Valentine's Day

Alec Merceau/ Regent

February 14th, 2011

“It starts on Valentine’s day,” I clarify, not looking up from my luggage as I zip it closed. “I’ve been telling you that for weeks now Alexi, how the fuck do you keep forgetting?”

There isn’t any heat to my voice, there never is, but Alexi catches on to my annoyance all the same, his feet shuffling as I straighten up, popping my spine as I look around the now spartan room. This condo used to be mine, well, it’s still gonna be mine until February’s end, but I’m not going to be living here after today. 

“I’m sorry,” Alexi apologizes, the slight russian gruff of his accent at a mismatch with his words. That might be stereotypical of me, that anyone with that kind of accent has to be tough as nails and scary but Alexi is really pushing the envelope to defy my preconceived notions.

I swear, I’ve been working with the Blaster for the better part of a year now but he’s still just as afraid of everything as he’s always been. I grab at the handle of my luggage, clicking the button in the center and extending it so that I can roll it better. 

I turn to face the latest Undersider and brush my hair away from my eyes, blinking them open as I rake my eyes over the older teen.

Alexi Novokov, otherwise known in costume as the especially lethal Crucible, isn’t really much to write home about. His eyes are a bit too small and close together to give any flattering adjective too, coupled with his overly long face… it feels wrong to say but if I’m being honest, he’s actually kinda ugly.

I know objectively that’s pretty damn mean of me to even think about but there’s too much going on today for me to give a damn.

Today’s the day, the day my territory, the Markets, stop being mine. Tomorrow, they’ll be the teen in front of me’s responsibility. He can handle it, Crucible might be the newest member of the team but he hasn’t been one to shy away from killing, Lisa thinks it’s  probably got something to do with his power, how his non lethal options can be counted on one hand and his main avenue of defense has killed all the remaining Echidna clones and plenty of the Gesselschaft idiots.

He’ll do a good job keeping people in line, he isn’t me, he doesn’t hold the keys to the Nine’s former best Shaker, but turning people into ash statues with a glance isn’t anything to sneeze at,

“It’s fine Alexi,” I tell him, looking away from the slightly taller cape to really soak in the now barren room. There’s nothing left in here, no bed, no shelves, nothing at all except the four walls, roof, and the ceiling. “I get it, you’re bummed I’m not going to be able to hold your hand anymore but trust me man—” I step closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “there isn’t much to do these days, just collect the reports, look scary, turn a guy to ash if he tries to get too chummy too quickly, y’know, the shit I’ve been training you for the past month.”

I say training but that’s a load of shit, truthfully I’ve just been saddling the newbie with all the shit I haven’t felt like doing. Again, maybe I should feel guilty about that but I’d be betting good money the others are doing the same with their underlings. Rachel’s probably running GG and G ragged, Taylor’s definitely got Vex and Chariot playing leader, Brian has to be forcing his sister and her girlfriend to actually do their jobs, and there’s no way in hell Lisa hasn’t pushed her duties on Parian and Foil.

For the final time, maybe that’s not setting the best example for our underlings but I honestly couldn’t give less of a shit. After all the crap that’s happened last year, we deserve to put the weight on someone else for once.

“Of course Mr. Regent,” Alexi says, standing at attention as I try not to cringe. Why the hell does he call me that? ‘Mr. Regent’ sounds so stupid. “There’s a car already waiting for you…” his gray eyes dart to the woman standing in the corner of the room. “I trust you won’t be needing a bodyguard sir?” 

Despite the dozens of people I’ve seen him personally wipe off the face of the planet, Alexi has never gotten used to my thrall. That might be a good thing for his moral character but as a villain it’s just annoying as hell.

“No,” I make Shatterbird say, forcing a smile on her face as Alexi turns his head to stare at the silicakinetic, doing a great job of hiding his gulp as I have her walk over. “I won’t be needing that.”

The rage that used to constantly bubble beneath the surface has dulled into a barely there simmer since last August. I think it’s because she’s finally come to terms with her situation, Jack isn’t coming for her, the Protectorate won’t do shit for a monster like her, this bird has been caged and she’ll never be free again.

“Well,” I tell Alexi, getting his attention and feeling a bit of amusement in my chest as his breath catches. “I’m heading out, feel free to decorate the place. It’s yours now.”

Alexi doesn’t answer verbally, if he doesn’t have to, he never will. He just clears the way for me as I head for the door, an unmasked Shatterbird at my heels as I step out into the small hallway, the only other door on this floor leading to the elevator.

“A whole new place,” I say, mostly to myself. “You didn’t come with me last time, but it’s pretty damn nice, swanky I mean. Marble countertops, multi thousand dollar furniture, a perfect view of the city, it’s great.”

I snap my fingers as we step into the Elevator, a faux look of regretful realization lighting up my face as I make Shatterbird hit the ground floor button.

“Oh shoot, just realized, there’s a soundproof room there too. Aw damn, I think it’s in my range as well, you’ll still be in my control every second I’m awake and every second I’m not you’ll have no chance to get out.”

I lay on the fake sympathy pretty thick and I’m rewarded with the spike of anger in my thrall. Shatterbird hates when I mock her but this kind of mocking specifically really gets her pissed, the stuff that reminds her how fucked she is in a backhanded way.

The elevator dings as the floors go by and a small smile works its way on my face. Fuck, there’s gotta be something in the water to make me grin like this, the little thing’s probably big enough for some rando on the sidewalk to point out.

I’d like to blame the grin on making fun of my prisoner, and while that’s pretty damn fun most days, I can’t deny it’s definitely not the reason. The doors open and I step out into the chill of the New England winter, making Shatterbird zip up my coat but leave hers wide open, the wind biting at the skin of her neck and enjoying how pissed she’s getting.

True to Alexi’s word, a limousine is parked right at the door, the nameless chauffeur nodding his head at me as I let Shatterbird gasp, her power scanning the car and the miniscule grains of debris searching the vehicle’s interior and internals. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I step into the back, tempted to put Shatterbird in the trunk before I think better of it.

Buckled in, we pull into the main road and join traffic on the way to Medhall tower. 

I’m sure it’s got a different name now, especially given that we own the damn building, but it’s always going to be Medhall tower to the locals. Hell, the giant ‘M’ logo might be gone but it left the underside less faded than the surrounding brickwork. 

But it isn’t Medhall’s anymore, nope, the pharmaceutical company had to sell off the prime real estate when their ceo was revealed to be fuck buddies with Gesselschaft. It’s ours now, most of the floors have been renovated into living spaces and the secret nazi parking garage under the building has been retrofitted into a shelter for Bitch’s dogs.

And while that shit’s great, especially for Rachel, the crown jewel of our efforts has to be the top three floors, the former offices and boardrooms combined or knocked down until the floor plan became a luxury penthouse. A penthouse that’s gonna be fucking spectacular for The Undersider’s old guard, the five of us living together like back in the loft.

Well, it’ll probably be better than that even. Most of the time it was only me and Lisa in the loft and she spent almost half of the week in one of her apartments. But now? Well, now… we’ll probably be living with each other full time.

Brian is Grue nearly full time, the custody of his sister secure in the fact that he punched out Alexandria last July. With Coil dead as a doorknob, Lisa has no reason to sleep in so many different places, Rachel’s shelter is in the same building, and… well, the less said about Taylor and Danny’s falling out, the better.

I lick my lips as I stare out the window, watching the somehow still slightly waterlogged streets pass me by as my mouth gets dry. 

Moving in together means a lot of things.

To the Undersiders as a whole, it’s a symbol of our strength and unity, the former base of one of our biggest enemies now acting as our own headquarters. It’s the start of something new, I’m not nearly hopeful enough to say it’s the start of an ‘era of peace’ or some shit but after all the crap we’ve been through, maybe it’s about time we got some fucking peace.

I mean seriously, just looking out the window you can see a functioning fucking timeline of the hell Brockton Bay’s endured. The pockmarks in the ground that look like the rain turned to acid? That was probably one of Bakuda’s bombs. The edge of the building that looks a bit too sharp, that’s definitely a leftover from the old metal emperor. The still ridiculous amount of salt water in the streets and the dozens of cranes rebuilding stuff? I don’t think I have to mention the lizard who did that.

And that’s only three things, but they came back to back to back and they just never seemed to stop coming. After Leviathan came the Nine, after the Nine was Coil and his stupid shit, after him was his pet monster in the basement and the clones she threw up, and before we were ready (which is a segue I could use anywhere when talking about mid to late 2011) came the bottomfeeders from Boston looking to take a piece from us.

The Butcher was quicker work than we were expecting but after The Ambassadors cried out in anger (and Lisa put a slug in their leader) the Nazis from overseas decided to take a stab at us. It’s a long fucking story that I hate telling but the important bit is that it’s finally fucking over.

It’s been four months now, four months of relative quiet, and the little skirmishes between us and Blasto are a fucking cakewalk compared to everything else. 

And in those four months, we’ve been allowed to breathe, allowed to decompress and, while I certainly haven’t been one to partake in it, I know the others have given themselves the chance to cry. 

They needed it, after so long of being the terrifying warlords of the Bay, it’s a good thing for Brian and Taylor especially to just take a load off for once. Well, as much of a load off as Brian is willing to take I suppose, last I checked in with him, he was tracking down the last bits of Victor, probably hoping to give the skill vampire a taste of his own medicine.

Maybe I could help him out with that some time this month, skilled or not, it’s hard for anyone to hide from me in a city of glass. Eh, maybe not actually, that sounds like work talk and I’ve got a reputation to keep as the lazy Undersider, if Bri asks me to, I’ll string him along for a weekish before joining the search.

I don’t get why he wants Victor’s powers anyway, I mean, he picked up plenty the last time we had him captured, does he just plan on picking up a few more talents? I shake my head as the graffiti blurs by, the skulls of Grue and bugs of Skitter are mostly painted over swastikas but there’s still plenty of fresh hate symbols.

Back then, Victor had the backing of the Empir—, sorry, he had the backing of ‘Fenrir’s Chosen’, if Brian had drained him dry then, Hookwolf would’ve been out for blood. And back then, when it was just six Undersiders under a time crunch, he probably would’ve gutted a few of us.

I chuckle to myself. ‘Fenrir’s Chosen’, for such a macho idiot, Hookwolf really had a knack for sounding like a bad taste larper. At least we don’t have to deal with his bullshit anymore, he left with the Nine last June and I doubt Jack will bring his crew around to get their ass kicked twice.

Still, even with the parahumans gone, there’s plenty of hate groups trying to form, rise out of the ashes of the three we’ve burned and ‘keep up the good fight’. You can get the Empire out of Brockton but you can never get Brockton out of the Empire I suppose.

I remember last week Brian was pretty pissed that the so-called “Confederate Hope” group didn’t actually have Crusader or Victor in their ranks, just two look-alikes that didn’t understand what it meant to impersonate a cape.

The blood was still dripping from my former leader’s hands as he walked into my place, angrily pacing the whole time. I shake my head at the memory, what is with him and being a workaholic? Chances are, when he actually has Victor, has the guy too unskilled to write his own name, Brian will just use those new skills as a key to unlock even more work.

Maybe that’s too cynical, the darkness generator might have a stick up his ass when he’s got the biker leathers on but I doubt his new position will let him work himself ragged. 

I huff as the limo makes one of the last turns, we've actually made it. There's the bottom floor of gangs, the no power cannon fodder, the gophers, dealers, and muscle and maybe a parahuman or two if the gang’s big enough.

Most gangs die right here, the bigger fish trampling them without pausing to smell the corpses. But after a few months of that, with more people joining, another layer forms, the parahumans and head organizers, using a bad example, this is where people like Mush or Stormtiger reside, the first genuine show of power.

Above that you have people like Krieg or Hookwolf, not quite the head honchos but with enough pull in the organization that their word is respected throughout. I guess the closest we have to that is Parian or Imp, the capes we’ve had for a while but not the original members.

And then, right at the top, when the gang’s gotten so big that it starts to resemble a pyramid scheme, you have the leader. Well, in our case it’s more like leaders.

Used to be it was mainly Grue in charge but after all the shit we dealt with following Leviathan, he had to step away from the head of things, letting Skitter become the face of us. Taylor took to it like a duck to water. For a girl who used to strive for heroism, she got really good at scaring the shit out of people with a ruthless brutality that despite her precision, always looked like a sledgehammer. She was always the first and last to speak, rarely starting fights but always taking a bit too much back to call it an eye for an eye. Or rather, they would take a metaphorical eye and she’d pluck an actual one.

But like the leader before her, the weight became way too damn much. The former director, some numbnuts named Tagg nearly blew her identity, somehow leveraged the queen Brute herself to show up in the Bay, probably taking as many favors to bring her here as it did keeping the Triumvirate out when Echidna showed up.

Alexandria lied to Taylor’s face, said we’d been dead for hours, that there was no way out for her. The way she tells it, it sounds like the bitch was trying to force her to attack, as if Taylor could realistically do anything to hurt her.

But then the shadows moved and Brian walked in, taking off a PRT Trooper’s helmet and beating Alexandria within an inch of her life. 

After that, we’ve been sorta co-leading I suppose. The increased workload’s been a pain but that’s been stymied when I really put it into perspective. Mainly that, fuck, Taylor was dealing with all of this shit times five for a good two months.

And sure, I’ve got less time for the shit I like doing, and unlike my own territory, not everything I have to deal with is in my range. It’s made me put my costume on more in the past four months than I ever have in my life but I’m okay with it. The past third of the year has gone by quietly and I can’t be happier about it. 

I lean my head away from the window and look at Shatterbird, at the scars criss crossing the skin I can see.

She’s been doing a lot to make people fear me, shredding any who try to claim my territory, shielding me from the more cunning idiots, the former herald of the Nine is as much a symbol for me as my own mask is.

“Would it lift your spirits if I said you’re not going to be alone for much longer?” 

I force Shatterbird to tilt her ear to me, controlling even her smallest actions makes the anger in her spike but I don’t care, she doesn’t deserve any autonomy. 

“Yeah I’m serious,” I tell her, “That Brute the Gesselschaft brought over, Ubermensch or something like that, he’s downstairs in Medhall Tower.”

“How’d you get past his power?” I force Shatterbird to ask, feeling her lips twitch ever so slightly. I look away from her and hide my own smirk. The way she lit up just now, she thinks she did that.

“Well his whole thing is being a discount Hatchet Face right? The whole ‘I’m superstrong and powers don’t work on me’ crap, I’ll admit, it’s been really fucking annoying to get through but I figured it out.” 

Shatterbird looks out the window, her hair in her face and every single signal in her spine begs to brush it away. I make her tilt her head until it rests on her nose, causing an itch so fierce I’m tempted to scratch.

“It’s not so much that he’s immune to powers but more like he’s resistant to them, at first, he’s really fucking resistant. The first few checks with my power didn’t do shit but I’m clocking in around three hundred blasts a day now, I’ve got his whole right arm figured out and damn, with you it was so easy but him? It’ll probably take me a few more months at least.”

Shatterbird’s anger drops at my words, the reminder of her imprisonment dousing the heat in her rather than stoking it. I shift my legs around as the driver makes the last turn, something weird and spiky forming in my chest, a small razor sharp thing that hurts to suffocate.

Fuck, I broke her too quickly, making her mad the past seven months has been a delight but making her anything else just feels wrong. It’s not nearly as funny if she isn’t seething.

“Well birdie”, I rub my hands together and grab for my luggage, pulling it out of the car with me when the vehicle stops. The rickety makeshift road in front of Medhall tower doesn’t feel safe in the slightest but I know it’s fine, Lisa wouldn’t risk living in a place that wasn’t foundationally sound.

I turn and wave for the chauffeur to continue on, pausing for a moment and taking in the scene behind me when he drives off. I’m sure this used to be competitive real estate, the former center of the Bay and home to the few skyscrapers we once had. I’m sure it used to be amazing but now, it’s even better.

Well, it’s better if you ask me, I’m sure those bigwig types are pretty pissed Leviathan turned everything from here to the Boardwalk into a bigass lake.

But those guys can go to hell, I happen to like the way it looks, the light bouncing off the water’s surface, the shadow of former highrises in the muck, the only thing that would make it more perfect is if they got it to actually connect to the ocean.

It would solve plenty of problems I’m sure, like for one, the corpses down there would probably be eaten up by any fish. Although, now that I think about it, would fish make it smell better or worse?

I shrug to myself and turn around, walking into the lobby and smirking at the receptionist, her shoulders hiking as her eyes meet mine.

“Hey Charlotte,” I say, amused that despite living with Taylor so long, the meek girl is still terrified of capes. “I’m gonna be heading up now, tell the others will ya?”

“Y-yes sir,” She stutters before clearing her throat, already reaching for the phone by her keyboard. “I’ll let them know right away.”

I nod and start heading for the elevator, my dress shoes making pleasant clicks against the hard floor before I step into the metal box, Shatterbird stepping in behind me. My mouth gets dry again for some reason and I gulp, trying to get some semblance of moisture as we slowly ascend the gargantuan tower.

There’s so many goddamn floors to this place, why the fuck are there so many goddamn floors? What the hell are we going to do with it all?

I mean, I know a lot of the top floors are insect farms for Taylor and there’s probably a few rooms for Amy and her experiments, but that still leaves fucking four fifths of the tower unaccounted for.

I pull on the collar of my shirt as I clear my throat, it’s probably just my imagination but it feels like the air’s getting thinner. Well, actually that might just be the elevation, I mean, this building is head and shoulders above whatever’s left standing. 

I take a few deep breaths, slowly holding and releasing them and that seems to clear my head a bit as we near the top floors.

The doors before open up to reveal… nobody. 

I quirk my lips to one side, fuck, I wasn’t expecting a surprise party or anything but I figured someone would at least meet me at the door.

I step into the penthouse slowly and take a moment to admire the decadence of this place. The elegant wood paneled floor, the twin sets of stairs on either side of the elevator, and the living room in front of me.

“Retro,” I mumble to myself, looking at the dip in the floor where the wide, U shaped couch is. What did the people in the 70’s call these things? Conversation Pits I think. Wouldn’t have taken Lisa to do something like this.

I quirk my lips to the side, now that I’m going to be living here, it feels a bit unfair that it was only Lisa who had a say in the floorplan. I shake my head at the thought, stepping just behind the couch and looking up at the open second floor, the balconies above staring down at me.

This isn’t really Lisa’s style either and I know it, she’s a lot more hipster chic than she wants to admit. Well hipster meets conspiracy theorist meets spec ops agent I suppose. Looking around this place, I nod to myself. Yeah, Lisa paid some designer to make it, probably weirded the guy out when she stressed “wealthy, classy, and intimidating”.

But fuck, I doubt she’s happy with this place.

It’s awesome, don’t get me wrong, like a hodgepodge of every rich dude’s house you’ve seen in a movie but I don’t think there’s a single outside wall that’s not made of glass. 

My back straightens and I run a hand through my hair, getting Shatterbird to stand next to me and release a shrill half scream. I close my eyes and focus wholly on her senses, sagging in relief when none of the windows light up in her glass sense.

They might look like normal but whatever they’re made out of, silicon isn’t a part of it. I try to think of a substitute for it but when nothing comes to mind, I tilt my head, wondering if Brian was willing to spring for some tinkertech.

“Oh!”

I give the sound the closest thing to a jump I can, my head jerking up slightly before I twist, looking up at the balcony and waving at the girl leaning on the railing.

Lisa Wilbourn stares down at me, her long blonde hair done up in an extremely loose and messy bun. A bang falls from the poor bondage, swaying in front of her striking green eyes and resisting her clumsy attempt to push it behind an ear.

The railings are mostly glass, well, the not glass of the windows and through it, I can tell what she's wearing. Or, what she's not wearing actually.

No pants or footwear, just a shirt a little too long for casual wear but probably too short for a nightgown.

“Alec!” she says, voice lighting up and grin morphing from her usual sharp smirk to something toothier. The smile is wide enough that her eyes close at the edges, the mirth over taking her face before she turns, probably heading towards the stairs as she shouts over her shoulder. “Charlotte just texted me! I would’ve picked up my phone but getting the computers set up is a pain.”

Without the Thinker’s power locked on to me, I allow myself to smile a little more. That makes more sense, she was tired, had something else to do and anybody would be excused for missing one phone call. 

She wasn’t blowing me off, she was just distracted. 

The thought sticks in my head like a bandaid, trying to keep something else locked in behind it. I don’t have any time to ponder what before she makes it around the staircase.

I’m halfway back to the elevators when she jumps the last few feet towards me, arms crushing vice like around my neck. 

“You actually made it!” she says, excitement in her voice loud and clear as I return the hug, rolling my eyes before and after we separate.

“Course I made it Lis’, I live in the same city, why the fuck wouldn’t I make it?” I mean for the question to come off as sarcastic and rhetorical, lighthearted and not actually looking for an answer.

I don’t know why but the quiet, barely perceptible tremble in her green eyes tells me it didn’t come off that way. I resettle my jaw as her hands awkwardly slide down my shoulders, stopping between us as  the Thinker blinks, the tremble gone.

“Expected you to sleep in,” she teases, the grin from earlier becoming more in line with her usual smugness. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I smirk right back, stretching my back and letting my luggage lean up against a wall.

“Oh yeah? Name one time.” I prod, trying to goad her into the ‘know it all, I’m gonna start making a verbal list thing’ she likes doing. And like a cat with a glass of water on a counter, she takes my bait.

“I had to pour water on you when we robbed the Central bank.” she says, cocking a hip to one side and smirk losing some of its edge, softening into a grin.

“Oh c’mon, you’re gonna name the one time—”

“And then there was the casino before that—” Lisa adds, grin overtaking the smirk.

“Okay, that one’s not fair and you—”

“Not to mention the jewelry heist before then, the armored van before that, and the list just goes on now that I’m thinking about it.” She laughs at the end and the sparkle in her eyes makes the room seem lighter, the brief dark from earlier fading away entirely. Her grin broadens and I know it’s because she knows I goaded her into listing things off. It’s become the banter for us and—

Her arms wrap around my middle again and I step backwards to take her sudden assault, feeling a huff breach my throat as I return the hug yet again.

“I really am happy you’re here,” she says, her voice coming out as a mumble against my shirt.

“I’m happy to be here too,” I tell her, letting one hand migrate up the center of her back and patting twice before she pulls away. “So, where are the others?”

At the question, the shortest member of our team (minus Amy) lights up, hand shooting down to her pocket and fingers blurring in a frenzy as she types in her password.

“Oh shit,” she says, lips pressed into each other before she sucks the bottom one in, rolling it between her teeth. “Sorry, by the time I got the things plugged it completely slipped my mind. Brian said he was getting something for lunch and I think Taylor and Rachel went downstairs.”

“You think?” I ask, putting in a tiny bit of disbelief in my voice. “Jeez Lis, one too many months without a crisis on your hands?”

Lisa huffs but thankfully, it’s more in line with our usual verbal sparring, her phone shifting entirely into her left hand as she uses the right to flip me off. I roll my eyes yet again and turn my jaw with them, looking away from her and the elevator and back to the couch and the interior wall past it.

That’s a big fucking tv. Almost big enough to make me think something I’ve never thought before, it might be… too big. I huff again as a ‘that’s what she said’ joke comes barreling into my thoughts.

“I’d rather things stay this quiet if it’s all the same to you.” Lisa says, her phone clacking away. “I’m actually getting used to the lack of migraines for once.”

I lift my head up at her words, about to ask for clarification when the elevator dings. Before the metal doors can open, I step forward, taking up space on Lisa’s left and resisting some urge in my right arm.

Shit, things must be really fucking good for Lisa to not have those things, I mean, it’s not like I give a shit whether or not she has them but at least this way she’s less bitchy. I swallow something in my throat when the doors open, revealing two of our teammates.

Rachel Lindt stands on the right side of the elevator, her hair now long enough to reach her shoulders and arms bare in a sleeveless vest. Well, it’s a vest now but knowing her, the thing probably used to be a jacket, the sleeves torn off by her dogs and the runaway in her unable to throw the old thing out.

Her amber eyes are relaxed, hands slowly stroking the terrified beagle puppy in her arms. Her jeans are dirty as hell, dirt and grass staining the faded blue in even measure but her boots aren’t nearly so dirty, probably newer.

The beagle turns its head from the girl holding it to me and then to its master's left. I follow those big brown eyes to the bespectacled girl gesticulating wildly.

Taylor's eyes are fixed on Rachel, her hands out in front of her and talking just as much with them as she is her mouth.

She's dressed in a surprisingly snug dark green turtleneck and black leggings. A year ago she wouldn't be caught dead in an outfit like that, and though I don't want to attribute all the hell of the past year to her new confidence, the room gets a bit brighter with her finally comfortable with her own skin.

She barely pauses to breathe before she tries to speak again. I find myself mimicking Lisa and sucking my lips inward, the corners of it tugging oddly before Rachel lifts a hand up, a single finger pointed in front of the two of them. 

Taylor follows the digit and sucks in a breath when she catches our eyes, red lighting up her complexion for just a second before her eyes turn cold; hardened. And then, with a swift elbow to her shoulder, she blinks and starts to blush again, Rachel moderating to make sure Taylor’s not shoving too much of herself into the swarm.

That’s just one of the many things we forced Taylor not to do when she stepped down as leader. That robo-Skitter thing is great when we’re fighting but it gets old fast when she tries to use it for everything.

And without her leaning on it so much, I realize there’s a whole level of dorkiness underneath what I thought was her main personality. Thankfully for everyone’s ears, that ocean of chattiness is safely locked away save for right after she spends an afternoon making new monstrosities with Amy.

I swallow something in my throat and wave at the duo, Taylor’s blush fading ever so slightly as she walks towards us.

“You made it!” she exclaims, echoing the Thinker next to me. I don’t even have to look down at her to know she’s smirking up with as much smugness as a fox. And like Lisa, Taylor hugs me just as tightly, her long arms squeezing my torso and making me gasp.

“Sure did dork,” I say, returning the hug and hearing my jacket squeak slightly under the strain of her effort. “So, you wanna regale Lis' and I with whatever frankenbug you and Amy made?"

She pulls away from me and looks away, her head turned down as her blush spikes ever so slightly.

"How did you know?” She asks meekly and the shaky smile she beams up at me makes the sounds around me sharper for a second. When she had to step up, she was a damn good leader, scary as hell when she needed to be and reserved at nearly all others. But I prefer her like this.

We didn’t know this Taylor long, she wasn’t an Undersider for a week before everything came crashing down on us. And between the explosions, waves, and blades, this brown eyed girl got lost somewhere along the way. Pushed to the wayside as the emotionless leader took over.

It’s taken months and though it might seem bad from the outside, might seem like regression, that’s not what Taylor’s done. No, what she had to do was become too much, overstretched, ignoring injuries, ignoring social interactions if it didn’t have a tangible benefit, her coming back to herself is a fucking miracle. Most overstretched bands snap, but she’s slowly letting herself relax and day by day, the bags under her eyes are going.

“You only get like that when you and Amy are one upping Shelley and Kafka,” I tell her, remembering that I saw those books in her old lair this summer. I thought they were going to be horrible, not horrible as in bad but horrible as in long and dull and tedious, like the books dad forced in the curriculum back home. 

But to my surprise, though the dork can be a stick in the mud, her taste in books is pretty good actually. Who would’ve thought the bibliophile would know the good books from the bad? I ready myself for a long explanation on why she and Amy are nothing like Frankenstein’s monster but instead, I find myself listening to the world getting fuzzier.

The sounds get hazy and the world loses some color as Taylor stares up at me, her brow furrowing a bit and her lips thinning. She’s angry.

I lean back a little, meeting her brown eyes and feeling goosebumps rise on my skin as her anger slowly cools. There wasn’t a lot of it to begin with but the tiny bit that was there makes my legs feel shaky, like I’m trying to walk on sleeping feet.

“I don’t think Amy would like being called that,” Taylor ‘gently’ chastises me, her tone trying to sound soft but the actual, genuine scolding behind it is obvious. I put my hands up in a ‘don’t shoot’ motion before offering my apologies.

“Yeah, guess that was in poor taste,” I don’t let my grin fall, forcing it to stay up as I rally. “But you know what I mean, I remember you gushing about Atlas' new carapace for six hours straight the last time you collaborated.”

And yet again, just like Lisa, Taylor rises to the bait, face dusting pink as her eyes light up, a stuttering denial pushing past her lips.

“T-that’s different!” She tells me, “What Amy did then needed to be talked about, the new shell is three times as strong but half as heavy, plus with the in laid relay bugs under his exoskeleton, controlling him is so much—”

“It’s so much easier,” Lisa and I both finish for her, both sharing a snicker when Taylor turns redder, stepping away and hands taut at her sides as she heads for the staircase. The insect master stops at the first step, her black hair shining in the light as she explains what she’s doing.

“I’m going to get changed,” she says, eyes darting from the two of us and Rachel before she hurries up the second floor, pace just slow enough I can’t call it a scramble. As her footsteps echo off, Rachel steps forward, the puppy still in her arms as she appraises me.

“Hey,” she says, the short greeting is soaked in warmth, her husky voice sounding a bit more ragged than usual. With Lisa tilting her head at the tone, the blonde confirms I’m not imagining it. 

“Hey yourself,” I say, eyes darting down to the beagle, its longer ears bounce a little as it tilts its head, earlier fear forgotten as it examines me. “Who’s the new guy?”

Rachel never smiles with her teeth, according to Tats, it’s some dog behavior her power made the default. I don’t know if I buy that honestly, by that logic, Rachel shouldn’t be smiling at all. But right now is proof to the contrary.

Her chapped lips smile tentatively, the kind of shakiness to them you find in people used to bloody knuckles. She loves when I do stuff like this, treat her animals like they were another new henchman, someone equal to the others.

“Charlie.” she answers, lifting up a hand to scratch behind the dog’s ears. Charlie leans into her touch immediately and after a brief look into her eyes, Rachel nods, letting me lift the back of my hand up slowly.

Rachel does this with all of us eventually but I think I’m the one she likes the most, I’m the only one she lets the puppies sniff, the rest have to wait till they’re properly trained. What gave me that privilege? I don’t know and I’m not willing to ask.

The beagle watches my hand with an interest that cuts through his comfort, big eyes fixed on the back of my palm as he slowly leans forward, his wet nose bumping up against my skin and ears leaving Rachel’s scritching range.

I don’t even have time to look up before the puppy tries to take a bite of my hand.

The little shit is loud though, his high pitched whine of a growl having more in common with a cat than a dog as I fall backwards, arms flailing. My hands slap against the floor, stopping the back of my head from colliding with the floor but the same mercy can’t be said for my poor ass.

A sharp stinging pain radiates up my tailbone and I bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep myself silent.

“Alec!?” Lisa and Rachel echo each other and I blink up at them, taking the shorter girl’s offered hand as the auburn haired dog handler turns her focus down to the pup she’s holding. Charlie looks at me with eyes full of hate, his lips curled up in the fiercest snarl a puppy can give.

“Ow,” I deadpan, keeping my hands at my side as I resist the urge to bring Shatterbird over. 

“Are you okay?” Lisa asks, voice full of concern despite the very obvious safe fall.

“Fine,” I reply, letting her bring my hand up and leaving it open to her scrutiny. “Barely even grazed me,” I try to reassure, watching as sharp red lines inflame themselves on my skin. “What the hell did I do to him?”

Rachel looks away from the dog and back to me, her eyes apologetic as she tries to find an explanation.

“I don’t know,” she settles on, grabbing the dog by his sides and turning him around until she can hold him up to her face. Charlie plays innocent, licking at Rachel’s nose. The trainer doesn’t buy the act for a second, eyes turning stony as she pulls the dog back to her chest. “He seemed fine when I got him, he has his shots…” seeing the girl genuinely confused gives me pause.

Those who only know her cape persona, hell, those who just met Rachel will say that she’s confused most of the time. Those people are fucking idiots, the tallest female Undersider is rarely confused. Whether she’s in costume or not, Rachel is always sure of her actions, sure, sometimes she leaps before she looks but I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve genuinely seen her confused.

And everytime it’s because something she was dead sure of is wrong. 

I keep my face steady as I get my thoughts in order. Rachel is just as good at reading me as Lisa is and I don’t want her to know what I’m theorizing about, she seems pretty happy to have Charlie and I’ll be damned before I’m the one to tell her he might be hurt in the head.

“Probably just a fluke” I say, lifting my hand up again, much slower this time and silently breathing a sigh of relief when the beagle leans forward again, seemingly oblivious of his earlier; tiny attempt on my life.

After a few brief sniffs, the little furball licks my hand softly.

Though the dog seems cool with me now, Rachel isn’t. Her eyes are hard, a inquisitiveness  similar to Lisa’s but somehow larger  than the blonde’s. The word doesn’t quite fit but it’s the closest thing I can think of.

“Weird,” Rachel says, briefly trying to grin again before letting it drop. There;s something in her expression that makes me feel less, like my weight has been cut in half, making things feel floaty. I don’t think she’s gonna let her pups know my scent for a while, that’s supposed to suck I think but I don’t give that much of a shit, they’re just dogs after all.

I swallow a lump in my throat before it becomes a cough and pull my hand away, about to gesture to my bag and ask for a tour when the elevator dings.

The door opens and Brian starts walking in before they can fully part.

Well, I think it’s Brian anyway, the five pizza boxes he has in his arms obscures his face pretty well. But I think my guess is spot on, I can’t imagine there’s more than one six foot six guy willing to walk in here unannounced.

“Could somebody—” the mystery figure starts, resettling his grip on the boxes. “Give me a hand here?”

Yep, it’s definitely Brian, no one else bites off this much without asking for help immediately. Noooo, our former leader will only ask for assistance if he’s about to crash and burn and though I want to just sit back and watch him fumble for a second, I’d rather not eat my pizza off the floor.

I step forward, grabbing the top two boxes and handing them off to LIsa as I grab another. 

Brian Laborn looks at me with a mixture of relief and contentedness.

“Oh hey,” he greets, his silky smooth baritone gracing my ears as he heads to the couch. “Glad to see you man.” He resettles his grip on the last, decidedly thicker box, until he can hold it with his left hand, With his right freed, he wraps the limb around me, the kind gesture is awkward, thankfully not because of any macho bro shit that would make it feel forced, but rather just the angle of our limbs and positioning. 

Jerk could’ve at least waited until I had the boxes set down.

I lean into the side hug as much as I can, knowing his stature is more than enough to take our combined weight. Unlike Taylor, Brian hasn’t so much gone back to how he used to be so much as he has become someone entirely new.

But I suppose that’s to be expected when you’re disassembled into your base components, strewn about in a shipping container like a still life of an anatomist’s worst nightmares. It took months of hard work, private meetings with a bribed but very good PRT affiliate therapist, but Brian’s nearly back to normal.

Well, normal plus I suppose. He still shivers when he’s alone for too long, he still flinches at the sight of blood, but he’s able to laugh again, able to at least be five feet away from us. That and that toxic masculinity shit he practically chugged is all but drained out of him, he’s able to actually initiate hugs now. Before I know it, I’m sure I’ll catch him wearing a shirt that’s not black, dark green, red, or blue. 

With the hug petering out, Brian and I start walking after Lisa, setting the boxes on the equally low coffee table as we start to settle into the couch.

“Amazing that place is still open,” I say, flipping open the boxes “Would’ve thought Fatim would be in Boston by now.”

Uncle Fatim’s was the spot The Undersiders ordered deliveries from most often, the little corner store Pizzeria was within walking distance and the pizza’s honestly some of the best I’ve ever ate.

“It isn’t,” Brian tells me, reaching for his box and pulling out a large slice of pepperoni and sausage. “The restaurant got knocked over when Leviathan hit but Fatim’s got a new place not too far from here. He was surprisingly chatty about why.”

Brian obviously wants one of us to ask him for elaboration and I humor him, giving up my search for pizza as I take my spot on his right.

“Oh?” I prod, leaning my head back and rolling my neck on the couch’s top.

“Insurance tried fucking him over,” he explains, “told him Leviathan didn’t count as a natural disaster.”

“Sounds like horsehit.”

Brian grins at my summation, swallowing a bite of his overly topped slice.

“He thought so to,” Brian says, “So Fatim did a bit of investigating, found out the guy reviewing his case donated to a few Medhall based charities. One warrant later and it turns out that guy used to be a part of The Empire, took one look at Fatim’s name and tried to screw him over.”

“And Fatim took him to court,” I infer.

“Sure did,” Brian says, “They had to pay a pretty big settlement and with property values tanking here, Fatim got that spot on Lord’s street, the one that used to be a British cafe I think.”

I snort when Brian reminds me of that place, it was destined to fail I mean, c’mon, who the fuck thinks british food is going to sell?

I lean away from Brian and flip open the last box, startled by what I find inside.

Breadsticks and marinara sauce… that’s not right.

I sit back in my seat and point a finger at the furthest box from me, noting each as I pass over them. Meat lover’s for Rachel, the jalapeno,olive, and pepperoni for Lisa, plain cheese for Taylor, and Brian’s boring pepperoni and sausage.

There’s a box missing, mine.

“Uh, Bri?” I hedge, “Think you forgot someone.” 

Confusion overtakes the teen on my left and after a brief scan of the boxes he carried up, he lights up in apology.

“Oh!” he says around a mouthful of cheese, “Fuck,” he swallows, doing another passover and realizing his mistake. “Sorry Alec, it was a long night last night and I… fuck man, I forgot yours.”

Yeah, that confirms it. 

I slouch until my knees hit the coffee table, my spine bent like the corner of a pool as I cross my arms. I debate on whether or not to pout, but decide against it, people make mistakes and I don’t need to pile on to this.

“Can’t you and Taylor just share?” Rachel asks, bits of meat flying from her mouth. “Thought you and her liked the same kind.”

Before I can turn down the offer, the girl in question speaks from above.

“I wouldn’t mind!” she says, looking at all of us when we stare up to see her. True to her word, Taylor’s gotten changed and I can’t help but stare at what she’s decided to wear. A bright; fuzzy black and yellow pajama shirt and a pair of loose shorts, with cartoon bees buzzing along the fabric.

She must catch the looks as she immediately blushes up to her ears.

“I got Sierra to pack my stuff and these were the only pajamas she sent over.”

I want to make some kind of joke about her attire, probably just low hanging fruit like how she’s ‘the bees knees’ but I can’t seem to get the words out. My mouth is just too damn dry for the words to form. 

She’s… I don’t know what to say. She’s… I feel lighter looking at her, like I could float up off this couch and to the second story if I wanted. All I know is I sit up in my seat to get a better view and the girl above takes our silence how she used to, before Skitter had to lift this city up out of the darkness.

It’s kinda funny, as Skitter, Taylor could take on the whole world with nothing at her back except for her swarm. She’s told Protectorate leaders to go fuck themselves, charged an Endbringer with a weapon she didn’t know how to use, kidnapped members of the Slaughterhouse 9 and the Gesselschaft. 

But as Taylor? She’s just a sixteen year old girl in silly pajamas and she shuffles from foot to foot as we stare at her out of character dress.

“It doesn’t look bad on you,” Lisa finally says, getting Taylor’s attention on her and putting her hands up when Taylor’s brow furrows into a glare. “Seriously, you look good, like it’s… it looks nice.”

Normally a trail off like that is the sign of an obvious lie, a moment when someone tries to think of something else to say but ends up falling back on the same comment when they can’t think of anything to fill the silence.

But right here it doesn’t sound like that at all, right now it sounds like a girl shyly telling another that she looks cute. Granted Lisa won’t use those words and if she won’t—

“Yeah,” I start, “you look cute.”

I will.

And just like I’m hoping for, my fellow noirette reacts immediately, her shoulders hiking as her complexion darkens further, the red and pink rushing down her neck like an hourglass before she turns around, heading for the stairs as I lean back, triumphant in what I’ve accomplished.

Brian and Rachel shoot me dirty looks when I turn my head left and right, Lisa just chuckles into her slice as I shrug.

“What?” I ask rhetorically, “We were all thinking it,” I say, reaching for a slice. “I was just the one willing to say it.”

None of them can deny my statement and after a few brief seconds of silent munching, Taylor comes down to join us, the inlet in the floor letting her step over the back of the couch and join us.

She takes the free spot on my right, serving as the bridge between Brian and I with the rest of the girls.

“So…” she says, clearing her throat and grabbing a slice. “We’ve moved in together.”

Her words hit everyone like a lightning strike, an unneeded but still shocking reminder that yeah, we’re all going to be living here for… who knows how long. I mean, we’re only doing it because it’s practical really, The Undersiders as an organization needed a homebase and where else would the five leaders be if not here?

It just makes sense, when this building was the Empire’s, when the old metal Emperor called this place his castle, they made sure it was smackdown in the middle of the city. It wasn’t just for the supreme vantage point either, it was a symbol, the Brockton Bay skyline isn’t complete without this skyscraper and now it’s ours.

Controlling the city from here, from a place several times larger than the PRT building downtown or the former sunken rig sends a message to everyone who dares to look up. The Undersiders are this city and no one can forget it.

Still, knowing we’re living together for fully practical reasons doesn’t make the reality any less surreal. 

I mean, we’ve certainly gotten closer in the past six months, with work starting to lessen around here it was bound for us to start talking again, but just how close we’ve gotten is pretty ridiculous.

It started as a strictly professional thing, swapping minions here, getting transport lines drawn evenly, that sort’ve thing. But then it evolved, we’d stay up late into the night working and work talk eventually became… just talking.

We talked about everything, how we were dealing with the mess 2011 had left us as, reminiscing about the dozens of close calls that nearly ended us. We talked about how Bakuda shoved a bomb up Brian’s nose, that it was only because Taylor slammed a cleaver on the bomber’s foot that the darkness shaker isn’t a living escher painting.

We talked about the Empire calling for blood, how Lisa was convinced she was going to die staring down Purity. We talked about the worst moments in the past year, one of the worst of which was Leviathan.

See, at first, it was just venting, an outlet we all desperately needed given that we didn’t trust anyone around us. I mean, who else could commiserate as well as someone who was actually with you when shit hit the fan? But after a while of that it became… I don’t want to say therapy, but more like… release? 

Venting was just spewing out anger, frustration, shit like that, we didn’t need feedback or a shoulder to lean on, back then we just needed a sounding board that wouldn’t listen too much. But that stopped being enough pretty early on.

Rachel broke down last October, crying into Taylor’s chest that back then, when Armsmaster fucked up her armband, she really thought the bug Master had drowned beneath the waves. I remember patting her back and the wind being knocked out of me when I was sucked into a group hug.

The redhead bawled and howled like one of her dogs, the wails were long and drawn out between the stuttery words. She was so damned worried when Taylor ‘died’, she unlocked her kennels, drained herself of energy getting mostly untrained dogs up and fighting, she was barely able to walk when she found Taylor, very much alive.

At some point, Lisa and Brian had arrived, joined the three of us in weathering the dam that broke inside Rachel. She was letting everything out then and we would do our best as friends to just listen to her garbled woes.

She missed her dogs, cried herself to sleep some nights without her lost hounds to keep her company. Some nights she resented the girl on my right, some nights the sting of betrayal woke her up and she cursed at the girl for tricking her. But most nights, she was just looking for some ‘work’ to do so she could go to Skitter’s territory and crash on the couch with her in the early morning.

A week after that, Lisa came over to my territory, a pretty damn flimsy excuse about Blasto letting her in the door. We couldn’t have been more than two sentences into it before her words started to come out wet and haggard.

She was trying to pour herself some coffee I think and when she turned around, tears were falling down her face and her eyes were fixed on my right hand or more specifically, at the lightning scars that ran up it.

She asked if they hurt, the souvenir I got from New Delphi. 

I remember grabbing at my wrist with the other hand, examining the discoloration myself. The scars are thickest there, maybe the same width as a pencil, to the point there’s more scar tissue than skin.

I told her they didn’t, why would they? Amy healed me up after the fight, put all my nerves back in place and cleaned up the burns. The scars are cosmetic really, hell, the Striker even asked me if I wanted them removed.

But I didn’t take her up on the offer, personally, I think they look great on me, crawling up my arm and thinning until they reach the base of my neck and middle of my chest. The proof of my survival under Behemoth’s personal attention is sullied a little by the lack of permanent damage but no one who matters to me doubts what I went through. 

I didn’t tell Lisa that rainy day that sometimes, if I drag my feet on the carpet too much and shock myself on a doorknob, it’s like I’m back there, holding a fucking lightning rod and calling Behemoth a shitcrumb.

I don’t tell her because I don’t regret it at all. I knew when it happened that those might’ve been my last words, cursing out Behemoth and grabbing the cyclops' attention to save Aisha. I knew and I didn’t care.

If that was how I was gonna die, saving a friend then… so fucking be it.

I didn’t know that my team didn’t take it that well. After I got hit, Amy stabilized me but with so many others on death’s door, that was all she could do for days on end. Eventually, when I actually did wake up, my teammate’s seemed alright, a bit huggier than usual but all right.

Lisa revealed that that very much wasn’t the case, after a week in a medically induced coma, my teammates may have got it together physically but not even close mentally. The Thinker… cried. 

That might sound like an inordinate amount of gravitas to give to her but I can’t actually remember another time I saw Lisa cry. Now don’t get me wrong, seeing Rachel do the same isn’t exactly a common occurrence either but I saw her do that at least three times, whenever her dogs die, when Taylor betrayed her, and last October. But Lisa? Nada, zip, nothing, zilch.

Lisa doesn’t cry, even when Jack Slash made her smile lopsided, even when Gesselschaft brought their own Thinker to poke at her traumas, Lisa doesn’t cry.

Except that rainy day in October, then, she cried in my lap so hard she couldn’t breath, dragging on for hours on end. And unlike Rachel. The normally chatty girl couldn’t get a single word out the whole time, nothing but unintelligible sobs and shaky nods or violent shakes of her head whenever I asked her a question.

The others weren’t there that day, I don’t know if it was because Lisa wanted to preserve her ‘never cry’ reputation or she just wanted some one on one time with me. But she shook her head no when I asked to call the rest of us over and I respected that.

Even if it meant that I had to do that three more times when Rachel, Taylor, and even Brian came over the next three days.

“Yeah…” Brian says, a sort’ve shell shocked tone filling his voice as he puts his mostly eaten slice down, neglecting the crust like some kind of evolutionary weakling. “We’re living together.”

And like an engine that just refuses to turn over, the conversation dies yet again. Frankly, I don’t mind the silence, it gives me time to really put things into perspective.

The breakdowns all throughout October reached a head on Halloween, the five of us having our own night of debauchery in Brian’s territory. He might be a bit strict sometimes but no one can stay like that when they’ve emptied most of a bottle of tequila.

Truth be told I can’t remember much of that Halloween and that probably says a lot about how much hard liquor we consumed. All I can tell you about it is that we dressed up like the Protectorate and my lipstick was smudged as hell come morning.

While I’m pretty sure none of us have a mental scrapbook of October 31st, 2011, I know it got the ball rolling in a new direction. After that night, we just started going to each other’s bases to… talk. 

Not about work, not about the many times we’ve almost died but just to… talk. There wasn’t a single topic we didn’t discuss through November and early December, we talked about things as banal as our fucking costumes for crying out loud.

But despite how boring that must sound… it was actually really nice. I know that sounds stupid, I’d actually place good money that me of a year ago would’ve blown his brains out listening to someone talk about the bombardier beetle and the twin chambers of chemicals in its ass— I’m sorry, its abdomen or how the Doberman was bred for intimidation and protection by tax collectors but I didn’t do that.

In fact, I actually turned a new page when it comes to conversations, I actually listened to what the others had to say. I know that sounds like a load of bullshit, especially if you know me but I swear, I had a good time learning about fucking boxing and how North Carolina is apparently a risen pit out of hell itself. I didn’t even know Lisa was from North Carolina if I’m being honest, I thought all southern people had a dumb accent and a stupid hat.

The venting didn’t stop of course, I doubt it ever will, but things were nicer for a while, Nice enough we gotta each other fucking Christmas gifts. That… was a bit awkward given we didn’t do that for any of the other Undersiders (except Brian with Aisha but c’mon, they’re siblings) but I don’t give a shit really. It’s still cold enough that I’m gonna be wearing the spider silk sweater Taylor made for me every other day of the week and even if I don’t have a lot of time to use it, the easel Lisa ordered for me is probably gonna be set up some time tomorrow. 

The thought of setting that thing up halts my reminiscing, I’m actually going to have to assemble it, lay a few linen tarps down around the thing and… I’m going to be living here. With them. For who knows how long.

Something winds up in my chest like an old toy, something light and shining and honestly sharp around the edges. I try to hold on to it before it vanishes, slipping out of my grip like I’m trying to grab the reflection in a puddle’s surface. It’s not there anymore and like always, what I try to grab just makes me skin my proverbial knuckles.

”It’ll be just like old times,” I find myself saying, remembering September of 2010, when that snake found me and within three days made me pack up my shit and move into the loft. I gotta say, for a place that used to be for welding decorative iron fencing, the loft was surprisingly cozy for what it was.

It sucked ass when Leviathan fell on it at some point but a place is a place I guess, the Loft wouldn’t have been nearly as livable if it weren’t for the people who occasionally called it home.

“Probably worse,” Lisa replies, “It was really only you that stayed there full time, the rest of us had other places to call home and now…” she flops bonelessly against the couch, as if being near me has drained her of life. “None of us have any sanctuary.”

“Oh no…” I deadpan, grabbing for the remote between the pizza boxes and flicking the massive tv on. “Whatever shall you do?”

The night goes pretty smoothly from there, we talk some more, laugh about stupid shit, eat pretty fucking good pizza, and watch a lot of dumb tv. I mean, a lot of dumb tv, apparently the Protectorate made an episode of Law & Order:PRT about us. 

Well, ‘about us’ if you catch my drift. They even got Velocity to guest star, and though the guy clearly isn’t an actor, he did an okay job telling the main characters that some cities (may they not be named lest they disturb the rulers therein) just ‘go to the dogs’.

The joke and reference is so painfully transparent that even Rachel snorts at it.

The episode ends with our troopers looking out there windows forlornly, saddened that another city is all but quarantined but hopeful as Velocity streaks by their street, determined that one day the heroes will win their good fight.

It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen in my life and having witnessed it, I’m not sure anything can make me laugh harder.

The crappy cop show transitions into some dumb comedy I can’t remember the name or plot of for the life of me, but I don’t mind, I’m pretty sure I was the only one laughing… okay so it might not have been a comedy.

Regardless, the mesmerizing effect of dumb tv can only keep our attention for so long and before we know it, our eyes start to glaze over, blinks get longer, heads lean on shoulders, the fog of sleep slowly drifting over us. But before we can actually christen in the new couch with a nap, Brian gets up, jostling me, which in turn startles Taylor which makes her kick her feet out and bump into Rachel who responds by almost elbowing Lisa.

“C’mon…” he says, trailing off into a wide yawn as he stretches. “First night here we should actually sleep in our own beds.”

As much as I want to tell him off, that I’m comfortable down here, his words remind me of the hell sleeping on a couch causes my back. And with that nagging reminder in my head, I get up too, offering Taylor a hand and pulling her up as I look at Brian.

“And where exactly is that?” I ask, “Wasn’t here long enough for a grand tour before dinner.”

Brian doesn’t respond for several seconds, grogginess still weighing down his mind. He wipes at his face as his eyes close, the heaviness of his shoulders makes him sway from side to side slightly.

“LIsa can show you,” he finally says, yawning again, “I’ll put the pizza in the fridge.”

And with that, he steps past me, first grabbing his own box, then the breadsticks before squinting at the empty me and Taylor made. My fellow Master winces when Brian looks up at her, one arm folded over her waist as she grabs at her other elbow.

“I didn't eat much today,” she excuses, looking away in self-consciousness. I wrap an arm around her shoulder, distracting her as I jostle the both of us.

“Don’t stress about it dork, Bri’s the one who forgot my pizza and you wouldn’t have finished the box without me.” The reminder seems to calm her down, at least enough that she can look down at me with a smile.

Unfortunately, it does the exact opposite for the guy picking up the boxes. Brian grabs the next two with a tad more force than necessary, slamming the boxes closed and stacking them on top fast enough that he’s probably squishing the leftovers in size.

“Woah dude,” I say, realizing I struck a nerve. “The pizza isn’t going anywhere, you don’t need to be so fas—”

“I know,” he cuts me off, a surprising amount of terseness in his voice. “I know,” he repeats, voice much softer. “I’m sorry I forgot your order Alec, I— I’ve just been really stressed lately and I’m sorry, okay?”

The vulnerability in his voice takes me off guard and in an instinct that’s become second nature lately, I reach a hand out and place it down on his shoulder.

You’d think, given all the shit that’s happened to him, that he’d hate physical contact but you’d be pretty fucking wrong. In fact, it’s the complete opposite of that, since October, since he learned it’s okay to lean on us, he does it almost constantly. Sure, he seeks out the girl’s more often than me but you can’t take that out of him.

Brian leans into my hand as much as he’ll allow himself, the distress on his face quieting as he stands up straight, boxes in hand.

“It’s cool,” I tell him, “Sorry for busting your balls man, didn’t mean it like that.”

Brian just nods at my words before opening his eyes, the brown pair darting over to the corner of the room.

“Her room’s pretty far.” he tells me, gesturing at Shatterbird. “Didn’t even realize she was there.” He resettles his grip on the boxes. “Let me put these away and I’ll—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lisa cuts him off, stepping around the couch until she’s above me. She offers a hand and I take it, stepping up and out of the inlet in the floor. “I’ll show him where it is, c’mon.”

I follow her words without question, joining her in the elevator and internally cursing myself. What the hell is wrong with me? I nearly fell asleep with an uncaged mass murderer in the room, I might as well have been sleeping next to a nuke.

“That could’ve been bad,” I say, cracking my neck as the doors close in front of us.

Lisa doesn’t do much more than hum in acknowledgment, clear sleepiness taking her over as she presses the bottom most button on the side of the door.

We ride down to the basement in silence, well, the basement to the basement I guess. I remember Lisa telling me how much of a pain it was for her to find contractors that wouldn’t say shit about building a soundproof room a hundred feet below Medhall tower.

When the doors finally open a near full two minutes late, it’s to a short concrete hallway with a single bright bulb built over a black metal door.

I can feel Shatterbird’s anger dulled by the routine I’ve set her in, with both the constant boredom of imprisonment and her own ridiculous amount of exhaustion, it feels like she actually helps me walk her into the room.

And once she’s inside, both her and I are actually surprised by the amenities. I mean, it’s still a one room shithole, the toilet in one corner and the bed opposite of that but it’s definitely a lot nicer than what’s she’s been dealing with at my place.

The floor’s carpeted, she’s got a mini fridge in one of the corners, and there’s even a fucking tv mounted in the wall! Granted there’s a layer of plastic right above the screen but still, this is way nicer than she deserves.

Nice enough that I don’t immediately close the door on her.

Lisa sashays over, the smuggness in her step matching the grin she gives me. 

“I know it’s nicer than she deserves but don’t worry about it, the tv’s monitored extensively and if she wants to break the chips in them then fine, the plastic’s bullet proof so she can’t use them and she’s not going to get a second anytime soon.” She’s about to close the door when she points at my puppet, “same goes for the remote.”

As the heavy metal door starts to close shut, I wave, my fingers curling and uncurling as I bid her goodbye.

“Bye bye birdie,”

And with the heavy metal latches and systems falling into place, I finally release my hold on Shatterbird. Without me actively controlling her nervous system, I can just barely hear her scream through the phantom sensations my power gets through her ears. She does that every night, probably one half of it is genuine anger and frustration and the other being her glass sense.

I almost tap back into her senses as the elevator starts to climb but I decide not to, I trust that Lisa’s already tested the room pretty extensively. 

It’s an odd feeling honestly, since having her under my control basically twenty four seven since June, I’ve actually gotten used to feeling her body as an extension of my own. It feels… strange to be myself right now but I’ll get over it. 

I don’t know I get like this sometimes, some days I can’t stand controlling her, like her whole body is just… wrong. But other days I have her walk around and get me more stuff just because it feels nice to move in that body.

But, like every night when I put her away, it’s too damn late to really think on those thoughts and  I’ve got a bed to get to. Lisa and I ride back up in the same silence we shared going down and it isn’t until we’re back in the penthouse, back halfway to the couch before she starts talking.

“If it’s all the same to you…” she says, trailing off into a yawn. “I’d prefer to give you the tour tomorrow, it’s too damn late if you ask me.”

“Yeah,” I reply, grabbing my luggage. “Fine by me.”

She leads me upstairs and to the furthest edge of the floor, into a hallway with five doors facing the same side as the elevator. She doesn’t say anything as she points to the second furthest door on the right, she only waves as she takes the door on the furthest left.

Walking into my room, I find myself whistling lowly.

It’s spartan right now, just a large, my preferred California King style, bed, a nightstand off to the side, and another monster of a tv on the other wall. The room’s a pretty good size, maybe double the size of my room back in my old condo.

There’s a door just to the left of my tv that probably leads to an attached bathroom but the thing that really catches my eye is the wall ahead of me. Nothing but that glass substitute and a perfect view of the city. Well, a semi perfect view given how much of Brockton is still a ruin.

I flick on the lights but pause when I feel another switch right next to the first. What the hell could that be for? There’s no ceiling fan in here.

Giving in to curiosity, I click it and whistle again when the window immediately fogs up, with nothing but the moonlight visible through the grayed out glass. I spend a moment or two just flicking the switch back and forth but after a minute of that I finally leave it unfogged. Shit’s probably tinkertech and I know the more you fuck with it, the more likely it is to break.

I don’t bother unpacking or getting changed, I just slip off my shirt, jeans, and socks as I climb under the covers, leaving the tv off as I look out into the city.

Today was… it was good, we had a great time watching movies, shooting the shit while eating pizza but… I don’t know. It was good, great even but it was just… awkward I guess. I don’t know why, the vast majority of my conversation landed but I can’t stop thinking about the moments when it didn’t.

I annoyed Lisa, actually angered Taylor, made Brian feel like shit, and to top it off, one of Rachel’s dogs tried to bite me!

…okay, so when I lay it all out like that it doesn’t look like much but… I’m just being stupid.

I bring my forearm up, covering my eyes in the bend of my elbow as the long day finally starts to seep into my bones. We just moved in today, it’s not like shit was going to be perfect. I just have to relax, here in a month things will be fine.

I swallow a lump in my throat before I fall asleep.