Chapter 239 - My CO Stash #39 - I Just Love Killin' by BlueNine (RickandMortyXWorm)

-I'm honestly only recommending this Taylor "MC" story here just for my boi Krombopulous, yes Krombopulous the f.u.c.k.i.n.g assassin from Rick and Morty, I shit you not he gets isekai'd to Worm~ They did my dude dirty honestly, how they gonna let Morty accidentally kill this dude... Anyways he's pretty much Taylor's ghost sensei now, his positivity for a serial killer makes a real nice comedic tone!

Sypnosis: Instead of a boring old Shard, Taylor receives the spirit of Krombopulous Michael, the friendly intergalactic assassin. Can an idealistic girl make a difference with the help of one cheerful hitman?

Rated: ???

Words: 130K

Posted on: forums.spacebattles.com/threads/i-just-love-killin-worm-rick-and-morty-crossover.446513/#post-27181706 (BlueNine)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1-1.7

Krombopulous Michael, hired killer extraordinaire, leveled his newly acquired antimatter pistol at the Target and began to pull the trigger. Unfortunately, a bare fraction of a second before he could discharge his weapon, a small intergalactic vessel plowed through the wall behind him and crushed him neatly against the floor. Thus, the assassin's life came to a sudden and somewhat anticlimactic close.

Normally, his physical demise would result in his soul's migration to planes unknown. However, the fatal crash also caused a fractional loosening of one of the dimensional-locking bonds that held the Target in place. For an instant, a pulse of instability rippled across the boundaries that defined the current dimension. The end result was that Krombopulous' ascending essence, in effect, slipped through the cracks of the universe. The collection of desires and memories that made up Krombopulous Michael slid across the infinite strata of the multi-verse, following the path of least resistance.

Then, suddenly, a semi-static point appeared in the roiling chaos. It was not quite an empty vessel, as the cycle of rebirth usually demanded, but it was well-suited for another soul to take root. To Krombopulous, it shone like a glittering lighthouse in a sea of darkness.

He drew closer to the Vessel, but was intercepted by another presence.

[PROVENANCE?]

It did not speak, as such, but rather issued forth a packet of direct meaning.

"Howdy," Krombopulous sent in reply.

[DESTINATION?]

"Oh, I'm headed down there." He tried to point, but realized he no longer had claws.

[NEGATION. LINK PRIORITY ESTABLISHED. ADJUST TRAJECTORY.]

"Hmm, I guess you had dibs on that body. You sure you can't let me have this one?"

[NEGATION.]

"Oh, boy. Well, sorry about this, then."

Krombopulous slid forward and seized the other presence. He wasn't totally clear on the particular mechanics of the situation, but even as an incorporeal thought-form, he was a competent and enthusiastic killer. He began to quickly disassemble the other entity.

[NEGATION. NEGATION. SEVERE DAMAGE DETECTED. NEGATION. FATAL ERROR.]

"Yeah, that's usually how it is."

After a brief struggle, the other presence dissolved.

"Well, that was refreshing. Time to go." He gathered his strength and descended.

I had never screamed so loudly in my life. I still wanted to scream, but I could no longer manage anything more than a hoarse gurgle. I tried to control my breathing, but each breath brought more of the rot, the hideously pungent smell of decaying blood that singed my sinuses. I might have blacked out a few times, although I couldn't be sure.

Worse than anything, though, worse than the pain and the fear, was the despair. The bald, unflinching certainty that I was completely helpless and that no one was going to save me. I was going to die covered in filth, with people barely a few feet away, because I was so unimportant that no one could be bothered to help me. Everyone, including the teachers, had looked the other way for the rest of the torture The Trio had put me through. Why not turn a blind eye one last time, until I was dead?

I shuddered, and something broke in me. I stopped banging on the locker door and weeping. It was almost peaceful. Was this what it felt like to drown? To struggle and struggle, and then just… let go, as the waters closed over your head?

Then, a piercing headache struck me like a nail being driven into the base of my skull. I gasped and clutched at my head, sliding down even further into the pile of filth. The pain writhed up and down my neck and my jaw spasmed wildly. Was I having a stroke? Slowly, the agony began to subside to a single point and then vanished.

"Hiya!" a chipper voice said.

I flinched. The voice sounded like it came from right next to my ear.

"What… who?" I rasped.

"Oh, right! Where are my manners? I'm Krombopulous Michael, nice to meet ya."

I was going crazy. That was nice. My brain was shutting down, and I was hallucinating as the last synapses fired off.

"What's your name?" the voice prompted, after a long pause.

What the hell. What did I have to lose at this point? I might as well talk to the voices.

"Taylor."

"Great, that's a very nice name, I love it. So, Taylor, it looks like you're in a bit of a pickle."

I couldn't help it. The situation had gotten too absurd. If I didn't laugh, I was going to cry. So I started to laugh. Or well, my chest shook and I sort of made choking noises.

"You could say that," I said, once my hysteria died down.

The voice sighed. "Yup, pretty nasty. Haven't smelled anything this gross since I crawled up that septic pipe on Krebulon. Well, anyways, let's get us out of here."

"Us? Where are you? You know what, never mind, I'm going crazy, I don't even know why I'm talking to you."

"Hmm. To answer your first question, it looks like I'm hitching a ride in your noggin. Don't know how, doesn't matter. Let's focus on the more immediate problem." A short pause. "Oh, and if you are crazy, don't worry, I don't judge. I'm very open minded."

"Uh… okay?"

"Haha, that's the spirit! Don't let a little schizophrenia get you down. Anyways, don't worry, we'll be out of here in no time. They haven't made a prison that can hold me."

The casual way he said that made me shiver. "O-okay. What do I do?"

"Hmm. You wouldn't happen to have a knife, would you?"

"A knife? I'm at school!"

"…So that's a no?"

"Ugh… yes, that's a no." My voice was starting to give out entirely.

The voice I was now mentally calling "K" made a tsk sound. "It's always good to have a knife. Well, no biggie. Feel around the edges of the door for me, would ya?"

I leaned forward and complied. Having something to do, something that might help, gave me a glimmer of hope to latch onto.

"Aha!" K cried. "There's the lock. It doesn't look too tough; I've gotten out of worse. You ready for the next part?"

"Y-yes."

"Great, you're doing great. I need you to wedge yourself as far back as you can get. Brace your shoulders against the wall behind you."

I shifted around as best as I could in the cramped space. I ended up having to turn my torso quite a bit to get any leverage.

"Good, good. Can you get your leg up?"

My thighs burned from being stuck in one position, but I managed to lift my right leg.

"Okay, good. Now, kick as close to the lock as you can without hitting the lock itself. Just really give it a go."

I lashed out and felt a small but negligible shift in the door frame. I snarled in frustration.

"Don't sweat it, kiddo, we'll get it. Drive from the hip. Imagine kicking through the door, not at it."

So it went. I kicked over and over again, occasionally accepting a correction from K. After an especially hard kick, I heard a metallic creaking sound and froze.

"Right on!" K said. "That's what we were waiting for. Take a breather and get ready for the last push."

I closed my eyes and grinned viciously. I was going to do it. F.u.c.k The Trio, and f.u.c.k everyone that looked the other way. I was going to escape on my own. Or, well, with the help of my hallucination.

"Ready," I said.

"Never doubted it. Feel around the lock again." I did so, and felt a few places where the metal was bent. "Okay, looking good. Kick just above that bendy bit there."

I sent a few more kicks and was rewarded with another squeal of tortured metal. Yes, yes! I slammed my foot forward with all my remaining strength.

Thud.

I.

Thud.

Am.

Thud.

Going.

Thud.

To LIVE!

With a final clank, the locker door crunched outward, spilling me forward in a cascade of rotten tampons and victory. As I began to black out, I heard K's voice.

"Nice work! See you on the other side."

- - -

AN: Yep, it's a locker scene. What sin, what travesty! I hope the dialog makes up for it.

Chapter 1.2

I did not bolt awake with a dramatic gasp. My consciousness returned in fits and starts, letting me catch small fragments of conversation before I was dipped repeatedly back into the foggy, surreal soup of fever dreams.

"TAYLOR! Oh my God, oh my God…"

I slip a blade neatly under the Target's jaw.

"No witnesses have come forth thus far…"

I kneel in the moonlight, warm blood spilling down my face.

"What do you mean, they don't know?"

A windpipe crunches under my fingers, and I smile.

My eyelids fluttered open, and I was greeted with the most monstrous and all-consuming headache I'd ever experienced. I groaned and pressed a hand against my forehead.

I felt someone grab my hand. "Taylor, are you awake, sweetie?"

I craned my cramped neck to see Dad at my bedside. "Uh-huh." My throat felt like it was full of sand. "Water?" I tried to ask. It came out sounding more like "Waah?"

Dad pushed a plastic cup of water into my hand, and I chugged it so fast that I sputtered and choked. Ow. Not helping my headache.

"Where'm I?" I asked, once my coughing had subsided.

"Brockton General. The cops said you were passed out in the hallway at your school."

My jaw tightened and I looked away. "Is that all they said?"

Dad put a hand on my knee. "Something about possible assault. What happened, sweetheart?"

I bit my lip hard and forced down the lump in my throat. "They… pushed me in."

"Pushed you? Who did?"

"Them, okay? Those f.u.c.k.i.n.g three! They shoved me in my locker with all that…" I bit the sentence off. He didn't understand any of the context of what I was saying.

Dad's eyes widened at my outburst. "Are you saying you know who attacked you?"

My eyes fell to my lap. "It doesn't matter. They're not going to get in trouble. Just… just let it go, okay?"

Dad leaned forward, his eyes hard, and I flinched despite myself. "No, it's not goddamn okay. You tell me right now, Taylor."

I start to deflect, but I found that the typical reassurances wouldn't come out. It wasn't okay. I wasn't fine. I didn't want my shit-pile life to tip over onto my Dad, but it was like I was packed so full of misery that I just vomited it all up. I ended up telling him everything, including all the events that had led up to the locker.

I hated seeing his reactions. Nausea. Rage. Despair. His compassion was too heavy. It made my pain more real, somehow. There was a long time where my Dad just held me as I shook uncontrollably.

"Why, Taylor? Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?" His visible guilt stung me.

"I couldn't, Dad. There was nothing… I couldn't do that to you."

"Do what? Confide in me? I'm your father! Don't you trust me?" Another sting.

"I do! I do. It was just too much. With Mom, and your job, and everything. It was too much to deal with."

He cursed. "I don't want that, Taylor! I know I haven't… been a perfect dad, since your Mom passed, but you should be able to talk to me."

Yes, I should. But you haven't been in any shape to talk about anything.

But there are some things that can't be said out loud. "Okay," I said, "I'll try to talk to you more." I wanted the words to be true, but they tasted like lies in my mouth.

"That's all I can ask for." He smiled sadly for a moment, but then I saw rage flare up on his face again. "I still can't believe that Emma would do that to you. If Alan knows about it…" The threat hung unspoken.

"Dad, please don't. I can't have you go to jail."

"Taylor, Emma and those girls have been torturing you. You could've died in there. I don't care if Alan's a lawyer, if he's been covering for her, I'm going to-"

"Dad, stop!" I yelled. "That isn't going to do anything. Just… don't. Please?" I gave him my best pleading face.

For an uneasy few seconds, it seemed that he would stand up and storm out anyways. But at length, he sagged back into his chair. "Okay, okay," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "But I'm going to talk to the school, and you're giving a statement to the cops. Those girls put you in the hospital. This shit isn't going to stand."

Fat lot of good that'll do. But I decided not to say anything. Dad needed to believe that he could do something, and I didn't want to tread on his hopes.

"Alright. I think I need to sleep. I'll be okay by myself for a while; you should get back to work."

"Are you sure? I can stay. The guys will survive without me for a day."

"Dad, no. Please, just go. Please. I'll be fine. I'm just gonna sleep."

He hesitated, then smiled. "Okay, sweetheart, if that's what you want." He kissed me on my forehead before he left.

I closed my eyes, and the full weight of the situation began to settle on me. I could have f.u.c.k.i.n.g died. The only thing that kept me alive was the fact that I had a bout of… what? Temporary insanity? A nervous breakdown? I peered around surreptitiously.

Once I saw the coast was clear, I whispered, "K?"

A tense moment of silence. Phew. It looked like it wasn't-

"Hey there!" A familiar voice piped up. "I tried to give you a little space, on account of your dad being here."

Oh God. It wasn't a temporary thing. Was I going to hear voices for the rest of my life? I guess it was a small price to pay for being alive, but… what was I supposed to do? I decided to play along.

"Uh, thanks. For that, and for… you know, before." Very smooth. I was even awkward talking to my imaginary friend.

"Oh sure, no biggie."

"Right. So, sorry, but who are you, again? Things got a little… crazy."

"Heh, don't sweat it. Your first near death experience can be a doozy. I'm Krombopulous Michael, and I'm an assassin. You can keep calling me 'K' if you like, I know my name's a bit of a mouthful. I'm not sure how I got into your head, but let's make the best of it, alright?"

"An assassin. In my head."

"Yup! I'll kill anyone, anywhere, that's my motto," he said brightly. "Speaking of," he continued, "I couldn't help but overhear your troubles with those three girls. What do you say we murder them?"

He slipped the question in so casually that for a moment I found myself considering it. It wasn't a terribly long moment, but I really didn't want to start down the path where I listened to the homicidal voices. The President is a Reptilian and must die? Of course, Mr. Voice.

"Um, thank you for offering, but I don't think I can do that."

"Sure you can, it's easy! I'll walk you through it."

"Well, I don't mean I can't, I mean I won't. I won't kill them just because they're bullies. Killing is… wrong."

A long pause, followed by a chuckle. "Okay. You seem like a smart girl, Taylor, so I'm going to be straight with you. This is your body, and it looks like I'm just a passenger. But I would like to keep, uh, doing what I do best, and it looks like the only way I can do that is by working through you. I'm not picky; I'll help you kill anyone you want."

I opened my mouth to refute him, but he cut me off. "Ah, hold on. I know it sounds a little out there right now, but once you hear me out, I'm sure we can come to a compromise. Quid pro quo and all that jazz."

I fiddled with the IV in my wrist. "Sorry, but I don't think so. Honestly, I'm not completely convinced that you're even real."

K chortled. "I guess that's fair. It's a weird situation, for sure. But could you do me a favor? Just for the purposes of this conversation, assume that I am real?"

I supposed that I owed him that much. Whether he was real or not, he did help me get out of the locker. "Okay. I'll try."

"Thank you, Taylor. I understand it's a bit of a leap. So, first thing's first. Why don't you tell me what you want?"

What did I want? I bit my lip as I considered the question. For the longest time, all I wanted was to survive. To go unnoticed. Could I aspire to something else? If so, where would I even start? Anger boiled low in in my gut. Was I so ground down and broken that I had no hope or desires?

"I want… to be strong. So I don't have to worry about getting hurt."

K hummed a bit to himself. "That's an interesting one. But let me ask: is that something you can base your life around? Or is it just your fear talking?"

I snarled, ready to make an angry retort, but then froze. He was right. I even said it out loud. I didn't want to worry. I was afraid. But that wasn't going to be enough, not any more. I looked a little deeper, thinking about where I wanted my life to go. If I could do anything, what would it be? My first thoughts went to the city I lived in, the decay and the hopelessness.

"I want to make a difference," I said.

"That's better. How do you want to do that?"

"By helping people."

"Good, but vague. How, exactly, do you want to help people? Give me an image."

God, this was annoying. My headache was coming back. "I don't know. Why does it matter? Why do you care?"

"Hey now, don't sulk. Okay. Here. I'm one of the most successful assassins in the Galactic Federation. How do you think I got there?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me," I muttered.

"What did I say about sulking? Sheesh. Anyways, I got to where I am, or well, was, because I know exactly what I want, and I have a passion for it. There are very few people who want it as bad as I do. I love being an assassin. I know it sounds corny, but if you're not doing what you love, you'll never reach your true potential."

Bleh. It was like listening to a homicidal self-help book. But I couldn't just lay there in sullen silence after he opened up like that. Even if what he shared with me was kind of terrifying. I racked my brain for true love, or whatever. Want, want, want. What did I want?

"Alright, alright, fine. I want to help people by protecting them from bad guys." God, that sounded childish. But it was true. I wanted to make sure that people couldn't be trampled and forgotten like I had been.

"Hoho, now we're getting somewhere! Bad guys are just the worst, am I right? Makes you wanna just get rid of 'em."

"I'm not going to just start killing criminals, K," I said flatly.

"What? Of course not. I never said that."

"Uh-huh."

"…Maybe you could kill just a few?"

"Oh my God, you don't quit."

"Darn right! That's why I'm the best. But seriously, I'm not talking about all bad guys, but I'm sure there are some, you know, real nasty characters you could kill. The worst of the worst. People no one would miss."

I winced a bit at that, but gave it more serious thought. There were people with Kill Orders on them, individuals who had committed acts so vicious and horrible that the government put a bounty on their heads. I explained the system to K briefly.

"…But those people are totally out of my league," I said. "Mass murderers and super dangerous threats that are pretty much un-killable."

"Now now, hold your horses. 'Un-killable' is a quitter word. The important question is: would you be willing to kill these… bad guys, if you could?"

I felt like I was suddenly standing over a very deep pit. Would I be willing to pursue and murder some of the worst serial killers in the world? I couldn't half-ass something like that. Did I have the passion, as K put it, to pursue that goal wholeheartedly? No, this was stupid. I didn't even have any powers. How could I hope to fight someone like Nilbog, or the Slaughterhouse Nine?

"I don't think I could…"

K cut me off. "Hey, no. I asked: 'would you, if you could?' Don't think about your capabilities right now. Think about your heart."

I took a deep breath and tried my best to look into my "heart." I imagined myself killing a person as bad as Jack Slash. Avenging his victims and making sure he could never hurt another soul. Making the world a better, safer place. It made me feel strong. Purposeful. But still, was that enough?

"I guess so. But I wouldn't want to just be a killing machine. Most criminals don't deserve to die. I'd want to put them in prison."

"Hmm. Well, I did say it would be a compromise." He paused. "Okay, how about this. First, I'll train you up, teach you the business. It'll be like Leon: The Professional, but without the brooding and weird s.e.x.u.a.l tension."

"Huh?"

"What, you haven't seen The Professional? Jean Reno? Gary Oldman? No? Jeez, teenagers these days. It's a great assassin movie, we've gotta watch it. Anyways, once you get the basics down, you can practice on some street-level chumps. With… non-lethal take-downs, if you want." I could feel K shudder with distaste. "And then, we'll slowly ramp up to the real baddies, weapons free." He made some pew pew sound effects, and I couldn't help but giggle.

"Alright, I can agree to training with you. But that's all, for now. I'm not promising to kill anybody," I said firmly.

"That's fair. But no sandbagging. And… try to keep an open mind?"

I was aware of the slippery slope beneath me, but I decided to agree to the spirit of the compromise.

"I can do that."

And thus, I made my first deal with an assassin.

- - -

AN: Wow! I'm encouraged that so many people have liked my story thus far. Please keep the feedback coming, and don't hesitate to let me know if there's something I could improve. I'm here to learn.

Chapter 1.3

The discussion with the cops went about as well as could be expected. They offered to have my dad present while they took my statement, but I declined. I knew what was going to happen, and it would just piss him off more. I strongly considered not saying anything at all, but I had sort of promised my dad that I would at least try to talk to the police. I told them about the prior bullying and gave them the names of the Trio. Unfortunately, since I was pushed from behind, I couldn't honestly say that I saw their faces when they attacked me. I could've just lied. What were the chances that I was randomly attacked by someone other than the Trio? But no. I wouldn't leave any opening where I could be seen as a liar.

So, I told the cops the truth: I hadn't seen my attackers. That got the reaction I expected. Lack of evidence, no witnesses have come forward, terribly sorry, blah, blah, blah. To be fair, the cops at least had the decency to look remorseful. When the school faculty gave me the "there's nothing we can do" speech, there was usually an edge of apathy or contempt. I nodded with understanding and accepted their assurances that they would investigate further. K took the opportunity to once again suggest lethal vigilante justice.

Meanwhile, Winslow High had entered full ass-covering mode. They dressed it up like it was in my best interest, but they basically told me they would pay my medical bills if I kept my mouth shut and didn't sue them. Dad was against it, but I managed to convince him otherwise. I'll admit, the idea of raking the school over the coals was tempting. But suing them would require time and energy that would be better devoted toward my new mission, so I didn't pursue it. It was nice to have a bit of clarity in that way.

I was eager to leave and get started, but I apparently had a host of nasty infections from the biohazard I had been covered in, including some antibiotic resistant strains. Thus, I was bumped up in the queue to see Panacea before I was discharged. This was quite the stroke of luck for me; I had heard that the waiting list to see the miraculous healer was massive.

My knee shook with nervous energy. Everyone knew about Panacea, the Angel of Brockton Bay. I had expected her to be this infallible, radiant saint. When she arrived, however, she looked more tired than I was. Her signature white and red robes dragged the floor as she shuffled in, and I saw dark bags under her hazel eyes.

"Do I have your permission to heal you?" she asked. There was a bit of an edge in her voice that I couldn't identify.

"Yes, please. Thank you so much for making time for me." I tried to force as much glowing gratitude as possible into my words. She would accept my goodwill and this would be a lovely experience, dammit.

"Just doing my job. No need to thank me." she said, with the pale ghost of a smile.

I frowned. I'm supposed to be the queen of angst. "Hey, no. If you weren't here, I'd be stuck with Hepatitis and a bunch of other crap. That's a big deal. You shouldn't… put yourself down." I felt my face flush by the end. Why was I lecturing Panacea, of all people? I had gotten carried away because she looked a little tired-

She smiled again. It was small, but it looked more real this time. "Thanks," she said, "but don't worry about me. Let's see about you." She reached out and touched my wrist. After a couple seconds, her eyes widened and she quickly moved to close the door before returning to my bedside.

What the hell was that about?

"Are you aware of what a trigger event is, Miss…?" she asked.

"Hebert," I replied. "Taylor Hebert. And no."

Her mouth drew to a tense line. "The term refers to a traumatic event which manifests parahuman abilities. Based on what I saw, I believe that you have recently undergone a trigger."

I heard K humming thoughtfully at that, but I ignored him. "I'm a cape?"

"I believe so. Your cells are… unusual, and you have some of the neurological markers that are indicative of a parahuman."

"Unusual how?" I demanded, before catching myself. "Uh, I mean, if you wouldn't mind explaining it to me, Miss Panacea. Ma'am." My face was burning again.

She snorted. "Ma'am? I hardly think I'm older than you. Whatever. Basically, all of your metabolic functions are boosted. You'll heal faster and be a bit stronger than you were before, among other things. Nothing too crazy, but definitely outside the normal human range. That's all I can see. You may very well have other abilities."

"Huh." So was K part of my power? I'd never heard of "voice in the head" as a parahuman ability, but there were weirder powers out there. Strangely, I didn't feel any shock. I guess I was at a saturation point for crazy new developments. "Well, thank you. For telling me."

Panacea nodded. "Normally I wouldn't bring it up, but you seemed new. Just be careful."

"I will. Thank you. Again."

"Mm-hmm. Now, let's clear up those infections." She stepped forward and touched my wrist again. "Hep C, MRSA, bunch of other bugs. Yuck, how did you get all of these at once? Flushing them now."

I felt a wave of wellness pass through me, like she was smoothing wrinkles of sickness out of my body. I hadn't realized how ill I had felt until the infections were gone. "Wow. I mean… wow." Why must I be so lame? Why? "That's amazing. You have the best power ever."

An unreadable look crossed her face, which shifted into a wry smile. "It has its moments. You didn't have a lot of body fat to fuel the healing, so you should eat a lot in the next couple days to recoup the calories."

A clean bill of health, plus an excuse to stuff my face full of pancakes? "Thanks a bunch, Miss Panacea!" I said, beaming and shaking her hand furiously.

For a long moment, she simply stood there with a blank look. But then she laughed out loud, and for once I was glad I was such a dork. "You can call me Amy. It was nice to meet you, Taylor."

What. Panacea said I could call her by her name. Do it. Do it. "You too, Amy." I did it! I had a social interaction that didn't go down in flames!

As she departed, her robes swishing around her, I felt like my life might actually be turning around.

My life was Hell. It turned out that K's breezy aw-shucks persona didn't apply so much when he was in "drill instructor mode." This was not the fun training montage that I had envisioned. Two weeks had passed, and every other day had been consumed by a borderline sadistic exercise routine, accompanied by a similarly strict diet. My souped-up biology gave me some additional strength and helped me recover faster, but I still had soreness in muscles I didn't know existed. And though my running habits helped somewhat with the cardio conditioning, my lungs were screaming at me. If there was one nice benefit, it was that I was too exhausted to care what the Trio did to me at school.

While I did my workouts, K would pepper me with observational exercises. In the middle of chin-ups, he had me shut my eyes and list off all the blue items that had been in my field of view. At the end of my runs, he would ask me detailed questions about all the people I had seen on my route. And so on. He never repeated a question, so I was forced to pay constant attention to everything around me.

My "rest days" were spent either researching criminals or learning K's weird hodgepodge of martial arts. The latter was a challenge, since K didn't have a body to demonstrate the motions with. However, an unexpected solution arose during a standing meditation session. Under K's direction, I was trying - and failing - to properly visualize a palm strike. His frustration become more and more palpable, until I could feel his presence come to the forefront.

"Here, let me show you," he said, and I felt something on my wrist. I jumped and my eyes snapped open. There was a green claw-like appendage resting on my forearm. I recoiled with a yelp. Standing by my side was what could only be described as a… bug person. It had red compound eyes and spindly, spiky green limbs, but it was humanoid in shape. I opened my mouth to scream when the bug-person leaned in towards me.

"Whoa, can you see me?" it asked, in a familiar voice.

My mouth worked soundlessly for a solid couple seconds. "K?" I finally managed to ask.

"Wow, that's a trip. Yup, it's me."

"Why are you…?" I struggled.

"Huh? Why am I what?"

"Not… human."

"Yep, I'm a Gromflomite. Nice to meet you in the flesh, so to speak," he said, extending a claw.

"Oh, okay," I said faintly, shaking his claw gingerly. His… skin? was smooth and cool. I suppose I should have been freaking out that the voice in my head had just materialized as a bug-thing, but the primary thought running through my head was "why not?" Why shouldn't my power get even weirder? It's not like it was normal in any other way.

K stepped away and poked at a tree experimentally, but his claw passed right through it. "Huh. I guess I'm still just in your head. This'll make teaching a little easier, though." A little thrill of fear passed through me as I imagined how the "teaching" would change. "Shall we continue?" he asked, turning to face me. I swallowed hard and nodded.

Combat training was much more effective, even though K groaned melodramatically every time that he had to show me the "nice" (nonlethal) version of a move. Since K was still an illusion, his strikes didn't actually injure me. However, "illusory" pain was real enough to hurt like a bitch. It was also fairly frustrating to be thrown onto my back by what was basically my own brain. But I began to learn things that only came from actually sparring with a partner. I stopped flinching when a strike came at my face, and I was forced to correct my form in several throws and joint locks. To compensate for the lack of real contact, I scavenged and pieced together a wooden "training dummy" for me to condition myself on.

Even with my dad's lax supervision, there was only so much intense training I could do before he noticed something was up. Understandably, he was a little concerned that his traumatized daughter had apparently developed an obsession with working out and fighting. I managed to convince him that it was a healthy "girl power" type deal, rather than planning a school shooting or something. I did have to promise him that I wouldn't go looking for any fights. Was it technically "looking for a fight" if you never intended for your target to be able to react? I decided to think not.

My least favorite part of training was definitely surveillance, for a couple reasons. First, it was a bit creepy. The only way to practice surveillance is to, well, stalk people. I spent a lot of time following random people and stealthily taking pictures of them with a cheap digital camera. Second, it was boring. Oftentimes, my target would stop somewhere, and I would have to position myself properly and wait. And wait. And wait. K derived a great deal of amus.e.m.e.nt from my crushing boredom.

"You think this is bad? Try laying on your stomach for 20 hours waiting for a sight line," he said, chortling.

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, grandpa. I'm sure you had it real rough 'back in the day.' It's still super boring."

"Don't sass me, kiddo. When you're a pro, assassination is ninety-something percent preparing and waiting. Better get used to it now."

I winced. While I was running and lifting weights and sparring, it was easy to forget that the end goal was ostensibly for me to become a killer. I was still on the fence about that, and I couldn't help but feel that I was leading K on. Accepting his guidance and training without intending to follow through on his plan. If I was being honest, I really couldn't see myself killing anybody. But was it fair to only prioritize what I wanted while K was stuck living vicariously through me?

I decided to put off that conversation until later.

"So, what's next?" I asked.

"You feeling up to a little weapons training?"

I was.

- - -

AN: Bwahaha, how do you like that minor cliffhanger? Reader tears are sweet like honey! In all seriousness, though, please let me know what you think about the format of her training in this section. I wanted to show that she's training hard and that K is being thorough, but I didn't want to force people through chapter after chapter of "power testing," so I tried to summarize. Would ya'll prefer more detail? Less?

Chapter 1.4

I eyed the electronic monstrosity I had built and shook my head. "I guess I should know better than to doubt you at this point, but I still don't think this is going to work."

"Taylor, honestly, you worry way too much. The system is meant to be easy to use."

"It's not going to explode, is it?"

"Don't be silly. The chances of that happening are, uh, small."

"You can't see my face, but I'm glaring at you."

"Yeah, yeah, I can feel the angst from here. Just plug the darn thing in."

I shielded my face and plugged the power cable into the garage outlet. After a few seconds of not being struck by shrapnel, I uncovered my face and examined the machine. It crackled and hummed softly, and a pale green glow shone from the base.

"Is it supposed to do that?" I asked.

"Yup. Now enter the code on the keypad."

I typed in the long alphanumeric that K provided me with. Once I was done, a green oval the size of a large trash can lid flickered into life above the device. It writhed and spun in midair, making a loud sizzling noise. The sharp tang of ozone filled the garage. I flinched back reflexively.

"Okay, reach in and grab the trunk," K said.

"That doesn't look safe at all."

"Taylor, just trust me."

Trust wasn't easy for me, but K hadn't steered me wrong so far. I winced and reached into the oval. My arm got cold, but I pulled it back out with no obvious injury. I stuck my hand back in and groped around until I felt a box with a handle. I braced myself and pulled hard. A dark blue trunk slid out of the portal, and I grunted with effort as its weight pressed into my torso. I cursed and dropped the container onto the floor with a thud.

"Super! Now press the red button." K said.

I did so, and the swirling portal quickly shrunk to nothingness. I sighed with relief. Even if it was "temporary and minor", having a portal open into another dimension was… stressful.

"Alright. You want to tell me what we just pulled out of thin air?"

"Oh, this and that. Go ahead and crack it open."

I pried open the trunk, coughing as a bloom of dust rose from its interior.

"Wow, been a while since I accessed the ol' emergency stash, eh?" K said, chuckling. "Ooh, forgot I put those in there. Take 'em out."

I fanned through what looked like a bunch of business cards. "Hashtag Kmichaelkills?'" I asked.

"Catchy, right?"

I snickered. "And what's this map in the bottom corner? Do you have an office?"

"Nope, that used to have my current location displayed on it."

"What, seriously? Did you really want potential clients to know where you were all the time? That seems a little dangerous."

K cleared his throat loudly. "Anyways, take out that long bag there." Was he ignoring me? Suspicious.

I drew out the bag in question. "Is this…?"

"Yup. Variable output energy rifle. Compact, minimal maintenance, super deadly. Not a lot of armor piercing, though."

I unzipped the bag and pulled out the weapon. It was a sleek purple rifle about the length of my arm. With the press of a button on the side, a recessed scope and barrel extended out. I flipped it over and found a mark that looked like the letters "RS" in a stylized logo. In short, the thing was gorgeous. I honestly didn't think I was going to get all gun crazy, but as I held the weapon I started to feel like a real badass.

"How do I shoot it?" I asked with a wicked grin.

K chuckled. "We'll get around to that. Let's see what else we've got."

I proceeded to pick out each item while K described them. Overall, the remaining inventory was thus:

Two pairs of goggles, one for low-light conditions and one for "lookin' sharp."

One half-mask with chemical filters

One armored vest that was too big for me.

One grappling hook launcher.

One energy pistol.

One nasty-looking knife.

A sack containing 200 golden coins K called "Flurbos."

"Wow. My dad can never see this."

"Yeah, pocket dimension stash not looking so unreasonable now, huh?"

"Whatever," I drawled. "Do you want to be smug or do you want to show me how to shoot?"

After some deliberation, we decided to head out to the Boat Graveyard to practice my marksmanship. But before he would let me fire a single shot, K forced me to go through all sorts of gun safety rules and other "fundamentals." Proper maintenance and cleaning. Trigger discipline. Proper breathing techniques. Stance and form. There were a few things I didn't need to worry about with the energy weapons, such as bullet drop, recoil, and wind speed, but we went over them anyways. In great detail. I had to recite each lesson verbatim before I could start shooting. And as if that wasn't enough, K promised that there were all sorts of weird guns with unique rules that I would need to learn in the future.

When I fired it, the energy rifle was surprisingly quiet, making only a muffled pew with each shot. Once he was satisfied that I was reasonably competent shooting prone, he made me try to fire from all sorts of positions. Standing. Sitting. Kneeling. Lying on my back. Then we worked with the pistol. I admit that I got pretty frustrated at that point. As compared to the rifle, the pistol was tremendously less forgiving of improper stance, unsteady hands, and shaky breathing. Even at mid range, I struggled for hours to land my shots anywhere near the target. Patience and focus, K told me. Patience and focus. Apparently the weapons had some sort of exotic energy source, so I fired day in and day out with no regards to running out of ammo. Even so, it took weeks before I could reliably get my shots on target.

After one too many days coming home late from shooting practice, my dad finally expressed his concern for my safety.

"Where are you even going?" he asked.

"All over. Running, exercising. A little parkour." Not quite a lie.

"Par-what?"

"Parkour. Using urban surfaces as an obstacle course."

"Sweetheart, God knows I'm glad you have a hobby, but I don't know if it's safe for you to be running… obstacle courses late into the evening."

I opened my mouth to protest, but K cut me off suddenly.

"He might have a point, Taylor. You could spend more time with your dad," he said. "Not everybody gets the chance to do that."

What? K was suggesting I take a break? Where was the single-minded drill instructor? Well, whatever. I have been feeling kind of guilty for being out of the house all the time.

"Okay, Dad. I'll try to be home before dark." His relieved smile gave me a nice fuzzy feeling.

So, during the evenings, K suggested that we watch a vast queue of crime, war, and action films that he declared were of "educational value." By that, he apparently meant that he would give running commentary on gunfights and kung fu moves. Most of them I just endured, but I enjoyed Full Metal Jacket a surprising amount. I guess I empathized with the boot camp trainees. If my Dad was puzzled at my sudden desire to watch violent movies with him, he didn't show it much.

As another form of father-daughter bonding, I managed to wheedle him into teaching me how to drive. Even though I wasn't yet sixteen and thus couldn't get a permit, I could still drive… dubiously acquired vehicles. I did feel a little guilty about making my dad an accessory to my future crimes, but I soothed my conscience with two facts. First, I would only acquire vehicles from criminals. Second, it seemed like it made Dad really happy to teach me something. He had been especially depressed about his inability to protect me since the locker, so he quickly latched onto the opportunity to be a "real dad."

In the meantime, K had stated that my skill had risen to a "passable" level. This meant that I could start planning my first relatively low-risk job. I had gone back and forth with K on what I should do, and we both agreed that the job would need to make me money. The unfortunate reality was that my skill set didn't lend itself towards "typical" hero activities. I needed equipment, information, and connections to make a real impact, and those things cost money. I was fortunate that K's emergency stash gave me some basic equipment, but I needed more, and Dad and I weren't exactly swimming in cash.

I had checked the laws, and there were some dispensations for seizing cash gained through criminal actions, both for police and for vigilantes. However, the fraction that I would obtain legally as an independent hero wasn't going to be enough. I would need to simply walk away with whatever cash I could find. I understood the necessity of what I was going to do, but it still felt sleazy. I wouldn't just be stumbling onto the cash in the process of crime-fighting. I was going in with the express purpose of robbing criminals. Feeding off the proceeds of misery and violence. I decided that my target would need to be especially heinous so that I could steal from them without feeling bad.

I flipped through the profiles of the gangs and their respective members. Lung seemed like a guy who held a particularly… explosive grudge, so I shied away from the ABB. As for the Empire Eighty-Eight, they had a frankly ridiculous number of capes. It was too risky that they would have a parahuman guarding the target I decided to hit. So I settled on the Merchants. They didn't have a very big cape roster, they pushed drugs on kids, and they were just gross in general. If their having a leader named Skidmark didn't clue you in to that last part, I don't know what would.

I pulled up a map and began to make my plan.

After I watched Full Metal Jacket, I was curious about the Vietnam War, so I read all sorts of stuff about it. The battles, the politics, the people. For whatever reason, one thing that caught my attention was something known as Operation Purple Dragon.

Early on in the war, the United States military realized that its operations were somehow compromised. The Viet Cong were able to frequently evade and outmaneuver U.S. forces, seeming to know when and where attacks were going to occur. It was assumed that the Viet Cong was unable to decrypt secure communications and that they were unlikely to have a vast enough spy network to predict every U.S. operation. Thus, the U.S. came to the conclusion that American forces themselves were somehow revealing information to the enemy.

The U.S. Joint Chiefs authorized an investigation of all aspects of combat operations, seeking to uncover the places where exploitable info could be insecure. This investigation was labeled Operation Purple Dragon, and it was the birth of a discipline called Operations Security, or OPSEC for short. OPSEC essentially focuses on making sure that you don't give away important info by broadcasting it where others can easily pick it up. It was originally a military thing, but it applies to pretty much any group that wants to hide what it's planning. That includes corporations, law enforcement, and last but not least… organized criminals.

However, despite their status as a fairly large criminal gang, it was pretty clear that the Merchants didn't bother with OPSEC. I was worried that my rookie surveillance skills wouldn't be up to the task, but by simply following their street-level dealers and runners, I had managed to glean the locations of several stash houses. Trust me, it was hard for me to believe, too. There were no covert wiretaps, no tracking devices, and no intense interrogations. Just the exploitation of carelessness.

A runner picked up the cash once a week, so I aimed to hit them right before the next cycle. At an ungodly three A.M., I slipped out of my house and headed for the docks. My green low-light goggles and half mask obscured my face. I had to get a little creative with the straps on the armored vest to keep it on snugly, but K promised that it would stop any small-arms fire. As for weapons, I brought the energy pistol, the knife, and pepper spray. I also brought along some zip ties to secure any un-powered bad guys. I looked more like a SWAT officer than a superhero.

Based on what I had seen, the house I was going to hit would only have a max of three guys "on duty." By that, I mean they sat around and got high in the vicinity of the money they were supposed to be guarding. Even better luck, one of them was a steady drinker and had a fairly regular schedule of relieving himself in a side alley. Either they didn't have a working toilet inside, or he was just a nasty person. As he stumbled towards my hiding place in the alley and I caught his stink, I voted for the latter.

He began to urinate, and I grimaced as I ghosted up behind him. I kicked the back of one of his knees and pulled him into a tight sleeper hold. He scrabbled furiously and clawed at my forearm and face, but I kept my face averted and pulled harder. He was pretty out of it, so it wasn't exactly a titanic struggle. He gurgled noisily and went limp. I waited for a long count of three and gently lowered him to the ground. Gross, he drooled all over my arm! Oh God, did he…? I checked myself over and found my clothing blessedly free of bad guy urine. I dragged him behind a dumpster and zip tied his wrists and ankles.

Sitting on the base of a streetlight, a lone Merchant sentry was occupied typing away on his phone. Dang, that's a pretty nice smartphone. Why do sc.u.mmy low-level drug dealers have nicer things than me?

"Wow, that sure is sloppy." K said. "You think having his neck broken will teach him not to text while he's on watch?"

I thought you said I would be on my own for this job, I mentally sent. We had learned that K was able to "hear" my surface thoughts, if I pushed them through hard enough. It was a bit concerning that he could essentially read my mind, but it was useful for silent communication and not looking like a nutjob in public.

"Yeah, well, sure. I won't tell you what to do. I can still give you my opinions, though," he said.

I made a face. Still, I was glad these guys were making it so easy for me. I padded silently over to the lazy watchman and swept my hand over his mouth, jamming my energy pistol into his back. "You make a noise, and I'll shoot you. Got it?" I said. I was bluffing, but he didn't seem to know that. He nodded stiffly, and I removed my hand from his mouth. "Good. Take out your gun with your left hand, slowly, and give it to me." He complied, giving me his rusty-looking revolver from his waistband. I took his phone too, because he didn't deserve it. "We're walking over to that door. Don't do anything stupid." I gave him a small push.

Once we got to the door, I stepped off to the side and kept the gun trained on his center. "Tell him to open it." I saw a moment of rebellion cross his greasy face, but having a crazy-looking pistol pointed at his chest ultimately unmanned him. He knocked on the door in an odd pattern. Knock knock knock. Knock. Knock. The view-port on the door slid open and a thin rat-like face appeared.

"Keezy? The f.u.c.k are you doing here? Ain't you on watch? Where's Mack?"

I gestured with the pistol, and Keezy winced. "Yeah, man, Mack wanted some air. He's taking my shift."

"F.u.c.kin' really? He looked shit-faced to me. Well, who gives a shit," Rat-man said, disengaging the locks and opening the door inward.

I darted out from the corner and kicked Keezy in the lower back, sending him crashing into Rat-man. They fell to the floor in a tangle. I pointed my weapon at Rat-man, and he paused in the middle of cursing and reaching for his gun. I advanced and closed the door behind me, keeping my gun steady on target. "Take out your gun and put it down. Slowly."

Rat-man turned an interesting purple color, and bubbles of saliva appeared on his lips as he spat, "I'll tell you what I'm gonna take out, you f.u.c.kin' bitch. You know who you're f.u.c.kin' with? We're-"

I adjusted my aim slightly and shot a filthy couch, blowing a smoking hole in a cushion with a loud fzzt sound. Unfortunately, there was no "stun" setting. I trained my aim back on Rat-man's torso, and he settled down pretty quick. "Take out your gun, slowly, and put it down. Then kick it over to me." I said. Rat-man complied. "Thank you. Zip tie your friend there," I ordered, tossing over the ties. Rat-man did so with shaky hands, and Keezy groaned. "Quiet. I didn't hit you that hard." I turned to address Rat-man again. "Now tie yourself. Use your teeth." He struggled a bit, but he managed.

"Now, where's the money?" I asked. Both of my hostages gave me a bit of a stink eye, and I sighed. "I'm going to find it anyway. The only question is, do you want to end this night a-okay with no money, or as two piles of dust with no money?" It was a bit over the top as far as threats went, but I was quickly finding that I needed to be melodramatic to get criminals to pay attention. They looked at each other. I made a "Well?" gesture with my gun.

"In the kitchen, under the sink," Keezy said.

I nodded and walked over to the kitchen. Wow, did every surface have to be covered in grease? I stepped gingerly over some trash and prayed not to encounter any roaches. I holstered my gun and opened the cupboard under the sink. Three trash bags, one filled with yellow-capped vials and the other two with cash. I left the drugs and took the money.

I turned to leave and saw a flash of motion in my peripheral vision. I reached for my gun but was struck before it could clear its holster. I was carried to the floor and was quickly pinned by my attacker's weight. I was swamped by the smell of stale cigarettes and sweat. He threw a punch at my face, and I brought up my forearms to guard. He rained down a couple more hits before he gave it up and started throttling me.

He was heavy. Claustrophobia began to set in. I couldn't move, couldn't escape. My breath came in panicked gasps. I heard blood whoosh in my head and my vision dimmed as his grip tightened. For a long few seconds, I just clawed at his hands and thrashed uselessly. Then I gritted my teeth, seized his wrists and twisted with my h.i.p.s as I'd done a hundred times in training. He rolled off me with a surprised squawk. Then he levered himself to a crouch and pulled a switchblade. I groped around at my belt and grabbed my pepper spray. I shoved it right in his face and blasted him. He screamed and clutched at his eyes, staggering to a knee against a cupboard. His knife clattered to the floor. I got to my feet and stepped over, kneeing his head against the Formica counter. He grunted but didn't go down all the way, so I grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head against the cupboard until he went limp.

I slid down to a seated position against a wall. "F.u.c.k," I whispered, taking a shuddering breath and gingerly touching my abused throat. "F.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k. Shit!"

"You've got this, Taylor," K said. "Grab the money, call it in, get going."

I stared straight ahead. "He could have killed me. He had a knife."

"No time to think about it now. Money, call, leave."

I gave a shaky nod and pushed myself up, clutching the bags of cash to my chest. I stumbled out of the kitchen and resisted a nasty urge to pistol-whip Keezy and Rat-man on the way out. I used my commandeered smart-phone to call the BBPD.

"Brockton Bay Police, what's your emergency?" A curt-sounding female dispatcher answered.

"I've got… four Merchants incapacitated with a stash of drugs at my location." I rattled off the address. "Three are in the building, one is in a side alley." I hesitated. "One inside might need medical attention."

A slight pause. "Okay, ma'am. Are there any parahumans at the scene?"

Other than me? "Nope, just normal sc.u.mbags."

"Alright, thank you. Units are on their way. Would you mind staying on the line until they arrive?"

"Yeah, I would," I said, dropping the phone on the sidewalk. I slung the bags of drug money over my shoulder and walked off into the night.

- - -

AN: Yes, I realize it's pretty convenient that Krombopulous had a stash of gear in a pocket dimension. But with how competent and prepared he is, I didn't think it was too "out there" for him to have an emergency stash that he could easily access from anywhere.

Is there a formal process to request a beta reader? I'm mostly looking for someone to bounce storyline ideas off of and to give me reality checks on characterization.

Chapter 1.5

I counted through my dirty money. Often it was literally dirty; I had lost track of all the mysterious stains and encrusted goop that I had discovered on the bills spread out at my feet. I flipped through the last of the stacks and wrote down my count. Nine thousand three hundred and twelve dollars. I stared blankly at the number. Was that a lot? It seemed like a lot. Did drug dealers really make that much money? Why wasn't that much cash guarded better? I shook my head to clear it. Nothing to be gained by worrying about it now.

"So what do I do with all this?" I asked.

"Oh, a few odds and ends. To get the real stuff, we'll need to spend some Flurbos. You're not ready to deal with those kind of… people yet, though," K replied.

My shoulders dropped. "Yeah, I kinda messed up, didn't I?"

"Ah, no, no. That's not what I meant. You did fine, Taylor."

"Really? I missed that guy and he almost strangled me."

"Mmm. Okay, let's do this now. Get out a piece of paper and a pen." I did so. "Okay, so what mistakes did you make? Write 'em down."

"Um, I didn't know the exact number of people in the building." I wrote 'bad recon' on the paper.

"Yep. But even with good recon, you should never assume that you'll know exactly what's going to happen. Even the most detailed plans can go sideways. The important thing is being able to react quickly to new developments."

"And I messed up doing that."

"In a way. Let me ask you this: why was that guy able to sneak up on you?"

"Because I was focused on the money."

"You let down your guard. A job is never done until you're safe back at your hideout. That's why exit strategies are so important."

I tapped my chin with the pen. "Yeah, once I got the money, I figured it was 'mission complete.' That was dumb." I wrote 'let down my guard.'

"Don't beat yourself up. This isn't to make you feel bad; it's so you can improve for next time. What else?"

We went over the slip-ups I made, as well as possible contingencies for the future. What would I have done if more reinforcements had showed up, or a parahuman? What if the sentry had refused to help me open the door? And so on. Discussing it in detail helped calm my nerves.

"Okie dokie, I think that'll be it, for now. One last thing before we head out. What's the main lesson you learned from this job?"

I doodled a bit on the page as I thought. "Be more careful?"

"Uh-huh. Remember that. Never get c.o.c.ky, never assume you know everything."

"Got it." I slowly wrote 'Never get c.o.c.ky' and circled it several times. I dropped the pen and rubbed at my eyes. "K, am I doing the right thing?" I asked.

"I think we covered all the major stuff. You'll do great next time."

"No, I mean… stealing from criminals. I don't really feel like a hero."

"Hmm. You might be asking the wrong person, Taylor. I have no code of ethics, so I've never really been one for right things or wrong things. I just do my things."

"So you have no opinion on what I should do next?"

"Oh, well, of course I do. But I think you're over-thinking it. 'Hero' is just a label. If you tangle yourself in knots trying to fit a label, you'll end up ignoring what you really want."

Could it really be that simple? "I guess I'm confused about what I want, then."

K chuckled. "Well, you're a teenager. That's how it's supposed to be. Let's back up a step. What did you say you wanted to do?"

"Uh, to protect people from bad guys," I said, blushing slightly. It didn't sound any less childish when I said it now.

"There you go, then! Let's push on that track. You robbed those drug dealers because you needed the resources, right?"

"Right."

"Then let's put those resources into use. Go after the bad guys that really deserve it."

"You mean the Kill Order list? I don't think I'm ready."

"Nope, we don't have the firepower yet. But there are plenty of really horrible people that don't have superpowers. Them, you could take out no problem."

I paused, considering. "But only capes can have Kill Orders. If I killed un-powered criminals, I would be murdering people, illegally."

"True. Tell you what, let's do a little poking around, see what we can dig up. Then you can make a better informed decision."

I supposed that fact-finding was a good first step, regardless of what path I eventually decided to take. "Okay, how do we do that?"

"Well, since your performance review is done, how do you feel about a little networking?"

I had never seen a nightclub outside of a movie, so standing in the middle of one that was fully lit and mostly empty felt… weird. Like I was on a Disneyland ride that had broken down. I adjusted my "classy" purple-lensed goggles as I looked around. The club could technically be considered a cape lair, and thus fair game for attack. I wondered if the bar counter had armored plates; it'd be a good place for cover.

A huge, hunched man in a hoodie pushed open a pair of double doors. "Good afternoon," he said as he approached me. "I am known as Gregor. I am to understand that you wish to see Faultline on a matter of business?"

Wow. I had read that "Gregor the Snail" was big, but his sheer size was difficult to convey in words. He was like a pudgy bear shoved into a hoodie and sweatpants. However, I was determined to be professional. I extended a hand for him to shake, and he paused for a moment before taking it. I was proud that I didn't flinch at his transparent skin.

"Pleasure to meet you, Gregor. And that's correct. I'm establishing myself in this city and I would like to start making connections with local players."

He nodded slowly. "I see. And may I ask what you wish to establish yourself as?"

A test. I hesitated for a second. "A rogue." Faultline's group was technically neutral, but the majority of their work was villainous. I didn't want to alienate them by claiming to be a straight-up hero.

I couldn't see his face, but I got the impression that Gregor was eyeing me intently. Whatever conclusion he made, he nodded again and gestured towards a door. "After you," he said.

One staircase and a cool secret passage later, I was sitting across a desk from Faultline, the mercenary boss-lady herself. Gregor settled into a chair behind me. I had to admit that I felt a little intimidated. Faultline had a sort of half professional suit, half samurai armor thing going on, and it made her look much more competent than I felt. She leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled.

"What brings you here today, Miss…?" she asked.

"You can call me 'T,' for now." K chortled. What? I hadn't thought up a cool assassin name yet. "I'm interested in connecting with pros in the area. I may also be in the market for a few… hard-to-get odds and ends."

Faultline's eyes narrowed. "In what capacity do you plan to operate, T?"

I shrugged, belying my nerves. This would be the hard bit to sell. "You could say hero, technically." Gregor shifted behind me. I knew that he had a gun. "But for the purposes of our interactions, you can consider me a rogue. I only want to do business."

There was a long pause as she stared me down. I straightened a bit, feeling the knife that I had taped to my back. Then she nodded, and I heard Gregor settle back into his chair. "I see," she said. "And what kind of business would you do with us?"

I forced down a relieved sigh. "Information, mostly. Maybe some logistical support. Nothing that'd put your team in the line of fire."

Faultline gave a half-shrug. "That could be arranged. Did you have something specific in mind?"

I drummed my fingers on the chair leg. "I'm looking for truly… nasty characters," I said. Oh God, I was picking up on K's vocabulary. "They don't necessarily have to be big names. Just anyone who commits, uh, unforgivable crimes."

She met my eyes. "You're not a crusader, are you, 'T'? Zealots are bad for business."

I was ready for this accusation. "No, I'm not. But even as a criminal, there are rules, right?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes, there are. Not that everyone follows them."

"Well, there you go."

"And what do you intend to do, once you find these 'nasty characters'?"

I smiled blandly.

Faultline shook her head. "We don't get involved in wet work." I knew the term from all the spy movies I had been watching. It was a pretty colorful way to describe murder.

"She's on the edge," K said. "Push her a bit."

I leaned forward. "I wouldn't ask you to get directly involved. I'm just asking you, as one person to another, aren't there any crimes in the Bay that you are truly disgusted by?"

Her expression remained unyielding, and for a second I thought she was just going to blow me off. But at length, she sighed and put a hand to her forehead. I waited for her to fold. Then something totally unexpected happened. Gregor started to laugh. It was a nice laugh, deep and cheerful.

"She is full of fire," he said. "It has been a long while since I have seen anyone put you on the back foot."

Faultline rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "I haven't gotten this far on fiery words." She looked up at me. "There are a lot of horrible things that happen in the Bay. It'd take more than passion to get them to stop."

I nodded. "I'm willing to do what it takes."

"Are you? You talk a good game, kid, but I'm pretty sure you don't know what it's like to face real danger."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I'm not interested in looking the other way."

She gave me a small smile. "Gregor is right; you do have fire. Alright then, I might have something that you'd be interested in."

"How much do you want for the info?" I asked, perhaps a little too quickly.

She waved me off. "The general gist is free. Right now we're just talking. Got it?"

I nodded.

"Good," she said. "Are you familiar with the ABB?" she asked.

"Yeah. Asian gang, run by Lung. His main lieutenant is Oni Lee. Rumored to have another parahuman on board, but details are spotty."

"That's right. How much do you know about Lung?"

"Uh, he turns into a big dragon? Gets tougher and stronger as the fight goes on. And he's killed a lot of capes."

"Right again. Lung holds down most of his territory through personal threat alone. But he doesn't have the parahuman manpower or raw resources to directly compete with the Empire in the typical gang activities like gun-running and drugs. Because of this, he's driven to make ends meet in… other ways."

"And those are?" I asked.

"Human trafficking, mostly. Modern day slavery."

I grimaced. Faultline must have noticed my expression. "Do you want me to go on?" she asked.

Shame weighed on me. I had come here to find the worst of the worst, and yet when it came up, I was tempted to look away. "Yes," I said.

"Very well. Most gangs are involved in prostitution in one way or another, and none of them are what you would really call 'nice.' But Lung has escalated to the point where his soldiers are kidnapping girls and forcing them into the s.e.x trade. Poor immigrants, mostly. Girls who won't be missed."

I schooled my face to calmness, swallowing my anger. "And the police don't know about this?" I asked.

"They know girls are going missing, yes, and the ABB is usually suspect. But most of the girls don't have families to raise a stink, and there's not a lot of evidence. So the cases fall through. No one wants to lean too hard on Lung's organization without some serious pressure to do so."

My jaw clenched. This was how things worked. Girls could be abducted off the street and turned into slaves, and nothing was done. Why? Because Lung was strong and his victims were not.

Faultline eyed me warily. "I can see you're getting upset. Believe me, I'm not happy about it either. Like you said, there are rules in this game. But right now, there's a fragile balance. If someone started hitting Lung in his pocket, he'd get desperate. Then things would escalate, and lots of innocent people would get caught in the crossfire."

"So we do nothing?" I asked quietly.

A corner of Faultline's eye twitched. "I do nothing, because I am responsible for my team. We're pros. We do jobs, we get paid, and we stay neutral. We don't go on missions of mercy that could get us all killed."

"You touched a nerve," K said. "Back off a little."

I put up my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright," I said, "fair enough. The situation is delicate."

"You're damn right it is. But we're just talking. What you decide to do after our conversation is your business," she said, waving a hand nonchalantly. "Unless you were to decide to hire us, for whatever purpose. Then it would become our business."

"Ha!" K crowed. "Now that's a pro."

I couldn't help smiling as I stood to shake her hand. "Well then, I'll be in touch."

- - -

AN: Moar dialogue! I am much obliged to my beta readers, SkyTroupe and Omnimessiah, for their efforts in this section. I have some story line decisions to make for the next few parts, so the next release may be somewhat delayed.

Chapter 1.6

AN: IT LIVES! I apologize for the lengthy unannounced hiatus. I hate unfinished fanfics, so I will do my damnedest to make sure this story is never completely abandoned.

- - -

A basic part of becoming an a.d.u.l.t is learning how expensive everything really is. As a child, there are all sorts of costs that are invisible to you because your parents take care of them. When you grow up, those costs begin to weigh on you. And as I looked at my shopping list, I felt that weight grow heavier and heavier. Weapons. Armor. Surveillance equipment. Bribes. Faultline's fees. Tech parts. The list went on and on. Suddenly, my spoils from the Merchant stash house were seeming pretty meager. I didn't want to go in unprepared, but I simply didn't have enough money to get everything that I wanted.

Also, by examining a map of gang territories, I began to see the ugly dilemma that Faultline had presented. Empire Eighty-Eight held a great deal more territory than any other gang, and they were constantly encroaching on the borders of other groups. If I hurt the ABB too badly, the Empire would flood all over the city. As much as I disliked the idea of slavery in Brockton Bay, I wasn't sure the prospect of a Neo-Nazi organized crime monopoly appealed to me either. Maybe I could take down Lung and Kaiser? Without them, their respective organizations could collapse. But then again, that could just as easily end in a huge free-for-all. Ugh, this is complicated.

I groaned and rubbed at my eyes. "K, this sucks. I can't take on the whole parahuman underworld by myself."

K tsked. "Well, if you've got a big problem, cut it up into smaller ones. What are the things that you absolutely have to do?"

"Uh, rescue any girls who are being held hostage, and shut down the trafficking for good. Ideally without starting a huge gang war."

"Hmph. If you want to accomplish those goals without a big splash, you could probably do that by taking out enough mid-level guys."

"Can't they just be replaced? Lung is the one who gives the orders."

"Sort of. It depends. The ones with more specialized knowledge and skills would be the best ones to go after. The lieutenants."

"Okay, well, how do I figure out who they are? Should I contact Faultline?"

"Let's not, for the time being. Always try to get more than one source of info."

"You don't think we can trust her?"

K chuckled. "Ah, Taylor, you ask the silliest questions."

I often regretted not being able to glare at him. "Fine. Who do we go to, then?"

"How about law enforcement? I'm sure you could bribe someone to give you case files."

I winced. I was ostensibly one of the good guys. I shouldn't need to bribe the cops to help me out. But if it got the job done… "Do you really think so? I don't have a lot of faith in the police, but I don't know if they'd sell a random person confidential files."

"Everybody's got a price."

That was a depressing thought. Did I really want to contribute to the corruption, even if it was for a good cause? "I want to have a good working relationship with the cops, eventually," I said slowly. "Maybe if I explain the situation, they'll be willing to work with me."

"That'd be swell. Super unlikely, but swell."

I stuck out my tongue. "It's worth giving it a shot. If they don't see reason, I can always try… other methods."

"It's your call. Just don't get disappointed if they're, uh, unreasonable."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

As I walked into the precinct lobby with my goggles and mask, I realized that I looked an awful lot like a criminal. Regardless of the high parahuman population in Brockton Bay, I doubted that the police looked too kindly on random masked people strolling into their station. A harried-looking blonde receptionist did a double-take as she noticed me. A Plexiglas panel separated her from the main lobby, so she leaned forward and spoke into a microphone.

"Can I help you, uh… sir?"

I suppressed a twitch. "Yes, I called earlier. I'm T. I'd like to speak to a detective from the HTU."

She looked hesitant, but she nodded. "Alright, um, Miss. Please take a seat and I'll call someone for you."

I did so, careful not to make any sudden moves. I suspected that the receptionist was still a little skittish. This suspicion was bolstered by a uniformed officer that showed up and leaned not-so-casually on the wall opposite me. I tried to smile reassuringly at him before remembering that my mask covered my mouth. I drummed my fingers on my thighs as my right leg shook with nervous energy.

After a few tense minutes, a tall man with slicked back hair and a rumpled button-down shirt entered the lobby. He said something to the officer, who nodded and departed. The man approached me with a smile, his hand extended.

"Good afternoon, Miss…?"

"T," I said, shaking his hand. I really needed a cooler name.

"Miss T, then. Is there a Mister T?" he asked, smirking.

Har har. "No, sir. The fools will have to stay un-pitied."

The detective snorted. "Too bad for them. I'm Detective Carver. I was told you were looking to speak with someone from the HTU?"

I nodded. "That's correct. I'm working as an independent hero, and I came by some information I'd like to verify with you."

"Am I to understand you're a parahuman then, Miss T?"

"That's right."

"Well, BBPD doesn't get involved in parahuman crime. The PRT has jurisdiction there, and they get a little antsy if we step on their toes."

"I understand, but my intel specifically regards human trafficking, so I would think that you would be the best person to talk to. Human trafficking is your specialty, right?"

"Hmm. That's right, but the situation is still a bit iffy. If a parahuman is even peripherally involved, the PRT has dibs. Are you registered as an indie hero?"

"No. I'd rather not reveal my powers to anyone just yet."

Carver shrugged. "Well, I guess I can understand that, but if you're not in the system there's only so much we can talk about."

"I'll keep that in mind. I still think you'll be interested in my information. Hear me out, and if you still think I should go to the PRT, I will."

Carver tilted his head slightly for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Let's take a walk over to my desk."

He opened a door with a key card swipe and I followed him into the bustle of the actual precinct office. Piles of paperwork were on every desk, and the phones were ringing constantly.

"Busy?" I asked.

Carver clicked his tongue against his teeth. "It's the Bay."

It was depressing that that was a sufficient explanation.

We arrived at the detective's desk, which he hastily swept clean of food wrappers. "Alright, Miss T," he said, settling into his chair, "What do you got for me?"

I sat and folded my hands on my lap. "So, just to be completely clear, you specifically target human trafficking, right?"

"Yup," he said, popping the 'p'. "The HTU deals with any cases where people are coerced, defrauded, or forced into labor, service, or s.e.x.u.a.l exploitation." The words sounded practiced.

"Okay. Have you seen a recent rash of abductions? Specifically of poor female minorities."

Carver sighed. "Unfortunately, it's hard to get solid numbers on that demographic. The families are usually afraid to come forward, and a lot of the time they're here illegally. Makes 'em tricky to track."

My shoulders slumped. "So you haven't seen any movement there?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Carver said, rubbing the back of his neck. "There has been some chatter about girls going missing. More than the usual. Not much in the way of solid evidence, though."

"Any suspects?"

"Mm. Can't comment on that, sorry."

Was he fishing? I decided to bite. "Would the ABB be on your list?"

The detective's gaze sharpened. "And why would you ask that, Miss T?"

"My source suggested they might be involved." I strove for nonchalance.

"Uh-huh. And your source would be…?"

"Confidential, for the time being."

"Uh-huh." The detective tapped his fingertips slowly on his desk. "Well, I can't do much with an unverified source."

"Ooh, careful," K said.

I know. "I understand that. How about this: I'll start talking, and you stop me if I'm off base." Carver gave a tiny shrug.

"Alright then," I continued, "The ABB pulls in a lot of income through prostitution. More so than any of the other gangs in Brockton Bay." Carver nodded. "And if Lung wanted to prop up that revenue stream even more, it would make sense for him to start getting larger numbers of girls who were… more disposable." It put an ember of rage in my chest to say those words.

I was hoping to get a reaction out of him, but Carver's face was unreadable. "Even if what you're saying were true," he said slowly, "That would be a parahuman crime, under the jurisdiction of the PRT."

I needed to make a more convincing push. "Sure, Lung is… hypothetically calling the shots on the abductions. But do you think that the PRT would do anything about it, even if they caught him red-handed? It's Lung. Unless he starts massacring civilians by the dozens, they won't go after him. They don't think it's worth it."

Carver's eyes narrowed. "So what are you suggesting? If the PRT aren't equipped to take him on, we sure as Hell aren't."

"You're right, which is why we're not going after him."

"'We'?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, it'd be a lot easier with your help," I said, prompting a chuckle from the detective. "You have the expertise and the experience here. Will you listen to my plan, at least?"

Carver leaned back and sighed, but made a "go on" gesture. "Thank you," I said. "In order to keep his trafficking ring open, Lung would need people to run it, right? Lieutenants."

Carver nodded, so I went on. "And those guys are un-powered. So if you… happened upon them, you could arrest them."

"Theoretically. But if they were clearly part of Lung's organization, the PRT could still claim jurisdiction."

"Hmm, they could," K said, "But I doubt they'd want to. I do believe Detective cool-hair here is being intentionally difficult, for whatever reason."

I nodded. "Do you think they would, though? There's no glory for them in scooping up a bunch of un-powered, mid-level gangsters."

The detective chuckled. "That's awfully cynical, kid. You've been living in the Bay too long."

I shrugged to concede the point. "Maybe. But I really do doubt the PRT is going to come swooping in for extra work." I leaned forward a bit. Time to add a little more flattery. "Plus, have you seen the PRT track record for holding prisoners? I'd much rather have you guys on the job."

Carver snorted. "Glad to hear you have such a high opinion of us. Okay, you might be right. If we, uh, happened upon some un-powered ABB traffickers, we could hold 'em. But if you wanted it to go down like that, you'd have to pass on the credit. Even un-powered crooks are under PRT jurisdiction if they're captured by a parahuman."

Was he testing me? Seeing if I was a glory hound? "It doesn't matter, as long as they're off the streets," I said firmly.

The detective shrugged. "Alright. But I think there's something else you want, eh?"

"Take it easy here," K warned.

"That's right," I said, "I would appreciate any info you can give me on the ABB's organization."

"Mm. Sorry, but like I said before, you're not with law enforcement. I can't give you any files."

I took a deep breath. After all that, he's just going to blow me off? No. No. Don't get upset. Take it easy. "Detective, I came here today because I respect the work that you do. I'm not asking you to go against department policy or to do anything you're uncomfortable with. I'm just asking you to point me in the right direction, so I'm not going off blind. Help me to help you."

Carver stared at me for a long moment, then a corner of his mouth quirked upward into a smile. "You make a compelling argument, Miss T, but there's nothing I can give you, officially. Please allow me to walk you out."

"I think you did it, Taylor," K said.

What? He's totally stonewalling me!

"It sure seems that way, but wait for it."

I pushed down my irritation and stood, striding out towards the lobby. The detective held the front door open for me and extended a business card.

"I do apologize that I couldn't be of more help, Miss T," he said. "Please feel free to contact me if you have any more information."

I snatched the card with perhaps a touch of belligerence. "That's quite alright, Detective. You have a nice day."

"I'll do my best," he said with a wry smile.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath as I stomped away. I was tempted to chuck the card in the trash, and I raised it up to do so. Wait, what the hell is this? There was a small piece of paper attached to the card. I pulled it off and unfolded it. Scrawled on its surface was a single name. Trang Le.

Well okay, then.

- - -

AN: Another dialog heavy chapter. Fear not, punching and shooting will arrive shortly.

P.S. Does anyone know why I'm getting extra line breaks when I paste text into the window here? It's not horrible, but I'd rather not have to manually remove line breaks from each paragraph every time I post here.

Chapter 1.7

As I pored over Trang Le's Interpol file which I had… acquired, my loathing for him built further and further. During his formative years in China, he was picked up several times for a sundry list of repulsive crimes, including the s.e.x.u.a.l assault of a minor. He next popped up in the early eighties under suspicion of involvement with an especially heinous organ harvesting ring. I forced myself to look at some of the pictures until K gently advised me to stop. When the C.U.I. came into power and started busting up the Triads, Trang fled the country. He was spotted in connection with various Asian crime syndicates up and down the East Coast throughout the nineties until he finally settled in Brockton Bay. When Lung executed his purge of the old Asian gangs, Trang was swept up as a lieutenant in charge of the ABB's prostitution activities.

I tossed the file away with a scowl. The cops knew a man like that was operating in Brockton Bay, and they just sat on the information. He was definitely going on The List. Still, I wanted to do more than take out one gangster, regardless of how revolting he was. Their operation needed to be crippled beyond repair.

"We need more intel," I murmured.

"Yup," K replied. "And you know what that means!"

I leaned back and groaned as I put my hands over my face. "Surveillance."

It wasn't saying a whole lot, but ABB gang members were, on average, much more on the ball than the Merchants. They used burner phones, posted lookouts, and regularly switched up their routes for cash and drug drops. I supposed that having a merciless man-dragon as their boss motivated them. But although their diligence made my job more difficult, it was still far from impossible. I followed the hookers, who led me to the pimps, who led me to the runners. Trang kept himself pretty well isolated from his underlings, but I assumed he still did at least a few face to face meetings. I managed to tag a runner's car with a magnetic GPS tracker, and I eventually got eyes on the Supreme Sleaze-Ball himself. Trang's smug, greasy face made me itch to blast him somewhere painful, but I restrained myself for the greater good.

Once I got a tracker on his car, I waited for a week to see all the places he visited. What I really wanted was the location where they were keeping the kidnapped girls; anything else would be a bonus. I scoped out all the spots one by one until I found a promising warehouse. Large, well-guarded, isolated. A prime location to stash unwilling s.e.x workers. Unfortunately, it was too heavily manned for me to take a look inside. I left with a silent vow to return.

I'm sorry. I'll get you out as soon as I can.

Over the next couple weeks, I discovered a web of connections from Trang to the rest of his operation. It was sort of surreal to see how many "employees" were involved. Sub-lieutenants. Accountants. Transporters. Enforcers. Did any of them regret contributing to commercialized ****, or did they just see it as a job? As I finished labeling the last of the photos I had taken, I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. I had a new appreciation for the work that cops did. Getting all of that information was a pain in the ass, even without having to follow procedure and get search warrants.

K suggested that I take a break and I agreed. I headed out to my normal shooting range at the Boat Graveyard, my rifle slung over my shoulder in a guitar bag. At some point, shooting had stopped being a chore. It was something I could focus on wholeheartedly, letting my other worries fade away. There was just me, my gun, and my target.

"Let's try multiple targets today. I'll mark 'em out for you," K said. I nodded, and a trio of bright red dots appeared along the hull of a rusted tug boat. We had found that K was able to "push" visualized images into my sight, similar to how he sent me words mentally. I brought the rifle butt snugly up against my shoulder and established my sight picture. Bzzt. Shift. Bzzt. Shift. Bzzt. Three hits. I grinned.

"Nice, nice. Let's go for speed. Muzzle down, then take the targets as fast as you can as they pop up." I complied, taking a breath. A red dot appeared, and I snapped my weapon up. Bzzt. Three more targets appeared in quick succession, and I cycled to each one as quickly as I could. I tsked in frustration as I saw the last shot go wide.

"You're doing great. Make sure you keep the barrel steady with your support hand. Switch your grip if it's uncomfortable."

I nodded and shifted my hand a bit. We continued drilling for a while, the difficulty and complexity of the targets steadily increasing. At the end, I was both physically and mentally fatigued. I sat and performed the small amount of maintenance that the weapon required, which was mostly cleaning.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do with those gangsters?" K asked.

I paused as I wiped the battery pack. "What do you mean?"

"Well, this is a bit of a step up from our last caper. More dangerous. You might have to shoot someone, to defend yourself. Are you okay with that?"

I took a slow, controlled breath. "I'm ready to do whatever it takes to save those girls."

"Hmm. Okay. Just remember, in a life or death situation, there's no such thing as 'excessive force.' Do what you gotta do. Judgments can come later, as long as you're still alive."

I slapped the battery pack back into my rifle. "I've got it. I'm ready."

"Alrighty. Let's get going."

After hours of planning and staring at blueprints, I realized that I had gotten so caught up in gunning for the ABB that I had forgotten one of my primary goals. I had to make sure that this wouldn't spark a gang war.

"As soon as I do this, the Empire is going to smell blood in the water. What can I do about that?"

"Well, you could always hit them first. Put 'em on the back foot."

"Err, do I really want to piss off the other major gang so soon?"

"You're gonna have to do it at some point. If you want to clean up the city, you can't just leave Nazis hanging around. Might as well do some real damage before they know you're out there."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. But how can I hurt them? They've got a ton of capes, not to mention all their un-powered guys."

"Well, you kinda answered your own question there. Let's make a list of all their capes. Who're the most valuable people?"

I started writing down names, checking the PHO wiki frequently. "Uh, Hookwolf and Kaiser are probably their heaviest hitters, followed by Night and Fog. Those last two aren't really around that much, though. Maybe Othala? She's their only healer."

"Let's stick with soft targets. We want to force them to react and stay on the defensive."

"Okay, I'd say Othala then. Apparently she almost always has Victor with her, though. He's like a… skill vampire. That would be a bad match-up for me."

"Then we'll have to be sneaky. Fortunately for you, I am a master of the sneaky arts."

I couldn't help but giggle. "Okay Sensei, I trust in your guidance. But how will we find her? If she's as valuable as we think, she'll probably be well-hidden."

"Aha. Well, she's a healer, right?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Then let's give her some people to heal."

I laughed. I think K was beginning to be a bad influence on me.

I sat in a commandeered vehicle, slowly chewing on a piece of beef jerky. K was right when he said it was good stakeout food, if a little expensive. "Do you think I hit them too hard? One of them should've called it in by now."

"Eh, they're probably fine. Let's just wait."

I shrugged and went back to watching the Empire stash house I had just robbed. It was a pretty small haul, but that wasn't the point for tonight. After another ten minutes or so, a bunch of cars pulled up and armed skinheads came piling out. I settled down a little lower in my seat. They swarmed into the building and returned with a handful of busted-up compatriots. Most of the wounded managed to limp their way out to the cars with assistance, although one had to be carried by two men. I may have been a bit overzealous with that guy. What is it with thugs and **** threats?

I saw Stormtiger pacing around, yelling orders at his men, and they scattered to search the area. Yikes. That was one Nazi I didn't want to tangle with yet. The vehicles with the wounded took off, and I waited for a few seconds before following. This was the first time I followed someone in a car, but I managed to stay undetected with K's direction. The Empire cars eventually made their stop and I pulled past smoothly, continuing away down the street. Once I was confident I was out of sight, I parked in a side alley and got out.

The possibly-Nazi-hospital had at least three thugs patrolling around it, so I took up a watch position and started waiting. Again. Have I mentioned how boring surveillance is? After another mind-numbing half hour, a black town car arrived. A pair of masked figures got out, and I identified Othala by the weird rune she had on her costume's chest. She looked awfully young, which made her supposed relationship with Victor a little suspect. I shook my head. Focus, Taylor, focus. Don't let your guard down. The two capes entered the building.

I had gotten a few cool little toys with my Merchant money, one of which was a sap. A sap is basically a leather strap with a solid weight of some sort in one end. It turned out to be excellent for knocking out beefy white supremacists. I was a little concerned they might get concussions, but K assured me they would be fine. I guess he was the expert on sneaky take-downs. The last patrolling thug almost managed to cry out, but I hit him with a stun gun and he collapsed in a convulsing heap. Yay for (mostly) non-lethal weapons. Honestly, the hardest part was dragging all of the bodies into the bushes.

I used a pilfered key card and opened the door a crack. I didn't see any guards, so I slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind me. I wanted to make damn sure I didn't get blindsided again, so I methodically cleared each room. The only other thug to be found was a guy watching TV with his back to the door. Sloppy. I choked him out and lowered him quietly to the floor. I closed the door to that room and slunk along the hall, my pistol drawn. I heard a muffled conversation from the room at the end.

"…Never seen her before. She was crazy strong. Must've been a cape." I smirked as the thug made his excuses.

"Did she demonstrate any other powers?"

"Nah, just strong. Cold-c.o.c.ked me. Ahh. Thanks, Miss Othala. My head hurt like a bi- I mean, uh, it hurt real bad."

"Of course," an amused sounding female voice said.

I used a small mirror to check the room from around the corner. Victor and Othala both had their backs turned, standing at the bedside of one of my… casualties.

Should I hit them now? There were a few enforcers in beds around the room, but none of them really looked in fighting shape. Then again, Othala just healed that one guy, and he was facing the door. He could warn them. I decided to wait in ambush. Victor questioned the other injured thugs a little more and then began to leave. I hesitated. What if Othala had given him invulnerability? No. The Wiki said that she had time limits on the powers she gave. She wouldn't just leave it on all the time. I would take Victor out first, then hit Othala before she could reach him.

Victor cleared the corner and I stomped hard on the side of his knee. It gave out with the sound of crunching cartilage. He grunted and fell, and I finished him with a stun gun to the neck. Maybe it was a bit brutal, but I wasn't about to take chances with a guy who had been stealing fighting skills for God knows how long. Othala gave a choked scream and took a swing at me. It wasn't a bad punch, but she was still a teenage girl with no physical powers. I caught her wrist and sn.a.k.e.d my arm around her neck, putting her into a sleeper hold. She made a hell of a fuss trying to elbow and claw at me, but her struggles eventually flagged and she fell limp.

As I quickly knelt to zip tie the two Empire capes, a large figure appeared in the doorway to the recovery room.

"What the Hell's going on here?" His eyes fell on me. "Aw shit. You again?"

"Sorry," I said. I lunged forward.

- - -

AN: Shout out to my homies Omnimessiah and SkyTroupe for beta-ing and being patient.

20K limit~ Continue to Spacebattles for Chapter 1.8!