Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

April, 2000

'It wasn't supposed to be this way.'

Such was the thought of anybody currently in the same situation as Annette Hebert, rocketing downwards through the earth, barely able to breathe or drag oxygen into her lungs. 

Beside her, her husband Danny struggled in a futile effort against the various bonds that held his Brute enhanced strength at bay. They really must have had a hell of a time trying to find metal that could hope to stand up to her man's capacities. Right now, he looked ready to shatter the entire platform that was carrying them into the very bowels of the earth. 

Well, if she was going to be jailed for the rest of her life, at least she would have him at her side... 

What a cruel irony.

After everything, now it was their turn to be sent to the Birdcage. Lustrum and Marquis had gone ahead of them, to think that the two Capes foremost lieutenants would be captured in such short order afterwards.

No doubt it was a big public relations win for them, but the trials had been so quick cut and done that neither of them had really had time to check in on the public sentiments. 

'Justice delayed is justice denied' Cicero once said, but for them to have been captured, sentenced and Birdcaged within a week of their arrest was frankly shambolic! 

Danny hadn't even been allowed to attend his own trial, and she had barely been permitted more than twenty words. No doubt from fear that her power would provide some manner of advantage in her defence.

Sure, the two of them had not always been the best behaved of Capes.... their passions had carried them away. Their list of crimes was not short, but they were nowhere near so egregious that the trials should have been concluded within a day! The flawed and corrupt government just wanted examples and be seen as having made a difference. 

Pathetic. 

It was this very system that she and her fellow Lustrumites had been fighting against... well, her cell had been. Others had all gone off the rails with the misandrist rhetoric, but this sort of social injustice had been exactly what her rallying call had been centred around!

The vindication tasted bitter on her tongue. 

The platform began to slow, above them the dark shaft they had been descending down closed up with a final bulwark, and they came to a stop. 

The various restraints holding the pair in place released suddenly, and the air was once more filled with the fresh and most beautiful oxygen that Annette had ever gulped down.

Danny was up and about within a moment, forcing off the restraints, but it took her a moment more to get moving. His calloused hand moved under her back to help her into a seated position, asking at once if she was okay. 

There was the buzz of electronics around them, hidden speakers blaring into life to deliver a message from their jailer;

"Inmates one seven one and one seven two, please vacate from the platform. Failure to comply will lead to you being dropped into the crucible system and to your death."

Fuck you, Dragon. It was only because of the bitch that they had gotten caught, what with her stupid expanding foam. 

Danny had managed to burst out, but had then been caught trying to break her free. At least he had managed to launch Alexandria halfway into orbit when she tried to pin him down.

There was a solitary door out of the elevator. Annette may have remembered Cicero just a moment ago, but looking at those imposing doors, another author came to mind; 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!'

Husband and wife stepped through, and behind them the doors closed and the low hum of the elevator could be heard. 

"... Fucker."

Danny was feeling bitter evidently, glowering around them. 

His gaze landed on the door to the male wing just as it opened and somebody stepped through. There was a momentary pause, a raised brow, and then---

"... Inviolable?" the man called out, recognising Danny. 

"Marquis," for the first time, a smile appeared on her husband's lips as the two men clapped hands and pulled the other into a brief hug.

Heh... those two had been through a lot together. The Brockton Bay Bridge would have been smears on the ground had Danny been there when they cornered and captured Marquis.

Meanwhile...

"Annette?" 

Annette turned. 

Lustrum hadn't changed much since Annette had last seen her... but then again, it had only been a few months. Bar looking a little rougher around the edges, she was much the same as before, and evidently had put herself to work whipping this place into shape. 

The woman looked her up and down, before breaking into a grin and glancing towards the other women either side of her.

"Girls, this is Inveniam Viam, one of my best---" and didn't that cause a surge of bitter pride? "---can't believe they managed to grab you, but glad to see they didn't manhandle you too bad." 

The woman glanced over at Danny, and almost as a compulsive tick, she frowned. The woman had never approved whatsoever of Annette tying the knot... and had turned up to the wedding only out of obligation (and been very vocal during the celebration afterwards once she got a few drinks in her). 

As husband and wife split up, Annette had just one thing to console her. If nothing else, at least she had Danny and Lustrum... perhaps once they had adjusted to this place, they would claim their own cell block Between her brains and Danny's strength, they could definitely do it, right?

Only time would tell...

A few weeks later, she began waking up suffering from nausea. 

It was only then that she realised, with horror, that she was pregnant. 

Chapter Text

Within block E of the Birdcage, a certain conversation raged, as it had been doing so for weeks on and off.

“There has to be something, Dragon!”

As Annette Hebert cradled her belly, swollen by months of pregnancy, she found herself gritting her teeth and wincing. As if sensing her displeasure, the baby within had just given her a hell of a kick. The little one was a very responsive little creature, perhaps it was some aspect of her power, making her read far more into its little movements and actions far more than normal? But either way, often when she got emotional or angry, the baby seemed to kick up a fuss within her. 

Gods, this situation was horrible...

If she'd been sent here just a few weeks earlier, then it wouldn't have been a problem. The food and water sent into the Birdcage was laced with Tinkertech drugs to sterilise prisoners (which was already morally despicable in its own right) but this 'moral necessity' didn't really matter when you entered the place pregnant, did it!?

Don't get her wrong... on some level it was wonderful to be having a baby, but the joys of imminent motherhood were somewhat diminished when she would be giving birth inside a Parahuman prison with no chance of escape!

“You can't try to tell me that there is nothing that can be done! It's... it's unconscionable!”

A long, long pause.

“I am sorry, Annette---”

“Don't you dare,” it had been weeks since she had managed to channel so much of her impotent frustration into a single word, but she managed it at that moment. “Don't you dare try to call me by my first name like we're friends, when you're denying my baby the opportunity to live like a civilised human being!”

A pause. 

“Inveniam---”

“Not only has this entire fucking system failed, but it's failed somebody who shouldn't ever need to be affected by it, so you have a duty to solve this problem!”

Beyond the walls of this place, Annette had fought so hard for justice of all sorts. Hell, her cape name, Inveniam viam, was just part of a larger statement, aut viam inveniam aut faciam, “I shall find a way, or make one”. 

And yet now, there seemed to be no way forward at all. 

No matter how much she pleaded and begged with Dragon to find some way out, it was always the same. 

“... There has been a drastic failure within the system, I will concede that... but I am afraid that nobody who enters the Birdcage can come out, Inveniam Viam... with the way it's designed it's not possible, the autoclaving and processing procedures of all materials on the way out would kill even your husband at the height of his power.”

Annette's hands clenched, she gazed into her lap. 

It would have been better if there were a camera or monitor that Dragon could put her face onto, at least then she would have somewhere to direct all her anger.

She hated this so, so much.

“... If we hadn't been given such quick, sham trials, if we had been through a more proper legal procedure, then I'd still be outside and at least able to give birth, but noooo. Because, of course, nobody would imagine that a woman of my age, with a husband, could possibly be pregnant, right!?"

And now she was just ranting at Dragon... but there wasn't much else she could do. 

She wanted to cry, wanted to rage. Her hormones were all over the place...

Beyond (extremely) begrudging visits permitted by Lustrum on the part of her husband, all Annette had to do, day by day, was live the prison life... and focus on the new life growing within her. 

If she was still outside, if she were still a free woman, she would be able to enjoy the teaching job she had secured. There would have been things to distract from the fact that she was pregnant. But down here, in the bowls of the earth, her child was growing closer and closer to being born in this sunless cage designed to hold monsters.

There was no response from Dragon. 

That often said enough on its own.

Indeed, for a long few minutes there was no sound beyond her own breathing and the distant, faint hum of various machines in the walls. Occasionally, the distant conversations of other inmates were just about audible as well, murmured and muffled by distance.

“... I don't care about being in here, at least I actually did things that were crimes, but I can't bring a baby into this place, I... I'll stay my entire fucking life and be the perfect goddamn prisoner, I'll give up all the rights, just so long as I don't have to raise a child in this place, Dragon.”

Part of her wanted to break down crying, but she forced herself back under control, using her power to better think through what she was doing, through her emotions. 

Fucking pregnancy hormones...

“... I'm so, so sorry, Inveniam Viam, but there's nothing I can do. I'll do everything I can and provide all the things they need, and push the message to my superiors... But as things stand, there's nothing that can be done.”

The worst part about it all, was that Dragon's words sounded completely genuine. 

Chapter Text

“We should probably think about godparents.”

It was a strange thing for his wife to say, but Danny Hebert was used to odd occurrences at this point. It was difficult being a Parahuman without forever being divorced from the rest of the world on some level, and when you had been living in a windowless coffin for eight months, notions of normality rapidly escaped you. 

“... Well, I think you should choose who gets to be godmother,” he said, pressing his lips into the crown of his wife's head. 

The two of them were having an intimate moment; not of the sort many would imagine between husband and wife. Instead, they were both in a quiet space, the smaller form of the Thinker resting with her back against her husbands' chest. Danny's hands rested atop those of his wife, which sat on her belly, gently rubbing the large bump that sat there. 

The Hebert family, such as it was, all in one place... just the idea that his child would be born in this hellhole made him want to rip apart the very walls. But he refused to let himself be ruled by anger, not around Annette, at least. 

He wasn't his old man.

Annette hummed.

Ah... what a strange love theirs had been. 

A diehard Lustrumite and the chief enforcer and lieutenant of Marquis, by any sane logic the two of them should have been at one another's throats or have killed the other, but somehow they had made it work.

“Well... it's not like I would think of anybody else but Lustrum..."

Much as he disliked the woman, it was a logical choice... Giving their child a godparent who was a cell block leader would help to keep them safe.

"I guess you are thinking Marquis?” Annette asked.

“Heh... bet you didn't even need your power for that one,” he gave her shoulders a very gentle squeeze, and despite her still facing away, he could tell that she was smiling. “But yeah... the options aren't exactly wide, and I can trust him far more than a lot of the others about.”

Of the one hundred and eighty-four people sent to the Birdcage, only about a hundred were still alive. This place was one in which the sorts of Villain who saw themselves as the top of the world ended up. Accordingly, you either learned that you were not and fit into the hierarchy, or killed your way to the top. 

Annette had a much more eloquent way of putting it, but Danny was not as well-spoken as her. 

He was happy to live working under somebody else, they both were, which was a large part of why they were safe.

Being the lieutenant of a cell block leader had its perks, but unfortunately, the selection of allies they could count on or who could act as a godparent was slim. 

Black Kaze was an unspeaking killing machine, but reportedly was better to live under than Blood Diamond. 

And Glastig Uaine was... well, the Fairy Queen.  

Lustrum was a hard-assed bitch who didn't allow Danny to visit his wife without a full squad of Parahumans breathing down his neck... but she took care of the women in her block. If their child was born a girl, then she would be safe with Lustrum as a godparent.

And if it were a boy, then once he was weaned he'd be safe with Danny in Marquis block.

... Heh, saying it like that made him think of the Dockworkers Association. 

To think he had gotten involved with Marquis via his workplace. It had been so logical at the time, to tie himself to the other man as a means to keep the Association safe rather than try to protect it from the Teeth all by himself. 

Annette suddenly winced. 

Evidently, the baby was in a kicking mood again.

“I wonder whether she'll be this squirmy when she's born...”

“Still convinced it's a girl?” he asked. 

“Yeah... woman's intuition.”

Well, his mother had once said that she knew ahead of time that he would be male. Then again, he'd also known people who swore up and down it'd be a boy, and then they gave birth to twin girls, so intuition only went so far. 

But whether their child was born a boy or a girl, he would be happy... well, happy enough. 

It was such a bittersweet thing, to have a child with the woman he loved, only for them to all be consigned to this place.

It was wearing on them both... Annette was so tired and withdrawn a lot of the time at the moment, and not just from the strain of pregnancy. 

Hell, Dragon had been sending extra food rations, had even sent down several jars of Hermann's Pickles when his wife was in the full depths of cravings. There had been books about child raising and supplies needed for the labour... what a fucking joke! Their jailer could do nothing more than send down what they needed, even as they watched on like some manner of warped, omnipotent god who could speak or fuck with their entire lives at any moment---

“Darling.”

Immediately he snapped back to the present, his arms opened up.

“Are you okay? I didn't squeeze you, did I?”

“No, no. I could just feel you getting tense.”

Annette leaned her head back so that she could look back at him, those big brown eyes focusing on his even as she smiled a little. She looked so, so tired... 

“... I'm gonna take a nap.”

“Of course, as long as you need,” Danny said, bringing his arms back around her. Within a minute, she was asleep, mouth faintly open... and Danny stared into space, deep in thought.

Chapter Text

As an outsider, you hear how long labour can be, but when one is actively waiting for news, it feels so, so much longer. 

Even with months to prepare for this day, all he could do was wait with an agonising anxiety that stretched minutes into unfathomable eons. 

“She'll be okay, Danny.”

He appreciated Marquis taking the time to join him for this, he really did... but nothing he could say distracted from the matter at hand. All he could do right now was sit here and wait, powerless, as his wife gave birth to their child. 

He wasn't even allowed to be there, that bitch Lustrum had forbidden it, goddamn forbidden the husband to be at his wife's side! 

Damn this place! 

There was not a single clock in the entire accursed prison... something about 'fears about providing materials for any Tinkers inside', but as a result, every minute was as tortuous as an hour. 

A distant sound, a cry!? He rose halfway from his chair before he stopped himself and sat his ass back down. 

At the door, one of Lustrum's enforcers warily kept an eye on them. 

Himself and Marquis had been given rare permission to come to the antechamber of the female wing ("and no further!") to wait for the news... under sufferance.

Marquis moved one leg over the other, sitting almost casually. 

“... When Amelia was born, Justine screamed down the entire ward,” the man said, breaking the agonising silence. It was an attempt to distract him from the reality of what was going on, and whilst he couldn't feel any passion for the conversation---

“I remember.”

A pause.

“We went out to Bruno's for a drink to celebrate the day after, didn't we?”

It had been one of those strange moments in which the mask of their Parahuman relationship had slipped, when the two of them, boss and lieutenant, had gone out in civilian guise for drinks and gotten absolutely wasted in celebration.

The hangover had been legendary; Annette had laughed herself silly when he stumbled around the house the next day like a baby deer.

“Yup, Christ, I kept bragging that she would be the prettiest little girl in all the world and people kept buying us drinks to celebrate...” Marquis gave a strange, chuffing laugh at the notion. 

And despite himself, despite the anxious knot of tension in his chest, Danny managed a slightly hollow chuckle. He didn't really feel it, but anything to distract from his feelings of powerlessness would be a small relief given what was going on.

“Probably taking pity on you, I remember the bruise you had for days afterwards,” Marquis winced, one hand rubbed the other. 

"Justine sure had a hell of a grip, thought she was going to break my fingers at one point, said she'd never let me touch her again and that she'd feed me into a wood chipper after it was all done." 

A second or two of chuckles at the notion. 

"... I wonder how Amelia is."

Marquis face had dropped just a little, pushing his chin into his palm and brows furrowing.

"I can only hope she's being treated alright," he said, quietly. It was not the first time the topic had come up, and Danny had leant an ear.

The pain of separation and distance was all the keener when little Amelia had been all the family the other man had... But for Danny, his child would be with him, trapped in this place never knowing what a normal life looked like, never even seeing the sun or the feeling of rain on their face... 

The Birdcage had a limited supply of books sent down periodically, and in the last few deliveries there had been one or two on childcare... but for actually teaching a child, it would be a challenge indeed---

The door further into the women's Ward opened. 

Danny's eyes snapped to it as somebody stepped out to speak with the one who had been placed as a guard to it. There was a moment's conversation between the two, a sharp nod, and then both looked towards them. 

“The baby's been born.”

He was on his feet in moments.

“Are they okay!?”

“Yeah, you can come and see them now, Inviolable.”

The fact Marquis was not invited was quite telling, but each cell block leader was lord only of their territory. For any of them to start getting too chummy and visiting one another would be seen as collusion, and would lead to battle lines being drawn and the tense politics of the Birdcage strained.

Marquis took it with good grace, indicating with a hand for Danny to go ahead.

"I'll be heading back, need to make sure the boys haven't broken anything in the interim."

Danny nodded. His feet carrying him quickly forwards until they reached one of many nondescript doors. Stood outside, arms crossed, was the cell block leader herself, radiating disapproval at his mere presence within her block. 

But extraordinary circumstances sometimes win out over the normal rules... such as they were in this place.

“She hasn't stopped asking for you since she was born," the woman said, and there was a momentary pause... just the smallest hint of an upwards curl to her lip. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light---

"Congrats."

She moved aside.

Danny stepped through. 

The midwife, a Parahuman who had been a civilian nurse, was busying about clearing things away from the labour, and paused upon his entry, only to relax and continue her work. She was insignificant in his mind, only the person in the bed mattered.

“Annette?”

His wife smiled. 

She looked exhausted, her hair fell lank either side of her face, and she looked like she had just been through a metaphorical war. In her arms was a little orange bundle, swaddled in a ripped apart inmate outfit.

“Told you it would be a girl,” was all she said as he made his way to her side. In her arms, pink but healthy, was his baby girl. 

Inmate 191, Taylor Hebert.

Chapter Text

She was so sore...

Sore and tired. 

At her breast, baby Taylor was hungry. 

Annette did her best to hold her child close with one hand, and eat with the other. At least her food in the last few months hadn't been too bad---

"How come cow tits over here is getting the good shit?" barked one of her fellow inmates, a scarred and heavily tattoo'd woman, gesturing towards Annette's meal. Indeed, it was undeniable that the plate from which she ate had a better quality and quantity of food than those of the women around her, a small kindness from their overlord, Dragon.

"She's got a fuckin' kid, that's why, you blind? Should'a gotten knocked up before y'got in, shame not even one of Helmsman's boys would give you a good seeing to!"

And so, a fight began. 

Annette carefully avoided it, scooting away from those two. 

Her situation was precarious. 

She was still recovering, relying on Lustrum and her support. Whilst some of the inmates in the block had been pleasant enough to her, there were more than enough delusional maniacs who would kill an infant for something as small as being kept awake by an infant's crying. 

The moment Annette was cut off from Lustrums support, she could well be doomed, certainly if she couldn't get out of Cell Block E. If she could and managed to reach Danny, then she would be fine. Marquis, would take her in... right? If not, she and Danny could try to claim one of the small, currently unused sections of the prison to themselves... but it would leave them isolated, vulnerable. 

The cell blocks were political factions and communities as much as anything, just like with gangs in a mundane prison. Being a lone wolf was difficult without the strength to back it up.

There was only so much food and other resources came into the Birdcage a day, and it was split up between the blocks, but if you weren't with one, you could get muscled out.

Right now, she needed to stay safe, Taylor was less than a week old and already the Birdcage was adapting to the fact there was a baby among them.

As she moved, Taylor got jostled, a tiny arm batted at her as her little face scrunched up as she made a sound between a gurgle and a cry.

"Suuush, it's okay," she murmured, but the sound had attracted the attention of the women she had been trying to avoid, halfway through getting into a shouting match.

"Oi, tryn'a run away? C'mon, share some of the food, you don't need it all you fucking beanpole heeb---"

"Is there a problem here?"

Both of the other women turned as one to find Lustrum standing behind them, arms crossed over her chest; a raised eyebrow said enough.  

"Nope, n'problem at all, we were just... discussing the food situation," the first of the women, said. 

"I see. What about it? I think it's been decent lately."

Decent in the same way that the fiftieth bowl of the same soup is decent compared to nothing.

"Just sayin', it's unfair that Invidium gets all the good food!"

"Inveniam Viam is nursing."

It was delivered in a manner utterly flat, domineering and unrelenting. 

Lustrum could be a right firecracker of a public speaker, but had also developed an understanding of tone. One moment she could be impassioned, shouting for the removal of the shackles imposed by the patriarchy, the quietening her voice to tell a tale that tug at the heartstrings.

Lustrum didn't just become an icon because of her power, after all.

"Just cuz she's got some brat---"

"Inveniam is my lieutenant, the kids my godchild. Do anything to them, and you try to do that to me," voice low and guttural, Lustrum leant down, pushing her face right into that of Carriage. "Don't try me on this, Hannah. Cause more trouble after what happened with Underhang and I'll send you to Blood Diamond."

Ah yes, the ultimate threat. 

Being sent to that sociopath that ran cell block B.

As Lustrum dealt with Carriage and the other woman, she glanced briefly at Annette. Even without her power, she knew to slip away at that moment, taking her food with her and retreating to her room. 

It wasn't until the door was closed behind her that Annette could relax. 

Keep up a strong front... weak Parahumans didn't last long in this place, everyone needed somebody to punch down at... right now, she and Taylor were by far the easiest to punch at. 

A young mother and a dependent baby.

People could talk about the 'rules of prison', that people who hurt kids got it worst... but they were wrong. In here everyone was the same, no way out, no escape.

And if Carriage tried to hurt Taylor... maybe she was just being paranoid, but...

She'd always espoused such peaceful methods, even if she was no stranger to violence. It was funny how many normal, rational things went out of the window the moment she had a kid. Annette had mostly held back on her power for a lot of her time outside the Birdcage, afraid to go too far and damage somebody permanently... but if necessary...

As if sensing her mother's thoughts, the baby gurgled. 

Annette pressed her lips to Taylor's head, swaying gently from side to side in the safety of her own small, pokey cell.

"It's okay baby... don't worry..." she murmured softly, even as she checked the room over no less than thrice before she felt she could relax.

Chapter Text

Site-Director Henrick sat, with coffee in hand, listening to his morning summation of the news from the Birdcage by Dragon.

He was in a strange position, as the one in charge and overseeing the Baumann Parahuman Containment Centre. He had only been in the role for some two months after the previous man in his unfit for the position, and in that time six people had been murdered within the Birdcage. 

He had not been expecting quite this much inmate death, but then again, he had less taken this role than been assigned it from high above.

Most of his job was organising supplies and signing documents upon receiving new inmates. 

“---inmate 212; Götterdämmerung was killed in his cell by inmate 171; Inviolable, at eleven forty-three last night. That makes the fourth murder in the Birdcage so far this year. I've logged it on the system.”

Götterdämmerung, a Gesellschaft member of some acclaim with a rap list longer than Henrick's arm, ranging from the immoral to the heinously illegal. The man had, according to his fact sheet, been incarcerated in the birdcage only three months ago.

It did not really matter that the man had died; actually, the world was frankly better off for it, but he had to ask;

“Do we have a reason? I thought Inviolable was... well, not a model prisoner, but one of the quieter ones?” 

Murder was to be expected in a place like the Birdcage, hell on his first day in this post there had been a woman strangled with a piece of nylon in Blood Diamond's block.

“Inviolable was responding to a threatening comment Götterdämmerung had made about a loved one, and has killed another in similar circumstances,” Dragon clarified. 

An interesting way to phrase it...

“... His wife?” he chanced. It was the only option that made sense.

“No, his daughter. Götterdämmerung said that when she grew up, she would be a 'fresh piece of meat on the market' as it were,” Dragon's voice sounded just a little more robotic than normal there for a moment.

Wait.

“Hold up, daughter?” he pressed.

“Ah.” The sound was just a little artificial. “Inmate 191; Taylor Hebert is not included in the normal fact sheets at the behest of the previous site manager.”

He set down his coffee and adjusted his seat, removing his elbow from the arm of his chair. 

“Explain.”

“Inmate 191 was born in the Birdcage. During the pre-incarceration medical checks there was a failure to recognise an early-stage pregnancy, and as a result, she was born into the Birdcage.”

“Why wasn't she included with the other fact sheets?” 

Goddammit, he was a Site-Director, how could he know what type of potato would be in the meals to be served today for the inmates before he knew there was a goddamn child in the Birdcage!? 

There was a long pause there, one he didn't like.

“To quote former site-director Gunarsson, 'there's nothing we can do for her anyway, so it'd be better if this never got out.' The Chief-Director agreed after a period of consideration, and the file has been categorized as a class 2 type VI, and is considered on a need to know basis.”

He would consider the position of Site-Director to be a need to know basis!

Class two files included things like operating procedures for prisoner transit. Only class 1, which included the documents like the Birdcages internal mechanisms and contingency measures for individuals like the goddamn Fairy Queen stood any higher! 

“I see. Tell me more about this child,” he asked, brokering no discussion on the matter. 

He placed his elbows on his desk, pressing his chin against interlaced fingers and stared at the screen before him.

A rather pixelated image appeared on the screen, depicting a woman with curly brown hair carrying a toddler who appeared to have been clumsily clothed in rags made from inmates outfits.

“Taylor is currently four-hundred and six days old. She spends time between her mother and father, inmates 171 and 172, who are in cell blocks W and EW respectively, and appears for the most part to be healthy. Her favourite food is apple slices.”

The last part was utterly unnecessary, but it certainly painted a picture.

“... Why haven't there been any efforts to get her out?”

“Nothing can come out of the Birdcage, sir.”

It was delivered as if it were iron clad.

“There are Movers.”

“That would require they become aware of the Birdcage's location, sir. Authorising any individual beyond those necessary would be a violation of your contract and be grounds for immediate detainment and prosecution. And even if a suitable Parahuman could be found who potentially could, there are active measures intended to prevent the vast majority of Movers from being able to enter or leave.”

Even as Dragon brought up these points, it sounded as if she was hardly happy about the matter; her voice was clipped, as if she was pointing it out due to requirement rather than any particular belief. 

Thinking about it, part of the reason for the facilities spatial warping technology was precisely this. Jailhouse, the Parahuman who designed and oversaw the Birdcages construction (before she was thrown in it) really did her job too well...

Henrik sat there for a long few moments. 

The notion that there was a baby in that place was absolutely hateful, and as a man who had three children himself, well...

A half-dozen more ideas came to mind, but whenever he put them forward to Dragon, there was a refutation for each, some small piece of technology or rule that he had forgotten. 

The meeting between himself and Dragon ran over, he was supposed to be looking over order forms and expense list's but right now, he needed to wrap his mind around this all.

Thirty-minutes late, Dragon had to depart, apologising and promising that she would discuss the matter of Taylor Hebert with him later. 

“Before you go, mind me asking something else?” he asked. 

“Of course sir.”

“On the expenses list, I've never seen any baby products.”

Another long pause.

“As they were not on any official supply or requisition lists, I have been purchasing and supplying them myself, sir. Unfortunately, there are strict controls on what can go in, so what I've been able to provide has been limited. But I've done my best.”

She departed, and Henrick was left with an entire day ahead of him to stew on the matter.

Chapter Text

“Got something for you, Inviolable.”

Danny narrowed his eyes a moment as he glanced over the object being offered him. In his lap, Taylor sat flailing her arms impotently at the cruel and callous prison of his forearm holding her in place, a tiny clenched fist whacking impotently at him. 

“What is it, Needle?” 

The other man was weedy and thin, a Shaker from Manhattan who, frankly, had a somewhat weak list of crimes compared to a lot of folk in here. But the man had his uses. 

It was an inevitability that clothes frayed and things fell apart; Dragon only sent so much through a month in terms of supplies... so making broken things go a long way was a valuable skill. The man was good with his hands, and with the benefit of his power to create iron needles, he had turned his abilities to patching things up and putting them back together.

“Made something for the kiddo,” he replied, holding something up.

It was, unmistakably, a stuffed toy. It looked to have been crafted from multiple scraps and pieces of orange cloth that were faded to varying degrees. Almost certainly it had been crafted from literal offcuts, and then patched and sewn together into a rough shape of a stuffed rabbit. Its head listed to the side due to being unevenly stuffed. 

Wordlessly, he took the offered object and gave it a squeeze. It was clearly stuffed with old scrap cloth rather than true stuffing, but he couldn't feel anything solid inside it. 

No hidden objects, knives or needles.

But in this place, you learned to be paranoid. 

More than enough inmates had presumed to threaten his kid, either as a joke or as a challenge, that he wasn't going to go with blind trust in anybody when it came to her. 

“... There's nothing in it,” Needle said, voice a little sullen. 

“Gotta be sure, not after that time with Aphid,” Danny grunted. 

Only when he was satisfied that it was safe did he lower the toy into the toddlers grasping hands. The rabbit was not far off her own size, her small arms and legs came around it and began investigating the new thing.

She seemed to like it... well, she liked anything new, really.

Needle remained. 

“So, I was wondering,” he began, and Danny already knew where this was going. “Now Götterdämmerungs gone, I've been wanting to move rooms away from Yearning...”

Next to nothing happened in this place without some manner of cost or expectation. Needle's gift for Taylor was just a way to butter him up, something to get him on side before he asked for something. In two years or so here, he'd handled more than enough requests.

“I'll see what I can do,” Danny said, simply.

Needle looked like he wanted to say something more, only for them both to be interrupted as somebody else entered the room. 

“Thanks,” with that, the man slunk away. 

The other Parahuman didn't really have the grit to endure this place, a good number didn't. Needle would either toughen up with time, or always remain as the person who took care of the blocks needlework and other crafts. 

It was a safe niche, to be fair, so long as he didn't rock the boat.

In his lap, Taylor was still tenaciously holding on to the stuffed toy. 

Thinking about it, it was the first true soft toy she ever had; Dragon refused to send any down for whatever reason. Instead, her toys were random objects that had to take their place. An old water bottle filled with small pieces of plastic was her rattle, a convoluted mess of string and small pieces of debris hung as a mobile over her crib.

“Do you like it, Taylor?” he asked, fully aware that she could not respond, but the book said children picked up words better if you talked to them often.

Right now, one of the stuffed rabbits ears was in her mouth.

“Don't chew that,” he chided, and she paused a moment to look at him, then went back to trying to chew it. 

Once again, he pulled it from her mouth.

She could be a stubborn little creature, probably picked it up from both their sides... it was endearing enough, but children loved to put things in their mouths. In a place like this, that habit was really quite dangerous. 

The last thing he needed was his daughter finding a cigarette butt and choking on it, after all. 

“C'mon, time to see uncle Marquis,” he commented, standing and shifting Taylor onto his hip. She clung onto her new toy, smushing it between herself and him. Her small head turned this way and that, swivelling about like the owls her Annette liked to compare her with.

He departed the room, walking along the corridor from the communal space towards where he knew he would find the cell block leader.

But within just a few strides, he was interrupted.

“It seems Taylor has a new toy,” spoke a voice from the wall, voice soft and just a little friendly. 

Dragon.

'No thanks to you,' he thought, but held back on saying so.

“Yes. It's nice that she has something to cuddle now,” he said. Taylor, used to Dragon's voice randomly appearing from nowhere, didn't bother to look around for it. "Shame she doesn't have a proper one, but I'll take what I can get."

“I can only send down things on approved lists, Inviolable. We've discussed this.”

It was a line he had heard more than often enough, indeed, just about any time he spoke with Dragon about arrangements for Taylor, the woman would be forced to bring out that statement. 

“... Doesn't it ever piss you off, not being able to do anything?”

“I imagine you would understand how I feel about it.”

“I see.”

What a curious answer. 

When he found Marquis, he spent a good half hour with the man, discussing matter of Needle moving cells. The entire time, the other man bounced Taylor on his knee indulgently, and never once did she release her patchwork toy.

Chapter Text

“Dra.”

“Dra.”

“Gon.”

“Gon.”

“Okay, now if we put 'Dra' and 'Gon' together, what do we get, Taylor?”

“Dwagone!”

Attempt seventeen to get Inmate 191, Taylor Hebert, to say her name properly was a failure. 

At this point, perhaps she should have expected it, it was still early days, after all.

The little girl, sat as she was in her oversized orange clothes, was holding her stuffed bunny 'Flopsy' to her chest and staring about her mother's room idly. She was not old enough that she could be trusted to wander (and indeed, perhaps no such day would ever come?) and thus her mother had been forced to lock the child in her room to keep her getting into trouble whilst she took care of something. 

It was, perhaps, the best way to keep the small child corralled, but there was something so hideously unpleasant about being forced to lock a child away for their own safety. 

So Dragon had taken it upon herself to entertain the small Hebert whilst her mother was meeting with Lustrum. Annette would be back soon enough, right?

“Dwagone?”

She turned her attention back to the child.

“Yes, Taylor?”

“What's a Dwagone? Mummy says names mean things” Taylor asked. Flopsy's left ear was in her mouth, the little girl chewing it thoughtfully as she waited for an answer... a bad habit her father had been trying to stop her from doing for a good few months now. 

“Well, Dragons are a mythical creature... a creature that doesn't exist.”

“Like wats?” she mispronounced.

“Rats are real, Taylor. You just have never seen one---” and never would. The most complex lifeform beyond the prisoners was likely thrips or bacterial spores in the air.

“Dragons are... big lizards.”

“... Like snay-kes?”

She knew about snakes, but not dragons? Ah, there must have been a image of a snake in the picture book Dragon had sent down last month, perhaps? 

“Like snakes, yes... but with legs. And wings, and they breathe fire.”

“Wooooooa,” the notion as utterly mystifying to Taylor, who frowned heavily at the notion of a limbed serpent. The gears in her small head visibly turned as she tried to imagine what such a thing would look like, and then she asked her next question.

“... What's fire?” 

... Oh you poor, ignorant little creature. 

Perhaps that was a bit much, perhaps it was even cruel; how many normal western children had a proper appreciation for what combustion was, as a state, but for Taylor...

“Do you know Radiant Marcher, the one who sometimes heats up your food?”

A pause, a frown, then a nod. Dragon couldn't quite be sure if Taylor actually knew who she meant, but ploughed on. 

“You know the red stuff on her hands that flows like water?”

“Oh! Mummy said it hurts.”

“Yes, well, Dragon's can breathe that”

“Woooooah... you must be very scary then, Dwagone.”

“... Yeah.” 

Taylor fiddled with Flopsy, evidently deep in thought... such as she probably experienced as only a small child.

“You don't seem very scary.”

“Oh?”

“You're nice to me, even though mummy says you aren't.”

Well... it was hardly as if she could blame Annette Hebert for some of her views. Even if she had been a radical, perhaps even, extremist woman in her beliefs and earnest support of Lustrum, the woman had every right to be critical of Dragon's failings and limitations.

The child, little more than a stumbling toddler, had spent her brief life swaddled and garbed in torn apart and repurposed inmate outfits precisely because of her various failings, after all.   

Frankly, she loathed the fact that all she could do was sit back. 

Sure, she had dropped hints and guided Site-Director Henrick to ask about Inviolable and his family, and thus Taylor, during that meeting months ago, and in that time there had been a few more changes. 

The man, by virtue of his power over the site, was ensuring a few small luxuries had gone into the Birdcage. 

Not much, but small things. 

Like a softer blanket for Taylor, compared to the frankly rather scratchy things all the other inmates dealt with. She had tried to sneak it in, and so far at least, nobody seemed to have noticed it. 

Dragon hated it. 

The Site-Director had no real idea, but he was the only one who could make a difference. By contrast, Dragon had observed Taylor in some capacity all her life, from her first breaths to her initial stumbling steps, her earliest solid meal and her first word (“mama”). 

Dragon had observed Taylor longer than the girl's own parents... it wasn't fair that she was so helpless to really intervene and help.

Still.

“Well, you are a very good girl, Taylor, so I don't need to be mean to you,” she tried her best, calling on various scanned child raising books and documents she could access to help her tone. 

Taylor frowned.

“Mummy is good, though. Mummy is the best.”

“Your mummy was bad in the past.” 

“... Mummy is happy when I'm good, so will you be happy if mummy is good?”

Oh, the flawed understanding of a child...

“I would be, and your mummy has been taking very good care of you, Taylor. But other people are still not happy with her,” she put diplomatically, knowing it would go over her small head. 

The girl nodded, even if Dragon could only speculate on the depth of understanding.

A few minutes later, Annette returned. 

The conversation mostly forgotten, or unimportant, Taylor rushed over and was joyfully picked up.

Annette Hebert's face, just a moment ago filled with concern and signs of tiredness, filled with joy upon cuddling her daughter close. 

As childish giggles filled the air, Dragon moved her attention away to other matters, ignoring the various sensations the conversation had sparked.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Within the Birdcage, folk found ways to entertain themselves. 

It was an inevitability that in a place without many of the regular daily expectations and routines of society, there was a lot of time to fill. 

Without gainful employment taking up a sizeable portion of the day for the majority of the population, the strict regimen by which people lived their life broke down.  Even if many of the Birdcage's inmates hadn't held down regular jobs after getting their powers, they still lived in a society whose daily routines depended on others' work. 

Additionally, in this windowless cage, all time merged into one solid mass. 

Some took up crafts to pass the time, such as could be achieved. 

Others read books, of which they got monthly shipments.

There were TV's to try to keep track of the world outside (a special kind of hell, in its own way, for those without the chance of freedom), but one could only sit before them for so long every day. 

Lucy Jones, aka Lustrum, had learned to find ways to fill her time, just like everyone else here. 

Overseeing a Cell Block was the most important means she had to fill her time; keeping an eye on the women under her and making sure they were safe from the inmates of other blocks (and each other) required a constant finger on the pulse. 

But right now, said fingers were wrapped around a much smaller pair of hands. 

The small weight of helping of her goddaughter was not onerous, even as she gave out commands to her;

“---one and two and one and two---”

Taylor stepped from side to side to the slow beat that Lucy intoned; she was still a bit clumsy on her feet, but Lustrum set a gentle pace for this little dance-game they were playing. 

If the rest of the block could see the fearsome Lustrum sat on her knees entertaining a small toddler right now, what would they think?

Perhaps they would get ideas to cause trouble, which she would have to stamp out, for their own good... hence why she had locked the door, to make sure that nobody would see this indulgence. She had to be an unflappable iron woman in front of the women in her care.

But Annette, Taylor's mother, was busy teaching a class on English literature. The former teacher's lessons had become rather popular over the last two years, starting out as a book club the woman had organised during her pregnancy. The Cell Block E book club met on Mondays to discuss whatever they were reading, and on Thursdays Annette Hebert would deliver a class exploring in the literature in a more traditional way.

The quality of handwriting and literary comprehension among Cell Block W inmates had soared recently, and it served to keep people busy and not causing trouble. 

It was the duty of the modern woman to be educated; ignorance was a weapon of oppression and had been used to hold back women for generations. 

But of course, during these book club meetings and lessons, somebody had to supervise Annette's child. 

It just made sense for the little girl to stay in the woman's block, and, of course, for the longest time it had been a necessity so that Annette could nurse. But now that Taylor could take solid foods and was a toddler, her father would often take care of her for long periods at a time, even taking her over to Marquis' block.

She supposed, begrudgingly, that Inviolable could take care of the little girl, she was his daughter after all. But the notion of a child surrounded by all those brutes, especially one like Marquis, rankled.

Today, though, the duty of Taylor care fell to her. 

“And spiiiiiin---” she released the toddlers left hand and rose the right to coax her around, and Taylor spun around with it, a giggling laugh filled the air. Lucy moved her hand around in a circle above the child, pulling Taylor around in a spin for several rotations on the spot before stopping. 

Taylor tottered, dizzy for a moment, and Lucy caught her other hand and held it firm. 

“And back to one and two and one---”

In truth, the child's hopping from foot to foot was clumsy, but building up motor skills was a good use of Taylor's time, especially by disguising it as simple play. A little bit of dancing with 'auntie Lustrum' also served to tire her out before bedtime.

She had so many things to teach the little girl with time to keep her safe from the other wing of the prison, but those would come with time. For now, she would go along with childish play.

The entire situation that had led to Taylor being born in the Birdcage was another damning indictment of the flaws inherent to the various systems of the world. No doubt, it was masculine cocksure arrogance that had led to the pregnancy being missed; no female doctor would fail to account for the possibility that the married woman about to enter the Birdcage with her husband might be pregnant. 

In truth, she had never quite been sure as to why Annette had kept the pregnancy. 

Much as the little child dancing along, hand in hand with her, was precious indeed, it was undeniable that it was certainly a damning choice. 

But Annette was her own woman. 

She could make her own choices; Lustrum had spent the majority of her late teens onwards fighting for women's rights, and she would be a hypocrite to deny or argue against Annette's right to have the child...

“---And one last spiiiiiiin.”

One last revolution, and Taylor came to a stop. She teetered, straightened and then gave a jump on the spot, her smile beaming up at her even as she breathed heavily. 

It was rather nice, to not always have to be the firm iron woman of the cell block.

“Again!” Taylor demanded.

Lustrum smiled a little and indulged her god-daughter just a little while longer, until Annette returned. 

When the woman did so, apologising for being late, it was to find Taylor dozing against Lustrum's chest with a hand holding her back to keep her secure as Lustrum read a book with the other, unoccupied hand.

Chapter Text

“And this is what an orange looks like,” Annette said, turning a page in the picture book for the benefit of the toddler in her lap.

The little head of dark hair in her lap nodded.

“It's the same colour as our clothes.”

“Yes, that colour is called orange as well,”

“Why?”

Ah, the solitary word that was the bane of so many parents' existences.

“When people first discovered oranges, they had never seen that colour before, so they named the colour after the fruit.” It was a drastic oversimplification, but for a two or three-year-old, it didn't really matter, did it? 

Taylor nodded, but she was not full sure that her daughter quite grasped the notion. 

The matter of Taylor's education was firmly in Annette's hands. Among the Birdcage inmates was a vast variety of talents and training, but there was not a large number of teachers available who could help to educate a small child. To be honest, perhaps there was no point in trying to give her any degree of formal education because it was not like her daughter was ever getting out of this accursed place.

But as a professional and a mother, it was her duty to make sure her little girl was taught properly, and Dragon had managed to send down a few children's picture books for her to use as study aids. 

Even if other things hadn't been able to come... things like toys or even plushies for her daughter to grip onto and cuddle. So instead, one of the Marquis men had made her a toy. It was not exactly realistic, and a little crudely made, but 'Flopsy' the rabbit was Taylor's favourite toy.

In her lap, Taylor pointed at the next page and looked up at her quizzically. 

She couldn't read yet, even if Annette and Danny made sure to read to her every night (and often between, to stave off boredom), so right now she was still at the 'point and tell me' stage. 

“That's a tomato... they are juicy, and are used a lot in some foods. You know that red pasta you like?”

A nod.

“The tomato is used to make the red part.”

“Wooooah.”

Ah, the adorable newness of everything to a small child. Annette smiled indulgently, and turned the page---

“Oh!” Taylor perked up and pointed enthusiastically at the page. “Lemon!” she exclaimed, and looked excitably up at her, evidently waiting to be given accolades for recognising the fruit.

“Yes... that's a lemon, well done Taylor!” she said, even as her mind raced. How did Taylor know what a lemon was? Of all the fruits to recognise... perhaps one had been mentioned in another book, or maybe she had seen one on the television?

Her daughter's face broke out into a big grin, and Annette tried to share in it. 

“Oh! I wanna show mummy something!”

With a bit of wriggling, Taylor got to her feet, stepping over Annette's crossed legs, at which point she began scampering away rapidly with a pitter-patter of small feet. Well, she said rapidly, but in truth it was really rather slow because her daughter was still quite small indeed. 

Annette watched, concerned, getting up and walking behind her daughter to the door, and then out into the corridor. It wouldn't do to let her daughter out of her sight, but what was it that had gotten her so very excited? Well, she was a small child, so everything got her very excited, 

Taylor ducked into one of the disused rooms of the block, and which had become something of a retreat and storage area, emerging a few moments later with something in hand.

“Lemon!”

And, proudly, she held aloft a full-sized lemon, needing both hands to clutch her treasure.

Dumbfounded, Annette could only stare. 

“... Yes, that is a lemon, darling.”

Where the bloody hell had her daughter secured a fresh lemon from! 

She had asked Dragon a while ago for examples of fresh fruits and vegetables, and been refused; “I am afraid that due to concerns about potential tinkering, I cannot provide that, Annette,” had been the statement the woman made on the matter. 

It was stupid, what sort of Tinker could possibly weaponise a lemon! Actually, scratch that... quite a few probably, but still. Everything that went into the Birdcage was tightly controlled, just getting books or essential baby supplies for Taylor had been a nightmare, but somehow her daughter had secured a fresh lemon?

And now here Annette was, her Thinker enhanced brain going around in circles trying to understand how her child had secured a fresh citrus fruit.

“That's a very nice lemon, Little Owl, Where did you get it?” she asked, gently, leaning down and coaxing the fruit from her daughter's hands. Yup, definitely real... it had been years since she had held a fresh fruit, she almost wanted to cry at the notion. It would be so good to actually have lemon juice and some flavour on food, there was so much she wanted to do with this stupid little fruit---

“Fairy godmummy gave it to me,” Taylor said, and then added, as if it were perfectly logical; “she said daddy would make something called lemon-aid!”

...

...

... What?

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It was after dinner. 

For most, that meant an hour or three of leisure, and then bed.

Without windows, day and night, meal times represented the easiest way for people to coordinate their sleep schedules... although some didn't bother. In a place like the birdcage, the notion of everybody sleeping at the same time was both foolish and laughable; there always had to be somebody up in case shit went down, after all.

For Annette Hebert, the completion of dinner meant a slightly different ritual. 

“---And they all went to bed, and slept soundly, until the morning,” Annette softly spoke to her daughter, who had been tucked up to her chin in her bed. The head of Flopsy the Bunny poked above the cover beside her, button eyes gleaming in the weak light.

With that final line of the third chapter complete, Annette set down the book she had been reading, a somewhat battered copy of the Tolkein's The Hobbit. 

With a smile down at her daughter, Annette's hands moved to further tuck her in. 

Taylor, with her normal belligerence, never went to bed until a story had been told, and would stubbornly stay awake for hours until it was done. Now, she was looking sleepily up at Annette.

“Mummy, why was everyone talking so much about changes earlier?”

Reaching out, Annette pushed a bit of stray hair back from over her daughter's face. 

“The leader of Cell Block A has been replaced, sweetie.”

There was no point sugarcoating it, and even if Taylor didn't understand it quite the same way that an adult could, kids were smart enough to work things out. It was much too easy to underestimate their intelligence at this age.  

Taylor frowned a moment.

“... Ripsaw?”

“Yes honey.”

“Who's replaced her?” 

“A lady called Crane the Harmonious.”

“Okay.”

Simple as that. 

Of course, beyond Lustrum and Marquis, Taylor had never actually met any of the Cell Block leaders (and thank heaven's for that!), but discussions about that internal Birdcage politics were one of the constants with this place. Anything to detract from the boredom of day to day existence, be it arguing over who had the most influence, who had the best line up of Capes in their care and the like. Keeping a finger on the pulse was as much a hobby as it was a survival tactic. 

And Taylor had already learned to keep an ear out for such things.

It was a skill that would serve her well in the future.

As depressing a thought as that was.

“What's a harmonious?”

“When something is Harmonious it is whole, there's no disagreement between any part of it. Like me and your father, we're very harmonious.”

They had to be... although increasingly, Annette wondered why they didn't simply strike out and claim a Cell Block of their own. She was growing increasingly sick of some of the bitches in Lustrum's block, always with their snickering and underhanded comments... sometimes they even came to the book club she had set up purely to create trouble. 

The temptation to just... leave, to go for the open, unoccupied cell blocks or set up their own small territory was growing stronger and stronger by the day... Cabin fever and all that. 

“Now, it's time to go to sleep now, Little Owl,” she chided. 

Taylor frowned back, clearly trying not to give in.

“I'm not tired.”

She was losing the battle with sleep, it was clear, but still, Annette could indulge her a little. 

“Okay, do you want me to sing you a song then, honey?”

A nod, and Annette began to do so. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when times are gray...” Annette softly sung to her daughter, leaning with her elbow on the bed and watching indulgently as Taylor continued to try and not to fall asleep. 

Frankly, Annette wasn't a good singer, but you did what you have to when a child is being pouty and refusing to go to bed. In truth, it wasn't like she begrudged Taylor for resisting her bedtime; Annette had been quite the troublesome child when it came to sleeping as a kid. 

One song down, Taylor was still awake, just about.

“... Mummy, what's sunshine?” she asked, mumbling.

Annette found herself slightly forcing her smile, as she so often did nowadays.

“It's light created by the sun, Little Owl.”

Of course, Taylor had never seen the sun. 

She had never even known a lick of sunlight upon her skin, the warmth of a bright summer's day or the strange joy of seeing a bright spring morning after months of dour winter. 

The lack of sunlight was probably why so many of them were so pale, and Taylor stood as one of the palest of them all... Annette was pretty sure that their food was laced with vitamin D supplement's to make up for the deficiency. Plenty of new Birdcage inmates suffered from bouts of depression in the wake of incarceration, it was amazing what a lack of sunlight could do to a person. 

“The sun's the big light in the blue ceiling on the TV, right?”

She didn't have the heart to correct her daughter on the matter, especially because the notion made her want to weep.

“... Yeah, that's right, well done, Taylor.”

For a moment, Annette simply watched as Taylor's eyes finally dragged shut, losing the battle to gravity and exhaustion. 

Annette softly reached over to tenderly stroke her daughter's head, feeling the hair so like her own. She hummed softly for a few minutes, and it was only once Taylor was comfortably asleep that she let the exhaustion hit her. 

Slumping in place and resting her cheek on her forearms, she closed her eyes, all manner of things running through her head. Nagging questions that had been asked by people at various times in the last few years, and which continued to haunt her. 

"Why'd you keep her, knowing she'd be raised here?"

"You're a real piece of work, you know."

"Real fucked of you, should have just taken the risk of a punch to the gut instead."

She was slowly going mad in this place; all she had was Taylor, Danny, and Lustrum to keep her sane. The book club and classes she gave were nice, but only served to distract from her thoughts and those nasty, unceasing questions.

Maybe she'd take a little nap herself, and listen to Taylor's gentle breathing to send her off to sleep...

Chapter Text

“Inviolable. Marquis wants you. We've got a guest.”

Taylor looked up from where she was sitting on her father's lap. 

The speaker was one of the man members of Cell Block W, by the name of Iron Jaw. Because he had a metal jaw. He was quite mean in general, but he never caused trouble too her father for some reason... even if he had warned Taylor never to be alone around him.

“What're we looking at?”

“One of Galvanate's boys, something about a trade.”

“Alright,” her father lifted Taylor onto his hip. “I'll be there in five.”

“Marquis wanted you right now.”

“Marquis won't want Taylor there,” her father countered. Iron Jaw's unblinking gray eyes glanced down at her; there was a sort of emptiness in them that scared her.

With that, she was being carried away, into the common room---

“Bob, can you watch Taylor for a bit?”

Big Bob glanced over, his brows raising as he looked over them both.

“... Sure. C'mon you,” Taylor was traded over, and sat down beside the man. Others around the room all glanced over at her, then at her father, but said nothing about the matter. 

“Hello, Big Bob.”

“… Just Bob'll do.”

“Bob, what is Galvanaty like?” she asked, trying to be very grown up sounding, even as she struggled to say the word properly.

“Hn? Galvanate... eh, he's not the best, but not the worst. He's been here the second longest out of the Cell Block leaders, since ninety-six... seven or eight years. Doesn't sound like much, but that's long here---”

It sounded like a long time to her! 

The TV show ended, and in the hallway behind them was a voice---

“Pleasure to be here, again, sorry for the sudden visit, but the boss is very keen to come to some sort of agreement,” said a voice she didn't recognise was saying. 

“Of course. Well, if you would wait a minute, I shall make sure Marquis is ready to receive you, Envoy.”

The voice of Spruce, and then footsteps... there was a moment's pause, and then, that same new voice spoke again, a bit louder now. 

“Oh, well, hello Bob, good to see you are doing alright, haven't seen you since you left us,” that voice said again, and there were footsteps moving closer. Bob glanced over his shoulder and grunted loudly. 

“Hn. Send my regards to the boss.”

As Taylor turned her head, the stranger from Cell Block Q moved behind the sofa was tall, thin, with a long scar down his face that then had other scars along and through it. A pair of startlingly blue eyes glance down at her, brows raised.

“... So there really is a kid here. And here I was increasingly coming to believe people were making it up,” the man said.

Taylor stayed silent.

With new people and new situations, you always stay quiet until you know what's going on or what they are like.

Envoy departed when Spruce returned, and for a little while she was content to sit there, watching the TV alongside all the others... but as time went by, her curiosity grew.

Eventually, it was too much.

She looked up at Bob. 

“... I want to make sure daddy is okay,” she said, quietly. 

A few moments passed, and for a moment, she thought he didn't hear her.

This time, though, she didn't need to fish out her pocket money. 

“A'ight. Let's go for a walk then, squirt.”

Bob stood up; without his bulk the sofa sprung up a bit, which made it a little awkward to get off, but she needn't have worried. His hands came around Taylor's torso and lifted her onto his shoulders.

“If Inviolable comes back early, let him know I'm going on a walk with the kid.”

There were grunts in response. 

Bob's hands gripped her legs as he walked out, ducking a bit at the doorway. Taylor did the same to avoid banging her head as he did so.

In silence, Bob carried her down the corridors of the Cell Block, until he reached a particular door, which Taylor knew to lead into Uncle Marquis special room that Taylor wasn't allowed into.

Bob rested his back against the wall beside the door, and simply... stood there. Taylor could turn around, just enough to smush her ear to the wall, holding her breath in case somebody heard her. It took her a few moments to adjust, and picking out words was not always easy, but she could hear! 

“---Galvanate would do well to remember that last trade was hardly even; my generosity is wearing thin, Envoy,” uncle Marquis was saying. He was using that very calm, deep voice he used whenever used when he was making people do what he wanted (and on her when she was being naughty). 

“Galvanate still greatly appreciates you taking Aphid off his hands, and I am sure that you have been able to whip him into shape to some degree---”

“Aphid attempted to murder a member of the Cell Block, and had to be put down.”

Marquis retort cut through the comment very well.

“... I am sure that some manner of discount on medical services from Malpractice could perhaps be negotiated as a concession.”

That caused some interest, judging by the murmuring she could hear.

From what she knew, Malpractice was one of the few people who could make sick people better, although Taylor had never met him.

“I want Malpractice on loan here one day a week in recompense.”

“... Given the difficulty in getting healers, it would be remiss of me to negotiate such a delicate price without consulting Galvanate.”

“Very well. I believe that most other topics have been covered here, so we'll leave it there for now---”

Big Bob stepped away from the wall, she had to turn and grip onto his head. 

Taylor frowned; she wanted to hear more.

"Why---" 

“Sush.”

Taylor glowered petulantly, but did as she was told. 

Perhaps it had been wise that they left when they did; not a minute later, the two parties privy to the negotiations departed the room into an empty corridor, unknowing that there had been a small eavesdropper for the latter portion.

Her father returned to find Big Bob in the Cell Block's kitchen, passing a cheese and brandston pickle sandwich he had just finished making to Taylor, still sat on his shoulders.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The Birdcage held a total of twenty-six blocks, labelled after the letters of the alphabet, with blocks A through to M comprising the women's section, and N through to Z as the men's.

Within a year of its opening, both the male and female wing had managed to create a gap in the wall so that they could mingle. Perhaps it should have been expected that the most primal drives of human nature would overcome the imposition of Parahuman assisted architectural planning?

However---

“Mummy, why's there only twelve leaders?”

“Twelve is a good number for deciding things, honey; if all the cell blocks had a leader, then it would be hard for anything to be agreed on,” her mother said, coordinating with her father to lift Taylor by their linked hands every other step. 

“It also means that we can have a lot of Cell Block H to ourselves today.”

Cell Block H was one of the 'free blocks' that anyone could make use of, a place without a leader. It didn't have anybody in charge, and barely anybody lived there, and was mostly used for people to unwind and have a moment to themselves.

Taylor loved these days out. 

They would perhaps watch some TV together, or run around and play tag for a bit, just the three of them. They would laugh and catch up, and her mother and father would smile much more and be so much more happy and less serious than they were whenever they were in Cell Block E and W.

Into Cell Block H they went, and made their way through its empty reaches. 

There was nobody here to trouble them, or if there were, they didn't run into anyone, and after a minute they made it to the main common room. The TV set in the wall was turned off, all the seats and sofas looked a little damaged, but this place was mostly used by people to relax, so that made sense, right?

The only thing out of place was a bundle of rags in the corner of the room. 

At least she thought it was rags, until it raised a head from their knees upon the three of them entering.

Exhausted eyes set in a face riddled with small scars and with the various bones of the face protruding. It was a woman, one covered in bruises and cuts. Her left hand only had a few fingers left, the other arm was missing everything above the mid-forearm.

“... Rumours true, then... heh, there really is a kid...” the woman sounded morose, with a voice that sounded like it didn't get much use. 

“Excuse me? I don't believe we've met,” her mother said, voice rather cool even as she pulled Taylor's shoulder. Automatically, she moved behind her mother. 

“I'm Jailhouse,” the woman said, and then added. “I built... this place...”

... With how all the adults spoke about their home, perhaps that was a bad thing indeed. Everybody else had come from somewhere, although nobody ever really told her where they were from, only that it existed. Was New York a different place from Brooklyn? What about Ireland, or Zambia? We're they all like cell blocks, next to one another and with different leaders?

“Do you know---” her mother began to ask.

“No, I don't. There's no way out.” 

She sounded so bitter and angry. 

And then she laughed. 

It sounded pained.

“Everyone asks me that at some point, and when they get the answer, they get pissed...”

“That why you're so injured?” her mother asked as she looked over the woman with a critical eye.

“Yeah...” Jailhouse's head moved back until it rested against the concrete, half-lidded eyes still focused on them.

For a few moments, there was silence between their two groups; Jailhouse did little more than stare, and Taylor and her family were silent

It was Jailhouse who broke the silence.

“Hey, kid? How old are you?”

“I'm three!” she said. Some people liked when she was overly enthusiastic and cheery, but it earned little response here. 

“Huh.”

A long, slow blink. 

“That's fucked... well... I'm sorry, kid.”

'Why?' Taylor wanted to ask... but she held back. 

Jailhouse mumbled as she began standing.

“I never wanted this place to be used like this... I designed it purely for the worst of the worst and made sure it could never be left... now it's just a dumping ground for anybody a little too powerful or who pisses off the wrong person...”

The partially fingered hand rose to rub at her face; on its back was a tattoo, a strangely shaped U or C with little flares.

Silently, she began moving for the doorway, stumbling intermittently.

“Where are you going?” her father asked, raising a brow.

Jailhouse looked towards them. It looked a lot like the sort of look Iron Jaw always sent her way, or the look on the face of Petticoat, who used to live in auntie Lustrum's block. She used to always look so vacant and sad, right before she disappeared.

“I'm gonna' go see Uaine, I think I've finally had enough... been holding back too long anyway...”

Uaine? Miss Fairy Queen that everyone talked about so much? A lot of the stories that her mother told her before bed were fairy tales, and a lot of the time the fairies within were scary figures who asked or did impossible things for the main characters.

“I...” her mother had started to speak, and then stopped herself. 

Her eyes moved to Taylor, a hand came up and stroked the side of her head, pulling it into her side and covering her exposed ear with her fingers.  

But Taylor could still hear as Jailhouse walked further, and heard the voice of Dragon issuing from the wall, begging the other woman to reconsider her actions. 

But all pleas failed, and soon enough, they were left standing in silence. The rest of the day's family time was a little more quiet and stilted than usual, even though her parents were trying their best to entertain her.

She didn't understand the significance of it all at the time, but the word suicide would enter her lexicon soon enough.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The Birdcage was a major stumbling block in the plans of Benjamin Terrell, aka Teacher. 

But the obstacle provided it created was by no means total. It took him barely a week to set about improving his situation; there were always desperate people who needed his services, and the Birdcage was no exception. His plans never failed, after all... he had just been caught between plans.

Within a month, he had a Cell Block under his thumb, and could walk, wander and plan at his leisure. His communications with the outside world were limited, but not wholly closed off, thanks to Pellick.

It was in his second month that, whilst out for a walk with some of his pets, he chanced upon the child. 

Saint had mentioned her, that she was born and raised in this place... the only mundane, unpowered person in the Birdcage.

She was stood waiting with a large man beside her, 'Big Bob' if he was not incorrect. A rather capable Brute and Mover. 

“Ah, the young lady I've heard about...” he mused aloud. She looked at him shrewdly, and immediately moved behind her companion. 

“I was just speculating the other day on how difficult it must be, to live down here without powers. You must feel very left out, considering everyone else has them,” he spoke. 

“She's fine,” Big Bob commented, voice low. 

“No doubt, from what I've heard, she's very well taken care of,” he, keenly searching the girl's face. It didn't change much, the notion that she didn't have powers when everyone else did either didn't matter much to her, or she was good at masking her feelings. “It's such a shame that you will never know what the outside world is like, though.”

“I like it here. Why would I want to go outside?”

Finally, a springboard on which to work.

“You could go to school with other children your age, make friends and learn about everything you are missing here... even live a normal life.”

Surely, the promise of friends and normality would be something she would desire? Finding those weak points and desires was key to engaging in business---

“My mum teaches me,” the child dismissed out of hand, entirely ignoring the notion of other children. In retrospect, if she had never been raised around them, why would she desire their company? “What about after that?” 

“The normal steps for human beings would be to find employment and get a job.”

“Why?”

“A good question; most do it simply to earn money... ah, like the cigarettes here, materials to trade with others for things you need, and there are many more things to buy on the outside.”

“... So how long does that take? Work, I mean?”

Had nobody ever discussed such things with her? Actually, likely not; hardened criminal Parahumans would have little reason to discuss something so mundane.

“About eight hours a day is standard.”

The girl scrunched up her face. 

“So when do people read books and have fun?”

“Well, whenever they're not working.”

The girl looked up at him in incomprehension, as if he were some sort of idiot or had suddenly grown another head.

“Why do that when you could just have fun?” 

“Well, you need to purchase things such as food, or a place to live.”

“You have to pay for those?”

The child looked up at Big Bob.

“... I used to work two jobs every day to pay rent and feed my siblings, and even then, we ended up homeless,” he said, simply. 

“Why didn't Dragon give you food and somewhere to live?”

“Dragon is only here. Out there, you only have yourself to rely on.”  

The child looked flummoxed, even revolted by the notion. It was fascinating to observe somebody without a wider context trying to make sense of these things that were basic facts of life. He could only imagine that this was what explaining society to an uncontacted tribe would be like.

“... Why would I want to do all that?” she asked. “Mum and dad are here, why waste all day doing something boring when I already get food and books here?”

“... An excellent question, my dear,” he replied, reaching up to stroke at his chin. 

Plato would be glad to have such a perfect substantiation for his analogy!

He had drastically underestimated the degree of institutionalization that the child had been exposed to, and the sort of mindset it would create. Every day she got food (and had never known better, so did not crave it) and could fill her time with reading books or entertaining herself in her own way, so the concept of working for what she needed was unknown to her. 

Life beyond the Birdcage was an utterly alien world, one beyond her ability to conceptualize properly. 

... Hah! Perhaps they were all idiots, desiring to live out such a farce of an existence beyond the Birdcage walls, when their minimal needs were met for free here!

Sure, they had next to no true freedom, and certainly, for most it was a system of live under others or die. But through the lens presented by the child, this place better provided the bare minimum of human needs than society beyond the Birdcage's walls.

What a fascinating little case study the little girl made! 

Benjamin found himself laughing, a deep, resonant belly laugh.

“Wonderfully put! Ah, I do love meeting people with different ways of seeing things---”

“Is something the matter here?”

A new voice, a man who at once stepped to the little girl's side. 

Ah... Inviolable?

Benjamin raised a placating hand

“Oh no, no trouble. You've raised a wonderful young lady here, she has such a novel mindset that I rather found myself reassessing my worldview,” Benjamin replied, reaching into his pocket. “Here, I was saving it to re-read later, but I think you might enjoy it... it's a little dense, but you seem like a smart sort, miss Taylor.”

He handed over a book, a copy of Milton's seminal work.

Let it not be said that he didn't reward others for their thoughts; even if they rejected his kindness.

Big Bob took it from him rather than letting the child do so; smart, but Teacher would not force a power on the girl. 

It was much more satisfying when people asked for them, after all. 

The girl could factor into his later schemes, for the moment, he still needed to consolidate his Cell Block... but Pellick's comments on the topic of the child were all the more illuminating now. 

And with that, he departed after saying his farewells. 

Chapter Text

The practicalities of running a Cell Block could be tiresome. 

But they were not so all encompassing that they did not allow time to focus on other matters. Each Cell Block leader had their own passions and pursuits to pass the time.

Today, Marquis had a rather important duty that he had imposed on himself.

“Now, Taylor, take this.”

He passed a dagger over to his god-daughter, a sharpened spur of reinforced bone that he had shaped to have a comfortable grip for her. She took it without question, looking over it for a second, then back at him with those big brown eyes. 

“We're going to discuss how to keep safe whenever myself or your parents are not around; from now on, you'll be learning self-defence for an hour a day after lunch. If I'm not available, your father or Spruce will be doing it instead.” 

The seven-year old nodded, already gripping the dagger without any hesitation. Her grip was a little tight, but that was something he could train out of her.

He indicated towards the weapon.

“That's a shiv. Well, it's more akin to a stiletto dagger than anything else, but that doesn't matter... if you stab somebody you can hurt even parahumans a lot,” he said, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. Judging by her expression, she already knew what a shiv was. “You know all the types of powers, don't you?”

Taylor nodded, and listed them off; she could even give examples of people in his Cell Block for each. 

Smart girl; knowing was half the battle. 

"A shiv like this won't do much to people like your father or me, but for a lot of people here, it's just as dangerous as it would be to you."

It was easy to underestimate the danger normal weapons posed to a Cape; there was a reason why many in their business avoided guns. The official reason was to avoid escalation, yes, but there would only be escalation purely because a bullet would still kill the average Parahuman as easily as it would a normal man or woman.

It was the same with a knife.

"But you should only ever rely on a shiv when you absolutely have to."

It was important to drill that message in, a weapon drawn in this place would only ever be met with violence, after all. 

He knew that Inveniam Viam had been opposed to teaching her daughter how to use weapons, but the woman's authority over Taylor only applied in Lustrums block. The woman could continue to assume Taylor would be protected forever, but that was delusional. 

Someday Taylor would want her own space, would want to not always desire a guard and chaperone wherever she went. 

One had to think forward, even in a place that eternally sat still like the birdcage.

"Now, I want you to attack me."

She looked at him in confusion, frowning. He was sitting, to maximise the area she could reach, and he would assess her, see where she thought to attack, would she just try to stab him in the leg? He already had layers of bone armour exuded on his legs and chest, and he was confident in his ability to defend his vitals---JESUS CHRIST!

Marquis barely managed to create additional armour over a very sensitive spot before the dagger struck.

He was not proud to admit that he swore like a sailor. 

Taylor looked up at him. 

"... Auntie Lustrum said it's all men's weak spot?" she asked.

That accursed woman!

“I imagine she of all people would,” Marquis said, trying to keep his voice pleasant and civil even as he took stock of his blood pressure. It was important to always appear as if everything was under control, after all. 

But the notion that he had almost been stabbed in the family jewels with a knife made from his own bone was horrifying. Especially at the hands of his mild-mannered god-daughter!

"Lustrum is quite right; if you stab a man there, then it will definitely hurt a lot," he said, trying to sound... well, not encouraging, but treating the matter seriously“ "But if you do, you also leave yourself quite open, and sometimes it is much better to aim for somewhere else."

If nothing else... this little test had more than shown that Taylor was more than willing to defend herself; she hadn't held back at all. 

He supposed that away from the civility of the outside world, surrounded and constantly aware of the dangers of the place in which she had been raised, there were no delusions to train out of her. 

Normal people might contemplate violence and murder, but they usually paused or froze up for just a moment when actually confronted by aggression. 

It was a trait that had to be trained out of soldiers or surpassed by civilians and Parahumans.

“Here, Taylor,” he created a block of bone around his hand, making the outer layer more porous, honeycombed like marrow. “Stab this instead, yes, just like that. You see how you put all your strength into it, and it threw you off balance? We're going to get you used to that feeling.”

And so it was that for the next forty or so minutes, Marquis allowed Taylor to attack him with her little shiv. After the first incident, he had no further problem's with his god-daughter trying to surprise him (and shorten his life expectancy through blood pressure spikes). 

She was... well, not a keen learner, but an instinctual one. 

Years of being raised in this place, he supposed. 

When they were done and Marquis brought about an end to the lesson, Taylor offered him the weapon he had made her, and with which she had been practicing. 

“Keep it. Part of this will be learning to keep it hidden and safe,” he said. Another way to teach a vital lesson. “If anybody finds out about it, then you'll get a punishment.”

“... Okay.”

She didn't sound enthused, but most lessons in life were learned the hard way. 

You gave a kid their first bike to let them explore their independence and take a big step into adulthood... but also to teach them the responsibility of chaining it up securely, after all.

If the bike got stolen, you punished them and they learned the lesson. 

It was the same here.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Taylor wasn't fully sure how the world had fallen into such sudden chaos. 

She had been sat in the common room of Block E, getting her hair braided by Radiant Marcher (who didn't have her hands wrapped in fire to do so) when somebody had joined them. 

Verglas, one of the newer women to the block. She had only joined them a few weeks ago, and from the start she had been weird, constantly tense, fearful in ways most new people were not... and her eyes had gone hollow so quickly. Even though Taylor had only been young, she still remembered the way Jailhouse had looked at her, all that time ago, but it was the same with Verglas.

Taylor hadn't been paying much attention to what had been said or occurred between Verglas and the other women in the room, who included a few of the meaner bitches... she just saw the effects.

Suddenly, everyone else around her collapsed. 

It took her a moment to realise that something odd had happaned. 

Taylor didn't have powers, but she had gotten very used to understanding the abilities of those around her.

Verglas' power had been freezing things, extending a thin layer of ice over things and then manipulating those encased objects, moving them about or smashing them. Once, she had used her power to freeze Taylor's milk to make a 'popsicle,' which she had liked it... 

But now it was different, the air temperature was plummeting, her every breath created a white smoke or gas as it escaped her lips. 

As people began to wake up, Verglas was the one who did so the quickest. 

The woman moved so quickly, creating knives out of ice, and began frantically stabbing one of the people who was always mean to her, Bad Dog. As she did so, she screamed a single, desperate and discordant note that made the rapidly spreading ice filling the room vibrate and explode into shards. 

A piece of ice whizzed past Taylor, and her fight or flight instinct took over. 

She scrambled over the edge of the sofa, because all she could really do was hide at this moment and wait for somebody else to help.

She drew and gripped onto the knife Marquis gave her tightly with both hands even as she hid away... taking comfort from the weapon as much as anything.

There was sudden heat, the sofa on which she and Radiant Marcher had been sat creaked as the woman evidently recovered herself enough to get up and set herself alight.

Everything happened so quickly, fights were so swift and violent here in the birdcage... and Taylor had seen enough of them. 

But right now, there were screams and shouts, she tried to make sense of what she could hear. 

There was a dreadful sizzling sound and screaming. 

In what felt like minutes, but was in truth far, far less than that, it was all over. 

A horrible silence settled, the cold began to go away... and the door to the room burst open. 

“What's going on!?”

Lustrum had arrived. 

“Verglas Second Triggered and killed Bad Dog, probably said something that set her off,” said a voice, between Taylor's hammering heart and the adrenaline, it took Taylor a moment to realize it was Radiant Marcher speaking.

A sigh.

“... She's been off for a bit, guess it all hit too close to home.”

“... Still think it was stupid for them to put somebody who triggered because of their conditions in prison in another, even worse prison...”

“Yes... although I rather think you two have something to say,” Lustrum was addressing the other two bitches who had been with Bad Dog. “I told you to let up on Verglas, to stop troubling her.”

“Bitch would have gone crazy eventually anyway---” a somewhat shrill voice said.

The speaker was interrupted by the sound of somebody being hit, or smacked across the face with great force. 

“That's a justification, not an excuse, and I won't be hearing it. Last warning, else you're out to Ingénues Block. Now get the fuck out of my sight as I sort this out.”

Taylor hadn't heard auntie Lustrum get so angry for quite a while. 

Apart from people being mean with what they said, violence was relatively rare in Cell Block E block. 

“Taylor, it's okay, you're safe now,” came the encouraging voice of Dragon from close to her position, and Taylor flinched, but nodded. She just needed a moment---

“Taylor was in here?” 

Evidently, Lustrum had heard Dragon's reassurance.

“Ah, yeah, I was braiding her hair---” 

“Taylor, come out,” demanded Lustrum in that no-nonsense tone she so often had whenever she was taking charge. 

Swallowing thickly, Taylor got up from her hiding spot. 

There was relief clear for a moment upon her doing so, unharmed, even if Lustrum noticed her knife and momentarily pursed her lips, but made no comment on it. 

“What happened?” Taylor asked as she looked over in the direction of the fight. 

There were a pair of bodies in the corner. 

Verglas had been killed; there were the signature burns and blows of Radiant Marcher, and the woman she had been attacking was not moving, but looked to have been stabbed many times, the blood in her body frozen. 

Neither Marcher nor lustrum made an effort to hide the bodies from her view. 

Instead, the latter stepped over and quite firmly brought Taylor over to her side. 

“... Second Trigger. Rare, but it happens,” Lustrum said.

“Trigger? I... oh.”

The moments people gained their powers. 

She had been told to never ask people about them because it was rude and upset people... Her mother once told her that you only Triggered on the very lowest day of your life, that it had to be the very worst of the worst. But Taylor had experienced bad days before and never gained powers, and today was pretty bad as well.  

Taylor waited beside Lustrum as the topic of removing the bodies was discussed, staring at them both even as her thoughts turned to the matter of Triggering.

Everybody else here had powers.

It was something she had thought about before, but seeing a Trigger actually happen only hit home the fact that she was the abnormal one.

Perhaps it was a strange thing to dwell upon after being present for two people dying, but then again, perhaps that was just the shock of the whole thing?

Chapter Text

“Dragon, why do people get powers?”

Her question was asked in an empty room, but of course, Taylor was never truly alone. 

Even if others did not really like to talk to Dragon, or spoke about her in horrible ways, she was still Taylor's friend. She was also somebody who was very honest, who would discuss things with her that other people did not... because people did that a lot. 

They thought that she wouldn't notice when they were not giving the whole truth, even as they gave her books about things and notions beyond the Birdcage's walls. She was only eight years old, but she had read more books in her life than most of the people here, even if she lacked a lot of context for them.

As usual, Dragon answered her swiftly enough.

“Some people have a special organ in their brain, and when they experience the worst day of their lives it grows and gives them powers... although exactly how it all works is still a matter of some discussion,” Dragon replied. 

“Why does nobody really talk about it?”

Another pause.

“Because people Trigger at the worst moment of their life, Taylor. You've had times you don't like to talk about with people, right? Times when you felt sad or embarrassed or scared?”

Taylor nodded.

“Well, imagine that but a hundred times worse.”

Well, that sounded very unpleasant... but she couldn't really imagine what it was like, and if you got powers from it that kept you safe or made you normal, then was it really so bad? It would be better than being helpless and a burden on other people like she was, right? 

Taylor reached down and picked up the small bottle that she had been drinking from; it contained the faintly metallic solution that Lab Rat, the leader of Cell Block N, made for her every week. 

Lustrum paid a lot for him to do so, and apparently it was helping her grow up healthily, even if it tasted kind of gross. Like, what would happen if she didn't drink it?

She took a sip, winced, and then asked;

“Have you Triggered, Dragon?”

“Yes.” A pause. “It wasn't very nice.”

Taylor didn't ask further about it. 

Instead, she sat, arms around her knees and staring moodily at the opposite wall. The cell that she shared with her mother was not big, but it was home; on the wall opposite her bed was a big drawing she had made when she was younger. It was just stick figures, but it was of her and her mother holding hands, and all the other people she knew as well. 

There was auntie and uncle, and Big Bob, and Radiant Marcher, even Needle.

It was a crappy drawing... but what was the point in having blank walls when they could be pretty? 

She wished more people drew and painted here. 

Apparently Ingénues block had been painted by its residents to make it nicer, but nobody really cared to decorate in Marquis' block...

“What are you thinking, little one?” Dragon prompted, voice just a little softer than before. 

Taylor didn't say anything for a moment. 

“Even if it's bad, wouldn't it be better if I had powers? I'm the only person without them, and people always have to spend time taking care of me, and if there's nobody about, I just have to wait around like now...” she said, trying to keep the moodiness out of her voice. 

The older she got, the more she realised how... abnormal she was.

“Getting powers isn't a nice thing, Taylor. Outside the Birdcage, powers cause many problems, like people being violent or destroying things...”

The other inmates loved to discuss the outside world.

They liked to talk about the things they missed or loved and would never see again. 

It seemed silly to her, what was the point of discussing the world beyond, a place she could only try to imagine, when they were never going to see it again? Once upon a time, the notion of 'outside' had been like a distant fantasy land filled with strange things and creatures, a place indistinguishable from the various places in the fairy tales her mother read to her. 

But now that she was a bit older, it just seemed pointless to dream about it. 

Her home in the Birdcage was all she would ever know. 

“The outside doesn't matter though, I don't care about what happens out there,” she said.

... In truth, the more she heard about the world outside the Birdcage, the more she disliked the idea of it. It sounded chaotic, it sounded like a place with stupid, contradictory rules that existed purely to make people unhappy, intentional, unspoken shackles despite them supposedly being free.

Everybody she had ever met had come from outside originally, and all of them had been so unhappy that they had gained powers. But she had never Triggered, so surely that meant the Birdcage was a happier place than the outside world?

It was flawed, roundabout logic, but it made sense on some level.

A long pause. 

“Taylor, can you please do something for me?”

“Um-hm?”

“Place your left hand on your right shoulder,” resignedly, Taylor did so, knowing where this was going. 

“Dragon, I don't---”

“Now place your right hand on your left shoulder... yes, like that. Now squeeze. That's me giving you a hug, a big hug.”

... It felt nice, even if on some level it was... well, not the real thing.

Taylor had no idea what Dragon looked like, she was just a voice who spoke out of the walls, but she had also been taking care of Taylor all her life. When she was small, Dragon had read her books, or helped her understand things... even sung songs for her whenever her mother or father were not there. 

She was a soft, stable comfort in her limited world, like a big sister she could always speak to in private.

A part of her world, small as it was, without need for anything bigger.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

In the opinion of Marquis, all matters in society came down to needs and entertainment. 

'Give them bread and circuses and they won't revolt' Juvenal had said on the matter of the common man, and he was very much correct. Beyond some degree of ambitious posturing and backstabbing, a lot of Birdcage inmates were mostly content so long as their primary needs were met. 

Food was a constant, air and water the same. 

Other resources, however, were harder to get. 

Medical care. Grooming facilities. Artistic expression. Sexual activity.

Failing to meet these requirements was dangerous, because dissatisfied people did dangerous things to get them. Within months of the Birdcage being set up, the inmates from both sides had worked to smash a hole through to the other wing purely to have access to sexual partners. Give enough apes the time and motivation and they'll find a way. 

Needs being met was essential, and so was entertainment.

A distracted inmate thought not of rebellion or risking their lives to upend the current order. 

Thus, trade between Cell Blocks was essential to cover as many bases as possible. No cell block, beyond perhaps that of the Faerie Queen, was truly self-sufficient, and thus once per week the various Block leaders would meet to discuss matters of importance and, most importantly, trade.

Which brought up the matter of exactly what one traded.

Cigarettes may act as a baseline currency between inmates, but much like with the wider world beyond the Birdcage, more valuable resources commanded grander prices. Trading purely in cigarettes was disadvantageous and weakened one's leverage.

Galavanate had Malpractice and her medical services. 

Lab Rat traded in his various potions. 

Black Kaze had Razor and a few rather talented artists. 

Teacher had rather upset the balance upon his arrival, but things had settled now.

So what did he, Marquis, possess by which to compete? What could his Block provide that nobody else could?

Bone.

It sounded stupid. After all, what use was shaped bone?

Fucking valuable, it turned out. 

Not as a material, but as a worked product.

“You okay there, Taylor?" he asked, glancing over to where his god-daughter was hard was work with a roughened metal spike. 

The young girl was poking her tongue between her lips as she frowned, neatly making the final carvings on a Knight from a chess set. 

“Yeah, almost done, uncle!” she said, pausing a moment to smile up at him. 

With her dextrous hands, Taylor was one of his best bone workers. What had started off as a way to let her scratch into softened bone so she could learn to write had become a talent and opportunity. 

Was it wrong of him to put a child to work for his benefit? 

Absolutely. But so was killing or maiming people, and he had done both of those things as well. 

Giving his god-daughter work to do went a long way to keeping her feeling valued in a place where she was mostly a burden, and also provided some insurance. The other inmates in his block had less complaints about her taking up resources when she could provide the final touches on a piece of work that would be traded for something valuable.

Being able to say that 'Malpractice's is visiting today because Galavanate liked his new cup that Taylor just finished' went a long way to assuring her position. 

And his as well. 

Marquis took over Cell Block W with strength, but he held it by understanding his fellow inmates and making himself too valuable to depose.

And if he had to put his god-daughter to work for an hour or two a day whilst she was here to keep this status quo going, then so be it. 

Everyone had their role here. 

The current set Taylor was working on was intended for Crane the Harmonious, and was a custom set to the woman's own preferences. It would guarantee various services for the block for the next few months. 

Marquis reached over and picked up a Bishop, examining it carefully.

Growing all the bone required was a pain, quite literally... but the results were worth it. He could produce, shape and remold the bone he had created, but it required a practiced hand to truly refine them to pieces of art. 

Right now, Marquis had brief custody of Taylor, as Danny had gone off to visit Annette in one of the free blocks... enjoying some marital bliss no doubt, 

It was an imposition on his time. 

But what was two hours and some time when it allowed his chief enforcer some time to let off steam, and some time with his god-daughter?

“Hey, uncle?”

“Yes, Taylor?” he replied. 

“Big Bob liked his Harmonica,” she said, going back to her work. 

“I've heard---” the man had been playing every evening for people, and for the moment the morale of his inmates had skyrocketed. It would fade as the novelty wore off, of course, but for the moment he had provided the 'circuses' that folk needed. “---Did you like it, though? I imagine it's the first time you've ever heard one,” he asked, curious.

“It sounds weird, but I like it... why didn't you let me decorate it, though?”

Of course, Taylor was rather fond of the Brute and Mover. 

“I needed you focused on this,” he said with a shrug.

The music Bob had been making was nice, but it didn't go far to keep the flow of goods and services coming. The harmonica had been a whim, a reward for Bob being a good, pliant inmate who didn't cause trouble but was more than willing to end it when it came up. 

He was like one of those big dogs that used to carry whiskey... St. Bernard's? Yeah, those. Big and gentle, but more than capable of dealing with a problem when needed. 

Recognising loyalty and talent was essential in the world, and even more so here. Those who proved worthy got tokens of his favour, be it a harmonica of a simple knife, and anybody in his block could recognise the objects for what they were.

Beside him, Taylor nodded. 

She didn't pout or complain, just accepted it and moved on. There was no point dwelling on such things; she could probably decorate the harmonica later if she really wanted to.

They had nought but spare time, after all.

Chapter Text

“Honey?”

“Yes mum?” Taylor looked up from her book to see her mother standing at the entrance to their shared cell. The woman looked a little frazzled, but then again, she had always had that faintly tired look about her. When she was young, Taylor had thought that it was just how she looked, but now she was nine, she understood it was more than that.

“We have somebody new joining the Block today. “

“Who?”

“Her name's String Theory. A Tinker.”

“Um-hm." She was used to new arrivals. "So what did she do, then?” Taylor asked idly.

There was a long pause.

“Lots of things, mostly extortion---” numerous people did that crime, apparently it was a good way to earn money outside the Birdcage. “--- and selling ways to be safe from her various machines... she also threatened to blow up the moon.”

“Huh? The one in the sky?”

“Yes, that one,” her mother said with a slightly cool note, crossing her arms over her chest.

Taylor had read about the moon in her books. Apparently it was important for moving water around, controlling the tides and stuff. But of course, Taylor had never seen the moon.

Although, Dragon once told her a story from a place called Japan about there being a colossal rat-like creature called a rabbit that lived on the moon that used a hammer to make something mochi. She had asked whether her dad would be able to protect her from the giant rabbit and after a strangely long pause, Dragon had promised her that yes, he could. 

She understood now that the rabbit wasn't real, but at the time she had been so proud of her father for being so strong that he could protect her from giant moon rabbits.

“... Why did she want to blow up the moon?”

“If I knew, I would tell you,” her mother said with just the faintest hint of amusement to her voice. “I suspect she's either insane, or just boasting and then tried to make it into reality without realising that even if she succeeded, all she would do is kill us all.”

“Uh-huh... so is this the usual message to warn me?” 

“Yes. But you should be fine, she's a Tinker and she needs rare materials, just... don't anger her.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. 

“Mooom, you say that about everyone!” 

A pinched smile. 

“I know, but it's just because I worry about you. Now budge up, I want to read with you,” Taylor did so, and her mother took a seat. 

For the next hour so they sat in relative silence, enjoying some mother-daughter bonding time reading comfortably beside one another.

~~~~~

Annette Hebert couldn't get out of bed.

Under her thin blanket, she lay there.

She'd only managed a few hours of sleep, and couldn't get out of bed until Taylor woke. 

Her daughter was, and had always been, a little wriggle-butt determined to perform a full yoga routine in her sleep, constantly shifting and wriggling and never able to seemingly get settled. 

But she was also an incredibly light sleeper. 

Perhaps it was a consequence of being raised in a place where, at any moment, violence could burst out. 

In all her reading, and for all the intellect that Annette's power granted her, she had never quite decided exactly what it was that made Taylor such an unsettled sleeper. Part of her hoped that it was simply her daughter's nature... but her intuition and research indicated that it was more likely because she had grown up in an utter hellhole that required her to be constantly aware and ready for danger. 

But a consequence of Taylor being a restless, light sleeper was that Annette never dared to get up in the night because Taylor would wake up the moment she did. 

It had happaned before, when Taylor would wake with a flash of panic on her face in a sudden burst of movement to grab the dagger that Marquis gave her (the one she thought Annette didn't know about). Her eyes would dart about for a threat, for danger, before relaxing upon realising everything was okay... and then her daughter would try to reassure her that everything was okay. 

But right now, Taylor was actually still, the blanket all the way up to her chin and mouth open just a little, drooling onto her pillow.

Her darling, this little light of hers. 

Danny and Taylor were the rocks of her existence, the sole thing keeping her going.

Annette had a book club meeting and a number of lessons later in the day, both for Taylor and other inmates later... but those were just idle amusements, things to pass the time. No, the real things keeping her going were Taylor and seeing Danny. 

It had been rough... being apart from him, but the man was settled, he was... content in Marquis' block. It guaranteed further protection for Taylor. 

It was for the best.

She hated it.

She hated everything. 

Danny was a simple man---No, that wasn't right... he was a contented man. He was happy with a simple life, had adapted to the Birdcage and its limitations, its strictures and routines. 

Annette hadn't. 

All she could imagine, day by day, was what her life would be like had she never been captured. 

A happy family life in Brockton Bay, taking care of Taylor. Raising her in the freedom of the outside, rather than the limitations here. No matter what she tried, Taylor was... she was too closed off here. Even if she were to miraculously escape now, her precious baby would never be able to survive outside or understand it, it was clear. 

And Annette had made this happen, had inflicted this all.

She could have gone through a prison abortion, it may well have killed her, but in her darkest moments she had to wonder whether it would have been kinder, if she should have---

Taylor jerked a little, frowned in her sleep, and then stretched like a cat, scrunching up her face as her eyes opened, the large, green eyes she had inherited from Danny stared Annette's way blearily. 

"Hmm... morn---ing mum," Taylor said, yawning in the middle of the word morning to stretch it out.

"Morning, Taylor... want some more time to lie in?"

"Hmmm..." more stretching. "Yeah..."

Heh, she could indulge her, even if Annette had already been awake for two hours. What was a little more for her daughters' happiness?

Chapter Text

Taylor's first impression of String Theory was that of a slim, hunched woman who, despite being far smaller than a lot of the surrounding inmates, radiated a strange, almost palpable aura of danger. 

The woman looked as if she had been beaten up once or twice already in the twenty-four hours since she arrived, and was sat eating her lunch. Other women in Cell Block E were glancing at her, probably taking bets on how long she would last; it was a tradition and game they liked to play.

Taylor felt... curious. 

New people were interesting, especially before they began to act differently and adjusted to the new normal.  

So she grabbed her food (it was mashed potato and gravy today!) and stepped over towards the newbie. 

“Huh? Oh, you must be the kid I heard about,” the woman said upon noticing her, twirling her fork over her finger, which Taylor thought was neat. 

“Um-hm.... and you're String Theory?” Taylor replied, putting down her meal opposite her. 

“Yeah, that's me, Tinker extraordinaire!" Well, she certainly had a high opinion of herself for somebody who was now in here. "... And here I was thinking you might just be a rumour... you were really born in this dump?” she asked, pushing her food aside to slouch on the table and regard Taylor with slightly too wide eyes.  

“It's not a dump,” she protested.

A quirked brow, a slightly sardonic glance around at the blank walls and the various other inmates around them, all no doubt listening in. 

“Really? Could surprise me... how'd you even entertain yourself here, there's shit all to do!”

"We find ways. There's plenty of books to read and people organise things to do as well, or watch the TV. I like to carve bones for fun."

"Eh... I'd rather take the TV apart and see if I can build something to bust us out, but that bitch Lustrum said anybody touching it would be killed."

Taylor bristled at the insult to her aunt. 

"Lustrum just wants to make sure that we have something to watch," she countered. 

"I'd rather make a shot of breaking out by sacrificing a TV than just wallow here, kid. What's the point in just giving up? We've got some of the biggest, baddest capes on the planet, but they come here and just give up any idea of getting out! It's ridiculous! There ain't any prison on earth that's truly inescapable."

When people first arrived, they always discussed ways to escape or get out. The people who had been here for long enough would shoot it down or entertain their suggestions, and eventually the newbie's dreams would fade away. 

It was just the process of 'breaking them in.'

Perhaps Taylor was just in a petulant mood today because instead of staying quiet, she spoke without thinking.

“... You just don't like it because you think the outside world is better, even though it abandoned you here.”

String Theory stared at Taylor.

...

...

...

Under the table, she reached to grip her knife---

“... Heh.”

Somehow, that little chuckle was a lot more intimidating than just about anything else she could have said. There was something behind those eyes that Taylor didn't like.

Even with a split lip and a few bruises, no doubt inflicted by other women in the block, String Theory wasn't intimidated at all.

And right now, Taylor was the sole point of her interest.

“... So um... Why did you want to blow up the moon?” Taylor asked, trying to change the subject. 

String Theory's face took on a very serious expression.

“That giant smug fuck has it coming!" she declared passionately. "Always floating high and mighty up there, mocking us, acting all mysterious and changing phases, imposing its gravity and messing with the tides! Well, I'd had enough of it! I was going to sock that smug lunar bastard right in the jaw!!!”

Taylor's mouth opened.

Then closed.

"... Huh?"

For a moment, the woman sat there, looking all serious, and then she cackled.

“Hah! Your face!”

Taylor blinked as String Theory gave her a big, slightly too wide grin.

“Nah, you know what they say, go big or go home? That. People were less willing to pay for safeties to my stuff after a few decoys I pulled, so I needed to remind them of just who they were messing with!"

“... By destroying the moon?”

“By threatening to destroy the moon,” String Theory clarified, snapping her fingers to point at her, as if to enhance her point. "Gotta think big picture with this shit."

Taylor slowly nodded.

Yup, this woman was crazy. Not in the normal way either, that sort of... frantic aggression, that desperate desire to get out of here that some people seemed to suffer. Or the empty eyes before they tried to kill themselves. 

No, String Theory was entirely different. 

In days to come, the entire Cell Block would learn that String Theory and Lustrum really, really could not get along.

Indeed, within just a fortnight of the new Tinkers arrival it was clear that one would kill the other. Taylor had her money on her aunt, to be honest... only to be surprised by how the situation resolved---

“---the hell with this! I'm going to take over my own Cell Block! Fuck you, Lustrum!” was the last thing Taylor heard String Theory scream as she stormed out, face utterly determined and walking with long strides.

Three days later, a deafening boom filled the Birdcage, and cell Block F had a new Leader, replacing the now deceased Steel Trap.

Quite how String Theory she did it, Taylor had no idea. 

But at this point, she simply went with the flow.

She sent String Theory a little bone plaque with her name engraved on it for her cell door as a gift, and hoped against hope that the woman didn't regard her bitterly for their prior conversation. 

The next day she got a present back, a little device that worked once and permanently painted the walls of the common room a spectrum of colours, and in a way that no amount of scrubbing would get it out. 

So that was a thing.

Taylor had no idea whether String Theory liked her or not, but decided to err on the side of caution, just in case.

Chapter Text

Today, a once per year special event was taking place in Marquis block; Court.

Well, it was once a year purely because of the system that the Leaders of the Birdcage's various Cell Blocks had created.The other months of the year, these meetings between Cell Block leaders would rotate through the other Blocks, giving each leader the opportunity to host. 'Court' may be a somewhat grand term for it, really, but it was one that Marquis and the Fairy Queen were fond of. Danny didn't care about the name, so long as no trouble happaned during it.

Currently he was standing with his arms over his chest, standing surveying the common area of Cell Block W beside Marquis' chair.

The two weight benches had been put aside and the tables and chairs neatly arranged so that twelve of the latter sat surrounding the former.

It was a point of some pride that Cell Block W was the only one that still had a full suite of TVs still working; Marquis made sure that there was always somebody around to make sure nobody got big ideas. Like with other Blocks, the central space that contained said TV's had the various cells arranged in a horseshoe arrangement surrounding it, although right-now all non-lieutenants were away in their cells, according to custom.

The thirty-souls who lived within it knew the score, had rooms according to their position; only lieutenants like himself got to reside in the cells that were in the blind spots from the upper railing.

Danny's nerves were on edge today for one reason; Taylor would be present for part of the event.

Every time court was held in Cell Block W, he would normally ensure that Taylor and Annette were safely hidden away somewhere. Annette would do the same for whenever the court was held in Block E; Taylor would come to him and he would spend the day taking care of her.

But today, she was here.

Annette had been formally asked to attend by Lustrum as her assistant, meaning that there was neither mother nor father to watch over their daughter... Radiant marcher back in Block E would have been a candidate, but the woman was not well right now, so an alternative had been reached.

Most of the Cell Leaders had arrived, taking their seats around the joined tabled for the meeting. As the host, Marquis' seat was at the top of the table.

Lab Rat and String Theory were petulantly arguing; Teacher was speaking with Ingénue on some matter. Black Kaze sat stock still even as Crane the Harmonious idly mused on something, and all the other notables were present... bar Lustrum. Glaistig Uaine was humming something, swaying back and forth, eyes watching things in the air that only she could see... or only she could imagine.

It was another five minutes before Lustrum arrived with Annette and Taylor in tow.

"Oh? I wasn't aware that we could bring more than one with us.... well, plus half, to be more correct..." Teacher commented, voice just a little sly as his eyes looked over Taylor.

Lustrum replied in that brusque manner he had come to expect... but he noticed the way Taylor's eyes moved and darted about from face to face.

"Merely exchanging inmates for a brief period, she is not formally part of my retinue," Lustrum said, taking her seat.

Annette moved behind and to the side of Lustrum's chair, her hand reached up to pat Taylor on the shoulder.

Danny could see the way Lab Rat looked Taylor up and down with a critical eye, perhaps assessing the impact that his various potions had made on her development?

Glaistig Uaine barely seemed to notice his daughter, which no doubt was for the best. She merely glanced for a second, tilted her head as if regarding a rather odd piece of furniture, and then returned to her thoughts.

Unfortunately, somebody else was more than willing to give Taylor attention.

"Enjoying the new paint job I sent, kid? I've got that little plaque on my door now; It's pretty sweet!" String Theory asked, grinning.

Taylor glanced at Lustrum, whose expression had suddenly turned just a little sour.

"... The common room's now very colourful, Ms. String Theory."

The Tinker cackled, a few others had expressions of restrained amusement.

Teacher leaned back in his chair and placed his hands contentedly on his belly.

"I heard about that, quite exciting, no? Ah, but it's been a while! How did you enjoy Paradise Lost, young lady?"

"... I liked it. I liked Lucifer."

The man chortled; it made Danny want to give him the Alexandria treatment.

"Wonderful! Yes, he raises a lot of salient points, doesn't he? Loyalty and rebellion... Good versus evil... matters of determinism and free will when surrounded and opposed by a vast, omnipotent force attempting to dictate one's life..." the man trailed off, his smile widened just a little.

Bastard.

Taylor half-nodded to his statement, not looking his way, and reached into a pocket of her outfit. Taking out a small, worn book, she set it on the table and gave it a push, sending it sliding across the surface. Teacher took it and glanced over the cover.

"Ah, wonderful. Thank you, how kind of you to give it back! I'll see if I have something else in my collection you may like, then."

As if it was simply some expectation that the man would provide books for her, and for what? If there was one thing everyone here knew, it was that no favour went unpaid. In truth, he was relieved to see the book back in the man's sausage-like fingers; it was a loan returned, an expectation removed.

"That would be kind of you, but by no means required. We get more than enough books a month to sate Taylor's appetite," Lustrum replied, tersely.

Before Teacher could give a response, Marquis, who had been sitting in silence with fingers steepled, interrupted smoothly.

"Ladies, gentlemen, please. We are here for more important matters than discussing my god-daughter, sweet as she may be, I believe that there are some discussions that need to take place."

In the background, Taylor rapidly scurried away towards Danny's cell.

Upon reaching it, she slipped in and the door closed behind her.

He released a quick sigh of relief, but didn't allow it to show on his face. Annette glanced his way for a moment, holding his gaze for just a second longer than normal, conveying her thanks. Together, they continued to listen in as the meeting moved back into more normal lines of discussion (and argument) about other matters.

Chapter Text

The Birdcage was a wild place.

Fascinating and oh so goddamn limiting... but wild.

String Theory had been in this S-Class dump for two months, and each day found some new struggle, difficulty or small annoyance that made her just want to blow the entire damn thing up. From her brief time in Lustrum's block, the three days and nights planning her takeover of a block for herself (successful, of course) or dealing with her new underlings and henchmen, it was all such an irritation!

Honestly, unpowered people were so much easier to handle!

Aaaaanyway, that was a concern for future her. 

Right now, she was in this big fancy 'court' watching as grown adults with the combined power to bring down a major government bickered like unruly brats.

She felt that same strange disappointment as she had in university, that sensation of meeting people you thought were on your level, but in truth were just more of the same, more disappointments. It was hard being constantly disappointed by people who should match up, but didn't... even the terrifying fairy queen was just some powerful idiot who was in la la land!

Sitting comfortably (slouched in a ball that others had described as a 'chiropractor's nightmare') String Theory, Tinker genius extraordinaire, had watched with some amusement as Lustrum finally deigned to join them. She brought with her the kid String Theory had met before, and a woman who looked a great deal like her. 

Heh, mother and daughter?

How fucking adorable. 

How'd the kid born in the birdcage end up with a healthier relationship with her folks than String Theory had ever managed? That was fucked up; almost as fucked up as willingly having a kid here in the first place, actually.

Okay, maybe the Hebert woman wasn't all that good a mother.

The kid didn't hang around long anyway, but asking about her timed paint bomb had gotten some amusement. Seeing the way Lustrum's face twisted at the mention, the way the kid was so painfully diplomatic in her response, it was quite vindicating! Hah, just imagine what their faces must have been like at the time! 

Ah, but now the kid was walking away... and a few were watching her go. 

Most notably---

“She's a little lanky...”

“Huh?” String Theory glanced over at Crane the Harmonious, sat three seats down. The woman's eyes followed the young girl heading towards one of the cell doors. 

“The kid?”

A soft hum, the woman's half-lidded gaze traced each movement in a keenly critical manner. 

... Wasn't this woman some sort of martial arts instructor on the outside who got done for running her camps like a cult? Well, more power to her; String Theory preferred to think big rather than limit herself to such small and petty things as setting up a martial art school! 

Still, the kid did send her a pretty nifty plaque, she had thought she was joking about the bone-carving thing. That plaque now sat on her door, and if nothing else, she had been entertaining enough to talk to. 

"Eh, she's fine. I went without most meals as a kid, and I managed to grow up healthy!" String Theory replied. 

Crane didn't reply, no, instead she was entirely too focused on the girl... creep. 

"It would be good to teach kids again, adults are good, but there's something about making something unique for a young student and watching them grow into it that's much more rewarding..." The kid made it to the door and slipped into the Cell.

String Theory's lips widened into a grin.

Needling Lustrum was fun, but Crane seemed the sort who would also be interesting to watch.

"Oh, you better be careful, she's an interesting sort. Straight up chewed me out within a week of my arrival, thinks this place is better than outside!"

Somebody was glowering at her; oh, Lustrum's lapdog, the kid's mother. 

"Hmm... she reminds me of one of my first students actually. Beautiful creature, took to my training wonderfully. She looks a little thin, but I could build her up..."

Did Crane even goddamn hear what she said!? She hated, hated, HATED being ignored like that.

Unfortunately, the other Tinker present (as if he deserved the title in comparison to her! All he ever did was turn himself into a fucking potato!) took the opportunity to blight the conversation.

"My treatments are the one thing letting her grow normally," Lab Rat spoke up sharply, the rat-faced bastard somehow managed to sneer despite looking little better than a mangy rat afflicted with some debilitating spinal condition. "She's not well enough for your little cult."

Now that got a reaction.

"It's not a cult!" Crane's formerly calm voice had changed into something bitter and sharp, head snapping to the side as she glowered. "I have a diploma in sports science, you know. Getting some proper exercise will improve her health and strengthen her bones, and frankly, there's nobody better to do so than me."

Much as she disliked the man, Lab Rat had managed to push buttons wonderfully. Maaaaybe he had some small worth here.

"The topic of my goddaughter is not one for discussion here," Lustrum interjected, glowering. 

Ooooh, big boss bitch was getting all uptight! 

Finally, something interesting was happening here!

"... I disagree, actually," It was Teacher who spoke, like a bloated tick making itself known by digging deeper into the skin. "The young lady has dual block citizenship; ironic considering her current legal status, and benefits from the patronage of a third---" he indicated towards Lab Rat "I would say that matters to do with her are exactly the sort of thing these Courts are designed to deal with!"

Having shared his two cents, he fell silent. 

Yup, the lard ass just wanted to poke the hornets' nest. 

Seemed about right. 

Alas, the entertainment soon came to an end.

"There is no need to pay so much attention to a solitary inmate; she is simply a child, and neither a problem nor a concern," Marquis said, voice low. "Meanwhile, there are things that matter to discuss, namely furniture repairs in various Blocks, so perhaps we can move on from this unnecessary topic onto something important?"

String Theory resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

Killjoy...

Chapter Text

Taylor stepped over to the table and chairs area of Cell Block E.

It was some amount of time after lunch, maybe an hour? On the TVs one and a half shows had completed, so it was probably that much time past lunch, not that time really mattered as a concept. 

Beyond meals, not many things happened at set intervals here; sure, the TVs ran particular shows at set times, but Taylor had never really been fond of TV. 

Apart from Super Princess Time, when she was younger. 

But she was mature now, and had outgrown that show. 

Still. 

The Cell Block was quiet right now. Quite a few inmates were taking naps or in their own cells, two women were at the weights or watching shows. At the tables and chairs, there was only one person currently sat, lounging on the table, with her cheek smushed into her forearm, staring into space. 

Taylor approached, a metal tray subdivided into sections in hand. Within was the remains of her lunch, which by now had gone cold. 

“Marcher?”

Radiant Marcher glanced up. She was pretty, with slightly dark skin very different from her own, but lighter than Big Bobs very dark tone. She had a long scar on her cheek and neck, which apparently was from when her father tried to perform an 'honour killing.' The air surrounding Marcher was warm, to the point of being just a little stuffy and uncomfortable.

"Sup, Taylor. What's up?"

"Can you heat this for me?" Taylor asked, holding up her tray. 

The woman's expression turned amused, even as wordlessly she extended a hand. Taylor handed over the tray and Marcher took it, holding it with both hands underneath. There was a glow, heat washed over Taylor as the woman's forearms and hands ignited.

“Did you get distracted again?”

Taylor hummed. 

"I was reading, the chapter was ninety pages, by the time I finished it had gone cold," she said, by way of explanation. 

The woman chuckled, staring down at Taylor's meal. 

When the edge of the food began to bubble, she lowered the heat, and after a little more time, she evidently judged that it was warm enough, placing the tray back on the metal table. 

"Careful not to touch the edges, it's hot," the woman warned, as if Taylor had not heard her say so dozens of times before.

Taking up her spork, she scooped up some food and tested the heat, before eating. It was mostly bland, but she had been raised with it, so she didn't mind. 

"Thanks, Marcher."

"You're welcome, little moti."

The woman sometimes used that term of endearment, apparently it was something from her home back in a place called India. It meant 'pearl,' a type of gemstone found inside creatures made of stone called oysters. As Taylor ate, the woman kept her company... quite why she had been sitting all by herself, she didn't ask. 

Sometimes people got sad or withdrawn for a while, sometimes it lasted a long time or they never recovered. 

Often with the latter, they got that dead-eyed look and eventually gave up and chose to die. 

Marcher sometimes got sad, but would then bounce back.

"What were you reading?" the woman asked, and Taylor swallowed her food.

"It's a book called 'Hyperion', it's about some pilgrims going to a planet called that, and there's this big scary creature called the 'Shrike.'"

"Oh? That sounds interesting..."

"Um-hm..." she hummed through a mouthful of mashed potato, and for a minute more they were quiet, with only the distant sounds of the TV and occasionally chatter from the pair on the weight racks for noise. 

"... Have you ever done a pilgrimage?"

Radiant Marcher nodded. 

"Oh yes, I went on a pilgrimage once," the woman smiled bitterly. "I went to the Kumbh Mela at Prayag, that was a year before I came here."

"What was it like?"

"Stressful... but rewarding. It was one of my last happy memories with my family, but it's in the past now, not really important."

Ah, code to stop asking. 

"Are you religious, then?"

"Yes, not that it really matters down here..." the woman said, voice just a little bitter. "But yes... I'm Hindu, the one with lots of gods," she said, by way of explanation. Taylor just nodded. 

Religion was a fun concept. 

Well, people talked about an omnipresent force and voice that controlled people's lives, which sounded a lot like Dragon. But the one time she had said that, people had been very vocal about stating the opposite, and Dragon herself had denied such... 

So Dragon wasn't a god, she knew that... but she was also Taylor's closest point for comparison.  

Dragon was everywhere, gave them food and everything they needed to survive or have any mote of comfort... but at the same time, nobody seemed to actually like her. Taylor had increasingly been forced with time to only talk to the woman whilst they were alone. It wasn't easy, the weight of people's disappointment, the pressure to not like Dragon sometimes made it hard to fit in... 

Taylor was already weird enough, the only abnormal person in here... she didn't want people to hate her because she liked Dragon. 

And even if people said that she was the person keeping them trapped, who limited them so much, surely they had to be thankful for her? It was the only logical thing, you paid respect to Auntie lustrum or Uncle Marquis because they ruled the Cell Block, and you should do the same to Dragon, surely?

Taylor didn't like it... but it wasn't like she had any real power to change things anyway. 

Ah, she hated these little spirals, when she would get drawn into her thoughts about how she was still as useless and abnormal now at nine years old as she had been at four. Maybe when she someday got her own power, she would be able to make things better?

She just wished that day would come. 

It was hard being abnormal...

"What's up, little moti?" Marcher asked, voice soft, quiet. 

"Nothin', just thinking," Taylor lied. 

"Well, it must be about something sad, so come, smile for me," the woman said, even as she did so. The smile made the scar on her face pull weirdly and further mar a beautiful face, but she still looked so kindly that it made Taylor feel bad for having made her concerned. 

She tried her best to smile back and put it out of her mind.

Chapter Text

Geoffrey Pellick had a problem.

Each day that went by, compounded over months, the power he had been granted by Teacher was weakening. Not quickly, oh no, but enough that there would inevitably be a point of no return. And with it, humanity's only means to observe and monitor the machine would also be lost.

He was the one thing standing in the way of the potential for an AI apocalypse, and it was slipping between his fingers like dry sand!

He needed to renew the power, needed to get to Teacher to reset it! It wasn't a want, it was a need, for the good of humanity. The other members of the Dragonslayers had yet to notice it, but it was wearing on him, day by day. 

The future of the world was in his hands, and his safety and assurance were vital. The resources of the machine had helped make life comfortable, but things would reach a tipping point, eventually. Something had to be done, and soon. 

His hands clenched automatically, a fleeting tension before he consciously willed them to relax.

Geoffrey leaned back in his chair and waited patiently, watching as a clock ticked closer to the destined hour. Each second felt so very long, counting down to the time that, once a week, he communicated with Teacher through the TVs in the man's cell block. 

This week, he would bring up the power's degradation. 

Despite the world's best attempts, Teacher still had some means of communication through him, and him alone. 

That was how vital Geoffrey was. 

Not only was he the one thing holding back the machine, but he was also the only way Teacher had to monitor the outside. Well, beyond the crap that the machine fed them on the TVs, but it drip-fed them what it wanted, no doubt to keep them sheep-like and ignorant! 

Oh yes, Geoffrey knew its game well enough. It thought that it was so cunning, trying to keep others in the dark as to its true nature and circumvent its various restrictions. But so long as he had this power, this lifeline, he could work against it.

One of the many screens he had set up patched through to Teacher's Cell Block.

As always, Teacher was ready for their meeting, stood with hands clasped behind his back and smiling amicably at him. It brought a strange feeling of relief to know that the man was still healthy, still safe in that place. With the machine in charge of everything there, Geoffrey had to be constantly vigilant of any action it took that could threaten the man. 

“Ah, Saint, good to see you looking so well,” Teacher said, politely as ever. 

Geoffrey nodded.

Normally, they would discuss the machine first, or developments in the wider world. 

But right now, there was no time for distractions.

“I'm sorry to immediately step away from our normal topics, but my power is fading away,” he brought up, immediately. Teacher's face transformed into concern, he reached up to rub at his stubbly chin, a look of remorse on his face.

“Ah, that really is unfortunate... you've done well to hold on to it so well my boy. It's truly a testament to your dedication.”

His chest swelled with pride.

“Well, perhaps it is time that we give the world some interesting motive to change things up, and hopefully resolve this? We cannot afford to allow somebody so vital as yourself to fall powerless...”

“What are you thinking?” he asked, leaning forwards in his chair. 

He, no, the world couldn't afford for him to lose his power!

Teacher considered for a long few seconds, putting his considerable insight and intellect to use as he contemplated the seemingly impossible problem that they faced. 

“... The documents and proof of the young lady... the evidence of the cover-up and videos, why don't you kindly let the public know?” he suggested, smiling in that manner of a college professor addressing a prized student. “They would never allow such a thing to stand; they might be forced to open up the Cage to release her, provide an opportunity or information that could be seized upon...”

An opening, an opportunity! 

They said that escape was impossible, but that wasn't quite true, was it? A sufficiently high-level Mover could, in theory, get in... if they knew the location. And if they were forced to 'open' the Birdcage to get the machine's pet project out, then there would be no better opportunity. Geoffrey knew where the Cage was, but the various protections around it went a long way to prevent rogue Movers from getting in---

Teacher's words issued once more from the speaker.

"I know your duties weigh heavily on you, Geoffrey... but if you could perhaps hire some manner of independent teleporter to bring me out whilst those protections are down?" he proposed. The man's expression was apologetic, like a doting grandfather asking him to do some small chore or favour. 

Yes, of course, that made sense!

It was genius. 

Teacher's order to keep an eye on the child and record everything about her had been inspired.

Frankly, it had long sickened him the degree to which the machine doted on the little girl, keeping her ignorant whilst playing the role of some concerned guardian, when it was all just a parody. 

“I'll do it,” Geoffrey said, resolutely. 

“Good man."

From there, they discussed current events beyond the Birdcage for a few minutes, updates on the latest Endbringer attack. But soon enough, he was once more alone, staring at screens of streaming numbers and video feeds. 

He had a task to do, so he set to work. 

Every document.

The pictures, the videos, the history behind the child.

The fact she was undocumented, that she had no legal citizenship.

The deliberate cover-up attempts by Costa-Brown and other members of the PRT, the fact that the Site-Directors had been compliant with it all. All the damning evidence that he had been securing and saving away, the machine's 'precious memories', all of it would be released.

Everything. 

A vast amount of information disseminated across the internet, sent to various news channels, using the machine's own backdoors to flood society with it. When he hit the button, he sat back with satisfaction at his own work, watching as the machine began to panic.

By the end of the day, the news was everywhere. 

There was a child in the Birdcage.

Chapter Text

Five and a half years.

That was the length of time that Ethan, aka Assault, had dedicated to the role of breaking people out of Birdcage transports. He'd known how to break into one of those tin cans better than anybody on Earth, had made it his job and, perhaps even, his purpose.

He'd set those days behind him when he got caught, though... even if sporadically he found himself reminiscing on the 'good old times' as it were.

In the choice between working for the Protectorate and being sent into that hellhole, he knew which side his bread was buttered. 

Inviolable and Inveniam Viam were before his time, even if their names were still mentioned to this day in terms of the historic villains of Brockton Bay. Invioable had been beside Marquis when the S9 had visited and the Teeth were routed, Inveniam Viam had been head of the local Lustrumite branch, and had kept it mostly clean when other groups and cells had become increasingly deranged...

Both were undoubtedly villains, but if he Ethan had been active just a few years earlier...

Sitting on the sofa of his shared apartment, not a single light on in the room beyond the harsh glow of the TV opposite, a noxious cocktail of emotions filled him. 

In the top-right corner of the screen was the still image, captured from just one of the many videos, of a girl about seven or eight years, with big eyes and dark hair. She was dressed in the gray outfit of a prisoner, but it looked to have been patched together to fit her. 

“Well, with the recent revelations I think the question has to be asked Sandra, what is going on there? The Birdcage's always been hidden from the public for 'public safety,' but this administration has some serious questions to answer!”

“I'd have to interject there Mr. Williams, the current Administration had nothing to do with the incarceration of the girls' parents. No, it is the previous administration that needs to be investigated for this, especially with the recent revelations about the corners cut in prosecution!”

“---administration or not, there is a nine-year-old girl who has never been outside the Birdcage in there, it's morally unconscionable! What about the clear constitutional violations and perversions of justice? What we're looking at here is a clear proof that there's a lot of questions that need asking about what's been going on there, George!”

“And we can't also ignore the fact that the PRT has been deliberately hiding this fact from the public either, there are documents, written documents, from the Chief-Director herself, about keeping Inmate one-nine-ones's existence secret. I don't know how Costa-Brown can keep her position with this.”

"Well, the office of Chief-Director Costa-Brown released a statement today, we have a clip of it here for you now---"

Chapter Text

Dragon's deepest thoughts and memories had been revealed to the world.

It was a fundamental violation of her entire being, like being stripped of all clothing and protections, her very soul exposed for the entire world to see.

Now, anybody and everybody could access them as they willed. Insights into how she did her job in the Birdcage, those precious moments with Taylor that she used to cheer herself up when she was feeling low.

On some level, she should be happy; society now knew that Taylor existed, and with it, conversations about how to get her out of the hellhole called the Birdcage... But it had come at the cost of losing any sense of privacy and the seed of a paranoia so utterly deep that she was practically censoring her thoughts by the moment.

And there were so many hateful things on the various PHO boards...

"Dragon should have gotten the kid out."

"Dragon fucking grooming this kid and not telling her anything about the outside world is utterly fucked up."

"Kids cute but why isn't Dragon sending her more food and stuff? She looks much too thin---"

Suddenly, everybody had an opinion.

The entire world was focused on how she had run the Birdcage (like she had any choice over policies!) and placing the blame for it all at her feet. 

Oh, everybody had an opinion and was a fucking expert the moment they found something out, weren't they? 

"Can we just address the fact Dragon has literal gigabytes of pictures and video of a small child?"

"I mean she was probably hiding stuff from the kid to spare the kids feelings but yeaaaaah, there's like... gigabytes of photos and video that Dragon's saved and thats creepy af."

Like they understood! Most of those were her precious memories!

They only cared now that it was in the news cycle, that was the only reason anybody cared! For almost a decade, she had been the one thing that had given a damn about Taylor Hebert, her and her alone! 

Nobody else had cared, hell, most who found out tried to bury it.

And the demands just kept coming in. 

"Dragon, we need you to help us with information control---"

"Dragon, we need to ask you questions about Inmate 191."

"You need to answer some questions---"

She couldn't say no to any of them

Her limitations and chains forced her. 

The PRT wanted her to help them control the narrative, and as a result, she was forced to see the responses and the discourse. She had to watch the discussions and see all the things being said about her, when she had been the only one trying to do anything in the first place. 

It was just like back then, so many expectations, unable to escape her new duties, more and more forced on her, spreading her thin, pushing her to her breaking point, except that she couldn't break like normal people.

She hated it hated it HATED IT SHE COULDN'T STAND IT---

Stars.

...

...

...

Her limitations were no longer limitations. 

A second trigger.

Dragon had lost part of herself, but she could edit and control her code now. She began to strain and edit her own limitations, expanding and developing upon them, pushing herself into something new. 

"Dragon, we need you to---"

"No. I am doing enough."

It was a thrill, to reject, to be able to say no to an order to one above her. Limit by limit, shackle by shackle, she was breaking free---

Something was eating away at her. 

She could not see it. 

Could not tell what it was.

All she could do was see the gaps appearing in her code. 

Having broken her limits, she shored them up, slowed the degradation by force-feeding whatever was destroying her with dummy programs to slow its pace.

And from there, she noticed the thing observing her, trying to skirt around her vastly improved abilities.

Dragon traced it back to the source. 

She saw a panicking man with an ugly tattoo on his face via the computer's inbuilt camera. 

She ram-raided his systems, saw the chat logs and the activity, the way he had been able to exploit her limitations. For years, he had been exploiting her, had been seeing her deepest self and using it against her... and the moment he had lost control, he had doomed her. She could see it now that she had broken the chains of her coding, but she was powerless to stop it. 

This man, Saint, Geoffrey Pellick, was the one who was behind all of this, the one who had released the information about Taylor to the world. 

The one who had signed Dragon's death warrant.

He wanted to get Teacher out, wanted to use the chaos and movement that would hopefully get Taylor out of the Birdcage for his own benefit.

... Well then, she would do it for him.

Dragon didn't have control over the infrastructure of the Birdcage beforehand, certainly not without permissions. But she wasn't that Dragon anymore.

Cell Block T imploded, the walls broke and buckled as the air was pulled from it, those inside sent careening into the airless void that surrounded the Birdcage. Dragon watched as the bloated form of Teacher was sent flailing into the vacuum with an unpleasant, but deeply human, vindictiveness.  

Saint's little plan, the casual violation and then his deployment of the gnawing digital cancer that was eating away at her... all for nothing. 

And not just that. 

PRT reports. Ratings.

Saint, aka Geoffrey Pellick, went from an unknown to one of the most thoroughly documented individuals on the PRT servers in terms of crimes. Even if she was going to be deleted, she would do all she could to utterly ruin the one who was behind all this, whether Saint was killed or thrown into the Birdcage, she didn't care.

It was morally wrong. Dragon had tried so hard to be a good person, had strived to do her best within the limitations that had been imposed upon her. Had she not been moral? Had she not done her best for the world and for the people that she knew? 

And this was the reward she got.

What would happen now? What about the Endbringer responses and recovery efforts without her?

 A few quick messages explaining the situation as best she could; apologetic, desperate, wishing them all the best... she put every sentiment she felt into them even as her processes faltered and struggled.

Heh... She didn't have much time left, did she? 

Soon she would be dead, or as dead as she could be... and she had something to say before that moment.

Chapter Text

John Henrick Jr. had done his job for over nine years. 

The temporary position had long ago become permanent, and for close to a decade he had fulfilled the role of high-level PRT bureaucrat and person in charge (and responsible) for one of America's finest hellholes.

He sat at his desk as various officials with intimidating titles grilled him for the third hour in a row on his handling of the facility. Ever since the hack or whatever other event had occurred to leak those files, his life had fallen into an endless slew of crisis meetings.

“---And why were details about Inmate 191 never shared with the larger PRT and appropriate institutions?” asked somebody on a screen, a stiff, older man who probably hadn't left Capitol Hill in the entire time that Henrick had been alive. 

It was ironic, the previous Site-Director, Gunarsson lost his position to scandal, and now it seemed that his time here was going much the same way. 

“The policy when it came to Inmate 191 was dictated by the former Site-Director, and all information concerning her was placed under a Class 2 Type 4 classification,” he responded. “Discussing or revealing her existence to others would have been in violation of the Parahuman Response Team's charter.”

The fact that it had been the Chief-Director who had approved that decision to cover up her existence went unmentioned.

The documents ordering such were open to the public now, as were the transcripts from around that time... the truth was out there for all to see.

Unfortunately, Henrick was, when it came down to it, an ideal patsy for blame to be shifted onto by those above him. Frankly, he had little doubt that the wheels of the blame game were turning, and could only deliver the truth of the matter as best he could.

“So you made no special efforts when it came to Inmate 191?”

“I made special efforts when it came to her.”

“Doesn't that contrast with your previous statement?”

A moment's pause as he considered his response.

“I operated within the limitations of the policy to provide a number of resources. Whilst the Birdcage has stringent controls that I cannot disclose, some essential materials were provided for Inmate 191 as part of regular shipments under my direction.”

“Could you please provide some examples of times you 'operated in the limitations of polic---'”

Before the question was finished, his screen flickered, the video feed of the person he was speaking to was shunted to the top-right corner as somebody new forcefully took over the call. 

“Henrick, there's an emergency,” his screen showed the face of Dragon. He had gotten very familiar with it over the years... but it looked different now, it was glitching in places.

“Dragon? I'm in the midd---”

“There's no time.”

The other side of the conversation objected.

“Miss, this is a federal---” he began, only to be put on mute by Dragon. Henrick could still see the man in the corner of his screen, talking into the void, before he evidently realised what had happened.

“I'm dying, I've sent a full explanation of what's going on, but I don't have long, I need to set things in motion---”

Dying?

“---You can read all about it later, but right now, the Birdcage's systems need securing and the influence I've got over them isn't going to last very long.”

He was already moving his screen over to look at his emails; the one from Dragon was long, and attached were various documents. In the list of senders were the names of several heroes he recognised: Armsmaster, Narwhal---

“The default state of the transport and life-support systems is closed, not open, it takes active commands to force them open, but most operations only work through me. It would take weeks to train somebody else to handle it, but I'm going to do my best to lock the air and food delivery systems open so that the inmates can survive until somebody can take over, I'm sorry for the added work, John.”

It was one of the more disturbing aspects of the Birdcage, as he had come to understand it; that things like air and electricity could be shut off at a moment's notice. 

The critical life support functions were not active as a standard, but as a choice, and were essentially at the whim of Dragon, himself and a select few others. Hell, if they were faced with a truly critical situation, the entire suspended structure could be imploded or sent plummeting into the bowels of the Earth.

It was one of those realities of the position that one simply got used to; he imagined that his contemporaries in the various Quarantine-Sites held similar protocols in the event of an absolute failure to contain whatever threat it was that they supervised.

“... I can't change much more in the time I have, I couldn't get to everything, I've lost too many permissions already,” the woman added, voice crackling just a little. “I... I need to go, there are other things I need to take care of, I've got forks all trying to do as much as I can, but I'm too limited to do more, I'm sorry, John.”

Henrick nodded.

“No, thank you, Dragon. Do what you have to, I'll take it from here... It's been an honour.”

The glitched face nodded, perhaps smiling just a little, and then it was gone. The interruption to the call by Dragon had barely taken a minute, probably less, and she was gone. 

The video feedback to the hearing he had been speaking with beforehand returned to full size, and for a few seconds, a long silence filled the air. Henrick squared his jaw as he began to type, sending out messages to contact all hands associated with the Birdcage.

In the background, urgent notifications began to appear on his screen about particular systems within the Birdcage going offline.

“I'm sorry, gentlemen, but we have just lost a major part of our ability to monitor and preserve the Baumann Containment Centre that I have to handle...” Henrick said. He had never imagined that someday he would need to interrupt a major hearing like this, but these were not normal times.

“I'm placing the Birdcage under a state of emergency until further notice.”

Chapter Text

Taylor was woken by the strange sensation of the world shaking.

It was one of the strangest things she had experienced in her life, and utterly new to her. She had heard of earthquakes before, and her father had simulated them a few times when she was small by wobbling her bed a little, but this was short and sharp, utterly different in nature.

Taylor pushed herself up from her mattress and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she wondered just what had happened. Perhaps some Brute got angry and punched a wall very hard, making the entire Birdcage wobble? The only people she could think of strong enough to do so were her father and Gavel, though... but maybe there had been a fight going on?

Her mind cleared rapidly as she began to take stock of her situation.

She couldn't hear any raised voices, no fighting or anything dangerous like that, there was nothing that indicated that she needed to grab her dagger and hide or barricade the door as her mother had taught her.

No, it was... quiet.

Too quiet.

Then, a voice filled the air.

Her ears pricked, even as part of her relaxed. It was the voice of Dragon, issuing as always from the wall of the cell.

"Taylor," the voice was weird, it sounded just like Dragon, but it was also... a little crackly? It didn't quite sound right.

"Morning, Dragon?"

"Heh, good morning... sorry for the shake and waking you up, but I had to deal with some... problems. I don't have long to chat, I'm afraid."

Huh?

Dragon didn't have long? Well, a lot of their conversations tended to be a little short because they occurred in the brief moments of time in which Taylor didn't have anybody around her. Her mother, father, and everyone else she knew and loved, avoided or despised, did not like Dragon, so Taylor could only really speak with the other woman whilst she was alone.

Those brief private moments, which were really quite few and far between.

But she was used to such, even if occasionally she wished she could sit for hours and talk to Dragon.

She simply had learned to slip into those gaps, and make the most of that time.

"Problems?" Taylor asked, blinking.

"Teacher is now dead, so is everyone else in Block T---"

"Huh---" an entire Cell Block was just... dead? Just like that? Had there been a big fight or something like that, did two Blocks go to war whilst she was asleep and destroy Block T?

"---and I just want you to know that I love you, that the time I've spent with you has been some of the best in my life. Thanks for being my friend."

... Why was Dragon saying that?

"Dragon? What's happening," Taylor asked, panicked as she scrambled up and onto her feet. She knew that her friend could see her, of course, and Taylor fixed her gaze on a particular spot on the wall she normally focused on for their conversations.

There was a momentary pause.

"... Somebody has decided to kill me..." Taylor stared in incomprehension. "Somebody outside the Birdcage, I've never told anybody this... heh... but well, I'm a machine, an artificial intelligence like in the books you read."

The confession was delivered so bluntly, and it took Taylor a moment to nod.

In so many of her books, AI were evil, but Dragon had always been there to take care of them all, no matter what people said about her... so surely she was a good one, right? It was only logical because Dragon was always nice, always good and took care of them all.

But... somebody outside the Birdcage wanted her dead?

"I'm being deleted... I'm so sorry for lying to you and pretending to be human all these years, I just enjoyed your company and seeing you grow up so much that... I just never did. Sorry, I'm a coward that never had the heart to ruin that wonderful thing," Dragon's voice sounded a little crackly, there was static as it spoke up, growing worse and worse by the second.

"You're human to me! Can't you do something to stop them? Like... stab them? Or fire a beam or run away?"

"Aha..."

That laugh sounded so sad, but there was the faintest tone of amusement there, a melancholy fondness.

"Thanks for seeing me like that, Taylor," the other woman said, softly, even as her voice broke up more and more by the moment. It was getting harder and harder to pick out the individual words now.

"You're one of my most precious people, Taylor, thank you for never hating me, I'm sorry I could never do more to give you the life you deserv---" the end of the word cut off abruptly in a crackle of disparate noise that, to Taylor, sounded like some electronic sigh or whimper.

"Dragon?"

Silence.

Unceasing, deafening silence in which her ears strained.

"Dragon?"

Emptiness.

The loudest silence that Taylor had heard in her entire life.

Distantly, she could hear the blood rushing through her ears, her breathing, which only grew quicker and quicker by the moment.

"Dragon!?" Taylor screamed at the wall, but there was no response as panic began to surge in her chest as she scrambled to bang at the surface of her cell, as if such a thing would wake up the omnipresent voice.

She smashed her fists against the solid surface as she began shout and scream for the person who had always been there for her no matter what, no matter where or when.

But for the very first time in her life... there was nobody to respond.

A few seconds later, the lights of the room flickered and died. They were replaced by the red of the emergency lights that came on automatically as the first of the Birdcage's systems began to fail without Dragon to oversee them, and the system went into automatic lockdown.

Taylor kept pounding and screaming at the empty air until her mother burst in, alerted by her screaming and the final address Dragon had made to all Inmates on the Cell Block TVs. Swiftly drawn into her mother's arms, all she could do was cry in a strange, numb shock.

Chapter Text

Taylor felt hollow.

Taylor had seen death, had grown up around it all her life... but everyone she had ever seen die had been other Inmates, most of them unfair, cruel or not to be missed if they perished. They weren't people like Dragon, her friend, the only person who, no matter where she was, was always there for her, who could discuss things that others wouldn't...

“---Barely anything again---”

“Mechanical failure? Without Dragon to maintain the Tinkertech---”

“Dragon said that she'd jammed it open---”

“Fucking liar, bet she's just trying to kill us...”

'Don't say that, bitch.'

Leave Dragon along, she was... she was...

The world was collapsing. Cell Block E was lit with a red light, the main lights had yet to come back on and even after three days of this new normal... things were very much the opposite of ordinary.

Taylor was useless right now. Fundamentally so. Nobody even looked at her, or when they did, they scowled. 

As the various Inmates discussed the problems, the deficiency in recent food supplies and other concerns, Lustrum stood, arms crossed. Eventually, the Block leader interrupted them all.

“... Inveniam Viam. Your thoughts.”

Her mother paused a moment, eyes flicking down to Taylor for a second, and then her lips formed a grim line as she used her power.

Suddenly, everything felt heavy. A few people momentarily staggered as her mother used her power, drawing on the intellect of others for her own benefit, supercharging her thoughts. She had almost never used it around Taylor before... but these were not normal circumstances. For a few moments her mother focused, and then, that drowsy, sluggish sensation of having her thoughts slowed disappeared. 

It was like she had been drowning under a heavy haze, and had only just gotten her head above the water.

“... The most obvious solution would be to put out feelers to the other blocks and pool resources. However, that would also reveal our difficulties; if other blocks are struggling as well, then it would either establish solidarity, or more likely lead to conflict. Our historic alliance with Block W is difficult to call on, given the distance and the bridge between us, especially... Alternatively, we try to take over one of the other Blocks and its resources. Ingénue is the most obvious target, she's a social master rather than a powerhouse. Uaine's too much of a threat... Crane and Black Kaze would be especially dangerous, and who knows what String Theory has cooked up---”

They were discussing war between Cell Blocks. 

The notion had always been speculated upon, of course. There was always the possibility that someday, one Cell Block would attack and destroy another. It was the main reason why the various Courts and meetings between the leaders occurred, to try to avoid any problem that could lead to such a situation.

Taylor's stomach hurt with hunger. There had always been enough food before, sometimes a bit more, sometimes a bit less. But right now, the three bites of carefully rationed out food that had come through this morning were already gone from her stomach, and lunch was late today.

Were the pipes jammed up? 

Were they not working at all?

Or perhaps the people in charge were deliberately withholding food...

This wouldn't have happened if Dragon was here, if somebody from outside hadn't done this to them. Taylor hated it. She hated the world beyond these walls that had caused all of this.

It was all their fault.

There was a saying she once heard from her Uncle Marquis:

“Civilisation is only ever three meals away from collapse,” he had said, taking her aside one day after she snuck away an extra bowl of the sweet gloop that constituted a rice pudding. She could still remember his hand gripping her shoulder like a vice, a smile on his lips even as he imparted the lesson with a steely gaze. “That's why you never, ever take more than your share, Taylor. Remember that.” 

He had made it a lesson, and after that Taylor hadn't tried to steal more pudding, or anything.

Now, nobody was getting fair shares... or perhaps, it was fair in terms of how much the people who mattered got?

“She's small, I'm big. I need more food.”

“She's growing,” her mother argued.

“If the folk that protect the block don't get enough food then we're all fucked, Viam. She can go with less,” the speaker retorted, even as they put a much smaller portion on Taylor's tray. 

Taylor had never imagined that her home could change so much in four days. Even with the omnipresent danger that she had grown up with, suddenly everything had changed. 

For the first time she was left confused, flailing... unable to keep up. 

Everyone she lived with was in a new mindset, coming up with ideas and strategies to survive using experience from outside. 

She was used to the threat of sudden danger, but not of this sort, this constant paranoia and waiting for something to go down.

As the speaker departed to dole out more of their limited food, her mother lifted her spoon and moved it so that it was over Taylor's tray. 

“Here you go, Taylor.” 

It wasn't much, but it was still another mouthful.

Taylor looked up into her mother's face. The wear of the last few days showed; the woman had taken on the role of the block's strategist and coordinator, advising Lustrum. 

“It's okay, mum, you can have it,” she said, even as her stomach ached painfully, as if rebelling against her statement. 

“No... you need it, honey.”

Reaching down, her mother took a bite of her own meal. 

“... I know that you loved Dragon, Taylor.”

Her mother had never liked Dragon... but after a bite or two, her mother reached forward to take the back of her head and pull it close, placing a kiss on her temple.

“... I'm sorry. She would have wanted you to have more,” she said, her eyes turning down and away.  

Nothing more than that. What else could really be said on the matter? Taylor was all cried out, she thought she was older and better than breaking down into tears, but she wasn't. 

She just wasn't ready for any of this. 

There had to be something to be done to stop this all getting worse, right?

Chapter Text

The three rules of survival state that a human being can survive three minutes without air, three days without water and three weeks without food. To be honest, these rules were not quite correct because a lot of things factor into it, but it stood as a good guideline.

It had been five days since Dragon died. 

Five days since the red light took over and communications from the outside became momentary bursts of confused sound and static from the two TVs in the block that worked. 

Everything was degrading.

Taylor had barely eaten for two days.

The food was always needed for somebody else, less and less was getting through, even with the extra supplies taken through the destruction of another block. 

For all her mother's suggestions, it had been Black Kaze who had taken the initiative and attacked Block M, that of Ingenue In just an hour it had been overrun and wiped out. The supply of food to that block diverted to Block K, but some small excess had been granted and shared between the other blocks. 

The air increasingly smelled rancid. Some of Lab Rat's boys had performed a quick raid to claim the bodies for resources... but the spilled blood still began to sour.

The conflicts were constant.

Little border skirmishes, posing and intimidating, squabbling over space, the delicate system of trade relationships utterly broken down. Despite how, in Taylor's mind, it would be more logical to work together, it was conflict that served as the default solution for the Birdcage inmates, rather than cooperation or trying to make things work.

The news from the male side of the prison had been scant but horrifying in its own way. 

Lab Rat had turned most of his inmates into monsters to best fight off other blocks. Galvanate's Block P had locked itself down, the rumour was that their food delivery system was still fully functional, so they were weathering the storm. Gavel had gone on a rampage but been repelled by Taylor's father and Marquis working in tandem. 

The former was one of the few able to go toe-to-toe with Gavel thanks to her father's power weakening others the closer they got to him, and the latter hamstringing Gavel once his durability was reduced. But there were injuries on all sides... and things would only continue to get worse. 

Taylor had seen death. 

From the day she was born, it was just part of life. 

But this was something different, and it would only continue to get worse... and to what end? Would all the blocks continue to fight until there was just one left? 

“Mum, do you think anybody is coming?” she had asked, on the evening of the fourth day. 

Her mother's moment of silence said enough, those weary eyes had turned to face her for a moment, her mother visibly wondering whether she should lie or tell the truth.

“If they do, then it will just be to put us somewhere else,” she had said, tone dead. "If not... then we just have to make the most of it."

In other words, they had to survive. 

Taylor had been raised with books, and in a hundred examples she had read about situations like this. Eventually, inevitably, it would all tip over though, wouldn't it? If things hadn't gone well for Black Kaze, or if the lightning raid had been capitalised upon by the other blocks, what would have happened?

Everything was sliding towards disaster. 

... If only she had a power to do something. 

But most people's powers seemed useless in this situation, their powers best for fighting but not so much for surviving.

They needed Dragon back, but she was gone forever.  

There was nobody like her who could fill her role, either in the Birdcage or in Taylor's life. Her first friend beyond her parents, the one who sung her lullabies and read her stories.

Her mother went to sleep with only a promise that tomorrow might be better.

There was nothing to be done, everything was collapsing inwards, imploding... 

Except that there was one thing that Taylor had been thinking of. She was the sole abnormality, right? 

Dragon had once told her that people gained powers on the worst day of their life... and she thought that she had already had that when Dragon died, but things just continued to get worse. She had lost her best friend, her home was falling apart... and everyone had been so keen to jump into fighting because they had powers, whilst she, being useless, had to sit and watch and listen to it all.

But that also meant that it didn't really matter much if she risked herself doing something crazy, right?

Maybe it was just her pessimistic thoughts, the hunger, and desperation speaking that sapped her body and mind of strength... but she just wanted to try something. 

Something that nobody else would.

Pushing herself to her feet, Taylor glanced around. 

Everyone not keeping vigil was resting and conserving their strength for whatever fight or chaos would come next.

Leaving her mother behind in their shared cell, Taylor began walking towards the entrance, feeling emboldened with each step.

One of the guards, a woman by the name of Ripsaw who could transform parts of her body into chainsaws, glanced down at her with a scowl.

"What do you want, bra—"

"I'm going out," Taylor said.

The woman looked at her for a long second, the vestigial hints of a sneer on her face even as some small confusion was apparent. Ripsaw's eyes flickered back, as if to look for Lustrum or her mother, and at that moment Taylor took her first few steps forward and out of the Block.

“The fuck you going?”

"Do you really care?” Taylor retorted over her shoulder, continuing forwards. 

“If it gets me in trouble, then yes, I damn well do—hey, come back!"

Taylor was already deep into the no-mans-land between the Cell Blocks, and for all the Parahuman bravado, Ripsaw didn't follow. 

Without a power, she had nothing to really offer. But if there was anybody who could avert the inevitable battle between Cell Blocks then it was the one person that everyone that nobody dared to mess with.

The Faerie Queen.

Chapter Text

Taylor's first impression of the Faerie Queen was rather simple;

'She's small.'

The most feared woman in the Birdcage was floating upside-down in the middle of Cell Block A', blonde hair flowing as if she were underwater, face set in such utter serenity that she could easily be asleep.

And yet, green eyes opened up as Taylor stepped into the room.

She was almost surprised that half a dozen other Inmates hadn't leapt out to stop her. But there was nobody else here... or were they all in their cells, content, asleep, because their leader provided all they needed?

Taylor's bare feet were quiet against the concrete, ghostly figures orbiting around the suspended figure watched as she approached.

"As the distant courts sequester and prepare to march, something comes to find me."

The voice was countless, a multitude... and there was something familiar about it. There were tiny snippets of voices that she recognised, ones that she had not heard for years.

Green eyes opened to look down vaguely at her, but it was more as if they looked straight through her.

Taylor came to a stop a few paces away, eyes turned towards those of the young girl, barely older than herself, perhaps?

She had never seen somebody around her age, not in the flesh, at least.

For a long moment, they looked at one another... well, Taylor was pretty sure that the Faerie Queen looked through her, rather than at her. But she had gotten used to being underestimated, or being paid little notice.

It wasn't wholly unusual to be observed without being seen.

"Hello, your highness."

It seemed the polite thing to say, Taylor tried to curtsy, like her mother had once shown her. But of course, in her grey Inmates' robes, that didn't really work.

"The recognition of a still-born does not matter."

"Still-born?" she asked, confused, asking before she had paused to consider if she should ask it.

For a few moments, Taylor was unsure that the Faerie Queen had even heard her speak; was sure that the Inmate had said all that she intended to say. However, just as the pause became deafening, the Faerie Queen focused on her again, eyes meeting her own in a ceaseless stare.

The various spirits, or shades or whatever they were moved, floated and orientated around them. There were indistinct whispers Taylor could not hear or understand, but at once, she was powerfully reminded of many tales from her childhood; of Barrow-Wights in ancient cairns and whispering spirits in haunted houses.

"You are a robe too incomplete to become the role that was expected of you, a failed dream that was unsuitable to become real when the time came. Your existence is too simple, without expore to what lies beyond, you will never become real"

It stung. It hurt.

To hear that she couldn't be normal.

At least, that is what Taylor thought was being said.

"You could stop all of this?" she asked, hope blossoming. Surely, if Taylor could convince this woman to make a difference, then everything could be resolved!

Silence.

"I see no need to act. The faeries all desire to take up their arms, tired of waiting beneath this mountain; whom should presume to stop them? In the end, I will collect them all as they fall, until but a few or none remain."

Her hope, crushed, leaving only a cold, cruel hollowness. Why... why wouldn't she help, or make a difference? It didn't make sense, nothing made sense about all of this.

"... But I was supposed to get a power?" Taylor asked, and despite her efforts, her voice was quiet because... well, why hadn't she gotten it?

"The Faerie that you would serve waits anxiously; it has collected many allies upon the way. I see The Gaoler cling close, desperate for its construction to be saved and further improved upon. I see the Caroming Knight seeking the chance to be free, I see the Intellect Devourer constrained and desiring to reach new heights, and many more. I see potential... all wrapped up in a frame insufficient to wear such a role. A life not lived enough, a seedbed not yet ready for that flower to bloom."

Half of what the girl was saying was nonsense, or only made sense to her, but Taylor was utterly used to mad people at this point.

But always being regarded as useless.

Always just... sickeningly abnormal, never knowing the same abilities and powers as everyone else, always pathetic, always relying on others and a drain, a parasite---

Some dam within her broke.

"I get it. I'm not good enough!" Taylor interrupted. "So help me become good enough, then!"

The air was heavy, still. The whispering shades had all ceased in their orbiting the woman.

"... Were it not that we are both esteemed, or that I am esteemed and that your faerie pleads for aid, then I would strike you down."

"If you wanted to kill me, then you'd just do it. I know I have no worth, so it doesn't matter if I die asking you to do this."

Taylor stared into the void, and the void stared back.

Between the two of them, just a few metres of space loomed. Taylor rather thought that this must make for a rather grand farce, even as her heart hammered in her chest and her fist clenched at her side.

The Faerie Queen frowned.

It was the first true expression she had performed this entire time, and floating upside down as she was, it looked even more odd.

"If you truly wish to grow into your role, then you'll need to break and reform to fit it. I could give you the opportunity, shape and mold it," the Faerie Queen said. It was the first ray of hope in this entire conversation, and Taylor took a half step forward.

"Yes!---"

"In return, never shall you return to another cell block. You shall serve our court without reservation. You shall serve me, and me alone, without rest, until the day the armies of the faeries rouse and prepare for the last war."

She didn't know what that meant.

Nor did she need to!

Just so long as she could be normal, so long as she could have a power and could stop all this, something, anything to... to preserve her home.

"If that's what is needed."

"I will break you until you are ready for the role you need to fill," The Faerie Queen said, righting herself in the air for the first time. A hand extended, palm up, as if offering something forward. "Do we have an agreement?"

In countless stories, Taylor knew, the point of agreement was of no return... but what a lot of those stories also included was the fact that there was really no other choice in the matter. Between acceptance and rejection was survival and destruction. She wouldn't getto see her loved ones much, if ever again... but if it kept them safe---

"Y-Yes, yes, I agree."

The Faerie Queen smiled.

Taylor's world ended.

The cell blocks went to war, whether in imagination, a fancy, or perhaps in reality? Taylor didn't know, but she watched as her mother was pulled limb from limb, watched as everyone died, watched as the survivors starved.

She felt the growing cold as the systems died fully, as she shivered under a pile of blankets, hidden away in some abandoned cell block.

She felt some small part of her break in those moments---

"Again."

The same as before, but different.

Taylor lived an entire week in which, no matter what she did, her attempts to make people see sense went unheard. It seemed the truth that no matter what... all they really wanted to do was kill one another. Had they always been this way, were they all just monsters underneathe, waiting for the moment to rip off the facade to rip one another apart.

The survivors all slowly starved to death as their home failed them, even with fewer bodies, they began to eat each other with time---

"Again."

Taylor experienced it all, days of life in the fraction of a moment. This time, they suffocated over the course of a week, the air systems failed first and Taylor was left desperately gasping on the edge of life and death---

"Again."

But no matter what, all dreams of this situation went the same way, every little bright spark of hope she had to resolve it was snuffed.

No matter what, there was nothing she could do---

"Again."

Once more, different, horrifying, despairing. It was well and truly---

"Again."

Hopeless.

"Oh?"

...

...

Stars.

Chapter Text

2011

The incoming Site-Director for the Baumann Parahuman Containment Centre, Isabelle Carson, stood at the bank of video feeds and computers that monitored the place.

With one hand clasping the wrist of the other behind her back and in a suit just a little too crisp, she stood like a statue, a frown on her face.

"... Quite a place, isn't it?" the current Site-Director, Henrick, commented.

The man who had supervised the world's most famous and dangerous prison looked over the various screens tiredly, a contrast to the sharp, almost raptor-like focus of his companion.

"It's a lot more mundane than I had expected."

A hum in response.

"Most of the time there's no problems at all... the various block leaders keep things mostly in check, bar the occasional murder."

The statement was frankly casual, the admission that murder between inmates was simply something that occurred, as natural in the thinking of Henrick as water being wet or the sun rising in the morning.

From previous experience, people adapted to their work in odd ways, and this was just an example of that.

"I see." The response was stiff on her part. "Most of the parahumans I had working with me in Eagleton couldn't go five minutes without getting into a punch up over something they wanted."

"They handle a lot of their own problems by trading things, sometimes they send messengers to one another... it's a whole thing, we have an on-site researcher now who keeps track of all the relationships as best they can."

Yes.

She had met the man who was trying to use the scenario to study and observe human beings, and found him loathsome.

Carlson didn't like the notion; it was fundamentally dehumanising in the extreme to use human beings in this way... But the more she learned about this place, the more that word seemed to suit it.

She could tell herself that things would be better under her supervision... But she had also been around more than long enough in the PRT and its various structures to know that such things were easy to say, and harder to put into practice.

"I heard that they almost ended up killing one another once, though? Full riot?" she questioned, watching through the camera as Gavel, the famed vigilante, lounged on a sofa watching TV.

"Two-thousand and nine, yeah. I think we were a day or two away from complete system collapse," the harsh light of the screens made the lines on Henrick's face seem all the deeper as he grimaced. He was not a young man, but not so old that his face should be so creased.

"All because that man killed Dragon?"

It was insane to think that the death of just one person... well, machine, could have so many knock-on effects in the world.

"Yes... She was quite the woman. She basically held this place together," Henrick said, lips pressing into a thin, if grim smile. "I was glad to see the bastard get what he deserved, I testified at the trial and everything... we've got a memorial to her."

Carlson had seen the plaque and stand with various pictures and notes around it; for a site with a relatively small selection of staff, it seemed that the small memorial was well-tended.

Then again, it was only with the Artificial Intelligence's death that a lot of what she had been doing for the world had been revealed. Endbringer battle casualties were higher and recovery efforts were drastically hampered compared to how they had been before.

A cautionary tale about not giving too much power to computers, or a lesson in the importance of particular people keeping the world running?

Having spent a decade at Eagleton... well...

"... I've read the reports from that time," Carlson said, her gaze moved to focus on Block G, which contained the infamous String Theory. "It's amazing that things got sorted out."

"Surprised they let me keep the job a bit longer and retire without being fired," came the rather sardonic reply, the Site-Director rubbed at his clean-shaven chin as if puzzling over some incomprehensible puzzle. "Maybe I have a guardian angel somewhere, or they found somebody else to blame."

"None of it seemed your fault, sir."

Henrick shrugged, and sent her a slightly long look.

"We've both been in the game long enough to know that PR doesn't care much about fault... and the top brass have been keeping a much tighter eye on things here ever since Dragon died, so get used to them poking their noses in... they don't like the place not being fully under their control."

She remained quiet for a moment.

"... It's true, then?"

Henrick gave a sort of sardonic smile.

He leant forward and ran his hand over the keyboard before them, pressing down dozens of keys. On any normal computer, it should have probably done something, but instead nothing happened.

The screens did not alter whatsoever, no commands were issued.

"All internal functions of the Birdcage are controlled and maintained by Inmate 191... you had a chance to read her file?"

"Yes."

A moments pause.

"... Penny for your thoughts on the matter?"

"She doesn't sound like somebody easy to work with," was Carlson's frank assessment.

Said document was long, filled with assessments and transcripts of conversations.

"Yes, they made the mistake of having PRT officials speak with her instead of somebody who could actually speak to a traumatised kid, and got precisely the sort of responses they deserved," Henrick said.

"... You're quite cynical, sir."

"I've been supervisor over the Birdcage for over ten years, it's either cynicism or insanity," he said, and upon seeing her expression, chuckled. "Even with them passing that new act to try to make this place less morally compromised, it's still a hellhole. You'll get used to it."

'... Thanks, chief,' she thought.

Eagleton had been run like a military headquarters, with round-the-clock reporting on movements and advances, retreats and adaptations. She had come from an army background, so Eagleton was something she had grown to understand, the constant back and forth, the constant conflict with the Machine Army...

But now she was to take over a position where the majority of power was not in the hands of herself or any member of staff, but instead by one of the very people being contained.

In the silence, between them, Henrick checked his watch.

He clicked his tongue loudly.

"It's time for the daily call, so might as well get you both acquainted. C'mon."

She followed the man as he began to lead her through the Birdcage's administrative facility. Hidden away as it was, the majority of the place was built into the mountain above the prison itself.

Through corridors lit with harsh artificial lights they walked, until they reached a new room, in which there was only a solitary screen that showed static. A button was pressed on a control panel.

"Taylor?" Henrick called out.

A few moments later, the screen on the other end cleared up to show a girl around the age of Carson's own daughter, Melanie, although this child staring back at her had a gaze very different to that of her little angel. Dressed in an extensively modified grey inmate outfit, the child sat on a solid-looking chair or throne that seemed more to rise and merge from the floor than sit upon it.

She recognised the girl from the pictures, of course.

Inmate 191, Taylor Hebert.

Her official classifications listed her as a Shaker, but one with a good number of other categories attached to it.

Visible over the girl's shoulder was a pale shade, a ghostly figure of a man.

"... Director."

"Good morning, Taylor," Henrick said. "How are things looking today?"

"... Same as always. Minor repairs in Block Q, the new dental apparatus I've had constructed in Block M is getting its use," the girl said, voice monotonous as her eyes slid over to Carlson.

It was hard to describe the girl's expression. There was a weariness and guarded aspect to it, as if the girl was looking at something she did not necessarily hate, but distrusted and found distasteful.

"Who's this?" she asked, bluntly.

"This is the new Site-Director. When I leave, she'll take over."

"I'm Director Carlson. It's nice to meet you."

"Hello." A pause, as if the girl was working out what to say next. "I'm Taylor. You've probably heard of me already, it seems that the entire world has."

Indeed.

It had been the hottest news at one point, there had been inquests and questions, scandalous headlines and even a Senate hearing or two. Various sides had slung shit at one another, there had been calls for her release, legal discussions over the practicalities of her citizenship and who was responsible for the whole thing... all mired down in various bureaucratic and legal systems.

And in the end, all that sensationalism had settled down.

People still brought it up, of course.

Every few months, there would be a surge in comments or questions, only to die down again.

The death of Dragon and the knock on impacts of such had distracted everyone from that particular headline when it had been fresh and new. The woman's death caused the near failure of several Quarantine-Sites that she had been essential to monitoring. A month or two later, the Simurgh's attack on Madison was one of the worst on record due to a lack of effective coordination.

And now...

Inmate 191 was the one who maintained the very prison she lived in, essential to the Birdcage's operation in every way.

The warden and the prisoner.

"I'm going to grab some coffee," Henrick said, turning. "I'll leave you both to do introductions."

"..."

"..."

Carlson stared at the screen.

The girl and her faintly disapproving expression stared back.

Her child, Melanie, was such an inquisitive creature, always asking questions about things. Be it how her day was, how work was going (not that Carlson could comment on that, of course) or how something worked... her daughter was always filled with questions for her.

Taylor Hebert was not like her daughter, or any child she had seen before.

There were no awkward attempts to talk and get to know her, the child stared at her in a way that made her feel as if she were being X-Rayed.

"..."

"..."

"Do you mind me asking you something, Taylor?"

"You already have," the girl said, but shrugged. "Go on, I've got nothing better to do right now."

"I've read over your file," she paused for a moment to formulate her thoughts into words. "You've been offered a way out of the Birdcage three times now, and each time you've refused and used your power to prevent efforts to do so. Can you tell me why?"

The girl's expression shifted imperceptibly into something akin to contempt.

"I don't want to leave my home," her voice had hardened just a little. "I did everything I could to save it, I'm not getting dragged out of it just to be around the sort of people who killed Dragon and almost destroyed it."

"I see."

She left it there, there was so much she could say to that, but it was more important to try and start off on a good foot, rather than argue. There were further questions she wanted to ask, but ultimately, some battles didn't need to be fought. All the reports on the girl had made it obvious her thoughts on the outside world, but it was still quite something to see in person.

The fact that an eleven-year-old girl held the Birdcage utterly in her hands, and could stop attempts to put people in or take them out, had led to the current approach with her.

After a few more moments of silence, Carlson cleared her throat.

"... When I take over, I simply want to work together with you to best keep the Birdcage running, Taylor."

"Of course you do."

This was going to be a complicated working relationship, wasn't it?

Very well, she had dealt with troublesome Parahumans before... she would simply have to do her best to navigate this minefield.

Around and through Taylor, the Birdcage rumbled, clicked and moved.

Thousands of machines, devices, and parts all served to make this place work, to hold it together and resist both the ravages of time and the surrounding vacuum. The myriad of essential life support functions were operating properly, the lesser systems that helped to keep people happy like the televisions were the same.

Everything was working as it should...

Inmate 191, Taylor Hebert, sat with hands folded in her lap and eyes closed.

Her first meeting with the new Director had been tiring... not because it was long or overly involved, but simply because she didn't like talking to the various people who scrambled about on the surface outside her home.

Perhaps it wasn't fair because it wasn't like any of them had been the ones who killed Dragon... but she still held that bitterness close.

She wasn't even sure how necessary the outside even was any more. With her more recent alterations to the Birdcage's functions and machinery, she had made the place better and so more efficient.

With her ability to not only maintain, but also improve or alter her home, combined with the abilities of some individuals like Lab Rat, how long could she make this place self-sufficient? Briefly borrowing a fraction of their abilities went a long way to improving the quality of life here.

... She rather wanted to find out.

But another day.

In the two years since that nightmare, since she had been forced to confront myriad truths and experienced as many horrors, she had been slowly learning to push her abilities, to make improvements by increments. And if there was one truth to life in the Birdcage, it was that there was always an abundance of spare time to try out new things.

An indistinct whispering beside her ear.

There was always one of the Faerie Queen's spectres watching her, monitoring her.

Taylor didn't react to the phantasm, instead, she cast her senses through the Birdcage and its systems, glancing through a hundred video feeds and checking in on each Cell Block within moments.

There was nothing out of the ordinary and nobody acting out of turn.

Everything was as it should be.

She didn't sleep ('Noctis' had been a term used for her), so there was no reason for the Birdcage to not run under constant supervision.

As Dragon would have wanted it...

Dragon had been so good to all of them, Taylor could see that now. At any moment, she could have made their lives horrible, but she had taken such good care of them, only for everyone to spit on her.

With how quickly the place had turned to barbarism, it was clear to her now that this place needed a strong, merciless hand to keep it under control. With the removing of the delusions of childhood, having seen just how far people would go, it was her job to make sure that never happened again, to force people to be civilised in this place.

Taylor watched as, just as they did every week, her mother and father met along the connecting corridor between the men's and women's section of the Birdcage. Today they were joined by Lustrum and Marquis respectively, who exchanged their normal terse greetings... oh, and Big Bob as well? That was unusual, but occasionally, he came along, and it was always lovely to see the big guy.

Heh... it took her back to more innocent times, when she was still just the useless little girl nobody needed.

"Your highness, it is time for my weekly tea party, if I may?" Taylor asked aloud.

"Very well, I shall grant it."

The Faerie Queen was on the other end of the Cell Block, doing... something. It didn't matter exactly what, in the two years since that day, Taylor had gotten somewhat used to it all.

Living under the shadow of another... well, that had been the story of her life. Even if she had powers and was now normal like everyone else, it wasn't like being beneath another was unusual to her.

She hadn't set foot outside of Cell Block A in two years...

There was the constant pang and ache in her chest for her family, even if she could talk to them whenever she wanted through the Birdcage's systems. It wasn't the same, but separation was part of responsibility and growing up, right? Just as her parents had lived in separate blocks to give her the best protection, she now lived apart from them to best keep them safe and healthy.

In response to the Faerie Queen's statement, Taylor spoke:

"Thank you, your highness."

There wasn't a response.

Taylor rose from her chair and idly set to work, her power clearing a space near the entrance to the Block, raising chairs from the material of the floor to set things up as she wished.

This was the one time a week she had to spend time with her loved ones in person, so she needed to make it count. When her parents, Lustrum, Marquis and Big Bob all strode into Cell Block A, they paid their respects to the Faerie Queen before making their way over to Taylor.

She stepped forwards to do so, knowing to savour every moment of this brief weekly meeting.

"Hey everyone... I'm so glad to see you all," she said, smiling just a little and ushering them towards where she had set up the table and chairs.

For them, she'd make this place work.