Disclaimer: I do not own Worm or the Monster Hunter Series

So this happened. It started with the idea that it might be fun to introduce some genuine, honest monsters to a setting where the people could be terrorized by them while still having a good chance to survive. Then I realized that throwing in the Hunter, someone who thinks trying to calmly stab something equivalent to a natural disaster to death is a good idea, in the same setting and making them a Tinker to unwittingly help in the creeping out process would be even more fun. Add the guideline that tells us that "being Taylor is suffering" and some scales and claws and I ended up with this.

Do note that Taylor's in-combat OoCness is a result of the Hunter's mentality conspiring with the Tinkers obsessive behavior when being inspired and the heightened conflict drive packaged in with most shards. It's done on purpose in parts to give future interesting interaction with "sane" characters from canon and more importantly to have her survive and even thrive in the face of monstrous beings, as normal human mentality would almost certainly end up in becoming the next, utterly terrified meal.

For a more in debt analysis as well as the reasoning behind Taylor's mutation, please do visit the Space Battles thread were I'll be uploading the coming snippets piecemeal as well as it would be too long for an already lengthy intro. No changes and choices were made randomly or simply "for the lulz".

SB address (broken up due to FF filters and add .com after spacebattles): forums. spacebattles /threads/ hunting-wyverian-worm-monster-hunter. 393986/

The snippets and scenes are separated by the horizontal lines.

Don't expect this to be too serious and I hope you enjoy this first chapter.

I knew it had been too good to be true. The holidays had only just past and the spirit of Christmas was still lingering.

I pretended that the nervous laughter intermingled with the genuine deal, I heard throughout the crowds as I moved towards my locker was due to embarrassing stories being told or sweaters from loving relatives being worn.

I dared to begin hoping that the terrible trio might have truly gotten bored of me and that I might be able to witness a Christmas miracle.

In hindsight it was probably the same hope I somehow managed to hold on to throughout my tormented high school career. The same traitorous thoughts that they'd leave the tall, thin washing board walking around as a girl alone if only I endured a bit longer; after which I'd be able to make friends again.

I realized my mistake as I came closer to my locker and I began to notice a nauseatingly sweet, coppery stink oozing that only grew stronger as I moved closer to row of identical metal boxes. More specifically, my locker seemed to be the source as I began to notice more unidentifiable, revolting smells as I moved to open it.

The part of my mind conditioned to run on pure paranoia noticed that I was the only one actually moving to the locker. It knew what was about to happen while the rest of me was playing catch up in a dazed state of denial. By the time I had set down my backpack and opened the locker, I actually doubled over and gagged at the sight of rancid, moist contents of the locker. I was pushed in the rest of me came to the same conclusion.

The stumble made me hit my head against the wall, causing a sharp stab of pain to run through my nose with a wet crunch and my glasses to break. They fell on the ground with a squelch and the door was shut in behind me.

Blood filled ran down my face and the area around my eyes burned from the tiny cuts and filth as I struggled myself to stand again, my hand sliding down the slickened walls.

Panic rose as I tried to push open the door with a foot and found it locked.

Girls giggled outside of the fast growing nightmare and I took a deep breath to center myself, to get the coming, all-consuming terror under control.

I got half a lung full before the oily taste swamped my tongue and permeated my nose.

My stomach nearly followed my breakfast as I collapsed once more, vomiting, adding its acidic stench to the amalgamation of rot and funk.

Whimpering and with shaking hands I forced myself up again, away from the slimy muck on the bottom, nearly hyperventilating in the process.

I needed to get out. I needed to do something; something to focus on while I still could and to keep me from slipping further into insanity.

My baton!

I embraced the options the tool could provide, clinging to the hope I could force myself out of the locker with its help.

The cheap, collapsible baton was a bit of an impulse buy at the start of the holidays as grew wary of the very light bullying leading into it, unable to accept that they simply grew bored of me and fearing the worst.

A hysterical giggle escaped my lips as I realized I had been right all along.

Having something to defend myself with felt good as was practicing extending it with a sharp flick. Imagining using it on Sophia was meditative. It felt like a good totem to hang on to as the bullying would inevitably ramp up again.

I blinked as I noticed I was mentally rambling and breathing faster and faster. It did nothing to make my teary eyes itch and burn less.

I forced myself to struggle and face the door as I fumbled at my belt to reach the collapsible baton with trembling hands.

Now I knew that I had been stupid buying it. I probably wouldn't have enough power in my stick frame to do anything with it and would only serve to escalate thing for the worst.

Even my excuse that it would be a backup for the pepper spray my dad gave for my morning runs seemed pathetically hilarious in hindsight.

Another giggle escaped at the thought of driving off a gang banger with a hollow metal stick.

I felt like a complete idiot as my clumsy hand finally managed to entangle the baton and grab it. Only to find out I didn't have the range of motion needed to extent it.

Please, please, please please still work.

Blindly and with shorty, raspy breaths, I pressed the stick against the wall locker and brought the metal instrument to the edges of my locker door.

I knew that my skinny self wouldn't be able to brute force her way out.

Nobody had released me out of my rapidly worsening hellhole yet. I could only hear silent snickers and laughter from the outside. Nobody would come for me.

Pushing the stick into the opening between the door and locker and using it as a crowbar was the only way to free myself.

It was my only chance to escape.

The baton was too thick.

How could I've been so stupid to believe it could fit. How naïve did I have to be? How stupid…

That was the point I lost it.

I kicked and punched and screamed and wailed.

I was vaguely aware of the occasional sharp snap heard accompanied by another spike of pain from either my hands or feet as I hit the reinforced edges of the door.

I ignored the warm liquid flowing from my hands and pooling into my shoes.

I didn't pay attention to the thin, white platelets hanging from the tips of my fingers.

I rejected the burning I felt in the areas I knew on an intellectual level I was wounded and overlooked the fact that I was covered in the putrid muck.

I was fighting the pain that threatening to overwhelm me with equal measures of terror and rage.

My effort was rewarded by small indentations on the otherwise still sturdy door and a deafening quiet as my voice gave out.

Nobody would come for me.

Hopelessness overtook me and I collapsed as much was possible in the small confines of my locker, my back sliding along the rotting biological waste that plastered the back wall. Even in the dark I could somehow see my vision narrowing.

I felt something snap and passed out.

I woke up by the feeling of a sudden fall and subsequent rolling down an incline.

My brain messily interpreted the data my eyes were sending it with a reluctance that I chalked up to a concussion I had gotten either through the meet and greet with the wall that cost me my glasses or the collapse at the end.

I could recognize that I was somehow transported in a cave of some sorts. Light coming from cracks through the ceiling revealed a crystal-like formation glittering beside a someone who couldn't decide between a gun and an anvil on a stick would make.

My eyes had cleared up enough by now that I started to realize that I saw better than I had any right to do without my glasses – never mind with these light conditions.

Too bad they also revealed the corpse laying amidst the hammer and a pickaxe, chunks of flesh missing and its wounds still bubbling.

Beyond that I could make out a variety of stalagmites and -tites which anchored thick webbing. Large cocoons hung from the ceiling in the back of the cave, some of them revealing a leathery wing that stuck out of them. Also, there was a spider moving towards me, green eyes focused on my prone form and rubbing its claws in malicious hunger.

I didn't have much time to think as I threw myself out of the four-legged spider's lunge, scrambling towards the corpse clad in leather and iron armor. The baton I had still grasped in my hands was discarded as I realized its utter uselessness.

I laughed as I came to that same realization for the third time that day.

A small part of my mind was trying to figure out why my gait was so strange, what happened to my hands on top my eyes, and where I had lost my fifth finger. I liked my hands with the full amount of fingers. It was normal. It gave my bullies less ammunition to use against me.

That part of my mind was nearly silenced by the far larger part running around like a lunatic in pure, pants-shitting terror as I weaved and rolled out of the way of my skittering pursuer.

Even she was nearly silenced as I came close to the hunter's corpse and the strange weapon and something clicked into place and I recognized the hammer as well as my foe.

Gun hammer. Not of that good quality. Imbued fire. Good against current foe. Nerscylla.

I was flooded by building schematics of the weapon and far, far more on top of that. Stuff ranging from armors and creatures. From knowledge how to use the ridiculous weapon to what I could make from the remains of my would-be hunter.

I actually felt getting giddy from excitement, the previous reasonable panic pushed into the background as I went for the gun hammer.

The part of my mind that was previously busy running around, screaming, took her time to inform me that I was positively mad if I thought I could wield the monstrous instrument laying on the ground. That it would be impossible to swing a revolver cylinder around with the same diameter as my upper body, let alone when it was on a stick.

I could actually hear her sigh as in ignored apathy as my hands wrapped around the handle of the hammer and she was pushed back further by the excited newcomer.

The weapon simply felt right, a familiarity washing over me as if I had practiced with the weapon for a lifetime.

I brought the hammer up in a golf swing, batting aside the claw-like appendages descending upon my and impacting in the surprised nerscylla's face in a gout of flames, denting it in ever so slightly.

The creature jumped back with a hiss, carefully observing me as I went through a couple of additional swings to get an even better feeling for the hammers balances.

It jumped and launched globs of webbing at me as I dodged out of their way and towards the attacker. I brought the hammer up to my side and behind my back, tensing up as I ran towards the arachnid, feeling my core and shoulder muscles strain as I build up power for the next strike.

I brought the hammer down with an earth-shattering smash and another flash of fire but my strike was dodged as the nerscylla jumped up towards the ceiling and away from the side of impact.

I barely recovered quickly enough to evade the noxious poison dripping from the angry, violet spikes that grew out of the creatures back. The same one that was hanging upside down and was carefully watching my movements.

It apparently decided that hanging around wouldn't do it much good as it shot a string of spider silk - one I narrowly avoided - and pulled, hurtling itself towards me with terrifying speeds, forcing me to roll out of its way.

With its back turned towards me, I went for another charge.

This time, the nerscylla didn't see me coming and the smash connected with its abdomen, smashing spikes and splattering ichor as thick, black smoke rose from the impact side.

Tension in my face informed me that I must have been grinning like an absolute maniac

The creature shrieked in agony and managed to swipe at me while turning, scoring a glancing blow on my stomach.

I didn't have enough time to contemplate how I should feel about this new and unique fragrance of pain that was added as a dread washed over me.

I threw myself on the ground as I heard the spider's extendable jaws snap shut over me. The venom dripping from them easily eating through the hoody and shirt I wore, burning into my back.

I stood up, using the added momentum to swipe at the nearest leg and buckling it in a shower of flames. Continuing the same movement, I brought the overgrown cylinder back down on the arachnid's head, shattering its jaw and clipping a claw in the process.

The nerscylla straightened its hind legs, balancing on top of them and I narrowly avoided impalement by the stinger coming out of the back of its abdomen it thrusted forward with explosive force.

Another charge was finished just before the four-legged spider had the chance to stabilize itself again. This time however, instead of a powerful smash I brought the hammer around to the side, putting myself in a spinning motion not unlike a demented gyro. The hammer smashed into the legs as I moved out from under it, every single one of them triggering the searing gouts of flames on contact.

Its four legs gave out on it and the nerscylla collapsed into a tangled heap. The last pirouette brought me right beside it's head and I decided to finish the rotations with another golf swing to it, channeling all my rotational momentum into it.

The creature suddenly stopped it's attempt to get up and I followed up with more strike to the head. The first one caused some spasm to run through its body. The second one was accompanied by a with cracking noise as it chitinous armor gave out. The third and last one made contact with the ground smashing what remained of its ruined head.

I suppressed a cheer born from a potent mix of rampant adrenaline, pride over my accomplishment, and the thoughts of what I could make out of my price. I felt alive.

Not alive enough though to actually completely ignore the pain radiating from the shallow tear on my stomach and burning on my back as the venom did its best liquefying my flesh.

I stumbled over to the hunter's corpse as my victory high rapidly left me and I knew that would have to treat my wounds sooner rather than later.

Luckily I found a potion and an antidote after rummaging through the hunter's bags which took care of those particular problems. I still didn't feel a full hundred percent but at least I wasn't bleeding or melting anymore.

That left me with some time and capacity to think.

Or at least try to. I was too busy realizing I had become a parahuman to devote much attention beyond that. From the amount I spend researching the cape community and lurking on the PHO forums as well as the fact that blueprint swirled through my mind, surfacing and disappearing at a rapid rate, I quickly came to the conclusion I had gotten a Tinker power and possible Thinker as well on top of an obvious brute one.

I wasn't so sure how I felt the fact that my body had somehow changed and was already coming up with ways to potentially cover the changes I had already seen. But still, I had to smile, Tinkers were nice and versatile if given enough time and the good guys could always use all the help they could get. I wouldn't even have to fight in the front lines.

I didn't have much time to shudder at that last thought of never fighting again as I felt something shift and realized that I wouldn't need to worry about finding a way back home.

In a frantic scramble I made my way back to the slain monster and scooped up pieces of its shattered jaw and used one to try and cut loose the dislocated claw arm from the rest of the body.

There was no way I was going to leave without at least bringing some of the materials I worked so hard for. I needed them to start Tinkering.

I barely remembered to grab the gun hammer and hang onto the amputated claw as I felt the shifting reach a crescendo after only a minute since it began.

One moment I was in a beautiful and mysterious cave filled with an overgrown spider and the next I was returned to the hellhole known as Winslow high and in particular my own waste-filled locker that was way too cramped with the addition of the hammer and claw. A locker that also somehow had shrunk in height.

Still filled with a sense of elation after feeling alive since so long, I decided I was having none of that. I kicked the door off its hinges and strode out of the tiny prison and into the hallway.

I would have to find at least a sturdy anvil to get started somehow. And metal. A junkyard would provide the latter and I could even get some in the Boat Graveyard. My gun hammer would be able to knock some pieces off the boats there. An actual forge oven was another thing I wanted to get. Sure I could cheat with my fiery hammer – somehow – but knew that an oven would produce better results. That left the question what I wanted to make. I wanted to do something big – I was provided with the mental image of an enormous, futuristic greatsword – but knew that I wouldn#t have enough materials to do that. Well I still needed a sturdy knife for carving…

I couldn't help notice how the few alarmed whispers stopped and everybody stared at me. Judging from the amount of people still standing with books and coffee in their hands, not much time could have passed since they locked me in.

Immediately I fell back to my old habits trying to slouch a bit and appear invisible. The insidious voice telling me that people were staring at my ugly, and now even weirder features, judging me and deciding how to use that information to hurt me even better almost made me overlook where their stares were aimed at.

Sure, there were wide-eyed looks of terror glancing over my body which was absolutely covered in blood, ichor, gore, and soot, but I could guess that the looks weren't caused by my unflattering features or my mouth that somehow felt even wider than before.

Instead people were looking at the hammer I had no right to wield, let alone carry or even lift. Instead they focused on the claw arm I dragged behind me that came straight out of a horror movie.

Somebody screamed.

I had to do my best not to freak out as I realized that I had inadvertently outed myself as a cape before I truly came to grasp with the fact myself. Suddenly, the terrible trio seemed almost completely fade into irrelevance.

It was almost enough to distract me from the fact that my mind had started feeding me ideas how to possibly convert them all into low-grade equipment.

Suddenly interpreting my fellow humans as walking raw material dispensers was quite effective in derailing the train of thought set on running away.

The second thing that kept my mind from simply fleeing the scene was the fact that I knew I was far too okay with the thought of using the remains for anything at all.

I should have felt disgusted but try as I might, the best I managed was the detached knowledge that it was a taboo to even consider it.

That had potential for some really awkward conversations.

'Earth to Taylor. You were doing the staring thing again. What were you thinking about?'

'He? oh! Sorry mind wandered a bit deciding whether you'd make a better pair of dual blades or I there'd be enough material in you for a sword and shield.'

Real hero material right there.

But regardless of the reason why I didn't flee, I was glad that I didn't. Even if I felt my face heating up under the weight of the stares directed at me.

I've had enough of the abuse and there was no way in hell I would let Emma, Sophia, and Madison get way from this. Not when the authorities had to be contacted in this situation. Not when those bitches could tamper with the evidence if I ran.

The click and flash of a cellphone snapping a picture tore me out of my thoughts.

I turned to face the sound, I heard a mutter go through the crowd and the girl who took the photo shrieked as my gaze fell upon her. She nearly dropped the phone as she shrank back in fear.

More had their phones out, no doubt filming my whole ordeal even as we spoke.

I knew that with my physical changes, a secret identity would be a fool's dream but that didn't mean I wanted footage of me at one of my lowest points in my life and covered in filth, be the first impression the world would have of me.

I had to suppress a chuckle at the dread I felt at the prospect of asking for basic human decency. Only minutes ago I had fought and killed a monstrous spider that was hell-bent liquefying me to be its next meal and the thing that actually terrified me was actually speaking out.

The absurdity of the situation nor the fact that they all looked so fragile now did do anything to lessen the pit in my stomach.

I moved my mouth a bit, silently checking if something felt off, and formulated my request before actually speaking it out loud.

I shouldn't have bothered.

"I fucking told you no pictures, no clips, no fucking evidence!" Sophia snarled from behind crowd gathered around me.

She sounded… a bit scared – slightly hysterical even and trying to mask it with more overt aggression. If that was possible in the first place. I was used to the latter part, but seeing her apparently on the verge of losing control of the situation was something I could get used to.

The crowd parted as Sophia moved through it with only her angry stares, pushing the very few who didn't move out of her way.

Much to her obvious annoyance she had to let Emma steady her and she looked at me with murder in her eyes. As if this was somehow all my fault. But there was more in there as well.

She was afraid. Afraid of me.

Phasing. Tenebrous, gaseous wisp state. Armor. Enhanced dodging capabilities. Cerebral control unit imbedded in a matrix made from a mixture of bone and nervous matter and fucium ore enhanced by a nargacuga base. Possible synergy with chameleos. Weak to electricity. Weight manipulation. Superior weapon acceleration…

I felt my eyes grow wide at the sudden influx of information and their implications. I was only vaguely aware that I was actually staring at the approaching tormentor.

Sophia was a parahuman. I was sure of it. The armor my power suggested would be powerful, leagues beyond the pitiful suggestions it gave me for the others. I'd still needed to hunt some rather exotic animals to make it work but…

My mind reached a screeching halt. The powers seemed so familiar; phasing and tenebrous state? Shadows?

Everything clocked together. Shadow Stalker. Sophia Hess was Brockton Bay's very own dangerous vigilante turned problem Ward.

I had read the threads about the brutal anti-hero and her love for crossbows. I even encountered some of the short-lived ones speculating how long it would take for her to take it too far before those threads got locked and buried. The powers, the shitty personality. It all fit.

That also explained why she was apparently immune to trouble at Winslow and why the teachers were so happy to look the other way. They didn't want to lose their precious Ward; the grants it brought, the gang control she brought. From what I've heard the recruiters and neophytes were an even bigger problem before she came. And here I thought the school directory was afraid of Emma's dad or didn't want to lose their precious little star athlete. Madison, of course, was too "innocent" to do anything malicious. It was weird though that nobody seemed to notice the obvious differences in handwriting when she handed in the homework she had stolen from me.

At least I hoped it was just short-sighted incompetence and greed from Blackwell and her cronies that allowed it to happen. I didn't want to believe that the PRT would willingly let it happen, they would have stopped their wards from tormenting a normal, innocent girl wouldn't they? They were the heroes.

The vicious, paranoid side of me reminded that she was supposed to be under strict surveillance after her debut as vigilante which involved literally pinning people to walls. According to PHO there were signs that Shadow Stalker had even mellowed out over the last year.

Did I really wanted to be part of an organization that enabled such psychopaths?

"What the hell, Hebert, did you hit your pathetic head and got your mind scrambled or what," Sophia spat as she arrived to what I now identified as striking distance. "Stop staring at me, pervert. I know the boys avoid you in disgust but that doesn't mean you'd have better chances with us girls you ugly bitch. And the fact you assumed I'd swing that way. Eww."

"And you'd think that it couldn't get possibly get worse before." Emma stage-whispered. She didn't need to support Sophia anymore apparently and had time to throw her verbal barbs around. But it missed her usual bite. She was nervous and less eloquent than normal. Her insults reduced to the simply "you're ugly". That was Maddison level and those only worked because she managed to make her entourage to repeat it in various forms. Constantly grinding another sliver of self-confidence away in the process.

I couldn't contain a chuckle at how sad a display this was in comparison to their A-game.

It wasn't what they had expected if their sudden silence and confusion they exuded was anything to go by.

Still, I couldn't help it. Here I stood after kicking the door off my locker – a door that lay warped and in plain sight with a foot-shaped indentation – and wielding a hammer I had absolutely no right to even hold with absolute ease and they were trying to intimidate me? After I had faced the demonic spider?

If that wasn't hilarious, I didn't know what was.

Especially if you considered that the sharp claws that now grew out of my fingertips would be more than enough to deal with any of them with the exception of Sophia. But if she tried to do anything it would only serve to out herself so her hands were bound.

At least I also knew how my books and projects kept disappearing from my locker.

"The Fuck? Why don't you flee like the coward you are before you suffer another mental breakdown?" Sophia continued, fear and desperation seeping through more and more.

It looked she only now realized the stupidity of this stunt. She was afraid of ending in juvie or maybe even worse.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to witness you slobbering again like you did after your mother died. It was all I could do to not simply run out of the room when you started once again. Don't know how I managed to let you ruin my clothes by offering a shoulder for you to weep on. What was it? An entire month of crying yourself to sleep because your dear mommy died?"

I felt a lance of betrayal and anger shoot through me at Emma's words. Even if she was desperately blunt like Sophia, the reminder of both the happier times when I could call her my friend and my mother death hurt. It wouldn't do. I had enough anger

"You," I pointed at a student that looked the most uncomfortable. "Warn a teacher and tell them what just happened. They should have heard something happened by now but I don't hold too much hope. And contact the PRT if –"

"WHAT? Just because you couldn't take a simple fucking prank doesn't mean you can just waste everyone's time!"

"– they don't already do it themselves. I'm sure they'd love to hear what just happened and would be glad to have people cooperating," I finished with steel behind it that surprised me and ignoring Sophia's outburst. She was grasping at straws now. Looks like she really didn't count on the PRT's benevolence.

The boy I pointed at fled the scene and a couple of other took that as an inspiration to do the same, "That said, it's probably best to stick around. I can't imagine the PRT'd like to chase after you in case they have questions or that they'd be too happy if stuff leaked."

"And why the fuck should we listen to you Hebert? You've had a little episode and now all of the sudden you're the fucking queen bossing us around. Do you really think anything will happen because you were gullible enough to be pranked?"

I simply smiled a wide, toothy smile that had very little to do with happiness and all the more with absolute contempt.

That apparently was too much for Sophia Hess as she lunged at me shrieking, accelerating faster than I somehow knew should be possible, dispelling any of the little doubt that remained regarding her identity.

Still she wasn't nearly as scary as the nerscylla I faced only minutes ago. Far weaker as well as I found out when her fist connected with my chin. It stung a little.

I grabbed the offending hand with my free hand and applied a little pressure and smiled once more.

Sophia's eyes went wide as she realized just how much she messed up. I felt the pressure under my fingertips slightly decrease before it returned to normal. Sophia struggled to free her hand and desperately suppressed the urge to simply phase through it by starting kicking at my feet (probably wanted to hit my shins bit didn't account for my changed anatomy) and hitting me in my side with her other hand. It didn't do much besides annoying me so I applied a little more pressure, careful to not us my claws.

"What is going on here? What's that awful smell? Break it up people boring adult coming through." Mr. Gladly's said as he presumably went looking for his missing class and saw the scene. Or he simply decided that he simply couldn't ignore it any longer without it looking bad on his resume.

"Break it up you two! And I hope there is a good explanation for all this. What happened to that locker?"

"Why couldn't you just have run away like you always did." I could barely hear Sophia whisper with a fragility that I had never expected to hear from her.

I let go of Sophia but didn't turn to face the newly arrived teacher. I didn't want to turn my back on this crazed animal regardless of her showing a new side of hers. She returned the curtesy by spitting in my face as she massaged her hand.

The spit didn't matter that much on the grand scheme of things with the rest that covered me but she had just ensured that I'd be heavily invested in making an electrified weapon. I knew there'd be plenty monsters I could use but if everything else failed, I was sure I could cobble something together with regular household electronics.

"Hey Mr. G," I began before Sophia could open her mouth perhaps a bit more bile as usual. "I'm glad you could join us. In case you're wondering why I held on to Miss Hess' hand, it's because she punched me on the chin without provocation and I didn't feel like eating another punch. It didn't really work out that well."

I heard Sophia sputter in indignation but I ploughed right through any excuse she might have planned. "Just ask one of the students in the audience. I'm sure more than one has filmed the whole thing."

I turned to face him as much as I could without losing Sophia out my sight and I saw his eyes wander from the gun hammer I still held in my hand, to the hand itself, to my feet, and to the filth still covering me.

"Taylor what happened to you? Follow me to the infirmary I need to get you checked out. Is that your blood?"

I was vaguely aware that Sophia skulked back into the shadows, towards Emma, and my suddenly overly large ears – I was wondering why turning my head felt strange before I hit the locker with one ear as I left it – picked up hushed whispers. I could make out the words "dad" amongst other things.

That would explain why Sophia hadn't tried to interrupt me more thoroughly. Looks like Alan would join the fray.

"No Mr. G, I won't go anywhere until the PRT arrived," I answered the troubled looking Gladly. "Most of the blood isn't mine. I'm fine. Wouldn't want an overly zealous janitor or student cleaning my locker in a bout of misguided' kindness'."

"Is something wrong with it?" He asked as he moved to check it out.

I saw him pale as the stench truly hit him and he was treated by the sight of rotting blood, tampons, and sanitary towels.

"What a sight, isn't it? This is what happens if everyone turns a blind eye to an extensive bullying campaign for more than a year. They've pushed me in there and locked the door while I hit the wall with enough force to break my glasses."

Gladly opened his mouth to protest but I continued with a cold anger I didn't know I was capable of, "Don't bother. I saw the pity in your eyes as you walked past them ganging up on me more than once. Have you never asked what happened to my chair and desk? Why I needed a new textbook so often?"

"So why haven't you come to me; to anyone? My hands are kinda tied without students actually informing or even warning me."

I let out a mirthless chuckle, "I have and was promptly ignored. I tried again and they told me I shouldn't make such a scene with such tall tales and stop wasting their time. They said there was no evidence, that witnesses had come forward swearing I was the one starting it all and that I better quit or there'd be consequences. That my grades put me on shaky grounds even without the added problems. All the while my bullies escalated their little games and I could only hope that a teacher would take even the barest hint of an initiative. Don't know how I could've been so sickingly naïve."

"Now you listen for a moment. I won't stand for such baseless accusations aimed towards my colleagues. I don't know whether you're aware but you have the reputation of –"

"Of what? An overly problematic, failing student craving for attention? The mean bully who goes after poor, sweet, innocent Madison Clements? The same Madison who can make any boy and half of the girls say whatever she wants with her cute little shtick? Do you honestly think I felt like stuffing my locker was with this shit was just the fun thing to do and then somehow just ended in there by pure accident? Do you believe I asked nobody for help?"

I stared him right in the eyes and noticed I had to look down to do it. The only things keeping the tears at bay was the absurdity of it all, the rage flowing through me, and the hope that, finally, things might change. There would be enough time to lament my fate when I was at home.

"If you were truly locked up in their as you claim. How did you get out and what happened to the door?"

Wow, I hadn't thought that Gladly would be this far out of his depths. Sure, I hadn't expected much and knowledge about the "birth" of new parahumans and their so called trigger events wasn't widespread beyond the inner reaches of the PHO forums and newly started college courses. But there was dense and not-seeing-the-mangled-door-in-front-of-the-locker-while-staring-an-obvious-cape-in-the-eyes dense. I even still had the hammer for fuck's sake!

Then it hit me. Gladly wasn't that much different of the other passive students standing around. He was afraid to become a victim of the very same thing that happened to me – I served a fine example in that regard. It explained his cringeworthily attempts to appear cool and everybody's friend. Insisting on being called "Mr. G", the deluge of group assignments with little oversight.

This teacher was afraid of his own students. Combine that with the pressure he was probably under by the faculties and I could see how he had reacted the way he did. How he managed to ignore my daily torment.

That didn't mean I'd forgive him for his involvement anytime soon though.

"I triggered in the locker Mr. G," I began slowly and pointed towards the remains of the door. "Then I decided I didn't want to be in there anymore and busted out. Now, if you'd be so kind to call my dad and ask him to bring my notebooks, that would be lovely. I want him nearby when the PRT arrives."

"PRT? I guess, it makes sense to have them come all things considered. I'll call him and just to be sure call the PRT as well." He answered before setting off to do just that.

Looked like he had decided that Winslow was sinking and he would better get off now. Alan would soon be a lesser problem for it.

I shot pointed look at Emma who – much to my amusement – actually shrank back a little and sat down in front of my stinking, broken locker.

I wasn't going to move away from my stinking, ruined locker. After all, I had noticed that my backpack had disappeared in mysterious circumstances in the short time I was in there. Losing my journals that way sucked but I had plenty where that came from at home.

They would not tamper with the mess they had created here. It was one of the only reasons why the door hadn't been converted in a knife (yet), no matter how much my instincts screamed at me because of it.

Instead, I started to distract myself by cleaning up the hammer and actually see the nitty-gritty of the mechanism up-close. Sure, I knew how it worked but seeing is believing and, hey, maybe I can come up with some improvements.

At the very least it should distract me enough to suppress the urge to make a cousin out of bone.

It was interesting to actually see the integrated flesh sacks nestled inside the chambers up close. I knew on a fundamental level how they were supposed to look like and how to fuse them with the surrounding metal in such a way that they'd activate on impact. I knew what tools I and what material's I'd need to improve it.

I knew those things with an absolute certainty with a certainty that was humbling. As a Tinker I was aware that I was mostly borrowing techniques and ideas from the future. Somewhere – or is it somewhen? – some über-genius actually comes (would have come up?) up with the methodology themselves from the ground up and actually invents the stuff I use if I didn't, hadn't, wouldn't change it. Stupid time traveling knowledge and possible alternate worlds messing up language.

That was if my knowledge even came from the future. Most of it didn't have the same anti-grav toting, laser spewing flair that seemed to be a common theme in Tinkers capable of making weapons and armors. It also had a certain lack of fancy lights which apparently got replaced with teeth and claws and spikes.

But still, even knowing I was borrowing the base ideas I could and, if given the chance, would make the weapons, the armors, gadgets, and items my powers allowed me to create. And then I'd experiment and expand with Tinkertech materials completely unknown to the original owners of my knowledge.

They didn't have pararhumans to work with either…

I squashed that line of thinking. I wanted to be a hero and those don't go around wearing the skins of defeated enemy capes.

Maybe they let me use bits and pieces of fallen capes? I wouldn't need everything.

Seeing where that line of thinking would lead, I Instead concentrated once more on the knowledge I had on the monster the Creatos apparently did encounter and fought. A deep seated urge tried to take hold over me once more by even thinking what I could create.

I only needed to actually hunt the right materials. And find their natural habitat.

Which might be a problem since I couldn't find a portal in the back of the private little hellhole that my locker had been transformed into. Last time I checked, attacking wyverns hadn't been a wide-spread problem in the area. Lung would like to count himself as a full-fledged dragon but I'd be the judge of that, thank you very much. He wouldn't be missed all that much but there was still the problem that he was Lung. At least for now. Making an enemy of Dragon just seemed like a very bad idea all around.

What was I thinking about? Right hammer. Flame sacs. It probably wasn't a great sign if I managed to sidetrack myself while distracting myself by flexing my Tinkering muscles. In an internal monologue.

Anyway. The sac. They were quite simply beautiful. A greyed, muscular bladder covered in veins glowing with a deep orange. They bathed the chambers of the hammerhead – which could, by the way, actually rotate and unleash all sacs at once; ideal for a mighty charged attack – in the same throbbing, fiery orange. Each one had their veins arranged structures in a beautifully unique manner.

I knew that they'd look like that just as I knew that there were better ones out there, ones that had a metallic gleam to them and burned with a bright hot white flame, and others like the elongated ones capable of producing raw lightning, ready to burn across the air and that wasn't touching on the one producing more common poisons with various effects or the other elements.

'Seeing is believing' is how the saying goes and the actual thing surpassed even my power-assisted imagination.

The wonder over these components was even nearly enough to make me forget the stench oozing out of the locker behind me. To completely ignore the stares that became more obvious and daring now that I had calmed down.

The teachers had arrived not shortly after I had asked – no, commanded would probably be the better word – Mr. Gladly to call my father and escorted the students away in small groups at the time, probably herding them in empty classrooms to make life easier on the PRT when they arrived. Sophia, who seemed to have calmed down a lot and even looked… slightly defeated - despondent even - was led to the other side of the building than Emma.

Only a handful of students remained and I was glad that the teachers actually took initiative for once. I don't know what I would have done if I had to endure a far greater intensity of whispers about me.

The teachers even came and tried to talk with me, see how I was doing and asking what happened and how I felt. Mrs Knott seemed to genuinely care.

I didn't answer them beyond nods and saying "I'm fine". I didn't know what happened to make me go as hard against Mr. Gladly as I did. Well, strictly speaking I knew what happened. More than a year of bullying and disappointment on top of what happened that day ought to be enough to make anyone lash out just a bit.

But it didn't explain how I reacted that confrontational and in his and Sophia's face. It wasn't like me and I didn't trust myself to react better if one of the teachers stepped on a sore point. Especially considering how I got more and more ideas how to use their bones to forge gear.

I doubted that I'd gain any allies if I blew up again while they were apparently actually helping for once.

And that wasn't even touching on my physical changes.

Sitting down, I had a clear view of my feet. They had lengthened and widened a bit and, similar to my hands, lost a toe each. Those toes had also grown and now resembled short, stubby fingers with similar range of movement. Somewhere in the change they must have busted through my shoes as the small tatters stuck between my wickedly clawed toes remained of the dirty old things. It was a pity since they had been pretty damn comfortable.

Combine it with how the proportions of the rest of my legs had changed – my bones of my thighs were shortened while those shins stretched by roughly the same amount – and I had the feeling that high heels would pose much of a challenge to me for the rest of my life.

Digitigrade. That was the way my new form of locomotion was called. I believe.

I could probably make girls green with envy by wearing outrageous shoes without a wobble if it wasn't for the fact that what felt like my big toe had needed to migrate further back, rotated a bit, and become opposable. Then there were the claws. Big, pointy claws probably two to three inches long each.

I had talons. I could grab things and – freaking out the various remaining onlookers as I tried it with the claw arm I brought – gained the flexibility to bring them to my mouth. It felt kind of weird being able to do that.

It would be a nightmare to find to find new shoes that would actually fit.

But it would be handy though if I wanted to smash things real good with one of the overgrown weapons my power urged me to make by picking up the slack where just friction wouldn't cut it anymore. I had the feeling that I could actually grab the ground with my talons and generate so much more force that way.

As a matter of fact, I suspected that I had already been doing it subconsciously in my battle against the nerscylla. It would explain how I wasn't simply yanked off my feet by the weight of the hammer every time I swung it.

My hands were a similar story: lost a finger, got claws, and they became sturdier. These pointy protrusions were shorter than the ones on my feet, allowing for grabbing things in a non-clawing way – as Sophia's hand could attest – but still were hard and pointy enough that I could use them to manipulate fine objects. Ideal for high-tech Tinkering.

As to my face, I couldn't really tell much beyond that my ears now stuck out half a foot on each side of my head.

I nearly facepalmed when I realized that I'd probably had to deal with elf-themed nicknames due to the ears alone. I was glad I was able to suppress the practiced motion. I had the feeling it wasn't something you wanted to try without practicing it after recently getting very pointy object permanently attached to your fingertips.

Speaking, or, well, inner monologueing, about pointy things, my teeth had become some sort of hybrid between actual fangs and regular teeth. It wouldn't hinder me too much with being an omnivore but I took it as a subtle hint from my body that meat had a bit higher priority now.

I might even try that Challenger at Fugly Bob's. It might even fit in my mouth without much trouble if my yawns were any indication. I was pretty sure that normal, human mouth couldn't open to such a degree.

It probably also meant that my mouth was even wider. As if it needed that.

Weirdly enough, one of the more confusing changes was that I had scales. Skin colored ones in the same tone as my skin that slightly darkened towards my feet and hands. All things considered, it was small fries compared to the rest but I was confronted by it more than the rest weirdly enough. This was likely due to how I hadn't seen my face and that rest of modifications felt natural to me, fading to the background. Skin was how was something that was simply there. Sure, it could get cut sometimes and it would demand attention and I took rudimentary care of it but I didn't really lose too much thought about it. Seeing something I had assumed as a simple constant change this much and to be confronted by it everywhere I looked on my body. It was… disquieting.

While on the topic on constants, apparently whatever happened to me during my Trigger didn't include a visit from the Boob Fairy.

Life wasn't fair.

At least it made crafting armors a bit easier; I could basically just wear any armor made for men. Slim, effeminate ones.

See? Sometimes I can see the positive side of things.

It was probably negated by the fact that those insights went hand in hand with self-deprecation.

I knew I looked like a freak but I wasn't certain how I was supposed to feel about it. I saw how each individual part except my face looked like but the pieces refused to form a cohesive whole in my mind. I would need a mirror to make up my mind. I hadn't asked for one.

I was too afraid what I'd see. Too afraid to lose it. I couldn't risk it when there was still stuff to do and I was holding up more or less fine.

At least I hadn't lost the one truly feminine attribute. My hair still flowed in all its, long, curly, brown glory.

My mind provided me with info on a red, flying, fire-loving wyvern that absolutely loved to spread its love to everyone in sight. And a fire spitting monkey. And multiple monsters swimming in lava, ready to produce beams of solid fire. And…

I was wistfully playing with my hair, contemplating fire and electricity proof helmet designs when I was startled by someone clearing his throat.

Efficiency optimization and miniaturization. Significant enhancement of own powers. Piercing. Infuse teostra gem with neural controller. Set in ring of silver rathalos cortex threaded with eltalite steel.

Looking up, I saw a neatly trimmed, brown beard framed by a midnight-blue helmet and silvery visor cautiously observing me.

I may or may not have actually squeed out loud when I saw one of my childhood heroes in the flesh.

Maybe he even had time to discuss hair-protection methods. He had to have at least one to be able to flaunt that beard in a town with Lung.

"Miss Hebert?" he asked, his tone serious, even concerned with the slightest hint of annoyance.

"Yes?" I had the feeling he'd have the time right now.

"Before we continue, am I allowed to record both the audio and visuals of the preliminary proceedings? It would allow us to proceed at a much faster rate and anything not necessary for a case would be kept confidential."

If it meant getting out of this place quicker and out of this set of clothes. Maybe start tinkering. It would also give the Trio less an opportunity to somehow get away with this.

I nodded.

"Miss Hebert, could you please give a verbal agreement."

An irrational spike of annoyance and anger shot through me at the apparent redundancy, "I, Taylor Hebert allow this conversation and following preliminary investigation to be recorded by Armsmaster."

The hero quietly grunted with grim satisfaction. Apparently I passed some internal test, "All right. Before we continue I have to ask you one more question. I am informed that your father is on his way as we speak. Do you wish to wait on his arrival or can we begin without him?"

Dad.

I looked at the filth encrusted, stinking, ripped remnants of my clothes; at my claws and talons.

It would break him. Seeing his girl like this. It's what I wanted to avoid after mom's death. I didn't know whether he could take another blow. He had been quiet, distant after her death and wasn't able to recover completely – a certain amount of apathy still followed him wherever he went. But still he tried to stay strong. For my sake.

It's why I didn't tell him when the bullying started. Both out of the probably misguided attempt to protect him and the believe that I could handle it myself or that it would pass.

I saw him starting to question himself when my grades started to drop apparently without reason as far as he could tell. It was due to the assignments and projects that "mysteriously" went missing or were destroyed but he didn't know that. He'd simply smile and tell me that there'd be a next time. I couldn't tell him then what truly happened believing it was too late to bring the topic. He was afraid of losing me. His constant reminders to stick to the safe routes and change them regularly; to bring the pepper spray he insisted on buying when I went for a run was enough to convince me of that. I wanted to spare him the additional pain.

And look where that brought me.

I was afraid how he'd react to see his little girl turned into a freak. A monster.

I was afraid of how much he'd blame himself when he realized how easily this could have been partially avoided if I had a cellphone. Neither of us did after mom's crash. The association was simply too strong.

I stopped myself and focused on what I had to do. On the reason I stubbornly sat down in front of the tool that had caused the agony and would probably have more in store. I could cry later.

"No. We can begin now," I answered and pointed at the grime that covered me."I want to get this over with."

"If that's the case, tell me what happened," he said before remembering he forgot something and adding. "Please."

I wanted to start at the beginning, of the betrayal at my former friend's hands. To tell the daily torment in detail. But I knew – no matter how much it hurt to admit – it wasn't directly relevant to what had actually happened that day and would have to wait until the time arrived to find the guilty parties.

And so I recounted what had happened. The weird strained quiet. The stank. The push. My glasses. The rancid contents of the locker which I showed simultaneously. He carefully stepped around the warped door as he took a closer look. He didn't look happy. The failed breakout attempt using the baton that lay now discarded in the pocket dimension. The mad struggle to bust my way out.

The ignored pain and cracks of bones as a broke my hands and feet, something I only realized had happened as I recounted the event to the hero.

Armsmaster let me talk uninterrupted but I witnessed his mouth form into a sneer of disgust when the rotting contents came up. I saw it soften again as I told them about the blackout only to actually fall open slightly in surprise when I mentioned the cave and its inhabitant.

He kept silent except for the occasional grunt of empathy. That is, until the gun hammer came up.

Even while unable to see his eyes, I knew they widened. His stance adopted a certain eagerness and he stared at the instrument of destruction with renewed interest.

"So you simply found this weapon? And it produces flames whenever it strikes something? Can I take a closer look?"

"I did find it but, if I get my hands on the right materials, I could easily make it myself," I replied as I handed him the handle of the hammer.

The head hit the ground with a resounding thump.

"Brute, and likely Tinker," I could hear him mutter before he added, louder and with a certain eager anticipation. "Could you try to explain me how it works?"

"Sure," I replied as I took back the handle and turned the hammer so we had a clear view of its business-end. "You see those bladder-like organs at the end of each chamber? Those are actually so-called flame sacs found in mainly fire breathing wyverns. They're able to produce and store flames inside the body of the beast and expel them with enough force to form fireballs amongst or let it stream out to form short ranged breath attacks."

"How many times can they be used before they run out?"

I didn't waste time to answer. Who would have known that talking Tinker would be so much fun?

Besides, I wanted to show-off to one of my heroes. "I think as long as the sacs don't get damaged and you don't skip on maintenance, you can use them as much as you like. No fuel needed."

Armsmaster managed to look at me in shock even in his power armor and with half his face covered.

"I'm able to take the organs, bones, tissue, and other things, and use them to create weapons and armors with other, synergizing materials. This often involves fusing organic and inorganic materials to a cohesive whole, imbuing the end product with their properties – the nature of the monster and materials it was made of. Here, for example, the flame sacs are temporally locked in place in their filled state after they were freshly harvested. They simply regenerate in a couple of seconds after firing. The firestones integrated in the chamber walls both accelerate the process as well as make the cylinder more fireproof and they increase the temperature of the flames as well."

"Are there any other… sacs?"

I simply saw the possible ideas and running amok through Armsmaster's head as he speculated on potential organs and their uses, appraising and rejecting ideas even as he improved the promising ones.

"There are all kinds of sacs, but most relevant to you would probably be the lightning sac. And to be honest the ones used in this gun hammer are rather low quality."

"Have you thought of…" Armsmaster began before stopping and putting a finger on the side of his helmet, probably listening to someone over his integrated communication devices.

I was sure his tech worked perfectly fine without the gesture and got the impression it was something taught himself to do during civil conversations. Either to let the other know he isn't completely listening or to shut them up. Either way it was effective.

There was no doubt in my mind he wouldn't bother in more hostile situations.

"Damnit, got sidetracked again into Tinker talk." He breathed and continued, louder. "I was just informed your father just cleared the checkpoint and that he should be here any mo- "

"Taylor!" My dad shouted as he rounded the corner and saw me.

He dropped the bundle of fresh clothes and the bag containing notebooks and nearly ran towards me.

"What happened? Who did this?" He asked, his voice trembling, as he made his way over to me.

I, meanwhile, stood frozen as the torrent of emotions I bottled up was unleashed inside of me and suppressing the urge to run or hide.

And while a war was fought inside of me, I couldn't help wonder why he had brought clothes. He didn't know what happened and I was certain I hadn't mentioned it when I asked Gladly to call dad.

Could it be…

"What am I asking? Are you alright, sweetie?" Dad continued as he had nearly reached me. "of course you aren't. I have eyes don't I."

He looked so fragile. Dad was hurting. Badly.

And still he tried to appear strong. To be there for me. To make sure I could rely on him.

He moved in for a hug and an irrational, insecure, and hateful part of me wanted to avoid it. To avoid getting my filth on his suit. Ruining it. He needed that…

The voices were drowned out as he pulled me in and would have likely crushed me if I hadn't changed. The hammer slid from my grasp and I returned the gesture, reservations long forgotten.

"It's alright. I'm here for you. You can let go now."

It was too much. The dam was broken and there was no stopping the waterworks.

I buried my face against his shoulder and cried.

I don't know for how long I cried as the hurt and frustration of the last eighteen months were unleashed.

But it wasn't just grief that made it last as long. It was amplified by the relief of not having to lie to my father anymore. Of not having to fake a smile while slowly crumbling on the inside. To stop hurting him with my good intentions.

I'd wish I he'd have learned about the problems in another circumstance but deep down I knew I simply would've found completely rational sounding excuse to not tell him every time I the pressure threatened to overwhelm me, bottling it up further instead.

Hell, if I would have looked normal, I probably would have tried my hardest to hide my powers from dad, adding another layer of stress and guilt.

The tears started to dry as I felt Armsmaster getting impatient behind me and I redoubled my hug, too bath in that warmth for a bit longer.

God, I missed this.

"Uh… Little Owl." Dad, gasped with a soft chuckle. "Ease up a little. Can feel my ribs creek."

Very little of the haunted emptiness that plagued him ever since mom's death was left. What kind of messed up world was it that I nearly had to die for us to come back together?

"Sorry," I whispered as I let go.

"I was so worried when I got the call from Mr. Gladly urging me to come, saying you needed me and asked for your notebooks as well," Dad said after a deep breath and massaging his ribs. "Didn't know which one he meant so I took all I could find."

I was torn between being amused, relieved, and mortified by that statement. I had filled a couple of notebooks with the exploits of the Trio alone so his pragmatism in taking them all would increase the chance of actually getting the right ones and it meant I got at least the opportunity to tell him about the torment instead of him having to read it in a notebook.

On the other hand, there were also that one I used to doodle in, fantasize about getting powers and which ones I'd like to get (the Alexandria package, of course), thinking of potential and sufficiently heroic sounding names.

Even costume designs. Ones involving more than a few capes and skintight leotards.

I'd have to make sure that notebook disappeared. It would probably lessen the visual impact of the spikey armor I'd be making if it got leaked.

There'd really be no escaping the fairy and elf themed nicknames on the parahuman online forums.

"It really didn't help when he told me you'd need a fresh set of cloths and refused to clarify what happened in a somewhat panicky way." He continued as he looked at me, at my cloths with renewed intensity and I was reeling with the revelation that Mr. G could care. If only he started sooner.

His gaze didn't linger at my hand or feet nor did it halt on my face. Instead it focused on the filth that covered my cloths. The tears and the slash that showed my stomach.

I could feel the rage he had sworn to never show me rise and my head sank a bit in guilt.

But instead of blowing up, he managed to calm down again and gently grabbed my chin to raise my head again and he looked me in the eyes, a sad smile on his lips.

It didn't matter that I was transformed in freakish chimera of man and wyvern. I'd always be his little Taylor.

The realization hit me harder than I expected and had to fight the urge to start crying again. This time they'd be tears of happiness.

"So, Taylor. What just happened?"

"Right. We were distracted by your hammer before your father arrived and interrupted that. I still need you to finish your recounting of the events." Armsmaster added, not quite able to mask his annoyance and impatience.

I felt a stab of angry irritation go through and I shot a glare back at him before seeing the claw arm laying on the floor besides him. It brought forth a surprising set of emotions, one I didn't think I'd feel with everything else. A hungry urge to from it into something bigger, to fuse it with materials to make it shine. An annoyance that I was still standing here and the reminder that prime material was standing mere feet away from me.

It startled me as I realized how Armsmaster likely felt. For someone who's a Tinker specialized in efficiency – someone that's so devoted to being a hero that I could hardly believe the stories about his daily regime sometimes surfacing on PHO – doing nothing and waiting must be hell. Especially after I probably put so many potential new ideas in his head.

Dad meanwhile hadn't notice the hero's tone of voice and was instead staring wide-eyed at the gun hammer on the ground and at me and back at the hammer and…

I guess that detail got filtered out as he first saw me.

"Give me a sec to bring dad up to speed and I'll continue. Alright?" I answered, managing to tear dad out of his stupor and which Armsmaster replied with a gruff affirmative grunt.

I gave him the abridged of what I had already told the hero.

As expected, dad took it far worse them him but I was surprised how well he managed to hide the angry trembles as I came to the part about the locker.

Then came the time to describe the fight. Armsmaster wanted to know more information about the nerscylla I fought. What I knew about the species beyond its appearance, its intelligence, and whether or not I knew of other monsters.

I told him that I could probably fashion a detailed drawing of its entire anatomy even if I didn't know the appropriate scientific names and that it was a trapper, thus fairly intelligent.

About the monsters I was surprised to notice that while I knew the names and general characteristics of other monsters, I missed the precise knowledge I had on the nerscylla.

I choose to keep quiet that I could produce a same drawing of the deceased hunter, him, dad, Sophia, my classmates, and teachers. Each detailing small little individual quirks. That I was able to do it for every living creature I had encountered up until now.

The fact that I got a rundown of his and Sophia's skill remained unmentioned as well.

I got the feeling the PRT wouldn't like that bit and might get paranoid about me.

Especially if they learned that I could do the same with humans and capes as I could with monsters and dragons.

Dad didn't get angrier when I told them about the encounter with the demon spider in the cave. He was protective to a fault so I kind of expected him to get angry at himself for "allowing" this to happen. Instead, I could feel a combination of pride and awe coming from him after he recovered from the shock of me describing the arachnid.

Armsmaster was interested to hear that I could actually charge up my attacks to increase their destructive capabilities. It was apparently an interesting quirk of my powers. He also wanted to have a sample of the nerscylla so he could work out how much force I was capable of generating with the hammer.

He had apparently measured the weight of the hammer already when I handed it to him and after (too) much consternation (Armsmaster cleared his throat again when I took too long) I decided to part ways with a jaw fragment.

My carving knife had just gotten a bit smaller.

And then came to time to recount my after battle actions. "After I smashed the nerscylla head, I first made my way over to the fallen hunter and luckily found an antidote to stop the poison from liquefying my back and a potion to heal myself back up to full health. Then I made my way back to – "

"What. Did you just say you he had a universal antidote and something that could instantaneously heal your wounds? Can you make those as well?" Armsmaster suddenly interrupted me with an intensity that startled me.

And now that I thought about it I concluded that yes, I could actually make those things and more even more. Interesting what goes forgotten if you wield a giant-ass hammer that's also a revolver somehow to kill a giant spider.

"I think I actually could if I had the right resources," I began, letting the information flood me, trying to determine how these items work. "I could actually make better ones as well. Much better ones. The one I took was a regular one and was only able to repair a relative small amount of tissue and bone damage. Couldn't cure the poison. The antidote can cure a large variety of monstrous venomous but not elemental blights? Dousing yourself by eating a berry? Also, doesn't improve immunity. Poison retains same effectiveness after recovery. Potions could be improved by… honey? Honey from indigenous bee species. I can make flash bombs out of a stone, a sap plant, and a lightning bug?! That's why Tinkers are bullshit, I guess. Ancient potion can do what? I'd need a manufacturing chain to produce those though. I can shoot people to heal them, how does – "

"Taylor! Calm down. Take a deep breath and come back to us. Focus," Armsmaster told me, shaking me a bit to snap me out of my fugue while dad stared at me with agitated wonder. "I take it you could make it but what would that take and how effective are those potions?"

I took followed his advice and took a deep breath concentrating on the potion, pushing aside the flood of new ideas that were still bombarding me. "I'd need an herb that I doubt can be found here. It already has a small healing effect on its own. On top of that I'd also need a blue mushroom and again, I doubt I can find it here. I could also make them more effective by infusing them with the honey of a certain bee. I will look for it if I can find a way back into that pocket dimension of doom but it still would be far from enough to do anything large-scale. I'd probably need to get a farm or something to grow it first. Huh, I know farming techniques as well? But anyway, they only heal a certain amount of tissue and bone damage. You know, sealing wounds, knitting organs back together, setting bones, replacing lost tissue, but they wouldn't do anything to the cause of the injuries."

"You said it only healed a certain amount. What happens if there are still injuries left afterwards?"

"You drink another one or two, of course. Until everything is healed."

Armsmaster gave me a level stare. "This is probably more important than I realized, isn't it?"

"It would be invaluable for combat operations. For Endbringer attacks. For ER departments in hospitals. Even if it's only a highly potent Band-Aid it has the potential to safe countless lives."

Oh. If you put it that way it does sound impressive. Dad was positively radiant with pride.

"I don't know how long they'll keep though and I have no idea how to access the place."

"How did you get out of the cave?"

"After killing the monster I felt something tugging at me with increasing insistency as time went on. I had barely the time to carve off the dangling claw arm of my kill before I found myself back in my locker and I did my Kool-Aid man impression. I think I had about a minute after delivering the killing blow."

"And then the PRT was called. What happened after you've busted out of your locker?"

I rubbed my head and looked at my dad with a lopsided smile. "At first I could only think about what I'd build when I got home and what I'd needed for tools when I noticed that everybody was staring at me."

I had been standing in such a way I faced both dad and Armsmaster. I turned to face the hero fully. I wanted to see his reaction for the next bit.

"Then two of my tormenters waded through the crowd and started slinging abuse at me once again while I still dripped with ichor and rotting blood. They wanted me to run away. After the spider they seemed fairly harmless though and apparently it showed. When I then asked someone to phone the PRT, one of them flipped and assaulted me until a teacher, Mr. Gladly, managed to have her back off from me."

"And then you've sent him to phone your dad on top of alerting us as well. He did mention you were rather forceful with your demands and more than a bit scared. Who did attack you?"

"Dad, could you please fetch the notebooks you brought?" I asked before continuing. "I don't know exactly what happened there. I'm normally not like that, but I think that attack put me back into the same mindset I had fighting the nerscylla and caused me to be more confrontational. As to who attacked me…"

I looked Armsmaster straight in the eyes, or at least looked straight at the point where I reasonably assumed his eyes would be, "… It was Sophia Hess."

I could have sworn Armsmaster slightly choked at that as his mouth transformed into a thin, angry line.

"I merely held her hand after she hit me squarely in the jaw with it so she wouldn't be able to do that again. She improvised and used her other hand and feet instead while I held her with as little force as possible. I bet it has been filmed by one of the onlookers. There were plenty of phones out after all. It's weird though that she reacted that way. When she approached me Emma had to support her."

Armsmaster gave me a long, hard look at that last comment and I quietly wondered whether I had gone too far.

"Emma?" Dad asked incredulously as he returned with the notebooks, defusing the mounting tension between the hero and me.

"Yes dad. Emma," I answered as I began digging through the bag of notebooks looking for the right one. "Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess, and Madison Clements have been systematically bullying me ever since I started high school with the help of a different 'friends' of theirs. At the beginning of this year I've started to document each and every instance of pushing, vandalism, and personal attacks as well as their 'pranks' since the school didn't seem willing to do something to help me."

I found the three notebooks in question and handed them to a very serious looking Armsmaster who took it and began scanning the pages. Probably literally.

"I've also included the emails that were particularly bad as a printout and glued them in at their appropriate dates."

"Taylor, why didn't you tell me. And Emma? Weren't you best friends?"

Dad…

My heart broke a little seeing him slumped over like that. It took a lot of effort to continue but I had to bring this to an end. To finally stop the abuse, the hurt. I couldn't cry again.

"We were," I whispered, my throat hoarse. "I don't know what happened, dad. We had our tearful goodbye as I left for summer camp telling huw much we'd miss the other and when I returned she was hanging out with Sophia and suddenly refused to talk to me and started telling me that I was weak and that I should be disgusted of myself. Madison joined the two just after the semester started and soon nobody stood up for me."

"I was wondering why she didn't come over anymore," Dad said, anger in his voice. Anger aimed at her and the world but mostly himself. "I thought you had reached that age where sleepovers had become embarrassing. How could I have been so stupid. Do you think Alan knows?"

He started pacing now, desperately trying to retain his relative calm – to keep his legendary temper at bay, "He better not know. I've talked with the bastard just last week, discussing how nice it would be to have big barbecue feast as soon as the weather permits just like we used to do. I'll wring – "

"Dad!" I interrupted before he could finish that sentence. "This is pretty one of the reasons why I didn't tell you. I knew you and Alan were still pretty close and that you might do something you'd regret. He's an attorney. He can undo us financially."

It seemed to startle him and I moved in closer to hug him once more. A lighter one but no less genuine. I had missed those.

"You also looked so fragile after mom's death." I continued in a whisper while taking comfort from his embrace. "I didn't want to trouble you with my problems as well. I… didn't want to disappoint you. Seeing my grades drop was hard enough as it was."

"Disappoint me? How could you have done that while you endured the continuous betrayal of whom you thought your best friend. If I should be disappointed with someone it's me. If I hadn't felt so sorry about myself I might have spotted it earlier. I might have – "

I squeezed a little harder to derail him before he gathered momentum blaming himself. He already had troubles to prevent himself from crying. I wouldn't care but I knew he wanted to be strong for me. I let him.

"Oh, Annette…"

We held on for a little longer as Armsmaster was scanning the final notebook.

"So what will we do now, little Owl?"

"You're asking me? Aren't you supposed to be the adult?"

"An adult whose first reaction upon hearing the news was to go over to my friend's house and harm him over something he might not have any knowledge off. I think I'll put my trust in the one who has inherited Annette's brain and managed to stay calm even as her abuser physically attacked her. After being put into that thing, being forcefully transformed, and fighting a monster."

We chuckled softly at that. He did have a point.

"I might be able to help you with that," Armsmaster commented as he put the last notebook back into the bag. "While nothing in the notebooks would hold up as direct evidence in court, it would probably be enough to get a warrant on the three considering what happened. This isn't something that simply happens out of the blue. Add to this the witness testimonies we're no doubt getting right at this very moment, perhaps even recordings of everything and my lie detector, and we're considering starting a case against the three main perpetrators and the school. Just a couple more questions."

"Sure, ask."

"Did the staff know what was happening?"

"At the beginning I've tried to solve it by reporting it to the teachers but it was always my word against the track star Sophia, Emma, the daughter of a lawyer, the little angel Madison, and whoever wanted to join their inner circle. They waved me off and when they began threatening me with punishing me for these 'unsubstantiated' claims and attempts at 'slander' I stopped. They weren't subtle though. At least Mr. Gladly knew. Some of the stuff happened right in front of his nose."

I didn't know that calm speech could drip with venom.

"What!" Dad yelled with renewed rage.

"Calm down Mr. Hebert," Armsmaster said, deflating him quite a bit. "We will certainly start a thorough investigation in this matter. There will be no more cover ups. Taylor triggered here under abhorrent circumstances and it will not go unanswered, starting with the question why apparently no janitor noticed the stink coming from the locker.

"Taylor do you have any idea who could have thought of this idea and who has pushed you in the locker?"

"Emma's shtick was mainly trying to hurt me with stuff she knew from the time we were best friends and shared way too much. It probably wasn't Maddison's either; she did the constant barrage of the smaller stuff – put glue on the seat and 'accidentally' step on my bag with a project or taking my homework just before we have to hand it in. Sophia was fan of pushing me against the wall or down the stairs and liked to one-up the ideas of the other two. The extremity of this is something she'd do. At least I'm pretty sure she was the one to push."

"I see." Was all the hero had to say to that.

No. if his mouth was any indication, it was all he could say without blowing up.

I, meanwhile, was starting to feel the events of the morning catching up on me. I was starting to get tired, and my stomach growled occasionally. I was hungry and I started to notice my own stink more and more.

"Armsmaster, Sir?" I asked. "Do you need me personally right now for anything else? Otherwise I could really use a shower and those clean cloths right now."

"I've heard enough for now. I can manage the rest of the planning for the legal proceeding with your father who, seeing you're still a minor, is your legal representative. If you allow it at least. Just bring your clothes to me for further analysis."

"Go ahead, Taylor. Let your old man be useful for once."

I hugged him once more just because I could and I had missed the true thing for so long before taking the bundle of cloths dad brought and setting off towards the changing rooms and showers.

It was weird walking the nearly empty hallways only populated with the occasional PRT trooper that led me through with a small nod, my claws on my foot softly clicking against the faded linoleum floor.

Apparently they had been warned of my intentions in advance.

I reached the tiled room with probably more mold than was legal in short order and stripped my clothes as carefully as I could with my newly acquired claws in the same room I avoided for so long in fear of attacks while my scrawny figure was completely exposed. They had happened a couple of times until I decided that the smell of sweat wouldn't make much of a difference.

I avoided looking in the mirrors.

I let the lukewarm water wash over my sitting form – it couldn't get hotter with any of the other showers either and all of them were too small for me to stand under– and was confronted with my new form without any clothes obscuring it.

While apparently the Boob Fairy didn't work on Mondays (didn't blame her for that), her brother the Muscle Gnome did. I had gained a bit of muscle. It was subtle but my stick limbs suddenly sported the lean, toned muscle of an endurance athlete. I was in no way buff, but it was probably an improvement to before even considering that I had picked up running a couple of months back. I even had a faint six pack.

And yes, I had scales everywhere.

Far too soon I forced myself to scrub myself until I felt halfway clean and thought about ways to break the news that I wouldn't be joining the Wards without confusing dad or making Armsmaster suspect. And also tricking his lie detector.

I still didn't feel completely clean when I turned off the shower but realized I'd probably have to take soak in boiling water before that happened.

Getting into the shirt and hoody (no bra needed for the ironing board) was far easier than trying to fit into my favorite pants with my weirdly angled legs. With a pang of irrational sadness, I ended up having to cut them above the knees due to the added mass around that area. At least now I had confirmation that my talons were very sharp.

I hadn't even bothered bring the shoes and socks.

I made my way back with the bundle of stinking, dirty clothes in hand, feeling refreshed but hungry if not a bit exposed showing so much leg. I had never worn short anything ever since starting in Winslow.

"If Annette knew how apt the name Little Owl would be somedays…" Dad started as I came around the corner. "Hey Taylor, you're just on time. We're nearly done here."

"Indeed. You will be transferred to Arcadia. The paperwork will probably still need a week to get through but you'll be able to start as soon as that's done. Your father and I also came to the conclusion that it'd be best for you to join the Wards. Now – "

"I won't join the Wards." I interjected before he could continue.

That actually managed to silence Armsmaster.

"Why, Taylor?" Dad asked, puzzled. "They'd support you, help you with Tinkering. You could join the heroes. You don't even have to fight if you don't want to. So why reject it right from the start. It won't be like Winslow. They're heroes."

And so was Sophia apparently. And they were also fellow teens.

"I'm sorry if that came out too strong." I hastily rectified, hoping I hadn't vexed Armsmaster too badly. "What I meant to say is that I don't think I'm ready now. I need time alone. To think. To get to grips with my power and my new looks. After what happened here in Winslow, I don't think I'm ready to be the new kid in a group of fellow teenager just yet. No matter how nice they are. Sorry."

My plan was just to tell an incomplete truth instead of trying to come up with some contrived reason that talked around Shadow Stalker.

It was simpler. More elegant. Probably another thing in favor of Fae nicknames if the internet ever found out.

And I really did need some time alone with my powers. I didn't know how I'd react when put in a room full of materi – capes that caused my power to whisper ideas into my head. Presenting stuff I could make and fill me with the urge to actually follow through.

I'd probably first need to find a way to hunt more monsters to distract it with before I'd manage that.

"I was afraid you'd say that," Armsmaster said with a sad smile on his face. "Either way, you're still going to be transferred to Arcadia no matter what happens otherwise even if it's just so we can keep an eye out for you. If news gets out that you're able to make those potions you'd suddenly turn in a very high valued target for the gang just because of that. Add to that the fact that you have the additional Brute aspect and can make those weapons, I'm afraid that the gangs wouldn't be able to ignore you.

"I can understand your need to be alone, but I must urge you not to take too long deciding on what you want and to be careful if you go outside. No matter how hard, don't try to get raw materials of the streets. Contact us instead. Gangs have the pawn shops and scrap yards under surveillance for people like us that just start out. Normal Tinkers already have difficulties not outing themselves by their compulsive behavior but you don't have the luxury of a secret identity.

"Talking of which, we're trying our best to keep the videos and photos off the internet and we have everyone here sign a non-disclosure form but it's a losing battle. Stuff will leak, and people will talk. While it's rarely needed due to the stubborn adherence of the criminal cape element to so called the Unwritten Rules, probably the most important one for you being that capes don't target the unpowered family of known capes, the PRT is willing to offer you and your dad a safe house just in case. As hard as it is, I'd also advice to go public on your own. To announce your existence yourself. It's the only way you have a change to effectively control the narrative. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do." I answered weakly as I realized how much was coming towards me.

"Fine. A couple of last things before you can go. First, I have to ask: Do you have any holes in your memory? Days, weeks, months you can't remember or have you observed anything strange during that time?"

"No I haven't. Why do you ask?"

"You might be aware of the so called case 53 capes. Capes that had their forms changed during their Trigger Events. All of those we were able to find and contact were amnesiac, not knowing their true name or where they came from. Considering your looks, protocol demanded that I had to ask even though I was fairly certain of the answer. Are you positive you can't change back?"

"Oh, I see. And yes. I'm pretty sure I'll have to deal with this on a permanent basis."

"Second, I want to invite you to the PRT HQ to have your powers tested. No strings attached. You'd be picked up at your house by a van and driven there. I'd recommend it to see how much you'd have to watch out with your brute powers. It will give you more self-confidence if you knew how hard you could hit an average person without maiming them. Something you might sorely need if you end up in a combat situation."

"That seems sensible. When will that be."

"Is Wednesday alright?"

"I apparently my holidays were extended by a week, so… Sure."

"Remember to bring your hammer. Third, I need a cape name for the paperwork; while you probably won't have secret identity, it's important to have a separate alias for cape activities as well. To better separate work and private life and reinforce the idea that you're willing to play by the Rules."

My first urge was to use nerscylla. It was my very first victory and it used material harvested from its victims as armor similarly to what I'd do. But it sounded too… villainy and I couldn't trust people on PHO to write it correctly. Especially since the word was meaningless to almost everyone.

As such I decided to keep it simple. Descriptive.

"You can call me 'Wyverian'"

It was shorter, rolled easier of the tongue and it had the association with wyverns and by extension Dragon(s), giving it more of a heroic twist.

"Might I ask why?"

"It's what I am, Armsmaster. All of it."

"Something from your newly gained knowledge no doubt. In that case, it was a pleasure meeting you Wyverian. I wished it could have been under better circumstances." Armsmaster held out his hand.

I shook it, "Likewise, Armsmaster. One question though, what about the lawsuit?"

"Let the adults handle that. It'll take a while to prepare everything but I'll keep you up to date as best as possible and we will inform you if something unexpected pops up or we need clarification or a specific statement."

"Okay…"

Dad barked out a laugh at my reluctance to let go.

He stood straighter than he had ever since we lost mom and I could look him in the eye. Becoming digitigrade really made a pretty big difference when it came to height.

We left the building in relatively comfortable silence, claw and hammer in hand, and got into the car.

Dad drove directly to the nearest fast food joint and surprised them with the size of the order before noon. Fugly Bob didn't have an easily accessible drive-thru.

I sat beside him with my hoody down and my claws in it pouch, smirking at the bewildered lady as she handed dad one food item after the other which he piled on top of me.

I tore into the comically oversized meal as soon we were driving again, unable to wait until we actually got home.

The hunger and fatigue must have been worse than I thought as I could have sworn that I saw child-sized things with tails following us from the corner of my eyes. Some even popping up out of the ground.

I clutched the claw and bits and pieces of jaw closer. Just in case.

Interlude: Sophia

The day had started so well for Sophia Hess.

Sure, she had to sneak into the school in the very early morning and cover the insides of Taylor's locker with the rancid contents that had been collected before the holidays and festering ever since in sealed plastic bags near the boiler of her house.

But it was worth it for Sophia, she had a good feeling about the newest stunt of her design. Maybe – finally – she'd actually get a reaction out of the ugly cow instead of the usual passive resistance she showed whenever one of the Trio put their plan into action.

If Sophia was completely honest with herself, she was already getting bored with the Hebert bitch and would have likely moved on if Emma wasn't as insistent to purge herself of that final weakness.

Sophia was mainly getting annoyed. Something about Taylor rubbed her the wrong way seeing as she refused to conform to her world views.

A prey would have been broken long ago and a predator would have retaliated as soon as it started.

"Unless they see you as so much more inferior that you're not even worth the effort," a traitorous voice whispered in the back of Sophia's mind as she opened the last bag. It was the irritating one – the uncertainty that actually moved her to this new height even as she personally already lost most interest in Taylor.

With a giddy anticipation she snuck out again. One way or the other she'd have the cow's measure when she'd be done with her.

And if she turned out to be a very patient predator – well, she felt she could take her.

She was just skin and bones after all.

With the ease of athlete runner and the aide of her powers Sophia made it back home just in time to mime the irritating morning routine. Just in case. Having an "alibi" never hurts.

Much to Sophia's surprise she found that her mother was less on her case as usual. Little of her usual nagging how she should be more patient and slower to jump to violence. She didn't even complain that much about her workload.

Her brother was already gone and couldn't bother her and when her little sister came down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of her eyes and she didn't wander straight away to the television to watch her annoying shows, Sophia decided that it must have been her good mood showing.

The way back to Winslow was a torture, especially after she got the Emma's message that the others – their sad little thralls who desperately wanted to lick the boots of the top dogs – all got the message about what was going to happen and that nobody wanted to film it.

Sophia had to smile a little when both Emma and Madison made it clear that she'd be unhappy if anyone ratted them out. Especially since it was enough to convince the few doubters.

The air in the Winslow's hallways was charged with nervous anticipation.

Of course, Taylor didn't pick up on it as she guilelessly stumbled her way to the locker, unaware of her stalker.

"How could I ever think that oblivious cow would be a predator," she thought, noticing Taylor sniffing the air, smelling the reek of rotting blood and continuing anyway.

Her prey still hadn't noticed her when she put down her bag and opened her combination lock.

Sophia lunged at her with a feral smile as she saw Taylor gagging, shoving her into the stinking locker and slamming the door shut.

She had to suppress a shudder of excitement as she heard something break in a squelching impact inside of the locker in the same way she did after a fight before Glenn declawed her for the public eye.

The feeling doubled as she got the lock off the ground and sealed her prey in that small stinking, little box.

Briefly she felt worried as no further sound came from the locker but soon any concern of injury was replaced by glee as the screaming and banging started.

"Remember," she addressed the gathered crowd, letting her gaze wander over them as she made her way back to Emma. "Nobody saw anything. I'll let the bitch out at the end of the day so no need for worries."

Nobody would surely blame her if she forgot by accident would they?

"If some fucker does chicken out though," Sophia continued, carefully letting a chilling cold creep into her voice. "This would be a mere prelude of what is to come."

They'd wait for Madison to come back after disposing – or whatever she planned to do – of Taylor's backpack. It would have given away the joke too soon if it was left standing in the hallway and apparently she had something extra special planned to truly make Taylor's first school day of 2011 truly memorable.

"That was fucking great, Soph. You should have seen her empty face as you shoved her in. She still hadn't realized what happened," Emma said in between of barely contained giggles.

"Almost makes me wish that someone broke the fucking rules. Sucks to have missed that." Sophia chuckled. "But have you heard the impact? That had to be her face slamming against the back wall. The bitch was too stupid to even put her hands in front of her."

An uneasy silence suddenly spread through the crowd, ripping both girls out of their threatening giggling fit at the desperate banging of at the door.

"What the hell," Emma breathed, looking at Sophia with uncertainty. "Why did she stop? Sophia?!"

Sophia blacked out, falling to the ground where she stood in view of the few who were looking at the two of them for guidance.

She saw two eternally shifting and undulating things float through space, each of them too big to comprehend, taking on forms that threatened to break her mind – vision that where purged from her memories as she woke up again.

"God fucking damn it, Soph," she heard Emma hiss even as she noticed she was leaning against the wall, couple of feet away where she was first standing. "Since when do you simply faint like some prissy bitch? Grit those fucking teeth of yours and get up."

"Nononono," Sophia whispered in return as the knowledge of a long forgotten boring briefing flooded her mind. "Help me up and keep me standing. Don't trust myself to not fall over yet."

"Soph?" the redhead asked, her previous annoyance more than replaced by concern. "What's wrong? What just happened."

"Somebody just triggered. Heard in my club that this would happen if I were around. We have to find them, shut them up for at least a while and clean the place up. We probably have to get Hebert out as well."

Sophia grimaced in irritation as her friend wordlessly helped her up and she noticed that she indeed still needed the support. They walked back to the crowd – towards Taylor's eerily silent locker.

Her gaze was wandering over the crowd when the she heard the crash that would herald her world breaking apart.

She shuddered as she saw the door bend with three distinct indentations and simply fly off the locker.

There was no doubt in her mind that the creature stepping out of the stinking confines was Taylor.

"We have to get her away of that locker," Sophia hissed and the other nodded in return.

They redoubled their pace even as the creature that was holding the massive chunk of iron on a stick in a single clawed hand apparently had sunken in some sort of reverie.

Sophia forced herself to continue as Taylor came to some sort of shocking realization and started looking around even though her instincts were screaming to turn around and get away.

She couldn't do that. She couldn't allow herself to listen to her inner coward and let Taylor simply ruin her life; get her thrown back into juvie.

She yelled at the crowd as she saw the drawn cellphones while working through the crowd together with Emma.

That's when Taylor saw them both.

Her face had changed alongside the rest of her body. The jaw was elongated a bit and her nose seemed flatter – the angle between nose and lip less distinct. Her mouth seemed to have become even wider.

She stared and her slit pupils contracted, revealing even more of her bright orange iris that had replaced most of the white as well. She didn't blink. She didn't even blink one single time.

Emma shivered under the intensity of that stare. Sophia had to suppress the urge to do the same but for an entirely different reason no matter how unnerving Taylor's gaze had become.

She recognized the newly minted parahuman's stance and posture from all those times she was called into the office of that fat pig Glenn; when he complained how she still seemed too hostile and too eager to start a fight. It was the same way she held herself when she measured up opponents and felt them wanting.

But there was something that bothered Sophia even more. Ignoring the way she looked, Taylor's altered facial expression shifted from coldly calculating to surprised recognition and ended at angry bemusement even as the intensity of her stare redoubled, focusing entirely on Sophia.

Shadow Stalker felt the voice telling her to flee grow in tandem to the pitch black pit that had taken up residence in her stomach.

She reacted the only way she knew how. Sling abuse, try to hurt the other girl and cower her. Force her to run away.

Even though Sophia could finally stand on her own again and she tried to stand tall, to look as big and threatening as possible only to find out that she was still dwarfed by the freak who was looking unimpressed even while Sophia mouthed insults as soon as they came to her mind. Emma joined her, slinging barbs on her own only to achieve similar results of disinterest of their foe. That was until she brought Taylor's mom up – Sophia swore to herself to ask her about the juicy details when they got out of this mess – and she actually seemed to hurt only for it to be quickly replaced by steely resolve.

Worse – she actually chuckled at their efforts with absolute contempt.

And then she managed to order some random schmuck around started to talk about contacting the PRT, easily casting Sophia's angry complaints aside as soon as she shouted them. As if Sophia, the alpha bitch of Winslow, the track star that took Nazis down a notch when they tried anything simply didn't matter anymore

When the crowd actually listened, Sophia started to realize deep down that her own stupid stunt would be her downfall.

And then Taylor smiled at Sophia.

It was too much. She could not accept that Taylor was anything other than meek prey, no matter how she happened to look like. It had to be a bluff.

With a practiced lunge and a faint – impossible to actually notice – trace of her power she flew at Taylor with a battle cry leaving her lips. She felt her hand connect solidly and the blow that would have stunned a boxer did absolutely nothing.

She had to suppress a shriek as she felt a clawed, four-fingered hand close around hers like a vice.

Sophia activated her power once more to the slightest degree in a way she knew would allow her to break free with her opponent only thinking she simply slipped away, none the wiser of her powers.

Instead of being surprised at the sudden decrease of pressure, Taylor simply clamped down harder – pressing her claws in slightly and making it impossible to escape – while calmly observing her.

She was expecting something like that to happen.

The realization hit Sophia like a truck as she connected the dots. When she considered Taylor's little slide show of emotions when she first saw her, the way she expected the trick, why she was so insistent on getting the PRT in Winslow.

Taylor knew Sophia was Shadow Stalker.

Shadow Stalker redoubled her frenzied, panicked attack, trying anything besides biting. The grime covering Taylor – grime she had mostly caused herself – made that a truly last ditch effort.

While kicking and punching, Sophia was confronted by the fact Taylor still held the giant, weirdly shaped hammer in one hand and that her feet were transformed in wicked looking talons.

The fact that Taylor held back and hadn't returned a single blow.

The mutter words of desperation that escaped her traitorous lips when Mr. G broke up the "fight" were more honest than the act of spitting in Taylor's face. The latter being more a habit than anything else and the only thing that managed to do was sneak something cruel in Taylor's aggravatingly calm expression.

"What. The. Fuck. Sophia." Emma actually hissed, clutching her phone as the latter retreated back to their corner overlooking the lockers.

"What just happened there?" she continued in a whisper. "Do you want to go back to Juvie?"

"I think she knows who I am Ems."

"Shit!" Emma cursed, forcing Sophia to pay close attention. "Of course it got worse."

"Worse? What happened?"

"Got a message from Madison just before you went batshit," Emma answered in a tone that worried Sophia. "While looking through Taylor's bag, she found a notebook. It was a diary documenting every single prank we pulled on her in November and December with a date and time. Every email we wrote. Every. Single. Thing. I managed to get my father to come over with some with some BS story about how people were trying to have me suspended with false information."

Much to Sophia's dread, she felt a "but" coming, idly wondering what else had happened.

"But he didn't sound that convinced and it gets even worse – Mads hasn't answered ever since I described what happened to Taylor."

Sophia sank to the ground. She felt it. She knew. Madison had smelled a sinking ship and abandoned it. By the time the PRT would ask her she'd have her narrative as a poor little girl being forced to hurt others stuff down.

"What do we do?" she asked weakly as she felt the fight go out of her entirely for probably the first time since she triggered.

"We will keep silent and wait for dad. Let him handle it. Please, promise me to not do anything stupid. Don't say a word to the PRT. I don't want to see a friend land in juvie."

Sophia gave a small nod.

She felt empty, defeated and was actually glad when a teacher came to escort her to an empty room on the top floor. That way she wouldn't see Taylor's creepily distracted antics in front of the place that changed her – the place Sophia created.

But even as she they climbed the steps while the teacher was saying something about having been ordered to keep Sophia away from the others and behind closed doors and how sorry he felt, Sophia could feel the angry ember inside her consolidating once more as she wasn't confronted by the freak anymore.

That ember grew in size and density with every step as she fed it with her disgust over her own weakness.

By the time the door locked and teacher had to escort the next group of students due to the understaffed faculties lacking the manpower to have him stand guard, a solid, fiery core had replaced the emptiness inside of Sophia.

She had realized that there was no way she wouldn't end up in juvie at the end of this.

Looking out of the window, she saw that the PRT had yet to arrive.

Sophia was angry with herself for thinking Taylor was a predator, for falling for her bluff. The meek cow simply couldn't have become anything other than prey in just a mere instance – not after showing no resistance for so long. It was simply impossible no matter how much the craven side of her screamed at her to run. To flee.

She took a couple of step back and ran towards the window full speed, pushing herself as far into her shadow form as possible, long having decided that Taylor would out her anyway. Even if she didn't, she'd be a fugitive and piggy would come for her. Piggy was just waiting to hang her even moments after she forcefully enrolled Sophia into the Wards. The PRT knew who she was.

She glided to the roof of a nearby building, made her way to the alley and dropped down.

Hitting the ground running, she vowed to at the very least fuck up the bitch that was about to ruin her life.

She'd show Taylor what it meant to be a predator.

Constructive criticism and feedback is much appreciated and like I've said, please do give the thread a look for more background information and if you want to participate in the discussion directly.