capable people to maintain our presence and influence."

Victor was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. When he spoke, his words were careful. "I appreciate the offer, James. But I've been giving it some thought, and I'm actually leaning towards joining the Deer Lodge."

Krieg blinked, taken aback. "You? But you've never been shy about your views. The Deer Lodge will require a certain... discretion."

Victor shrugged. "I don't need Stepford's help to keep my mouth shut at the right time. I know how to play the game."

"Then why?" Krieg pressed. "You've been a valuable asset to the Empire. Why change now?"

Victor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not just about me. Karen... she's been talking about kids lately. Starting a family. It's got me thinking about my priorities in life."

Krieg nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "I see. But you know, many of us have raised families within the Empire. I've been raising three children myself, and plenty in our cohort grew up in it."

"True," Victor conceded. "But how many of them have actually joined? Your oldest is what, nineteen now? And he's not part of the Empire, is he?"

Krieg's jaw tightened slightly. It was a sore point, one he tried not to dwell on. "That's his choice. He knows the door is always open."

Victor leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "James, we both know it's more complicated than that. Look at our friends, the ones we've lost over the years. Some to prison, some to rival gangs, some to... worse fates. Can you blame me for wanting something different for my future children?"

Krieg was silent for a long moment, memories of fallen comrades flashing through his mind. Finally, he sighed heavily. "I understand, Victor. I may not agree, but I understand."

Victor stood, placing a hand on Krieg's shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do well leading the Empire side. You've always been dedicated to the cause."

Krieg nodded, managing a small smile. "Thank you. And... good luck with the Deer Lodge. I hope you find what you're looking for."

With a final nod, Victor left the office, leaving Krieg alone with his thoughts.

The silence stretched on as Krieg paced, his mind racing. He needed someone he could trust in the Deer Lodge, someone to keep an eye on things. Someone young enough to blend in, but loyal to the cause.

His eyes fell on a framed photo on his desk, showing a group of younger Empire members at a gathering. In the corner, a blonde girl with a mischievous grin caught his attention.

Krieg reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for. He hit dial and waited.

After a few rings, a youthful voice answered. "Uncle James? What's up?"

"Tammi," Krieg said, his voice warm. "I need to talk to you about something important. It's about the changes coming to the Empire."

There was a pause on the other end. "Okay... what about them?"

Krieg took a deep breath. "I want you to join the Deer Lodge."

"What?" Tammi's voice was incredulous. "No way! Uncle James, you know how I feel about Stepford. I don't trust her or her tech."

"I know, I know," Krieg said soothingly. "That's exactly why I need you there. I need someone I can trust keeping an eye on things."

Tammi was quiet for a moment, considering. "I don't know... it seems risky. And boring. All those stuffy old men in suits?"

Krieg chuckled. "It won't all be boring. You'll have more freedom to move around the city, for one thing. And there might be some perks..."

"Perks?" Tammi's interest was piqued. "Like what?"

"Well," Krieg said casually, "I could increase your allowance. Say... double what you're getting now?"

There was a longer pause this time. When Tammi spoke again, there was a hint of calculation in her voice. "Triple."

Krieg blinked. "Triple?"

"Triple," Tammi confirmed. "If you want me to play nice with Stepford and all those Deer Lodge people, it's gonna cost you."

Krieg couldn't help but smile. The girl drove a hard bargain. "Alright, triple it is. But I expect regular reports, understand?"

"Deal," Tammi said, sounding pleased with herself. "When do I start?"

"Soon," Krieg replied. "I'll let you know the details once everything's finalized. For now, just keep this between us, okay?"

"Sure thing, Uncle James. Was there anything else?"

Krieg hesitated, then said, "Just... be careful, Tammi. Keep your wits about you. And if you ever feel uncomfortable or threatened, you come to me immediately. Understood?"

Tammi's voice softened slightly. "I will. Thanks, Uncle James."

After they said their goodbyes, Krieg set the phone down and leaned back in his chair. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was something. He'd have eyes and ears in the Deer Lodge, someone he could trust to report any suspicious activity.

Still, as he looked out the window at the Brockton Bay skyline, Krieg couldn't shake the feeling that everything was changing too fast. The Empire had been a constant in his life for so long, a pillar of strength and purpose. Now it was evolving into something new, something unfamiliar.

He thought of Alfred and Karen, of their dreams of a family. Of his own children, growing up and making choices he didn't always understand or agree with. Of Tammi, so young and full of potential, now thrust into a role that could shape her future in ways none of them could predict.

The sun was setting over the bay, casting long shadows across the city. Krieg watched as the lights began to flicker on, a constellation of human activity spread out before him. Somewhere out there, the future of the Empire – of Brockton Bay itself – was taking shape.

Whatever came next, Krieg knew one thing for certain: he would do everything in his power to ensure that the ideals he believed in, the cause he had dedicated his life to, would endure.

With a determined set to his jaw, Krieg turned away from the window and back to his desk. There was work to be done, plans to be made. The Empire might be changing, but its spirit – the spirit of strength, of pride, of order – would live on.

And he would make damn sure of it.

***

Mush trudged through the dimly lit hallway, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. The past few weeks had taken their toll, both physically and mentally. He approached a nondescript door, pausing to take a deep breath before pushing it open.

Inside, the room was stark and clinical, a far cry from the usual Merchant hideouts. Squealer lay on a makeshift hospital bed, her face pale and drawn. Various tubes and wires connected her to monitoring equipment, the steady beep of machines filling the air.

Scapegoat followed Mush into the room, his eyes widening as he took in Squealer's condition. The young Ward's face twisted in a grimace, a mixture of sympathy and revulsion.

"Jesus," Scapegoat muttered. "What happened to her?"

Mush ran a hand over his face, his voice weary. "Lung. The fight... it didn't go as smoothly as the news made it seem."

Scapegoat nodded, his expression grim. He approached Squealer's bedside, carefully examining her injuries. After a few moments, he turned back to Mush.

"This is... extensive," he said. "Who's going to take on the burden?"

Mush jerked his head towards the door. "Got a volunteer waiting outside. One of our junkies. He's willing to take it all on in exchange for clearing his debt and a steady supply."

Scapegoat frowned. "You sure about this? It's not going to be pretty."

"We don't have much choice," Mush replied. "Squealer's too valuable to lose, and we need her back on her feet yesterday."

With a resigned sigh, Scapegoat nodded. "Alright. Bring him in."

Mush stepped out of the room, returning moments later with a gaunt, twitchy man. The junkie's eyes darted around nervously, but there was a determined set to his jaw.

"You understand what's going to happen?" Scapegoat asked him.

The man nodded jerkily. "Yeah, yeah. I take her pain, get my fix. Simple."

Scapegoat looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just shook his head. "Okay. Let's get this over with."

The Ward positioned himself between Squealer and the junkie. He placed one hand on Squealer's arm and the other on the volunteer's shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Scapegoat closed his eyes and activated his power.

The effect was immediate and unsettling. Squealer's battered body began to heal, cuts closing and bruns fading. At the same time, identical injuries blossomed on Scapegoat's skin. The Ward gritted his teeth, his face contorting in pain.

After a few agonizing minutes, Scapegoat removed his hand from Squealer and placed it on the junkie. The process repeated itself, the injuries transferring from Scapegoat to the volunteer. The man's eyes widened in shock and pain, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he collapsed to the ground.

When it was over, Squealer lay peacefully on the bed, her body whole and unmarred. Scapegoat stumbled back, looking drained but uninjured. The junkie curled into a fetal position on the floor, whimpering softly.

Mush quickly moved to the man's side, producing a syringe filled with a murky liquid. He administered the drug, and within moments, the junkie's pained expression relaxed into a blissful stupor.

Scapegoat watched the scene with a mixture of disgust and resignation. He reached into his bag and pulled out a thick book.

"I'll need to stick around for six hours to make sure the process is permanent," he said, settling into a chair. "Don't let either of them leave within 150 feet of me during that time."

Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. "Thanks, kid. We won't forget this."

As Scapegoat began to read, Squealer stirred on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding her features.

"Wha... what happened?" she mumbled, trying to sit up.

Mush was at her side in an instant, gently easing her back down. "Easy there, Sherrel. You've been out for a while."

Squealer blinked, her mind clearing. "The fight... Lung... my babies!" She tried to get up again, panic in her voice. "I need to check on my vehicles!"

"They're fine," Mush assured her, though his tone lacked conviction. "Just rest for now. We've got to wait here for a bit longer, then I'll take you to the garage myself."

Squealer seemed ready to argue, but exhaustion won out. She settled back into the bed, her eyes darting between Mush, Scapegoat, and the unconscious junkie on the floor.

"How long was I out?" she asked.

Mush hesitated. "A few weeks. But don't worry, we've been keeping things together."

Squealer's eyes narrowed. "A few weeks? What's happened? Have you been maintaining my tech?"

"We've done our best," Mush said evasively. "Let's talk about it later, okay? You need to rest."

Squealer didn't look satisfied, but she didn't press the issue. Instead, she closed her eyes, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

The next six hours passed slowly. Mush paced the room, occasionally checking on Squealer and the junkie. Scapegoat remained engrossed in his book, only looking up when Mush brought him water or a snack.

Finally, Scapegoat closed his book and stood up. "That should do it. The transfer is permanent now."

Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. "Your payment, as agreed. Plus a bonus for your discretion."

Scapegoat took the envelope, his expression unreadable. "Just... be careful, alright? This kind of thing... it's not sustainable."

"We'll manage," Mush replied curtly. "You just worry about keeping your mouth shut."

The young Ward looked like he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. With a final glance at Squealer and the junkie, he left the room.

Squealer's eyes widened as Mush's words sank in. She sat up abruptly, ignoring the lingering ache in her muscles.

"What do you mean the combiner's gone?" she demanded, her voice hoarse from disuse.

Mush sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "It was completely scrapped in the fight with Lung. We barely managed to salvage anything from it."

Squealer swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements unsteady but determined. "Take me to the garage. Now."

"Sherrel, you should rest—"

"Fuck that," she snapped. "I need to see what's left."

Mush knew better than to argue. He helped her to her feet, supporting her as they made their way out of the makeshift infirmary and through the winding corridors of the Merchant hideout.

As they entered the cavernous garage, Squealer's breath caught in her throat. Where there had once been a bustling workshop filled with half-finished projects and scavenged parts, now stood only two vehicles: the Think Tank and the Bookmobile.

"This... this is it?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mush nodded grimly. "The only things we have left. We've been trying to keep them operational, but..."

Squealer stumbled forward, her hands running over the Think Tank's hull. Even from a distance, she could see the shoddy patch jobs and mismatched components.

"Who's been working on them?" she asked, her tone dangerous.

Mush hesitated before answering. "Trainwreck tried at first, but his tech was too incompatible. So we... we hired Leet to do some work."

Squealer whirled around, her eyes blazing with fury. "You let that hack touch my babies?!"

"We didn't have a choice!" Mush protested. "We needed them operational, and you were out of commission."

Squealer turned back to the vehicles, her anger giving way to despair as she took in the full extent of the damage and modifications.

"This is going to take forever to fix," she muttered, more to herself than to Mush.

"How long?" Mush asked, tension evident in his voice.

Squealer ran her hands through her greasy hair, her mind already racing with calculations and repair estimates. "To get everything back to 100%? At least a couple of weeks, maybe more."

Mush's face fell. "We don't have that kind of time, Sherrel. The Empire, Coil, and the Protectorate have been gunning for us hard since we took down Lung."

Squealer's head snapped up. "What? How bad is it?"

"Bad," Mush admitted. "Burnout nearly got nabbed a week ago. Trainwreck's laid up doing repairs after Assault worked him over pretty good."

Squealer cursed under her breath. She hobbled over to a nearby workbench, rifling through the scattered tools and components.

"I'll work as fast as I can," she said, her voice tight with determination. "But I can't promise miracles. Leet's work is... unpredictable. I need to make sure I don't trigger any of his bullshit failsafes."

Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. "Do what you can. We've managed to hold them off so far, but without your tech..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Squealer muttered. She paused, looking around the garage. "Where's Skidmark? I figured he'd be here gloating about taking down Lung."

Mush's expression darkened. "Adam's been... difficult. The victory went to his head. He's been strutting around calling himself the 'Dragonslayer' and acting like he's king of the fucking bay."

Squealer snorted. "Sounds like him. But where is he?"

"Out," Mush said tersely. "Probably picking fights we can't afford right now."

Squealer shook her head, turning back to the Think Tank. "Alright, well, I need to get to work. You handle Skidmark, I'll focus on getting our edge back."

Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. "Thanks, Sherrel. We're counting on you."

As Mush left the garage, Squealer began a more thorough inspection of the Think Tank. Her fingers traced the new welds and unfamiliar components, her frown deepening with each discovery.

"What the fuck did you do to my baby, Leet?" she muttered, pulling open an access panel.

Inside, a mess of wires and circuitry greeted her. Some of it was familiar, but much of it was pure Leet—overcomplicated and prone to failure. Squealer gritted her teeth, fighting back the urge to rip it all out and start from scratch.

"Okay, okay, think," she said to herself. "One step at a time."

She grabbed a nearby tablet, booting up her diagnostic software. As she began running tests on the Think Tank's systems, her mind raced with possibilities and potential improvements.

Hours passed as Squealer lost herself in the work. The familiar rhythm of tinkering soothed her frayed nerves, even as the extent of the damage and modifications became clear.

She was elbow-deep in the Think Tank's engine compartment when the garage door creaked open. Squealer tensed, reaching for a nearby wrench before recognizing the heavy footsteps.

"Trainwreck," she called out, not bothering to extract herself from the engine. "Bout time you showed up."

The cyborg tinker lumbered into view, his mechanical body moving with a noticeable limp. "Heard you were back on your feet. Figured you'd be down here."

Squealer grunted, finally pulling herself out of the engine compartment. She wiped her hands on a greasy rag, eyeing Trainwreck's battered form.

"Mush said Assault did a number on you," she said.

Trainwreck's metallic face twisted in what might have been a grimace. "Bastard's faster than he looks. Caught me off guard."

Squealer nodded, turning back to the Think Tank. "Well, don't just stand there. I could use an extra pair of hands. Especially ones that aren't complete shit at tinkering."

Trainwreck chuckled, the sound a strange mix of organic and mechanical. "Missed you too, Squealer."

They worked in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. As the hours ticked by, the Think Tank slowly began to resemble its former glory. Squealer's modifications stripped away Leet's unnecessary additions, streamlining the systems and improving efficiency.

It was nearing dawn when Squealer finally stepped back, wiping sweat from her brow. "Alright, I think that'll do for now. We can take it for a test run later today."

Trainwreck nodded, his own repairs completed. "What about the Bookmobile?"

Squealer glanced at the other vehicle, her expression thoughtful. "That one's going to need more work. Leet really did a number on the sensor array."

"Want me to get started on it?" Trainwreck offered.

Squealer shook her head. "Nah, get some rest. I'll handle it. Just need a quick power nap first."

As if on cue, the garage door swung open once more. Mush entered, his eyes widening as he took in the progress they'd made.

"Holy shit," he muttered. "You two have been busy."

Squealer smirked, a hint of her old confidence returning. "Told you I'd work fast. Think Tank's almost ready for a test run. Bookmobile needs more work, but we'll get there."

Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. "Good, that's... that's really good. We could use some good news."

Squealer's smirk faded, noting the tension in Mush's posture. "What's wrong?"

Mush sighed, running a hand over his face. "Skidmark's stirring up shit again. He's talking about hitting one of Coil's bases, says he's got intel on where it is."

Squealer and Trainwreck exchanged worried glances. "That's suicide," Trainwreck growled. "We're not ready for that kind of fight."

"I know," Mush said, his voice tight with frustration. "But he's not listening to reason. Says we need to 'capitalize on our momentum' or some bullshit."

Squealer cursed under her breath. "Where is he now?"

"Passed out in his room," Mush replied. "But he'll be up soon, looking to make moves."

Squealer nodded, her mind racing. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. I'll finish up the Think Tank, make sure it's combat-ready. Trainwreck, you focus on the Bookmobile. We need its sensor capabilities if we're going up against Coil."

"And me?" Mush asked.

"Keep Skidmark distracted," Squealer said. "Feed his ego, whatever you need to do. Just buy us some time to get everything operational."

Mush nodded, though he didn't look happy about it. "How long do you need?"

Squealer glanced at the Bookmobile, mentally cataloging the work that needed to be done. "Two days. Maybe three if we hit any snags."

"I'll do my best," Mush promised. "But you know how Adam gets when he's got an idea in his head."

Squealer's expression hardened. "Yeah, well, remind him that his 'ideas' don't mean shit without my tech to back them up."

As Mush left to deal with Skidmark, Squealer turned back to the Think Tank. She knew she should rest, but the urgency of their situation gnawed at her.

"Fuck it," she muttered, grabbing her tools. "Sleep is for the weak."

She dove back into her work, determined to have the Think Tank ready for action by nightfall. As she tinkered, her mind raced with possibilities and potential improvements.

The Merchants had taken a beating in her absence, but Squealer was determined to turn things around. With her tech back in play, they'd remind everyone why the Merchants were a force to be reckoned with.

As the sun rose over Brockton Bay, casting long shadows across the cluttered garage, Squealer allowed herself a small smile. They weren't out of the woods yet, but for the first time since waking up, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Let the Empire, Coil, and the Protectorate come. With her babies back in action, the Merchants would be ready for them.

***

Taylor stepped back from the pod containing Night, her brow furrowed in concentration. The clear enclosure allowed the trio of Empire members to keep a constant watch on the cape, preventing her monstrous transformation. Beside Night's pod, her husband Fog lay in a similar state, though his containment didn't require the same level of vigilance.

"Alright," Taylor said, wiping her hands on her apron. "That should do it. Now, would someone mind explaining what the hell is up with these two? I've never seen anything quite like this before."

Purity sighed, her luminous form dimming slightly as she considered her words. "Night and Fog... they're products of Gesellschaft's 'cape farm.' The organization's methods of creating and conditioning parahumans are... thorough, to say the least."

"Thorough?" Crusader scoffed. "That's putting it mildly. Those two give me the creeps."

Purity shot him a warning glare, but Crusader seemed determined to speak his mind.

"No, seriously," he continued. "Have you seen the way Dorothy cooks? She makes enough food for ten people, even when it's just her and Geoff. And don't get me started on him. The guy just sits there, staring at the newspaper without actually reading it. It's like they're playing at being some stereotypical American couple, but they don't quite understand how it works."

Taylor frowned, her eyes darting between the pods and the Empire members. "Is that why you've brought them to me? You want me to undo whatever Gesellschaft did to them?"

Purity nodded, her expression a mix of hope and concern. "We're trusting you to help them, Taylor. Their conditioning... it's not right. They deserve a chance at something more genuine."

"Hold on," Justin interjected, his voice laced with skepticism. "Are we sure that brainwashing on top of brainwashing is really the best solution here? I mean, who's to say we won't just make things worse?"

Taylor's eyes narrowed as she turned to face Crusader. "I'm not like those hacks who tortured them in the first place," she snapped. "I'm here to help, not further damage them. And if you don't watch your mouth, Justin, you might find yourself getting a session in the pod yourself. Your comments about 'cutting the detritus of society' at the inaugural Deer Lodge dinner were completely unacceptable."

Justin grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. "Fine, I'll be more careful with my words. But come on, it wasn't that bad. And it's the truth, anyway," he added under his breath.

Ignoring Crusader's muttering, Taylor turned her attention back to Purity. "What about you, Kayden? Have you given any more thought to joining the Deer Lodge?"

Purity hesitated, her glow flickering slightly. "I'm... considering it," she admitted. "What you and Theo are doing, it's good. You've been good for each other, too."

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Theo entered the lab, a bright smile on his face. "Taylor, you're amazing! The progress you've made with Night and Fog is incredible."

Taylor blushed, ducking her head slightly. "I'm just following through on your vision, Theo. You're the one with the drive to make all this happen."

Purity watched the exchange with a pleased expression, while Justin rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Well," Purity said, breaking the moment, "we should probably head to the cafeteria while Taylor finishes up here. Theo, do you have Aster?"

Theo nodded, gesturing to the baby carrier strapped to his chest. "Right here, safe and sound."

As the others filed out, Taylor turned her attention back to the pods, making final adjustments and monitoring the progress of Night and Fog's treatment. The hours ticked by as she worked, her mind racing with possibilities and potential improvements to her technology.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Taylor stepped back from the pods. Night and Fog's treatment was complete. She sent a quick message to the others, and soon, the lab was once again filled with the Empire members.

"Alright," Taylor said, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Let's see how they do."

She carefully opened Night's pod first, keeping a close eye on the woman as she slowly regained consciousness. Night blinked rapidly, shaking off the disorientation from her time in stasis. To the casual observer, she might have seemed unchanged, but Taylor noticed subtle differences in her posture and the way her eyes darted around the room.

Fog's awakening was similarly anticlimactic, at least on the surface. He sat up slowly, his gaze immediately seeking out his wife. The couple exchanged a look that seemed... softer, somehow, than their usual interactions.

"How do you feel?" Taylor asked, addressing both of them.

Night tilted her head slightly, considering the question. "I feel... clear," she said, her voice lacking some of its usual robotic quality. "Like I've woken up from a very long dream."

Fog nodded in agreement. "There's a sense of... possibility," he added. "As if we have options we didn't before."

Crusader snorted. "Well, they certainly sound the same. Are we sure anything actually changed?"

Taylor shot him a withering glare. "Give it time," she said. "These things don't happen overnight."

As the group left the lab, Taylor couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. She knew there was still work to be done, but this felt like a significant step forward.

The next day, Purity arrived at Medhall to drop off Aster for Night and Fog to babysit while she spoke with a client for her job. As she entered the room, she stopped short, her eyes widening in surprise.

Dorothy, usually dressed in the most conservative and unremarkable of outfits, was wearing a pair of bright red, patent leather stilettos that looked like they belonged on a runway rather than in a Medhall office. Beside her, Geoff sported a tie covered in a garish pattern of neon flamingos.

"Good morning, Kayden," Dorothy said, her voice warm but no longer eerily perfect. "How are you today?"

Purity blinked, still thrown by the unexpected fashion choices. "I'm... fine," she managed. "How are you two doing?"

Geoff smiled, absently adjusting his outlandish tie. "We're doing well. Looking forward to spending time with little Aster."

As Purity handed over the baby and her supplies, she couldn't help but notice other small changes. The couple moved more naturally, their interactions lacking the scripted quality they'd always had before. It was subtle, but to someone who knew them as well as Purity did, the difference was striking.

Over the next week, Purity found herself increasingly amazed by the transformation in Night and Fog. Each day, Dorothy sported a new pair of extravagant shoes – everything from towering platforms covered in glitter to delicate, hand-painted kitten heels. Geoff, not to be outdone, had apparently developed a passion for novelty ties, each one more outrageous than the last.

Despite these sartorial adventures, the rest of their attire remained as demure and conservative as ever. It was as if they were testing the waters of self-expression, one accessory at a time.

More importantly, Purity noticed a change in their behavior and speech. While still unfailingly polite and proper, Night and Fog now engaged in actual conversations. They offered opinions, asked questions, and even occasionally disagreed with each other – all things that would have been unthinkable before Taylor's intervention.

One afternoon, Purity arrived to pick up Aster and found Dorothy in the middle of organizing her rapidly growing shoe collection.

"Kayden!" Dorothy exclaimed, holding up a pair of leopard-print wedges. "What do you think of these? I saw them in a shop window yesterday and simply couldn't resist."

Purity smiled, still adjusting to this new, more animated version of Night. "They're... certainly eye-catching," she said diplomatically. "You've developed quite the collection."

Dorothy nodded, her eyes shining with genuine enthusiasm. "I never realized how fascinating shoes could be. The variety of styles, the craftsmanship involved – it's really quite remarkable."

As they chatted, Geoff entered the room, Aster balanced on his hip. Today's tie featured a repeating pattern of cartoon dinosaurs wearing sunglasses.

"How was she today?" Purity asked, taking Aster from Geoff.

"An absolute delight," Geoff replied, his voice warm. "We read several books together. I think she particularly enjoyed 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar.'"

Purity raised an eyebrow. "You read to her? That's new."

Geoff nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Yes, well, I've been doing some research on child development. It seems that reading aloud is incredibly beneficial, even for infants."

As Purity left with Aster, she couldn't help but marvel at the changes in Night and Fog. They were still recognizably themselves, but it was as if a veil had been lifted, allowing their true personalities to shine through.

Later that week, Purity found herself discussing the situation with Theo and Crusader.

"I have to admit," Purity said, "I'm impressed with what Taylor's managed to do. Night and Fog seem so much more... alive now."

Theo nodded, a proud smile on his face. "Taylor's amazing. She really understands how to help people become their best selves."

Crusader, however, looked less convinced. "Sure, they're a little different now, but let's be real – they're still boring as hell. Just because Dorothy's got a shoe fetish and Geoff's discovered novelty ties doesn't make them interesting people."

Purity frowned at Justin's dismissive tone. "That's not fair. They're making choices for themselves, expressing individual preferences. That's huge progress for them."

"Exactly," Theo added. "They're not just following a script anymore. They're developing genuine interests and engaging with the world around them. It might seem small to you, Justin, but for Night and Fog, this is a major step forward."

Crusader shrugged, clearly unconvinced. "If you say so. I still think they're creepy, just in a different way now."

Purity sighed, deciding to change the subject. "Anyway, have you given any more thought to what we discussed earlier, Theo? About expanding the Deer Lodge's community outreach programs?"

As Theo launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his latest ideas, Purity found her thoughts drifting back to Night and Fog. She wondered what other changes might be in store for the couple – and for all of them – as they continued down this path of transformation.

For now, though, she was content to see the small but significant progress they'd made. It gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, people really could change for the better.

***

Lisa sat hunched over her laptop in the Undersiders' loft, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sifted through the information she'd gathered. The room was quiet except for the soft tapping of her fingers on the keyboard and the occasional rustle of papers.

The door swung open, and Brian strode in, followed closely by Alec. Both looked expectantly at Lisa, who barely glanced up from her work.

"So," Brian said, crossing his arms, "what have you found out?"

Lisa held up a finger, signaling for them to wait as she finished typing something. Finally, she leaned back in her chair and stretched, her joints popping audibly.

"Alright," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I've got some interesting info on our Miss Stepford."

Alec flopped onto the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "Do tell. I'm on the edge of my seat here."

Lisa rolled her eyes at his sarcasm but launched into her explanation. "So, here's the deal with Miss Stepford's brainwashing. It's... not what we expected."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well, for starters, it's surprisingly subtle," Lisa said, gesturing to the notes spread out before her. "Compared to most masters we've encountered or heard about, her control is actually pretty weak."

"Weak?" Brian echoed, sounding skeptical. "From what we've seen, she's got half of Winslow under her thumb."

Lisa nodded. "True, but here's the thing – her method doesn't work by completely overriding a person's will. Instead, it... reinforces natural paths, so to speak."

Alec leaned forward slightly, his usual bored expression replaced by a hint of curiosity. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means," Lisa explained, warming to her subject, "that her brainwashing works with existing tendencies and desires. It doesn't create new personalities out of thin air. Instead, it amplifies certain traits and suppresses others."

Brian frowned. "So, it's more like... nudging people in a certain direction?"

"Exactly," Lisa said, snapping her fingers. "And because of that, it's actually more effective in some ways. People don't feel like they're being controlled, because in a sense, they're still making their own choices. They're just... strongly encouraged to make certain choices over others."

Alec whistled low. "That's pretty fucked up. Clever, but fucked up."

Lisa continued, "The really interesting part is how it interacts with different personalities. For some people, the effects are barely noticeable. For others, it can lead to significant changes in behavior."

Brian's expression darkened. "Like Sophia."

"Yeah," Lisa said, her tone softening slightly. "From what I've observed, Sophia is probably the most heavily conditioned person I've encountered so far. But here's the good news – I'm pretty sure I could break her out of it completely with a little pushing."

Brian's eyes widened. "Really? How?"

Lisa grinned. "By exploiting the weaknesses in the conditioning. See, because it works with existing traits, there are always contradictions and inconsistencies. If you know how to spot them and apply pressure in the right places, the whole thing can unravel."

"That's... actually pretty reassuring," Brian said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

Alec snorted. "Speak for yourself. I think I preferred it when we thought she was just an all-powerful mind controller. This subtle shit is way creepier."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Of course you'd say that. But seriously, understanding how it works is crucial. It means we can potentially counter it, or at least recognize when someone's been affected."

As she spoke, the door banged open, and Rachel stomped in, her face set in its usual scowl. "I'm going out," she announced gruffly.

Lisa, still engrossed in her explanation, barely glanced up. "Sure, whatever."

Brian, however, fixed Rachel with a hard look. "Don't cause any trouble, alright? We don't need heat right now."

Rachel grunted. "Just doing some scouting. Nothing big."

As Rachel left, slamming the door behind her, Lisa's mind was already racing ahead. "You know," she mused, "I think this new Deer Lodge thing is connected to all this. And I bet the boss is going to be very interested in what we've found out."

Brian nodded slowly. "Makes sense. If Miss Stepford is involved with the Empire, and now there's this new 'civic organization' popping up..."

"Exactly," Lisa said. "It's all part of a bigger picture. We just need to figure out how the pieces fit together."

Alec opened his mouth, presumably to make another sarcastic comment, when a sound cut through the air. It started low, then grew in volume and urgency.

Brian's eyes widened. "Is that...?"

"Endbringer sirens," Lisa confirmed, her face paling.

For a moment, panic gripped the room. Then Alec, in an uncharacteristically level voice, said, "Wait. That's not the local attack pattern."

Lisa was already furiously typing on her laptop. "You're right," she said, her eyes scanning the screen. "It's not here. It's... Canberra. The Simurgh is heading to Canberra."

A collective sigh of relief went through the room, followed immediately by a wave of guilt. They weren't in danger, but thousands of others soon would be.

"Shit," Brian muttered, running a hand over his face. "What do we do now?"

Lisa bit her lip, thinking. "We keep gathering information. This might actually give us an opportunity – with everyone distracted by the Endbringer attack, we might be able to dig deeper into what's going on here in Brockton Bay."

Brian frowned, considering Lisa's suggestion. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Gathering information while everyone's focused on the Endbringer attack seems like it's skirting pretty close to breaking the Truce."

Lisa shook her head. "I'm not talking about trying to infiltrate Medhall again or anything like that. Just passive observation, seeing what we can pick up without directly interfering. No aggressive moves."

She paused, her expression growing pensive. "Actually, you might be right that we should play it safe for now. Rachel's out there, and with tensions running high because of the Simurgh attack..."

Brian's eyes widened as he realized the potential implications. If Rachel inadvertently caused trouble while everyone was on high alert due to the Endbringer situation, it could escalate quickly. He pulled out his phone, ready to call her back, when the sound of the door opening made him pause.

Rachel stepped back into the loft, her expression surly as usual. "What's with the racket?" she growled, jerking her thumb toward the wailing sirens.

"Simurgh attack in Canberra," Lisa explained, her tone grave. "Which means we should probably keep a low profile for now, just to be safe."

Rachel grunted, seemingly unconcerned. "Whatever. I was just gonna do some scouting around the Trainyard anyway."

Lisa exchanged a look with Brian, both of them recognizing the potential risks in that area with the Empire's increased presence. "Maybe hold off on that for a bit?" Lisa suggested carefully. "Things are going to be tense with the Endbringer situation. We don't want to accidentally start anything."

For a moment, Rachel looked like she might argue, her eyes narrowing dangerously. But then, to their surprise, she simply shrugged and stalked over to the couch, flopping down heavily.

"Fine," she grumbled. "Not like I can't wait a day or two."

Brian let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, relieved that Rachel had agreed to stand down for the time being. He knew better than to push his luck, though, and simply nodded in acknowledgment.

As the sirens continued to wail in the distance, a somber silence fell over the loft. They all knew the gravity of an Endbringer attack, even if it wasn't happening in their own city. For now, all they could do was wait and hope that the heroes and villains alike would be able to drive back the Simurgh's latest assault.

***

Assault jogged up to the helipad on the Rig, where the other Protectorate members were already gathered. The air was thick with tension, everyone knowing what was at stake. As he approached, Battery turned to him, her brow furrowed.

"Where's Armsmaster?" she asked, glancing around as if expecting their leader to materialize at any moment.

Assault shook his head. "He's not coming this time."

A ripple of surprise went through the group. Miss Militia stepped forward, her weapon shifting restlessly at her side. "Is everything okay?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Assault hesitated, weighing his words carefully. "Armsy filled me in on some of what he's working on," he said finally. "And I've got to say, I agree with him. We don't want him anywhere near the Simurgh right now."

The implications of that statement hung heavy in the air. Before anyone could press further, the adults of New Wave arrived, Panacea in tow. Lady Photon nodded grimly to the assembled heroes as they touched down.

"We're ready," she said simply.

Laserdream hovered nearby, her face set in determination. "I want to go too," she insisted.

Lady Photon turned to her daughter, her expression softening for just a moment. "Absolutely not," she said firmly. "You're staying here. We need someone to keep an eye on things in Brockton Bay."

Laserdream looked like she wanted to argue, but a sharp look from her mother silenced any further protests.

The tense atmosphere was suddenly shattered by the arrival of an unexpected figure. Lung, his muscular form barely contained by a new costume bearing the Protectorate emblem, landed on the helipad with a heavy thud.

Shocked gasps and murmurs rippled through the assembled heroes. New Wave looked particularly stunned, with Brandish's hands clenching into fists at her sides.

Lung surveyed the group with a surly expression, but there was no hostility in his stance. He simply nodded once, acknowledging their presence.

"What the hell is this?" Manpower growled, taking a step forward.

Miss Militia held up a hand, her voice calm but firm. "Lung is a probationary member of the Protectorate now. We can discuss the details later, but for now, we need to focus on the task at hand."

A nearby PRT tech called out, "Five minutes until Strider teleports in for pickup!"

As if on cue, another tech pointed out over the water. "We've got incoming! Looks like... a steel sheet?"

All eyes turned to see the massive piece of metal soaring towards them, figures visible standing atop it.

"Rune," Assault muttered. "Probably bringing some Empire capes. My money's on Hookwolf, maybe Othala and Victor."

As the steel platform drew closer, however, it became clear that their initial assessment was far off the mark. Nearly the full contingent of Empire Eighty-Eight capes stood atop the makeshift transport, and at least half of them were sporting new costumes.

The platform touched down on the helipad, and Victor – looking decidedly different in his new attire – stepped forward.

"Allow me to introduce ourselves," he said smoothly. "I go by Ace now. And we have some other changes as well."

He gestured to each cape in turn. "Nightingale," he said, indicating Othala. "Bombardier," pointing to Storm Tiger. "Scribe," nodding towards Rune. "And Sparrow," finishing with Cricket.

Hookwolf, Kaiser, and the Valkyrie twins remained in their familiar costumes, standing slightly apart from the rebranded group.

Victor – or rather, Ace – continued. "Krieg and Alabaster have remained behind to ensure no one takes advantage of the truce in our absence."

As the heroes struggled to process this unexpected development, two more figures stepped forward from the group. Miss Stepford, her costume a picture of 1950s domesticity, and a young man in a sharp suit who introduced himself as Chairman.

"We're not joining the fight directly," Miss Stepford explained, her voice pleasant but firm. "But we've brought some tech that we hope might be able to counter the Simurgh's influence, or at least extend the time a person can remain in her scream."

The Protectorate members exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure how to respond to this sudden show of... cooperation? From their longtime adversaries.

Lady Photon's voice cut through the tension. "A new coat of paint won't change anything," she said sharply, her eyes narrowed at the Empire capes.

Ace turned to her, his expression neutral. "Judge us on our actions going forward," he replied calmly. Then, with a slight smirk, he gestured towards Lung. "After all, it seems we're not the only ones embracing change today."

Before the situation could escalate further, there was a loud crack and a flash of light. Strider had arrived.

"We're out of time for debate," Miss Militia announced, taking charge of the situation. "Everyone who's going, get ready for transport. We can sort out the rest when we return."

As the capes began to gather around Strider, Assault caught sight of a figure watching from a doorway near the helipad. Armsmaster stood there, his posture rigid, clearly struggling with the decision to stay behind.

Next to him stood Theresa, and to Assault's surprise, an identical woman – must be the Tess he'd heard mentioned. Both were speaking to Armsmaster in low, urgent tones.

"It's too risky," Theresa was saying. "You know that."

Her twin nodded in agreement. "The potential consequences far outweigh any benefit you might provide."

Armsmaster's fists clenched at his sides. "I hope you're right," he said, his voice barely audible over the commotion of the departing group. "And that your big sister will be understanding."

Assault had no time to ponder the cryptic exchange. Strider's voice rang out, "Everyone ready? Here we go!"

Chapter Text

Taylor leaned back in her chair, a contented smile on her face as she surveyed the Winslow cafeteria. The buzz of excited chatter filled the air, students eagerly discussing their plans for the upcoming spring break. It had been a week since the Simurgh's attack on Canberra, and while the tension of that event still lingered, life at Winslow was returning to its usual rhythm.

She caught sight of Emma across the room, her best friend holding court at a table surrounded by admirers. Emma was gesticulating animatedly, no doubt regaling them with tales of her latest modeling gig. Taylor's gaze drifted to Emma's outfit – a sneak peek from the new fashion line she was representing. The neckline plunged lower than Taylor was entirely comfortable with, but she had to admit that Emma wore it well. Her friend had certainly... been developing recently.

"Earth to Taylor!" Madison's voice broke through her reverie. "Did you hear what I just said?"

Taylor blinked, focusing on the petite girl seated across from her. "Sorry, Mads. I was lost in thought for a second there. What's up?"

Madison's face lit up with an almost manic glee. "Greg and I are engaged!"

Taylor's eyes widened in surprise. "Engaged? Oh my gosh, Madison! That's amazing!" She reached across the table to grab Madison's hands, her earlier concerns momentarily forgotten. "Tell me everything! How did he propose?"

Taylor caught herself drifting into a daydream as Madison described Greg's romantic proposal. She imagined Theo down on one knee, perhaps at the next Medhall gala, or maybe during a quiet dinner at that fancy Italian place they both loved. He'd probably have the twins help set everything up - they'd been warming up to her lately, especially after she'd taught them that soufflé recipe.

She pictured the ring - nothing too ostentatious, Theo knew her taste. Something elegant and classic, like the ones in those vintage magazines she'd been collecting. The thought of being Mrs. Anders made her heart flutter.

Taylor shook her head slightly, forcing herself back to reality. No, she shouldn't let her mind wander like that. A proper lady waited for her man to make such decisions in his own time. Theo would propose when he felt ready, when the moment was right. Until then, her role was to be supportive and patient.

Besides, they both had so much work ahead of them with the Deer Lodge. The organization needed a strong foundation before they could think about their personal future together. Taylor smiled softly to herself as she refocused on Madison's excited chatter about wedding colors and bridesmaid dresses.

Madison beamed, her cheeks flushing with excitement. "It was so romantic! We were at the park, having a picnic, and he just got down on one knee right there in front of everyone. The ring is gorgeous too – look!"

She extended her left hand, showing off a delicate silver band adorned with a small but sparkling diamond. The other girls at the table cooed and gasped appreciatively.

"It's beautiful," Taylor said sincerely. "Have you set a date yet?"

Madison shook her head. "Not yet. We're thinking maybe in two summers, after graduation. My parents are going to flip when they find out, though."

At the mention of Madison's parents, a flicker of worry crossed Taylor's mind. Was this moving too fast? Had her tech pushed things further than she'd intended? She pushed the thought aside, focusing on her friend's happiness.

"Speaking of your parents," Taylor said carefully, "how do you think they'll react?"

Madison's smile took on a slightly sharp edge. "Oh, they'll hate it. They've been talking about setting me up with the son of one of Dad's golf buddies. As if I'd let them arrange my life like that."

Taylor nodded, relieved. If this was Madison's way of asserting her independence, then maybe things weren't so bad after all. "Well, I'm happy for you, Mads. You and Greg are great together."

"Thanks, Taylor," Madison said, her expression softening. "I just wish... well, never mind."

"What is it?" Taylor pressed gently.

Madison sighed. "It's just... I wish my parents would act more like proper adults, you know? Set a better example." She lowered her voice. "The cheating, the constant arguing – it's exhausting."

Taylor blinked, taken aback by Madison's candor. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face. "You know, I might have a book that could help with that. Something to help them... see things more clearly."

Madison's eyes lit up with understanding. "Really? That would be amazing, Taylor. You're such a good friend."

As the conversation drifted to other topics, Taylor sat back, feeling a sense of satisfaction. Everything was working out perfectly. She was helping her friends, improving the school, and soon, she'd be making families stronger too. What could possibly go wrong?

The rest of lunch passed in a whirlwind of wedding talk and romantic sighs. When the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Taylor gathered her things and headed for her next class: U.S. History.

As she entered the classroom, Taylor was surprised to see an unfamiliar face at the teacher's desk. The woman was striking – tall and fit, with an olive complexion and dark hair pulled back in a neat bun. She radiated an aura of quiet competence that immediately commanded respect.

"Good afternoon, class," the woman said as the students settled into their seats. "I'm Ms. Washington. I'll be your substitute for the remainder of the year while Mrs. Johnson is on maternity leave."

Taylor studied Ms. Washington curiously. There was something familiar about her, though Taylor couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. As the lesson began, Taylor found herself impressed by the new teacher's knowledge and engaging teaching style.

After class, Taylor lingered, wanting to introduce herself properly. "That was a great lesson, Ms. Washington," she said. "I'm Taylor Hebert."

Ms. Washington smiled, though Taylor noticed a flicker of... something in her eyes. Recognition? Wariness? It was gone so quickly Taylor wondered if she'd imagined it.

"Thank you, Taylor," Ms. Washington replied. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you over the coming months."

As Taylor left the classroom, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Ms. Washington than met the eye. But with spring break on the horizon and the usual whirlwind of Winslow drama to contend with, she pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. Taylor split her time between school, her 'internship' at Medhall, and spending time with Theo. The Deer Lodge was gaining traction in the community, and Taylor found herself constantly tweaking and refining her tech to support their efforts.

It was during one of these work sessions that Taylor received an unexpected visitor. She looked up from her workbench to see Rune – no, Scribe now – hovering uncertainly in the doorway of her lab.

"Can I help you?" Taylor asked, careful to keep her voice neutral. She and Tammi had never been close, and the younger girl's suspicion of her was well-known.

Scribe fidgeted with the hem of her new costume. "I... I wanted to talk to you about something," she said, her usual bravado noticeably absent.

Taylor gestured for her to come in, curiosity piqued. "What's on your mind?"

Scribe took a deep breath. "It's about your tech. The... the cookies you gave me."

Taylor's heart rate picked up. She'd been wondering when this conversation might happen. "Go on," she said carefully.

"I know what you're doing," Scribe blurted out. "You're trying to turn me into some baby-making machine for the Empire, aren't you?"

Taylor blinked, taken aback by the accusation. "What? No, that's not–"

"Don't lie to me!" Scribe snapped. "I've been... I've been having these thoughts. Daydreaming about settling down, having a family. That's not me! I'm a fighter, not some housewife!"

Taylor sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Tammi, sit down," she said, gesturing to a nearby chair. After a moment's hesitation, the girl complied.

Taylor leaned back in her chair, meeting Tammi's accusatory gaze with a calm expression. "Tammi, I promise you, the cookies aren't tinkertech. They're just... cookies. Good ones, I'll admit, but still just regular baked goods."

Tammi's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Then why am I feeling this way? These thoughts aren't like me at all!"

"Have you considered that maybe it's not the cookies, but everything else that's changing around you?" Taylor suggested gently. "Look at the Deer Lodge, the community we're building. It's natural to be influenced by your surroundings."

Tammi crossed her arms, still defensive but looking less certain. "What do you mean?"

Taylor gestured broadly. "Think about it. A lot of the capes you've looked up to are settling down, starting families. It's only natural that you might start considering those things for yourself too."

"But I never wanted that before," Tammi protested weakly.

"People change, Tammi. Especially at our age," Taylor said. "And it's not like this is some new concept for the Empire. Krieg has a wife and three kids, and that was long before I came on the scene."

Tammi blinked, clearly not having considered that. "I... I guess that's true."

Taylor pressed on, sensing she was getting through. "And look at Bombadier and Sparrow. They've started serious relationships recently. Seeing that, it's bound to make you think about your own future."

"Maybe," Tammi admitted reluctantly. "But it still feels... wrong. Like it's not really me."

Taylor leaned forward, her voice earnest. "Tammi, I haven't forced you to use any of my pods. You haven't had any skills implanted. These feelings, they're coming from you. Maybe they're new and scary, but they're yours."

Tammi was quiet for a long moment, processing this. "I just... I always saw myself as a fighter. Not someone's wife or... or mother."

"Who says you can't be both?" Taylor asked. "Look at Othala – sorry, Nightingale. She just announced her pregnancy, and she's only a couple years older than us. But she's still an active cape, still part of the team."

"That's different," Tammi argued. "Her power isn't combat-oriented like mine."

Taylor shrugged. "Maybe. But there are plenty of heroes and villains out there who balance family life with cape activities. It's not an either-or situation."

Tammi fidgeted with the edge of her costume, looking conflicted. "I just... I don't know. It's all so confusing."

"That's okay," Taylor said softly. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now. You're young, Tammi. We both are. There's time to explore these feelings, to figure out what you really want."

Tammi looked up, meeting Taylor's eyes. "You really think so?"

Taylor nodded. "I do. And hey, if you ever want to talk about this stuff more, I'm here. No tech, no tricks. Just... girl talk, you know?"

A ghost of a smile flickered across Tammi's face. "I... I might take you up on that. Thanks, Taylor."

As Tammi left the lab, looking slightly less troubled than when she'd entered, Taylor let out a long breath. She hadn't lied, exactly. The cookies weren't tinkertech. But the milk she'd served with them? That was another story entirely.

Taylor turned back to her workbench, mind already spinning with new ideas. She'd have to be more careful going forward, more subtle. But the potential was there, just waiting to be tapped.

She thought of Madison's engagement, of the changes she'd seen in her friends and classmates. Most seemed happier, more focused. But was that justification enough?

Taylor's musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. She looked up to see Theo standing there, a warm smile on his face.

"Hey," he said, crossing the room to plant a kiss on her cheek. "You looked like you were a million miles away. Everything okay?"

Taylor managed a small smile. "Just... thinking about things. The tech, the changes we're making. Sometimes I wonder if we're doing the right thing."

Theo's expression grew serious. He pulled up a chair, sitting down beside her. "Having doubts?"

Taylor nodded. "Tammi was just here. She's freaking out a bit about some of the effects. And with Madison getting engaged... I don't know. Maybe we're pushing too hard, too fast."

Theo was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "You know," he said finally, "my father would say that doubt is weakness. That we should push forward, consequences be damned."

Taylor tensed slightly, but Theo continued.

"But I think... I think doubt can be a strength. It keeps us honest, makes us question our choices. As long as it doesn't paralyze us."

He reached out, taking Taylor's hand in his. "We're trying to make the world better, Taylor. It's not always going to be easy, and we're bound to make some mistakes along the way. But I believe in what we're doing. And I believe in you."

Taylor felt some of the tension leave her body. She squeezed Theo's hand, grateful for his steadying presence. "When did you get so wise?" she teased gently.

Theo grinned. "Must be all those leadership seminars you're making me take."

They shared a laugh, the heaviness of the moment dissipating. As they settled into a comfortable silence, Taylor's mind drifted to the upcoming spring break. A week off from school, a chance to focus on their plans for the city.

"So," Theo said, breaking into her thoughts. "Any big plans for break?"

Taylor smirked. "Oh, you know. The usual. Revolutionize society, reshape the political landscape of Brockton Bay. Maybe catch a movie if there's time."

Theo chuckled. "Sounds like a packed schedule. Think you can pencil me in for a date night?"

"I suppose I could clear my calendar," Taylor replied, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. "Did you have something in mind?"

"Well," Theo said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I heard there's this new Italian place downtown. Supposedly the owner has some... interesting connections. Might be worth checking out."

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Interesting connections, huh? You wouldn't happen to be mixing business with pleasure, would you?"

Theo held up his hands in mock surrender. "Can't a guy take his girlfriend out for a nice dinner without ulterior motives?"

"A guy, sure," Taylor teased. "You? I'm not so certain."

Their banter was interrupted by the chime of Taylor's phone. She glanced at the screen, seeing a message from Emma.

"Everything okay?" Theo asked, noting the slight furrow in Taylor's brow.

"Yeah, it's fine," Taylor said. "Emma wants to meet up. Says she has some big news about her modeling career."

Theo nodded. "You should go. We can finish planning our date later."

Taylor hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Thanks for understanding," she said, giving him a quick kiss before gathering her things.

As she headed out to meet Emma, Taylor's mind was already racing with possibilities. What could her friend's news be? And how might it factor into their larger plans for Brockton Bay?

The coffee shop was bustling when Taylor arrived, the late afternoon crowd filling the air with the hum of conversation and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She spotted Emma immediately, her friend's vibrant red hair standing out even in the crowded space.

"Taylor!" Emma waved enthusiastically, gesturing to the seat across from her. "Over here!"

As Taylor made her way to the table, she couldn't help but notice the looks Emma was attracting. Her friend was wearing another piece from the new fashion line – a form-fitting top that, once again, seemed designed to emphasize Emma's... assets.

"Hey, Em," Taylor said, sliding into the seat. "You're certainly turning heads today."

Emma preened a bit at the observation. "That's kind of the point," she said with a wink. "But forget about that for a second. I have huge news!"

Taylor leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "Alright, I'm all ears. What's going on?"

Emma took a dramatic pause, clearly savoring the moment. "I," she announced, "have been chosen as the face of Parian's new line!"

Taylor's eyes widened. Parian was a rogue cape, known for her incredible fabric manipulation and avant-garde designs. Landing a contract with her was a major coup for any model, let alone one still in high school.

"Emma, that's amazing!" Taylor exclaimed. "How did this happen?"

Emma launched into the story, her words tumbling out in an excited rush. Apparently, Parian had seen some of Emma's recent work and had been impressed by her ability to carry off bold, unconventional designs. A meeting had been arranged, and Emma had charmed the shy designer with her enthusiasm and professionalism.

"It's going to be incredible, Taylor," Emma gushed. "Parian's stuff is like nothing else out there. And with my ideas for how to market it? We're going to take the fashion world by storm!"

As Emma continued to outline her plans, Taylor found her mind racing. This could be a significant opportunity, not just for Emma, but for their larger goals. Parian was well-respected in the cape community, and having a connection to her could open up all sorts of possibilities.

"I'm so happy for you, Emma," Taylor said warmly. "You've worked hard for this. You deserve it."

Emma beamed at the praise. "Thanks, Taylor. I couldn't have done it without you, you know. Your study guides, your support... you've been amazing."

A flicker of guilt passed through Taylor at the mention of her 'study guides,' but she pushed it aside. This was Emma's moment, and she wasn't going to let her doubts overshadow her friend's achievement.

"So," Taylor said, leaning back in her chair. "When do you start? And more importantly, when do I get to see some of these amazing designs?"

Emma's eyes lit up. "Well, funny you should ask..." She reached into her bag, pulling out a sleek portfolio. "Parian gave me some preliminary sketches. Want a sneak peek?"

Taylor nodded eagerly, and Emma began to flip through the portfolio. The designs were stunning – intricate, otherworldly creations that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Taylor marveled at the way fabric twisted and flowed in impossible ways, creating silhouettes that were at once alien and breathtakingly beautiful.

"These are incredible," Taylor breathed. "But... how is this even possible? Some of these designs look like they'd fall apart the moment someone tried to wear them."

Emma grinned. "That's the beauty of working with a cape designer," she explained. "Parian's power lets her maintain the structure of the garments. They'll hold their shape perfectly, no matter what."

As they continued to pore over the sketches, Taylor's mind was already spinning with possibilities. If Parian could manipulate fabric to this degree, what other applications might her power have? And how might they be able to incorporate some of her technology into the projects? Could she collaborate with Parian to create dresses that would reinforce roles. It was an interesting thought.

"You know," Taylor said slowly, an idea forming. "I bet Theo would be really interested in seeing some of these designs. The Deer Lodge has been looking for ways to support local artists and entrepreneurs. Maybe we could set up some kind of showcase for Parian's work?"

Emma's eyes widened. "That would be amazing! Do you really think Theo could make that happen?"

Taylor nodded. "I'm sure he'd be on board. It's exactly the kind of positive community engagement we've been talking about. Plus, it could be a great way to bring some positive attention to the cape community."

As they continued to discuss the possibilities, Taylor felt a renewed sense of purpose. This was why they were doing all of this – to create opportunities, to bring people together, to make Brockton Bay a better place. Yes, there were risks and ethical quandaries to navigate, but moments like this reminded her of the potential for good in their work.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirlwind of excited planning and catching up. As they finally said their goodbyes, Taylor found herself energized and optimistic about the future. Spring break was just around the corner, and with it, a chance to push their plans forward in exciting new ways.

***

Miss Militia sat in her temporary office at Winslow High, tapping her fingers nervously on the desk as she waited for Armsmaster to pick up the secure line. When his gruff voice finally came through, she breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Hannah. How's the undercover assignment going?" Armsmaster asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

"So far, so good," she replied. "The students seem well-behaved and engaged in the material. It's actually quite impressive."

There was a pause before Armsmaster spoke again, his tone laced with disapproval. "I still don't like the fact that you're there. We know Winslow is ground zero for Miss Stepford's operations. It's too risky."

Hannah sighed. "Colin, we've been over this. Dauntless is under pressure from Piggot to get results, and I'm the one with the actual history degree. With the ABB practically gone, half the Empire going legit, and Coil and the Merchants laying low, they don't need me for regular patrols as much right now."

"That doesn't mean you should be putting yourself in unnecessary danger," Armsmaster countered. "We have no idea the full extent of Miss Stepford's abilities or how far her influence has spread within the school."

"I know, I know," Hannah said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. "But I've had the latest Master/Stranger training. I'm being careful, I promise."

Armsmaster grumbled something unintelligible before speaking clearly again. "Just... don't take any unnecessary risks, alright? It's not worth it."

"I'll be fine, Colin," Hannah assured him. "I'll see you on the weekend, okay?"

After ending the call, Hannah took a deep breath and gathered her teaching materials. As she made her way to her first class of the day, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement. Despite the potential dangers, there was something oddly thrilling about this undercover assignment.

The students filed into the classroom, taking their seats without the usual chatter and restlessness Hannah had come to expect from teenagers. As she began her lecture on the Civil War, she was pleasantly surprised by how attentive and engaged the class seemed to be. They asked insightful questions and even engaged in thoughtful debates about the various factors that led to the conflict.

After class, Hannah noticed Madison lingering by her desk, a sparkle catching her eye. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was an engagement ring.

"That's a lovely ring, Madison," Hannah commented, curiosity getting the better of her. "Is there a special occasion?"

Madison's face lit up with a bright smile. "Oh, yes! I just got engaged over the weekend. Greg proposed, and it was so romantic!"

Hannah's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Madison couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen. "Wow, that's... quite a commitment at your age. Congratulations," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. Then, as delicately as she could, she asked, "Are you... expecting?"

Madison's eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head. "Oh, no! Nothing like that. We're just in love and know we want to spend our lives together."

Hannah felt a wave of relief wash over her, though she still had concerns about such a young couple getting engaged. However, she kept those thoughts to herself, simply nodding and offering Madison another congratulations before the girl left for her next class.

The following day, Hannah decided to give a pop quiz to one of her other classes, curious to see how well they had retained the information from their recent lessons. To her amazement, nearly every student passed with flying colors. As she handed back the graded quizzes, she couldn't help but praise one particularly high-scoring girl.

"Excellent work, Jessica," Hannah said, smiling at the student. "With scores like these, any college would be lucky to have you."

Jessica's expression fell slightly. "Oh, I'm not planning on going to college, Ms. Washington."

Hannah blinked in surprise. "Really? But you're such a bright student. May I ask why?"

Jessica shrugged. "I'm going to be a housewife. That's always been my plan."

To Hannah's shock, several other girls in the class murmured in agreement. She scanned the room, trying to find at least one student who seemed to disagree. Her eyes landed on a girl in the back who was remaining quiet.

"What about you, Emily?" Hannah asked. "Do you have plans for college?"

Emily nodded hesitantly. "Yes, I'm planning on going..."

Hannah felt a small surge of relief, but it was short-lived as Emily continued.

"But I'm mostly going to get my 'Mrs.' degree, you know? Find a good husband and start a family."

Hannah frowned, unsure how to respond to this unexpected turn. Before she could gather her thoughts, one of the Asian students in the front row spoke up.

"No offense, Ms. Washington, but we don't want to end up a Christmas cake like you."

The comment stung, though Hannah wasn't entirely sure what it meant. She managed to maintain her composure and finish the class, but the interaction left her feeling unsettled.

During her lunch break, Hannah sought out one of the other teachers, Ms. Chen, who she knew had an Asian background.

"Excuse me, Lisa," Hannah said as she approached the other woman in the teacher's lounge. "I was hoping you could help me understand something a student said earlier."

Ms. Chen looked up from her salad. "Of course, what's up?"

Hannah explained the 'Christmas cake' comment, watching as understanding dawned on Ms. Chen's face.

"Ah, I see," Ms. Chen said, setting down her fork. "It's a term that originated in Japan. Basically, it refers to the idea that a woman over 25 is considered too old to get married."

Hannah's brow furrowed. "But what does that have to do with cake?"

Ms. Chen explained further. "In Japan, cake is a traditional Christmas gift. But after December 25th, nobody wants Christmas cake anymore. So, a 'Christmas cake' became slang for an unmarried woman over 25 – supposedly past her prime and undesirable."

Hannah absorbed this information, feeling a mix of indignation and concern. She was well past 25 herself, and the idea that these young girls viewed that as some kind of expiration date for women was deeply troubling.

"I can't believe they're thinking like this," Hannah muttered, more to herself than to Ms. Chen. "They're so young, with so much potential. Why are they limiting themselves this way?"

Ms. Chen shrugged, looking a touch uncomfortable. "I've noticed it too. It's like there's been a shift in the school culture over the past year or so. More and more girls seem to be embracing traditional gender roles. It's... a little old fashioned but it really has improved the school."

Hannah was jolted from her thoughts by the afternoon announcements blaring over the loudspeakers. As the principal's voice droned on about upcoming events and announcements, Hannah found herself struggling to recall what she and Ms. Chen had been discussing.

She vaguely remembered something about traditional gender roles and girls limiting themselves, but the details were quickly slipping away. By the time the announcements ended, her train of thought had been utterly derailed.

As she made her way to her next class, Hannah couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was something off about the student culture at Winslow. The attitudes and aspirations she had encountered seemed so regressive, so at odds with the progressive ideals she had always embraced.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and as Hannah packed up her things to leave, that one offhand comment continued to echo in her mind.

"Christmas cake..."

She knew, logically, that she shouldn't let the ignorant remark of a teenager get to her. And yet, it stung in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on. Was she really so old and undesirable in the eyes of these young people?

Hannah had never been one to obsess over her age or looks. As a Ward, and later as a member of the Protectorate, her focus had always been on her duty, on being a hero. But now, as an undercover agent posing as a teacher, she found herself hyper-aware of the generational gap between herself and her students.

She thought back to her days in the Wards, when she had been partnered with Chevalier. They had been close, perhaps even flirted with the idea of something more, but their careers had ultimately taken precedence. Hannah had never really dated anyone seriously since then.

Was she really still young, as she had always considered herself to be? Or had she somehow missed the window of opportunity, dooming herself to be forever seen as a "Christmas cake" by the younger generation?

Hannah shook her head, trying to dislodge the insidious thought. She was being ridiculous, letting the words of a misguided teenager get to her. She was a respected hero, a valued member of the Protectorate. Her worth wasn't defined by her relationship status or by some outdated, misogynistic ideology.

And yet, as she made her way out of the school and towards her temporary living quarters, Hannah couldn't help but feel a twinge of self-doubt. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to start putting a little more effort into her personal life.

***

Taylor hurried out of Winslow, her excitement barely contained. Today wasn't just another day at her "internship" - it was the day everything would change. As she made her way to Medhall, her mind raced with anticipation.

Entering her lab, Taylor had barely settled in when there was a knock at the door. Max Anders stood there, a rare hint of eagerness in his eyes.

"Come with me," he said. "We're watching from the security room."

Taylor nodded, following him down the hallway. As they entered the security room, she was surprised to see Brad lounging in a chair, dressed in a security guard uniform and munching on a bowl of popcorn.

Max's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Brad shrugged, not bothering to stand. "You won't let me be on standby, so I figured I'd enjoy the show. This is gonna be good."

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but instead just sighed and turned to the bank of monitors. Taylor's eyes widened as she realized they weren't showing the usual Medhall security feeds. Instead, each screen displayed bodycam footage from various Empire foot soldiers. They were gearing up, checking weapons and equipment with a level of professionalism that made Taylor's chest swell with pride.

"Krieg and Alabaster are officially in charge," Max explained, "but this is the real test of your tech, Taylor. Every non-cape has undergone multiple sessions in your pods. Their skills should equal or even exceed special forces at this point."

Taylor nodded, her eyes flicking from screen to screen. She paid special attention to a handful of soldiers who seemed to move with an almost inhuman grace. Those were the ones who had used her newest, most experimental pod - the results of her… collaboration.

The door opened again, and Theo slipped in. He moved to Taylor's side, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. This was a big step for both of them, the culmination of months of work and planning.

"Too many Empire members are following the Deer Lodge example," Brad grumbled around a mouthful of popcorn. "It's gonna limit our operations with the reduced number of capes."

Max waved a hand dismissively. "We can bring in more if needed. Speaking of which," he turned to Brad, "I hear you're considering joining the Lodge yourself."

Brad shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yeah, well... Nessa's been making some pretty pointed statements lately. Keeps talking about rings and I think she is expecting one sooner rather then later."

Taylor couldn't help but smile at that. She'd grown fond of Theo's older sister figure over the past few months. Nessa always had the best stories about Theo's childhood. Then Taylor frowned, realizing she actually hadn't had any sessions with Menja. They'd done some cooking lessons together, but those hadn't involved her tech at all.

As Taylor pondered this, she felt a different swell of pride. One not in her own accomplishments but in confirming her worldview. Sure, she might have had to nudge some people in the right direction, but wasn't this the natural order of things? Once people saw the benefits, they moved towards it on their own, even without conditioning or assigned roles. It was good to see the proper order asserting itself.

On the main screen, Krieg's face appeared. "We're in position, Kaiser. Awaiting your go-ahead."

Max leaned forward, his voice firm and commanding. "You have a green light. Commence the operation."

The screens exploded into action. Empire soldiers moved with coordinated precision, converging on what Taylor knew to be the Merchants' main hideout. Months of intelligence gathering and careful planning had led to this moment.

"Look at them go," Brad said, leaning forward with genuine interest. "I gotta admit, Taylor, your tech has made a hell of a difference. These guys move like pros."

Taylor beamed at the praise, her eyes fixed on the screens. She watched as the first team breached the perimeter of the Merchants' compound. Their movements were fluid, each soldier perfectly in sync with their teammates. It was like watching a well-oiled machine.

"Team Alpha, in position," came a voice over the comms. "No resistance so far."

"Team Beta, approaching from the east," another reported. "We've got eyes on two sentries. Taking them out now."

Taylor held her breath as she watched the takedown. It was quick, efficient, and most importantly, non-lethal. The Empire soldiers used their enhanced skills and the non-lethal weapons to subdue the Merchants without unnecessary violence.

"Excellent work," Max murmured, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "This is precisely what we needed to show the city. Precision, control, and minimal collateral damage."

Through the communications link, Krieg announced, "Moving in to penetrate their central stronghold."

***

Mush never thought he'd be thankful for an Endbringer attack, but here he was. The lull after Canberra had brought precious time. The Merchants would soon be ready to take center stage in Brockton Bay.

He leaned back in his chair, a rare moment of quiet reflection. The past few months had been a whirlwind of activity - consolidating power, expanding operations, and most importantly, reshaping the Merchants into something... more. They weren't just some ragtag group of junkies anymore. No, Mush had grander visions.

The Simurgh's attack had been a blessing in disguise. While the city's heroes and even some villains rushed off to Australia, the Merchants had time to lick their wounds and prepare. Squealer was back in fighting form, her vehicles more impressive than ever. The rank and file were getting organized, thanks in no small part to those study guides they'd acquired.

Mush allowed himself a small smile. Their operations were running smoother, profits were up, and they were expanding into new territories with minimal resistance. All thanks to some tinker-tech paper and a little chemical enhancement.

His thoughts drifted to the bigger picture. The landscape of Brockton Bay was shifting. The ABB was all but gone, reduced to scattered groups of street thugs without Lung's iron fist to keep them in line. The Empire was... evolving. This new "Deer Lodge" nonsense was an interesting development. Mush wasn't sure if it was brilliant or idiotic, but it opened up opportunities either way.

Through the grimy window of his office, Mush could see Skidmark holding court in the warehouse below. The self-proclaimed "Dragonslayer" was shouting some nonsense to a group of wide-eyed recruits. Mush suppressed a sigh. Adam had been useful, no doubt about it. His vulgar charisma had drawn in countless desperate souls looking for escape, for belonging. But now...

Mush considered, not for the first time, that Skidmark had outlived his usefulness. The man was a liability now. Unpredictable, prone to violent outbursts, and far too fond of sampling the merchandise. Most of the other capes and lieutenants reported directly to Mush these days anyway. The transition of power was already happening, whether Skidmark realized it or not.

Still, it wouldn't do to be too obvious about it. There would be pushback, questions. Best to let nature take its course. Overdoses happened all the time in their line of work, after all. A tragic accident, nothing more.

Sherrel would be upset, of course. She and Adam had history. But she'd get over it. Mush's eyes drifted to where Squealer was tinkering with one of her monstrous vehicles. Scapegoat's healing had done wonders for her. Gone was the strung-out mess she'd been before. Now she practically glowed with vitality.

Mush allowed himself to imagine comforting her after the "accident." Being a shoulder to cry on, a strong presence to lean on in her time of grief. He smiled at the possibilities. Sherrel had always been a looker, but now? She was radiant. Wasted on a lowlife like Skidmark.

Shaking off such pleasant daydreams, Mush forced himself to focus on the near future. They needed to make a show of force soon, remind the city that the Merchants were back in action. After that... well, there were some interesting possibilities.

He'd been considering some back-channel discussions with both the Empire and the PRT. The Empire was clearly trying to clean up their image with this Deer Lodge business. They'd want to distance themselves from the seedier aspects of criminal enterprise. That left an opening.

The Merchants could fill that role nicely. There would always be a market that needed serving, after all. They could be the designated villains of the Bay. Plenty of junkies for the PRT to round up, show the taxpayers they were earning their keep. Maybe even set up a gentleman's agreement with the Protectorate. Keep the violence down, make sure the right people got caught.

Between the Empire and the Merchants, they could squeeze Coil out of the picture entirely. Let the E88 have their "Aryan paradise" or whatever bullshit they were peddling these days. The Merchants would handle all the areas they didn't want to touch. It was a win-win situation.

Mush leaned back, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face. Yes, the future was looking simply... perfect.

So of course, that was when the shouting started.

***

Hannah Washington, known to most as Miss Militia, glanced at the clock on the classroom wall. Thankful for her free period, she hurried to the principal's office. With a quick explanation about a family emergency, she was out the door.

As she strode through the halls of Winslow High, her mind raced. The Empire was making a bold move against the Merchants, and she needed to be there. Mr. Gladly had graciously offered to cover her last class. She felt a twinge of guilt - he seemed like a decent guy, even if he did have some nebulous connection to the Empire. Probably just an unwitting pawn in their games.

She'd only spoken to Gladly a handful of times since starting her undercover assignment. Once, a woman with a raspy voice had practically attached herself to his side, glaring daggers at Hannah. The possessiveness had been almost comical. Hannah had wanted to tell her to relax - she had no designs on Gladly or any other taken man.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Hannah burst through the school's front doors. Her motorcycle waited in the parking lot, a sleek machine that could get her to the safe house in minutes. She swung her leg over the seat, peeling out out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a van entering. Glancing back, she saw the van careening into the lot, a scrawny guy shaking his fist at her while his burlier companion tried to calm him down.

A pang of regret hit her - she shouldn't have been so reckless. But there was no time to dwell on it now. She had to get to the safe house a few blocks over, change into her costume, and rendezvous with the rest of the Protectorate.

The wind whipped past as Hannah weaved through traffic. Her mind was already shifting gears, moving from her role as a substitute teacher to that of a seasoned hero. The Empire's attack on the Merchants was a significant escalation.

She pulled into an alley behind a nondescript building. A quick glance around confirmed no one was watching as she dismounted and punched in the access code. The door slid open silently, revealing a small, utilitarian space.

Hannah moved with practiced efficiency. Civilian clothes were shed, replaced by her iconic costume. She checked her weapons, more out of habit than necessity. Her power ensured she was never truly unarmed.

As she prepared to head out, her comm unit crackled to life. Armsmaster's voice came through, terse and focused: "Miss Militia, what's your ETA?"

"Five minutes out."

"Make it three." Hannah heard a sound in the background of the call she knew too well. Was that a rocket launcher?

***

Adam Mustain bellowed, his eyes inflamed. Did these goose-stepping Empire shitstains not know who they were fucking dealing with? He was the dragon-slaying, motherfucking Skidmark. The layers of his momentum fields repelled the rubber projectiles the thugs hurled his direction. His befuddled mind gradually grasped the situation was not going well. Burnout had already fallen, restrained face-down with zip ties. The girl had balked at unleashing her napalm breath against people. Idiotic bitch. Nazis weren't people.

Mush and Trainwreck could shrug off the rubber bullets, but the soldiers confronting them seamlessly switched cartridges for more impactful munitions. Trainwreck soon had rents in his metallic appendages, and Mush suffered minor wounds. Whirligig's telekinetic vortex deflected shots like his fields, but they were already compensating, and within moments, Whirligig also fell.

A bullet whizzed past his own ear. The bastards were compensating for his fields too. A crash shook the room as the Bookmobile partially caved in a wall by ramming it. Some merchants were struck by the rubble, but the Empire members possessed incredible reflexes and leaped clear.

"Skids we gotta get out of here!" Squealer cried out from the cockpit set into the monstrosity of a library-mobile.

'What the hell was his personal cumrag saying?!' Run like a cur with tail between his legs from Nazis? Hell no. He dove into the garage and made a bee-line for the Think Tank. Bust into his house would they? Well there was a toll for that and Skidmark intended to take it out of their hides. He hopped into the treaded vehicle and started it up, putting on a helmet that connected him to it. He took a hit of the good stuff. Now these fourth Reich wannabees were going to see the world through his eyes. He laughed.

The Think Tank hummed to life around him, a cacophony of lights and sounds assaulting his already drug-addled senses. Skidmark grinned maniacally as he felt the machine's systems integrating with his own twisted perceptions. This was his personal ride, a vehicle designed to amplify his power and spread his unique brand of chaos.

"You Nazi fucks want a piece of me?" he bellowed, his voice distorted through the Think Tank's speakers. "Come get some!"

The vehicle lurched forward, crashing through the remaining walls of the garage. Empire soldiers scattered, their well-drilled formations breaking in the face of this new threat. Skidmark cackled as he saw fear replace the cold determination in their eyes.

The Think Tank burst through the crumbling garage wall, a nightmarish amalgamation of steel and madness. Skidmark's drug-addled perceptions poured out of the vehicle in waves, warping reality for everyone in the vicinity. Empire soldiers staggered, their well-honed reflexes suddenly useless as the ground seemed to undulate beneath their feet and colors bled together in nauseating swirls.

"Fuck yeah!" Skidmark cackled, his voice distorted through the Tank's speakers. "How you like me now, you goose-stepping shitstains?"

The disorientation spread indiscriminately, affecting friend and foe alike. Mush stumbled, his carefully gathered detritus falling away as he struggled to maintain his form. Trainwreck's mechanical limbs jerked erratically, servos grinding as they tried to compensate for phantom movements.

"Skids!" Squealer's voice crackled through the comms. "You gotta focus the broadcast! You're messing up our own people!"

But Skidmark was beyond reason, lost in a haze of drugs and power. He yanked on the controls, sending the Think Tank careening through the battlefield. Empire soldiers dove for cover, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

"Can't stop the Skidmark express, motherfuckers!" he howled, narrowly missing a group of his own Merchants who were retching on the ground.

Through the kaleidoscopic chaos of his vision, Skidmark spotted a figure in white – Alabaster. The Nazi cape stood out like a beacon, his pristine form reset every few seconds, momentarily immune to the disorienting effects.

"Got you now, bleach boy," Skidmark snarled, swinging the Think Tank's main turret around.

He poured his power into the makeshift cannon, layering fields of momentum inside the barrel. With a thunderous crack, a stream of ball bearings erupted from the tube, accelerated to terrifying velocities.

Alabaster didn't even have time to scream before the makeshift projectiles tore through him. His body shredded into a red mist, chunks of flesh and bone scattering across the pavement. But true to his power, four seconds later he stood whole again, clothes immaculate but eyes wide with shock.

"Round two, bitch!" Skidmark yelled, gunning the Think Tank's engine.

The massive vehicle surged forward, tires squealing. Alabaster tried to dive clear, but his movements were sluggish, still affected by the disorienting broadcast. The Think Tank slammed into him with a sickening crunch, leaving a streak of red across the pavement.

Skidmark's maniacal laughter filled the air as he spun the tank around, searching for his next target. Through the haze, he spotted Krieg, the Nazi's hand outstretched as he used his power to deflect debris and errant gunfire.

"Time to make some Nazi paste!" Skidmark growled, aiming the turret at Krieg.

He fired another salvo of accelerated ball bearings, but Krieg's telekinetic field bent their trajectory. The projectiles whizzed harmlessly past, embedding themselves in a nearby building.

"Fuck you and your Force bullshit!" Skidmark snarled, revving the Think Tank's engine. "Let's see how you like a face full of bumper!"

He stomped on the accelerator, aiming the massive vehicle directly at Krieg. The Nazi cape's eyes widened as several tons of steel and madness barreled towards him.

But Skidmark had tunnel vision, focused solely on turning Krieg into roadkill. He never saw the rocket streaking down from a nearby rooftop.

The explosion rocked the Think Tank, shredding one of its treads. Skidmark was thrown against the controls, his head smacking painfully against the metal. The vehicle lurched, spinning out of control as sparks flew from the damaged tread.

"What the fuck?!" he screamed, desperately trying to regain control.

A second rocket slammed into the Think Tank's side, the impact amplified by Krieg's power. The vehicle flipped, tumbling end over end before crashing onto its roof. Inside the cockpit, Skidmark hung upside down, dazed and bleeding from a gash on his forehead.

The disorienting broadcast cut out abruptly, leaving an eerie silence broken only by the sound of scattered gunfire and the groans of the injured. Empire soldiers began to regroup, their movements becoming more coordinated as the effects wore off.

Skidmark fumbled with his harness, his drug-addled brain struggling to process what had just happened. He could hear shouting outside, the sound of boots approaching the downed Think Tank.

"Squealer!" he yelled into the comms. "Get your ass over here and bust me out!"

But there was no response. The Bookmobile was being swarmed over, Squealer being dragged out. Skidmark was on his own.

Outside, Krieg's voice rang out. "Secure the vehicle! I want that degenerate brought out alive!"

Skidmark's eyes darted around the cockpit, searching for a way out. But the hatch was jammed, and the disorientation from the crash and his drug use left him unable to focus his power effectively.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, panic rising in his chest.

The sound of metal groaning filled the air as Empire soldiers began to pry open the Think Tank's hull. Skidmark could see their boots through the cracked viewscreen, drawing closer with each passing second.

"You want me?" he screamed, more to psych himself up than anything else. "Come and fucking get me, you Nazi pricks!"

But even as he shouted his defiance, Skidmark knew the battle was lost. The Think Tank, his ultimate weapon, lay in ruins around him. His fellow Merchants were scattered or captured. And now, trapped and alone, he faced the wrath of the Empire.

The hatch above him creaked open, letting in a shaft of light. Skidmark squinted, trying to make out the figures silhouetted against the sky. He saw the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his face.

"Skidmark," Krieg's accented voice rang out. "Your reign of filth ends today."

Skidmark spat, a glob of blood and saliva landing on the Nazi cape's boot. "Fuck you," he snarled. "I'm the motherfucking dragon slayer. You can't—"

His words were cut off as a rubber bullet slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. As he gasped for air, rough hands grabbed him, dragging him out of the wreckage of the Think Tank.

Skidmark found himself face down on the pavement, his arms wrenched behind his back as zip ties bit into his wrists. He tried to gather his power, to create a field that would send these fascist fucks flying, but his concentration was shot.

"Secure him properly," Krieg ordered. "We don't want any surprises when we present him to Kaiser."

As Skidmark was hauled to his feet, he got his first clear look at the battlefield. The Merchant compound was in ruins, smoke rising from several buildings. Bodies littered the ground – mostly his own people, he realized with a sinking feeling.

The Empire soldiers efficiently zip-tied and secured their captives. Skidmark continued hurling obscenities while Squealer remained oddly quiet, her eyes darting between her boyfriend and the wreckage of her vehicles. Whirligig struggled weakly against her restraints while Burnout had already given up, tears streaming down her face.

"Sir, Mush and Trainwreck managed to slip away through the sewers," one of the soldiers reported to Krieg. "Should we pursue?"

Krieg shook his head. "No. They're likely long gone by now. Besides, without their leadership and infrastructure, they're no real threat."

He surveyed the captured Merchant capes with disdain. Skidmark had finally exhausted himself, slumping in his captors' grip. The Think Tank and Bookmobile lay in ruins, smoking hulks of twisted metal that would never run again.

Krieg chuckled, a cold sound devoid of humor. "Your little gang is finished, Herr Skidmark. Those who weren't captured have fled like the cowards they are."

Skidmark's mind raced, trying to process what had happened. How had it all gone so wrong? They were supposed to be on top, ready to carve out their place in the new Brockton Bay. Now...

"Load him up," Krieg ordered, gesturing to a waiting van. "Kaiser will want to deal with this personally."

As the Empire soldiers dragged him towards the vehicle, Skidmark caught sight of Alabaster. The white-clad cape was whole again, but his eyes burned with hatred as he stared at Skidmark.

"You're gonna pay for what you did," Alabaster snarled. "I'm gonna make sure you feel every second of pain before we're done with you."

Skidmark tried to summon up some of his usual bravado, but the words died in his throat. The reality of his situation was finally sinking in, cutting through even his drug-induced haze.

He was thrown roughly into the back of the van, landing in a heap on the metal floor. The doors slammed shut, plunging him into darkness. As the engine roared to life, Skidmark felt a cold sweat break out across his skin.

For the first time in years, Adam Mustain felt truly, deeply afraid.

***

Brad munched on a handful of popcorn, his eyes glued to the security monitors displaying the Empire's raid on the Merchant compound. "This beats the hell out of The Young and the Restless," he said with a grin.

Taylor, who had been intently watching the operation unfold, glanced at Brad with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't realize you were such a fan of daytime television. Though I suppose it's not as dramatic as Chloe's evil twin revealing herself at the charity gala last week."

Brad's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? I thought for sure it was going to be Jack who—" He cut himself off abruptly, realizing what he'd just said. At the bemused looks from Theo and Max, Hookwolf shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What? Nessa got me hooked on it. A man's allowed to have his guilty pleasures."

Max opened his mouth as if to comment, then shook his head and decided against it. "Moving on," he said, redirecting their attention to the monitors. "This is a great victory for us. With the ABB effectively disbanded and now the Merchants crushed, only Coil remains as a significant criminal power within the Bay."

Brad nodded in agreement but added, "Don't forget about those Undersider punks. That Hellhound bitch hit one of my rings just last week."

Taylor's eyes narrowed, and she turned to face Hookwolf. Her voice was calm but carried a sharp edge as she spoke. "Excuse me, Mr. Meadows, but I was under the impression that you had agreed to shut down those deplorable dog fighting operations. Was I mistaken?"

Hookwolf held up his hands defensively. "I am shutting them down, I swear! But it's not like I can just snap my fingers and make it happen overnight. You forbade me from, well, dealing with the dogs in the usual way. So where am I supposed to put them? These aren't fluffy little lapdogs – they're trained killers."

Taylor's brow furrowed as she considered the problem. "I suppose I hadn't fully considered the logistics involved," she admitted. "Perhaps we could utilize some of my tech to pacify the animals? A modified version of the calming fields might work, or even a more targeted application of the role-assignment pods..." She trailed off, muttering to herself as she began to work through potential solutions.

Max cleared his throat, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. "The Undersiders are a minor nuisance at best – thieves and opportunists. They'll be dealt with in due time, especially after their ill-advised attempt to infiltrate Medhall. For now, let's focus on our current success."

Taylor watched the monitors as another group of Empire soldiers efficiently subdued a cluster of Merchant defenders. Their movements were precise, coordinated - beautiful, really. Like a well-choreographed dance. Her tech had elevated them far beyond common thugs into something approaching military precision.

A small voice in the back of her mind tried to whisper that this wasn't right, that she was going too far. That voice questioned whether anyone should have this much power to reshape others. But those doubts dissolved like morning mist as her self-imposed conditioning kicked in. Of course this was right. She was helping create order from chaos, civilization from barbarism. The proper roles being filled by those best suited to them.

Her smile grew wider as she watched a female Empire soldier efficiently zip-tie a struggling Merchant while reciting his rights. Even in combat, they maintained proper decorum. Everything was proceeding exactly as it should.

The door burst open, causing Taylor to jump slightly. Alfred rushed in, his normally composed demeanor clearly rattled. "Sir, we have a situation that requires immediate attention," he said, addressing Kaiser directly but glancing meaningfully at Taylor.

"What is it?" Max asked, turning away from the monitors.

"There's been some concerning activity reported around Winslow High School," Alfred began, his words careful and measured despite his obvious urgency.

***

Mush slammed his fist against the wall of the safehouse, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the plaster. His entire body trembled with rage, bits of debris falling from his form as he struggled to maintain coherence.

"Everything," he snarled. "Everything we built, gone in a single fucking day!"

Trainwreck stood silently nearby, his mechanical body creaking as he shifted uncomfortably. He'd never seen Mush this angry before.

"How?" Mush continued, pacing furiously. "How did those Nazi fucks pull this off? Their soldiers moved like goddamn special forces! They barely brought any capes at all."

His mind raced, piecing together the fragments. The Empire's sudden increase in effectiveness, the way their regular troops had outmaneuvered even the Merchant capes...

"Miss Stepford," he growled, eyes narrowing. "That bitch must have enhanced them somehow. Far beyond anything she ever gave us."

Mush's fists clenched, garbage and debris swirling around him as his power responded to his fury. "I'll make her pay," he hissed. "I'll chain that cunt in my basement and force her to churn out tinkertech for me. We'll rebuild, bigger and stronger than before. Then we'll crush the Empire and—"

He was interrupted by Trainwreck thrusting a cell phone towards him. Mush blinked, momentarily thrown off his rant.

"What?" he snapped, glaring at his subordinate.

Trainwreck simply shook his head and gestured insistently with the phone. Confused and irritated, Mush snatched it from the tinker's mechanical hand.

"Who the fuck is this?" he demanded.

A smooth, cultured voice answered: "Mr. Mush. I am Coil, and I believe you and I need to come to an arrangement."

Mush's eyes widened in surprise. He'd heard of Coil, of course – the mysterious crime lord who'd been steadily building power in the shadows of Brockton Bay. But for him to reach out now, of all times...

"I'm listening," Mush said cautiously, his mind already racing with possibilities.

***

Uber adjusted his headset as Leet fiddled with the camera. They were crouched behind some bushes near the entrance to Winslow High School, preparing for their latest streaming event.

"We're live in 3...2...1..." Leet whispered, giving a thumbs up.

Uber grinned at the camera. "Welcome, loyal viewers, to our most ambitious stream yet! Today, we're bringing the world of dating sims to life right here at Winslow High!"

Leet panned the camera to show three girls standing near the school entrance - Emma, Sophia, and Madison. They were posed unnaturally, staring blankly ahead.

"Our lovely 'dateable characters' are ready and waiting," Uber continued. "Using some... borrowed tech, we've set up the perfect scenario. Now it's time for you, our audience, to choose which lovely lady I'll be pursuing!"

He gestured dramatically. "Will it be the fiery redhead? The athletic beauty? Or the cute bookworm? The choice is yours!"

Leet zoomed in on each girl as Uber described them. Their eyes remained unfocused, clearly under some form of control.

"Place your votes now in the chat," Uber said with a wink. "And remember - in the world of dating sims, there's always a happy ending if you play your cards right!"

Chapter Text

Leet grumbled as he steered the van into Winslow High's parking lot, narrowly avoiding a motorcycle that sped past.

"Crazy women drivers!" he shouted, shaking his fist at the retreating figure. "Did you see that? She nearly took us out!"

Uber, sitting in the passenger seat, raised his hands placatingly. "Easy there, man. We've got bigger things to worry about right now. You sure about this plan?"

Leet's annoyance faded, replaced by excitement as he parked the van. "Trust me, it's gonna be epic! Using Squealer's tech she copied from Stepford for a real-life dating sim? The viewers will go nuts!"

Uber frowned, looking uncertain. "I don't know... a high school? That could land us in some serious hot water. Maybe we should've stuck with the college idea."

"No way," Leet argued as they exited the van. "High school is a staple of the genre! Besides, we're not actually going to do anything to the students. It's all for show."

They made their way towards a side entrance, Leet lugging a duffel bag of equipment. Uber still looked hesitant.

"Look," Leet continued, "if it makes you feel better, I'll find a hot teacher for the 'surprise' winner at the end. No students involved."

Uber sighed. "Fine. But if things go south, I'm blaming you."

They slipped into the school unnoticed, Leet consulting a crude map he'd drawn. "AV room should be this way. That's where the PA system is."

As they approached the room, Uber examined the lock. "Pretty high-end for a school. Want me to handle it?"

Leet grinned. "Show me your skills, lockpick master."

With deft movements, Uber had the door open in seconds. They entered, Leet making a beeline for the PA equipment.

"Jackpot!" he exclaimed, examining the system. "Stepford's tech is integrated, just like I thought. This'll make things way easier."

He pulled out some tools and began tinkering. Uber kept watch at the door.

"Alright," Leet said after a few minutes. "This'll be more brute force than Stepford's usual subtlety, but it should work fine for our purposes." He handed Uber a pair of earplugs. "These'll keep us immune. Ready?"

Before Uber could respond, two girls appeared in the doorway - one with long red hair, the other darker-skinned with an athletic build.

"Hey!" the redhead exclaimed. "What are you doing in here?"

Leet's eyes widened, then he grinned. "You're about to be famous, ladies." He flipped a switch on his device.

A low hum emanated from the PA speakers throughout the school. Uber watched in fascination as the two girls' eyes glazed over, their postures becoming unnaturally still.

Leet whistled, openly ogling the redhead. "Check out the assets on this one! She's perfect for the stream."

Uber frowned. "Dude, we said no students."

"Come on," Leet argued, "she's gotta be older - probably a teacher's assistant or something. And sporty girl here isn't bad looking either."

The hum from the PA system was almost hypnotic, a soft vibration that seemed to resonate in the very walls of Winslow High. The students and faculty remaining in the building moved like sleepwalkers, their actions not their own. Leet watched with a twisted sense of glee as each person they encountered fell under the sway of his modified Stepford tech.

"Everyone, proceed to the cafeteria," he announced over the intercom, his voice layered with subliminal commands. "Enjoy the special event we have planned for you."

The trance-like procession began, a sea of faces devoid of expression, all heading towards the promised gathering. Leet turned to Uber, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"You see? Piece of cake. Now, let's set the stage for our little production."

Uber shook his head, still uneasy with the situation. "We need to be quick. If the PRT or Protectorate gets wind of this—"

"Relax," Leet interrupted, waving away Uber's concerns. "They're all busy with the Empire and Merchants brawl. That's why we picked tonight. We've got plenty of time."

They made their way to the cafeteria, where the entranced crowd had already gathered. Leet's eyes gleamed as he surveyed the scene, a director choosing his cast.

"Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's pick our leading ladies."

Emma's fiery hair made her an obvious choice. "She'll be the bitchy teacher's assistant," Leet decided. "Feisty, confident, and ultimately, the 'winner' of our little dating sim."

Sophia, with her athletic physique, was next. "The quiet sporty girl," Leet mused. "Shy, but with a hidden, feminine side just waiting to be unlocked."

Madison, with her cute look, was cast as the anime-loving nerd. "She's got that hentai fetish vibe," Leet chuckled. "The fans will eat it up."

Charlotte, with her regal bearing, was perfect for the role of the bitchy head cheerleader. "She'll be the one everyone loves to hate," Leet said with a grin.

Leet scanned the room for potential male leads, his gaze landing on Greg. "Him. He's got that 'jock' energy. We'll make him the 'bully' character."

Uber watched as Leet handed out scripts to their chosen cast. The students accepted the papers mechanically, their eyes flickering with the faintest glimmer of awareness as they read their assigned lines.

The recording began, with Leet directing each scene with the fervor of a seasoned filmmaker. The 'cast' performed their roles, their delivery stilted and robotic, but passable for the purposes of the stream.

Leet adjusted his collar and cleared his throat dramatically. "Action!"

"Oh sensei," Emma droned mechanically, "I've always admired how you handle the difficult students."

Leet twirled an imaginary mustache. "Why yes, my dear teaching assistant! Your dedication to education is... most impressive." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Moving on to Sophia, Leet affected a concerned expression. "My dear student, why do you spend so much time in the gym instead of pursuing more... feminine interests?"

"I am afraid to show my true self," Sophia recited flatly, her vacant eyes staring straight ahead.

Charlotte's scene had Leet playing the stern authority figure. "Your cheerleading squad's behavior is unacceptable!"

"Whatever," Charlotte monotoned, "You're just jealous of our popularity."

When Madison's turn came, Leet was in full anime protagonist mode. "Fear not, sweet maiden! I shall protect you from that brute!"

Greg stomped forward woodenly. "Hey nerd, stop talking to my girl!"

"Uber!" Leet hissed. "Tell him to do the fake punch like we practiced!"

"Hit him," Uber called out distractedly, not looking up from his phone.

Greg's fist connected solidly with Leet's jaw, sending him sprawling.

"Motherfu—" Leet clutched his face, glaring at his friend. "I said FAKE punch!"

Through his watering eyes, he could have sworn he saw the corners of Madison's and Greg's mouths twitch upward, despite their blank expressions.

"This isn't funny!" he whined, rubbing his jaw. "That's gonna leave a mark!"

Despite a few setbacks, Leet's excitement grew with each passing minute. "This is going to be epic!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the nearly empty cafeteria. "The viewers won't know what hit 'em!"

Uber, despite his reservations, found himself getting caught up in the momentum of the production. He had to admit, Leet had a knack for this kind of thing.

As they moved through the scenes, Uber kept a watchful eye on the time. "We've got to wrap this up soon," he warned. "We can't risk staying here any longer than necessary."

Leet nodded, his attention focused on capturing the perfect shot. "Just a few more scenes," he promised. "We'll edit it down later. Trust me, it'll be worth it."

They hurried through the remaining footage, Leet capturing each scene with a practiced eye. The students performed their roles without question, their actions guided by the subtle commands woven into their scripts.

Finally, with the last scene captured, Leet called a wrap. "That's a wrap, people!" he shouted triumphantly. "You were all amazing!"

In the frenzy of wrapping up the impromptu filming session, Leet clapped his hands loudly to grab everyone's attention. "Alright, everyone, we need to help load the equipment back into the van! Quick and efficient, people!"

Uber, feeling the urgency of their situation, began to herd the mind-controlled students towards the duffel bags and various pieces of tech they had brought in. As the students began to move in unison, their faces still blank, Uber noticed a small, blinking light on the snitch—a floating camera that captured the entire debacle from above.

Curious, Uber waved a hand in front of the camera, watching as the light flickered with each pass. "Hey, Leet, take a look at this," Uber called out, his voice tinged with concern.

Leet jogged over, his face flushed with excitement from the evening's events. He took one look at the snitch and the color drained from his face. "No, no, no," he muttered, snatching the camera out of the air and tapping furiously at its side. "This can't be right."

Uber's heart sank as he watched Leet's panic grow. "What's the matter?"

Leet turned the snitch around to show Uber the digital readout on its side. Instead of the delay they had programmed—over an hour, giving them ample time to escape before anyone could trace the broadcast—the delay was only an hour, meaning they had been live for over ten minutes.

"We've been streaming this whole time!" Leet hissed, his eyes wide with fear. "The PRT, the Protectorate, they could be on their way here right now!"

The gravity of their situation hit Uber like a ton of bricks. "We need to get out of here, now!"

Leet's hands shook as he fumbled with the van's keys, adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Come on, come on," he muttered, finally managing to start the engine.

Uber glanced nervously out the window, scanning for any sign of approaching heroes. "We need to move, now!"

The van lurched forward as Leet stomped on the gas pedal, tires screeching against the pavement. They peeled out of Winslow's parking lot just as a red blur appeared in the rearview mirror.

"Holy shit, is that Velocity?" Uber exclaimed, his voice tight with panic.

Leet didn't bother to look back, focusing instead on putting as much distance between them and the school as possible. "Doesn't matter who it is, we just need to get the hell out of here!"

As they sped through Brockton Bay's streets, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon, both villains held their breath, expecting sirens or costumed heroes to appear at any moment. But after several tense minutes, it became clear that they weren't being pursued.

Uber let out a shaky laugh. "I think we actually made it, man."

Leet's grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly as he allowed himself to relax. "That was way too close. But damn, did you see how well that tech worked? It was like having an entire cast of NPCs at our disposal!"

"Yeah, yeah, it was impressive," Uber admitted grudgingly. "But let's not do anything that risky again for a while, okay? I think I aged ten years back there."

As the initial panic faded, the two began to joke about their narrow escape, the tension bleeding out of the van's cab.

"Did you see the look on that redhead's face when we first walked in?" Leet chuckled. "I thought she was gonna try to take us both on herself!"

Uber snorted. "Please, like either of those girls could've done anything to stop us. Though I gotta admit, that athletic one looked like she could throw a mean punch."

Uber and Leet screeched into their hideout's garage, hearts still pounding from their narrow escape. As the van came to a stop, Leet let out a whoop of triumph.

"We did it! We actually pulled it off!" he exclaimed, high-fiving Uber.

Uber grinned, shaking his head. "I can't believe we got away with that. Though I'm pretty sure we're going to be in deep trouble once the footage gets out."

"Ah, who cares?" Leet waved dismissively. "It'll be worth it for the views. Now come on, help me unload this stuff."

The two villains hopped out of the van, still buzzing with adrenaline. Uber made his way to the back doors, yanking them open.

His eyes widened in shock. "Uh, Leet?"

"Yeah?" Leet called, rummaging through the front seat.

Uber slammed the doors shut. "Why do we have two girls in the back of the van?"

Leet froze. "What are you talking about? We don't have any girls in the van."

"Well, there's definitely two of them back there," Uber insisted.

Leet marched over, muttering under his breath. "That's impossible. We didn't bring anyone with us."

He flung open the doors, only to be confronted with the sight of Emma and Sophia sitting calmly in the back. His jaw dropped.

"What the hell?" he yelped, slamming the doors shut again. He whirled on Uber, panic evident in his voice. "Why do we have girls in the back of the van?"

Uber threw up his hands in exasperation. "That's literally what I just asked you!"

"Well, we shouldn't!" Leet ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth. "Oh man, oh man, this is bad. This is really bad."

Uber took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Okay, let's think about this rationally. How did they even get in there?"

Leet's eyes widened in realization. "The equipment loading! I told everyone to help load up. They must have climbed in with the gear!"

"Great," Uber groaned. "So now we've got two mind-controlled high school girls in our secret lair. Fan-fucking-tastic."

Leet cautiously opened the doors again, wincing as he looked inside. "Fuck me,—"

He cut off abruptly as Emma began to unbutton her blouse. Sophia followed suit, her movements robotic.

Leet yelped, hastily backpedaling. "No, no, no! Stop that right now! Keep your clothes on!"

The girls paused, hands frozen mid-motion.

Uber pinched the bridge of his nose. "We are in so much trouble."

Leet slammed the doors shut once more, leaning against them as if to hold them closed. "Okay, okay, we can fix this. All we need to do is tell them to go home, right? I'll just use the device, give them a command to walk away. Easy peasy!"

"And then what?" Uber demanded. "They'll know where our hideout is. We can't risk that."

"Well, what else are we supposed to do?" Leet threw up his hands. "I can't move my lab! Do you have any idea how much equipment I've got in there?"

Uber paced back and forth, mind racing. "Maybe we could... I don't know, blindfold them and drop them off somewhere?"

"Oh yeah, that'll look great," Leet scoffed. "'Local villains seen abandoning blindfolded teenagers.' We'd be better off turning ourselves in."

The two fell into frustrated silence, the weight of their predicament settling over them.

"You know," Uber said slowly, "this is kind of your fault."

Leet's head snapped up. "What? How is this my fault?"

"You're the one who insisted on using a high school," Uber pointed out. "And you're the one who gave the order to load up the van."

"Well, you're the one who went along with it!" Leet shot back. "Some 'voice of reason' you turned out to be."

Uber and Leet exchanged nervous glances as they led Emma and Sophia into their hideout. The girls moved mechanically, their expressions blank as they followed the villains' commands.

"This way," Uber directed, gesturing towards a small room off the main area. "We'll keep them in here for now."

Leet nodded, still looking shaken. "Yeah, good idea. Out of sight, out of mind, right?"

As they settled the girls onto a worn couch, Leet couldn't help but comment, "You know, at least they're hot. Could be worse, right?"

Uber shot him a withering glare. "Shut up, man. This is serious."

"I know, I know," Leet held up his hands defensively. "I'm just trying to find a silver lining here."

Uber paced the room, running his hands through his hair. "We need to figure out how to fix this, and fast. The longer they're here, the more trouble we're in."

Leet's eyes lit up. "Oh! I think I can whip up something to suppress their memories. Give me an hour or two in the lab, and I'll have them forgetting this whole night ever happened."

"That's great," Uber replied sarcastically. "Then everyone will think we raped the girls and mind-wiped them to forget about it. Brilliant plan."

Leet deflated. "Well, what do you want me to do then? I'm trying to help here!"

Uber opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, a deafening crash echoed through the hideout. Both villains whirled around to see their reinforced door lying in shattered pieces on the floor.

Through the newly created opening strode a young man in an impeccable suit and domino mask. His presence commanded attention, and even Uber and Leet found themselves momentarily stunned into silence.

"Gentlemen," the newcomer spoke, his voice calm but laced with authority. "I believe my dear has some words for you."

He extended his hand towards the doorway, and a woman stepped delicately over the wreckage. She was the picture of 1950s elegance, from her perfectly coiffed blonde hair to her immaculate house dress and pearls.

Miss Stepford smiled sweetly at Uber and Leet, though her eyes held a dangerous glint. "My, my," she cooed, her voice dripping with exaggerated politeness. "What uncouth behavior you boys have been displaying this evening. Didn't your mothers teach you any manners?"

Leet gulped audibly. "Uh, we can explain—"

"Hush now, dear," Miss Stepford interrupted, holding up a gloved hand. "It's impolite to speak out of turn. Now, let's discuss your rather distasteful little production, shall we?"

Uber and Leet exchanged panicked looks as Miss Stepford advanced into the room, her smile never wavering. The Chairman followed close behind, his presence a silent threat.

"You see," Miss Stepford continued, her tone conversational but with an undercurrent of steel, "in polite society, we don't go around hijacking other people's hard work for our own amusement. It's simply not done."

She tsked, shaking her head in disappointment. "And to think, you even brought these poor dears back to your... what shall we call this place? A bachelor pad?" She wrinkled her nose delicately. "How unseemly."

Uber found his voice, though it came out as more of a squeak. "We didn't mean to bring them here. It was an accident!"

"An accident?" Miss Stepford's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "My, how clumsy of you. Perhaps you need some lessons in proper etiquette and responsibility."

The Chairman stepped forward, his expression grave. "I believe what my dear is trying to say, gentlemen, is that you've made a grievous error in judgment. One that we cannot allow to go uncorrected."

Leet's eyes darted between Miss Stepford and the Chairman, his face pale. "What... what are you planing to do to us?"

Miss Stepford's smile widened, taking on a predatory edge. "Why, we're going to teach you how to be proper gentlemen, of course. After all, every young man needs guidance to find his place in society."

Uber groaned. "Leet, Remember when I 'Even we know better than to mess with schools.' This is why."

***

A few minutes earlier, Medhall's security office buzzed with activity. The attack on the Merchants had been a resounding success, but this new development with Uber and Leet threatened to overshadow their victory. Kaiser stood at the head of his desk, his face a mask of controlled anger as he addressed his lieutenants.

"Victor, what do we have on these two?" Kaiser demanded, his voice sharp.

Victor's fingers flew across his laptop keyboard, pulling up files and hacking into traffic camera feeds. "Uber and Leet, sir. Small-time villains, mostly known for their video game-themed crimes and online streaming presence. They've managed to stay under the radar due to the relatively harmless nature of their activities, but this... this is a significant escalation."

Kaiser's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "And their current location?"

"Based on the traffic camera footage and their known patterns, I believe I've pinpointed their hideout," Victor replied, turning the laptop to show a map with a blinking red dot. "An abandoned warehouse in the Docks, not far from where they were last seen fleeing Winslow."

Taylor stood off to the side, her entire body tense with barely contained fury. Her usually immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled, a testament to her agitated state. "Those... hooligans," she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "How dare they interfere with my work at Winslow? And to abduct students? It's unconscionable!"

Max nodded, his expression grim. "Indeed, Miss Stepford. This cannot go unanswered." He turned to Hookwolf, who had been leaning against the wall, a predatory grin on his face. "Brad, I want you to deal with these upstarts. Show them why the Empire is not to be trifled with."

Hookwolf cracked his knuckles, his grin widening. "With pleasure, boss. I'll turn those jokers into mincemeat."

"No," Theo's voice cut through the room, firm and authoritative.

All eyes turned to the young man, surprise evident on their faces. Kaiser raised an eyebrow, studying his son carefully. "No?" he repeated, his tone neutral but carrying an undercurrent of challenge.

Theo met his father's gaze unflinchingly. "This isn't just about punishing Uber and Leet, father. It's about sending a message."

Kaiser's expression remained impassive, but there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes. "Go on," he prompted.

Theo straightened, his posture confident as he addressed the room. "Everyone knows that Winslow is Miss Stepford's territory. This attack wasn't just against the school or its students; it was a direct challenge to her authority and, by extension, the Empire's."

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "If we send Hookwolf, it'll be seen as just another cape fight. Brutal, yes, but expected. What we need is to make an example of why you don't touch what belongs to Miss Stepford, especially when it's not related to any criminal enterprises."

Kaiser nodded slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "And what do you propose, son?"

Theo's eyes flickered to Taylor, who had been watching him intently throughout his speech. "Miss Stepford and I will deal with this personally."

Hookwolf scoffed, pushing off the wall. "Kid, I know you've been training hard, but these are still parahumans we're talking about. Jokes or not, they're dangerous."

"Brad's right," Victor chimed in, concern evident in his voice. "It's risky to send you two alone, especially given your... civilian status, Theo."

Theo's lips quirked into a small, confident smile. "Miss Stepford's… collaboration with Panacea has been fruitful as you have seen with the attack on the merchants. I, likewise, am not helpless."

Kaiser studied his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. You and Miss Stepford will handle this situation. But," he added, his voice hardening, "Hookwolf and some of his men will be going as backup. If thing are too much then you will call them in. Is that understood?"

"Crystal clear, sir," Theo replied with a sharp nod.

Taylor stepped forward, her earlier fury now tempered into cold determination. "Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Anders. We won't let you down."

As Theo and Taylor turned to leave, Kaiser called out, "Theo." When his son looked back, he continued, "I'm proud of you, son. Show them what it means to cross the Empire."

A flicker of emotion passed across Theo's face before he schooled his features back into a mask of determination. With a final nod to his father, he and Taylor exited the office.

In the hallway, Taylor allowed herself a small smile. "That was well-handled, dear. Your father seemed quite impressed."

Theo's shoulders relaxed slightly as they walked briskly towards the elevator. "Let's hope our performance with Uber and Leet is equally impressive. We can't afford to fail."

"Oh, we won't," Taylor assured him, her voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Those boys are about to learn some very important lessons in manners and respect."

***

The warehouse echoed with the sound of rapid footsteps as Uber and Leet scrambled towards their hastily assembled defenses. Leet's fingers flew over a control panel, activating a series of energy barriers that crackled to life between them and their pursuers.

"Dude, I thought you said this would be easy!" Uber hissed, his eyes darting nervously between the approaching figures and the various gadgets strewn about their hideout.

Leet's face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "It should have been! I mean, come on, it's just some Tinker chick and her boyfriend. How was I supposed to know they'd track us down so fast?"

In stark contrast to the villains' frantic movements, Miss Stepford and the Chairman advanced at a leisurely pace. Their calm demeanor only served to heighten the tension in the air.

"My, my," Miss Stepford tutted, her voice dripping with condescension. "What a mess you boys have made. Didn't your mothers ever teach you to clean up after yourselves?"

The Chairman's lips quirked in amusement. "I don't think housekeeping is high on their list of priorities, dear."

Leet's eyes widened as he spotted the device he'd cobbled together from Squealer's ripped off tech – a crude but powerful mind control amplifier. He lunged for it, nearly tripping over a tangle of wires in his haste.

"Ha!" he crowed, cranking the dial to its maximum setting. "Let's see how you like a taste of your own medicine, Miss Prissy Pants!"

A high-pitched whine filled the air as the device powered up. Leet's triumphant grin faltered as Miss Stepford merely raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Oh, you poor, misguided boy," she laughed, the sound light and mocking. "Did you really think I wouldn't have countermeasures for my own work? I'm insulted that you'd think me so careless."

Leet's face fell, his grip on the device slackening. "But... but it worked on the others..."

The two girls, Emma and Sophia, already affected by Leet's previous manipulation, started to grimace and shudder. While the amplified apparatus failed to impact its chosen victims, it nevertheless produced results - though the consequences played out unseen, separated by multiple chambers from the brewing confrontation.

Uber, seeing his partner's plan fail, decided to take matters into his own hands. He snatched up a pair of oversized boxing gloves, their design clearly inspired by the classic Punch-Out video game series.

"Alright, pretty boy," Uber growled, raising his fists as he faced off against the Chairman. "Let's see how you handle someone with real skills."

The Chairman's posture shifted subtly, his body language exuding quiet confidence. "By all means, show me what you've got." He change his stance into a simple but well practiced basic boxer's.

Uber's fists blurred as he unleashed a flurry of punches, each one executed with the precision and power of a champion boxer. The tech in his gloves hummed, enhancing the force behind each blow.

To Uber's shock, the Chairman barely seemed fazed. He weathered the onslaught, taking the powered blows on his guard with barely a grunt, his feet hardly moving as he absorbed punch after punch.

"Is that all?" the Chairman asked, his tone mild. "I was expecting more from someone of your... reputation."

Frustration and a hint of fear flashed across Uber's face. He redoubled his efforts, throwing his entire body into a devastating haymaker.

The Chairman chose that moment to act. With speed that belied his solid frame, he stepped inside Uber's guard and wrapped him in a bear hug. Uber's eyes bulged as the air was squeezed from his lungs, the pressure on his ribs intensifying with each passing second.

Desperate to break free, Uber tapped into his power, instantly gaining the knowledge and muscle memory of an expert grappler. He attempted to shift his weight, planning to use leverage to break the hold and possibly throw his opponent.

That's when Uber realized something was very, very wrong.

Despite the Chairman being noticeably smaller and more compact than himself, Uber found he couldn't budge the other man an inch. It was like trying to lift a statue made of solid steel.

"Having some trouble?" the Chairman asked, his voice barely strained despite the exertion.

From her position observing the fight, Miss Stepford let out an appreciative "Ooh!" Her eyes raked over the Chairman's form, taking in the way his muscles bulged beneath his costume. "My, don't you look magnificent, darling. All that hard work is certainly paying off."

The Chairman's cheeks colored slightly at the praise. "Thank you, dear. I couldn't have done it without your... enhancements."

Uber's eyes widened at this exchange, his mind racing. Enhancements? What kind of Tinker tech was he dealing with here?

Before he could ponder further, Leet sprang into action. He'd retrieved another of his inventions – a wicked-looking knife that crackled with electricity, a copy of Solid Snake's taser knife.

"Hang on, man!" Leet shouted, lunging forward and driving the electrified blade into the Chairman's side.

The Chairman grunted in pain, his grip on Uber loosening just enough for the villain to squirm free. However, any sense of victory Leet might have felt was short-lived.

With an inhuman reaction speed, the Chairman's arm shot out. His open hand connected with Leet's chest in a vicious backhand that sent the scrawny Tinker flying across the room. Leet slammed into the wall with a sickening thud, sliding to the floor in a dazed heap.

"Leet!" Uber cried out, staggering back and clutching his ribs. He was pretty sure at least a couple were cracked, if not outright broken.

Miss Stepford clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Now look what you've made us do. And here I was hoping we could resolve this without too much unpleasantness."

The Chairman rolled his shoulder, the spot where Leet had stabbed him already showing signs of rapid healing. "I don't think these two understand the concept of an easy surrender, my dear."

Uber's mind raced, trying to formulate a plan. His eyes darted around the warehouse, cataloging potential weapons and escape routes. But with Leet down and his own injuries hampering him, their options were severely limited.

"Listen," Uber said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "This was all just a big misunderstanding. We didn't mean any harm, honest. How about we call it a draw and go our separate ways?"

Miss Stepford's laughter was like tinkling glass, beautiful yet somehow unsettling. "Oh, you poor, deluded boy. Did you really think you could waltz into my territory, mess with my work, and just... walk away?"

The Chairman cracked his knuckles, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. "I'm afraid it's far too late for that. You've made your bed, gentlemen. Now it's time to lie in it."

Leet struggled to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his body. Despite the beating he'd taken, a fire burned in his eyes as he faced Miss Stepford.

"You think you're so high and mighty, don't you?" he spat, his voice hoarse but defiant. "Acting like you're some paragon of virtue while you mess with people's minds!"

Miss Stepford's serene expression didn't waver. "I fail to see how your actions today give you any moral high ground, Mr. Leet."

Leet let out a bitter laugh. "At least we didn't hurt anyone! Yeah, we pulled a stupid prank, but it was harmless fun. You? You've been screwing with those kids' heads for who knows how long!"

The Chairman tensed, ready to intervene, but Miss Stepford placed a gentle hand on his arm. She fixed Leet with a steady gaze, her voice calm and measured.

"And what, pray tell, gives you the right to judge my actions?" she asked. "You, who preys on the vulnerable for your little 'shows'? Who endangers lives for the sake of entertainment?"

Leet's face flushed with anger. "Don't try to deflect! We're talking about you here. What gives you the right to decide what goes in people's heads? To change who they are?"

For a brief moment, something flickered in Miss Stepford's eyes. A hint of uncertainty, perhaps? But it was gone so quickly, Leet wasn't sure he'd seen it at all.

"I would never subject someone to something I wasn't willing to undergo myself," Miss Stepford stated firmly.

Leet's jaw dropped. "Wait, what? Are you saying... you've used your tech on yourself?"

Miss Stepford's smile was serene, almost beatific. "Of course. How could I ask others to trust in my work if I didn't have faith in it myself?"

A chill ran down Leet's spine as the implications of her words sank in. He exchanged a horrified glance with Uber, who looked equally unsettled.

"You... you brainwashed yourself?" Uber asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Such an ugly word," Miss Stepford tsked. "I prefer to think of it as... optimization. Removing unnecessary doubts and distractions."

Leet felt his stomach churn. "That's insane! You can't just... erase parts of yourself like that!"

"Can't I?" Miss Stepford challenged. "Tell me, Mr. Leet, have you never wished you could silence that nagging voice of self-doubt? To be free from the fears and insecurities that hold you back?"

Leet opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He couldn't deny that the idea held a certain appeal, as terrifying as it was.

"But... but that's not right," he stammered. "Our doubts, our fears... they're part of what makes us human!"

Miss Stepford's laugh was light and musical. "Oh, you poor, misguided soul. Do you really think humanity's greatest achievements came from wallowing in self-doubt? No, they came from those who had the courage to push past their limitations."

The Chairman nodded in agreement. "We're working towards something greater than ourselves," he added. "A better future for everyone."

Leet shook his head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to be settling over his thoughts. "But... but what about free will? You can't just decide what's best for everyone!"

"Can't I?" Miss Stepford asked, her voice taking on a harder edge. "Look around you, Mr. Leet. Look at the state of this city – of the world! Do you really think the current system is working?"

Uber, who had been silent for a while, spoke up. "Even if you have good intentions, you can't just force people to change. It's... it's not right."

Miss Stepford's eyes softened slightly as she regarded the two villains. "I understand your concerns. Truly, I do. But sometimes, for the greater good, difficult choices must be made."

Leet felt a surge of anger cut through his fear. "That's bullshit! You're just using fancy words to justify mind control!"

"Language, dear," Miss Stepford chided gently. "And I'm not justifying anything. I'm simply stating facts. The world is broken, and conventional methods have failed to fix it. Sometimes, a more... direct approach is necessary."

The Chairman stepped forward, his presence looming over the two defeated villains. "You've seen firsthand the improvements at Winslow. The reduced violence, the increased academic performance. Can you honestly say that hasn't been a positive change?"

Leet wanted to argue, but he found himself hesitating. He'd heard rumors about Winslow's transformation, and he couldn't deny that the changes seemed beneficial on the surface.

Miss Stepford's voice took on a gentler tone as she addressed Uber and Leet, her posture relaxing slightly. "I understand your concerns, truly I do. But I think you're misunderstanding the nature of my work."

She smoothed her apron, a gesture that seemed almost motherly. "Unlike your... rather crude attempt today, I don't force people to do things against their will. My approach is far more subtle and, dare I say, beneficial."

Leet scoffed, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "Oh yeah? How do you figure that?"

Miss Stepford smiled patiently. "Think of it as... enhancing the better angels of our nature. I simply prioritize certain societal expectations, helping things work together more seamlessly. It's not about control, but optimization."

Uber frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "But you're still messing with people's heads. How is that not forcing them?"

"Because I don't override their core personalities or desires," Miss Stepford explained. "I merely provide an extra... nudge, if you will. Like having an additional angel on one's shoulder, gently encouraging them towards more positive behaviors."

The Chairman nodded in agreement. "It's about helping people become the best versions of themselves. Removing the obstacles that hold them back from reaching their full potential."

Leet shook his head, though his resolve seemed to be wavering. "But what about individuality? Doesn't this just make everyone the same?"

Miss Stepford's laugh was light and musical. "Oh, not at all! In fact, it often helps people explore aspects of themselves they might have been too afraid to embrace before."

She took a step closer to the two villains, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "For instance, if you were to partake in my services, I can assure you that your love of video games would remain intact. It might even be enhanced."

Uber's eyes widened slightly at this. "Enhanced? How?"

"Well," Miss Stepford mused, "imagine being able to focus more intently on your gaming, free from distractions or self-doubt. Or having the confidence to pursue game development yourselves, turning your passion into something truly remarkable."

Leet couldn't help but look intrigued, despite his best efforts to remain skeptical. "That... does sound kind of cool," he admitted reluctantly.

Miss Stepford beamed at him. "Exactly! And it's not just about personal hobbies. My work has helped people in all aspects of their lives."

She paused for a moment, as if considering whether to share something personal. "Let me tell you about a friend of mine. She used to be so concerned with maintaining a certain image that she denied herself the chance to explore her true interests."

Uber and Leet exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued.

"What happened to her?" Uber asked.

Miss Stepford's smile grew fond. "After some gentle encouragement, she found the courage to embrace her nerdy side. Now, she's happily engaged, pursuing her interests without shame, and surrounded by a supportive group of friends who appreciate her for who she truly is."

Uber scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I gotta admit, that does sound pretty nice. But... I don't know. It still feels like cheating somehow."

"Is it cheating to wear glasses if you have poor eyesight?" Miss Stepford countered gently. "Or to take medication for a chemical imbalance in your brain? My work simply helps people overcome the mental and emotional hurdles that hold them back."

Leet shifted uncomfortably, his resolve wavering. "I mean... when you put it that way, it does sound pretty reasonable."

"Yeah," Uber agreed, running a hand through his hair. "And our show could use some improvement. The views have been dropping lately..."

Miss Stepford's smile widened. "I could help with that. Imagine having the confidence to truly embrace your performances, to connect with your audience in ways you never thought possible."

Miss Stepford's smile took on a sharper edge. "Let's be honest with ourselves, shall we? Your reputation in the Bay isn't exactly stellar. Most people see you as jokes, barely worth mentioning except as cautionary tales."

Uber and Leet winced simultaneously, the truth of her words hitting home.

"And really, can you blame them?" she continued, her voice taking on a disappointed maternal tone. "That deplorable Grand Theft Auto episode with those poor women? Attempting to recreate a scene promoting violence against sex workers?"

Leet's face flushed red with shame while Uber looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

"That was... we weren't thinking clearly," Uber mumbled.

"Clearly not," Miss Stepford agreed. "But you know what's interesting? The gaming world isn't the boys' club it used to be. Why, nearly half of all gamers these days are women."

Both villains perked up slightly at this information.

"In fact," she continued, adjusting her pearl necklace with a knowing smile, "I could easily introduce you to some lovely young ladies who share your passion for gaming. Girls who understand the appeal of roleplay and performance."

Leet's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Oh yes. And you know what I've found?" Miss Stepford leaned in conspiratorially. "Having a stable family life tends to focus one's passions, channel them into more... constructive outlets. Just imagine - wives who not only understand your interests but actively participate in them."

The two villains exchanged glances, clearly intrigued by the possibility.

Leet took a half-step forward, then stopped. His eyes narrowed as something occurred to him. "Wait a minute. If your tech is so great, why did you use it on yourself? Shouldn't you have been confident enough in your own judgment?"

"Yeah," Uber chimed in, his earlier suspicion returning. "And if it's all about 'gentle encouragement,' why do we keep hearing about people at Winslow suddenly becoming totally different?"

Miss Stepford's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. "Change is a natural part of growth-"

"No," Leet cut her off, backing away. "This is messed up. You're trying to justify brainwashing by making it sound nice, but it's still brainwashing."

Uber nodded firmly. "We might not be heroes, but at least we're honest about what we do. This whole 'optimization' thing? It's just pretty words covering up something seriously wrong."

The Chairman's posture shifted, tension returning to his frame. "I was afraid you might see it that way."

"Yeah, well," Leet said, reaching slowly for another device on his belt, "maybe you should have used more of that mind control on yourself. Might have made you more convincing."

Leet looked around the room, searching for their last hope of escape. His gaze locked onto the makeshift teleporter he'd cobbled together for just such an emergency. It wasn't pretty, and he was only about 70% sure it wouldn't turn them inside out, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Uber!" he shouted, stumbling towards the device. "The bug-out teleporter! It's in the next room!"

Uber, still nursing his bruised ribs, nodded grimly. He started to follow his partner, only to be blindsided by a blur of red hair and righteous fury.

Emma Barnes, newly freed from Leet's mind control and absolutely livid, tackled Uber with the force of a runaway freight train. Her momentum carried them both to the ground, Uber's breath leaving him in a painful whoosh.

"You creepy, perverted losers!" Emma shrieked, her fists raining down on Uber's face and chest. "How dare you try to use us for your sick little games!"

Uber, his power kicking in to grant him expert grappling skills, attempted to use Emma's momentum against her. He shifted his weight, preparing to execute a textbook judo throw that should have sent the slender girl flying.

Instead, Uber found himself straining against what felt like a solid wall of muscle. Emma barely budged, her enhanced frame far denser than her appearance suggested.

"What the hell, her too!?" Uber grunted, eyes wide with shock.

Emma's lips curled into a feral grin. "Surprise, asshole. I'm not some damsel in distress for you to push around."

Leet, seeing his partner pinned down by the enraged redhead, hesitated at the teleporter's controls. "Uber! Come on, man! We gotta go!"

Uber thrashed beneath Emma's grip, desperation clear in his voice. "I can't! Just go! Get out of here!"

With one last anguished look at his friend, Leet slammed his hand down on the teleporter's activation switch. There was a crackling sound, a brief flash of light, and then Leet vanished.

Miss Stepford tutted softly, shaking her head at the display. "My, my. Such a ruckus. Emma, dear, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, this really isn't very ladylike behavior."

Emma, not pausing in her assault on the hapless Uber, shot back, "Screw being ladylike! These jerks tried to turn us into their personal harem or something!"

The Chairman chuckled, his arm draped casually around Miss Stepford's waist. "I think we can make an exception this once, don't you agree, darling? After all, Emma has been so eager to show off the results of your enhancements."

Miss Stepford sighed dramatically, but there was a glimmer of pride in her eyes as she watched Emma thoroughly thrash the villain. "I suppose you're right. Still, I do hope she remembers her manners once this is all over."

Her gaze drifted to Emma's outfit, and she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Though speaking of ladylike behavior, I really must have a word with her about that dress. Far too revealing for a young lady of her standing."

The Chairman raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk playing at his lips. "I don't recall you complaining about revealing outfits when we're alone, my dear."

Miss Stepford's cheeks colored slightly, and she swatted his arm playfully. "Hush, you. That's entirely different, and you know it."

Their banter was interrupted by a particularly pained yelp from Uber. Emma had just driven her knee into his solar plexus, leaving the villain gasping for air.

"My word," the Chairman commented, wincing slightly in sympathy. "She certainly isn't pulling her punches, is she?"

Emma, oblivious to their commentary, continued her assault. Her fists, now moving with the precision and power of a trained boxer, pummeled Uber's face and body. The villain's attempts to defend himself grew increasingly feeble as the beating wore on.

"This is for trying to brainwash us!" Emma snarled, landing a vicious right hook that snapped Uber's head to the side. "And this is for ogling me like some piece of meat!"

A left jab to the ribs elicited a pained groan from Uber. Emma followed it up with a devastating uppercut that lifted the villain partially off the ground.

"And this," she growled, grabbing Uber by the collar and pulling him close, "is for thinking you could get away with it!"

With that, Emma headbutted Uber squarely in the nose. There was a sickening crunch, and Uber's eyes rolled back in his head as he finally lost consciousness.

Emma stood, breathing heavily, her knuckles bloody and her hair wild. She turned to face Miss Stepford and the Chairman, a fierce pride shining in her eyes.

"How's that for showing off my enhancements?" she asked, a touch of defiance in her voice.

Miss Stepford clapped politely, though her expression remained somewhat disapproving. "Very impressive, dear. Though I do wish you'd found a less... violent way to demonstrate your newfound abilities."

The Chairman, on the other hand, was grinning broadly. "Excellent work, Emma. You've certainly proven the effectiveness of Miss Stepford's enhancements."

Miss Stepford shot him a look. "Don't encourage her too much, darling. We don't want her getting ideas about vigilantism or some such nonsense."

Emma rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Relax, Taylor. I'm not about to go out looking for fights. But you have to admit, it felt good to put these jerks in their place."

"Speaking of jerks," the Chairman interjected, his expression growing more serious. "We still have the matter of Leet's escape to deal with."

Miss Stepford nodded, her brow furrowing in thought. "Yes, that is rather concerning. Who knows what kind of mischief he might get up to, especially now that he's had a taste of my technology."

The Chairman began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. "We'll need to track him down quickly. Even if his understanding of your work is limited, we can't risk him reverse-engineering any of it."

Miss Stepford's eyes widened as the realization struck her. "Oh dear," she murmured, her gaze darting around the room. "If Emma's no longer under control, then Sophia..."

The Chairman caught on immediately, his posture tensing. "Sophia? Sophia!" he called out, his voice echoing through the warehouse.

Emma, still catching her breath from her bout with Uber, looked confused for a moment before understanding dawned on her face. "Oh shit, where is she?"

The three of them spread out, searching the warehouse with increasing urgency. Miss Stepford checked behind stacks of crates, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. The Chairman methodically swept through the rooms, his enhanced senses straining for any sign of the missing girl. Emma, knowing Sophia's tendency to find high vantage points, climbed up to check the rafters and upper levels.

After several tense minutes of fruitless searching, they regrouped near the unconscious form of Uber.

"She's gone," Emma said, worry creeping into her voice. "I can't find her anywhere."

Miss Stepford pressed her lips into a thin line, her mind racing through possibilities. "This is most unfortunate. Who knows what state of mind she's in, or where she might have run off to?"

The Chairman placed a comforting hand on Miss Stepford's shoulder. "We'll find her, Miss Stepford. She couldn't have gotten far."

Miss Stepford nodded, though the concern didn't leave her eyes. "You're right, of course. But we need to act quickly. The longer she's out there, the more likely she is to cause... complications."

Emma fidgeted nervously, glancing between Miss Stepford and the Chairman. "What do you want me to do? Should I go look for her?"

Miss Stepford considered for a moment before shaking her head. "No, that would be too risky. We don't know how much she remembers or how she might react to seeing you. Besides, we need to deal with this mess first." She gestured to the unconscious Uber and the scattered Tinkertech devices.

The Chairman nodded in agreement. "Miss Stepford's right. We can't leave all this for Leet to potentially recover. And we need to get Uber secured before he wakes up."

Emma's shoulders slumped slightly, but she nodded. "Okay, so what's the plan?"

Miss Stepford straightened her apron, her demeanor shifting back to its usual prim and proper state. "We need to get going, I'm afraid. There's too much to do, and we can't risk being caught here when the authorities arrive."

"But what about Sophia?" Emma asked, her brow furrowed with worry.

"We'll have to deal with her later," Miss Stepford said, though it was clear from her tone that she wasn't happy about it. "For now, we need to focus on damage control."

The Chairman hefted the unconscious Uber over his shoulder with ease. "What do you want to do with him, dear?"

Miss Stepford's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "Oh, I think it's high time Mr. Uber here had a proper attitude adjustment. We'll take him back to the lab."

Emma's eyes widened slightly at that, but she didn't comment. Instead, she asked, "What should I do?"

Miss Stepford turned to her, her expression softening slightly. "You've done well today, Emma. I need you to stay here and call the PRT. Report what happened – well, a version of it, at least."

***

Dauntless arrived at Uber and Leet's hideout, his energy spear crackling softly in the evening air. He sighed, running a hand over his helmet. Director Piggot had been crystal clear - he was to interrogate Emma Barnes and extract any additional information about Miss Stepford. The whole situation left a sour taste in his mouth. Harshly questioning a teenage girl after such an ordain, even one with potential villain connections, felt wrong.

As he approached the entrance, Dauntless was surprised to see the familiar blue armor of Armsmaster already on site. The older hero was crouched near a pile of discarded tinkertech, scanning it with some handheld device.

"Armsmaster?" Dauntless called out, confusion evident in his voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Armsmaster stood, turning to face his colleague. "Dauntless. Good of you to join us."

Dauntless hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I don't mean to overstep, but... should you be here? Given the current situation with leadership and all?"

Armsmaster's beard twitched in what might have been amusement. "I'm well within my rights to be here. As the only Tinker in the Protectorate ENE, it's my duty to examine any seized villain tech. Standard procedure, you understand."

"Right, of course," Dauntless nodded, still feeling off-balance. He was about to press the issue further when Armsmaster spoke again, his tone surprisingly warm.

"I've been meaning to tell you, Dauntless. I've been quite impressed with how you've been handling leadership of the ENE. Your capture of Oni Lee, in particular, was very well executed."

Dauntless blinked, grateful that his mask hid his shocked expression. Armsmaster had never been one for praise, especially not directed at him. Their relationship had always been... strained, to put it mildly.

"I... thank you," Dauntless managed. "That means a lot, coming from you. I have to say, you seem... different lately. In a good way, I mean."

Armsmaster chuckled, the sound almost alien coming from the normally stoic hero. "I suppose I have changed a bit. Love has a funny way of doing that to a person."

Now Dauntless felt like he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone. "Love? You're seeing someone?"

"It's... complicated," Armsmaster hedged.

Dauntless's mind raced. "Is it Dragon? You two have always worked well together. Or... wait, one of your new assistants? Tess or Theresa?"

Armsmaster's silence spoke volumes. Dauntless's eyes widened behind his mask as a wild thought struck him.

"Both?!" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Armsmaster coughed, clearly uncomfortable. "As I said, it's complicated. But yes, in a manner of speaking."

Dauntless swayed slightly, feeling like the world had tilted on its axis. Armsmaster - dour, work-obsessed Armsmaster - in a relationship? With two women? It was almost too much to process.

"You should sit down," Armsmaster said, gesturing to a nearby crate. "You look a bit unsteady."

Dauntless nodded numbly, lowering himself onto the makeshift seat. "What else is going to upend my worldview today?" he muttered.

Armsmaster ducked into the warehouse, emerging a moment later with a small device in his hand. "Actually, there is one more thing. I heard from Assault that you and your wife have been having some... difficulties lately."

Dauntless tensed. His marital problems weren't exactly a secret, but he hadn't expected Armsmaster of all people to bring them up.

"I've been working on some counseling software," Armsmaster continued, holding up the device. "It's based on some of Miss Stepford's work, though heavily modified. It's still in the testing phase, so it's not officially sanctioned. But if you'd like to try it, off the books... well, I'd be interested in the results."

Dauntless stared at the offered device, then at Armsmaster, then back at the device. The surreality of the situation was almost overwhelming.

"I... I think I need a drink," Dauntless said weakly.

Armsmaster nodded, as if this was a perfectly reasonable response. "Understandable. But perhaps hold off on that until after we've finished here. Now, about the Barnes girl-"

"Wait," Dauntless interrupted, his mind finally catching up. "You said you've taken care of the interview with Emma Barnes?"

"Correct," Armsmaster confirmed. "I arrived early and conducted a preliminary interview. I have the transcript here if you'd like to review it."

Dauntless frowned. Something about this didn't sit right with him. "Piggot specifically assigned me to handle that. Why did you step in?"

Armsmaster's posture stiffened slightly. "As I said, I arrived early. It seemed inefficient to wait when I could gather the necessary information. Is there a problem?"

"No, I suppose not," Dauntless said slowly. "It's just... unexpected."

"These are unexpected times," Armsmaster replied. "Now, shall we discuss the findings? Or would you prefer to conduct your own follow-up interview?"

Dauntless considered for a moment. On one hand, he should probably insist on speaking to Emma Barnes himself. On the other, Armsmaster was far more experienced in interrogation techniques. And if he was being honest with himself, Dauntless wasn't entirely comfortable with grilling a teenage girl.

"Let's go over your findings," Dauntless decided. "But I want to review the full transcript later, understood?"

Armsmaster nodded. "Of course. I'll have it sent to your secure terminal within the hour."

As Armsmaster began to summarize the interview, Dauntless found his mind wandering. The entire situation felt off somehow, but he couldn't put his finger on why. Armsmaster's changed demeanor, his sudden openness about his personal life, his eagerness to help with Dauntless's marital issues... it was all so unlike the man he'd known for years.

"Dauntless? Are you listening?" Armsmaster's voice cut through his musings.

"Sorry, yes," Dauntless said, shaking his head to clear it. "Please continue."

As Armsmaster resumed his report, Dauntless made a mental note to keep a closer eye on his colleague. Something was definitely different about Colin Wallis, and Dauntless wasn't sure if it was a change for the better or not.

The debriefing continued for another half hour, with Armsmaster providing a detailed account of Emma Barnes' statement. According to the transcript, the girl had been vague about her connections to Miss Stepford, claiming only to have received some "study materials" that had helped improve her grades. She denied any knowledge of the villain's true identity or base of operations.

"It's frustrating," Armsmaster admitted as he wrapped up. "The girl clearly knows more than she's letting on, but without concrete evidence, we can't push too hard. She's a minor, after all."

Dauntless nodded, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. Relief that they hadn't resorted to heavy-handed tactics with a teenager, but disappointment that they were no closer to unraveling the mystery of Miss Stepford.

"What about the tinkertech recovered from the scene?" Dauntless asked, gesturing to the pile of gadgets Armsmaster had been examining earlier.

"Mostly Leet's work, with some modifications," Armsmaster replied. "There are traces of Miss Stepford's influence, but it's hard to say how much is her tech and how much is just Leet's attempts at replication. I'll need more time in the lab to make a definitive analysis."

Dauntless stood, stretching his arms above his head. "Alright, I think we've done all we can here for now. I'll head back to HQ and update Piggot on the situation. You'll send me that full transcript?"

"Already done," Armsmaster said, tapping his helmet. "It should be waiting in your inbox."

As they prepared to leave, Dauntless hesitated. There was still one thing nagging at him. "Colin," he said, using Armsmaster's real name to emphasize the personal nature of the question. "Are you... okay? I mean, all of this - the relationship stuff, the sudden interest in my personal life - it's not like you."

Armsmaster was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable behind his visor. "I'm fine, Shawn. Better than fine, actually. I've just... gained some perspective lately. Sometimes it takes a shock to the system to make you re-evaluate your priorities."

Dauntless nodded slowly, not entirely convinced but willing to let it go for now. "If you say so. Just... know that if you ever need to talk, I'm here. We may have had our differences in the past, but we're still teammates."

"I appreciate that," Armsmaster said, his voice warm. "The same goes for you. And the offer of that counseling software still stands, if you're interested."

Dauntless chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll think about it. For now, let's just focus on wrapping things up here and getting back to base. I have a feeling Piggot's going to want a full report ASAP."

As they left the warehouse, Dauntless couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted in the dynamics of the Protectorate ENE. Whether it was for better or worse remained to be seen, but one thing was certain - things were never going to be quite the same again.

***

Taylor sighed heavily as Theo maneuvered the unconscious form of Uber into one of her pods. The villain's body was limp and unwieldy, making the task more difficult than it should have been.

"Careful," Taylor muttered. "We don't want to damage the pod."

Theo grunted in acknowledgment, though he moved the body with ease, barely straining. With a final heave, he managed to get Uber situated properly inside the device.

As Taylor began the initialization sequence, Theo stepped back and straightened his tie. "Well, that's one more problem dealt with," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

Taylor nodded absently, her fingers flying over the control panel. "Yes, things are progressing well on that front. The Empire's transition is smoother than I'd anticipated, and the Merchants are all but finished."

Theo moved to stand beside her, watching the pod's status indicators flicker to life. "You've done incredible work, Taylor. The city is already safer, cleaner. People are starting to have hope again."

A small smile tugged at Taylor's lips, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know. It's just..." She trailed off, her brow furrowing.

"What is it?" Theo asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Taylor bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "We still haven't found Sophia. I'm worried about what might have happened to her."

Theo's expression softened. "We'll find her, Taylor. It hasn't been even a day since the attack on Winslow. She might have just gotten scared and run off."

"Maybe," Taylor said, not sounding convinced. "But what if something worse happened? What if Uber and Leet did something to her before we got there?"

"We'll deal with that if it turns out to be the case," Theo assured her. "For now, let's focus on what we can control."

Taylor nodded, but the worry didn't leave her eyes. She turned back to the pod, checking Uber's vital signs on the monitor. As she worked, a flicker of guilt passed across her face.

Theo's expression remained neutral, but his eyes were filled with understanding. "Taylor," he said softly, "can I ask you something. There's something else bothering you, isn't there?" Theo asked, his voice gentle but probing.

She nodded, bracing herself.

"When you were working on Sophia, changing her... did you do those things because you genuinely wanted to correct her behavior? Or was it more about wanting to punish her for what she'd done?"

Taylor's hands stilled on the controls. She took a deep breath before turning to face Theo. "I... I've been thinking about what I did to Sophia. How I treated her."

Theo remained silent, giving her space to continue.

"I told myself it was all for her own good, that I was correcting her behavior," Taylor said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But the truth is... I think part of me wanted to hurt her. Because she hurt me. Because she tried to hurt Mrs. Barnes."

Taylor's eyes welled up with tears, and she looked down, unable to meet Theo's gaze. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

Gently, Theo reached out and cupped Taylor's chin, tilting her face up to look at him. His touch was warm and reassuring, grounding her in the moment.

"Taylor," he said, his voice firm but kind, "what we're doing here... it's important. We're trying to make the world better, to fix things that are broken. But that means we have to hold ourselves to the highest standard. We can't let our personal feelings, our desire for revenge or retribution, cloud our judgment."

A tear slipped down Taylor's cheek, and she nodded shakily. "I know," she whispered. "I just... I got so caught up in it all. I wanted her to hurt like I hurt."

Theo pulled her into a hug, and Taylor buried her face in his shirt, letting the tears flow freely. He stroked her back soothingly, murmuring words of comfort.

"It's okay," he said softly. "We all make mistakes. What matters is that we recognize them and do better going forward."

Taylor clung to him, her body shaking with quiet sobs. Theo just held her, steady and strong, a pillar of support in the storm of her emotions.

After a few minutes, Taylor's tears began to subside. She pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

Theo shook his head, giving her a gentle smile. "You don't need to apologize, Taylor. This is hard work we're doing. It's okay to be overwhelmed sometimes."

Taylor took a deep breath, steadying herself. "You're right. I just... I want to do better. I need to do better."

"And you will," Theo said confidently. "We both will. We're in this together, Taylor. No matter how it turns out, I'll be with you every step of the way."

Taylor managed a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Theo. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Theo squeezed her hand reassuringly. "You'd probably still be amazing, but maybe a little more stressed," he teased lightly.

Taylor let out a watery chuckle, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She turned back to the pod, checking Uber's status once more. "We should probably finish up here," she said, her voice steadier now. "I really do want to help people, Theo. Even if... even if I've made mistakes along the way."

"I know," Theo said, squeezing her shoulder gently. "And that's what matters. We learn, we grow, we do better."

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments, watching the pods work its subtle magic on its occupants The quiet hum of machinery filled the air, a constant reminder of the power they wielded and the responsibility that came with it.

Finally, Theo glanced at his watch and stifled a yawn. "It's getting late," he said. "We should probably call it a night. It's been a long day."

Taylor nodded, suddenly aware of the bone-deep weariness settling over her. "You're right. There's still so much to do, but it can wait until morning."

"Exactly," Theo said, gently guiding her towards the door. "We've made good progress today. Let's get some rest and tackle the rest with fresh eyes tomorrow."

Theo paused at the doorway, his gaze sweeping across the lab. The soft blue glow from multiple pods cast eerie shadows on the walls. Uber's pod hummed quietly in the corner, but he wasn't alone - several other pods lined the walls, each containing a captured Merchant member.

Burnout lay unconscious in one, her face peaceful despite the earlier violence. Whirligig occupied another, her usual sneer replaced by blank serenity. The rest held various lower-ranking members, each carefully selected for their potential usefulness.

"It's strange," Theo murmured, his voice barely audible over the gentle hum of machinery. "Seeing them all like this. Peaceful. Almost like they're sleeping."

Taylor stepped beside him, her eyes tracking over each pod. "They'll be better when they wake up. More focused. More... productive." She hesitated slightly on the last word, perhaps remembering their earlier conversation about intentions and consequences.

"The Merchants were destroying themselves and everyone around them," Theo said firmly. "This is mercy, even if they don't see it that way."

He watched as one of the Merchant members shifted slightly in their pod, the movement causing ripples in the monitoring equipment's readouts. The labs' automated systems adjusted smoothly, maintaining optimal conditions for the conditioning process.

"Security teams are in place?" Taylor asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Three shifts, rotating every eight hours," Theo confirmed. "Brad's best people. They won't let anything happen to the subjects or the equipment."

***

Brian groaned as the pounding on his apartment door jolted him from sleep. He squinted at the clock - 2:37 AM. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over a discarded shirt on the floor.

"Aisha, sis," he called out groggily, shuffling towards the incessant noise. "I know you don't want to stay with Mom. But CPS says you have to stay there at least 3 nights a week or they might void my attempts at custody. I'm sorry but you need to go home."

The pounding continued, growing more frantic. Brian's irritation spiked.

"I'm telling you, you need to-" he yanked the door open, the words dying on his lips as he registered the figure before him. "You're not Aisha."

Sophia Hess stood in his doorway, her chest heaving as if she'd run a marathon. Her eyes were wide, darting nervously over her shoulder. Without waiting for an invitation, she ducked under Brian's arm and into his apartment.

"Brian, I need your help," she said, her voice tight with urgency. "I know who Miss Stepford is."

Brian blinked, his sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up. "Sophia? What the hell are you doing here?"

Sophia paced the small living room, her fingers twisting nervously. "I told you I need your help. Brian, you have to listen to me. Everything's fucked up. The whole city - it's all wrong."

Brian closed the door, locking it out of habit. He studied Sophia, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands. "Okay, slow down. What are you talking about? What's this about Miss Stepford?"

Sophia took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. "It's Taylor. Taylor Hebert. She's Miss Stepford."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Let's say I believe you. What exactly do you want me to do?"

Sophia's eyes met his, desperate and determined. "Help me stop her. Before it's too late. Before she turns the whole city into her personal dollhouse."

Chapter Text

Jake hunched his shoulders against the morning chill, fingers trembling as he tried to light a cigarette butt he'd found on the sidewalk. The lighter flickered three times before catching, and he sucked greedily at the half-inch of tobacco remaining. Merchant territory—or what used to be Merchant territory—had gone to shit since the Empire raid. No more easy hookups, no more protection. Just empty warehouses and desperate souls wandering the concrete wasteland.

His stomach cramped, a familiar pain he'd learned to ignore. Three days since his last meal, unless you counted the half-eaten burger he'd fished from a dumpster behind Fugly Bob's. He'd gotten high that night, too high to remember if he'd actually eaten it or just passed out clutching it.

Jake shuffled past the abandoned garage that had once housed Squealer's workshop. Where Mush had handed out assignments and skidmark had ranted his deranged poetry of violence and drugs. All gone now. Skidmark, Squealer, Mush—vanished into the Empire machine, or so the rumors said.

"Hey there, brother! You lookin' hungry this morning!" A voice boomed across the street, clear and strong.

Jake froze. That voice—he knew that voice, but not like this. Not this... clean.

He turned slowly toward the voice, cigarette forgotten between his lips. Across the way, a gathering had formed in what had once been an empty lot. Pop-up tents in white and blue stood in neat rows, with tables underneath them. People moved about, some sitting and eating, others serving food.

And there at the center stood Adam Mustain.

Skidmark.

Except... not Skidmark. Not anymore.

"That's right! Come on over! No one turns away hungry from Adam's table!" The man wore pressed khakis and a button-up shirt the color of summer sky. His teeth—fuck, his teeth were white, not the rotting yellow-black Jake remembered. "We got hot meals, medical attention, and a chance to turn it all around! Come on now!"

Jake approached cautiously, as if crossing a minefield. This had to be a trap. Had to be. But the smell of food hit him like a physical force, making his knees weak.

Adam spotted him, recognition dawning in his clear—clear?—eyes. "Jake! Man, look at you! Been a minute, brother. Come get yourself something hot."

Jake couldn't reconcile this man with the foul-mouthed, drug-addled leader who'd once pissed on a rival gang member's corpse while laughing. This Adam stood straight, his movements deliberate, his smile genuine.

"Adam?" Jake croaked. "The fuck happened to you, man?"

Adam clapped him on the shoulder. The touch was firm but not threatening. "Life happened, my friend. Life and a second chance. Come on, let's get some food in you first, then we can talk."

He guided Jake to a serving table where a line of people—homeless, addicts, former gang members—waited patiently. Adam grabbed a clean plate and handed it to Jake.

"Sherrel! We need another round of that beautiful stew of yours!"

A woman emerged from a mobile kitchen trailer, carrying a steaming pot. Her blonde hair was styled in a neat bob, pearl necklace gleaming against her neck. She wore a knee-length dress with a subtle floral pattern, cinched at the waist with a thin belt. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she approached.

Jake's cigarette fell from his open mouth. "Squealer?"

The woman winked at him. "It's just Sherrel now, honey. Adam, this pot's heavy, be a dear and take it."

Adam rushed to relieve her of the burden, setting it on the serving table. "Thank you, sweetheart. Jake here is an old associate. He's joining us for breakfast."

Sherrel's smile never wavered as she appraised Jake. "Well, he looks like he could use a good meal and a hot shower. Emily and Wendy are bringing more bread."

As if summoned by her words, two more women appeared from the kitchen trailer. Jake recognized them immediately despite their transformed appearances.

Emily—once called Burnout—wore a similar dress to Sherrel's, though hers was a darker blue that complemented her pale skin. Her formerly wild and curly brown hair was now neatly styled, framing a face dusted with freckles. She carried a basket of fresh bread.

Beside her walked Wendy, formerly Whirligig. Her thin frame was clothed in a pale yellow dress, her long dark hair now falling in soft waves. She wore a string of pearls identical to Sherrel's and carried a tray of butter pats.

"Ladies! Just in time," Adam called out cheerfully. "Jake, you remember Emily and Wendy."

The women smiled at him in unison. It was the most terrifying thing Jake had ever seen.

"Have a seat over there," Adam said, ladling a generous portion of stew onto Jake's plate. "Eat up. You look like you need it."

Jake drifted toward the indicated table, still processing what he was seeing. He sat under one of the white tents, noticing for the first time the elegant emblem embroidered on its corner: a leaping white-tailed deer inside a circular crest. Below it, in flowing script: "Property of the Deer Lodge."

The stew was rich with chunks of beef, potatoes, and carrots. Jake ate mechanically at first, then with increasing enthusiasm as his body responded to the nourishment. Warmth spread through him, making his eyes water.

Around him, other down-and-outs ate with similar gratitude. Some chatted quietly, others kept to themselves. Jake noticed a man moving through the crowd with a clipboard, stopping at each table to speak with the diners.

When the man reached Jake's table, he pulled up a chair without asking. "Good morning. I'm conducting health assessments for everyone here today. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Jake shrugged, mouth full of bread. The man was tall and athletic, with intelligent eyes that assessed Jake clinically.

"Do you have any immediate health concerns? Pain, illness, injuries?"

Jake swallowed. "My teeth hurt. Back too. Got a cough that won't quit."

The man made notes on his clipboard. "Any allergies? Current medications? When was your last tetanus shot?"

Jake answered mechanically, watching the man's practiced movements. Something clicked in his memory.

"You're Uber," he said suddenly.

The man paused, pen hovering over paper. A small smile played at his lips. "Just call me Daniel. I work as a medical assistant with the Deer Lodge outreach program."

"But you were Uber. You and Leet—"

"We all have pasts," Daniel said evenly. "Some more colorful than others. I'm focused on my future now. As you should be."

He continued his assessment, noting Jake's dilated pupils, trembling hands, and poor dental condition. Unlike a normal doctor, he offered no immediate remedies or prescriptions.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Daniel said when he'd finished. "Someone will follow up with you before you leave." He moved on to the next table.

A microphone squealed, drawing everyone's attention to a small raised platform at the front of the gathering. Adam stood there, adjusting the mic stand.

"Brothers and sisters," he began, his voice carrying powerfully across the lot. "First, I want to thank y'all for coming out today. Big thanks to the Deer Lodge for providing this space, these resources, and this opportunity."

A smattering of applause rose from the crowd.

"Look around you. What do you see?" Adam gestured widely. "I see survivors. I see fighters. I see people who've been knocked down by life but keep getting back up."

Jake watched, mesmerized by this new Adam. The cadence of his speech flowed like a practiced orator's, nothing like Skidmark's cocaine-fueled rants.

"Most of you know me. Know my story. I was the worst of the worst, am I right?" Adam chuckled self-deprecatingly. "The things I put in my body would've killed a lesser man. The things I said, the things I did—I'm not proud of that man I was."

He paced the small stage, hands moving expressively.

"Addiction is a prison, my friends. A prison without walls because we carry the bars with us wherever we go. We think the drugs give us freedom, but they're just another kind of chains."

Jake shifted uncomfortably. He'd never heard addiction described so accurately before.

"I was lost. So lost I couldn't see daylight anymore. My relationship was toxic. My business was destroying lives. I was destroying myself one hit at a time."

Adam paused, eyes scanning the crowd. They seemed to land directly on Jake.

"But then I got help. The right kind of help. And now?" He spread his arms. "Now I got purpose. Now I got clarity. Now I'm standing here looking at all of you, knowing you can have the same thing."

Beside the stage, Sherrel, Emily, and Wendy stood in a neat row, nodding in agreement.

"The Deer Lodge has a program," Adam continued. "A treatment program like nothing you've ever seen. It works, people. It really works." He tapped his chest. "I'm living proof. Look at me now. Clean. Healthy. Purposeful."

Jake glanced around, seeing the hope blossoming on faces around him. Some were clearly skeptical, but many looked desperate enough to try anything.

"We've got openings starting today. No cost. No waiting list. Just a genuine chance to break those chains for good." Adam's voice dropped to an intimate level. "Who here is tired? Tired of the struggle, tired of the pain, tired of watching life pass you by while you chase the next high?"

Hands rose tentatively throughout the crowd. After a moment, Jake raised his own.

"Then let us help you. Let us show you another way."

Adam stepped from the platform as two men in Deer Lodge uniforms began distributing clipboards with forms attached. The crowd murmured, some eagerly reaching for the papers, others hanging back.

Jake stared at his empty bowl, mind racing. He knew what this was. Had to be Miss Stepford's work. The transformation was too complete, too... perfect. Adam, Sherrel, all of them—brainwashed into these clean-cut, helpful versions of themselves.

A clipboard appeared before him. The form was simple: name, basic information, and a consent paragraph authorizing "therapeutic intervention."

Miss Stepford had gotten to the Merchants. Turned Skidmark into this community leader. Turned Squealer into a perfect housewife. The rumors had been right, but nobody had guessed the extent of it.

Jake should run. Every instinct told him to get the hell out of here before they got him too.

But then what? Back to the streets? Back to scrounging for food, for drugs, for some semblance of dignity?

He looked up at Adam, now circulating among the tables, patting shoulders, offering encouragement. The man looked... happy. Genuinely happy. Jake couldn't remember ever feeling that way.

When the clipboard reached him, Jake stared at it for a long moment. His life was already a wreck. How much worse could being brainwashed really be?

At least he'd be clean. At least he'd have purpose.

His hand trembled as he picked up the pen. Across the page, he scrawled his name.

Adam appeared at his shoulder, that unnervingly perfect smile beaming down at him. "Good choice, brother. Good choice."

Jake nodded, unable to meet those clear eyes. "Whatever, man. Not like I got anything better going on."

Adam's hand squeezed his shoulder. "That feeling right there? That resignation? That's the last negative thought you're gonna have for a long, long time."

Jake looked up sharply, but Adam was already moving away, his voice rising as he called out to others.

Sherrel approached, carrying a clipboard of her own. "We'll be starting the first session after lunch, honey. Daniel noted your dental issues—we'll address those first thing tomorrow."

"Just like that? Free dentist?"

"The Deer Lodge takes care of its own," Sherrel said, her voice melodic, nothing like the raspy growl Jake remembered. "And you're one of us now."

Jake watched her walk away, heels clicking rhythmically on the pavement. The enormity of what he'd just agreed to washed over him, but with it came something unexpected.

Relief.

He was tired of fighting. Tired of scrounging. Tired of the constant chase.

If this was surrender, maybe surrender wasn't so bad after all.

***

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime chatter, but beneath the normal social rhythms ran an undercurrent of tension. At the corner table near the windows, Madison nestled against Greg's side, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Julia and Charlotte sat across from them, picking at their lunches with less enthusiasm than usual.

"I still get shivers thinking about it," Charlotte said, setting down her fork. "Like being locked in a glass box, watching yourself move and talk, but you can't control anything."

Madison nodded, unconsciously pressing closer to Greg. "The worst part was knowing exactly what was happening. If I'd blacked out or something, maybe it wouldn't have been so... violating."

"At least those losers didn't actually do anything to us," Julia said, her voice hardening with contempt. "Other than that creep Leet staring at Emma like she was a piece of meat."

Greg's arm tightened around Madison. "Used to think they were just pathetic jokes. Now I know they're dangerous pathetic jokes."

"Still wish I could've gotten a shot at them," Charlotte muttered. "Watching them control everyone like puppets on strings..."

"Like Emma did?" Julia grinned, some of her usual spirit returning. "Speaking of..."

Emma Barnes strode across the cafeteria, her designer bag swinging from her shoulder. Her auburn hair was perfectly styled, and she wore a satisfied smile that hadn't dimmed in the week since the incident.

"Ladies," she greeted, sliding onto the bench beside Charlotte. "Greg."

"Here she goes again," Charlotte murmured, but there was fondness in her eye-roll.

Emma pulled out her lunch container. "What? I didn't even say anything."

"You didn't have to," Madison giggled. "Your face says 'let me tell you again how I beat up Uber' all on its own."

Emma pretended to look offended, then broke into a smirk. "Well, since you brought it up... you should have seen his face when he realized I wasn't some helpless damsel. When I threw that first punch—"

"—his eyes bulged out of his skull," the group finished in unison, then burst into laughter.

Emma huffed. "Fine, maybe I've mentioned it once or twice."

"Or seventeen times," Greg said. "Not that I'm counting."

"We'd probably be more annoyed if we weren't all wishing we could've done the same," Charlotte admitted.

"Hey, I got my licks in," Greg said, puffing his chest slightly. "When Leet was distracted and Uber hadn't given specific enough commands... BAM!" He pantomimed a punch. "Right in his stupid face."

Madison beamed up at him. "My hero."

"Speaking of heroes," Julia lowered her voice, leaning forward, "has anyone heard anything about Sophia?"

The mood at the table dimmed instantly. Emma's smile vanished.

"Nothing," she said, pushing food around her container. "She hasn't been home. Her mom's frantic. The police are treating it as a kidnapping, but..." She trailed off, her eyes distant with worry.

"You don't think Leet would actually..." Madison couldn't finish the thought.

"I don't know," Emma said, her voice smaller than any of them were used to hearing. "We were both taken to their hideout, but I was... I was fighting Uber when everything went down. I don't know what happened to her after that."

A heavy silence fell over the table. Whatever their complicated history with Sophia, none of them wanted to contemplate what might have happened to her.

Emma straightened suddenly, forcing brightness back into her expression. "Oh! There's Taylor."

Their eyes followed her gaze to see Taylor making her way across the cafeteria, carefully balancing her tray while clutching a book under one arm. Her curly dark hair was neatly styled, and she walked with the poised grace she'd gradually developed over the past year—such a contrast to the awkward, hunched girl she'd once been. She'd been absent for most of the week, and rumors had circulated that she'd been affected worst by Uber and Leet's device despite no one remembering her being at the school at the time.

he arrived at their table, setting her tray down with meticulous care. "Sorry I'm late. I had to check on something in the library."

"We were just talking about Sophia," Emma informed her, a flicker of worry crossing her face.

Taylor's expression fell. "Still nothing?"

Emma shook her head, and Taylor sighed, sliding into her seat. After a moment, she seemed to remember the book tucked under her arm and extended it toward Madison.

"Oh, I wanted to give you this. It's the book for your parents we talked about. I finally finished it." The cover was nondescript—a muted blue with an elegant font that read "Partnership Harmony: Rebuilding Connections."

Madison didn't immediately take it. Her eyes fixed on the book, expression conflicted. A tense silence fell over the table.

Taylor's hand remained extended, the book hanging in the air between them. After a moment, her brow furrowed in confusion, then understanding dawned in her eyes. Her hand lowered slightly.

"Oh," she said softly, glancing around at her friends' faces. "I see."

The realization was clear on her face—they were wary of her now, or at least of the special books she provided. After experiencing Uber and Leet's forced mind control, the line between that violation and Taylor's "study aids" had become uncomfortably blurred.

Taylor's shoulders slumped minutely, her usual perfect posture faltering. She slowly withdrew the book, careful to keep her expression neutral, though her eyes betrayed her hurt.

"I understand," she said quietly. "After what happened last week... I should have realized. I can take it back if you'd prefer."

The pain in Taylor's voice was evident despite her attempt to hide it, and Madison bit her lip, clearly torn. She looked at Greg, who gave a small, supportive nod, then back at Taylor.

"No," Madison said finally, reaching for the book. "No, I still want it."

Taylor's eyes widened slightly. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel—"

"I'm sure," Madison interrupted, taking the book from Taylor's hands and clutching it to her chest. "What happened with Uber and Leet was completely different. That was... that was violation. Pure and simple." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Just because I had one bad experience doesn't mean I should discard everything good that's come from Winslow's special study aids."

"I get it," Taylor said quietly. "After what happened, I understand why you'd be hesitant."

"It's not that we don't trust you," Charlotte said quickly. "It's just..."

"Made us all think about how easily our minds can be... influenced," Greg finished.

Taylor nodded, looking down at her tray. The hurt was evident on her face despite her efforts to hide it.

Madison exchanged glances with the others, then leaned forward. "Hey, the book is great. Really." She gave Greg a peck on the cheek. "And look how well things are working out for us. My parents have been at each other's throats for years. If this helps them find some happiness together instead of just staying together for appearances, I'm all for it."

Greg smiled, pulling her closer. "Definitely not complaining here."

Charlotte cleared her throat. "Actually, Taylor, I was thinking... after what happened, a lot of students are still on edge. Maybe you could suggest that some 'calming music' be played during the morning announcements? Something to help everyone feel more... normal again."

Taylor looked up, surprise and hope flickering across her face. "You think that would help?"

"I do," Charlotte nodded. "Music therapy is a real thing, right? And if anyone knows what kind of music would be soothing after... well, after that kind of experience, it would be you."

Taylor's eyes grew bright with unshed tears. "I... yes, I could definitely do that."

"That's a great idea, Charlotte," Emma said, reaching over to squeeze Taylor's hand. "And Taylor, we're all just processing. Don't take it personally."

Taylor nodded, wiping quickly at her eyes. "No, I get it. Really. And I'm sorry I wasn't here most of the week. I should have been here for all of you."

"Group hug?" Madison suggested, already standing up.

The girls circled around the table, enveloping Taylor in a warm embrace. Greg watched with an indulgent smile.

When they settled back into their seats, the mood had lightened considerably.

"So," Julia said, deliberately changing the subject, "midterms are coming up, and then we're practically in the home stretch for the year. Anyone have summer plans yet?"

"I'm hoping to convince my parents to let me go to computer camp at Brockton Community College," Greg said.

Madison pouted playfully. "And leave me all alone?"

"It's only three weeks," he protested. "And I'd come see you every evening."

"You'd better," she warned, though her eyes were twinkling.

"What about you, Emma?" Charlotte asked. "Modeling gigs lined up?"

Emma brightened, smoothing her hair with practiced grace. "Actually, yes. I have a new photoshoot next week. I get to debut Parian's new line."

"The rogue cape who makes those amazing dresses?" Julia's eyes widened. "That's huge!"

"I know," Emma preened. "Her work is incredible. So detailed you'd swear it was alive."

"Will we get to see the photos?" Madison asked.

"Maybe even better," Emma said. "If the shoot goes well, there's talk of a small runway show at the mall. I could probably get you all passes."

The conversation flowed more naturally now, turning to fashion and summer plans, the earlier tension mostly dissipated. Taylor participated, but her mind seemed elsewhere, likely already planning the music she would suggest to Principal Blackwell.

"Did you hear about Mrs. Washington?" Charlotte asked during a lull. "She's been asking some weird questions."

"What kind of questions?" Taylor asked, attention snapping back to the conversation.

"About the study guides, the school's improvement, things like that," Charlotte shrugged. "She asked me if I felt different after using them."

"What did you tell her?" Emma asked, her posture subtly tensing.

"Just that they helped me focus better," Charlotte said. "Nothing weird about that. Lots of study methods claim to do the same."

"She asked me if I'd always wanted to be a homemaker," Madison added. "Like it was strange that I'd want to focus on building a family someday."

Greg squeezed her shoulders. "Nothing wrong with knowing what you want."

"Exactly what I told her," Madison nodded. "But then she started asking about how many girls at Winslow felt the same way. Like she was looking for some pattern."

"She cornered me yesterday too," Julia frowned. "Asking if I've noticed changes in myself or my friends over the past year."

Taylor and Emma exchanged a quick glance.

"She's new," Taylor said carefully. "Probably just trying to understand the school culture."

"Maybe," Charlotte didn't sound convinced. "But she seemed more... investigative than curious, if that makes sense."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Emma waved a dismissive hand. "Substitute teachers always try too hard to connect with students. She'll be gone when Mrs. Johnson comes back from maternity leave."

The conversation shifted again, but Taylor remained quieter than before, occasionally glancing toward the teacher's table where a slender woman with dark hair sat eating alone, her attention seemingly focused on a book propped open before her.

"Did you guys decide what you're wearing to the spring formal yet?" Julia asked the table at large.

"I found the perfect dress last weekend," Madison gushed. "It's this gorgeous pale blue with silver accents. Mom said it was too expensive, but Dad caved immediately."

"Daddy's little girl," Emma teased.

Madison didn't deny it. "Greg's going to wear a matching tie."

"Am I?" Greg raised an eyebrow.

"You are now," Madison informed him sweetly.

"Yes, dear," he sighed, but his smile was fond.

"What about you, Taylor?" Charlotte asked. "Are you and Theo going?"

Taylor pulled her attention back to the table. "Oh, um, yes. We're going. He's taking me shopping this weekend to find something."

"Ooh, boyfriend-approved dress shopping," Julia wiggled her eyebrows. "Fancy."

"It's not like that," Taylor protested, her cheeks coloring slightly. "He just has good taste."

"Medhall money will buy you good taste," Emma nodded sagely, then ducked as Taylor swatted at her.

"Theo's not like that and you know it," Taylor said, but she was smiling now.

"Speaking of money," Madison said, "did you guys see the new Deer Lodge community center they're building downtown? They've already got like three shelters and a food pantry going."

"My dad says they're doing more for the city than the mayor," Julia added. "He's thinking of joining."

Taylor's smile grew a touch fixed. "They're certainly making an impact."

"Better them than the Empire," Greg shrugged. "At least they're helping people rather than beating them up."

"True," Charlotte nodded. "Though it's weird how so many former Empire guys are part of it now."

"People can change," Taylor said, her voice quiet but firm. "Sometimes they just need the right motivation."

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch period. The group gathered their things, splitting up to head to their respective afternoon classes.

"Taylor, wait up," Emma called as the others moved ahead. She lowered her voice when Taylor paused. "Everything okay? You seem... distracted."

Taylor glanced around, then sighed. "Just worried about Sophia. And everything else. The Police, the PRT... they've been looking everywhere for her."

Emma squeezed her arm. "We'll find her. And when we do, we'll help her, okay? Like we always planned."

Taylor nodded, but her expression remained troubled. "What if... what if she doesn't want our help anymore, Em?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Emma said firmly. "One problem at a time, okay?"

Taylor took a deep breath, then nodded. "You're right. One problem at a time."

As they headed toward their classes, Taylor cast one last glance back at the cafeteria, where Mrs. Washington was gathering her things, her dark eyes scanning the departing students with what might have been casual interest—or something more calculating.

***

Hannah Washington—known to the Protectorate as Miss Militia—scowled at the stack of essays before her. Red pen in hand, she circled another perfectly formed thesis statement, grudgingly adding a "++" in the margin. The paper belonged to Charlotte Wong, who had written a nuanced comparison of Roosevelt's New Deal policies to modern economic interventions.

"Damn it," she muttered, setting the essay aside in the growing "excellent" pile.

She'd been hoping to find problems—glaring errors, plagiarism, something, anything to justify the nagging sense that Winslow High School wasn't what it appeared to be. But the students' work was consistently outstanding, their arguments well-reasoned, their citations impeccable.

It was maddening.

Hannah leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. A week had passed since Uber and Leet's ill-conceived "dating sim" attack on the school, and she was still seething about it. The timing couldn't have been worse. The moment her phone had buzzed with the alert about the Empire's assault on the Merchants, she'd rushed out—and missed everything that happened at Winslow.

"Stupid, reckless idiots," she muttered, thinking of the gaming-obsessed villain duo. Targeting a high school crossed every conceivable line. The PRT had seized their base, but both Uber and Leet had vanished without a trace. At least they'd gotten some of Leet's technology out of the deal.

But the attack had complicated her investigation enormously. If she found anything suspicious in the school now—odd behavior, strange devices, signs of manipulation—the official line would probably be "residual effects from Leet's mind control device." Miss Stepford's fingerprints, if they existed, would be all but impossible to distinguish from the aftermath of the gaming villains' assault.

A light knock interrupted her brooding. Gladys Knott, the computer science teacher, stood in the doorway with a cheerful smile and a cloth-covered container in her hands.

"Thought you might like some of my pasta salad," Mrs. Knott said, setting the container on Hannah's desk. "Made far too much for just myself last night."

Hannah forced a smile. "That's very kind of you, Gladys. Thank you."

"It's nothing, dear. We can't have you subsisting on takeout and frozen dinners."

Hannah sighed inwardly. Three weeks ago, she'd made the tactical error of mentioning during a staff meeting that she didn't cook much at home. You'd have thought she'd announced she didn't bathe regularly, from the reactions. Since then, the Winslow faculty had apparently organized some kind of rotating food delivery system to save her from the horrors of an uncooked meal.

"I appreciate it," Hannah said, patting the container. "I was just thinking I should take a lunch break."

Mrs. Knott beamed. "Wonderful! Oh, and the guidance office called. A parent is on his way up to see you—something about his daughter missing some assignments."

Hannah nodded. "Thanks for the heads-up."

After Mrs. Knott left, Hannah opened the container and found an enormous portion of a delicious-looking pasta salad with grilled chicken, feta cheese, and olives. Her stomach growled appreciatively despite her irritation.

If she stayed at Winslow much longer, she'd need a new uniform. The teacher version of the "freshman fifteen" was no joke, especially with the constant influx of homemade goodies. Between that and the general physical inactivity of teaching compared to her usual patrol schedule, she was already feeling the difference.

Hannah had just taken a bite when another knock came at her door. Standing there was a tall, wiry man with thinning dark hair and glasses. Something about his posture—a mixture of authority and awkwardness—immediately identified him as a parent rather than school staff.