Chapter Text
Flicker soared through open air faster than the eye could track, held aloft by forces unknown. A shock of red hair poked through the open top of her mask, blowing freely in the wind. She went into a dive to put falcons to shame, air roaring past her ears as she readied an earth-shattering flying kick. The action figure poked Liang -Presto now, she’d put her mask back on- in the cheek, prompting her to look up from the card trick she’d been practicing and give me a thoroughly unimpressed look. Undeterred, I brandished Flicker’s fist and booped her lightly on the nose.
Presto scrunched her nose up and pushed the much cooler superhero away, but she couldn’t hide her smile completely. “Am I gonna have to take that thing away from you?” She asked, trying very hard to sound serious and threatening.
“You’re just jealous that she can fly,” I taunted, holding up the miniaturized brute to demonstrate.
“Three things to keep in mind out there, tunnel girl. One: teleporting is way better than flying, anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you something. Two: being jealous of another cape’s powers is a waste of time, not least because they always have a catch.”
“Weren’t there supposed to be three?”
“People aren’t just going to tell you everything they know if they can help it, kid. Knowledge is power.”
“Is that the third thing or are you just messing with me?” I didn’t bother protesting that I was a year older than her at twenty-one, it would be a waste of breath.
“The third thing is that your little taunt doesn’t really work when you can’t fly either.”
“Never claimed that I wasn’t jealous, just that you were . All my best taunts bring people down to my level.”
She paused for a second, then rolled her eyes. We were sitting in the lobby outside the director’s office/meeting room in chairs that were more floral print than they were cushion. The secretary guarding the entrance had politely but firmly asked me to stop pacing, so I’d gotten Flicker out to pass the time and distract myself from my nervousness. The quality was better than I’d have expected, every detail of her black and grey armored bodysuit faithfully represented. The icon on her chest was crisp and clear, a simplified outline of her mask overlapping itself. Her mouth was set in a determined line under her visor.
“The director will see you now,” the secretary said, voice harsh over the intercom.
I scrambled to put Flicker back in my bag, my mind flipping through a hundred disaster scenarios like a fucked-up viewmaster. Laura gave me an encouraging smile as I settled my canvas book bag on one shoulder, patiently waiting for me to finish. I followed her past the secretary’s desk, twin panes of frosted glass looming like the broad side of a glacier. Presto hesitated before going in, hat held lightly in her hands.
“You ready?” she asked after a moment.
I nodded.
“Knock ‘em dead, Sepulcher,” she said with a grin and a wink.
I stared at her blankly for several seconds, caught between the half-formed thoughts and feelings that phrasing brought up and the idea that someone I’d had a crush on since high school just winked at me. The memories welling up nearly brought me to my knees, threatening to shatter the frail calm I’d managed to cobble together in the aftermath of my trigger. I shook my head vigorously, tapping into my thinker power for some perspective. Every sense seemed to sharpen, relevant details snapping into focus with uncanny speed and precision.
I noted the physical characteristics and estimated threat levels of every individual in the area, keeping in mind that I could walk through the walls of the building more or less freely. The tinker was the most dangerous, her teleportation abilities could prevent me from escaping before other assets were brought to bear. The soldier had no chance of catching me, but I was still vulnerable to the gun strapped to her hip. As a just-in-case measure, I sketched out their cones of vision by tracking their eye movements and extrapolating from my own, mentally collating potential escape routes based on my incomplete knowledge of the building and more limited knowledge of the greater area. There was no way to plan further without more information, so I reluctantly let go of my power.
Images of faces snarled in rage and hatred immediately started intruding on me, but this time I had the tools to temporarily wrestle them into submission and focus on the present. Laura lightly punched Presto in the shoulder, leaning in to whisper something in a harsh tone. The levity drained out of Liang’s face like it had never been, leaving her looking pensive and uncertain. Her hat was held loosely in her right hand, while her left rubbed the back of her neck.
“Aw shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying to riff off your name,” she said, sounding sincerely upset. She seemed to struggle with herself for a few moments before letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry. Sometimes my mouth moves faster than my brain, especially when I’m trying to be clever.”
“The apology is very much appreciated,” I said, honestly finding the situation more surreal than upsetting. “But it’s a pretty common phrasing, and I’ve been guilty of the very same sort of thing in the past. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that we’re good.”
“Glad to hear it. Since we’re good and all, may I add that you’re drop-dead gorgeous?”
I stared at her incredulously for a few seconds before blushing furiously and breaking into laughter in that order.
“Quit screwing around you two, the Director is waiting on us,” said Laura, exasperated without being really upset. With that she slid the frosted doors of the office aside, giving us a full view of the interior. Most of the light was provided by a single large window replacing what would normally be the back wall, backlighting a solidly built -and currently unoccupied- wooden desk stacked with papers. The room was dominated by a compact conference table set on a slightly lower level, no less than five nationally famous individuals sitting around it.
The two sitting closest to me were Snubnose and Gasconade, the former actually outside of her trademark powered armor for once. Gasconade sort of hurt to look at, his body was a vaguely human-shaped collage of two-dimensional abstract drawings. The costume he wore over it was simple and could have passed as normal clothes on someone else, a take on the classic private eye outfit in earthy colors. At the head of the table directly opposite me was Director Kiyana Moore. She was black, her hair coiled into braids tied back into a loose ponytail, and something about the way she held herself gave her a presence to match anyone else in the room. Sitting at her right was Mesh, visor focused on his laptop as he typed something out. On her left was Bullrush, her costume an interesting mixture of sleek aerodynamic combat armor and geometric paneling that gave her an almost low-poly look. She wore a full face mask with a build and profile reminiscent of a motorcycle helmet, molded on the sides to suggest horns. I’d almost missed the sharply dressed blonde man standing behind the director, clipboard in hand.
Mesh was the first to notice us, turning to give a small smile nearly the instant the door started opening. Bullrush was inscrutable, her helmeted face locking on me just a second longer than the others. The director surprised me by getting up from her chair with a broad smile and coming right to me.
“Sepulcher,” she said, offering a hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. Playback had a lot to say in his report.”
“Good things, I hope,” I joked feebly, taking it. She gave Presto a curious look, but her handshake was textbook and her attention was back on me a second later.
“Mostly,” Bullrush cut in, her conversational tone at odds with the terse statement. I could practically feel Presto’s hackles rising behind me. Over the last hour I’d gotten used to the minuscule shifts in positioning and how she held her weight that characterized her, making her sudden stillness as notable as it was alarming. I resisted the urge to keep my eye on her, instead turning to address the source of her ire.
“Could you elaborate on that?” I asked, unable to hide my nervousness. Was she upset with me? Was I in trouble? Did I do something wrong? The director hadn’t seemed angry, but maybe she just didn’t know whatever it was and I’d just been thrown under the bus.
“Let’s table that for now,” the Director said, her voice calm but firm. “Why don’t we all introduce ourselves? My name is Kiyana Moore, I’m the director of the Seattle branch of the PRT.” She turned to the blonde man with the clipboard who’d followed behind her. “This is Assistant Director Matthews, among other duties he’ll be acting as the PRT’s primary representative during missions.”
“They call me Snubnose, heroine extraordinaire!” said Snubnose loudly, standing up and letting out a few antigravity sparks from her fingertips. At full height the top of her head would just barely reach my chin. It bothered me, but it was a bother I’d gotten used to. She elbowed Mesh, prompting an indecipherable look from him. To my shock, he pressed something on the side of his visor to make it retract. With his full face visible I could tell he was Native American, and that his entire face was etched with what looked like tron lines leading to various augmentations in his eyes and other senses.
“I’m Kiyiya,” he said simply, giving me a small smile. I returned it, relieved somewhat by the show of trust.
“It’s good to meet you, Kiyiya. I’m Carmilla,” I said, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables of his name. I’d need to figure out how to pronounce it correctly.
“Oh, you meant our actual names,” Snubnose said, taking off her mask. She was Asian, with a broad face to match her stocky build. “It’s Zoe. Carmilla’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks!” I said, “I picked it myself.”
I heard Presto snort behind me.
“Jaager Charles,” Gasconade spoke up, voice surprisingly normal and surprisingly hesitant. I tried to meet his gaze. “It’s my name, or at least it used to be. Glad to have you aboard.”
I offered a hand to shake, but he actually backed away from it. I gave him a perplexed look.
“Careful,” he said, head turned towards me. “My power affects anything I interact with, can’t turn it off.”
“Is it harmful?” I asked, a little disturbed.
He was silent for a few seconds. “Nah, just inconvenient. You get reset to how you were before I touched you after thirty seconds.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. Do memories get reset?”
He shook his head.
“Neat. That offer of a handshake is still open, if you’re interested.”
He was. We were both hesitant, and his hand felt strangely smooth and cold, but he seemed to appreciate the gesture. I didn’t feel anything to suggest the power taking hold, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
“Please, take a seat,” the Director said, gesturing to the chair next to me as she returned to her own. I did so, setting down my bag and taking off my mask with the reasoning that they’d figure out I was trans soon enough if they hadn’t already. I noted the way Bullrush held herself as she kept her gaze on me and occasionally on Presto. There was a tension in her shoulders, a distinctly stubborn cast to how her arms were folded. Presto sat down on my left, very deliberately meeting her stare for stare. Laura put a hand on her shoulder, briefly whispering something before sitting on my right and beginning a quiet conversation with Gasconade. Or, no, Jaager.
“Now that everyone’s settled,” Bullrush said, leaning forward with her hands on the table. Her voice was quiet, but each word was delivered with the sharpness and finality of nails being driven into a coffin. “Would you mind explaining what the fuck you were thinking, Sepulcher? You used dangerous, completely untested powers on delicate equipment in full view of the public. What if you’d lost control again? What if there’d been an adverse reaction with one of our security systems?”
I wanted to argue, to push back, but I’d already come to a similar conclusion. The realization was a leaden weight in my stomach, bringing me down until it took deliberate, conscious effort not to literally sink into the floor. She might have thought I was mocking her or something and I’d fucked this up enough already. What could I say to convince her it won’t happen again?
“Well?” she asked, when I didn’t answer immediately.
I found myself paralyzed, every possible response too risky. My mouth opened up, but no words came out. The next thing I knew, I was standing up again and had my arm out as if shaking hands with the air.
“What the fuck?” I practically squeaked, prompting a tension-breaking chorus of chuckles from the room. A second later I realized the obvious, Gasconade’s power had just reset me to the moment before I’d touched him. It still took me a bit to get my bearings, and by the time I made my way back to my chair I’d flushed all the way to my hairline. Presto surprised me by pulling it out as I approached, smiling encouragingly despite her obviously foul mood.
My eyes searched the oblong table as I sat down, and when that failed I leaned toward her and whispered. “Have you seen my mask?”
Her face softened a little with amusement. “You’re wearing it, dingus.”
“Oh, right.” I took it off again, feeling less certain of that decision as I faced down Bullrush again.
“You gonna answer the question?” she asked, impatient.
I gave an annoyed huff. “I was thinking . I’m just trying to figure out how to articulate my response, okay? Could you quit with the pushiness? It’s really not helping.”
For a moment it seemed like Bullrush was gonna get into it again, but a look from the Director made her swallow whatever she had to say and sit back again with her arms folded.
Presto piped up, apparently unable to hold herself back any longer. “Could you stop being-” she cut herself off, calming down with visible effort. “Bullrush, could you just drop it? I talked to her about it, she gets why it was risky and she knows not to do it again. What else is there to say?”
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that she’s demonstrated the ability to twist this entire building into a deathtrap in minutes?” Bullrush countered, gesturing at me.
Presto leaned forward in her chair, looking about five seconds from climbing onto the table and punching her partner in crime-fighting in the face.“Could you have some tact for once in your fucking life? She’s been through a lot. And this is coming from me, of all people. That should have you worried.”
I really didn’t like where this was going. “Hey guys, could we take it down a notch? I don’t think this is worth getting into a big fight over. Bullrush, I’m sorry I messed with the building. It was just the first idea that occurred to me to get away from the crowds, and I knew from practicing with my power that as long as I don’t change anything it puts stuff back exactly how it was before I passed through. Although I admit I do sometimes change stuff unintentionally. Anyway, I promise I won’t do something like that again, at least outside of an emergency or testing or whatever.”
Bullrush regarded me silently for a few moments, thoughts completely concealed by her costume. Then she reached up and pulled off her helmet, shaking a blonde bob cut back into place. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t seem as stern as before either. “Beth Rawling. Welcome to the team, Carmilla. I look forward to seeing what you can do.”
I nodded sharply, mirroring her terse demeanor. Presto was uncharacteristically silent, her expression unreadable. I wanted to help her out of the funk the argument had put her in, but it was hard to judge the right action having only known her a couple of hours. After a few moments thought I took out my notebook, flipped to my initial designs for armor and costume and placed it between us. She quirked an eyebrow at me, looking briefly amused at the rough drawings before suddenly leaning in with more interest. The Director cleared her throat, instantly getting the attention of everyone in the room save Presto.
“Let’s get down to business,” she said, prompting a chorus of nods from the room. “Mesh, I’ve approved your proposal for a series of patrols deeper into Westlake territory.”
He nodded, not seeming surprised or relieved in the least. “I’m open to suggestions on team composition. We’ll need to be mobile if we want to avoid getting penned in.”
A fast-paced discussion opened up, terms and jargon I struggled to keep up with casually thrown back and forth. Everyone -with the surprising exception of Presto- seemed to have something to say on the matter, and I found myself with a sinking pit in my stomach as I realized just how much I had to learn. I took a pencil from my bag and retrieved my notebook. Presto had torn out and arranged a number of pages around her, and was furiously scribbling notes in the margins.
I did my best to follow along, writing down terms and names I wasn’t familiar with so I could look them up later. There was an undercurrent of worry behind the professionalism and experience they were trying to convey. The Bastards had been around for a long time, and they only seemed to get more entrenched each year. How effective would this new effort really be? Their new leader Brimstone was, if anything, even more of a pain in the ass than Moondancer had been. She’d started having her unpowered enforcers trained in firearms and small squad tactics, making them that much harder to deal with.
Eventually the consensus fell on Mesh bringing Halcyon and Bolster along with him and he took his leave. There were a few more discussions on the specifics of patrol assignments, but it didn’t take long before the only ones left in the room besides the Director and her assistant were Laura, Presto, and I.
“Presto,” said Director Moore, in a tone not entirely unlike a disappointed parent. “I seem to recall that you were going to be investigating the latest reports on ‘Dr. Mantis’ today, not bothering our newest recruit.”
“Someone’s in trooouble,” taunted Laura. The Director only looked at her, but she instantly became formal and contrite. “I’ll be quiet, ma’am.”
“I had Music Box cover for me,” Presto drawled, seemingly unconcerned with her boss’ ire.
“She killed six people in a public rampage, including a former lover. You can’t just blow this off for the sake of one of your pranks,” the Director said, meeting her stare for stare.
“If it’s okay,” I said hesitantly, addressing the Director. “Presto’s actually been really helpful. I’m glad she decided to greet me and Laura.”
“Your input is always welcome, Sepulcher,” she responded, voice gentle. “But Presto is our only cape with the full set of skills needed to address this case, at least if we want to catch the individual responsible before she kills again.”
I nodded.
“Fine, fine, I’m going,” Presto said, rolling her eyes. “But for the record, Music Box is perfectly capable of handling it on his own. I trust him.”
She pushed the papers she’d written all over back to me with an encouraging smile. Then she winked and disappeared in a puff of smoke. I leaned in to see what the damage was, half expecting an elaborate joke at my expense or unflattering drawings of everyone in the room. The primary idea behind my costume was ‘plate armor, but more’, larger plates transitioning to finer plates at the joints; no weak-points that had to be shored up with chain mail or thick layers of cloth. Presto had expanded on the basic concept, sketching out designs for fine mechanisms in the gauntlets that could hug my fingers as closely as thin leather gloves and still open up if I needed to use my hands. There were less developed drawings outlining an elegant temperature regulating system and suggestions for the overall aesthetic. There was a longer note on the back of the page with my initial costume designs on it.
’PR should be fine with name and costume once they’ve talked to you and realize you ain’t going for the edgy anti-hero persona. Purple/gold fits, don’t go too crazy on the maze thing. Remember people need to draw you for the games and comics or whatever. They’ll like the mystical aesthetic, they’ve been pushing for it recently to contrast with all the futuristic tinker teams. They won’t like the spikes and scary death labyrinths, sorry to say. The armor’s great, it’ll look properly heroic once it’s all polished up. Keep being you Sepulcher, I think you’re gonna be one of the good ones.’
The Director cleared her throat again and I jumped a little in my seat, scrambling to push the papers away and look like I was paying attention. My face felt like it was on fire, but she only smiled genially at me.
She took a paper from her assistant, reading off it in a practiced way. “You’ve got a full day ahead of you, Sepulcher. First you’ll need to visit security to get keyed into the system, then you’ll have your initial psychological and medical examinations to guide the process from there. Generally that’s followed up with an assessment of your physical fitness and coordination, and after that we’ll start the process of power testing. If we’re able to complete the testing before the day is over you’ll have a combat readiness assessment to determine what sort of training you’ll need to get up to par. Whatever time is left over will be spent on your first meeting with PR, which should at least get you a few ideas to think over for your costume and tactics. Any questions?”
I stared at her, not even sure where to begin. That was a lot, and a lot of it was hard stuff like meeting a bunch of new people in quick succession or performing a task while people in lab coats were watching me and writing stuff down. “Could I get that list written down? If that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay,” she said, getting up from her seat and handing me the paper she was reading off of. Then after a moment’s thought she pulled a fancy looking cellphone out of her pocket, handing it over to me too. “Might as well give you this, since I’m already standing up.”
“Oooh,” cooed Laura, leaning over to take a look. “Those are tinkertech, you know. Us PRT grunts don’t get to play around with toys that fancy.”
The Director ignored her, continuing to talk. “When you first turn it on, all you need to do is place your thumb on the box to get your print scanned in. After that you just need to touch the screen to log in.”
I did so, turning the screen so she could see.
“Good,” she said, nodding and starting to make her way back to her chair. “Any concerns about the scheduling or testing? We’re happy to accommodate any special needs you might have.”
I thought about it. “It’s only one day, right? I think I’ll be fine.”
-||-
My face collided with the unfamiliar bed with a satisfying thump, followed up by a quiet but passionately miserable groan. Six hours after the meeting with the Director I’d finally -finally!- gotten a chance to see my new room. Although ‘see’ wasn’t really the right term, more ‘briefly glimpse before collapsing on the bed without even taking off my jacket.’
An indeterminable amount of time later I was roused from my slumber by a crystal clear knock on the door. Grumbling profusely, I stumbled out of bed and snatched my glasses from off of the floor. Then I used my power to remove the heavy bar keeping the door closed, undid the latches near the top and bottom, unchained it, and finally unlocked the perfectly ordinary doorknob. There was a steady tapping on the floor outside the door that stopped as soon as I opened it. It was Presto, striving to look relaxed as she greeted me with a smile and wave.
“You know I could just teleport in there, right?” she observed, eyeing the hasty protections I’d added before conking out.
I glowered at her, just barely stopping myself from growling. “My room is off limits. If I get so much as a hint of someone breaking in I’m gonna start hiding traps in it. I’m dead fucking serious about this, Liang.”
She blinked, looking a little taken aback. “I ain’t gonna mess with your room Carmilla, that was supposed to be a joke. I swear I’m not trying to be an asshole, I ain’t got much practice at...” She gestured vaguely.
“Apologizing?” I suggested.
Liang chuckled. “I was gonna say being nice, but that works too. The therapists would probably say I got issues with feeling vulnerable or something. Anyway. I’m sorry for the scare earlier, by the way. Laura made it clear how stupid I was being afterwards.”
“She worried about setting off the unstable parahuman?” I asked, shooting for a joking tone and landing somewhere bitter and cold instead. I sighed, shaking my head to try and banish that train of thought. “That came out wrong. I accept your apology under the condition that you don’t jump scare me again, in person or otherwise. And that you tell me what you want already. I have some very important sleeping to do.”
She grinned, holding up her hands in surrender. “I accept your terms, oh Lady of Traps and Tunnels. Your domain shall henceforth be sacrosanct, your person unfrightened, and if you let me know something I’m doing is bothering you I’ll stop. I promise.”
“Dorky, but acceptable to her ladyship. Although you haven’t answered my question yet.”
She cleared her throat, looking more out of sorts than I’d ever seen her. “I came here because I wanted to invite you on an off the books patrol slash scouting mission. It’s not obligatory or anything, I was just thinking I could show you around town and later we maybe possibly bag a few low-level crooks. Or we could just practice rooftop running if you wanted, your power seems good for that sort of thing. And like I said you don’t have to go if you don’t feel like it. Yeah.”
“Uh,” I said eloquently, eyes searching the small lounge behind her. “What time is it?”
Presto looked amused, but she answered promptly. “Eight fifty-four. You’ll probably be able to sleep in tomorrow, depending on whether they need to redo any of the tests or get more medical scans.”
I made a face like I’d bitten into an unripe fruit. “More tests. I better not have to do anymore shuttle runs, they’re hell on my knees. Although I guess my new fitness training thing is gonna have a lot of running anyway, so… fuck I guess.”
She snorted. “It’s not so bad, once you get into a routine.”
I nodded reluctantly. “I hope so. Could I think about the thing you asked? I’d need some time to get ready anyway.”
Presto smiled. “Of course, but you only got like twenty minutes before I need to run. I’ll be waiting on the couch when you’re ready.”
“Twenty minutes, got it. I’ll see what I can do.” I smiled back before closing the door and flipping the lights on, surveying my available resources. I’d been asleep for over two hours and I hadn’t exactly been in a state of mind to tidy up before my impromptu nap, so things were a bit of a mess. It didn’t help that there was no furniture aside from the bed and a barebones writing desk. I sighed, rummaging through the pile of assorted costume pieces PR had given me, looking for something protective but suitably -heh- feminine.
I went through what must have been a dozen different sets of tights before finding a decently armored bodysuit. It was padded to reduce impacts -and emphasize a heroine’s most cherished qualities- without interfering with movement. Pulling it on was more of a struggle than I’d anticipated, but after some improvised aerobics I managed to zip the back the rest of the way up. It covered everything up to the neck except for the feet and hands, but it was surprisingly breathable.
Pairs of gloves and boots were selected based on their sturdiness and fit, easy to extrapolate with my power. Once I was suited up I closed my eyes, trying to focus every fiber of my attention on my power. Tendrils emerged from the floor around me, snaking around to encase me in rough edged grey-black metal from the toes of my boots upward. Each piece connected to the one below, supporting each other and partially transferring their weight to the ground. The design was simpler than the armor I’d planned, there wasn’t enough time to make all the fine mechanisms it would require. I focused on functionality, protecting my most vital areas, and trying to compensate for the low quality of the iron my power created. I added a mask to my helmet like the one I’d drawn out, a smiling woman’s face in polished metal.
As a final touch I tossed on a generic purple cloak, the right shape but with no patterns or colors besides the base. I looked in the bathroom mirror, briefly struggling to connect the person I saw with me. The overall effect was way edgier than I’d initially intended, but for the first time I was starting to feel like a real, actual cape.
You can do this Sepulcher, I thought. I opened the door.