Ablation

Taylor, 2009

I ran home in tears. Emma has changed. She found some new friend, the girl that punched me last time I saw her. And she punched me again, and Emma laughed at me. I skipped the rotten step by habit, rather than intention, as I rushed into my home.

Dad didn’t notice me slamming the door, or me crying, or me rushing past him and not saying a single word to him. He’s lost in grief, and in what looks like borderline alcohol poisoning. It doesn’t matter though. He’ll bounce right back. I know I did.

I start booting my PC before I do anything else. It’s an old thing, it needs time to wake up. When it’s finally fully booted, I open the messenger site. Fencefourth already sent one of their daily texts asking what everybody's up to, and people are piping up with varying degrees of eagerness for the start of the academic year. Now that the school started, everybody’s less active and our schedules got busier. But we still agreed to have one weekend free every week for the games. I begin typing, hoping for something. If not to get some answer, then to at least vent about it.

Taylor, present day

It’s been a couple weeks since I was released from the hospital. It was only a couple days of stay thanks to Panacea wringing my body of all the toxic waste and infection. God bless her. I only had to stay to regain some weight she used to flush everything out. But now that I’m back in fucking Winslow, and the trio is safe and sound, they feel like its prime time to ramp right back up. The moment class ended, I saw Sophia talking to the track team boys, holding copious amounts of duct tape rolls…

That doesn’t bode well. I start backing away, looking for other exits from school, when one of them notices me. They shout something and grab every tape roll from Sophia’s hands. I run out the back entrance, through the football field and keep running. The boys are hot on my heels and nobody on the streets seems to care enough to do something about them. 

My lungs burned from overexertion. I was getting tired from all the running. But loud jeers from the track team boys gave me that extra bit of motivation to keep running. I really should have taken up morning runs after I was let out of hospital. It was dumb of me to think that Emma would leave me alone, especially after her biggest ‘prank’ left her unpunished. No, it was an open invitation to escalate. ‘Go on, try something worse. Nobody would bat an eye if the social outcast gets hurt’. 

While my legs feel like they're on fire and my lungs are full of lead, the track team boys aren't even sweating. They're running only slightly faster than a jog. This is not a conflict for them, this is entertainment. In fact, I can hear the group behind me grow as their friends probably decided to join in on the fun. And after some hushed conversation they start gaining on me.

My hands skid on the ground as something catches me on my knees. Someone must have made a makeshift bolas out of the duct tape. I hear one of them utter a slur as they heave me up and carry me towards an alley. Surely, I heard them wrong. I'm not even Jewish. Furthermore, they're Sophia’s friends.. or at least are associated with her. They can't be Empire. Despite the trio making my life living hell, they would never let some Empire kids into their circle.

I try to struggle free from their grip, but I have no strength left in my body and I'm outnumbered one to six. I hear the sound of duct tape being rolled out and snaps of phone cameras. My cries for help are left unanswered when the tape covers my mouth. It's not that effective at shutting me up as it is at making my cries unintelligible. I huff and wait for them to get it over with. They'd take a couple photos of me, spread them around and leave. Definitely.

“Man, I can't be bothered to drag her towards a pole.” I hear one of them say, “Suppose we just chuck her in a dumpster and call it a day?”

There are several grunts of assent as I'm lifted up and thrown face first into a pile of garbage, shoved deeper by the shoulders and completely buried by its contents. Sharp bits sticking out of thick trash bags press into me through my clothes. I feel something wet and sticky, awfully lukewarm for this weather. My clothes are written off for sure. Even if I get the stains out somehow, they’re full of tiny holes and some stuff just doesn't wash away. My plans of getting out as soon as possible are dashed by what I hear next.

“Actually, I have a better idea,” says a new voice, must be one of the guys who joined in later. “Connor here wanted to prove himself but was too much of a pussy to do anything too risky. So, there you have it, Connor. Do something.” What? What the hell is he talking about? There is no way this is happening. I began struggling harder after I had a minute to catch my breath. 

“I.. I suppose nobody would miss her much..” says Connor, probably, as the sinking feeling in my stomach gets stronger. I hear what seems like a match being lit and the garbage lid slams shut behind me.

The dumpster reeked of rotten food, trash, and now, burning plastic. I banged on the lid, but it didn't budge an inch. Not like I could wind up for a proper swing or anything. My legs lost strength a while ago from all the running and that extra bit of adrenaline that shot through me from being in, what seems to be mortal danger, just doesn't cut it. The track boys just had to stick me in here face first, wrapped in duct tape. The blood rushing to my head might be just the thing that actually kills me before the fire does.

I wiggle for some leg room and try a proper kick at the lid. My foot snags something, I hear a brief zap, and my nose catches a new smell. Something hot touches my side, rising in temperature even now. I just broke a car battery inside a burning dumpster. I panic, trying to get further away from the hot touch of the car battery juice. In the process, trash bags immediately next to me pop, spilling their contents, giving me even less space to struggle. The air around me is thinning and I start suffocating. 

At that moment, I finally accepted reality. This is how I go. This is how I die. My body won't be found till the next trash collection day, burnt to a crisp, wrapped in plastic and soaked in lithium, if it even stays intact. They say burning is the most painful way to die. I almost black out as the pain at my side becomes too much to bear. The last thing I hear is indecipherable shouting.

I woke up to see Panacea holding my hand. She's saying something but all I hear is ringing in my ears. Great, I somehow got tinnitus. Still, she must be asking me something like “Do I have your permission to heal you?” What an angel, giving me a choice to stay a cripple, probably. Still, I have to answer her question. I nod and see her frown and say something. Huh, she must need verbal confirmation. I croak out a dry “yes” and suddenly, the pain is gone, and I fall back to sleep.

Amy

“Are you sure you need to go to BB General right now?” asks Vicky with a frown on her face. “You’ll be missing out on that double date we had planned. I'm sure Connor is a nice guy. Dean vouched for him, after all.”

All Amy could do is suppress a scowl from showing too much. An excuse to skip one of Vicky’s double dates was a last minute godsend. “No, Vicky. I'm serious, this is an emergency! They say a girl was found near some explosion, covered in third degree burns.”

“Okay, okay” Vicky lightly motions with her arms in a placating gesture, while still holding a grip on Amy, “But it's just one patient? How long could it take?” she asks hopefully.

Don't look her in the eyes. You won't be able to say no. You can resist your sister’s charm, Amy, you can do it! You're not a freak and you'll prove it! Amy looks Vicky in the eyes. “No, Vicky. It's a difficult case. She's pumped full of non-biological matter and toxins that'll take sifting through her whole body to purge. It could take hours!” There, you did well, Amy. You're a lying liar, a horrible evil traitor of a sister. But at least you resisted Vicky.

Vicky pouts as she hovers above the hospital. “Fiiine. But I wanna stay and watch! It's so rare for you to linger on one patient, I wanna see it. And if it turns out that you do finish it quickly, we can always rush to the date!”

God damnit! My perfect evil plan is in danger! On the other hand, Victoria staying with her means she isn't on a date with Dean. And with a catatonic girl being the only person in the room with them, they might as well be all alone. What a perfect, dastardly scheme. Thought Amy, steepling her fingers.

“Um, Amy?” and she's jolted awake from her daydreams by a concerned Vicky, still holding her in bridal carry.

“I'm good! I mean I'm okay!” scrambles Amy, now rushing to wiggle out of Vicky’s embrace, hesitantly.

Inside the hospital, a nurse meets her and gives a brief explanation. “See, she's unconscious so she couldn't give her own consent, but her father is here. And, being her legal guardian, he gave full permission to heal her. So you're in the clear.”

Amy grunts in response and continues her trek down the hallway to where the nurse indicated the patient is lying. Getting led to the patient’s room, Amy is met with a grisly image. The girl is heavily bandaged, yet her covers are already stained with something red. A sickly acidic smell assails her nose.

“Holy shit!” she cries out, grabbing the girl’s hand. “Holy shitballs!” she cries out louder, when her biology finally registers in her mind's eye.

“What? What? What's going on, Amy?” presses Vicky, clearly surprised by her usually blasé sister being so animated.

“Shhhh! Sh!” shushes Amy, only partially playing it up. She needed to convey how serious this case is but also, genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with this girl? “She was a hair away from full organ shutdown. I don't know what has been holding her together but if I was even one minute late, she'd have been toast.. or stake.” Which is also only partially true. Amy knew what held her together and was sure the girl would survive another week by the way how unusually slow the toxins were working on her. That must have been one hell of a trigger, thinks Amy, fascinated at the girl’s cells. They feel denser than they should be, like virtual density. She's brute forcing her way into resisting the toxins. Damn.

Vicky grabs the tablet at the foot of the patient’s bed and reads through it, which sounds like a massive breach in patient confidentiality. But they're the only people here. Amy is no snitch. “ID’d as Taylor Hebert, student at Winslow High. Admitted to hospital due to severe chemical burns and suspected proximity to an explosion. Immediate care, blah blah blah. Previous stay due to blah and blah.. Damn, she's locker girl!” Damn indeed, Vicky. And I told the PRT that she's in the clear last time they asked. But fear not, Taylor, Amy is no snitch!

In fifteen minutes she has already recovered every cell that could be recovered. But she didn't purge the toxins yet. It's over too quickly, she needs some more time for Vicky to give up on the date. Amy hesitates for only a second. This is an opportunity. It'd be way more convincing to actually be working on her. And she's triggered recently, she's unconscious and doesn't know what she can do. It won't be too bad to make a brute.. brutier.. right? Right? And I earned it! I've been such a good hero this whole time. And I know I'm evil. So wouldn't it be fair to do evil when it doesn't matter? It doesn't, really. She's already tougher than steel. Making her baseline tough won't do shit. It'll be like a drop in the ocean, I'm sure. And I can experiment in peace! And I'm not even messing with her brain! I'm basically doing her a favor! And if she turns out to be a hero, I’d have basically made her! All her good deeds will be partially my deeds! 

In unusually high spirits, Amy begins her work on the girl. She feels positively giddy supercharging Taylor’s muscles and improving her skeletal structure. Everything I couldn't do to Vicky, I could do to her.. ehem, except the freak part. All the improvements that are too noticeable or beyond humanly possible that I can cram into this stick thin frame. Would acid glands be too much? Yeah, let's just go slightly beyond humanly possible but theoretically plausible. Like super soldier stuff, not xenomorph stuff.

Lost in thought, Amy startles when Vicky coughs behind her. “Sooo, how's it going?”

“Gah! Good! It's going good. It's going heroic, go good guys and all..” and totally not evil, mumbles Amy under her nose. She looks at the clock. One hour since she started. Vicky is thoroughly and completely late to the date. Yes!

“I'm almost done. Just need to do some final finishing touches.” Fixing her eyesight? Now that's a bit too much. Leave her as is.

“Nice! I wanted to ask her something, actually.” Vicky says, perking up from her bored floating position. “Do you think there's a cape involved?” Which is a valid question, Vicky. I can't just lie to you.

“Probably some cape has it out for her?” at least not lie completely. A cape IS involved with her. “Must be someone really evil for her to end up like that” Which is also not a total lie. Not a lie at all, actually.

As Taylor’s brains flare into activity, Amy asks “Hey, uhh, so this is my second time healing you from a near death incident, so I have to ask. Are you being harassed by a cape?” What's more likely, is that she's just unlucky and is a victim of some regular crime, like getting targeted by Empire for their grunts’ initiation.. twice. Which is just shit luck, but isn't necessarily involving a parahuman. Only parahuman adjacent. Yet Taylor nods. Well shit. I don't want to deal with this. I wanna go home and lay down with some steamy forbidden romance book.

Vicky is looking at her expectantly, so she continues, “Okay. Do you want us to tell the PRT about that?” Being a recent trigger, she for sure would rather stay under the radar. Amy would also prefer if Taylor said no, but she can't appear too uncaring when her sister is RIGHT THERE.

“Y.. yes” Taylor croaks out. Well fuck. That'd teach me not to make hasty assumptions.

“Okay, we'll let them know” Vicky chimes in, and Taylor finally notices her. Seeing the explosion of endorphins and other awe-related hormones in her brain is too much for Amy and she stamps down on Taylor’s wakefulness with a cocktail of sleep chemicals, and the girl slumps back on the bed.

“Oh no. She must be so tired from her horrible day. Let's give her space and quiet,” Amy offers monotonously, already moving towards a Definitely Not a PRT Agent that's fidgeting in the hallway next to some lanky balding dude in glasses. Apples and apple trees, or something.

When she's done telling the PRT agent about Taylor, Vicky lets out an amused huff after seeing something on her phone. “Guess what,” no.. “Dean’s friend was also late!” No. “So we still have time for the double date!” NOOOOOO! Fuck you, Connor!

Taylor

I woke up with the biggest headache in history. Ugh. Fuck you, Connor. You could have ruined my life any day of the weekday but you had to pick friday. Sorry guys, can't play this week, I am in the hospital after getting burned in a dumpster fire. At least do it on monday so I get to skip classes! I can't even text them about it beforehand cause I, a Hebert, famously don’t use mobile phones. They'll think I'm so bad at communication and emotional availability when it's completely out of my control. I’m good at sticking to schedules! I am! It’s the rest of the world that’s wrong.

The hospital stay this time isn't as long. I'll be released in two days or after I'd have gained my weight back. The track team boys are facing attempted murder charges and I'm looking forward to once again trying to force my way into transferring out of Winslow. The boys made a mistake getting caught on camera chasing me into the alley and taking pictures themselves, with their faces on full display. And now I have perfect ammunition to use against Blackwell. Or my dad does. I don't want to take another step inside that hellhole.

Speaking of getting my weight back. I shift my attention to my six pack. I have one now, apparently. Either my powers came with a makeover or Panacea did me a huge favor. Considering that my eyesight is still as blurry as before, I highly doubt that. I'm still immensely thankful for her saving my life and it would be ungrateful to dwell on her not doing something when she did the one most important thing. She saved my hair. It's as long as it used to be and if my newfound power senses tell me they're tougher than steel. 

In fact, my whole body is tougher in general. Except the parts freshly healed by Panacea. They do seem tougher but not to the point of the rest of my body. I feel like I could easily fix that by redistributing the toughness across my body and with a thought, I do exactly that.

A feeling of relief washes over me from being fully protected. My attention shifts to the bed I lay in. The temptation to just take the bed’s durability and make it my own is big but bearable. I could probably convince them that the bed was old and about to break anyway, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience the hospital staff. And it's not like the bed is so sturdy that I'd want some. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm being watched for some reason. Are they onto me? Did I give myself away? How? Better to lay low for a while, let the situation blow over.

Amy, briefly

Amy makes sure to visit the hospital every day after her little gamble with fate, and to check up on Taylor through the gap in the door at least once each visit. Her little secret hasn't been discovered or there'd be a quarantine zone around her room by now. The PRT Director is a hardass and, if rumors are true, one of the only Nilbog survivors. That just screams “will sign any biotinker’s kill order at the slightest suspicion” and Amy isn't planning to die yet. Evil villainous sinners like her don't deserve the quick release of death. She must atone for her vile disgusting evil thoughts properly.

…

She also needs to find an excuse to work on Taylor again. If she makes it consistent, she could chalk it up to curiosity in Taylor’s.. “self-developing biology”. Yeah. That sounds ideal. Make it a part of her powers Amy can “research”. Or. Or. Amy couldn't get all the toxins out so she needs to check up on Taylor regularly to restore her body. Yes. She won't refuse a free healing.

Steepling her fingers evilly, Amy looked at her reflection in the window, wearing the same evil villainous grin as her, but with a fine addition of a thin mustache and goatee that she always has in her evil reflection.

Back to Taylor

My musings are interrupted by a soft “Taylor? You're awake?” As dad wakes up from his chair. That couldn't be comfortable. He rushes to my bed and wraps me in a bear hug. Probably. I wouldn't know how hard he's hugging me.

“Hi dad. I don't think I wanna go back to Winslow.” I choke out, words struggling to come out. My eyes are wet. Is the fire prevention system on? Or is it condensate. Whatever it is, I am not crying.

“Of course, dear. You will never have to see it's doors ever again. I'll take a barrel of gasoline and matches to the place if I have to.” Says dad, with a hint of steel in his voice.

That gets a giggle out of me, interrupting my crying. “Maybe not commit felonies, dad. There are always better options.” I say with a surprising degree of moderation. There are better options. I could get homeschooled, get a GED, start a gang. Who said that? Not me, no sir… I could ask around in the chat. Fencefourth and Slymouth were talking about taking theirs this spring.

“I’m sure there are, kiddo,” says dad, releasing me from the hug. His shoulder is a bit damp. Damn, the humidity in this hospital must be record high. “Have you decided where you want to transfer? I remember you had passing scores for Arcadia.”

“Uhh. I kinda was hoping to not go to any high school at all.” I look up at him with the best puppy dog eyes I can muster. The crying must have helped a lot with that. But I’m met with the look of concern and guilt.

“Oh, Taylor. I looked into those options, but your grades wouldn’t allow homeschooling.” Of course they wouldn’t. The trio spent the last two years ruining my academic performance. 

“Of course they wouldn't,” I huff out, repeating my thoughts out loud. “Okay, arson it is then.” I say, not even trying to hide my grin. Dad chuckles softly and pats my shoulder.

“I'm sure Arcadia is a decent place. After all, Wards wouldn't let people harrass you. If not from a moral standpoint, then from the perspective of PR, at least.”

Right, the first two letters of both organizations. I'd be surprised if they even approve my transfer there. An ostracized little ugly duckling marring their perfect image. “Right. Arcadia.” Now that I'm a parahuman, the prospect of going to a school full of Wards sounds.. not as fun as it used to be. Daunting, even.

On the one hand, I get an opportunity to feel them out before I come into conflict with them. Intel is always important. On the other, I'm a bruty brute who brutes. One unfortunate bump and I go from “unassuming quiet Thing” to “oh shit! she's a walking brick wall”. Well.. when I find a proper brick wall to absorb, at least. Or I could carry something that I could offload all the toughness into while I'm at school. Just a brush of a hand away from being fully protected. Then I'll have to explain why my hairpin weighs five tons when its not me holding it. Problems. Problems. And so few solutions. But as the saying goes, future problems are for the future Taylor.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice how dad hugged me goodbye and left the room. At least, I didn't hear what he said when he did so. But now that I turned to look towards my departing dad, I notice a familiar frowny face peeking from over the door frame. The greatest healer in the world says something quickly to my dad and enters the room. 

She stomps quickly to my bed and holds out her hand. I stare at it, then at her face. Her brow arches like I'm making the biggest social blunder possible.

“Gimme your hand,” she grumbles, “I need to check up on you.” Huh? Why?

“Why? What's wrong?” I ask, my heart spiking in anxiety. Did something happen? Like some toxins in my body couldn't get flushed out?

“You're a new toxin and I need to check your brute levels,” she spits out. 

“Wait, what?” she stares at me for a moment, clearly baffled by how slow I am.

“I-I mean you're a new parahuman a-and your body is changing and you still have toxins I couldn't flush out because.. cause you're a brute and are resisting my healing!” She looks so smug saying that. Weird. I'd thought she would be furious that some new parahuman can resist her. How magnanimous of her. I grab her hand and let the knowledge of her body structure wash over my mind. Which is not a whole lot of body but it's still more complex than a hospital bed.

“Wait, you know I'm a parahuman?” Yeah, let's address my primary concern. Which, from her over the top eyeroll seems to be the stupidest question anyone has asked her today.. or ever. Way to go, Taylor. You live under a rock and don't know that Panacea is also a cape detector.

“Yeah. I can read your whole biology, and those two lumps in your brain that only appear in parahumans or potential parahumans were super active when I first healed you. And the whole resisting my healing. Yeah. That totally happened” ‘and is not an evil villainous lie’ she adds breathlessly or soundlessly. Right. Of course. Why did I even doubt her? She's THE Panacea! Nothing evil or villainous about her at all, she said so herself. Calm down, Taylor.

She falls silent, clearly concentrating on something. I already feel my flesh shift and change. My powers must be resisting her healing so hard, I heard she usually takes like 20 seconds to heal each person. 

Finally, after what feels like 5 minutes, she lets go of my hand and breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, you're ready to be released,” she looks at me hesitantly, then grabs my hand for a couple more seconds. “Y-yeah. The toxins are refusing to get flushed out, like they're uhh.. embedded in your bone marrow now.” Oh no? What? What am I gonna do about that?

“Oh shit! Is that dangerous? Will I be able to ever play the flute again?” Right, comedy to stave off fear sounds good right now.

“Yo- uhh. Yes you will. It’s nothing lethal, but it might lead to some health issues down the road. Just make sure to visit me every week or so, I'll patch you up. Here, this is my private phone number. Don't spread it around,” Panacea says, scribbling down a series of numbers on a napkin. Wow. That's.. ughh, she's such a saint! She's going out of her way to keep me healthy! That’s so nice of her.. Almost too nice, actually.

“Thank you so much! I was never able to play on a flute before, but your reassurance gives me confidence!” Deflect with humor, Taylor. Panacea doesn't need to hear your little paranoid suspicions. What she needs is to hear the same joke doctors hear every day from their most annoying patients.

“Right. Uh. I'll see you around then,” she says as she starts walking away from the room before I could apologize for my damn foot. It just had to get in my mouth.

What even was that? Humor? From me? The objectively unfunny person? Where did that come from? What was I hoping to achieve? What was she hoping to achieve?! Is this whole thing really just out of the goodness of her heart? Is there some ulterior motive I'm unaware of? I was left alone with those thoughts for the rest of the day.

Amy

Amy would groan and roll her eyes at the dumb joke, but she couldn't. She was too busy doing a small victory dance in her head. Taylor agreed to be her personal super secret experimental subject! For a small small price of nothing! You're being scammed, Taylor, and you don't even know it! How utterly contemptuous and evil of Amy to do.

Now she just needs to come up with a list of modifications she wants to inflict upon Taylor. Oh the possibilities! Stronger bone lattice? Hexagonal osteons lined with some polymer? Can she produce graphite? Isn't that like the talk of non-tinkers, currently? Some crazy tensile strength or something. She will need to do her research. Even homework sounds less tedious when she has something to look forward to. And she needs to come up with some way to convince Taylor to openly work on modding her. She seems naive enough that she could agree to anything as long as Amy worded it just right. Taylor would never suspect that she has some ulterior motive.