The position of a PRT director is a daily source of headache and frustration for Emily Piggot. It's a fact all her underlings are acutely aware of, some even understanding of the woman's seemingly permanent foul mood. Daily nuisances, and the stress involved, are something everyone in the organization must learn to deal with, sooner or later. Even something like dealing with a rampaging Lung becomes normal after a time, if no less terrifying. Everyone in the headquarters, and their boss especially, can appreciate not having to deal with unknowns.
Unknowns like the latest incident.
The obese woman's eyes scan the report lying on her desk for the umpteenth time in the last few hours. Two people dead. Five still in comas, out of the original twenty seven. Seventy two more assaulted by the power resulting in seven car crashes, and from that, five more injured, two of whom are faced with the prospect of years of rehabilitation - unless Panacea agrees to take care of them, which she hopefully will at the PRT's request.
The entire incident had lasted approximately four or five minutes, stopping as abruptly as it began. Another two similar, yet thankfully minor incidents happened shortly after the first one. Each was smaller than the last, and not even remotely as harmful. Just more reports of crippling pain around the docks causing some minor traffic accidents, happening in much shorter bursts, without more people getting seriously injured. Small mercies.
God, she hates dealing with the unknown. Parahumans make for the worst kind of unknowns there are. First, one has to figure out whether the new cape is a fresh trigger or an out-of-town one, though if the Director's experience is telling her anything, this seems like a pretty clear-cut instance of someone not fully controlling their powers, what with the two minor incidents that happened after the first one. Very likely, the whole thing was a trigger event, unless this new cape purposefully spilled their own blood after killing the two victims. The fact that both bodies they've found were in the same spot, around the site of the first incident, and that the later outbursts were so much shorter, points to a couple of things:
First – the perpetrator most likely did not intend for any of this to happen, and was trying to control their power. The two deaths, Piggot wagers, were most likely the result of the parahuman being in shock from their trigger event. Whatever it was that caused it in the first place – likely the dead men themselves, if the mismatched third blood type is any clue - there had certainly been enough of it on the floor for that to be a likely possibility. Piggot finds it difficult to believe that any cape out there would allow such harm to themselves before using their power.
Second – the para in question can't control their power all too well, further reinforcing the woman's belief that this was indeed a trigger event. That, and the fact it's the first sighting of this sort of ability around, seeing as Butcher has been confirmed to still be in Boston.
And third – the most important. This new cape is dangerous, extremely so, if this was just an accident on their part. A grimace forms on Emily's face as she ponders on the uses of a power such as this one. Subduing criminals? Maybe, it could be quite efficient, yes, if bad for PR. The issue is, there exist so many more ways to misuse it – the foremost of them being torture, taking hostages, and causing mayhem among civilians – all that without ever being seen.
At least the power doesn't seem to be lethal in on itself, even if putting someone in a coma leaves every opportunity for causing further harm open. It's troubling that the cape in question is clearly capable of following through with said opportunity. The plethora of stab wounds on both the bodies left behind were too clean, too precise, to have been a result of fighting. Now, it doesn't automatically mean they're dealing with a murdering psychopath, Emily knows enough about triggers not to assume, but the possibility is still there. The PRT can't allow to let the case go for as long as that probability remains up in the air. Nor can they assume that just because the deaths were caused with an ordinary weapon that the new cape's power can't actually kill. There simply isn't enough information available to really tell what this parahuman is capable of, beside inducing what the victims called "unimaginable pain". Emily suspects it's a bit of an exaggeration. Civilians rarely have a way of knowing what unimaginable pain is. Still, that it put people in comas is reason enough to be wary. More than enough to warrant the local superheroes' attention.
For while the nature of powers still remains an unknown, from Piggot's experience, a cape that is capable of causing this sort of damage, couldn't have had a cheerful life. And the trigger itself, killing the two men, is just a cherry on the top of an already rotten cake. In short, the woman fully expects a new villain to rear their head relatively soon. Having an ability to cause pain doesn't really inspire to become a hero, neither does starting a cape life with a death toll.
That said, the Protectorate and PRT aren't going to simply give up on trying to recruit this new para. They've waited long enough to see if any more outbursts would happen – none did, which is a good omen. Any gang would've already announced to the world that they've gained a new cape's allegiance, in addition to the murdered men being a Black and an Asian. They could, potentially, be Merchants, but the E88 and ABB keep their initiation killings between the other. Somehow, the woman can't imagine this cape becoming a rogue; what would a power to deal pain be even useful for? Either way, the possibility of recruitment isn't out of the question just yet, but knowing the business, they have to be quick about it to have any chance of success. After all, it will only be under probation that any such recruitment could happen after the mess that's been made. And if talking won't work, the threat of a parahuman prison just might, regardless of whether the casualties occurred happened in self-defense or not.
The PRT simply can't afford to have a cape like this on the loose. They need to be quick, and they need to be efficient. Emily would rather avoid imprisoning a potential asset, if at all possible. Shadow Stalker might have an attitude, but she's doing good work all the same. Who's to say this new cape won't be like that, as well? Perhaps even less trouble than the unruly teen? Granted, that particular feat wouldn't take much effort.
She puts a finishing touch on the instructions she's been working on, and presses the button of the intercom.
"Get me Armsmaster. I've got a file ready for him."
The tears had come and gone hours ago, having left Taylor curled up into a ball atop her bed, without any idea what to do with herself. Her plan has failed, and what a plan it was - the first she'd had in a very long time, that time spent living from one day to another, without hoping for a better tomorrow. As such, today is marked with a touch of novelty in her otherwise-monotonous life, both in how she'd been looking forward to following through with her long-lasting wish, and in how spectacularly it'd blown up in her face.
The teen would laugh at her own failure, were she not so absolutely exhausted. First... with how she provoked the two thugs into doing what she needed of them, and then with her frantic escape, followed by what must have been hours of crying, until she'd finally passed out. It hasn't helped much to ease her mind, but at least the pain is gone, and for that the girl is glad. It felt as if it was trying- as if it burst through her skin back there, after she did what her mind told her to do - after she let go.
It was... uncontrollable. Or it felt that way, anyway. Not that she tried to control it, really, when the two men kept playing their fucked up game with her. It was... a stupid thing to do – what she had done. There are so, so many other things she could have – should have tried, had she really wanted to go through with her plan. If she wants something done right... she has to be the one to do it, isn't that how the world works? Stupid of her to forget.
Still, it was a plan, one that would spare Dad the pain and self-loathing she knows he would feel if she'd done the deed by herself. So she got rid of all the evidence she'd so meticulously gathered. The notebooks, the emails, all of it. So that nothing could be found which could lead Dad to believe he's failed her. But has he not? Taylor can't tell. Because what could he have done, had he known? Depress himself even further by knowing all the details of her life? What's the point?
What's the point in getting up every day, knowing nothing would change?
Only something had changed, hasn't it?
It all feels like a bad joke has played on her. In the end, she hasn't- couldn't handle what was happening to her. Taylor had never imagined the pain could even get so bad, so excruciating and twisted. And it just would not end, nor would it have ended - that much she'd been promised.
Maybe she's weak, maybe she'd held out longer than the others they spoke of had. By the end of it, there were two bodies before her, both bloodied and riddled with knife wounds, made by the very same knife that opened her own belly... only, now in her hands. How? Taylor doesn't know, doesn't remember more than the overwhelming pressure inside her, and the pain, so much pain.
She doesn't remember. But who else could have killed her tormentors but her? The thought is nauseous.
At the time, it didn't matter. All she knew was the pain from the beating and the slashes she took, from the still pounding headache in her skull – from her injured lungs, her opened stomach, and her raw, raw throat. And the blood. Everywhere. Hers and theirs. Why couldn't they have ended it?
The rest of the morning? A daze. People on the ground, smashed cars, the way everyone doubled over when a particularly nasty pain spike shot through her body. The realization of what the fact she's killed implies did not connect until much later, when the girl fell on her bed – that she's a killer, a parahuman killer, with a spot waiting for her in a prison. It was also then that the realization that she has powers truly sunk in, along with the thought that her abdomen was torn open, and that her plan would work out after all, in spite of how impressive of a fuck up it was.
After puking her guts out (and it only barely didn't end up as more than a figure of speech) right there on her bed, she had nothing else on mind but to wait for what felt like the inevitable. Still, she cried. The girl couldn't tell why – she didn't feel sad, just at peace. The pain was slowly going away, just as her thoughts were, just as everything.
And now she's awake. Unfeeling, with the sole exception of the dull aching in her head.
Slowly, Taylor moves her hand in front of her eyes. Nothing. She wiggles her fingers, only aware of the action thanks to seeing it. There's nothing. The girl blinks, aware of the fact solely from the split second of darkness accompanying the deed. Absently, she notes how her fingers stick to each other, as if coated in fresh glue – stale blood. It doesn't feel sticky. It doesn't feel at all. Nothing does.
She stirs, turning onto her back to more easily peel off her sweatshirt and shirt, the latter in shreds and stuck to her skin. Jagged, ugly, thick and pale skin – in the place she knows there should be a massive gash. The young parahuman rolls off her bed, supporting herself on the wall once she falls to the ground, lacking the coordination to stand up unaided. Still nothing. No ground under her feet, no wall beneath her palm, no air in her lungs. Nothing.
Taylor lets go of the wall, finding her body much more cooperative, now that she's already standing, before taking an experimental step forward. Her world wobbles, for a moment, before the teen regains her standing. Then she takes another, and again, until her feet look properly still. Huh. A part of her power? She can turn her sense of touch off? She's not trying to do anything though. It just - is. Or rather - isn't. The girl pushes the thought away in favor of checking the rest of her body over. With some difficulty, stemming from being unable to feel the cloth beneath her fingers, she manages to strip her upper clothes completely, to find that all the other wounds. the punctures in her sides and the slashes on her arms, have closed as well. The bruises, however, stubbornly staying in place, coloring so much of her skin in reddish purple. Her teeth? She makes to run her thumb over them, before stopping halfway through the motion.
Right. A mirror, she needs a mirror.
The teen makes her way to the bathroom, tripping a few times on her way. And the sight that meets her in the mirror once she turns on the light is not a pretty one. Granted, she's never been pretty, but now, that she has a full view of herself...
At least her face didn't take much damage, the only sign of abuse being a bruise covering the right side of her neck and jaw. The teeth are all there too. She moves her hair to cover the bruise. It... yeah, it shouldn't be that visible, even less so if she covers it up with some makeup. Only she doesn't have any. Not at the moment, anyway.
Taylor doffs of the rest of her clothes before stepping into the shower to scrub the dried blood off her... everything, really. Once done, she almost mechanically moves to collect her ruined clothes and sheets, both stinking of vomit she's left on her bed. Crap, she needs to clean this mess up if she doesn't want Dad to notice, the smell of bile should disperse in – what? It should by the evening, shouldn't it? But the sheets will likely always smell acrid, and she needs to get rid of the blood too. Blood stains are supposed to be a bitch to get out. Neither her clothes or covers are worth saving at this point. Ugh.
She dresses herself again, before dumping all her filthy possessions out into the neighbors' trash can. There, problem solved. Dad shouldn't notice there's a set missing, he's missed so much more than that.
After thoroughly cleaning all the red-brown patches left all over the house, the young cape sits down on her bare bed, finding herself without a clue as to what to do next. She wasn't supposed to have to do anything ever again after this morning.
The clock says it's still many hours away until Dad comes back from work. Taylor isn't sure if she can talk to him, not today, not like this. It... shouldn't be a lasting problem. As much as it chafes to admit it, they've- she's become rather detached these last few months. The locker incident was just one of the many cruel pranks she's had to deal with in that time. It's a lot more safe, a lot more tranquil to just not think about it. Every time Taylor sees her father, however, his eyes keep reminding her of just how much he wants to help, and how little he can actually do. Thankfully, he doesn't ask. And she has no want to talk, lest she'd let something slip about her plan.
It's better not to speak at all.
Taylor rubs at one of the silver lines left above her elbow.
What now? This... all of this, is entirely unexpected. She's got powers, which is – nice. Strange, she'd always imagined gaining powers as a world shattering experience, and as of yet, she's feeling... not much different, mentally speaking. It wouldn't feel different at all, were it not for one, tiny sliver of a feeling she's not experienced in a very long time, right there beside fear.
Hope.
She's a cape. How many times had she fantasized about being one as a young girl? She can't even count. But what is it that she can do as one?
...the teen isn't sure, to be honest. The world went blank when she thought death was about to lay its claim on her. And once she came to – there were unconscious people everywhere around, some still aware and writhing on the ground. It... must have been her who's responsible for that, right? She had not been in the state of mind to think about it back then - she was hurt too, all her wounds real - and just wanted to get home, get somewhere safe. But, if that's the sort of thing her power does, then how does she check without drawing attention? Taylor goes stiff once the realization of what she must do hits her. But there isn't exactly a way around it. At least, not one she can think of right now. How long will she be out? Should she leave a note for Dad? Eat something?
She's not feeling hungry, and she should be. Normally, she'd have already eaten her lunch, but there's not even the slightest pang of hunger that the girl can feel. She should eat, but she has a feeling all the food would end up being puked right back out. Pointless. Better to skip a meal or two and not have to deal with the bile.
Taylor grabs a packet of painkillers and pops a pill into her mouth to mute her headache, before taking a kitchen knife with her, and heading out of the house.
She's not sure if she wants to know, but can she afford not to?
"So... this all we got on them? Seriously?" The question's been on everyone's mind, but only Clockblocker voices his frustration on the matter. "I mean, it's been two days, what were the guys doing? Picking their collective a-"
"Clockblocker, keep it civil. Please," cuts in Aegis.
"Just saying. Not much to go around on, ya know?"
Carlos groans under his breath. He agrees that the file from Armsmaster is annoyingly lacking in information, but that's only because there's been nothing else to pick up on. The boy's eyes land on the file again, in his attempts to memorize the thing.
Phantom: real name unknown (temporary/to be changed) (inside use only)
Disposition: unknown (?)
Classification: Shaker 5/Stranger 2 (?/? minimum) (temporary/susceptible to change)
Last known location: Brockton Bay
Sex: unknown (?)
Height: unknown (?)
Appearance: unknown
No previous record. First appearance involved one hundred and one (101) civilian victims. Among which: two (2) dead (stab wounds, knife left on scene, no matches for fingerprints), twenty seven (27) temporarily in coma, five (5) injured in the resulting chaos, sixty seven (67) affected by the power without further injuries. Incident lasted between four (4) and five (5) minutes.
Power includes (unknown if limited to) causing physical pain in the victims (no damage to the body), causing temporary mental exhaustion, both to the point of putting victims into comas (unknown if lethal, or causing prolonged damage). Victims complained about pain from (assumed): stab wounds, deep blade cuts, shallow blade cuts, punctured lungs, ruptured muscles, bruised internal organs, crippling headaches, and blunt object trauma.
Instructions: Call for backup when spotted. Approach with caution. Non-lethal force use authorization for contact on stand-by. PRT and Cape forces to propose position in the Protectorate/Ward Program. It is advised to avoid confrontation/antagonistic behavior - possibly a new cape. If met with refusal, guarantee leniency in regards to events of 01.13.2011. If met with refusal, use of non-lethal force is authorized. Cape too dangerous to be left as a rogue or to become a villain.
If turned villain, use of non-lethal force is authorized on contact.
"-that it's going to be a serious pain in the- uh, back, to be on lookout for a shadow case."
"Shadow case, right. I don't think somebody with a power like this can stay hidden for too long," mutters Gallant.
"Impressive though," adds Kid Win. "I mean a hundred without even being spotted?"
"I'm not really sure about that part with offering position in the Wards or Protectorate." Vista's voice is tinted with concern. "I mean, they killed people."
"A lot of things can happen in a trigger event, and Armsmaster suspects it was one. But don't worry, we won't take a cold blooded murderer into our ranks," answers Aegis.
"I just don't like this," grumbles Clockblocker. "This kind of power is screwed up, and we don't know the extent of it. I mean, seriously. "He picks the file's page up to read it out loud. "Crippling headaches? Stab wounds? Putting people in comas? What's next? Giving you a heart attack?"
None of the Wards has an answer to that.
Taylor's eyes are empty as she observes the cat bolting away in blind panic. The girl herself is sitting on the remnants of a devastated bench overlooking the bay. She drops her head into her hands.
"Sorry, little guy," she whispers.
Her eyes switch to the cut she made on her left forearm, just under the rolled-up sleeve. It's deeper than she probably should have made it, but she'd wanted to see just how much damage she can do before anything approaching real pain kicks in. It hasn't yet. The most intense thing she's capable of feeling is still the pulsating ache in her skull. It should've faded by now, even without the painkillers.
The cut itself? The wound is no more painful than a scratch. Well, maybe a bit more than that, maybe like a paper cut, but definitely not like the inch-deep and five-inches-long gash that it is in reality. Her arm had gone slow for a moment after making the cut, however - leading Taylor to believe that while her reception of pain is greatly changed, her body isn't any more durable. Her muscles aren't, anyway. Her organs? She's not about to check if her more important insides can knit back together when her muscles skin don't do so perfectly.
She leans back on the bench, and lets out a humorless chuckle.
Fate really is a bitch. To grant her a power capable of hurting others, but only if she's willing to first hurt herself. It's not something she could very well use as a hero, not the sort of power kids dream about having. Could she be a vigilante? Maybe. A rogue? The only uses that come to her mind are... rather disturbing.
Or a villain.
The girl violently shakes her head, wishing her mind to stop supplying such thoughts. The movement causes her headache to spike for a moment, leaving the girl grimacing in pain.
Let's not even go there. She doesn't want to hurt people - not innocents, at least, seeing as she doesn't have much choice, what with the nature of her powers.
Would she be allowed into the Wards anyway? Do they let killers in?
Her stomach contorts when the image of the mutilated, unmoving bodies, resurfaces in her mind. She hugs herself, not that the action brings her much comfort any more, and tries to dismiss the memory, afraid it will leave her dry heaving once again, just like it did after the scene had first assaulted her memory, almost as if happening right in front of her.
Taylor's tired eyes wander to the setting sun, before her gaze rests upon the cut once more. She watches, with morbid curiosity, as the wound closes itself in just a few minutes, leaving but a silver scar soon after.