The Taylor Twins

Prologue: Platinum Mesh

Saturday February 26, 2011, early afternoon; Brockton Bay Western Parklands, far side of the Cycling Path.

It was a typical scene of any urban-jungle parkland: two teenage girls wearing exercise clothes (and jackets, caps and scarfs, in the near-freezing temperatures), walking slowly as a cool down from a good workout. Although, closer inspection would show that only the red headed one was wheezing, while her fitter, dark skinned companion was barely breathing hard.

"You seriously need to do more exercise, Emma," opened the dark skinned one, frowning down at the other. "You are soft as hell!"

"I'm a model, Soph: I'm supposed to be soft!" The redhead replied, scowling back. "I'm here because I want to see if I can sweat rather than diet!"

The first one, Sophia, frowned some more at her friend's standard answer, but left Emma alone to make her way to a nearby bench. She meanwhile wandered off the path, and ended up behind some bushes.

Idle eyes found a ladybug on a branch: one of her guilty, girly pleasures! She just gazed at it, but an idle though found her wanting to pick it up. But how could she do that without scaring it? She looked down at her hand and idly turned her little finger into mist-form for just a moment.

Could she do it?

She then eyed the path and found it empty, except for Emma on her bench. She thus turned her entire hand to mist and slowly phased it up through the branch. She then solidified her hand again, and found herself holding the still undisturbed bug. She reversed her movements, and left it sitting back on the branch. Just to make sure her phasing hadn't killed it or something, she then blew gently at it. The critter was indeed alive: it crawled to the opposite side of the branch, getting away from the "wind".

Sophia grinned: She could filter through lifeforms, picking up or phasing through at her convenience!

"Emma," she shouted, standing up at the same time. "Get your gelatinous ass over here!"

"Kiss my baby-soft modelling assets, you Amazon!" Emma shouted back, making Sophia momentarily bristle at the little known fact that she was wearing a stuffed bra. But then again, she would only take such an affront from Emma, at least without turning the mouthy idiot into minced meat. And then again, Emma knew not to say something like that around witnesses, because, friend or not, Sophia needed to always be seen as strong.

Although, thinking about it, she wouldn't mind it so much from Madison either: she really wanted to consider her to be another real friend, rather than just the only other girl, other than Emma, that had the strength of character to talk back at her. Too bad the midget never seemed to hang out with them outside of school, unless they were going out as a larger group.

And Emma came to a stop beside her, looking expectant. Wordlessly, Sophia first made a show to Emma about her hand being empty, then mystified it and took the unseen ladybug from its branch, and showed it to Emma.

As Emma watched the bug take flight, she spoke in a slight tone of awe: "So, you have learned to mystify living creatures on the go!" And then Emma pulled her down into a soft, warm embrace: another thing that only Emma was allowed to do, and again only with no witnesses. Sophia bit her lip and reluctantly returned the hug, all the way keeping her eyes on the nearby trail, and thanking her ancestry that her skin was just so dark that nobody could tell when she blushed!

Thankfully, Emma disengaged before Sophia would have gently pushed her away, then walked firmly back to the trail and looked back at her over-shoulder.

"Now, to celebrate, lets make your wish come true and get this gelatin buns a little firmer!" She said, as she then gave herself a firm slap on the tush and took off running at a brisk pace that both of them knew she wouldn't be able to maintain.

Sophia was just too glad to take off after her, staying a step back so she could wait to provide "encouragement" once Emma's pace began sagging.

Not that it happened like that, though: after about ten minutes (and a single butt-slap), Emma made them stop in front of a picnic ground. One that, notably, was cordoned off and had flags about fire ants.

Emma picked her hand up, then glanced at the field and back at her. Took her a moment, but Sophia understood.

They both grinned rather nastily. Sophia then pulled Emma into an over the shoulder carry, and began looking for a secluded spot away from the trail. Meanwhile, she thought: Sophia didn't truly understand Emma's obsession with the Taylor twins, but supported her anyway. Sophia had come to think of the twins like hedgehogs: undoubtedly prey, but unrewarding. Like the jaguar that she saw herself as, Sophia didn't really care to run down unrewarding prey, but Emma here was like an arctic wolf (or a eskimo seal hunter) and wanted to out-stubborn her prey. And even if Sophia was weary of this unending hunt, she was also supportive of this young predator she had fostered.

Finally, Sophia found a nice patch of tall grasses (so Emma wouldn't gain any unsightly scratches ahead of her next photo-op), then "accidentally slipped" (taking care that Emma didn't hit the ground too hard), playfully wrestled and rolled around with her (also making sure Emma ended on her rather than on the near-freezing soil), and then slipped her cold fingers under Emma's jacket to start tickling her!

Of course, Emma immediately started tickling back, and Sophia let her exercise another one of her exclusive privileges: she let Emma win!

They ended breathing hard, dirty, with Sophia cradling Emma's head to her nearly flat chest, and feeling the safety of not having to be tough all the time. The only person alive that Sophia felt she could be a girl with, rather than a fighter... Fight for these moments, not through them!

This delicate slip of a girl, who was now momentarily kneeling up, unzipping their jackets and tossing away their scarfs, and now was laying her spandex-wrapped breasts just below Sophia's', and had begun nuzzling Sophia's neck.

Emma, her best friend ever...

Not for the first time, Sophia wished Emma was a boy, so she could suck his face off! Or for herself to be a lesbian, or a boy! But no, the roll of the dice had given them both a liking for hot dogs rather than tacos. For Sophia could certainly see herself forever with somebody like Emma: they were both smart and well connected, and while Emma was so delightfully feminine, Sophia was comfortable with being a warrior rather than feminine. Opposites attract, and Sophia had certainly fantasized of Emma as some feminine boy like so many boy band singers... Sophia had to bite her lips to keep herself from doing more than pulling Emma level with her, then squeezing all of Emma against all of her, much to Emma's surprise.

But Emma's surprise didn't last long, making them roll on their side as they began to aggressively rub their necks together, fondle each others' bodies and kind-of wrestle with their uncoordinated legs.

They then had to release each other, though, because they had begun sliding down the slight incline! But they both rapidly stopped their little momentum, and where chuckling as they crawled back together.

Well: Sophia was chuckling, but her Emma was giggling, and that was a sound Sophia could listen to all day...

She let Emma push her down, and saw her biting those perfect lips before she talked:

"How much I wish you were a boy, Soph..."

"I'll be one for you, Softie..."

And their lips came together with grand enthusiasm... and missing fireworks. Sophia opened her eyes to see Emma doing the same, their eyes locking together in desperation as they redoubled their efforts to star a fire in each other. They were all-but-shouting that they would learn to enjoy munching carpet if the other was gay!

But they were straight. They were both straight. Neither had a gay best friend to sacrifice for!

Emma slowly pulled away, and Sophia barely put on a token opposition. Five minutes later, they were trotting at a sedate pace, discussing the logistics of the improved chloroform prank... and exchanging many wishful glances.

And Sophia was also thinking about phasing into a sex shop near her home and getting a double-headed dildo, a strap-on or something like that. Because it wasn't weird at all for two straight girls to do some sexual experimentation with each other, was it?

Monday March 7, 2011, undetermined time; somewhere...

Taylor Zoe Hebert woke up... or tried to, wading through a mind-numbing headache... and her eyes wouldn't stay open...

Not quite quickly, but she noted that she had woken up on the floor, her face an inch away from her twin's, Taylor Rose. Her aching left arm, her tied wrists, her tied ankles and the discomfort of an arm under her side also informed her that her sister and her were tied together, in a position of a reciprocal hug. And the light being a sliver under a door, and the smell of chemicals, informed her that they were once again locked inside the janitorial break room. And she then tried to sigh, but discovered her mouth was duct-tapped shut.

Also, she noted that her jacket was gone, and she was down to a top. A top that she hadn't put on this morning. Would it be scrawled with insults or something?

The first time this had happened, both Rose and her had been terrified until the janitors came in the afternoon to start their shift. The second time, they had been furious, but had also been prepared and had cut through the zip ties in time to spend their last period in the infirmary. Today, Zoe thought she should only be annoyed at this shit, and she doubted her sis would disagree, as the previous bout had given them plenty of practice with cutting zip ties with an unassuming nail file secreted under an insole. Only real problem was that they had been ambushed around noon, so they would be lucky to cut themselves away before the entire school day was lost...

So now that her eyes were focusing properly again, she began to flick her sister's nose with her own.

It took a few minutes, but Rose's chest eventually expanded into deeper breathing, and her eyes begun opening.

While Rose's brain was taking several minutes to boot up, Zoe made a conscious effort to take deep breaths and remain calm, thus trying to be a rock to her sis. No such luck, though: Rose began sniffing as soon as she took stock of the situation, and Zoe was left pressing her own forehead against Rose's, and trying to hug her tighter, while she also failed to hold in her own tears.

Thankfully, their emotional outburst didn't last too long, and they could compose themselves back. Rose then began gesturing backward with her neck, and tried to pull backward. Zoe thought she understood, so she rolled on top of her, painfully squishing her hands on the way. Rose then rolled on her, and her legs hit something on the way down. By the sound of it, must have been a chair or a stool. But it had also let something fall on them. A trash can or a bucket, she guessed by shape and weight. Rose and her wiggled some more, and it fell and rolled away behind Zoe's hips. Zoe bumped it away for good measure.

She did know their ultimate objective, but her head was still a bit too pained from the knock out salts or whatever, so she was content to just lay still for a moment, and Rose didn't seem to disagree with her posture.

A few seconds later, though, Rose tried to scream through her muffled mouth, and began to frantically scoot away from her. Zoe cooperated and scooted forward after her, but she didn't get it... until she felt something climbing over her exposed lower back. And then burning sensation!

That bucket had had fire ants!

And now they had found the far wall, and Zoe was still feeling the swat of ants on her body grow and grow. The feeling was an easy one to follow: just look for the sensation of being on fire!

Rose was screaming at her through the gag, pulling her, seemingly urging Zoe to roll and be on top, or even alternating and pushing her so she could roll into the tide of ants; however, Zoe pulled back, pushed back and did everything she could to stay right were she was, sacrificing herself to shield her sister from this nightmare...

And, as she felt the ants crawl up her neck and start nibbling at her cheeks, she had one positive though: 'At least Dad will now be able to tell us apart at a glance...'

Meanwhile, outside of Winslow High School, Brockton Bay...

PRT Agent (External) Hannah Roosevelt, usually much better known by her day job as Protectorate ENE Member "Miss Militia", sat in the passenger seat of an unlabelled PRT car, eyeing the tide of exiting students: she knew that, if the dangerous individual even bothered with schooling, then Shadow Stalker attended Winslow.

And it had certainly not been an easy task to narrow down her movements even this much: over the last twenty to twenty two months since the vigilante had become active, she had been moving around like the tide, following the higher crime statistics and leaving crucified criminals behind. But somebody had finally done a historical, animated map of her timeline of movements, and it had shown that, despite being almost dead centre in her movements pattern, the Stalker hadn't ever done anything within a half mile radius from this school.

And well: too bad for the girl, but months ago, the order had been signed that she had to be captured at all costs. That was as close as you could get to a kill order for a minor—barring S-classes like Bonesaw's—! And it was due to two reasons: first, the girl wasn't simply fond of lethal ammunition, but had also shown obvious and intentional cruelty with seven of her so-far eleven lethal take-downs. Secondly, the girl had a very dangerous attitude, letting crimes in progress be completed unless the victim was fighting back, and twice so far shooting through hostages in favour of hitting the assailant.

Nonetheless, the girl also happened to be good, very good, at keeping her identity secret: almost two years, and SS's physical description was down to "female, born around 1996, either very dark skinned or wears a black body stocking under costume." Not even her crossbow bolts were trackable: they were handmade, and made from anything from fishing poles to lathed oak dowels, passing through sky poles and pretty much anything you could buy in a garage sale. If anything, Miss Militia had been among the panel that voted her to receive a Tinker 1 rating for them.

A girl that fit the physical profile then walked out, closely followed by a group. Hannah narrowed her eyes, as the girl also seemed to fit SS's proposed psych profile to the dot: the girl was just wearing an athletic uniform, but she might have as well been wearing royal accoutrements as she let herself be touched by the members of her royal court before she turned around and walked back into the school.

Hannah was reaching for her binoculars, to be able to see the girl's jersey number, when it happened...

[Destination!]

[Agreement!]

[Trajectory!]

[Agreement!]

And then Hannah found herself opening her eyes, slumped down in her seat. She quickly picked herself up and picked up her binoculars, and found that the girl in question had fallen down flat on her face, and was being attended by her "supplicants". Hannah then shock awake her plain-clothed, slumbering chauffeur, pulled two tactical balaclavas and tossed one at him while she hastily pulled the other on, yelled at him to follow her, and broke into a run toward, not her suspect, but the only open entrance that she could see on the building, knowing that the feeling of enormity had come from somewhere angled down. Basement?

As she ran by the fallen girl, now being picked up by the rest, she had a good look and mentally profiled her: the rail-thin, yet muscular build of an Ethiopian marathoner, luscious black straightened hair reaching to her lower back, jersey numbered '27' with the name 'S. Hess', a face that she would easily sketch later, and a pair of tarmac running shoes being carried like sceptres by two of the boot-lickers.

Entering the school, Hannah was momentarily stunned, as she could see hundreds of roaches walking in plain view in every possible surface! But she dismissed it, and ran in, looking (and sending her chaser looking) for any obvious basement access. He found it first, and down they went into even more visible insects, and almost immediately found a door that had a broomstick and some rope tied to the doorknob, jamming it shut. Quickly looking around to check for possible witnesses, she dismissed her green energy from being a dagger inside her boot and reshaped it into a bat, which she then wielded overhead like an axe and swung at the door, reshaping it mid-swing into a replica of a ridiculously heavy morningstar that she had once seen wielded by some French mid-level Brute, and almost immediately reshaped it back into a bat to not be pulled down by the monstrous weapon. As expected, a one-by-four feet hole instantly developed on the door, the floor was showered in splinters, and she could see into a darkened room. She reshaped her bat into a baton-flashlight and shone it in, taking in two twitching bodies on the floor, surrounded by a ring of... red dots?... red ants?... Fire ants!

Except that the fire ants were now beginning to march her way! And an instant later, a face-full of roaches flew out the hole and had her stumbling backward! Hannah was no fool, so she saw the writing on the wall, made a snap decision and began running out of the basement, pulling behind her her chauffeur, and only stopping to pull a fire alarm.

Running up the stairs, she found that the few students and teachers still present were running out, screaming at how the roaches were now flying at them. Hannah helped out some through the nearest emergency exit, then had to keep running until she got into the car, where she could finally contemplate that the local insect population had simply gone berserk, attacking everything! So she picked the radio from her pocket and called:

"This is Lima-Papa-Metro Roosevelt, come in Dispatch. Over." (Local Protectorate Member Roosevelt).

"This is Dispatch. Over." And Hannah felt like facepalming: her favourite places for Assault to be were chatting with preteens, out on patrol, or sleeping on a couch. Monitor Duty: Not during a crisis! But at least he did know the codespeech, so...

"I report a situation Victor-Tango-Echo, code Orange, at Winslow High School. Over." (Situation: violent trigger event, current danger to the public.)

"Holly fuck! Evaluation? ... Over!"

"A two-count of Papa-Hotel-Metros, level Bravo, status Union. I request India-Echo a block around or to taste, plus a priority Alpha-Sierra med-evac. Expect massive fire ant bites. Last known location was Winslow High School, basement, inside the room with the broken door. And tell the guys to improvise bee-keeper suits, even if they have to duct-tape themselves into their fatigues and respirators. Over." (Two parahumans, masters, visibly powerful but no mastery over humans, currently unconscious. Requests: immediate evacuation of the area, medical evacuation via Air Support-ambulance.)

"Wait: why code Orange if status of Papa-Hotel-Metros is Union? Over."

"The Metros have a personal status of Union, but the power remains in status Victor. Over." (Parahumans unconscious, but Master power remains Violent.)

"We are so fucked..."

"Over?"

"Sorry: Stay safe, Roosevelt. Over and out."

"Not quite: please make a note that this agent requires debriefing to update the local order 2010-112, plus the profile of the person of interest. Over."

"Noted. Anything else? Over."

"Yes: tell the Alpha Sierra to go as high as possible on the way back: the Papa-Hotel-Metros seem to have a generous radius of effect. Over."

"Noted. Over."

"Final note: might be a good idea to perform an aggressive insecticide control on the Rig before the Alpha-Sierra comes back to base. Over and out."

"Over and out."

And freaking finally, her chauffeur made it back to the car. Wordlessly, but with her eyes smouldering, she handed him the magnetic turret and pushed him to open the door and place it on the roof. And right the moment he had the door closed and was turning the car on, a car swerved to dodge a panicking teenager and sideswiped hers before stopping into the rear fender of the next one parked in front. Hannah just facepalmed, ordered her idiotic chauffeur to monitor the PRT frequency from his earpiece, then switched her radio to the police frequency and accepted the fact that she would be a stationary monitoring station in this crisis.

And why were people panicking so badly, anyway! The insect weren't attacking: they were just swarming into the air and flying randomly, thus hitting people just as randomly! It had been five long minutes, and there were still plenty of people running around in all directions like freaking headless chickens! Were they running in circles or something? Couldn't this people just frigging choose a direction and run out to the police cordon? And what's with motorists panicking too, like they couldn't just roll up their windows against flies and the occasional roach or dragonfly? While she loved this country, she couldn't deny that her fellow Americans took idiocy to an art form!

Author's Note:

I'm aiming for a PG 15 rating, but labelling high for safety.