A/N: Here's the last of this that's written (and doesn't require a complete overhaul). Originally was split into three different parts, but if I'd posted it that way here it just wouldn't have been worth it. Also, I just realized that I forgot, again, that eats the formatting off of things that aren't uploaded the right way, so now I'm going to have to go back over everything. Wonderful...

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Villains...gangs, criminals. Underlings. Without the power of the Capes that support them, but dangerous to others like them.

I drop between a man and his intended victim. A gunshot rings, the round striking my shields to negligible effect. I lash out-

-and his remains drop to the ground with a wet slap. Bloodied, bisected meat.

That was not the intended result. I stare at my Diwata with disapproval, sweeping it down and aside to clear the blood…

Blood.

Oh...this is...not what I'd intended at all. I'd meant to be a hero, but already I've killed someone. It had been an accident, even. I'd moved without thought, and reflex had done...that.

And...his victim had run, while I was focused on his remains. Another failure.

I will need to re-evaluate my approach.

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This man is threatening a shop owner with a gun. I fly in through a broken section of the glass door and, without changing forms, open fire with Dex Pixia...turning his arms into so much shredded meat.

Criminals, I am coming to realize, are fragile things.

He's bleeding so much, and screaming, and even-

-if it makes me sick-

-I end his misery with another burst of weapons-fire.

And I despair, as I sweep from the shop and into the sky.

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I return to the Liset. I consider my Armory. A vast array of exotic and intriguing weapons...all of them useful. Most of them...unquestionably lethal. For some few moments, I consider the few weapons in my possession which utilize electrical effects...but then, I reconsider quickly enough. Should the current pattern hold, they will cook my targets alive.

No, the only weapon, the only tool which I possess that may serve the function I need, is the Bo. It's a simple thing, almost austere, and in my hands it feels like an old friend. I know that it strikes with great force, that with this weapon I may collapse an enemy's defenses with ease and precision.

With this staff, I will be a hero.

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I lean heavily on my staff, as officers...Police...circle wide around me. Examining the body, splayed and splattered against the nearby wall. Speaking with the stranger I'd thought to rescue.

I stand, and watch with listless attention. And, in time, another stranger approaches. A familiar stranger, one that I know from my forgottens, and from my research. 'Miss Militia'. Her weapon, the part of her that is always a weapon, is sheathed at her side. A saber of simple make, but I cannot help appreciating the subtle grace of it.

She says nothing, as she stands beside me. I lower my head.

"I am...dane-ger-ous." It's a pitiable tone. An attempt to communicate my regret.

It seems she understands, because she nods. Rests her hand on the hilt of her weapon. "Come with me...and maybe we can help."

Help...help would be appreciated.

I secure the Bo across my back, my wings twitching low to accommodate. "I follow."

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There are chairs here, in the room. But they do not accommodate my wings. Instead, I kneel, my back to the wall opposite the door.

That's how Miss Militia finds me again, when she eventually makes her return.

I'm thanked for my cooperation. For my willingness to surrender myself into their custody. She says it speaks to my character. To be willing to face consequences.

I feel that she's overstating their capability to threaten me...but that-

-isn't a thought-

-I intend to explore. Instead, I accept the judgement. I feel relief, because I might still be a hero. I haven't damned myself in her eyes.

She has questions, of course. I answer as best I'm able; words are still difficult, drifting just beyond my reach. I tell her 'Bo...less lethal. Still pow-er-ful.' and 'My Dex Pixia, more leth-al than I had hoped. He'd have died slow-ly.'

I tell her 'Reflex. Ech-oes I did not acc-ount for.'

And then she has a question, her calm demeanor sharpening, a blade's edge, poised to cut. "And Taylor Hebert?" That name. "You were caught on camera, leaving Winslow High-"

"With my dream-ing self."

Silence. Contemplation. "You're Taylor Hebert."

Am I? A question I'd been attempting to settle, an uncertain answer...or it was. There's a spark of insight, understanding, and I shake my head.

"Taylor Hebert dreams...with power be-yond her ken." A hand to my chest, solid and unmoving. "I am...her limiter." And this form has its own name. "Titania."

She shifts, again, her attention darting to the cameras that dot the room. Her head tipped, just so, as she listens to the voices in her ear. "You're a projection."

A projection is an unreal thing. Ephemeral, dependant...this Frame is solid, extant, as is the Liset and all aboard it.

"My dreamer...found me. Trapped, else-where, within a...void." Void. The word is so lacking. "She connect-ed us." And now I am here. Now I know certainty, where it was not before. I feel it fill me up, solidifying something I hadn't realized was fragile. "She is my dreamer. And I...I am her Warframe." I bow my head. Had I lips, I might have smiled. "The dream makes us whole."

Miss Militia expresses understanding, where there is none. And she excuses herself shortly after.

It doesn't concern me. Because I've reached my own, new understanding.

Which nature must I follow?

Why can I not strive for both?

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The weapons they give me are blunted, flimsy things. Fragile, I feel as though they'll break in my hands. And these are what they would have me wield in defense of so many lives?

"This exercise should be simple enough." Miss Militia speaks, unaware of my thoughts. "You're strong, but you lack the experience to moderate that strength...so that's the goal."

I shift as she steps aside, orienting on the target she indicates. The dummy, beaten and worn but still standing.

"You need to learn how to escalate force effectively. To start with the minimum required to incapacitate your opponent, and to gradually step it up in response to changing conditions."

Reasonable. Agreeable, even. I bow my head, flourish the batons as I drop into a ready stance. She takes it as the response it is, opening distance further. "Start with single strikes. If you hit it too hard, you'll trigger a buzzer."

Bzzzt

"...just like that."

Troublesome. But I ready myself again. Because I will learn.

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Armsmaster is a man of focus and dedication. So, as he attempts to examine my ship, it is Dragon that speaks to me.

"I'll admit, I find it hard to believe all of this just...appeared."

If it had, I would be as skeptical. "Liset was...retrieved. Drawn from the Void as it was." Before...something. Before it had been trapped. "I am fortunate."

The 'avatar' projected on the tablet's screen nods. "It's an impressive piece of technology."

That it is...but that was not my meaning. "It's necessary." Or parts of it are. "My dreaming self has power. Dangerous, alone."

She seems to consider that. "You said…'she dreams with power beyond her ken'. And you called yourself a limiter." I gesture for her to continue, to follow the thread. "A 'warframe'. Frame...like a support structure?" Exactly that. I nod. "And you've referred to a 'Void' several times now. Not a pocket dimension, if this ship was just there...so some sort of alternate dimension."

"A place of power." I call on it, faint lantern-light dancing in the palm of my hand. "And of unknown energy. It warps my dreamer."

"...and the Frame is a limiter." There's something in her voice. Perhaps awe, perhaps alarm...? "I'm sorry. That must be hard."

Oh? I lower my head, humbled by her concern. "The dream is...easy. It blurs the edges away. And I have purpose." I put a smile that I cannot demonstrate into my voice. "That helps."

Dragon smiles in return...then laughs, shaking her head. "I just realized...do you know you're speaking in haiku?"

Ah…?

When I don't answer, she laughs again. It's bright and full of life, and I feel my heart lighten.

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I attack with a flurry of strikes, batons crack-crack-cracking against the target...not once does the alarm sound. Not once do I overstep, or fall back onto instinct.

I've learned. I'm doing well.

"Taylor?"

I stop, my weapons coming to rest on the dummy's shoulders. "I hear." Miss Militia...an unexpected visit, today. Her eyes are smiling, as I face her. "News?"

She nods. "Putting aside the...interesting impression your father seems to have left on HR?" It takes a moment for understanding to dawn, for the forgotten to surface. But then I laugh, softly, my wings shivering with amusement. And Miss Militia's smile grows. "Legal finally sorted out the terms of your probation. And with your assessments as they are, the judge has already signed off on it."

Oh?

Oh. "I'm to be a Ward."

She nods, easily. "You'll debut next month. Which gives you plenty of time to keep practicing."

The way she says it, it's as if she would expect me not to. The very thought of that, I can't even imagine.

That doesn't matter. Not the way this news does. Because this...this is fact. This is truth.

I will be a hero.