Trochophore 0.4 (2) -
Had they noticed me?
I tried to not imagine what I looked like, at least at some point I had thrown on a hoodie from my backpack, but even then, I was the only other person on the patio and clearly in a Clarendon uniform if you looked at the skirt, socks, and shoes.
Cautiously, I tugged the hood over my head, returning to scribbling down notes, though I was in reality penning a looping line. A piece of paper was blowing across the patio, but I didn't attempt to catch it.
I kept my eyes on the page, but the emotional presence wasn't exactly subtle, and from the alertness, even in the corner of the area, flanked by walls and shadows, I doubted I would escape attention.
"Do you mind if we sit here?"
I flinched her voice overlaying with something rawer and more scathing, like her very words were coated in wire as they were dragged from her throat.
"Sure," I tried to steady my voice, force myself not to hiccup, but my mind was already far ahead of my mouth.
It went unsaid that this was the only table with an occupant and they were only fit for two people anyway, but B-guy, no I remembered suddenly, Brian was dragging over a chair made it work.
Why were they here?
I didn't remember much of yesterday, but it was certainly faster than I would have expected them to find me . . . though I guess they could have been hiding at the school gates, I had been wearing my uniform as sodden as it was when I met them, and stalked me to the café.
Then I thought about how they didn't take me to empty abandoned warehouse, they took me to building furnished like a house, and alarm bells were tinkling my brain as I looked at them.
Something was off about this, and I had no idea what. Shouldn't they have just forgotten about me, and if not at least continue doing whatever teenagers like them ordinarily do.
Looking closer, both of them was dressed casually, and although with my stop at the library there had been plenty of time for them to change from a uniform, what had they not being doing yesterday which led them to find them.
Rich of me, but still . . .
What if they part of gang, it would fit the weirdly decadent living space in an abandoned district, having poor or no school attendance, and a propensity to patrol areas no-one else went.
A thick bubble of fear, grew inside me and I started regretting not going to the PRT, that was a mistake.
At the library I had seen the PRT claiming the first year after gaining powers over one half of capes were forced into ABB or E88, though a bunch of them were probably assholes to begin with.
I tried to ignore the statistic, and thought they were pushing for PR purposes, and I didn't dare look into the details of what they meant. That would be the biggest red-flag ever.
However, if gangs found me this fast after a little slip-up, my breath caught even though I wasn't even speaking, making it difficult to breath.
Okay, it was a big slip-up, I tried to calm myself, but in my defense, I was in shock and that was the first time anyone actually had directly asked if I was a parahuman. My mistake was letting myself slip and do absolutely stupid things. I could have chosen not to waded into the ocean, but I was too concerned I wouldn't complete the experiment later, which to be fair I wasn't, and I was also angry.
Not really in my right mind. In my mind yes, but not my best state of mind.
Looking between the two people I tried to estimate chances they had come to sell me drugs or take advantage of teenage girl who clearly could disappear for several hours, maybe a day, before someone noticed something was wrong.
Maybe the whole thing was a coincidence, and they happened to be socialite gangsters that like to cheer up teenage girls sitting out alone in the cold.
Actually, that was really creepy. Really creepy. On second thought, I would prefer if they came to press-gang me.
"You know, I was actually just leaving," my tone flat and monotone no longer worried about them recognizing me.
This was just too coincidental.
They came to the one store I went to, came to the patio where there was no-one, and then decided to choose the one table that was already occupied.
If they truly were just "checking in" or something to see I was alright after yesterday, the maybe-gangsters would leave me alone if I showed I wasn't interested with talking to them.
I pushed my chair and casually grabbed my backpack, keeping it strung on one-arm to drop and lighten my running weight if it came to that. I just hope a main street would be enough to deter them from outright restraining me.
My head felt slightly light and it had nothing to do with the two malevolent auras pressing down on me.
One was metal and dehydration, cutting a bloodless throat, prepared in salt and clinical alcohol, the flesh drier than those turkeys on comedy shows that were cut open to reveal cavernous holes, muscle fibers congregated in strings preventing the outside from exploding.
Lisa.
The other was tearing itself apart like a toddler given the dexterity to shred a piece of paper, over and over, and over, as their hands were torn by paper-cuts, turning blue and anemic while silent tears accompanied incoherent babbling.
Brian.
The two reminded me the Chahna and police officer in ways, anger – provocation – and concealed concern, but so much stronger. I never thought I would meet someone with stronger presence than her, but here were two people did.
No wonder I acted so forthright with Lisa while wrapped in those blankets, their emotions weren't targeted or steeping into my skin like the bullies, but a storm doesn't need to be a tornado to destroy a building.
It was more surprising I didn't notice, but I was still recovering from slipping, so I guess I hadn't remembered much, like where their warehouse was.
I heard the creaking of a chair being pushed back before I felt Lisa's aura relax, or rather than nothing, the barbed wires start to draw ooze, thin sweet honeydew, or in other words satisfaction.
My first instinct was to suppress it and keep going without faltering, there was no telling how adept anyone could be in testing for Informant talents.
Maybe they were scoping out what powers I had, and one thing I knew, was that if they went all-out, regardless if there were any supers around, two gang-members could easily take me to the boss.
Seriously, I didn't even have the physical skills to best Lisa, assuming she had gotten into at least one street fight, and even if she hadn't, I wasn't confidant I could win against the taller girl.
Brian tensed emotionally further, the toddler giving way to a series of concepts that I didn't have the time or connection to see or decipher, as they slowly started to follow me.
had lost against two feet of water even given two lengths of rope and my own make-shift harness without like parting the sea, shooting flames at it, becoming an Olympic swimmer, or transforming into some semi-amphibious being.
So, if I had given away that I was a parahuman, they probably, probably, had guessed it was very combative.
The door was locked.
I turned the knob. Shaking it with increasing violence but it wouldn't give way. No one seemed to notice my attempts, the man at the register chatting away with a new customer.
Turning around, I leaned against the door, sorely trying to look casual.
"So," I said reneging on previous conviction to leave, while estimating how mad the establishment would be if I leaved by vaulting over the patio fence without paying my meal.
"What did you want to talk to me about?"
I calmly tried to rest against the door, crossing my arms and kicking one foot up for emphasis, but as the seconds trickled by the silence grew increasingly awkward.
I was definitely blowing this out proportion, wasn't I? I see four kids hanging out at a warehouse turn house happening to stumble across me in a storm, at the beach no less, and assume their gangsters. They could be . . . actually, they probably were gangsters, it was a pretty strong argument.
Still they did save my life . . .
I nervously bounced my heel inaudibly against the glass, begging for someone to notice the door was locked and let me out.
Nobody did, and nor did the silence break as I locked eyes with Lisa, and immediately regretted it. Her emotions had changed, long soft but not luxurious cloth folded and flung about, yet beneath each fold was a hidden wire ready to poke through if anything more the wind ruffled the fabric.
Staring at the ground, I resorted to listening blocking out both the mental auras.
Brian was the first to speak: "We want to offer you a deal."
Any minute now the men in black suits would burst out the shadows, except . . . Lisa and Brian just looked like ordinary teenagers, not gangsters, not secret agents, and definitely not parahumans.
Lisa spoke up, and I could feel her gaze burning at me rippling my skin like a laser burning away water.
"We know you're a parahuman."
I stopped moving, completely stiff, every eventuality I had been avoiding playing out pasted across the two teenagers faces, blotting them from the reality with Wards that would pressure mean into going to the PRT, gang recruiters poaching without me being able protest.
Everything from the "concerned" citizen to full on heroes and more. I felt my click in way, and I was attached.
I was talking them, looking between them, trying to understand, trying gauge, but mostly my focus had been left behind, staring at the floor without a single thought but: this is bad.
"And you're a supervillain!"
Heat for the first time in a very long couple of months started to leak into my voice, something I thought I had let all out when I slipped.
It was half a probe and half a bluff. Maybe they were supervillains. Maybe they weren't and it was vague enough to not be interpreted as a confession.
A small part of mind told me to stay calm and ignore their claims, but that fragment was also still staring at the ground, so fuck subtly.
Faintly, bubbling and rippling contorted my skin, though I knew nobody could see it, the changes were all in my head.
Still as the roiling muscle settled and I looked the exact same physically, even to my mind's eye, I knew something was different, this skin wasn't the same as my epidermis three seconds ago.
However, with the settled flesh came a new path before me, one that didn't involve freezing up or breaking down. It felt like I was looking at my options from a new angle. . .
No, that I had previously seen boxes blocking my way, and someone had pointed out straight lines weren't the only routes available, a curved path would suffice as well. A new voice replaced the fading resemblance of shock that had sapped my attention, demanding to shut down.
It said I could remove these boxes: shock, hesitancy, caution, the lot, but I refused, they were my boxes, touching them would be like running my fingers across a wet painting – an irreversible stain.
"Well – Lisa – that is quite a bold claim. I have a feeling the cashier there," I gestured inside without looking but not because I refused to look away, I simply didn't need to look behind me, "and Social Services would much rather hear how four teenagers are living in a warehouse."
Brian started and felt the dull wrapping of wool covering him tear, blue by the way – because of course it was blue, of course – deep navy like black in a photograph, never quite real, just flat. It matted into paper tearing holes like a moth stretching its cocoon until it couldn't hold the tension any longer.
Lisa responded quicker, her fabric tighter but still recognizable coverings, the same emotion as before I aggravated her but teetering towards something else, "You were delirious," – no, I was in shock and didn't notice, otherwise I would have mistaken you for a demon – "and I doubt if the PRT gets involved anyone will care about little old us." She said with a smirk, and even though her words rang false at every step, I felt their sting.
Sinking her ship wouldn't stop mine from exploding.
"Who says the PRT don't have tests for whether someone is a parahuman? You seem to know about triggers, maybe it would also help to know there is a special part of the brain, the Corona Pollentia, that dramatically increases its size when that happens, so a simple MRI could easily suffice."
I felt my composure slip, my new skin peeled back under my clothes, each word striking and making it no different from my old cover.
"It isn't reliable, many superheroes have small ones" especially in fresh older triggers like me, " and civilians have abnormally large ones."
Lisa smiled and it was like she was twisting a dagger inside me: "Are you willing to take the chance?"
No, I thought but opened my mouth to say yes, but then my skin roiled again, not boiling but rather un-boiling. Like the first time it wasn't even painful, I didn't feel it except, for the knowledge I my flesh was back to being once more.
"But you're parahumans too, and active ones," even to me, my voice sounded weaker, but no longer felt so aggravated, losing the steam I gained with my other skin, yet retaining a broader picture and caution I had lost for a moment.
Stubbornness wasn't going to win this fight and I let my power step in once again, changing me into someone even worse at solving the situations I found myself in.
"That's – "
As she spoke, my gut sank as my mind registered Lisa's wires had crept around me, hiding in plain sight like they did under her fabric while I had cut myself off in a new skin, and buried themselves into me, and as she spoke dug themselves deeper into my, third-ish, skin.
A single word sent them withering blood and pain, like a hundred ladybugs across my whole body biting down, their mandibles aren't all for show after all, alive almost like . . . worms. I forced them out, the holes sealing magically behind them.
After all they had never been there, only invading my mental image of myself. Or one of them. I hated to think what it would mean if I actively absorbed them like Chahna's mist which wanted to be absorbed, or the heat Lisa also had, lasers on water, I remembered.
" – correct. So why don't we sit and talk." The blonde girl had her hands clasped together and her tone delighted.
Oh, I realized belatedly, I had been tricked into letting her offer that as a genuine compromise rather than the one-side confrontation this was.
I walked over slowly and lethargically pulled out the seat from the corner and positioning it so my back would be pointing to the door, not a wall, though escape seemed hopeless at this point.
Sure, I could jump over the patio fence, committing the classic dine-and-dash, but they knew who I was, and probably stalked me here. I could run, but they would just stalk me wherever I went.
Still, I needed to know, "How did you find me?"
Talking to capes wasn't safe. One could be a Thinker or adept at body language.
Lisa flashed another smile, wearing her obnoxiously gesticulations like a presenter, something I had copied briefly but now bothered me to no end.
"I'm a psychic you know!" And I didn't think she was referring to the old classification for capes that could relive past events if given the objects.
Lisa hadn't denied my plural usage of parahumans, and although I had desperately clung to idea they were just normal teenagers, there was a good chance all four of them had powers.
Though Lisa as a Thinker, a telepath, that made sense, it always was like fluff-head and Brian were looking to her for the final decision. Brian had barely said a word to me despite being there both times I interacted with the teens, and even now was taking a wary backseat – back up, I realized.
Strangely, despite my fears, I wasn't actually freaking out or scared. Lisa had been reading my mind for several minutes, and changing my thought pattern would first require me thinking about whatever I wanted her not to glean which would defeat the point of hiding my thoughts.
Actually, it was kind of liberating, knowing she already knew everything and hiding was pointless, but still lying wasn't off the table.
No matter how much I had already screwed myself over, probably forcing my best card in my hand, my powers, I still didn't know the limits to her power, and here limits I realized.
Otherwise, she would have been a lot more direct about how much she knew about me, and giving Lisa shotguns because I already thought, wrongly, they had grenades wasn't how this conversation would go.
If I got impressed somewhere, it wasn't going to because I was carelessly pessimistic in making assumptions.
"Okay," I said, my thoughts culminating in a single word of acceptance. If seeing the future is possible, pre-cognition, who gets to decide bullshit a psychic package is.
"You genuinely believe me," I didn't but I nodded to her dropped tone anyway. Just like that, despite my earlier actions slowly sharpening her aggression, the metal with that one word and subsequent confirmation eroded away rapidly to leave only a piece of wet fabric behind. Didn't take a genius to realize what that represented.
"You know the PRT came out and said telepaths don't exist?" Translation: I don't agree with PRT, do you? She may have lost her bite, but her intentions seemed still to be there.
I wasn't playing this game, too many ways to lose, none to win.
"Not like I had the capacity to look really closely. I was trying to keep a low profile, before you came and blew this conversation up in my face," I hissed, "besides that doesn't explain why you were at the beach."
Lisa was about to say something, probably another evasion as the cloth stirred slightly, but Brian interjected, and I realized I had forgotten about him entirely.
"You have had your fun Lisa."
It was a command, and for a second a spike of fear shot through me as I processed the implications of the authority in his tone, not angry or regimental, nor really disciplinary, but had a slight weight to it, clanging metal like a sinking anchor reverberating in my phantom emotions.
Lisa was Informant of some sort, a parahuman that was given knowledge and skills to use it from their immediate surroundings, which meant it was a genuine question, or a coded one.
I felt glad she wasn't a Grandmaster, superheroes that could see beyond the immediate present or surrounding, gathering information that wasn't necessarily useful directly, but indirectly made them aware of everything that could affect them.
It was difference between knowing how to defeat an enemy, and knowing whose head that brick needs to dropped on before they were aware of whatever drove them to fight the Grandmaster.
Still referring to her so casually made him obviously the leader, or dumb, even if he was letting her interrogate me, as I belatedly realized, that just meant his talents trumped her.
"Fine," Lisa ground out, her voiced overlaid with the scraping of rusted nails on sandpaper, "Abby, you're not a PRT lapdog, you hate them as much as me I would expect."
"I don't hate them, they are the heroes after-all, I just don't like how they run things with the Wards," and I wasn't comfortable putting my life in their hands. I had read the laws once.
Parahumans didn't have human rights, in a legal view, the human died when the person triggered just the same as women used to die when they married, the husband the only legally able person to own property, pay taxes, etc.
Parahumans were protected by the PRT and the only way to escape judgement otherwise was repeated jail-breaks.
"They restrict us, stop us from using our powers like we want to," and I actually found Lisa wasn't wrong, though that wasn't my concern.
I wasn't going to let people that could act hysterically about my powers be the ones that stand as the conductors on a one-way train-ride to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, the Birdcage.
I was yet to hear of a hero that invaded people's minds and manipulated themselves like a dissociative moron, not that I was that bad, at least not yet, although given time I didn't know how comfortable I would become with changing my mental image of myself, and me with it.
Still I liked to think I had the not-being-a-moron part down pat.
"I don't think you want to be villain either." Hell no, I had seen enough of LxL to know to avoid it, but nothing more, and I didn't intend change that now.
"Nor a rogue, I don't get a thrill out of saving people either." I shifted, uncomfortable about where this conversation was leading, when Lisa would say I wanted to be a civilian and threaten me, because I didn't have a choice, and they could disable me far before someone arrived to help.
"But you need money. Somewhere you can walk in and out." She wasn't wrong, and I swayed in my seat knowing that was only part, you always left a footprint, and hidden footprint with blood dribbled in it was far worse than a clear one on the right path.
"We are mercenaries. Take what jobs we want, no commitment, so we can use our powers and get some cash while we're at it."
As horrible as it sounded, there was a certain appeal to it.
No big PRT that could stop me from returning to my life, no gang to hunt me down like a cult, no supervillain controlling me.
Still . . . "No, I am not going to join you."
Brian started to speak, his shredded fabric faded beneath a gravitas of metal, sinking in and of itself, chains looping over everything they touch.
The chains slowly dragged his chair through the floor, the tied-up sun umbrella, the pastel antique it was, tilting towards him as metal links drew upon the world inexorably like a black hole, yet the chains themselves weren't large or visible or menacing, simply the conduit for the force, pure strength.
I blinked and optical anomality persisted, all the objects moving closer millimeter by millimeter, illusory motion I realized, and promptly did my best to ignore it. That was the clearest sign whether something was a real power or my weird perception, if it had a start and end, it was real, if it was perceptional mobius strip, it was my mind.
"Maybe bringing Lisa wasn't the best idea. She's a bit out of sorts today." Lisa didn't deny it. "It isn't nearly as bad as it seems, she was mostly testing you. We were looking for a parahumans to recruit but no surprise the amount of rogue ones around that haven't already decided what they want to do isn't that large."
"We're just teenagers and the PRT really just ignores us for the most part, in fact we're the stabilizing force, reliable and small-scale never hitting anything that can't recover or the spectacles other villains are fond of. We're almost rogues even, and get paid to stay together ten grand a month plus jobs. Anything more specific is Undersider member only."
I almost balked and then remembered Wards got payed twice as much if you divided the ten grand five-ways, but 24K a year as a baseline and not in trust wasn't small by any of my standards.
With the cavity, no teenager wouldn't be able to use most of that without raising a few eyebrows, or at least no teenager where I lived.
"Still no."
Brian sighed with consternation meeting Lisa's eyes briefly and I realized I had progressively grown more comfortable over the course of the conversation.
"Well, it can't be helped," I tensed ready to dash my previous relaxation forgotten, "but if you aren't interested we still probably have responsibility to tell you the Cape Code."
"Cape Code?"
"The unwritten rules, the Cape Code, the game roles, the basic moral standards you're expected to follow, any name for the things you need to be aware if you ever do anything as a parahuman."
"Oh, um, like don't kill anyone, don't hurt bystanders, and I don't know . . . if you want to power-stuff, put on a mask and identity when you do so?" Was there anything more than that?
"Pretty much, just wanted to make sure you knew, though civvies can be pretty annoying if you do get into a fight. Ever seen one of those PHO videos of cape battles?"
I thought for a moment, and shook my head.
Brian pulled out a phone, and clicking a few times brought up a video of Lung facing-off a few unpowered E88 members, a forgone battle from the start, but that wasn't the point. The spectator literally was running around, following them.
He closed it, and explained, "As hard as it is, getting one hurt directly will really push up you on the priority list, but as long as you don't attack them purposely it will mostly blow over. Usually. Also, no traumatizing people, like anything people would look at and say 'that's fucked up,' I don't think I need to go there." I shook my head, I had a very strong idea of what capes could do, or even a regular person with ethical qualms, and wasn't planning to go E88 or ABB on anyone.
Lisa seemed particularly attentive, but I didn't dwell on it, if she scanning me for information, thinking about it would just make her more likely to find whatever she was looking for.
"Also, avoid guns and anything lethal, even as a precaution, or even if you're power is far more dangerous. It's a really bad idea, makes them assume you're prepared to kill someone, and the government takes it as the go ahead to kill you on the spot."
"Most times parahumans are broken out or escape in transit between prisons and courts, in-field disposals? Not so much."
I nodded, finding the whole thing weird, but I guess it made sense why Brian was telling me this, these rules only worked when everyone followed them and trusted each other to follow them.
Stepping on their toes was a great way to be crushed and force the PRT and gangs to set an example of rogue villains. To be honest, I was more worried about the gangs, they really had no qualms committing half the things Brian was listing, but they had the manpower, unlike lone capes, to do what they liked.
Lisa chimed in, "It's like a game. Everybody pretends not to know a cape's identity, and targeting their civilian identity or people around them is pretty much the only universal cape taboo no matter who you ask, moral or not."
I shifted uncomfortably, the whole secret identity business hitting a nerve, but even if she was the one who interrogated me and kept aggravating me, she had a point.
"Is there any way we can change your mind about joining?"
I thought for a moment, considering they genuinely didn't seem to want to forcefully recruit or blackmail me.
They could after follow me wherever I went, and it wasn't like I could change my address or school anytime soon.
"Ask Lisa, I am sure she can answer that," I wasn't quite sold on Lisa being a telepath, the conversation should have gone a very different course by now I would estimate, if she was. However, I really wanted to trust these two people.
More than that, if they figured something about me that changed their minds about letting me go, I wanted to know now when the team wasn't assembled in costume. As much as they talked down themselves from being criminals, they were still villains, and professional ones if someone was paying them to do nothing but exist.
Lisa didn't falter but her claws were back, the wire poking through the cloth, on full display similar to a porcupine, but coppery and smoother this time, heralding her interest from a soppy boredom her mood seemed to have been in while Brian was talking.
"You don't see yourself as a villain and if you wanted pay you could go to the Wards, work out some kind of independent deal. Mostly, you just want avoid conflict as much as possible, stay in school, graduate and move back to Colorado. You also don't think Rachel and me would get along enough to properly function in stressful situations."
Given the green light by myself her analysis even surprised me, not that I really trying to hide it, but it definitely gave credence to her being able to read my mind or my body really well.
Still, she was giving far too much credit, extrapolating my animosity into a reasonable justification, Lisa's wires un-nerved me when she viewed me as an ally, and I don't know what I would even say if met 'Rachel' again, assuming she was the woman with dogs.
But that wasn't the real reason I hadn't joined, Brian and Lisa knew my name and face, probably my whole identity.
Civilian identities weren't supposed to be targeted, but Hookwolf wasn't suppose to murder people and I was fairly certain there was a fairly large amount of sexual crimes on both sides of gang line. If I became a mercenary, I wasn't going to join onboard with the assumption if they went down, I went down.
Either Lisa didn't notice or chose not to say that, my caution calling the later but that could have been paranoia, or maybe I was being played. They were just too friendly, still it couldn't hurt . . .
"Hey, you know, I actually really like you." Brian and Lisa had gotten up and almost about leave, yet they were the closest people I could claim to be friends for a long time.
Nobody had talked to me outside of Chahna's group and schoolwork for months, and even if the teenagers had come to recruit me, I couldn't let the opportunity pass, even if they were villains.
"Could – Do you want meet up sometime, as c-civilians of course, j-just shopping or something?"
I didn't know what I expected but it certainly wasn't for Lisa, yellowing and colored like an iridescent sun to lean over and slide something over to me with a smile, sliding something across the table.
"Sure, our jobs rarely take up much time, so we have a lot of time on our hands. I can even drag Alec along for some team-building away from the TV."
And like crinkled paper, she left, tapping on the window to get the attendant's attention and convey the door was locked.
I followed after them, settling my bill, my mind for once not noticing the emotions around me as I floated along.
I wasn't on cloud nine or anything, but maybe if my superpowers could net me some friends, the deal wasn't all that bad.
And a burner flip-phone with one already filled contact, apparently.
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