Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Raindrops 1.1 (Victoria)

I hated flying in the rain. It wasn’t because it bothered me — my power took care of that well enough. No, it was because of what the rain represented.

Two weeks after Leviathan and the skies had yet to clear. A constant reminder of what had happened here, of the battle we had all fought to protect our home and the sacrifices we all had made to save it.

And I still don’t know if it was worth it , I thought. So many brave capes and civilians had died. And all we had to commemorate their loss was a stone and a ruined city.

I kept flying, feeling the wind on my face and my hair. I’d always thought there was nothing cooler than flying — to have the ability to soar the skies, free from the ground — and, while I still thought it was one of the most amazing ever, the reasons I did had changed this last two weeks.

I used to go to the hospital to pick up Amy like this, and mom had to remind me I couldn't fly inside the house. Now I just fly to get away from them. To do something that gets me out of there.

I swooped lower, passing through ruined streets and buildings, hoping to spot someone in need of help, or a situation where I could swoop in heroically and save the day. Something harder than it sounded, since a lot of the city was without power, making the search much more difficult than it should be. And my trip more introspective than I wanted it to be.

It shouldn’t be this hard, I thought. Just yesterday, I’d stopped a group of Merchants from assaulting an apartment block, and five minutes later I’d been punching Menja. Where the fuck had all the criminals gone?

I looked to the east, to the Docks, and I knew that if I went there, I was sure to find the trouble I was searching for. Before the attack, a gang war had started after Lung’s capture to eliminate the ABB and claim that area, but now only two gangs kept fighting over that piece of the city: the Merchants and the ABB.The E88 were too busy fighting themselves since their schism; with Purity and her group declaring themselves independent from Kaiser and trying to assert themselves as a “hero” team. 

As if anyone with a working brain would believe them. She may say everywhere she goes she’s not a nazi but you can’t name your group the “Pure” or consort with psychopaths like Night and Fog without being still attached to the ideology. A racist in everything but name.

Looking at the area for a few more seconds, I turned and went somewhere else.  It just wasn't worth it. My focus tonight was to search for a situation that required my immediate help , not start one just to do something besides wallowing in self-pity.

I  flew west, and found myself drifting towards Captain’s Hill. No, not there either. I didn’t need another look at the monument

I turned back and flew somewhere else. No need to go there; not much criminal activity, and I'd stared at it long enough to remember the names of everyone on it.

Dad, Dean, Uncle Neil, Eric.

They’d all died to save the city from a monster, and now it turns out that debates were starting in Washington to see if it could be salvaged. It felt like a very bad joke. I lost half of my family, that monster decimated the heroes and shrugged off our strongest attacks, and now everyone — including myself — was running ourselves ragged to stop the villains from capitalizing on the vulnerable state of the city. And if the government decided, then it would be for nothing.

The situation seemed hopeless and many times I felt like just giving up. To tell mom that maybe we all should follow uncle Mike’s example and just go somewhere else. Somewhere where our actions could have some meaning besides delaying the inevitable. But I knew what a betrayal those thoughts were.

I didn’t want to feel that way because that would be spitting on their sacrifice. On what they believed and what they stood for, but… that all of our efforts to keep this city afloat would just be brushed aside by a group of politicians, I just --- fuck. I need  to find something to do.  

Anything would do, even rescuing a cat from a tree or helping a granny cross the street. 

I thought of the crisis points and how New Wave used to go to hospitals to help, to remind the public that we were there. Sometimes, I would even take a kid who’d had a really bad day on a flight around the city, and remind them that things could get better. Part of me wanted to go now and see if anyone needed help there, but I doubted I could do much at this time of the night. And for now… I was trying to stay away from hospitals. Amy could be there, trying to help or just trying to stay away from mom. 

Just like me.

Several times I thought of going away — to Aunt’s Sarah — but I couldn’t impose myself on her and Crystal like that.  Not after their loss.  It wouldn’t be right; she deserved time to grieve with Crystal. We all did. This was a time when all of New Wave needed to stand as one, not just as a team but as a family too.

But then Amy had to open her fucking mouth.

Several times I had offered to have a chat between sisters — to share her burdens and doubts with me — but every time she’d rebuffed me. When that thinker bitch messed with her head I was the first one to assure her that no matter what happened she’d still be my sister, and that she could tell me everything. I didn’t even care who Amy’s father was. She could be the daughter of Jack fucking Slash and it still wouldn’t matter to me, because she was my sister, and I knew she wasn’t evil or insane or a villain. And I believed that — no, I still believed that no matter what happened, Amy was a hero, that she was a good person.

She was just… awkward to be around. She needed time away from home and the depressing environment the hospitals were. For her own good. And mine.

Well, you got your wish granted, Victoria, I thought. She told you everything that worried her and now you can barely look at her without feeling your skin crawl. You used to hug her all the time — unafraid of her power — now you can’t even brush her hands without the pervasive idea that she’d stop resisting and change a fundamental part of who you are.  Then she blames you for her issues, because apparently your aura can brainwash people into loving you now. But the rest of the family — who'd been exposed to it so much more than her — aren’t kissing the ground you walk on, so she must be special, obviously .

I clenched my fists, as I thought of that conversation, of how disturbing it had been to watch my sister unravel before my eyes, and how revealing her words had been. 

I still didn’t believe she would use her powers on me like that, but...I couldn't banish my doubts..

She was at the hospital with you, Dean. She said she tried to save you, but that it was too late. But she hated you so much. And I can’t help but think maybe she- -- no. She wouldn’t do it. I won't even consider it. I knew she tried her hardest with him. Just like she did with everyone else. Hero or villain.

I flew lower — closer to the streets, and the walls full of gang graffiti — hoping that the lower altitude would compensate for the lack of visibility. I froze and immediately turned back when I realized that the route I was taking would lead me straight to one of the Ward’s patrol routes.

I’m not ready to face them yet. Especially since I don’t know what Mom told the PRT about me and Amy. 

Taking a shuddering breath that did nothing to comfort me, I turned back and went another way—this one closer to one of the more isolated refugee camps, passing the crater lake and going to Downtown — hoping to find something that could make tonight worthwhile.

I was not disappointed.

I spotted from above — they never looked up — a group of five skinheads from the E88, running away with backpacks and bags full of belongings that most likely weren’t theirs. Each of their steps made a loud sound as they collided with the soaked ground and their voices resounded across the street. I wondered if they were on someone’s orders— if a cape was with them — or just had a night in town harassing minorities and stealing from innocents.

Well, whatever they were doing, it ended now.

I squinted my eyes and carefully descended a little more. The street was gloomy, with only two street lights working out of a dozen, but it was enough for me to see what weapons they had: two handguns, a bat, an automatic rifle, and a shotgun.

Tricky, but I could definitely take them. I was more worried about the civilians they had most likely assaulted to get those things.

The refugee camp near here was uncomfortably distant from the routes the Protectorate and the Wards usually took, and dangerously close to the Empire’s territory, particularly Hookwolf’s gang of bloodthirsty psychopaths. It wouldn’t be unlikely if that maniac gave leeway to his thugs to do whatever they want.

Time to crash their stupid party.

I was getting ready to dive in when something near them shifted and broke my concentration.

From the darkness of an alleyway, a hulking figure rose and launched themselves at the gangsters. The thugs immediately started screaming, with some of them even dropping their stolen goods. The cape — and there was no way it wasn’t one — batted a hand and one skinhead went flying a few feet, landing hard on the ground and staying there. His friends responded immediately by shooting at the cape, but they ignored it and ran — a shifting mass gathering around their hands and quickly coalescing together into a club-like form. Before they even completely formed the club they swung it at the closest thug, who ineffectively tried to dodge before the shifting weapon hit him. He went flying into the closest wall, and I involuntarily flinched — experience told me that some of his bones had definitely broken.

Watching the fight unfold, I remembered what mom had told me the other day in one of our rare conversations: A new independent had shown up lately. Their first appearance had been a week ago, stopping a group of Merchants from assaulting a church full of civilians, and later facing one of their capes, Whirlygig. They drove her back, saving everyone inside, but retreated before the Wards or any member of the Protectorate could talk to them. They’d shown up a few more times, almost always around this area and helping whoever needed  help the most.

“It’s important for all the heroes and law enforcement organizations to cooperate in these trying times,” the PRT representative had said to mom, while I was nearby and listening. “So, please if you have any contact with the independent hero we’re calling Black Knight, tell them we’re grateful for their help and that the Protectorate is always open for more brave capes to join.”

Then Mom had tersely thanked him and practically slammed the door in his face. That had been the day both Amy and I had confessed to all those awful things, which didn’t help her already worsening mood or the depressing atmosphere around the house. After the PRT man had left, she had tersely told us both to go to our rooms with the coldest tone she had ever used with me.

Even today she still didn’t look me in the eye when she talked to me.

Shaking those thoughts from my head, I smiled to myself — an expression so forced it practically hurt my face — at how lucky I was for this opportunity. I could help score some points with the new independent in town and have a reason to not go home.

Mom is still awake, anyway, not used yet to sleeping alone, and Amy is either lying in her bed wallowing in self-pity at what an awful sister she is or in the hospital.

I swooped down, heading to one of the three remaining thugs still standing — the one with the automatic rifle and the farthest from Black Knight.

I used my aura and watched how his aim faltered and his feet stumbled as he tried to do something. Before he could recover, I was upon him and wrenched the weapon away. I threw it out of his hands and softly pushed him to the side, into a broken street light. He groaned, but he stayed there. I heard a shout and turned around just in time to dodge an incoming bat. The thug who carried it was breathing hard, eyes wild, and his hands were trembling. He was tall, but his body language, his eyes and the way his hands were trembling told me he had no clue what he was doing right now and that he, probably, had no combat training whatsoever. 

A new recruit, then, I thought. There had been a lot of those these last two weeks.  Hunger and desperation could lead one to do unspeakable things, and the gangs were all too willing to exploit that if it meant more foot soldiers for them.

I flared my aura once again — this time stronger — while I rose into the air to be on the level with the tall neo-nazi. He took another wild swing at me but this time instead of dodging, I grabbed the bat and crushed it, sending splinters everywhere. The thug just looked at me, his expression making it very clear to me he had no fucking clue what the hell he was going to do now. I sighed, and in the next second he was joining his buddy on the street.

I'm sorry, I thought. But I can't let you get away with this.

I turned around and saw that Black Knight had finished mopping up the other two. Now that they were near, I inspected them, and understood why the PRT had given them that name. From a distance they just looked like a black and bulky figure, taller than average but nothing too distinguishable. Now that we were a few feet apart I could see that they were wearing paneled armor made of some black material. They — and I still didn’t know if they were a man or a woman — cautiously approached closer, carrying two of the skinheads over their shoulders while dragging the other. Their head was protected by a helmet similar to the ones used by knights — similar to the one Dean used — made of the same material as their armor, with an opening around the eyes that resembled a visor, and two antennae sticking out at the sides that made me think of those winged helmets knights used in some fantasy works.They were tall and imposing, and the armor had the effect of making them even more intimidating. The weapon they’d used was nowhere visible.

They stopped five feet away from me. Cautious, but not hostile. That was good, that meant I could at least try to talk to them and touch base with them, see if they wanted help.

Don't let your bad day ruin this, Dallon. Be calm and friendly, you can do this.

“Hi,” I said to them, with the most friendly tone I could manage. “Name’s Glory Girl. Who’re you?”

They looked at me and didn’t answer. They just stood there, a few steps away from me, watching me.  The silence stretched, and I started to wonder why they weren't answering back. I opened my mouth to say something else but before I could utter a word a sudden realization hit me.  Maybe they were mad at me for intruding in their fight? After all, I did drop from the sky and just assumed they would be okay with my help.  Maybe they saw this as a personal slight at their capabilities? Or maybe they thought I was looking down on them? The more experienced hometown hero looking down on the rookie who couldn’t even take out a group of untrained thugs? It was possible; after all, I had met someone who thought like that.

Dean had told me about Shadow Stalker and some of her issues. How constantly angry she was and how she seemed to just take everything he said as a personal insult.  How she seemed to relish her past as a lone vigilante and how she looked down on him and the rest of the Wards.

All parahumans have their own neuroses and quirks that made interacting with them difficult. Shadow Stalker made talking to her feel like navigating a minefield. Always a comment away from blowing you off. Now, looking at how Black just kept staring at me, still cautious and a few feet away, I couldn’t help but think I had stepped on one of their mines, and the reason because they still hadn’t answered was because they were trying to think on an imaginative way to tell me to go fuck myself.

I opened my mouth to apologize — or just to restart the conversation — when they finally answered.

“... Hi,” they said shyly and with a surprisingly feminine voice. “Nice to meet you.”

Their— her voice. It wasn’t what I expected. With the black armor, the lack of communication with other heroes and how callously she dealt with those thugs, I had expected something else. More of an edgy and broody vigilante instead of the shyness and doubt I could sense from her tone.

“Nice to meet you too,” I answered with a smile. Most capes that appeared after Endbringer battles were recent triggers or from outside the city. Either way, I wanted to be approachable. “Sorry, if I appeared from nowhere and got in the way of your takedown, but I saw you and couldn't help but lent a hand, and maybe have a chat with a fellow hero, if possible.”

Black Knight advanced a few steps and placed the thugs with the others I had taken down. “It's okay, I had it handled but I appreciate the help.” She kneeled and grabbed one of the  backpacks. “You said you knew I was a hero. Have you heard of me?”

“Kinda,” I answered. “The PRT asked us — New Wave, I mean — to tell you they’re grateful for your help and that they wanted to talk to you.”

“The PRT, uh…” Her tone had something I couldn’t quite place, but I didn’t think it was something good. Had something happened between Black Knight and the PRT? 

“Yeah, I think they are interested in you joining. They suffered heavy losses, so it’s not surprising they want  you join.” I moved and grabbed one of the dropped bags;  I peeked inside and saw some money, cans of food and some other valuables like rings and clothes. I passed the bag to Black, who nodded and muttered a quiet “thanks.”

“I see. I’m... grateful for that but I'm not interested in joining the Wards at the moment.” So she was close to my age. Her voice had been an indication, but it was still a little jarring to believe that someone so imposing could be so young.

“It’s okay,” I said. “But even if you want to be an independent, you should try to communicate with them a little more. The PRT can be a bit of a hassle, believe me I know,  but they still offer support and resources for independents like us.”

“I’ll... consider it,” she eventually said, hesitation clear in her tone. Then she looked to the side. 

“Can you pass me those bags, please? I need to return the things these guys stole to their rightful owners before it's too late.” 

“Sure,” I answered, but before doing that I remembered something else. “What’s your name? I’ve been inwardly referring to you as Black Knight since that’s how the PRT named you, but that’s not your name right?”

She sighed and started looking through the bags and the backpack. Looking at her armor at an even closer distance, I noticed just how smooth it was. There wasn’t even a trace of the shots that had been fired at her. 

“No, it’s not, but I guess I shouldn't expect too much from them.” Then she stood up and offered me a hand to shake. “You can call me Cicada.”

Chapter Text

 Raindrops 1.2 (Victoria)

“Cicada,” I said while shaking her hand. “Like the bug?”

The aforementioned hero nodded. “It makes more sense if you knew my powers,” she said.

I nodded but didn’t push. Powers were a private thing, and if she wanted to share them with me, then it was okay, but I didn’t want to overstep.  

“Do you need any help with these guys?” I asked her. “I have a phone so I can call this in if you want to.”

Cicada nodded. “That... would be appreciated. I, well, I forgot my phone.”

I nodded. A rookie mistake, but understandable. Phones weren’t easy to get these days. Just like everything else.

I pulled my phone and grimaced at the notifications of six unread texts and one missed call. Two from Crystal, one from Aunt Sarah, two from mom and...one from Amy. The call was mom’s too. 

Parental Unit 1

Victoria, where are you? 

Are you out again without permission?

Call me when you read this.

Parental Unit 1

Victoria, I know you’re reading the texts. 

Everyone is worried about you.

We’ll talk when you get home.

I winced. I knew mom meant well, but… she wasn’t a great talker. Not out of a courtroom.

I clicked on another text.

Glitzglam

Vicky. I can’t cover for you anymore. Mom knows. 

Please call Aunt C? She’s freaking out.

Glitzglam

V, I know aunt C can be... complicated, but she’s worried. 

Call her.

I sighed. Fuck, now I felt like shit. I knew I was making her worried when I started doing this, but... I just couldn’t be there anymore. Dad was dead, mom was just cold, and Amy... I just couldn’t talk to her anymore like I used to. I was all alone there, just like I was here. But at least in the streets, I could do something of use. Save someone, stop some criminals.

I checked Aunt’s Sarah.

Best Aunt

Vicky. I know what’s going on. 

After you come back, we need to talk. 

All of us. 

Last one was Amy’s. I hesitated, clicking there for a few seconds; not knowing what to do. Should I answer? Or maybe just pretend I was too busy. Fuck, I had no idea what to do.

“Is everything okay?” Cicada asked at my side, startling me and making me remember where I was and with whom. This was not the time for family drama , I thought. This was the time for  putting my best foot forward for a fellow hero.

“Yes,” I said. “Just some family stuff. Sorry If I made you wait. I’ll call the cops now. They’ll know what to do.”

She nodded and looked at the prone forms of the criminals. “Do… Do you think these guys will stay behind bars?” Then she pointed to one of them. “I think I recognize that one. Tried to assault a family at gunpoint a week ago.”

“I don’t know,” I answered her. And it was the truth. “Everyone is trying their hardest to keep the city afloat, but… it’s hard, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Cicada quietly said 

I just nodded and called the cops. Just like everyone else in the Bay, they suffered heavy losses from Leviathan, with a lot of officers dying or leaving the city. But several remained and still tried to do their jobs. To protect the civilians and help the heroes keep the order. That the army was here also helped to keep things under control. 

“They’ll be here in ten minutes,” I said to her. “If you have nothing else to do, then we can wait here and give our statement when they arrive.”

“That would be nice, but… could you tell me the hour, please?”

The hour? I thought. “Sure.” I looked at my phone. “Just a little past eleven.”

“What!?” she said, startled. “Shit, I-I’m sorry but… I need to go. It’s urgent and… I need to do something else. I’m so sorry for—”

“It’s okay,” I gently interrupted her. “I get it. We all got stuff to do.”

“Yes, thank you.” Then she looked at the bags lying around before turning to me. “Do they need the bags for evidence or something else, or can I take them to their owners?”

I shook my head. “You can take them but...it'll be reassuring to me and the cops if you could tell me from whom they stole these things. Just in case.”

“Oh,” she said. “Just that?”

I nodded. “Just that. I mean you're a hero, right? You're not thinking of running with these bags,” I said, trying to inject some humor at the question.

"What!?” she said. “No! Of course not! I know I don't look shiny and bright like you but I'm a hero! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

Fuck, I thought. I messed up.

“Sorry,” I said, holding my hands in front of me and trying to sound apologetic. “Just joking, I know you're a hero. I was just trying to lighten the mood and well, it kinda backfired.”

“Oh,” she just said, quietly.  “Sorry too. Just... not the first time I've been confused for a villain. It's getting kind of annoying.”

“It's okay. It’s just...people associate darker costumes with villains, you know? And you look quite intimidating in that thing, but it's kinda cool. Well made.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “And if the cops or PRT, or whoever comes needs to ask, tell them these guys stole from the Ramirez family. They live near here in one of the residential buildings. If they need confirmation, just tell them to ask for Cicada. They know me.”

I nodded. I knew the building. It was one of the few that still had power and people living in it. Hard to miss.

“I need to go now,” she continued. “They need me somewhere else. Sorry for leaving you with these guys.”

“It's fine. But if you need any help, I’ll be glad to assist in whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” she answered. "But it's something personal. You don't need to worry.”

Probably her parents,  I thought. Or whoever she's staying with right now. They probably don’t know what she’s doing at night. 

She nodded and turned, grabbing the bags on her way out. While she moved I noted how her steps didn’t make any sound. "Wait," I said to her. I took a slip of paper and wrote my number — it always paid off to be ready — then gave it to Cicada, who hesitantly grabbed it. “Here’s my number. If you ever need help, or someone to show you the ropes, or just a friendly chat, call me. Us independent heroes need to stick together; now more than ever.”

Cicada nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate this. And...” she seemed without words for a while before she spoke again, her tone somber. “I’m sorry for-for your family, I never met them but… I’m sure they were good people.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you and…” I paused, not only to get my thoughts in order but also to calm the sadness rising inside of me at another reminder of their loss.

It's not her fault, I thought. And she means well. 

 "And yes," I eventually finished, with my heart heavy and my voice cracking a little. "They were good people, thank you."

Cicada just nodded and left — her steps silent, and with the bags strapped at her body— leaving me alone; with only my thoughts and six unconscious thugs for company.

■

It was about to rain, and I had an important choice to make: either face the consequences of my actions now or later. I didn’t want to get into an argument with my mom, and I knew that I could avoid that by going through the window... but tomorrow I would have to face my mom anyway, so it would be all worthless.

For my mom, trust was everything, and I had ruined that with my actions, irresponsible and hypocritical as they were. Now only shadows remained of our previous relationship.

I had thought what I was doing was okay. They were nazis; they based their entire philosophy on ignorance and hatred so they deserved everything that happened to them. They liked to spread their ugliness everywhere they went, and celebrate their monstrous actions, and I was tired of that. They needed to pay; they needed to feel at least some of the pain that their victims had suffered.

But I was wrong, and now this was my punishment. No matter how much I complained and how much I hated her cold and distrustful look, I had to admit something: my mom had been right.

I sighed and dropped to the ground in front of my house. No use trying to run from the consequences. We all needed to face them.

I opened the front door and turned to the dinner room, fully expecting to see my mom waiting there for me, only to find it dark and empty. She wasn’t there, which meant she was asleep.

You’re saved, for now, Victoria. I thought.   But at least it means you can go to sleep quietly and with no fights.

On the way to my room, I caught a glimpse of me in one of the wall mirrors and I frowned at how awful I looked. I had bags under my eyes, my hair was a mess and the parts of my costume I could see were dirty and a little wet. My hair, however, was my biggest priory. Not only it was dirty but I was also pretty sure it smelled like rainwater and garbage from the streets. I thought for a second of cutting it to make it easier to wash but then I remembered why I started wearing it so long. I thought of my mom and one of the few happy memories we’d had together.

It’d been after one of the first times I’d been officially out in costume. We’d been sitting at the bus stop, and she’d been stitching up a cut on my forehead while I suppressed my forcefield.  The rain had been pouring, and we'd been all alone.  A moment for just my mom and me.  She’d paused midway through the first aid to tell me she was proud of me.  We’d got the guy we were after.  Then we had talked about how I’d have to wear my hair long for a  while to hide the stitches.  

Now we seemed so far from that. And not only with mom. All the happy memories I had of my Dad, Eric, Uncle Neil, and Dean seemed a little tainted right now. Now every time I went back they seemed more bitter than sweet, with the good moments I spent with them a constant reminder of their loss and the void they left behind.  

Mom wanted to pretend it was business as usual, that life just goes on and that she was okay now, but I knew the truth. The team─ me, her, all of us ─ was crumbling and falling into pieces. Aunt Sarah wanted to dissolve it and move on. Crystal just wanted to take a break from being Laserdream and everything that meant being a cape, Mom wanted to keep fighting for the team, I didn’t know what I wanted, and Amy…

Amy was here, waiting for me outside of my room.  

“Vicky,” she said, looking at me and wringing her hands. Nervous, just like me. When was the last time I had talked to her? A normal conversation, not the one-word responses that became the most usual form of communication in this family. When was the last time we had ever done that? Behave like actual sisters instead of a pair of roommates.

“You’re back,” she continued. “I’m glad. Carol’s asleep but she's angry at you.”  She paused, looking at me. The silence stretched as I tried to say something that didn’t sound awkward or just dumb. Last we talked things hadn’t ended well, and I didn’t want a repeat of that. I wanted us to be sisters again, just like before.

If that’s even possible, another, more cynical part of me said. Some things can never be undone or taken back.    

“I didn't say anything to Carol,” she blurted. “She just figured out on her own.” She paused. “How was it?” she eventually asked. “Out there,” she added.

“It was... fine,” I said, capitalizing on the topic she gave me. “I met a new cape, a hero and she was nice. We took out a few E88 gangsters together, and it was... okay, I think,” I said. “She was a little shy but I think she means well.”

“Oh,” Amy just said. “That’s good, more heroes.”

The silence stretched a little more. What to say now?  I opened my mouth, but Amy spoke first, her voice rushed, and her body language nervous. “Vicky, look I — “She moved closer to me and I tensed, something almost involuntary that I immediately hated. She’s your sister, I said to myself. She’s not going to do anything to you. 

“I just wanted to say to I’m sorry, Vicky,” she said, her words a rush and barely comprehensible. “I never meant to say those things, please. I-I know that it looks pretty bad but, you know I would never— “She got closer, her hands uncomfortably close to my body — the hands she used for the power she couldn’t completely contro l — and I flew back from her, shocking us both.

She just blinked owlishly, her hand still in the air, and the heartbroken expression on her face just made me feel worse.

“Ames,” I said, my voice raw. “I’m sorr—”

“Leave it, Victoria,” she interrupted me. She wasn’t looking at me but from here I could see the tears gathering at her eyes. “That reaction just told me everything I needed to know about what you think.”

Once again I was at a loss for words. She left me and went to her room. I sighed — f eeling just awful and tired and just wanting to just go to sleep — and passed a hand through my hair, thinking of how awful I had handled that. For a few seconds I thought of chasing after her, but I knew that even if she opened the door, I wouldn’t be able to say the things she wanted me to. Not without lying and making everything worse.

I just turned and went to my room. I opened the door and looked around. It was cold and dark. I just sighed and yawned.

Hopefully, some sleep would make me feel better about everything that had happened today.

Chapter Text

Raindrops 1.3 (Taylor).

The sad thing about rain , I thought as I moved with purpose across the empty graveyard, is that it's nothing but a reminder of all we've lost.

The city had always been hanging by a thread for as long as I could remember. Villains, drugs, poverty, sexual slavery, and more — Brockton Bay had it all, but we always pretended it wasn't there or that the heroes or law enforcement could handle it all. We were just deluding ourselves, and all that Leviathan did was tear away all those lies we used to tell ourselves.

I sighed. These last few days I had been feeling a little poetic and depressive. A dangerous combination that sometimes made me behave and sound like edgy thirteen years old trying too hard to be "deep" and "troubled"... but mom always said that poetry was emotion put into measure so maybe it was okay for me to do this, even if it made me feel a little dumb.

But considering the circumstances, I think I was a little entitled to some of that, dumb as it made me sound.

I looked across the graveyard, searching for any sort of life sign. There was no one around me, but these days I was paranoid enough to double-check.

I tapped a well within me with my mind — it felt like touching an entire pool made of air, with the pool being my stomach and the air something alien and strange from outside— then, focusing on it and how the contents of the well started moving, I exhaled.

What came out wasn't air, but rather a combination between a cry and a radar ping. I felt how it expanded, encompassing a circular area around me. Wherever it reached I sensed how bugs, rats and other vermin stirred and stood up to attention and started running to me.

I ignored those and focused on if people were around. While my power seemed more effective with small organisms like the rats and bugs, the truth was it also worked on humans. People who heard my call were drawn towards me, but for some reason I couldn't affect them with the other aspect of my power.

The song ended, and no humans appeared on my sensor or near me; all that surrounded me were bugs and vermin of all kinds, making noises and standing up to attention. Some of them joined my armor, molding themselves on it and strengthening it. Once I felt safer and bulkier, I dismissed the ones remaining and they skittered back to the shadows.

I sighed, finding comfort from the rain in my armor, and kept moving through the night.

A few nights ago I had visited and stopped some grave-robbing assholes. Since then I had been wary every time I came here, not only for the safety of my secret identity, but also to stop more criminals from stealing someone else’s loved ones. 

As a whole, Brockton Bay was already deep in a pit full of darkness and ugliness. If I could stop just a little bit of that darkness from getting worse, then I would be happy, and maybe feel that my efforts as a burgeoning hero meant something. That I had done some good.

I had always been helpless back then. I had been the bullied ugly girl. Nobody ever helped me and I never managed to help myself. All my efforts had been for naught; in the end, it wasn't even me that stopped the bullying. Sophia just pissed off the wrong person, and the last thing I knew, Emma and Madison had been suspended and Sophia expelled.

Turns out that consequences for your actions actually do exist when instead of bullying the creepy girl, you targeted someone actually important in the eyes of the administration.

Like that rich bitch with E88 connections. Blackwell folded pretty fast after that. And news traveled fast about it.

Sophia expelled, Emma and Madison suspended, and still, nobody gave a shit about me. Typical.

And then they dare to call that bitch a fucking hero. She wasn't a hero, she was a fuckin sadist. Glad she's dead.

In a way it made sense. Why the administration always ignored me and sometimes went really far to save their asses when  I tried to tell them how insane she was. The PRT probably pressured them to keep their precious Ward in school, and probably even gave them 'incentives', making it even less probable they would report her bad behavior or how batshit insane she was. But of course

Those fuckers.

I stomped on the dirt, pissed and angry. She was dead now — and hero or not I was not afraid to privately admit she deserved it — but she had died defending the rest of us from a monster and now she would be seen and remembered as a hero. A final bitter laugh from her.

I had powers now though. The price had been too big and the loss too great for me to feel better but… I was still going to be ten times the hero she never was.

I arrived at the destination, two lonely and wet graves with a pair of bouquets of ruined flowers at their feet.  On them two names were engraved:

Daniel Hebert

1968-2011

Beloved Husband and Father

Annette Rose Hebert

1969-2008

She taught something precious to each of us.

I crouched  “Hi there, Mom, Dad.” I smiled and started cleaning the mud off their graves. I couldn't help but sigh in annoyance at how the rain had ruined the bouquet of flowers I had left for them. Part of it was my fault, though. Should have realized that this weather would ruin anything nice.

“So,” I said after finishing the cleaning. “I met someone new tonight. She's a hero just like me, you guys probably know her: Glory Girl from New Wave. She's... not like I expected, but in a good way. She's the first hero I talked to too so I hope I didn't come out as awkward or weird. This thing I wear doesn't help either, but I think I managed to make a good impression.” I inserted some cheer in my voice, even if it felt forced. “She even gave me her number and told me to call her if I needed some help. I mean, she wouldn't have done that if she thought I was a villain, right?” I chuckled, but It felt fake.

“I stopped some robbers today. They attacked a very nice family tonight, the Ramirez's, but I stopped them. It was the E88, Hookwolf crew I think, but I… stopped and saved someone. Glory Girl also helped and…”

What to do. What to say? I had no more good news, or even any news at all. This felt… pointless. I knew I wasn't talking to my parents — that they would never hear me speak again, but... I had no one else. No one that would hear what I had to say without judgment. Leviathan took  everyone from me and left me all alone.

“So… Kurt and Lacey are also really nice to me. They're good and… I don't think they have much of an idea about what to do with me, but I guess they're trying. But I can’t tell them this. They would sign me up with the Wards and… I can't.” My eyes were stinging and tears were threatening to come out, but I did my best to just hold on to them. I’d already cried too much these last weeks. I was just tired of crying like a helpless little girl. Crying and screaming for help solved nothing. “Mom, Dad… I'm sorry. I know you would disapprove of me doing this on my own, but I can't trust the PRT. Their Ward made my life hell for over a year and they did nothing. I won't trust an organization that sacrifices someone else just to have a monster like her because of her powers. I'm sorry, but I can't.” I smiled and sniffed. “But hey, I'm standing up for my ideals like you guys always wanted so I guess it- it's okay?”

The silence stretched, with only the rain providing something close to an answer. 

I stood up, my knees groaning. Time to go home. I knew Kurt and Lacey were asleep — tired from a long day of helping around the neighborhood and the camp closer to us, in exchange for some extra food or stuff that we needed at home — but I still didn't want them to freak out and panic if they saw me like this. I would tell them, eventually, but first I wanted something under my belt. Something I could call a personal achievement that would prove to them I could handle this. That I could be an independent hero and take care of myself.

“Good talk,” I said standing up. “I'll... I'll return when I can.” I turned my back to them. “I- I love you. Bye."

I left the cemetery just as I entered, my steps silent, with only the rain as company.

■

Sneaking into the house was surprisingly easy. I had one spare key,  I was really silent when I walked and it wasn't  raining anymore.

 The last one had very little to do with me sneaking into the house, but at least it helped to improve my mood.

I inserted the key and in the second I heard the click and the door open, I remembered I was still wearing my CIcada armor. I cursed myself and closed the door, looked around and turned back jogging away from the house to an empty alleway. Once I got there I started  dismissing my power. Instantly I felt how my armor started vibrating and moving . From one moment to the next, my armor lost its connection and symmetry as the living beings that made it up started moving and falling to the floor. Bugs jumped and flew away, while rodents silently fell to the floor — running outside and skittering away into the shadows. 

Once the armor was completely gone I went back to the house, opened the door

 and closed it behind me. I needed a rest.

I was willing to admit that the power of basically turning rats and creepy crawlies into a super-strong armor wasn't what I had dreamed of when I was a kid, but I was willing to make do with what I had.

The armor was strong and resistant. Able to resist gunfire and quickly regenerate if it was somehow pierced. If I had extra bugs I could even make a weapon if I had an object in hand. I was also faster and my endurance had also increased. My song or cry was also very useful to locate enemies, and after some thought, I had realized that it could be a useful ability to distract enemies to, make them focus on me instead of the squishy civilians and innocent people

.

In short words, it was a very well rounded power that, despite being very gross, it  was very useful. Even if the aesthetic of the armor made me look a little like a villain. But I guess that was a little beyond me.

Maybe it was the fur of the rats and the chitin of the insects that made it look that way.

Maybe if I used only white rats, my armor would look slightly more heroic? It was a funny thought, but one I immediately discarded. I couldn't exactly choose the vermin I could use. It was a little pointless to think about maybe. I was stuck looking like that and complaining would be meaningless. I felt that a part of me should even be grateful, in a twisted way. 

I had lost Dad, the last person I had in this world, to Leviathan, and then ended up connected to tubes and on the verge of life and death until Panacea saved me. I woke up alone, with harried doctors and nurses as my only company and source of explanations. 

They told me Dad was dead, just like hundreds of other people in the shelter we were in. Leviathan tore the doors open and… from one second to the next I was on the floor and then- then...

Not worth thinking about. He was gone, so was mom. I was alone, but hey…. at least my powers didn't suck.  That- that was something good out if this, right? I could help others with this, and- and maybe help the city?

At that moment, when I learned I had powers, those thoughts were the only thing that kept me sane, kept me going. And in a way, they still did. 

I remembered staring at nothing after hearing that and the nurses asking me questions, worried for me. I remembered how I said nothing until they left and then I burst out crying. Then a few hours later both Kurt and Lacey had come. My eyes were wet and puffy and looking at them just made me cry more. The two of them hugged me tightly, and we cried together.

I moved across the kitchen, and after taking off my shoes, to not make noise, I climbed the steps of Kurt and Lacey's house. The steps were creaky and old, but both of them were heavy sleepers so I knew I was safe.

A part of me wanted to have a shower, to relax and think about what happened, but then I remembered that actual running water wasn't a constant thing anymore in this part of the city. Sometimes it came, sometimes it didn't, but the morning was the safest bet for a nice shower.

It wasn’t like I smelled that bad or anything — I should have smelled of wet rat and bug after hours of running inside that thing, but apparently my power took care of that — but I just wanted to feel  warm water running on my skin. Making me feel better and renewed, like I used to feel back then on better days. Before Leviathan, before the bullying. When both mom and dad were here. A time and place where I was sure I could say I was a happy person.

Now I was the hero I always dreamed to be, but I was stuck trying to help a sinking city.

At least I impressed someone tonight,   I thought as I moved to my room.

When I thought of Glory Girl and saw her in posters and interviews, I couldn't help but think she’d be someone like Emma. Someone so nice and pretty and popular that always seemed just so perfect and heroic on the outside, but was an entitled bitch on the inside. I was pleasantly surprised when she turned out to be really nice though.

I also had to recognize that I didn't think I would be comfortable working with an organization that was desperate enough to make Sophia of all things a hero and then let her loose without some supervision. They had to know how crazy she was, they couldn't be that ignorant to her true nature, and if some things that people said about Shadow Stalker online were true, then it was safe to assume that she didn't bother to even pretend to be a decent human being.

And nobody gave a shit. Because she had powers.

No. If I was doing this, I had to do it alone, or with someone else. Sure, some Wards and Protectorate heroes had seemed nice enough, when they tried to talk to me as Cicada, but how many of them knew and how many of them would have cared? 

And even if I were stupid enough to trust them, it was a sure bet they would force me to join the Wards, and then I’d be forced to patrol and help only certain sections of the city. Sections where the Protectorate had tight control, where I would be safe.

I didn't care about being safe. I cared about helping the people that needed it the most. About being a hero.

Helping the helpless. I was trampled and ignored once, but I would not let that happen to other people. The Ramirez's were one of the people ignored by the PRT and abused by monsters like the Empire, but there were more than just them. More people that the other heroes couldn't protect because they were too far away from the camps and places where they patrolled. They were stretched too thin to help people. To do their jobs.

I wasn't going to fail them. No matter what happened, I would stop the monsters that preyed on the innocent.

One way or another.

Chapter Text

Raindrops 1.4 (Taylor)

Water was around me, and it was all I could see. I was on the floor, every breath hurt and I couldn't feel my legs. It hurt, everything hurt. I could still remember… their feet on my body, the pressure… none of them listened. No one ever did.

My glasses? Where were my glasses? I couldn't see anything. I swung my arm, trying to reach someone, something. Dad. I had to reach my dad. Where was he? I remembered holding his hand, but then the crowd surged. He screamed for me, but then… I didn't remember what happened.

"Someone please help," I shouted, or at least tried to. Nothing came out. It hurt. Dad, was he okay?

Using my arms, I tried to rise, but I wasn't strong enough and I fell to the water once again. It entered my mouth and my lungs. It tasted wrong — coppery and metallic. I coughed, and I squinted my eyes at the water, trying to see what it was, even though I instinctively knew.

There was blood on the water.

Tired, I gave up and let my head sink down. The Endbringer shelter was silent. Moments ago it was filled to the brim with scared people, but now…

Was I the only one alive? 

Footsteps got closer, echoing across the water, and I knew what it was. I lifted my head and watched the force of nature approach me. Its eyes were clear and shiny to me even at this distance.

Blood rose around me — its violent movements throwing me to the side and making me cough — and I drowned. 

Alone and forgotten.

Now I was swimming, the water was everywhere, surrounding me. Somehow I could breathe, even though I was underwater. 

The water was heavy, I couldn't move; I was alone — suspended in the dark. I tried to struggle, to kick and move my arms, but I felt frozen in place. Like a statue, slowing sinking to the depths.

The water slowly turned more and more red. And far-far away, something was approaching me across the bloody water.

I wasn't as alone as I thought.

The thing got closer to me. Enough for me to recognize what it was. My eyes widened after seeing it and I tried to order my body to move, to swim away, to do something. To survive.

But I couldn't do anything. Here in the water, I was a prisoner of my body. Helpless again.

I saw his eyes before seeing the rest of his body. They seemed larger from here, shining from afar and making my body feel colder.

He got closer; the way he swam reminded me of one of those mythological sea monsters from the depths.

Maybe that was his true nature after all this time. Something from beyond time and myth. Come to life once again thanks to the existence of powers.

He got closer and closer. His eyes pierced through me, and the surrounding water  — now completely red and sticky ---  started to weigh more and more as if I was being crushed.

Leviathan approached and—

I woke up, drenched in sweat, at the sound of the alarm of my brand-new phone.  The upbeat pop song coming from it made me bury my head harder into the pillow, and I huffed in annoyance at its cheerful and happy lyrics about acceptance and being happy with yourself. Lacey liked the song and the artist, but I just found the message too on the nose. Just another song about love and happiness — the usual stuff from the pop industry.

Once I realized that I couldn't just make the song end with my mind and that the alarm would keep going, I growled in annoyance and stood up to turn it off myself. Grabbing the cellphone, I opened the alarm app and sighed in relief once the song abruptly ended and silence took the room once again. After checking the hour — eight in the morning — I flopped on the bed once again and closed my eyes.

Another day in Brockton Bay, I thought. God, I really can't wait…

Last night, I’d arrived back relatively early and got some actual sleep, but even with that I still felt like shit.

'Fucking nightmares ,' I thought. 'All I ask is two nights of quiet sleep. Nights without nightmares and waking up in a cold sweat."

I touched my face and frowned in disgust at how sticky and wet it felt. In fact, my entire body felt sticky and tired. I hoped we had enough water for a nice cold shower. The last few days, the temperature had been steadily rising in the Bay, and with the constant rain that didn't seem to let go, all signs seemed to point towards this week being humid and warm.

'Hopefully, one without delays in the food supplies and other necessities,' I thought, with no small amount of bitterness.

Kurt and Lacy had been talking about grabbing all the money and possessions they could and moving to Boston. Kurt's mother lived there, and she had offered help in settling in, but both of them still had doubts about leaving the Bay. This place wasn't perfect, but it was still home, and still worth fighting for in their eyes. 

I, however, had more doubts about that. This city was home — the place where both my mom and dad had raised me and that they had loved so much — but it was also a sinking ship with too many holes in it to salvage it, and the place where both of my parents had died. Right now everyone was trying their hardest to plug those holes and stop the water from getting inside, but it was a rush job and a sloppy one. The water was going to enter, and the ship was going to sink and unless we all jumped at the closest lifeboat, we were all going with it.

Both Kurt and Lacey knew it and had discussed the subject when they thought I wasn't listening. Rumors about how the Mayor planned to give up on the city or how Washington thought we weren’t worth saving, and that's why the food supply seemed intermittent.

And if this city was a sinking ship, then I had to admit that a part of me wanted to jump straight into one of the emergency boats and get the hell out of here... but I knew I would never forgive myself for it. Both mom and dad had believed in this city — in the potential it had and the value of the people living in it —  and it would feel like a betrayal to them if I tried to convince Kurt and Lacey of leaving. They wanted to fight for this city, to prove to the world that we were not done, and — for the memory of my parents — I was okay with that. But I would do it my way. 

I went to the bathroom and undressed. Feeling the cold water on my skin woke me up and made me feel alive. Looking at how each drop fell on my skin and revitalized it — forming patterns and little shapes before going down the drain — my mind wandered to more unpleasant subjects I had tried to suppress or forget if possible.

The doctors had called my survival both a miracle and a surprise. I wasn't the only survivor — there were four others — but I’d been the one with the lowest chances of pulling through. Several of my bones were broken, I had water in my lungs, a concussion, and many other things I couldn't remember. If Panacea hadn't passed through my room, then I would probably still be there or dead. 

  They asked me some questions to see if there was any lingering damage in my head, to see if I remembered anything, or maybe just to prod. My body had been broken into pieces, to the point I could barely feel anything, and yet it seemed like the doctors had cared more about asking their questions. How I’d survived Leviathan when others hadn't. I couldn't help but think that so many hours in the hospital made people more nosy to the point of insensitivity. Seeing the insides of people probably helped to erase social boundaries other people were more aware of.

Or at least that’s what I liked to think. The other option was that they were just a bunch of insensitive assholes. Either way, it was not worth thinking about it. With some luck, I would never step into that hospital ever again.

I finished showering and changed, choosing a comfortable hoodie and some nice leggings, while I thought of my next step. I had been patrolling for a few weeks and, despite doing some objectively good actions and helping other heroes, I couldn't stop the sinking sensation that I wasn't doing enough. The gangs were still an issue, people were still being awful to one another, and the heroes weren't doing enough.

I had to do something… but I just didn't know what. Hard to do something meaningful when you were alone. But at least I knew where to start.

Hookwolf and his crew. They were the most brutal and brutish of all the forces of the Empire, the ones that thrived on brutality and violence. His crew were the ones that had attacked the Ramirezes last night and if I managed to just arrest one of those three…

Then at least I would be doing something. The Empire was still the faction with, arguably, the most numbers of capes, but they’d splintered into several factions that were fighting among themselves. Last week Purity had attacked one of the valkyrie twins — no idea which one  — and practically gave her to the PRT in a gift wrap, all while proclaiming that she and the Empire were two separate entities and that she was trying to be a hero. She even offered to affiliate her group to the PRT if they officially recognized her as a hero.

They said no, and for once, I respected their decision. Purity was a monster, one that made Sophia look like a puppy. She had killed people, ruined their lives, and left only ashes on her path, just because they were black or gay. She had preached a brutish and disgusting ideology with a straight face and a veneer of civility to draw more people into her gang, and she had been successful enough to rise to be second in command after Kaiser. And now after years of being an evil nazi, she suddenly reconsidered her life choices and wanted to be a hero, while still consorting with other monsters like Night and Fog or unapologetic criminals like Rune? And whole naming her "heroic" group as the Pure?

Yeah, right. As if anyone would believe that. The PRT was corrupt and desperate — if Sophia was hero material for them then that spoke a lot of things about their standards —  but they weren't complete Idiots. There was no way they would trust the Nazis. There had to be a limit.

Still, between Hookwolf or Purity, I had to admit the latter was slightly more palatable. At least she wasn't sending her goons after innocent people. Yet.

And it wasn’t like I could do anything about her, anyway. Too powerful and too protected.

I started brushing my hair while looking at myself in the mirror. I looked a little tired but If Kurt or Lacey asked I could blame the nightmares or the fact that I missed my bed at my home. I wouldn't even be lying. I really missed my home, but what would be the point of going back? 

There was no one there waiting for me.

"Taylor, honey, is up yet?" Lacey's voice sounded through the door. She had made a habit of waking early and asking for me to see if I was okay or if I just needed more time. She and Kurt were trying to make me feel welcome here, and for that I was grateful. They could’ve just sent me to my grandmother in New York but they’d taken me in without complaint and made clear that whatever happened I would always be welcome with them.

They were great, and, and that only made me feel more guilty for hiding my powers from them. But I knew that if they were aware of my night activities, then I would just be adding more unwanted worries on their shoulders. 

"I'm fine," I answered. I opened the door and stepped out of the room. I saw her expression relax, and she smiled. "Just a rough night."

Lacey briefly touched me on the shoulder, and I smiled a little at the gesture. "I think we’re all having a bit of those these days. Breakfast?”

I nodded, following her to the kitchen. On her left arm, I noticed how her scar had gotten smaller again. A week ago she had gotten into a fight with a pair of robbers that wanted to take her off some of the food packages she had. A few dockworkers had been near and helped her fight them off, but she still got a nasty cut on her arm, and it worried Kurt a lot.

Another reason to get up and do something productive with my powers sooner than later.

"Is Kurt up yet?"

Lacey’s smile died a little. Oh, so he was out. She didn't like it when he was out there without her to watch his back. Can't say I liked it either. 

“He's out working,” Lacey said confirming my suspicions while walking to the kitchen and cleaning up a little on her way. “Trying to see what he can do to fix up the city a little and what pays. I'm gonna stay here for today, clean the place a little. Maybe see if Mrs. Robertson wants to exchange some food if I fix her sink or something. What’re you going to do today?

I shrugged. “Maybe some breakfast first and then — maybe help in the camp. To see if someone is searching for more hands. Why, do you need help?”

We approached the colorful kitchen of their house. 

“I was thinking you could help me a little here but I don't want to force you if you want to help outside. I would ask you to please be careful, though.” She went to the fridge and pulled two eggs from inside. Both Lacey and Kurt liked to cook, and she showed me some stuff. Their kitchen was old but well taken care of. Lacey liked to joke how Kurt still owed her a newer oven and maybe a better microwave, but they made it work.“Now sit down and I'll make you some breakfast.”

“I mean,” I said once I  sat at the kitchen table. “If you really need, I can stick around and help you clean a little, but I wanted to check on the Ramirez's in the nearby camp. Mr. Ramirez told me I could help around a little If I asked him, maybe get some extra supplies and maybe some money If I was interested.  Nothing shady, he specified.”

Lacey just frowned and kept making the eggs. I really did want to go see the Ramirez's, not only to see if Marcos had something for me but also to check how they were after the mess of last night and, maybe, see if the thugs that had assaulted them had said something about their bosses last night. Maybe they slipped that they were working for Cricket — one of the capes I was confident I could take on — or knew something about a supply stash? Anything would serve.

But if Lacey needed me, then I would stay. I owed her that much. 

"I trust Marcos and Lina," Lacey said as she approached me with a very delicious plate of scrambled eggs. "What I don't trust is the rest of this city. Everyone is going crazy and half of the time whoever you're talking to is preparing themselves to shank you."

She left the plate and served me some juice. "You're not eating?" I asked her.

"I already did, hon." She breathed. "And to be honest,  I don't like the idea of you going around town. It's dangerous outside."

"So it's a no, then?" I asked her. I grabbed a piece of egg and ate it. I chewed and relished its salty flavor before swallowing it.

God, I needed that. Who knew being a hero was so hunger-inducing?

"No," Lacey said. "It's just that... I'm not comfortable with you going outside, but I'm very well aware we have little options."

"I could just stay, help you clean?" I wanted to go outside but if it helped calm her nerves a little, then I could wait a day. I could always go as Cicada anyway.

"You could," she said as she sat down in the chair in front of me. "But I know you want to go out. You're a teenager, Taylor. I was like you once and I know that at that age I would rather do some work outside than stay inside all day, cleaning with an old woman."

I didn't answer, mostly because I was thinking about what to say. She was right; I did want to go outside and do something, but the way she said it… it was like staying with her inside was a negative thing for me and it really wasn't. A part of me wanted to help around, be less of a burden for her and her husband. But I knew that if I said it, she would just brush it off and pretend it was okay when it wasn't.

"And I know that forcing you wouldn't work either," Lacey continued. "I'm not—" She froze, but I knew what she meant.

I clenched my fork and kept eating. I spoke after I swallowed.  "Dad," I finally said, my voice a little more raw and emotional than I wanted. "You're talking about Dad. It's fine, you can say his name."

"Taylor. Sorry, I just--."

"It's fine, Lacey, you can say it and—" ‘I'm not going to cry every time I hear it,’ I wanted to say, or maybe, 'I miss him every day, but he… wasn't really there. Not until the very end.'

I could have said many things about my dad, but instead, I just finished with a very lame, "It's okay, really."

Lacey just nodded and continued on, even if it was clear she wanted to talk about it. "Anyway, I’m not Danny, and just because I'm your legal guardian doesn't mean I can force you to do what I want. My mother did that to me and I resented her for that and—"

"I could never resent you. You or Kurt." It would be the height of ungratefulness to do so.

“That's sweet of you, hon, but I think we both know you shouldn't make promises you can't keep.” She served herself some juice and drank a little. “You're a teen, Taylor, you're in the age to keep secrets and be a little shit just because.” I snorted a little. If she just knew.

“And in any other situation it would be okay, but…” She left it hanging there.

“We're not in a normal situation,” I finished.

“No, we're not. And I know, you know that.”

I swallowed the last piece of egg. "So that means I can't go?"

"No," she replied, and that surprised me. "It means you can go, but with some conditions ." 

"Conditions?" I asked her

"Yes." Then she stood up and pulled two things from a drawer and dropped them in front of me. A knife and a can of pepper spray.

"You're going to have these two on your body all the time. For your security."

I gingerly grabbed the knife. It was small but just pulling it out of the sheath and looking at it I knew it was sharp. It also looked new. " You want me to shank someone?" I asked.

"No," Lacey said. "I want you to defend yourself if something bad happens."

I nodded. "Okay, I can live with that, what else?"

'You have to come here before it gets dark. And please stick to the areas where law enforcement has some presence."

"The camp is not that near to the Protectorate," I pointed out.

"But it has its own protectors, and a hero shows up sometimes, so it's not in the hands of the gangs either."

"A hero?" I asked, more interesting. She's talking about me.

"Says her name is Cicada," Lacey said. "Helped save some people from the area."

"Did you meet her?" I asked her, eager to see what she thought of me.

Lacey shook her head.  "A few met her, but she mostly shows up at night." Then she raised her eyebrow. "I didn't take you as a cape geek. I'm surprised you're interested."

I just smiled. "Not really, I'm just interested in knowing who's who right now."

Lacey hummed a little as she picked up my plate. "Then you'll be interested in what me and the others are working on. We're making some posters about notorious villains and heroes in the area. Trying to warn people about where to go and where not."

"That sounds interesting,"  I replied.

"It is," she said. "So, what are you gonna do? 

"I want to go out. It just — it feels kinda weird carrying a  concealed weapon around."

"Everyone's doing it these days. Me and Kurt included."

"I know it's — okay, going to do it."

She smiled. "Wonderful.  It's safer for you, believe me."

I helped her to clean up the table and grabbed the pepper spray and the knife before heading out. While on my way, Lacey spoke.

"Tell Marcos I said hi and that they better take good care of you."

"Sure."

I got out of the house and walked to the camp with purpose. I knew what to do. Gather some info and hit the weakest link available on Kaiser's operation.

I'm going to become an authentic hero , I thought. Better than her, than them. I will never leave anyone on their own. Like they did to me.

Chapter Text

  Raindrops 1.5 (Victoria)

I opened my eyes at the sound of my phone alarm. The song coming from it was catchy and happy, a pick I had made months ago for how fun it was. It was another day to be a hero, after all. Better start with the best energy and what better way to do so than with a song about determination and hope, as long one kept trying. 

Now, more than ever, I hated myself for the decision. The song seemed inappropriate considering the situation; its lyrics sounded like any other mass-produced pop song, and they were starting to give me a headache for how fucking sugary they were. But it helped me to get out of bed since it was really fucking annoying. 

I knew that all I needed to do was to reach out and turn off the alarm, but in these seconds — with my head birthing a headache and my body sore and hurting — it felt like a titanic effort that was more painful than worthwhile.

I still needed to get up, though. It was either that or let my mom force me out of bed. 

Right, my mother. Who’d probably started her day hours ago. And was aware of what I did last night. Fuck.

One step at a time, Victoria, I thought. First, try to get up. Then start thinking about what you're going to say to your mother.

I let myself down and reluctantly got up to start my day. Throwing the blankets off me, I stretched and groaned as I felt the pop of my bones. Right, I hadn't slept well last night. I’d thought that maybe a good night of rest would make me feel better, but the sad truth was I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep for hours, thinking over the conversation between me and Amy — of what I’d said, what  I could have said instead, and how everything had turned sideways since that day.

I’d known that Amy had felt awful for a while, but I’d never expected that she would feel so bad. I had known about her overwork at the hospital, about her lack of friends, but I’d always thought that she would trust me with her secrets and issues, just like I’d done with her. We were family; I’d constantly made it clear that I would be there for her and that she could count on me for anything. For a while, I’d even thought that setting dates for her were the solution to some of her issues. I knew that meeting Dean had been one of the best things that happened to me. I’d thought that, maybe, if she had met someone whom she could have that kind of connection with, she would stop trying to push herself so hard, and maybe someone would get past that armor she had built around her.

Boy, had I been an idiot. 

Now that I knew the truth, I couldn’t even begin to imagine how awkward all those times I hung out with both her and Dean had been for both of them. He must have been aware of her feelings for me and her hatred of him, and I was the clueless idiot that constantly tried to get them to hang out a little bit more.

I’d made a bit of a mess of everything, hadn't I? All my life I was sure that, no matter what happened, we would be able to overcome any challenge that would present itself to us as a family. That had been naive of me. There wasn't an easy way out of this, only me and her, trying to not make this situation any worse than it already was. 

But I refused to think that this could have been the only result possible. 

Anything would have been better than letting those feelings and issues bubble and simmer under her skin. But I guessed that since I wasn't the most attentive of sisters — and with our mother being who she was — it also fit that she wasn't the most communicative and trusting person.

And now everything had exploded in our faces, with no clear answer and an uncertain path forward.

No use for moping, Victoria, I thought. Get up and do something. 

I opened my drawers and started searching for a nice change of clothes, something that would take me out of this zombie mode and make me feel a little bit like myself. I chose a black top, a nice pair of jeans, and a light sweater, just in case it was cold outside. 

I stealthily went to the bathroom — trying to avoid Amy and my mom — and started my morning routine. I had a light shower to wake me up and went through my hair care routine . It was hard to keep my hair in shape, but it was a job I was willing to do without hesitation. The presentation was a crucial part of being a hero — civilians had to feel safe at our arrival after all — and I didn't think I would have the same impression if I showed up at the scene with my hair greasy and with bags under my eyes. After showering, I started to moisturize my skin, taking great care to not use too much. Beauty products and skincare creams were luxury items right now, and I was acutely aware of how hard it would be to find another cream like this one, with the general lack of resources.

While moisturizing my face, I noticed the bruises, the small cuts, and scabs. Not many, and not too noticeable either, but still there. They were a visible truth about the nature of my power and my lies about my supposed invincibility.

“No more free healing now,” I muttered to myself in the mirror. “Got to be better about avoiding hits now.”

It was better if Amy didn't use her power on me. For the sake of both of us. After last night, it was clear to me that I wasn't comfortable with her using her powers on me, and that maybe it would be better if she didn't use them at all. 

I began applying light makeup on some of the bruises, focusing on the more visible ones, like the one on my collarbone and the one near my hands. After finishing, I started work on my face; I wasn't one to use anything fancy or colorful while casual, just light mascara to hide the signs of tiredness, and make my face look more healthy than the pale visage it currently was. 

Looking at my reflection, I forced a little smile and tried to look more confident than I felt. Once I realized that I was too tired to make it seem genuine, I settled for a neutral expression that just fit. I nodded my head and gave a  once over at my reflection, ready to go again and be a hero.

“Just another day in Brockton Bay," I muttered. “You can do this, Dallon.”

I went down the stairs.

⊙

Breakfast in the Dallon house was a lonely thing, shared only between Amy and me. Dad used to do breakfast when we were young; he liked to buy blueberry cupcakes and make hotcakes with us. But those were in his good days, and over time those became rarer until only bad and worse days remained. With Dad sleeping or depressed, Mom was the one that usually did breakfast but rarely stayed to eat with us. Something always came up, either work or hero stuff. Leviathan attacking hadn't changed that, and I struggled to think of something that would. 

So it was to my surprise when I saw her in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee.

“Victoria,” she said, staring at me. "Come, sit, and eat something. We need to talk.“

I looked at my mom; she was wearing a pencil skirt and a white business shirt. Her hair was in a bob and she had put on a little bit of makeup; almost imperceptible but still slightly noticeable by someone who knew where to look. Her looks were severe, formal, and professional like she was about to go to work at the law firm.    

I sat and grabbed a cereal box that was waiting for me at the table, then poured some in a bowl with some milk. I wanted a cup of coffee as well, but I had drunk too much of it the other day. I already had trouble sleeping.       

I grabbed a spoonful of cereal and chewed, watching my mother idly drink from her cup while she watched me. Was she going to say something? Or maybe I should?     

"You went out last night," she started. "Again, and without my explicit permission, I should add."

I swallowed. 'Sorry," I said and immediately got tongue-tied when I realized I didn't know how to continue. Everything in my head sounded fake or too cutting, mostly because I realized I didn't feel sorry about last night. I didn't regret going out last night and stopping criminals and, if I got a choice, I knew I would do it all over again. Better going out there than staying all day up here, with Mom and Amy.

Mom just nodded and raised an eyebrow. I cringed. "I can see you're 'sorry', Victoria, but that doesn't excuse your behavior. I explicitly told you to only go out with me or other members of New Wave. You can't be trusted on your own, and you're aware of that. We've had that chat several times already."

I gritted my teeth. I knew that, but if it was up to Mom I would never go out. I had besmirched everything New Wave stood for with my behavior, and I knew that and I wanted to change that, but how would I do that If I never got to prove myself?

"I just wanted to help," I said. "I didn't fight any capes, and you can ask the police officers I called, all the perps I caught were okay, and- and I met a hero! She's new and she appreciated my help!"

Carol just looked at me, her expression unamused. "And you think that proves to me you are to be trusted on the field? You crippled several men, Victoria. And then covered it up. Criminals or not that's against everything New Wave represents and what I taught you. Accountability and responsibility above all things."

"I- I know that. And I recognize that what I did is wrong but, mom, I can help. You said to Aunt Sarah that your hands are full and you were barely hanging on, right now—"

"You listened to that!?" she said, with indignation.

"And I could help," I continued. "I- I would even go to whatever power workshops the PRT has, or go to the police about the cover-ups or anything you want. I just— we can't let the city fall apart like this! And we need all the heroes we can get, right?”

Mom just sighed and looked at me in disappointment. “No, Victoria, because it's not that simple. It never is. The city is in a delicate state and even with Protectorate oversight, I can't trust you to not run off and hurt someone in a way they can't recover. Like you did to Menja."

I spluttered. "She's a nazi and a supervillain. She wanted to steal a supply truck, and was about to skewer Miss Militia! She thanked me for the assistance.”

"You threw Menja across a building," Carol shot back.

"The building was empty, I checked," I answered. I wasn't an idiot, contrary to what my mother thought. In my whole hero career, I’d never injured someone innocent. All the people I'd hurt had it coming in some way or another. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so rough, but they deserved to be behind bars. "And people needed the food and supplies in that truck, while she just wanted to help Kaiser steal them to make more people join the Empire. She's awful! "

"There's a line between them and us, Victoria. That line's what makes us heroes. I can't trust you because you crossed that." Carol retorted.

I stared at her, horrified. "No, I didn't. I- the people I hurted were criminals, white supremacists, and pimps. One had kidnapped a fifteen-year-old girl and sold her to the ABB. Another one had mutilated an old man just because he was black and gay. None of them were innocent or civilians. They knew what they were doing."

“That doesn't make it different. You still hid what you did. And dragged Amy into that." Carol narrowed her eyes and her tone got angrier, more bitter. "Or maybe she dragged you."

I widened my eyes. What the fuck had she meant with that?

"What the hell, Mom!?"

"If I can't trust you, then I trust her even less. She's like her dad, and I wouldn't be surprised if she put in your head how you could just simply go to her with whatever you messed up. Making you more and more dependent on her."

I just stared at her, dumbfounded. Where the hell had she gotten that idea? Amy had her issues but she would never do that. She was a good person, not some sort of manipulative mastermind. But my mom— I looked at her and saw nothing but conviction on her face. She really believed Amy was at fault here 

"What the fuck!?" 

"Victoria, language!" Carol snapped at me.

Oh, I said that aloud didn't I? Fuck.

Carol breathed.  "I won't discuss this with you, Victoria. Whatever decision that had to be taken has been taken. I don't need your input."

"You just can't say that about Amy and brush it out you're just being--."

"What I'm being is a responsible adult," Carol snapped, interrupting me. "Once you're older you'll understand that some things just have to be done."

"What sort of excuse is--." I started

"One that will not discuss." Carol continued, again interrupting me. "Right now you should be worrying about your aura and it's long-lasting effects on people, not Amy."

"My aura?" I asked her. There was no way that she was still with that right? 

"Yes, your aura. We can't discount that—"

"I can't Master people,”  I said, exasperated. Now she was treading old grounds with argument and she knew that. She knew how hurtful those accusations were to me. “I didn't master her! The PRT tested that.  I can't do that sort of stuff."

"Powers grow and change Victoria, we can't discount that after all of this time your aura has changed and now can affect more than emotions."

"That doesn't make any sense! Amy doesn't even go out in the field. I barely used my aura around her. If my power could master people then you and the rest of New Wave would be—" I stopped and stared at her. She had suddenly gone quiet, her face grim.

"You think I mastered you?" I muttered, horrified.

Mom pursed her lips. "I don't know, Victoria, and until I'm sure of that I'm not comfortable leaving you to go out as Glory Girl."

"But I can't Master people," I repeated, this time more shocked. I still couldn't believe my mom would mistrust me so much. Did Amy feel like this all this time?        

Wait, where was Amy?

"Mom," I asked. "Where's Amy?"

She stared at me for a few seconds before answering. "She's at the hospital, doing her rounds."

I paled. "You let her go to the hospital!? Why!?”

A sour expression crossed her face. "It doesn't matter. She's gone and that's fine for me."

"You know it's not healthy for her to be there. Not since dad." 

I needed to go get her. She couldn't be there.

"Crystal is with her," Carol said. "She'll watch that she doesn't do anything bad to any patient."

"That's not the point, Mom!" What was wrong with her. She knew how toxic the hospital was for Amy. She should be resting and not using her powers. "You know she's not okay."

"It doesn't matter." She repeated. And you shouldn't worry about her. "It's handled."

"What the fuck you mean with handled!?" You can't just 'handle'  a person!" I said, standing up.

"I say I won't be discussing this with you, Victoria!" She shouted as well. " "I told you this already and I will repeat it, until Worry more about the fact your aura has unknown master effects than your sister. She doesn't need your help."

"For fucks sake I can't Master people!!" I repeated, again, almost hysterical.

"Maybe," Carol said. "But you won't go out until we're completely sure."

"And what If I can," I retorted, challenging. "What if I can accidentally master people? Are you going to 'handle me' too?"

"No," Carol answered, somber. "But the PRT will."

I just looked at her, shocked and unbelieving. What?

Did she just say she was willing to turn me in if my aura had side effects?

I waited until she said something else, but when she didn't — she just looked to the side, refusing to meet my eyes — I flopped to the chair, feeling drained and terrified. How could my mom say that? Not only about me, but about Amy as well?

What the fuck was wrong with her? 

Carol sighed, turning her back to me. "I'm leaving for work. Don't go out and don't call Amy." Then she looked back and narrowed her eyes. "Understood?"

I gritted my teeth and nodded, refusing to meet her eyes. No use fighting her now. It would only make things worse long term for both Amy and me. 

No way she actually meant what she said. Mom was just acting deranged. She just needed some time to process and grieve all the losses.

Yeah, that was it. She just needed time

Carol stared at me for a few more seconds before nodding and leaving, not once turning back.

⊙

I sat on the couch, my form slouched and my mood somber.

God, I had no idea what to do. Amy didn't answer any of my phone calls and Crystal only said she was okay for now, but that she couldn't do that too much. The coverage in the hospital was quite awful and apparently, my voice sounded distorted. 

It didn't make me feel any better. Amy shouldn't be there. She should be here reading a book, or watching TV. Anything better than going around, up to her elbows in blood and human misery.

" At least she's doing something useful ," I thought. " Going out there, trying to help people out of their pain. Better than being stuck in here."

'Anything ,' I thought. 'Please, I need to do something. Anything would do. Even a kitten stuck in a tree.'

Then my phone started ringing. 

I jumped, startled, and grabbed the phone from the table. 'Unknown number', it read. 

I hesitantly accepted the call.

"Hello?" I said, wary. 

"Hello, uh, I'm speaking with Glory Girl from New Wave, right?" The voice sounded nervous and quite familiar. I’d heard it somewhere before, but where?

"Yes, who's this?"

"I'm, huh, we spoke last night? At the Docks. I'm Cicada, the new hero? You told me I should call you if I ever needed help or something."

Oh, right. I was an idiot.

"Right," I answered. "Sorry, I had a... rough night. Is something wrong?"

"You told me that if I ever needed help to call you. Uh, is the offer still standing? Because I need some help. It's about the Empire."

She told me and I didn't hesitate for one second. I flew to my room and left in full regalia as Glory Girl.

A part of me recognized that the reason I was doing this was in part to spite my mother and prove her wrong, but I was also aware that the rest of me didn't care. 

No matter what she said, I was sure of something. I was a hero, and on my watch, I wasn't going to let any nazi asshole get away with anything.

Chapter Text

Raindrops 1.6 (Taylor)

After Leviathan, I could define Brockton Bay in two words: pure chaos.

Buildings were in ruins, power was down, a lot of vital infrastructures was rubble, and half of the city was underwater. For a while, it seemed we were going to destroy ourselves, but the military and the heroes intervened and got the situation under control. At least for the moment. It wasn't perfect, but for now, we weren’t killing one another in the streets.

After the situation calmed down, the government organized camps around the city for those without a home or those in need of food or other vital necessities. The heroes were supposed to patrol the streets, keep people safe and villains away from those camps, but that was only on paper. The heroes couldn’t keep up against the bad guys. They were too many of them and too few heroes, so they couldn’t do much to actually help the unpowered.

I could though, I just needed the right information. But first, I needed to check that the Ramireses were okay. Least I could do for them.

I moved, skipping puddles and cracks in the street. Above me the cloudy sky was rumbling; any minute now it was going to rain once again — the drops falling like tears and washing everything away without distinction: Trash, debris, human lives… the rain didn’t care, just like Leviathan hadn’t cared. Just like the people that stepped on me hadn’t cared.

As I neared the conglomeration of people and tents the first drops started falling, and by the time I found cover under the flap of a neon orange tent, it was practically pouring. I closed Lacey’s umbrella with a shake and nodded to the female security guard who, after giving me a few moments of respite to catch my breath, started prodding me.

She pulled Lacey's knife from my back pocket and frowned at me.

"It's for self-defense," I explained.

"You'll need to leave it here," she said. "You can come and grab it when you're leaving."

I just nodded, expecting this. Security had gotten tighter after some looters had tried to steal food and water from the camp. Since then checks were stricter and no one could enter the camp with a weapon or something even remotely sharp, anything that could poke someone's eye out. An incident like that had already happened, and the poor guy with the plucked eye had been lucky that Panacea had been doing her rounds in the nearest hospital.

"I understand," I said to the security guard. "Anything else?"

"Just be in good behavior," she said. "No fights or anything shady, got it?"

I nodded, and the guard let me pass inside.

I moved between eclectic groups and lines of people waiting for food and water. More security guards were placed here and there, with visible weapons and stern looks. They were mostly military, with some cops from time to time if personnel was short. They looked ready for everything, and they had to be. Nobody knew if the heroes were going to show up in time if any of the gangs made a move. In the worst-case scenario, they were the first and last line of defense between a bunch of scared civilians and a rampaging villain.

Of course, that was in case of a villain's attack, and those were rare in the camps, so most of the time the guards were just there to look mean and break fights. And it wasn't a simple task either: people were desperate, hungry, and constantly on edge. Often, in sizeable crowds, the violent tension could be felt and tasted, as if a big fight was about to break loose.

In theory, the camp was supposed to be a refuge for those homeless in need of a desperate shelter and a haven for those in need of security. In reality, it was more complicated than that. People were going to be people, and if something had been proven to me in the last few months, it was that the human being was one of the most selfish, petty, and stupid creatures that ever walked the Earth.

In a way, it was a chronic condition of our society, that so many people thought they were special and deserved better treatment than others. That they deserved to live more than others.

I could see it in the crowd on my way to find Mrs. Ramirez. The restlessness, the aggression, the selfishness, the sorrow… Everyone was ready to step on someone if that meant they had bigger chances to survive, uncaring of the consequences and that damage they could cause.

But some were not like that.

The people in the camp all had a reason to be here, but a lot of the time those reasons weren't really obvious while others were a little more complicated and, maybe, embarrassing. People got lonely and wanted some company. I could see that on my way to Mrs. Ramirez; they were the ones that didn't form in line but rather just stood there, either in the fringes of groups or with one person. Chatting quietly about anything as long as it kept the conversation going and quietly reveling in the company of fellow human beings. When you were slowly being consumed by crushing loneliness, every short word shared with someone else seemed like a long and soul-saving conversation, and sometimes that was all you needed to take you from the brink. That, someone, noticed you and told you, “I’m here for you."

I didn't like them, and I usually avoided them.

A minority, however, just wanted to help. Those were the rare people that genuinely cared for others and wanted to see them well. Susan Ramirez was one of them. A teacher in Arcadia, she was also married to Manuel Ramirez, one of the Dockworkers and friends of Kurt and Lacey. She was a sweet, kind woman that had hugged me at my dad’s funeral, and had told both Kurt and Lacey that whatever they needed, they could ask.

She and her family were good persons, and they didn’t deserve to be targets of the E88, and that some asshole was willing to hurt and discriminate against someone so kindhearted just for the color of their skin made my blood boil in a way I never thought it would.

No one should have to experience that.

I moved through the tents until I managed to find her table. I volunteered here four times a week for a few hours, so I knew the way pretty well; since I was a minor, I couldn’t have the same responsibilities as her or work alone, but she somehow convinced one of the people in charge to let me help her at one of her tables. Since Arcadia was closed, and her husband was busy doing odd jobs to put food on the table, she had volunteered in the camp to give food, blankets, and other essentials to the needy. An admirable thing, though sometimes I wondered if she had also volunteered to help because she was as restless as the rest of us.

When I finally reached the table, I noticed that the tiny figure of Mrs. Ramirez was alongside the tall and hulking figure of a police officer, his surprisingly clean blue uniform a noticeable contrast against the more earthly colors of her clothes. She was wildly gesticulating and from her expression, I could see it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.

I quickened my steps and arrived in time to catch the tail end.

“—what do you mean you had to release them!? They assaulted us in our home! Is that not enough proof for you?”

“Ma'am, I have to ask you to please calm down.”

“Calm down! You just told me you released the people that stole from us. How could you!?”

"We didn’t have the evidence to lock them up for more than a night.” The cop continued, unruffled. 

“That's bullshit and you know it! Glory Girl and Cicada caught them! Didn't they give their statements?”

“You mean the statement of a minor and a less known vigilante?” Ouch, that hurt more than I thought. And vigilante? Really? “You'll have to apologize if we don't take their statements seriously compared to other more renowned, responsible heroes.”

"And just like that? They're free?" Mrs. Gomez said, her tone angry and unbelieving, and I had to agree. What kind of bullshit was this? How could they? Those guys were criminals and most likely members of Hookwolf’s crew. What the hell was wrong with the police?

“Just like that,” he repeated a hint of smugness, of all things, in his voice. “Now if there's anything else?”

"But- but you can't just come here and tell me that those men are free!! They're dangerous!"

"It's not my fault, ma'am. I didn't write the law, I just enforce it."

"Then you're doing it wrong!" she said, grabbing his arm. "Why the fuck did you say you're going to protect us if-"

"Careful," the officer said, shaking off her arm. "Let's calm down and not get our tacos in a twist, señorita. I have space in a cell for someone that assaults an officer."

"Assault!? I just- I," she said, shocked, before narrowing her eyes and growing quiet.

"Yeah, I thought so," he said, dismissive. "Be careful, life is already hard in the Bay, no need to make it harder for your family. Don't like it? Go back to Mexico."

Then he left, and I watched how Mrs. Gomez seethed and gritted her teeth at the obviously racist dismissal. "My father was from Chile," she muttered. "And I was born here, hijo de puta malparido."

"Miss Ramirez?" I said, hesitantly.

"Taylor!" she said, whirling around, surprised. "What are you doing here? Today isn't your day, is it?"

"Uh, no," I answered. "Lacey told me what happened to you, and I wanted to check if you needed any help."

"Oh, Taylor," she said, hugging me tightly.

I awkwardly returned the hug while she told me what happened. "It was awful," she started. "And so sudden, but we're okay now. A pair of heroes helped us, so we're all right. A little rattled, but that's all."

"Are you sure? I heard some of that conversation," I confessed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She untangled herself from me, her expression suddenly unamused. "Oh," she said flatly. "That. It's- it was nothing. Just a minor discomfort at the start of the day.”

That was more than just a discomfort. "Are you sure? That seemed more serious than just an annoyance. I could tell Lacey or Kurt and—"

"No!" she said, grabbing my hand. "Don't do it, Taylor. Please?"

"What? Why?"

"Because that man… he's not just an asshole cop. He has connections with the E88.”

That stopped me. “How can you tell?”

Mrs. Ramirez gave me a bitter smile. “I had to. When you're latina in the Bay, it's important to know whom you can trust or depend on. Eventually, it's almost like a superpower; you just know.” Then her smile morphed into a snarl and her soft tone turned harsh. “I knew that motherfucker was one of those nazi sympathizers the instant he opened his mouth. And he knew, I knew. He didn't give a damn, he maybe even loved it .”

“But,” I said, my mind whirling with the new information she had given me. “You have to say something. You- you have to report him to other cops. They need to know what he's been doing!”

She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. It was bitter and full of anger. “You think others haven't tried yet? It's useless. Kaiser probably has more people inside to cover leaks and reporting that bastard won't do anything but make those fuckers come back to give a warning to my family. It's useless.” Her expression turned soft as she touched Taylor’s arm. “So, please stay away from him and tell Kurt and Lacey the same. I want nothing bad to happen to you guys.”

“But,” I tried. “It's not right. The city is sinking and they're still doing that shit?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Mrs. Ramirez said. “Do you think they care for what's right or wrong?”

It wasn't right; I keep repeating myself. And it also isn't right that they get away with it.

Someone needed to take care of them. And I could be that someone. Unintentionally Mrs. Ramirez had just given me all the answers to my doubt. A cop and a racist?

Just what I needed.

“Now, come on,” she said, softly grabbing me from my shoulder and leading me to her table. “You're already here, so why don't you help me little, uh?”

I did, with my body going through the usuals motions while my mind was busy, thinking where I could find that asshole and how I was going to make him tell me everything he knew about the Empire. He was probably a mole for the nazis, so that meant he had to know something, right?

Only one way to find out.

However, today seemed to be my lucky day because that question was immediately answered a few minutes later. 

Her name was Louisa Gomez, and she was a friend of Mrs. Ramirez who had also heard what happened to her and her family and wanted to see if they were alright. A chatty and joyful kind of gal that loved to talk and was present at my father's funeral. Apparently, her brother had been a dock worker. Had been. He was dead now, a victim of a fight between Oni Lee and Hookwolf.

She was also a huge gossip and had a bit of information that immediately caught my attention.

“Wait, what?” I said. “Can you repeat what you just said?”

“About the wedding of my cousin?” Louisa asked, confused.

"No. About the other thing. The stuff about the, uh—" I hesitated, could I even say the word in public without being some social faux pas? God, I was so bad at this.

"About the nazi bar?" Louisa asked.

"Yeah, I wasn't listening. Sorry." I said. Apparently, it wasn't. Good, I didn't know how to call them elsewhere besides white supremacists, and sometimes it was a mouthful. Nazi was punchier and to the point, while "concerned citizens" was just pure bullshit.

"It's okay, love," Louisa said. "It's important for you to listen. Those assholes aren't even justifying themselves anymore. They just go after everyone that doesn't agree with them."

"But, uh, is the information true?" Why was I so bad at this? We were just chatting. 'You're not pumping her for information, Hebert” I repeated to my insides. 'So behave normally for once in your life.'

"Yes," Louisa said. "My brother-in-law is a cop, and he told me to stay away from that place. He heard about it from some guys in the police department. Apparently, the Empire is promising extra food and money to everyone that makes allowances. Rawlings is one of those cops."

"Rawlings?" I asked.

"The cop that just threatened me." Mrs. Ramirez said.

"Really?" I said, my mouth dry while I thought what to say so Mrs. Ramirez and Louisa would tell me more about him.

"Yes, stay away from him and his friends. They all gather in a derelict bar with a bunch of Empire gangsters." Louisa continued. " It's fitting the palace is awful, just like them."

"What bar?" I blurted before I couldn't stop myself.

'Idiot,' I thought. 'You absolutely suck at this, Hebert.'

"I-I mean, to know where not to go. Just to be sure," I replied, trying to cover for my previous mistake. 'Idiot', I repeated to myself. 'You can't do one fucking thing right, can you?'

"The Storm Port," Mrs. Ramirez said, staring right at me. "That's what it's called. Stay away from there, Taylor. Please."

"I will," I lied.

Chapter Text

Raindrops 1.7 ( Taylor)

Stakeouts were boring. In the movies, it was usually more fun and easy. Just stay outside while the guy you wanted walked to the right places at the right moment so the good guy could confront him. 

It was the opposite of what I was doing. I knew the hero business was going to be harder than TV and PHO made it sound, but I never thought it would be so dull.

I was in full Cicada regalia — the armor once made of hundreds of bugs and rats that lived in the building and waited for my target to. The sky was cloudy again, so dark you could think it was nighttime and not be completely wrong. I couldn't complain. The darkness suited me quite well.

'When the fuck are you going out, Rawlings? ' I thought. 'Do you live there or something?'

After asking Louisa and Mrs. Ramirez where the bar was, I had come here, to the building across the pub. 

The place had been almost deserted save for a bunch of homeless people that decided to run away when they saw me in my armor. I felt kinda bad for terrorizing them, but it was better this way. No need for innocent people to get hurt if this whole operation went sideways.

And, so I’d waited in this dark and ruined room full of bugs and rats for three hours until a cop — hopefully, Rawlings— decided to show up, and half an hour ago, my luck had finally decided to turn up. I watched him get inside with several of his cop buddies and patiently waited for him to get out so we could have a 'chat' about his political ideologies but that easier said than done. The asshole was still inside.

Louisa hadn't been wrong when she said this part of the city was awful. The buildings were old, many abandoned, the street was full of cracks and holes, and in general, a lack of care could be seen all around the area. Leviathan had made this place look worse, but it was obvious he wasn't fully to blame for once. This neighborhood had been like this for a long while.

"The perfect place for a nazi bar' , I thought, staring outside at the place in question. From the outside it looked like any other bar — a door, two windows, and a big sign with the name of the place above — just considerably worse for wear, which was expected. Several of the letters of the sign were gone, one of the windows was broken and hastily repaired with tape, and the door looked as if someone had taken an ax and started hacking it, only to get tired mid-job and leave.

'What a shit-hole, ' I thought the first time I saw it. 'But I guess you can't be picky when it comes to clandestine bars.'

I stared through the window and saw more people go inside the bar. 'God, Rawlings,' I thought. 'Better come the fuck out already or I'll go and drag you away myself.'

A beep came from my pocket and my armor parted so I could grab my cell phone. I stared at it: two messages, both from Lacey. Shit . 

I had told her I was going to run some errands for Mrs. Ramirez, but I was aware of how thin that lie was and what the consequences would be if I was discovered. 

I opened the texts.

Lacey

Taylor are you okay?

Lacey

When you're no longer busy call me please, okay?

I felt guilty. She really was too good for me. She and her husband chose to take me in when I was alone and I was repaying them with lies. 

"But I won't lie to them forever ,' I told myself. 'Just until I get some wins under me.'

Looking at my cell phone, I remembered about Glory Girl and her offer to help. For a second I felt tempted to give her a call and request assistance, but I quickly dismissed that. She was probably busy doing something else, anyway. Her family had been a recognized hero team in the Bay for a long time and they were probably helping somewhere else.

Besides, it was a little awkward to ask her for help. She was a big name hero, especially compared to me — the “minor vigilante"— and I didn't want her to think less of me, for asking her help anytime the situation got slightly complicated for me. Better to deal with this myself and only reach out if I really needed it.

No one would take me seriously as a hero if I looked too weak or too dependent on others.

I turned my eyes from the phone and looked at the street, trying to get Rawlings to get out with my mind.

The door opened and I held my breath.

It wasn't Rawlings.

I let my breath go and leaned against the wall.

Fuck, this was going to be a long morning.

***

Half an hour later—I was staring at the clock the whole time—he finally decided to show up, tipsy, laughing and jeering with some of his buddies. He seemed to be having a good time and I had no shame in admitting I was going to enjoy ruining it. He didn't deserve any less. I watched from the window until they veered to the left outside of my view, and I rushed outside to the third and final floor with the terrace. I crushed the lock and chain closing the door and ran to the outside, my steps muffled thanks to my armor. 

I wasn’t afraid they would see me. These last two weeks I had found out people rarely looked up, especially if they couldn’t hear me, and more so if they were as drunk as these guys were.

‘The standards of the BBPD must be slipping if these guys pass the bar,’ I thought with disgust as I looked at how they drunkenly moved and spoke. ‘The city needs all hands available and these idiots are getting drunk!? What the hell is wrong with people?’

I ran to the edge of the roof and looked at the direction they were going. Once sure, I took a few steps back and jumped to the next building to the left, where I watched Rawlings and his buddies going through the same street. I followed them on the roofs to the next intersection, where some of Rawlings’s buddies went to the left while he and two others went to the right. I couldn't reach him from this side, so that meant I’d have to go down across the street.

I waited until they were far away and took several steps back to the end of the roof. For a second I thought about trying to jump to the other side of the street, but I immediately discarded that thought. I had already tried that once and it hadn't worked as I wanted. During my first week as a hero a group of druggies had tried to assault an elderly couple across the street while I was perched on a roof, so I tried long-distance jumping, hoping I could land in something resembling a superhero pose to intimidate those assholes. What I managed instead was to awkwardly crash to the ground, cracking the pavement a little and giving everyone a heart attack, while I tried to desperately stand up and act as if everything was going according to my nonexistent plan. In situations like this, I couldn’t help but wonder how heroes like Alexandria or Glory Girl managed to look good while landing. Maybe because they were fliers, they could control their landings better? 

All the articles I read said that parahumans were supposed to just know how their powers worked. Nobody could teach them how to use their powers since all were different from each other. What the Wards offered was to learn how to control them in a "safe environment," and I had to admit that, for a brief moment, that offer had been tempting. There were still things about my powers I didn't understand — like how my armor seemed to silence my steps from time to time, or how sometimes it lost some of its bulk when I needed to sneak around without an explicit command — and learning more about them was hard in the state the city was in, but it still wasn't worth it if put me under the PRT supervision. 

'Maybe I could ask Glory Girl next time I saw her?’ I thought. ‘ If she isn't busy with more important stuff to do than talk to me, of course. She probably is though.’

But that didn't matter, not right now. Rawlings mattered and he was walking away.

I breathed in and out and jumped to the alley at the side of the building, then — with my armor muffling my steps— I ran full speed to the other side of the street to another alleyway. Ignoring the grime and some curious rats, I climbed the rusty fire stairs at the side of the building to the top and used my radar. 

My senses expanded and I became aware of how lower life forms cautiously answering my call. But I had no use for them. What I needed was to find the group of drunks.

Ignoring the smaller signals, I focused on the big ones. They weren't that far away, and I detected only two signals — the other one had probably left a little while ago— so I rushed to their positions by roof hopping, this time faster and a little sloppier. I couldn't let them get away. 

I stopped when they were in view and I immediately gagged in disgust at the sight of Rawlings puking his guts out in the street, while his buddy— not a cop I realized, but a blonde man dressed in a blue shirt and tight blue jeans— was sprawled out on the streetwalk, moaning.

I breathed. 'This is my chance,' I thought. 'Rawlings is vulnerable and the other man is laland. I'm not going to get another as good as this one.'

I jumped in the alleyway behind the cop and waited for him to finish puking. When he did, I quietly walked behind him,  and grabbed him. 

"What the fuck—" he started saying before I slammed him to the wall, shutting him up. 

"I need you to do something for me," I said, trying to sound scary and intimidating. "So shut up and listen."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Unhand me at once!" he said, unafraid and struggling under my grip. He tried to reach for his gun but I grabbed his hand firmly and gave him a warning squeeze. He stopped moving but kept talking. "Do you even know that it's a crime to assault a police officer?“

"I'm not seeing a police officer right now," I said, coldly. "I'm seeing a drunk that abuses his authority." I squeezed his throat a little harder and he gagged. I didn't want to hurt him, but I had little empathy for bullies, and my patience was running shorter every second this guy opened his mouth and reminded me of everything he had said to Mrs. Ramirez.

He spat at me, an ugly sneer across his face. "You think you'll get away with this? You costumed freaks are all the same! You think that because you have a mask and freaky powers you can do whatever you want!? Touch me and you'll be in jail in no time!”

I was getting tired of this. "I watched you get out of a nazi bar and I know about your dealings with the Empire," I said. "I doubt your superiors would be happy if they learned about your... side activities. Tell me everything you told the Empire  and they'll never find out. "

That didn't have the effect that I expected. Instead of growing scared, his face turned even more ugly as he started snarling at me, more a rabid animal than a person and uncaring that I had a hand on his throat and another on his arm. "Fuck you! You think I'm going to tell you anything!? Screw that! Fuck you and fuck your powers! It's because of freaks like you that the city is like this! I served ten years here as a cop and watched your kind do all kinds of shit and get away scot-free!" Spit came out of his mouth and he started struggling against my hold. It wouldn't work — I could bend steel now, but if he kept going like this he was going to hurt himself, so I slightly relaxed my grip.

"And do you think that justifies the things you've done?" I said, outwardly calm but panicking on the inside. This was not going as I planned. Admittedly, I had less than a plan and more of a sketch when I decided to do this, but I still thought I could handle this. Just scare him into confessing and then drop him with someone that could handle him more long term. Probably the Protectorate, since I didn't trust the police to handle this correctly.

"Oh, fuck off!" he shouted and the guy on the street groaned. "This city is going to shit and it's been going like that for a long time! Because of people like you and Lung! At least Kaiser takes care of us, proper American citizens, knows who to blame for how things have gotten, and pays well! 

"So it's all about money?" I growled. 

"Of course it's all about money!" he said. "Do you even know how little they pay us for cleaning up your messes? Do you think I want to live in this shithole forever? Fuck that!"

"Tell me what I asked. Tell me about what you told the Empire," I repeated, tired.

"You think I'm an idiot!?" Rawlings spat out. "They'll kill me if I say anything."

'You should've thought that before becoming a nazi,' I thought.

"If you don't say anything, then I'll hurt you. And you won't like that. Talk."

He laughed, mocking and annoying. "You think I'm scared of you!? You're just a dumb civilian playing dress up and being all big and cocky because you have powers! You're nothing compared to them."

"The fact that I know that you're a rat already says a lot about your skills as an informant," I said, trying to convince him. I was tempted to just use force, but I wasn't a vigilante, I was a hero and that meant something to me. I had to be better, not just get something done.

"Fuck off!" he said. "You act all high and mighty but you freaks are all the same! You, the Protectorate and that shadow bitch that—"

Crack. 

Rawling's eyes widened and he started screaming. Or he would've tried if my hand wasn't squeezing his throat.

It was almost instinctual, and disturbing how fragile human flesh was. How easy to break and bend it was when you applied enough force.

'You're nothing, Hebert ,' Sophia's voice said in my head, strident and cruel. 'Know your place.'

I hated her. I hated the fact she got away with it and people said that she "died bravely on the line of duty." I hated the fact that she was going to be remembered as a hero instead of the sadistic bully she truly was, and I despised the PRT and the Protectorate for protecting her and saying she was a hero. 

And I fucking hated that this racist fuck thought that I was in any way, shape, or form the same as her.

I watched his face starting to turn blue, while his broken left arm hung limply at the side of his body, and I realized what I was doing. 

I’m killing him.

'Shit!' I thought and I let him go, frantically stepping back as he took deep breaths mixed with whimpers. The color was returning to his face but the damage was done. 

'I-I didn't mean to do that . I just wanted to scare him and I never, I-I just wanted to... fuck!'

As I watched him whimper, cradling his broken arm, I couldn't help but think that what I just did was something that she would have done. She enjoyed hurting others and I wouldn't be surprised if she brutalized some of the criminals she had caught and I-I’d just proved to the guy that I wasn't that much better than her, hadn't I?

But I couldn't just turn back, now. I just— I couldn't . I had started this to help others and I had to finish it or it would be worse long term. And he was a racist and a dirty cop too; that didn't justify what I just did and I wasn't saying he deserved getting his arm broken and his life almost choked out of him, but he deserved something.

I leaned closer, trying to control the quivering of my voice and expel all nervousness and insecurities of my tone. 'Be cold,' I thought. ` Be a stone-cold bitch that that knows what she's doing."

"I warned you didn't I? I said as I saw his eyes widen, fear, and disbelief in them. He hadn't thought I would hurt him; I couldn't believe it either. Either way, I had no choice but to keep going.

"I told you that if you didn't speak I would hurt you. Now you know. Speak ." My voice sounded surprisingly calm, but that was a lie. A facade. On the inside, I was terrified .

'I'm going to hell for this,' I thought, as I watched how he squirmed against the dirty wall of the alleyway. His face was red and covered with snot and tears; a pathetic and pity-inducing image, the opposite of the proud man that had refused to bend moments ago.

"P-please," he said, quivering. "Don't k-kill me. Please."

“I won’t,” I said. “If you start speaking.”

“P-please, yes. I-I will. R-Right now.”

So he told me everything I needed to know and more. He told me how he and others were responsible for the current “shortages” that the BBPD was suffering right now. How he had passed the plans for patrols and the names of discontent officers that either needed money or those sympathetic with the E88.

He also told me how he helped secure the release of skinheads, gangsters, and killers from the Clans that had made enough of a mess of things to be caught by someone, and how he had told members of Hookwolf’s crew about vulnerable “targets” for “loot.” 

And of course, he told me the place he and his friends were supposed to do their last delivery. Riot gear and some guns they had managed to steal from the National Guard. At least two capes from the Empire were going to be there to be sure that the transaction went okay. 

Hookwolf and his people rarely left their victims alive. They were monsters and this... man, he was worse. All pity for what I had done had fled when he startedhis confession and was replaced with fury and anger at how someone could be so opportunistic and awful to benefit from the suffering of others. I wanted nothing more than to break more of his body, to make him pay for his crimes, but I knew such use of violence would be something Sophia would have done. So I did something else instead. 

“P-please, I told you everything I know. Please forgive me! I’m sorry, please!” His tone was desperate but I had no sympathy left for him. 

“You're not sorry,” I said. “You just got caught.” I gently grabbed his head and smashed him against the wall. Then I searched his pants and found his handcuffs. I smiled at his unconscious form and handcuffed him to the side of the trash box. Inside his other pocket, I found his phone and I called the PRT.

“Parahuman Response Team,” the operator said. “What do you need?”

“This is Cicada,” I said. “I have an Empire informant between the Third and the Fifth near Downtown. He needs medical help.”

Then, before she could ask me something I cut the call and looked at Rawlings's unconscious buddy. Still dozing, and drooling. Right, that looked accounted for but just in case…

I searched his pockets and found an old and battered flip phone. It was password locked so I couldn't access his contacts or information about him.

Considering this guy seemed to also be a nazi, I could only guess who the contacts were, but I could easily assume they weren't girl scouts or flower shops.

I crushed the phone and kept perusing his pockets, where I found a police badge and an ID.

Officer Lukas Stevenson. Another cop. 

How many of them did Kaiser have in his pockets, passing information to him and helping him take over what remained of the city? It was a chilling thought, but one that PRT could handle now that I caught two of their moles. I found another set of handcuffs in Stevenson’s pocked and cuffed him to the side of the dumpster too.

With that solved, I thought about what Rawlings had said. A warehouse, filled with police equipment and two capes.

I didn’t know if I could take two capes on my own. But luckily, I didn’t have to do it on my own. I knew someone that could help me.

I searched for her card in my pocket and read it.

Victoria Dallon/Glory Girl.