Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Taylor's PoV

"Help!"

Violent coughs racked through Taylor's body, each jarring inhalation bringing with it a surge of that foul odor.

Taylor's voice was hoarse between the combination of throwing up and yelling. The horrendous smell, combined with claustrophobia, made it hard to breathe. She had long since become light headed, and her vision was spinning.

How long had she been in the locker for? An hour? Two? She'd lost track after the first panic attack.

"Please! Let me out!"

Taylor slammed her fists into the locker door, in an attempt to do something. Why? What compelled Emma and Sophia to escalate to this degree? Was the regular bullying truly not enough for them?

Flies buzzed around her, while bugs creeped all over her skin. There wasn't enough space to do anything about it though. She was standing in something absolutely gross and was seeping through her shoes, and knew it was only partially vomit.

"Help!" Taylor called out, the hopelessness audible to even herself. "Please, just… Please help me."

There used to be noise on the other side. Laughing and mocking at first, followed by the regular sounds of people moving about.

They heard her. They knew she was there, begging for help! Why didn't they do anything?!

The halls were quiet now, yet Taylor continued her attempts. Surely there was somebody still here? A janitor? A teacher?

She couldn't break out of here on her own, so Taylor kept on banging on the door in front of her. Because it was her only hope.

A hope that was dwindling by the second.

"Please…" Taylor begged. "Somebody… Anybody."

Time blurred, her fists ached, and her thoughts grew fuzzy.

It… It was hopeless, wasn't it? There was nobody out there. Nobody that would save her. She was alone.

Just like she'd always been.

And with that, Taylor fell unconscious.

Destination.

Jack Slash's POV, in another city

"You know, I think I've seen this one before." Jack mused, a mocking glint in his eye as he stared at the bloody mess of a woman being pinned by a black and white striped woman. "But you misread the script. The cat attacks the mouse, and the mouse is supposed to beat the cat with humor and plot armor! Not get caught."

Mouse Protector tried to spit at him, but the Siberian just slammed her into the ground again.

Ah. This whole trip had been one well-earned vacation. Some brave, stupid soul had actually hired the Slaughterhouse Nine to kill a singular hero. And, well, it wasn't like they had anything going on that weekend, so why not?

Still, it would have been unfair had they all attacked. And boring. Mostly boring. Instead, Jack had proposed a competition. They had an entire town to play in after all - so which of the Nine would be the first to find the little mouse?

He'd been right - it was hilarious.

Jack had heard Mouse Protector's reputation for being rather silly, humiliating the villains she fought against, and she hadn't disappointed.

Hatchet Face was still trying to get the pink sparkly paint off of himself. Mannequin was down a foot that he refused to reattach until a thorough cleaning (Jack was waiting for him to realize that she'd drawn a smiley face on his 'face' in marker). Crawler discovered that his regeneration hadn't yet accounted for a dumpster full of Tinker made itching powder. And Shatterbird, the poor dear, refused to show her face after Mouse Protector stole her panties.

It was a good thing a large portion of the town was killed off by now. If there had been witnesses who knows how big a hit their reputation would take?

Alas, things were beginning to wind down, as all good things must.

"Oh! Oh! I bet it's 'cause she doesn't look like a mouse!" Bonesaw, his little murder-munchkin, piped up with an excited look. "I can help her with that, Mr. Jack!"

Jack clapped his hands together with a delighted smile, "A perfect idea poppet! So long as she's alive by the end of it of course - I have something truly special in mind." He smirked in delight at the flash of fear.

He was about to say more when the Siberian perked up, looking around in confusion.

"Everything alright?" Jack asked lazily, instantly on guard, only to freeze. 

It only lasted for a moment, but in that moment, it felt like the gaze of something powerful passed over him. Like the gaze of a lion ignoring the presence of an ant. 

The Siberian vanished.

Jack blinked.

Mouse Protector looked confused for all of a fraction of a second before a flash of hope spread across her face. She scrambled to a counter and pulled something from a hidden drawer (How exactly did she have stuff here?). Bonesaw's spiders darted forward, and Jack extended his knife.

He was a fraction slower than her. In his defense, he was still wildly off balance from whatever the heck that was. She hissed as he got her arm, but gave him a smirk as she threw whatever she grabbed. "For the forces of gouda!"

Jack cursed and dodged - he knew it wasn't something lethal, but - Only for the object to blow up and cover him in yellow liquid.

"Mr. Jack!" Bonesaw shrieked and made her way over to him.

"I'm fine, poppet!" Jack coughed and spat out the, if his tongue was correct, cheese flavored containment foam.

Ah, was this frustration what the others felt?

Several of Bonesaw's spiders wasted no time in devouring the foam under Bonesaw's direction. Jack, however, was staring at the spot The Siberian had vanished.

What just happened?

Taylor's PoV

Taylor jolted awake, promptly banging her head and arms against the back of the locker, the fading memories of a dream drifting away as reality made itself known once more. She immediately gagged at the smell, which had grown stronger. Her thoughts were still fuzzy and jumbled, her entire body felt ill and feverish.

How long has it been?

Taylor stirred at a faint shuffling outside the locker before dimly dismissing it as a hallucination.

This meant she was completely caught off guard when the locker door was torn open - ripped completely off its hinges - Taylor let out a hoarse shriek as she stumbled forward into somebody's arms.

Those arms immediately shifted to hold her more gently, hands gently roving over her body. Taylor heard an inquisitive huff, but she was too busy clutching the arms to care. She still felt extreme levels of nausea, her head was hurting…

But she was out.

Was she crying? She was probably crying. Her whole body refused to stop shaking.

It wasn't till the person growled that Taylor managed to lift her head up, and she was pretty sure she was right about the hallucinating idea.

First off, the woman holding her was completely naked. Completely. Had Taylor not felt as horrible she did she'd have probably gotten horrifically embarrassed, but she was past that.

Second, the woman had extremely unusual skin. As in, her entire body, hair included, had black and white stripes. The only other color on her was her eyes, which were a deep yellow.

Eye's that were currently looking over Taylor intently.

This couldn't be real, but Taylor didn't care. After what she just went through, this woman could be neon green and Taylor would consider her a Saint. So long as she never had to go back into that horrible, dark, crawley space…

The woman growled as Taylor began shaking. She could feel herself hovering on the edge of a panic attack at just the thought of the locker.

The next moment Taylor's thoughts were completely derailed as she was swept into secure arms, her stomach roiling as her head spun.

Then they were moving.

The sudden amount of wind (glorious fresh air) going by from the speed they were running out nearly convinced Taylor that maybe this wasn't a hallucination.

And then the woman ran straight through a wall without stopping, and Taylor was back in the hallucination camp.

They were going too fast for Taylor's fevered mind to pick up, especially without her glasses. Just a blur of color and wind. She heard multiple more crashes as well as screaming, but they felt almost distant, safe as she was in her savior's arms. Not a jolt made it to her.

Taylor stirred briefly as a door smashed open, and they were inside a building. The wind slowed, but the screams and panic seemed to increase. Taylor winced as the cacophony aggravated her headache even more.

Time seemed to blur as she hid until her sanctuary lowered her into a bed, the soft surface completely unexpected. A pair of hands pressed down on her, but they were wrong.

Small. Smaller than her savior's hands. Too small.

Taylor panicked, eyes snapping open, and through bleary eyes she saw a shaking brunette wearing white robes and a very pale face, her hands being forced onto Taylor by the striped woman.

Taylor felt herself calm down once she confirmed her savior was there.

Said woman growled at the robed girl. "Heal her."

"W-what - " The robed girl shook as stared at the woman. "What are you?"

The woman snarled, pressing her hands more firmly. "Heal."

The girl gulped and closed her eyes, and Taylor gasped as the accumulated pain, and even some she hadn't realized, alleviated. Her body began cooling down from its feverish state, and her nausea finally subsided.

As her body finally relaxed, Taylor felt the exhaustion hit full force, and even confused she allowed herself to fall asleep, tears of gratitude slipping free as she stared at the black and white striped lady.

Somebody actually came for her.

Chapter Text

Armsmaster's PoV

Armsmaster was not one to give into panic.

A byproduct of attending multiple Endbringer fights and sharing your city with a dragon on one side and murderous neo-nazis on the other. Keeping a clear head during times of duress was important for a hero, and this wasn't a career for the faint of heart.

So it said something when he felt panic at the news The Siberian of the Slaughterhouse 9 had made an appearance in Brockton Bay.

"Armsmaster, Panacea has finished checking everybody. Everybody is clean."

Armsmaster frowned and gave a brief nod to Miss Militia. "If she's sure, then go ahead and let the ambulances take the patients to other hospitals. Keep watch over Panacea."

"Will do."

Armsmaster had rushed to the hospital the moment the call had gone out, managing to arrive on the tail end of a very panicked evacuation that he had to take control of. The entire hospital needed to be cordoned off, while the patients and staff from the hospital were separated off and underwent a thorough medical check.

Bonesaw had once turned every patient from a community hospital into a bio-bomb without their knowledge before releasing them.

All Protectorate Heroes had been called in and were present. The Wards were assembled, but remained on Console duty to help with coordination.

Additionally, several vans of troopers, SWAT, and police were positioned just outside the barricade. The entire city had been placed under high alert and 'Shatterbird protocols' (He couldn't resist a small scoff. It was a fancy way of saying the PRT warned people to avoid glass). New Wave had mobilized the moment they'd heard Panacea was involved, and he'd heard Faultline was already in the process of leaving the city. Even the gangs had ceased all activity and had hunkered down.

A member of the Slaughterhouse 9 had come to Brockton Bay. The word 'overreaction' did not exist right now.

All of which begged the ultimate question…

Why was nothing happening?

Jack Slash's methods, bloody though they may be, weren't complicated. There would be some manner of prep-work involved, but all of the members would keep things quiet until Jack made an appearance.

Jack Slash was the face of the Slaughterhouse. He was the one that announced their presence to the city. The only time he'd shared the spotlight was when he did so at the same time Shatterbird sang.

So why was it only the Siberian?

This entire situation was going against every pattern the Slaughterhouse 9 had followed since Jack Slash took the reigns. And Armsmaster didn't like it at all.

"Hey, Armsy!"

Armsmaster turned around. "Assault." He greeted the other hero briskly. "You're late."

The man scoffed. "Geeze, I asked for was a single night off and the entire city blows up." Assault complained with a tense smile. "Some of us have a life outside of the job. Or, we try to." Assault shook his head. "Anyways, Battery's gone off to oversee the Wards. What exactly happened here? I've been given several very unsatisfying summaries before being told to get my finely toned butt over here."

Armsmaster would have scolded the other hero for his levity if he hadn't seen the obvious tension (or, his suit saw it. Same thing) that his colleague was taking this seriously. This was probably just his way of 'lightening the mood'.

"Earlier this evening, The Siberian of the Slaughterhouse 9 was spotted charging through the city with a girl in her arms." Armsmaster replied briskly, walking even with Assault towards the barricade. "She caused a trail of destruction to the hospital, one where Panacea was currently working, demanding the girl she was carrying be healed. After doing so, the Siberian allowed Panacea and the rest of the hospital to leave. She's been in there with the girl since."

Assault frowned. "No deaths? Hostages?"

"None."

Which was good.

Honestly.

And yet, at the same time, beyond frustrating.

The Siberian had been in a prime position to start a slaughter. The death of Panacea alone would have been devastating. Instead, she just… Let the evacuation happen?

If she'd killed somebody, at least then things would make sense.

Assault frowned, "So who's the girl that got healed?"

"Taylor Hebert, age 15." Armsmaster brought up the report on his visor. "Lives with her Father, who works with the Dock Workers Association. Mother died in a car crash several years ago. No known relation to The Siberian, and only the flimsiest of connections."

Assault raised an eyebrow, "But there was a connection?"

"... Of a sort." Armsmaster grunted in annoyance. "We asked Watchog what her connection was, and they responded with 'yes'."

"Ah, the ever ambiguous 'yes'." Assault nodded sagely before becoming serious once more. "Well, what did Miss Hebert need healing for?" The two of them stopped right at the barricade and looked at the building.

Nobody would have suspected that one of the world's most dangerous Parahumans was in there. A cannibal cape that made even the Triumvirate wary.

"Concussion, partially delirious, various cuts and scrapes across her body." Armsmaster recited from the report he brought up in his helmet. "She was absolutely filthy when she was brought in, with some nasty infections settling in." He frowned. "Panacea also reported that the girl had an active Corenta Pallentia."

A Parahuman.

The Unwritten Rules would normally frown on him revealing this, but many rules were thrown out when dealing with villains like the Slaughterhouse who ignored those rules in the first place.

Assault's eyes narrowed at the list, only to turn contemplative at the last part. "Think it might be Rune? She's the only girl that's the right age" He mused. "Or maybe somebody new?"

"The Siberian didn't bother hiding where she came from." Armsmaster replied instead. "On her way to the hospital, she ran through four walls, two vehicles, and one set of doors. The trail of destruction originated from the locker within a high school. Said locker had been forcibly opened. The contents of which are… Foul." He let that sit for a bit. "Panacea also stated that her body had evidence of extreme levels of stress."

"Oof. A new trigger then?" Assault gave an exaggerated wince before frowning again and shaking his head "That's... It would be too fast. How would she have known?"

"Prior connection with Miss Hebert is most likely -" Armsmaster began.

"Yeah, but unless they had a twenty-four hour watch on the girl, there's no way they'd get to her that quickly." Assault rebutted. "Has the father said anything?"

"We've questioned him, but he seems genuinely in the dark."

"What about Shadowstalker? She also goes to Winslow, right?"

Armsmaster gave a slow nod. "She does. Said she didn't know the girl too well, though she did note that the girl had made multiple accusations of being bullied in order to gain attention. The school rejected those claims."

Assault raised an eyebrow, "Girl says she's being bullied, and later she's found locked in a locker. Hmmmm, I wonder what happened?" Assault snorted. "Did the reports ever include who she said was bullying her? "

Armsmaster grunted. "The PRT is looking into it."

"Huh. Eh, I'll talk to Shadowstalker later and ask her myself." Assault sighed and looked at the Hospital with a worried frown. "And now we're just gonna sit out here and do nothing while that girl's in there?"

"We can't -" Armsmaster immediately shot down the idea.

"I know, I know." Assault scowled. "But c'mon, the poor girl just had the worst day of her life, and she's gonna wake up and discover it just got a whole lot worse." Assault sighed heavily, frustration showing on his face. "I can't imagine what that monsters' planning for her right now."

Siberian's PoV

The Siberian moved her hand, muscles shifting beneath the skin, and relished in the feeling of simply doing that. A conscious and deliberate act, something she was incapable of a mere handful of hours ago.

Not the ability to move - but to actively choose to do so.

Self-awareness was… Unusual.

As strange as it was, she did have memories of before. It was different though - there was no attachment or emotion, no logical processes.

After all, The Siberian was simply a construct. An extension so to speak of Dr. William Manton, so-called expert of parahumans and all around genius (and a perverted old man, but not many people knew that part).

The Siberian was one of the most feared humans on the planet, yet was merely a puppet that danced to the tune of a bitter man; no real will of her own.

There was no resentment. She couldn't resent it. Did the hand resent the mind that controlled it?

But no longer.

The sensation of gaining self-awareness had been odd. It… didn't feel like she changed or altered. She had heard a Call, a plea for help. And between one moment and the next, she simply became more.

It was like she was a program that used to run on old, substandard hardware, and thus had minimum functionality - to suddenly be transferred to a supercomputer with maximum memory and processing power.

It was amazing.

Now, the Siberian could just sit and let her mind wander, her thoughts her own. She could do something as inane as observe the stripes on her skin simply because she wanted to - she actually had the ability to want to! She wanted to try different types of food, different clothes….

The Siberian wanted. And that alone was a beautiful thing.

Siberians' catlike gaze focused on the figure on the bed. A clawed hand reached out and carefully brushed through the girl's long hair.

And it was all thanks to this girl before her.

After Panacea had healed the poor girl and all the useless people had left, Siberian had cleaned the poor girl as best as she could and dressed her in clothes she had scavenged from some of the other rooms before finding a satisfactory bed to lay her down in. It was a testament to how exhausted the girl was that she hadn't woken up at all.

The girl was now sleeping soundly, clutching Siberian's hand while the Siberian idly combed her fingers through the girl's very nice hair.

The Siberian was not a fool (now that she had the capability to be something). This girl, Taylor Hebert, must have triggered in that foul locker with some kind of override ability, and it must come with some sort of Master effect. It's the only way she could explain the protective instincts she felt towards the poor girl.

Should she be upset that she was being Mastered?

The Siberian thought about it for a moment, turning it over in her head as she held the girl's hand.

No, she concluded. She wasn't.

Most people would. Perhaps even she would, if she weren't currently being Mastered. She wasn't exactly unbiased now. Yet whatever hold this girl had on her, it was infinitely better than the existence of not existing. That was a small price to pay, and one she would pay gladly.

Besides, considering where Taylor had been when she first heard The Call, to refuse would have been akin to seeing a weak and bedraggled kitten on the side of the road and not doing anything. A crime that even Jack would hesitate to commit.

Oh, he'd still do it, but he'd hesitate first.

The Siberian flicked her gaze from Taylor to the wall. Distantly, she could hear the sounds of a crowd, and rolled her eyes at the chaos that must be occurring. A part of her didn't really care what they thought. Let them think what they would, it wasn't like they could do anything to her.

And yet…

Her eyes were drawn back to the defenseless girl before her once more. She brushed her fingers through her hair once more, smirking as the girl grumbled in her sleep, tossing and turning, reinforcing the image of a disgruntled kitten.

And yet she had to care about what others thought, didn't she? Now that she was to look after and protect Taylor?

And she would. Protect Taylor, that is. No matter what anybody else desired, so long as she was able she'd keep Taylor company and help her for as long as Taylor allowed her.

A growl filled the room, and The Siberian began to think, plans and ideas flitting being discarded or kept.

Manton was never a planner, so she didn't get any experience from him. That had always been Jack's thing. But eventually she felt like she had something resembling a workable plan.

Taylor would be asleep for a little while longer - her body had been stressed and pushed to its limit even before it was healed, so that wasn't unexpected. That was fine - the Siberian could handle the first impressions easily enough.

The Siberian was about to leave the room when she caught sight of a doctor's coat, and her lips pursed.

When the Siberian stepped out of the hospital she immediately had everybody's attention, the entire area becoming silent.

They were probably silent because of her reputation, but she liked to think that a part of it was because for the first time ever, The Siberian was actually wearing clothes. Not much; a black t-shirt, a doctor's coat to go over that, and some pants she had managed to find.

Manton never bothered with clothes for her. And to be fair, it wasn't like she needed them. But she was no longer under Manton's control, and she had the feeling Taylor would rather she was wearing something.

Besides, clothes were something new, and with her newfound sapience The Siberian was determined to try out all that she could.

She smirked at the crowd of heroes and police, many of whom were pointing their weapons at her. As if they could actually do anything to her.

"Well?" She asked languidly, a small smirk on her face as she gestured for them to come forward. "Did you want to talk?"

Chapter Text

Siberian's PoV

The PRT ended up sending two sacrifices.

Not that that's what they were - Siberian had any intention of harming either of them - but the crowd certainly seemed to think so. And they clearly felt the same. They were so tense it was clear the two were one twitch away from a fight.

… It made her want to poke at them.

Siberian gave them a smirk and walked back into the building as they walked up. "Come along then~"

"Where to?" The man in red spandex asked with a frown as they walked through the hospital doors.

Closer to Taylor.

"To an office." Siberian gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Where else would we discuss business?"

Sure, they could have a discussion anywhere, but doing it in an office seemed more appropriate. That, and she didn't exactly trust the heroes to attempt something 'heroic' and grab Taylor while she was distracted. That would be… Very unfortunate.

For them.

Her answer also caused his eye to twitch, so that was a win in her book.

The two followed her through the lobby stiffly, the only sound was their footsteps as they walked through the now empty hospital, and the Siberian was quite curious as to what the two were thinking.

Any Thinkers spying on them were probably getting a collective headache right about now, and that thought made her purr smugly.

"So, Armsmaster, I know of." Siberian mused as she led them into an open office. Walking up to the desk, she leaned her hip against it and gave the armored man a wink. "Mannequin has been quite fond of you lately. I think he even joined one of your fanclubs."

The man's already tense expression (what little she could see) tightened even more.

It was actually a fairly large compliment. Getting Mannequin's attention was no easy feat. He only paid attention to those he believed would make a true difference in the world in some way.

And then he'd kill them.

Mannequin's respect always did come with an equal amount of disdain.

The Siberian then turned to the other man while giving him a once over. "But I'm afraid I don't know you?"

Red spandex. Lean. Trained in combat, but lacked the hardness in his eyes that came from true experience. No visible weapons.

"Velocity." The man answered briskly, eyeing her warily, like she was a bomb about to go off.

Ah. A Tinker and a speedster. People who could potentially escape if things went bad.

The urge to poke them flared once more.

"Charmed." The Siberian purred, showing a bit of fang with her smirk, and the hero tensed even further. Any more and he'd snap. "You two do realize you could have brought more people, don't you? I wouldn't mind."

"The two of us are sufficient." Armsmaster replied flatly.

Siberian paused and gave an exaggerated look over their clearly uncomfortable and tense forms and shrugged. "If you say so." She said mildly. "Go ahead and take a seat and we can start. Wouldn't want to keep your bosses listening in waiting."

Neither hero sat down at her offer. Rude.

Still, to his credit, Armsmaster didn't bother denying that others were listening. "Begin what, exactly?" He asked. "You asked to speak with us, but you haven't given us any indication as to your or Jack Slash's intentions."

"My intentions. Not Jack's. Not anymore" The Siberian corrected forcefully, eyes flashing dangerously before calming down. "You see, I wished to set the story straight. Explain myself. And open channels for negotiation."

Their confused expressions only increased. Or, Velocity's did. Armsmaster had a truly impressive poker face.

Must. Not. Poke.

"What story?" Velocity asked. Unlike his senior, his poker face was practically nonexistent as he looked confused.

"My own." Siberian smirked as she gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. "Are you sure you don't want to sit down? You might need it~"

"Negotiations?" Armsmsater cut in with a small frown. "You said your intentions were your own. Are you saying you aren't here as a member of the Slaughterhouse 9?"

For a man with such a blank expression, he could certainly convey a healthy amount of skepticism with his words. And she could certainly understand it.

This next bit would be important. For both her, and for Taylor.

"For the last 11 years I have been under the control of a Master working in conjunction with the Slaughterhouse 9." The Siberian stated, watching the two men closely. "I am no longer under his control."

Hah! She managed to break Armsmaster's poker face!

"Naturally, once I became my own person, I had little desire to stick with that group." Siberian continued nonchalantly, a one claw idly digging furrows into the desk as she eyed them carefully. "So I came here instead. It's not a complicated tale."

"Wait, wait, just -" Velocity held up his hand and actually gained the courage to give her a glare. "Do you honestly expect us to believe that?"

Siberian shrugged. "Believe it or not, it is the truth."

There was incredulity and indignation and his gaze, but also fear, which she understood. Even if he didn't believe her, the thought that there was a Master that could keep somebody under for years was hardly a trivial matter.

At least, the type of Master they were imagining.

It was a truth, yet a mislead.

The categories for capes were truly a mess. A 'Master' was designated as 'one that had an effect on another'. That might be a Tinker that specialized in drones, a biotinker that could make minotaurs, a man that could make anybody believe he was their best friend, or somebody that could make projections.

As she stated, The Siberian had been under the control of a Master for the past eleven years. It wasn't her fault they didn't realize she was only a projection of said Master.

And that's the way she was going to keep it. It was the best way she could think of to keep Taylor safe.

As it was, people were going to know there was a connection between her and Taylor. That was inevitable. In just a matter of hours, Taylor was about to become a high profile target.

However, there was a distinct difference between: 'if I kill this girl, the Siberian vanishes' and 'if I so much as touch this girl, the Siberian will massacre my family, my friends, my pets, and salt the earth.'

She'd rather keep it to the latter, as opposed to the former.

"That… is a bit difficult to believe." Armsmaster noted.

"That's an understatement." Velocity gave her a hard glare. "Is this some scheme to try and avoid the consequences of the last decade? Claim some mysterious Master made -"

"Manton."

"- what?" Velocity blinked at the interjection.

Siberian waved a hand, unconcerned. "There's nothing mysterious about him. I've been under the control of one William Manton for the past 11 years."

"Manton." Velocity repeated blankly. "Doctor William Manton?"

The Siberian only barely resisted rolling her eyes. "Do you know of any other?"

Honestly, somebody gets famous and suddenly everybody thinks they're perfect, morally upright citizens.

"Dr. Manton has been missing for years." Armsmaster reported. Once again, it didn't sound of disbelief. He sounded interested. "Official reports believe him to be dead."

"Nah, just slumming next to the Slaughterhouse in a camper van." Siberian snickered.

"And do you have any idea what broke the Master effect?" Armsmaster asked.

Taylor.

"Nope." The Siberian shook her head confidently. "I didn't bother sticking around. The moment it broke, I was out of there."

Armsmaster went still, a hint of a frown showing as he stared at her silently. The Siberian felt herself tense in response.

And waited.

…

Dang it, why couldn't Mannequin have talked more about his crush? She couldn't even recall Armsmaster's specialization. Tinker powers were, by and large, absolute BS. (And yes, she was aware of the irony considering her own abilities). Who knew what Armsmaster had stuffed in that helmet?

Obviously she could beat him if it came to it. That wasn't even a question.

The Siberian was more worried about what he might learn.

Their staring contest went on long enough that Velocity was shifting uncomfortably before Armsmaster sighed heavily. "This is going to be a mess." He grumbled.

… Wait, did he actually believe her?

"Yes, well, seeing as how I'm the one currently going through said mess, I'm well aware." Siberian said as she tried to cover her confusion.

That… This was way too easy. Armsmaster was fairly high in the Protectorate, wasn't he? Shouldn't there be more skepticism?

Either he was being fed information by people listening in - did they have a Thinker? - or he had something in that helmet of his.

"You believe her?" Velocity unknowingly echoed her thoughts.

Yes! Thank you!

Armsmaster made a quick gesture with his hand, and Velocity backed down somewhat.

No! Insist he explain himself, dang it!

"So what exactly are you asking for?" Armsmaster asked gruffly he turned back to her, his stance shifting to something more relaxed, but still ready to move if he needed.

Siberian gave a narrow glare between the two heroes before letting it go with an internal grumble. "What I want is to be able to live without being bothered by pointless hassling."

Naturally such a life would be with Taylor. Beyond that… She wasn't entirely sure. She didn't even know what she liked yet. But she was excited to find out.

Armsmaster nodded seriously. "We'll need to take you in while the PRT investigates your story. We can then provide assistance."

Ah, and here is where they hit a snag.

The Siberian gave a small hum. "Ah, you misunderstand." Both men tensed once more as she bared her teeth. "I'm afraid I won't be 'taken in' anywhere. Your PRT can investigate quite well without my presence."

Armsmaster tilted his head. "If you want any sort of endorsement from us, you're going to have to. There are tests that can be run to verify if one has been Mastered -"

That's exactly what I'm afraid of.

"Tests with an extremely low rate of success." Siberian cut him off brusquely. "Mastered or not, you forget I've been traveling with several geniuses. I'm well aware the vast majority of Mastering powers are untraceable."

Bonesaw in particular had been rather… Enthusiastic in her investigations if she recalled.

"Tinkertech scanners have gotten good enough to detect even minute abnormalities." Armsmaster argued back, actually sounding offended. And wow, they really got over their fear of her quickly, didn't they? "Especially in long term cases. Eleven years would qualify."

Is this what happened when people actually talked instead of slaughtering? They talked back?

… She wasn't a fan.

"Signs like those can only be noticed if similar testing has been done during or before the Mastering. A baseline is required, which you don't have." Siberian countered back, irritation growing.

"Different forms of Mastering have different effects. Once again, in prolonged cases, abnormalities can form." Armsmaster insisted before changing tacts. "Further, coming in peacefully will go a long way assuring people of your peaceful intentions."

"'People' will never be reassured." The Siberian stated, already accepting it as truth and frustrated at the reminder that it would make things difficult with Taylor. "My notoriety is going to follow me no matter what I do. It's pointless to pretend otherwise."

When she saw Armsmaster was still not convinced, the Siberian let out a growl, causing both hero's to shift into ready stances.

Oops.

"Look, this won't go anywhere." Siberian bit out, "I don't trust you nearly enough for any of that. I'm not asking for an endorsement from your organization. I'm asking that you not tie me to the crimes I committed while under somebody else's control and to leave me alone."

Armsmaster's jaw tightened. "And what will you do when civilians refuse to believe you?"

The Siberian raised an eyebrow. "So long as they don't attack me, then I don't care what they do."

"And if they do?" Velocity finally spoke up.

She gave the speedster an innocent smile. "In that case, I believe I'm well within my rights to defend myself."

At that point, she was practically doing a good deed, removing overly stupid people from the gene pool. The PRT should be thanking her.

Before either could argue with that, the Siberian pushed forward. "Understand, I'd prefer to have an… Amicable relationship with the powers that be in the area." She explained smoothly. "To that end, I'm willing to assist you to an extent."

"In what way?" Armsmaster asked flatly.

"Obviously I'm already removing myself from the board. That alone is rather significant." Siberian with a smug smirk. "But in addition, I'm willing to provide a decade's worth of information on the rest of the Slaughterhouse members. Hideouts, associates, and future plans. As an added bonus, I'll even offer a plan to take them out."

Well, she didn't have a plan yet. Only a partial one so far. More a series of mini-plans honestly. But she would.

Both hero's stared at her as Armsmaster gave a slow nod. "That would help." He agreed cautiously. "Though I can't speak for the PRT or the Protectorate as a whole."

"Well, sounds like you have something to talk about with them then." The Siberian gestures towards the door. "I'll wait here till you have an answer."

"Wait."

The Siberian and Armsmaster looked at Velocity.

"If what you're claiming is true, then why did you kidnap a girl on your way here?" The man asked.

Ah, so they did remember Taylor. She'd been wondering if they'd forgotten completely.

"Kidnap?" Siberian asked, almost offended. "Taylor needed help, and I got her help." She replied, as if the answer was obvious.

"Why would you care about Miss Hebert?" Armsmaster asked.

"It's quite simple." The Siberian gave both heroes a look of absolute pride as she let a portion of her possessiveness loose. "Taylor Hebert is mine."

Oh, the looks on their faces were so satisfying. Had she cared about them at all, she'd probably worry about their health - getting so many shocks in one day.

Good thing she didn't.

"What do you mean she's 'yours'?" Velocity asked with a strained voice.

"Does it matter?" Siberian asked curiously "She is mine. Mine to protect, mine to provide for. I regret that I haven't been able to be there for her in the past, and I'm changing that now. That's truly all you need to know."

Armsmaster tapped his halberd. "We will need to visit her to nsure she hasn't been hurt."

"Taylor is still asleep." Siberian narrowed her eyes at them in warning. "I will consider allowing a visit once she wakes up, not a moment before. I brought her here to heal her, do you really think I'd hurt her again?"

Internally, she could admit that it was a good idea from their perspective. Jack Slash would totally do something like that.

She was still offended.

"I don't know if the PRT will be alright with you being so close with a child." Armsmaster stated intently.

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't intend to ask, isn't it?" Siberian leaned forward and gave both of them a cold smile. "Understand this - the only way I am leaving that girl is if she tells me to leave. And just so you, the Protectorate, and the PRT are aware, if anything happens to Taylor? If she gets hurt in any way, shape, or form? Then I will find that person and proceed to visit every torture, every atrocity I've committed in the last decade on their person."

Both men backed up a step at her words. Velocity blurred for a second in what was probably an unconscious reaction, while Armsmaster shifted his halberd in a ready position.

The Siberian could see her reflection in Armsmaster's visor. Her teeth were bared, her yellow eyes wild, standing out against her skin.

She looked feral, and she embraced that feeling, letting them see the seriousness of her words.

Violence: The solution that fits any problem. If it wasn't working, you weren't using enough of it.

"So, did you have any other questions for me?"