Scale 5.16
Bryce Kiley
2010, December 26: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I tugged insistently at my tie until I felt it loosen somewhat in my grip. Sabah heard about the Christmas party/ banquet I was being drafted for and decided it was the perfect opportunity to use me as a dress up doll again. I ended up with a navy suit and tie that was, admittedly, fitted to perfection.
I'd visited the Dallon home briefly once before, back when Amy conned me into going to homecoming with her. It was as white picket fence-y as I remembered. Manicured lawns, perfectly trimmed hedges, and neatly demarcated property lines lent the entire neighborhood a picturesque feel that seemed alien to Brockton Bay. I wondered if Carol Dallon was also an active part of her HOA.
Everything I knew about her suggested she'd be the type to be anal over the "community atmosphere" of her block. Then again, she was a semi-retired heroine and a famous lawyer. She didn't have the hours in the day to hound her neighbors about the paint color of fences and whatnot.
The Dallons were waiting in their driveway, dressed to the nines in formalwear. So was Dean, who was obviously here as Vicky's plus one. I got out of the car and waved goodbye to my sister.
"Oh, good, you're here," Amy said, with what I assumed was supposed to be a winning smile. She tried, but she looked like she was trying to politely tell a Jehovah's Witness to fuck off.
"Yup. I can't pass up free food, can I?" I said with an easygoing smile. Then, because at least one of us had to pretend we had manners, I held out a hand to Carol. "Hello and Merry Christmas. Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Dallon."
She weighed me against some unknown metric before taking my hand with a polite smile. "Merry Christmas to you, too. Both Vicky and Amy speak well of you. I hope you enjoy yourself tonight."
"Nice suit, Bryce," Dean said with an approving nod.
"Thanks, a friend of my sister's is really into fashion. I let her use me as a dress up doll for a bit and vola, perfectly formalwear."
We spent several precious minutes making smalltalk. The parents asked me how I did in school and I pretended I gave a damn about Huck Finn. We weren't even there yet and I already felt like I was at a networking event.
Eventually, we got in two cars and headed for Carol's law firm. The parents drove in their own car while Dean, being the only one of us kids with a vehicle of his own, drove his Lexus.
X
The law firm had a name, but I forgot it seconds after I heard it the first time and was too embarrassed to ask again. It was located in the downtown business district and occupied three whole floors of one of the larger commercial buildings. It was also within walking distance of pretty much every major employer in the city, half of which were no doubt their clients.
The five of us were greeted by a valet and one of Carol's coworkers who happened to arrive at about the same time. The balding, middle-aged man with a snowman-themed tie introduced himself as David, head of their healthcare regulatory practice.
"Yes, we've been talking with Medhall's legal team for a while now," he was telling a barely interested Mark. Even Carol looked bored. "For whatever reason, they just won't give us the time of day. The quotes I gave them were more than reasonable. I wonder if someone annoyed Max Anders."
"You'll get there, David. You've got all the right qualifications to represent them," Carol said placatingly. I didn't need to be a lawyer to know that was professional-speak for "Please stop talking."
I could guess what was going on.
Max Anders was the CEO of Medhall, the largest healthcare company in the state. They had their own network of pharmacies, clinics, and even an R&D subsidiary, with a gross revenue of over four billion last year. The company, privately owned by the Anders family and select friends, rivaled Stansfield Enterprises as the largest single employer in Brockton Bay.
He was also Kaiser, leader of the Empire 88. Seeing how he almost certainly used Medhall to fund the E88, it was no wonder he didn't want Carol's firm anywhere near his civilian empire.
Had he retained Carol's firm, he'd have had to allow Carol's colleagues to learn privileged information about his company. And though confidentiality laws made her finding out over the water cooler unlikely, he obviously wouldn't want to trust in professionalism alone.
Then again, there had to be a part of him that wanted to employ this firm, just for the kick he'd get from knowing Kaiser was indirectly employing Brandish. He was certainly enough of an egomaniac for it.
Unfortunately, Max was a rare breed, a Nazi who wasn't a complete moron. He probably blacklisted Carol's firm long before this David fellow approached Medhall as a potential client. Medhall's counsel would continue to give him the runaround so long as he was part of Brandish's firm.
As the only person here who understood what was going on, I found this situation a lot more amusing than I perhaps should have.
"What's so funny?" Dean asked as he leaned in.
"Hmm? Sorry, I just thought of a book I'd read," I deflected with an easygoing smile. It was true; I'd read Worm.
"Cool, what was it about?"
"A bullied schoolgirl who obtains powers, tries to do the right thing, and ends up becoming the biggest villain her city has ever seen, all through a series of well-intentioned but objectively stupid decisions."
"That doesn't sound like a comedy."
"It's not. The author's an anti-establishment nihilist. The main character tries and fails, partially because the system fails her at every turn. There are good people in the system, but its overarching design is built to make life exceedingly difficult for solo actors like her."
"Why do you find this funny again?"
"It has its moments."
Dean, one of those good people in the system, shook his head in confusion. "Alright, man. Come on, let's go inside."
We were led into a large conference hall maintained by the building's management company. It was really two conference rooms, with a wall between them that could be taken apart as required. The whole space, paved with marble flooring and lined with tactful paintings, looked thoroughly inoffensive.
One side of the hall was lined with a row of buffet-style serving stations. Everything I'd come to expect of a Christmas feast was available, including a carving station with a ribeye roast. The buffet was capped on either side by a free bar and dessert station.
"Victoria, take everyone to the back and grab a table. I think I see some of your friends," Carol said. She looped her arm with her husband's and led him towards a table of her colleagues. Judging by their average ages and receding hairlines, these were the bigshots in the firm.
"Yay… Come on, everyone, we've been exiled to the kiddie corner," Victoria drawled dryly.
"Would you like to continue hearing from David? I'm sure he'd be delighted to know you find healthcare practice development so interesting."
"Good point, that sounds miserable. Let's go, sis, boyfriend, Bryce."
The back of the hall had several of those large, circular tables clustered together. Two were occupied already. From the snippets of conversation I could overhear, two were full of young associates while the other two were for college students. That left the final two for the rest of us, the minors.
Vicky happily took the lead. She made a beeline towards a group of overdressed teens. Annoyingly, they were all older than me, the curse of being a freshman again. Given that she and Dean greeted most of them by name, I gathered that this was a regular thing, maybe not this Christmas party exactly, but social functions between them were a usual enough occurrence.
Really, it was like I was looking at a younger copy of the table in front. I probably was. These were the children of hotshot lawyers and their clients, people who regularly billed in the multi-millions. They weren't exactly nobility, but they were as uppercrust as this city had.
Vicky swept through like a whirlwind of holiday spirit. She introduced everyone to each other. What was really impressive was that she remembered details about their lives that seemed laughably trivial to me: One boy's little sister's piano recital. A girl's interest in studying abroad in Spain.
I tried to remember their names as best I could. I'd likely never see these people again, but it couldn't hurt to be engaged in the conversation. It was, admittedly, a losing proposition.
One person in particular stood out.
"Hi, Bryce. It's always nice to meet another of Vicky and Amy's friends," she said. She was a pretty redhead who kept her hair in an elegant bun that probably took longer than it should. At a guess I placed her a year or so older than me. "I'm Emma. Dad's a lawyer here too, so I know Vicky pretty well. Amy, well, you know how she is."
"My sister is what, Emma?" Vicky asked with a serene smile. It was the calm before the storm, a warning as clear as a traffic light.
"Nothing, I mean she's very reserved. I wish I could be as above it all as she is. I was just going to say that it's really interesting how she came with a boyfriend tonight."
"We're not dating," Amy replied hastily.
Emma let out a dainty little gasp and winced. She shot me what I assumed was supposed to be a sympathetic look. "Ooh, sorry, Bryce. More fish in the sea and all that."
"It's cool," I shrugged ambivalently. Her name niggled something at the back of my mind, but I couldn't tell what exactly.
I eyed the redhead curiously. It was like looking at a strange animal. I was confused. We'd just sat down and this random girl started taking potshots at Amy.
Was I not dressed spiffy enough to sit at this table? That couldn't be it; my suit fit me better than the one I wore to my hospital director's wedding in the past.
Did she have some kind of juvenile rivalry with Victoria? That sounded more likely, but Vicky was the queen bee by default. Her passive aura and hero status made her really hard to dislike.
I couldn't figure it out so I looked to the incognito empath for some guidance. Dean was… He was sipping at his glass of ginger ale, trying not to stand out. He may have been Gallant, but he was also a seventeen year old boy. When two pretty girls started sniping at each other, our instinct wasn't to get involved, it was to play possum.
Still, I managed to coax something out of him. He glanced at Amy, then at Emma with a furrowed brow. It wasn't much of a hint, but it was what I had to work with.
I leaned towards Amy and nudged her shoulder with my own. I whispered, "What'd you do to piss her off?"
"What makes you think I did anything?" Amy grouched. Her whisper was a bit louder than mine.
"I know a Mexican standoff when I see one. Or, close enough anyway."
"I didn't do anything. I barely know her."
"Oh, I get it," I nodded. Then, louder than Amy so a few of the people closer to us could hear, I said, "Did you refuse to zap away a zit for her or something? Not gonna lie, it's kinda petty to hold a grudge this long."
"I don't have zits!" Emma gasped, scandalized. "How old are you, anyway? Aren't you a little young to be here?"
"I didn't realize there was an age limit to mooching food off your rich daddy. But if you must know, I'm fifteen."
"Well–"
"Lay off, Emma," one of the older girls said from another table. She looked to be about Sierra's age, give or take a year, and was a dead ringer for Emma's older sister, just as pretty, without the mean-spirited sneer. She'd been enjoying a quiet chat with some of her own friends but must have heard the bickering here. "It's Christmas. Can you avoid being a brat for more than ten minutes tonight? Please?"
"Oh, buzz off, Anne," Emma scoffed. "I was just going to congratulate Amy on her new date but it's not my fault she wants to lead around a freshie."
"Then do it without being a brat," her sister scoffed. She turned to us. "Sorry about that, Emma's been in a catty mood for a few weeks now. It's not your fault. You look lovely by the way, Amy."
A beautiful but bitchy redhead named Emma. A father who worked at Carol's firm. An older sister named Anne…
That did it; the pieces clicked. I was reasonably sure that this was Emma Barnes, Taylor's childhood friend and chief bully. This explained all the backhanded… whatever the fuck she thought that was.
The bickering came to a pause when we were allowed to go get food. Everyone else went up to stand in line but I tugged Amy down by her sleeve with the excuse of waiting for the line to dwindle.
"So, that was Barnes, right?" I asked quietly, mostly for confirmation.
She looked at me with surprise. "Huh? Yeah, how did you–"
"What can I say? Her bitchiness transcends the fabric of reality."
"Huh? Oh…" She leaned forward and whispered, "Wait, she's a–"
"Pft, of course not. As far as normies go though, she just might be the most important person in the world."
She was. From a certain point of view, anyway. She herself had no idea of course, but she made Taylor. Skitter. Weaver. And eventually, Khepri. It wouldn't be wrong to say that she helped save the world.
And what a disgusting thought that was. Immortal monkeys with typewriters did not a Shakespeare make, not even if they did write Hamlet.
"Anything I should know about?" Amy asked.
"No, just… I have some things to think about," I replied.
"If you say so… You'll tell me if I need to know, right?"
"Right. Come on, let's go get some food."
X
Dinner was delicious. The prime rib was juicy, the mashed potatoes probably had enough butter to wring dry a cow, and the gravy was silky and warm, with a peppercorn finish that made my mouth water. Even the brussel sprouts were great. And, with Vicky taking up the limelight, Amy and I were free to fade into the background.
After the dinner, the chairman of the firm stood and thanked all the guests for coming. He talked about record profits, accolades certain lawyers had earned in the past year, and how everyone in the firm was like one, big family to him.
It was honestly a little gross. I'd worked in a hospital for most of my professional life, but I'd heard plenty of horror stories from friends who were stuck in firms with "family values."
He then opened the floor for the entertainment portion of the Christmas party, or as Amy put it, "stupid holiday shit." One of the partners tried his hand at standup comedy, badly. The funniest part of this was watching his son sink beneath the tablecloth out of vicarious embarrassment.
Eventually, the dance floor was opened and Vicky dragged everyone out. I shoved Amy into her arms and found a quiet corner to think.
I found myself glancing at the redhead. Emma was gorgeous; she really pulled off the prom queen vibe. It was easy to see how she got signed on as an amateur model. That said, she was as vapid and catty as I'd expected. But it wasn't Emma I was really fixated on.
Taylor Hebert. I hadn't expected to be reminded of her today. Truth be told, I didn't think much of her at all. Before I received the Tinker of Fiction, I'd resolved myself to simply survive. When Leviathan came, I planned to not join the Merchants, and maybe, just maybe, not be a headache for Sierra before ditching the city altogether when Taylor got outed.
After I triggered, and I had my suspicions that I didn't have a conventional Shard, I'd had so much to do that Taylor became an academic question. For the first few months, I'd felt I was too weak to make a difference. My priority had been getting stronger, mastering the technologies and skills I learned.
When I did feel strong enough, there were other demands on my time: There was Damascus, which was a shitshow all its own. Coil, who had to die if I wanted a modicum of peace and sanity in this city. And of course, there was Sabah and Amy, who honestly meant a lot more to me than some girl I only knew from a story.
I… I wasn't too late. This was the winter break before Taylor's trigger. Her school started up in a little over a week. Emma and her friends would probably fill her locker with used tampons sometime this week. I could prevent it, prevent the birth of the Queen.
It'd be simple, too. I didn't even have to get involved in Taylor's life. I could drop by the night before the first day of school and clean out Taylor's locker. All Emma would know would be that the janitor did his job for once.
The question wasn't whether I could, but whether I should. I'd been tongue-in-cheek with Amy when I called Emma the most important normie in the world, but I hadn't exactly been lying. Could the local multiverse survive without Khepri? Could I beat Scion in her stead?
No, that wasn't the right question. I was the Tinker of Fiction, of course I'd outgrow Scion eventually. The right question wasn't whether I could, but whether I'd have the time.
I was reminded of a thought experiment I'd heard in my past life. It presented the reader with a utopia of infinite bliss, where absolutely nothing could go wrong.
Except, there was an innocent child in the basement who took on all the suffering and misfortune of the city. This child underwent untold agony every second of his existence so that those who lived above could live in eternal bliss. The idea was that no one knew about this child, this sacrificial lamb.
The circumstances weren't the same of course. Even so, I couldn't help but feel that if I didn't prevent her trigger, I'd be consigning her to a similar fate.
I was drawn out of my inner thoughts by someone sitting next to me. Dean set down two glasses of ginger ale between us. I'd drained my own glass without realizing it. "You look like you're thinking heavy thoughts."
"Dean? Shouldn't you be out with Vicky?" I asked as I took the offered drink. I'd probably drawn him in with my melancholy.
"I was, but she's too much energy for me. Besides, this is the most fun I've seen Amy have in… ever," he said with a wry grin.
I looked over. Sure enough, Vicky was spinning her sister in the air, laughing like a lunatic. Amy did her best to scowl through it all like a grumpy cat, but she wasn't fooling anyone.
I let out a snort of laughter. "Yeah, she's totally enjoying it."
"So? What's up?"
"Nothing, I'm just… thinking."
"Can I ask what about? It's Christmas, cheer up, Bryce."
"I'm not sad," I told him. "Still, I appreciate the sentiment."
"No problem. I know this isn't really your scene, but if you ever want to talk, I'm here, man."
"Thanks, Dean," I said sincerely. He wasn't really good at this whole "superpowered psychologist" thing, but he tried. He genuinely wanted everyone around him to enjoy themselves and that kind of authentic consideration was hard to be mad at. "Say, are you religious?"
"Hmm? I'm… Yes and no? I'm not sure how to explain, but I guess I do think that there is something out there. I mean, it's kinda hard not to. Superpowers are real, and there's so much we can't explain. Who's to say there isn't something more? Something bigger than us?"
"Right. So spiritual, but not necessarily dogmatic."
"I guess you could say that. Is that what you were thinking about? Jesus' birthday?"
"The birth of Christ… the birth of a savior… I suppose so, in a manner of speaking."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Don't worry about it," I said with a small laugh. "I guess the holiday spirit's getting to me."
"Most people get drunk and dance like fools."
"I get contemplative and think way too hard about moral philosophy."
"You're an old soul, Bryce. Never change," Dean said, chuckling. I saw him glance at the other end of the room, towards a familiar redhead. He shook his head with a disapproving frown. "Sorry about her, by the way."
"Emma, right? What's her deal anyway? She seemed like she had a bone to pick with Amy, or maybe Vicky."
"Mostly Vicky. We met a few times at semi-formal functions like this one. I think Vicky mentioned running into her at a photoshoot, too. She, uh, flirted with me once when she didn't know Vicky and I were together and… yeah…"
"Teenage drama I don't care about, got it, sorry I asked. So those two don't get along and the ginger decided to take shots at me instead."
"Sorry about that…"
"Not your fault. Don't apologize for things you didn't do, Dean. That's a bad habit of yours."
"Sorry."
"For fuck's sake…"
"Hehe, that just came out," he said with a sheepish chuckle.
As we bantered goodnaturedly, I saw his attention drifting towards Emma more and more. He perceived emotions in terms of colored auras. I didn't know what he saw when he looked at Emma, but I doubted it matched the cheerful, upbeat smile she wore.
She'd found her way towards one of the girls I hadn't bothered to remember the name of. By the way Dean was scowling, I could guess that she wasn't exactly there to make friends.
He wasn't the only one who noticed. Amy, who was a bit closer, must have overheard something because I saw her begin to walk over.
"Good talk, Bryce," Dean said, standing. "I'm gonna go…"
I looked at him, then at the two girls whispering in the corner. I waved him off with an easy smile. "Go be a white knight, yes? Go on, then, hero."
"Ah, yeah…"
"You know, I think I'm going to go keep Amy's mom distracted. Try not to draw too much attention, yeah?" I said, standing.
"Thanks, Bryce."
Author's Note
This and the next chapter are brought to you by EverPeach. I had faith that he wouldn't be able to finish his chapter, but he did, so I now have to match it.
Believe it or not, this chapter's been in my head since the very beginning of this story. I hadn't written anything out yet, but when I first began to brainstorm, I thought about how I'd introduce certain canon characters.
Bryce, being an Arcadia student, had few reasons to meet anyone from Winslow, especially once I accounted for the unwritten rules. Then, I remembered that Emma actually knew Vicky in passing.
In canon, the trio met Vicky at a photoshoot. They got along at first, until Vicky overheard Emma make fun of a disabled girl. I decided that dragging them together via their parents was as good a reason as any.
The thought experiment Bryce is referring to is from a short story by Ursula Le Guin called "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas." It's a classic in philosophy classes that presents a direct challenge to utilitarianism.
Animal Fact: King cobra venom is tailored to be more effective on other reptiles because they mostly eat other snakes. That's what the "king" means. When a snake, even if it's not of the kingsnake family, has "king" in the name, it usually means that this snake feeds predominantly on other snakes.
Up to 90% of a king cobra's diet can be made up of other snakes, fellow king cobras included. In fact, just about the only time they will not eat each other is during mating season, when two males will engage in a duel for dominance. The loser, usually, gets to walk away.
Thank you to everyone who paid for my groceries. I have a Patreon and Kofi with dozens of chapters written across my various stories. If you'd like to read ahead, receive more frequent updates, vote in monthly polls or even commission a chapter directly, check them out.
Interlude 5.16.5: Emma Barnes & Amy Dallon
Emma Barnes
2010, December 26: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I took an angry bite from my French salad. The food looked tasty, but no way was I letting that much fat and carbs into my body. I had a modeling career to look forward to, and the New Year's shoot was coming up. I glanced at Victoria, stuffing her face without a care in the world. It must have been nice, having Panacea on call.
I'd told daddy that I wasn't interested in coming, but he dragged me here anyway because this was a great "networking opportunity," as if any of these dweebs were worth knowing. None of them were strong. None of them were survivors. Not like me, and not like Sophia. Hell, even Madison was better. At least she knew enough to blend in with the winners.
Today sucked. This whole month sucked.
Sophia wouldn't stop ranting about that Creed guy ever since she and Aegis got embarrassed by the "totally a hero now" supernerd. He was a lame, wishy-washy, limp-dicked coward who had a thinker's hand so far up his ass he might as well be a sock puppet. She told me how without all the help he got from The GOAT's tinker collective, she'd have hunted him down like a rabid dog.
Worst of all, she was explicitly prohibited from seeking a rematch because the PRT were pathetic pussies. They were trying to "cultivate good relations with an independent heroic faction." Yea, as if. The real answer was they were too scared of a cape who wasn't even in the city.
I understood her annoyance, but she didn't need to repeat it like a broken alarm. I told her so after the eighth time and she got all sulky so we hadn't talked in the last week or so.
I couldn't even see Taylor because it was winter break. I wasn't going to go to her house, even though I knew where she lived, because I wasn't an obsessive loser. I refused to let a loser like her live rent-free in my head.
Even before that, I had the brilliant idea to let our pranks die down a bit. Since November, I'd had the girls lay off, lulling her into a false sense of security.
Then, Sophia, Madison, and I were going to play the mother of all pranks on the first day of school. We'd been raiding the trash bins in the girls bathrooms for months now and were going to fill Taylor's locker before stuffing her inside. That'd put her in her place.
Part of me wanted to call Madison and Sophia, but that wouldn't do. I couldn't be the one to call, that'd make me look guilty and I'd done nothing wrong. As daddy said, cases and arguments were often won just by standing your ground.
This lame party would have been bad enough, but I ran into the Gloryhole and her perfect medic sister. I should've known they'd show. And, the social cripple even showed up with a date. Sure, a freshman who was being strung along like a balloon animal, but at least it was something. Amy Dallon almost made me believe in Christmas miracles again.
Whatever. It just meant I'd have to find my own fun. I looked around, scoping out possible targets. Sophia was right. You were either strong or you were weak. The sorts of people who attended parties like this didn't get it. They couldn't because they'd never been tested before.
They liked to think they were on top of the world, but they weren't true survivors. And that made it okay to test them. Hell, I was doing them a favor. I was giving them a taste of the real world, where the strong did as they pleased and the weak bore what they must. All the better for them to learn it from me than someone meaner.
I saw that poor freshie in the corner. He was brooding over a drink, probably wondering how he'd blown his chance with the Dallons' ugly duckling. Poor idiot probably didn't even realize it wasn't his fault; Amy didn't drag him here to be a serious date.
I thought about stealing him away. It wasn't like he was hideous or anything, and I could do with someone to pamper me for a night. It'd make his year and I'd get to rub it in Amy's face, but Vicky's boytoy took pity on him before I could. I scoffed. Dean was probably imparting some terrible dating advice. It sounded like the kind of thing he'd do because of "the bro code."
I found someone else. Bernice was a big-boned girl with more zits than clear skin on her face. Her mother was just the office manager at daddy's firm so she had no one else to rely on. It'd be nice if she fought back, but I doubted it. People like her were weak. They didn't deserve the privilege they enjoyed.
I walked over with a sharp smirk. "So, are you in the corner because you're trying to hide your sweat stains or have you figured out that watching you eat makes everyone else feel sick?"
She startled when she heard my voice, like an obese rabbit. "I-What? What are you–"
"Lovely, slow and… unfortunate looking… You're the full package, aren't you?"
"I"m not-I don't even know you!"
"No, but I know you. I always say I have the worst luck."
"What's your problem?"
"Boredom, really, but also you. Your pizzaface is everyone's problem. And if you're going to make everyone else's life difficult by breathing our air, then I'm going to do us all a favor and show you your place."
"I… Why are you doing this?" she asked. I could hear her voice start to quiver already.
"I told you. It's because you're pathetic. You're an eyesore and no one wants you here. You can think of this as my public service for the evening. You know, 'tis the season of giving and whatnot."
X
Amy Dallon
I leaned against one wall as I tried to catch my breath. I loved my sister, maybe more than a sister should, but Vicky sometimes didn't know her own strength. She squeezed way too hard when she was swinging me around. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but I could feel my ribs creak. I'd have to get Bryce to heal the bruises later.
That was super convenient. Everyone else in my family had me as a safety net, but I always had to be extra careful. I couldn't heal myself so if I ever got injured, I was shit out of luck. Not anymore. Now, I had Bryce. It was reassuring, knowing I wouldn't be laid out for months because of a broken arm or something equally fixable.
I looked over to see what he was doing. Across the room, he and Dean seemed to be deep in conversation. I wondered what they were talking about. For whatever reason, Bryce seemed to actually like the white knight schtick Dean put on.
He knew Dean's identity; I was sure of it. I couldn't remember if he'd explicitly said so, but he knew so much about the Wards, like Chris' specialization, that it wouldn't have surprised me. Besides, if he didn't know from his thinker bullshit, then he definitely could find out whenever he wanted with SAINT's help.
I almost felt bad for dragging him out here, but he really did make dinner easier to tolerate. It wasn't like he didn't get anything out of it; I promised to do my best to help him with his devil fruit project. Well, I would have helped him anyway, but still…
Stupid, edgy name aside, the project was… amazing. Bryce described it as a pure nugget of potential, a cluster of cells that couldn't even be called stem cells, really. "Stem cell" implied that the "root" part of a creature, whether that be a human, dog, or some other animal, had been determined already.
That wasn't the case for these "zoans." They were more like lumps of pristine, untouched clay, ready for me to mold into the shape of any animal in the world.
No, they were even better. I could feel it; they had the potential to surpass any animal "template." According to Bryce, the animal almost didn't matter as much as the subject who consumed a zoan. The fruits would unlock their "inner potential." I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I couldn't wait to find out.
Even now, days later, it was all I could think about. The world had a severe shortage of heroes, but Bryce and I could turn that around. PRT troopers who had strong wills and good hearts could finally stand toe-to-toe against the worst sorts of villains.
Even if we made the selection process so rigorous that each city only ended up with one or two, I had a feeling we'd be able to turn the tide against villainy. We could, quite literally, bring about a whole new golden age of heroes, ones that lacked the conflict drive that Bryce talked about.
I shook my head. That was a dangerous thought. I knew this potential would scare people. We'd have to be careful, ensure that not a single devil fruit got lost or stolen. We'd need a proper framework, the infrastructure to make this sort of thing possible. Most of all, we'd need experience and legitimacy. In the end, people wouldn't trust a "miracle fruit that can make anyone a hero."
Hell, I didn't trust it until I examined it for myself. Which meant Bryce had been right to hide it from me, even as he told me about everything else.
I… I hadn't been in a good place at the start of the semester; I could recognize that now. I was irritable, depressed, and burnt out and disillusioned with my job. I would never have accepted the devil fruit at face value. I probably would have knocked Bryce into a coma and dragged him to the PRT myself.
And if I, Panacea, the person who was supposed to be the world's foremost authority on biology, couldn't give Bryce a fair shake, then the average person definitely wasn't going to either. That's why Brockton Bay had to be a testing ground. It had to be our proof of concept.
Once we had a team of real, proven heroes, heroes who weren't parahumans, we could show the world. We could point to Brockton Bay and say, "See? It's safe, secure, and will help people without monstrous side effects."
I was drawn out of my daydreaming by a familiar, snide voice.
"So, are you in the corner because you're trying to hide your sweat stains or have you figured out that watching you eat makes everyone else feel sick?" Emma sneered. I turned to find her a few tables away, whispering harshly at a girl who looked bewildered at the sudden attack.
I hadn't realized I was loitering so close to the ginger bitch, but I wasn't surprised she'd found herself a new chewtoy. She tried to hit on Dean once at one of these parties a while back, got shot down because the empath obviously saw her puke-colored personality, and had it out for Vicky ever since. If it were up to me, she could have him.
I rolled my eyes as she did her best to rip the poor girl apart. That was her whole schtick. Whenever we met, she'd pick a fight with Vicky, get shot down like the raging cunt she was, then look for easier targets. She was a bully, projecting all her fuckups onto others even while she hid behind daddy's money.
I… I never spoke up. I never bothered to because it'd all seemed so beneath me. The latest child I couldn't save. The next dreaded shift at the hospital. The last cigarette in my pocket. It'd always seemed like I'd had bigger concerns.
I wasn't sure what changed, but tonight, I found myself listening in. I didn't want to. I hadn't made an active effort or anything, but Emma's voice seemed to carry, jabbing into my ears like the insistent mosquito she was.
Last month, shortly after Damascus, I got pissed at Bryce for running back into the riot. He'd evacuated all the patients who'd been left behind at the medic center, then decided he'd go beat up the strongest capes in Syria.
I'd punched him then, yelling about how stupid he'd been, risking his life for people he didn't even know. The dumbass laughed and said something like, "I'm told that's what heroes do," as if the stupid fuck hadn't been swearing up and down that he was a villain.
It… It felt good, hearing that. When we first met, he said that all he wanted to do was to keep his own family safe and make cool shit. It made me wonder if I was the reason he thought that way.
Right now, I felt like a hypocrite.
Sure, no one was dying, but I'd told Bryce that I'd be his moral compass. I'd make sure he didn't do anything horrible with his powers. After all, I was a hero. If I didn't keep an eye on him, then who?
"I told you. It's because you're pathetic. You're an eyesore and no one wants you here. You can think of this as my public service for the evening. You know, 'tis the season of giving and whatnot."
I snapped.
Even if I never went on patrols, I should at least not let some uppity bitch run her mouth. Otherwise, letting Bryce call me "The GOAT" would start to sound pretty fucking ironic.
"Really? That's your excuse for being a raging cunt? Are you a better person the other eleven months of the year?" I snarked as I stalked over.
Emma scoffed dismissively, flipping her hair like she thought someone was filming her. "Some of us had to earn our place, princess. Some of us had to fight and prove ourselves. Then there's this fatass. She looks like she's never seen a mirror in her life, never mind a treadmill."
"Wow… What the hell does he see in you?" I muttered under my breath. Bryce had called her "the most important person in the world. I didn't get it. I was sure I could find more valuable bricks. "You're talking mad shit for someone whose only worth is a pretty face. See this girl? It would take me five seconds to clear up her acne. Is that really what you have a problem with?"
"So what? Why are you even here? Don't you have some poor sap to heal? Can you really afford to be spending your time here? People are dying because you wanted a steak dinner, you know."
"You–"
"Yeah, it's kinda harsh, isn't it? I mean, if I had your kind of power, I sure wouldn't be offering a dermatology checkup to pizzaface here. Does it make you feel better? This meaningless charity crap?"
"It should. Some people live to lift others up. Others put people down to make themselves feel better," Dean said, butting in like the white knight he was. I'd thought he was busy psychoanalyzing the weirdness that was Bryce, but he'd apparently found us more interesting. "Amy's got nothing to be ashamed of."
He was as handsome as ever, with that perfect, preppy, rich boy smile that made me want to give him cavities.
"Aww, Dean~ I knew you agreed with me. I mean, really, how cruel is it of the Panacea to imply that Bernice here isn't just perfect the way she is?" Emma cooed with a saccharine smirk. "Talk about putting other people down to make herself feel better, right?"
"M-My name isn't Ber–" the bullied girl tried to interject. She was obviously painfully shy and so many people gathering around her probably made her want to crawl into a hole.
"Yeah, yeah, the people who matter are talking."
"That wasn't what I said, Emma," Dean scowled. He looked a lot like his dad, actually. I'd bet anything he practiced the expression in a mirror.
"We all heard it. Don't go backtracking now."
"Shut up, Dean, you're not helping," I spat. I eyed Bernice or whatever with a frustrated frown. "Don't listen to some bitch telling you you're worthless. Anything I can fix in five seconds doesn't define you and neither does the soulless ginger over there."
"That's hardly the case. You can fix a cripple in a wheelchair, but they'll still have that experience. Saying it doesn't define them is trivializing things, isn't it?" Emma asked innocently. She was great at that, playing the victim and acting like she'd done nothing wrong.
"Stop twisting people's words, Emma!"
"Hmm? Am I doing anything like that, Amy? The way I see it, you're a self-important, glorified nurse who thinks she's hot shit because she won the power lottery. Guess what? Not everyone's going to kiss your ass to pop a zit."
We weren't really being quiet anymore. I could see a few people start to look our way. I could feel my face flush with rage. I wanted to slap her so badly, but that'd just be playing into her hands. Emma was exactly the kind of manipulative bitch to go crying to daddy if I did.
I took a deep breath. Mom always insisted on self-control. And with a sister like Vicky, I heard that lecture around the house constantly. I could probably recite it chapter and verse by now.
Taking a step back, this was honestly a novel experience. I'd never had to deal with any bullying in school. Vicky was always one of the popular kids, even before she got powers, and afterwards, who'd want to bully Glory Girl's sister? And after I became Panacea? Good fucking luck.
But that didn't mean I didn't know how to deal with a manipulative worm like Emma. People like her came to me all the time, hoping they could trick me into promising my services or saying something that sounds like I support this or that cause. Just this week, an "independent journalist" tried to make me say I'd treated more gunshot wounds in black people over white people, as if his agenda wasn't glaringly obvious by the "1488" on his bracelet.
"You know what? You're right, Emma," I said, surprising her. "I did win the power lottery. I am one of the most important capes in the world. People do kiss my ass for a single minute of my time."
"Boo hoo, look at me, I'm Panacea, my life's so ha–"
"You shut your bitch mouth and listen," I snapped. I stalked closer now, inches from her face. I had to tiptoe to meet her eye-to-eye, but I channeled every bit of the no-bullshit attitude that carried ER nurses through their shifts. "I won the power lottery and I fucking wish I didn't. There isn't a single cape in the goddamn world whose problems are solved by their triggers. You think it's fun being the person who fixes everyone else's problems?
"Guess what I did yesterday? I told a mother I couldn't fix her son's brain hemorrhage so he died while begging his mother for just one more breath. Before that, I regrew the skin on some poor bastard's arm after he managed to completely deglove himself with a chainsaw. And before that, I spent two goddamn hours picking bullet fragments out of a girl's chest cavity. You know how old she was? Twelve, because Brockton's that kind of city. You think I enjoyed any of that? You think I had fun? You think I go home every night and look forward to doing it again the next day?
"I don't. I don't because I'm not a fucking psychopath," I said quietly. But the hall around us had gone silent and my voice carried. "Honestly? Had you asked me even a month ago, I would've told you that I'd give up my power in a heartbeat. It's rough, knowing that someone is dying every second I'm away from the operating table."
My sister flew over at the commotion. She hovered between Dean and I and glowered down at Emma. I could feel the weight of her aura pressing down on us all.
To me, it was a familiar warmth. Vicky was the light of my life. Until a few months ago, I'd have said she was the sole light of my life, the only thing that made getting up in the morning worth it.
Emma's eyes widened as her pupils dilated. I knew what it felt like, of course; even sisters had arguments. But for once, I didn't feel like reminding Vicky to control herself.
This was getting a bit out of hand. It was starting to draw too much attention. Then again, maybe this was exactly what Emma needed, a public humiliation so thorough that she'd question some life choices. I doubted she would, but I couldn't bring myself to care right now.
"Ames?" Vicky asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I swiped it off with a furious scowl. "No, I'm not done. I said I would have given it up. Not too long ago, I told myself every piece of bullshit you just tried to feed me. Not anymore. You know what changed?
"Me. I changed. I grew up. Someone I admire showed me what it means to be a hero. I learned that it's not about beating myself up for every person I couldn't save, that saving lives meant saving myself, too. I learned that being a hero meant moving forward, always onto the next thing, the next patient.
"I guess that's the difference between us, Emma. I'm not better than you because I'm Panacea; I'm better than you because I refuse to let the voices win. I'm better than you because I don't take sick pleasure in bullying others, only to curl up like a bitch and play the victim the moment someone stands up to you."
Emma stepped back as if she'd been slapped. Her eyes flitted frantically, searching for a way out. Typical bully, she crumbled the moment someone stood up to her.
"That's not what I said," she spat back. "You're the one who came over here acting like Bernice here should kiss the ground you walk on because you offered to clear up her skin!"
"When the fuck did I say that? You were making fun of her so I told you that anything that takes me five seconds to fix isn't worth your bitching. Get it straight, Emma."
"No, I wasn't! And you can't prove it!"
Vicky floated in front of me protectively. She took the shy girl's hand and tugged her beside me. "You're full of it, Emma."
"You're her sister! Of course you'd have her back."
"Yeah. I'll always have Amy's back," she said. My heart soared at that. "But that's not it. You know how I know you're bullshitting? Because that's not even her name."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Her name isn't Bernice, Emma. What is it? Go on, tell us."
Emma looked at her, then at Victoria. "I-I-Who cares? I bet the great Panacea doesn't know either!"
"I don't, but I'm not the one pretending to be her friend so I can play the victim," I replied with a careless shrug. Then, just to make a point, I turned to her with my friendliest smile. "Hi, I'm Panacea, but only hospital staff, patients, and pompous cunts call me that. I prefer Amy. What's your name?"
I could see the girl inflate like a balloon animal. Vicky's aura had that effect on people. The awe it inspired was hard to describe. It was almost like a tangible force that filled you up and cast out silly things like anxiety. "I-I'm Beatrice. I-It's nice to meet you."
"That dermatology treatment offer stands, by the way. Just because I don't take requests doesn't mean I can't volunteer. It's cool if you're comfortable in your own skin, but if you're not, it's on the table."
"I… I'd like that…"
"That's not fair. You're bribing her to make me look bad," Emma accused. "You're abusing your power; some hero you are!"
"No, abuse would be if I refused to heal you or your family, forever. You might not need me now, but can you say the same for the rest of your life? I can do that, you know, just blacklist people on a whim. But I won't, because I'm nothing like you."
"You're so full of it. Must be nice, knowing you profit off the sick and dying. Do you sleep easy at night knowing you're a monster? Do you cheer when you see news reports about the Slaughterhouse?"
"Wow… I don't know what to say to that. Like, I genuinely don't. I don't do brains so whatever the fuck is wrong with your head? I can't fix that. I'm sorry, I'll go tell your daddy his daughter's a fucking psychopath and that this shit's terminal."
"Amy Dallon!" I heard behind me.
Victoria and I froze as one. We turned to find mom stalking over like an angry lioness, because of course I was the one in trouble.
Her face was flushed red, though whether that was from embarrassment or too much wine, I couldn't tell. Behind her was a tall, ginger man who I vaguely recognized as Emma's father. He looked constipated, probably because his darling princess getting into a bitchfest with me wasn't a good look. I hoped he was here to impress his bosses. I hoped he failed miserably.
I readied myself for the lecture of a lifetime. Mom was as rigid as they came. She'd buy Emma's bullshit about me bullying her because she was even more gung ho about the whole cape accountability thing than Aunt Sarah. She hated anything that might even imply power abuse.
Except, before she could get going, I heard the sound of applause.
I hadn't even seen him arrive. Bryce, that infuriating son of a bitch, was clapping, clapping like he'd been watching an opera. He strolled over with a lazy, unhurried gait that drew the eye and made him seem so much older than he really was. It was such an unorthodox response that everyone kind of paused and stared for a moment.
Next to him was Dean. He'd dipped out at some point when we started arguing. Maybe he thought that Bryce could help calm me down. Admittedly, he was probably right, but it still annoyed me.
"Wow, that was gold," Bryce began. He looked as smug as ever, as if he didn't mind being the center of attention. It was so very Creed. "You must be very proud, Mrs. Dallon."
"If you think this is funny, young man–" mom started, only to be cut off by a sincere, disarming smile.
"I mean it. I'm not trying to be sarcastic or clever. I really do think you should be proud of Amy. If I'm honest, I'm not really a good person. Amy's always telling me to do the right thing, that I should stop being a dick to everyone. It's… a work in progress…"
"Then she should know better than to threaten people with her power," she said firmly, or as firmly as she could with a boozy flush on her face.
"But she didn't do that. From what I heard, she's saying she could choose to not use her power."
"Don't get pedantic with me."
"Sure, but as for me, I'm glad she can walk the talk. If I were in her shoes, I don't know if I would've cared enough to speak up for that other girl, whatever her name is," Bryce said. He wasn't looking at me, or Emma. He was fixated on mom with an intensity usually found on cobras. "Because it's hard, isn't it? Caring. Empathy. Amy was the one who showed me that it doesn't always look like a feel-good Hallmark movie. Sometimes, the pretty picture is a lie. Sometimes, the ones who seem kindest, or cares the most, are rotten inside. They're the ones that you really need to watch, aren't they?"
Mom flinched. She looked like she'd been dunked in an ice bath. The alcohol must have been getting to her because I'd never seen her like this before. She studied Emma with a heavy frown before turning to Beatrice and me with an intense stare.
The shy girl shrank from her, hiding partially behind Vicky. It was like mom was seeing me for the first time. There was… acknowledgement? Something in mom's gaze that I couldn't name. It couldn't be pride; mom would never be proud of me.
"You must be really proud of Amy, Mrs. Dallon." Bryce offered her a sincere smile. "I think she's a little too responsible and should probably learn to unwind once in a while, but she must have gotten it from you, this whole hero thing."
"Now, we don't know that that's what happened," Emma's dad cut in.
"You're right. We don't know that," mom said. She took a deep breath and barked, "Victoria, explain."
"Wait a mo–"
"Shut it, Alan. We'll hear from them all one by one."
That was that. The adults took over. I got to watch Emma flounder when Beatrice confirmed my story. It wasn't like this was a big deal. In the end, we were a bunch of teenagers arguing over nothing.
But for a moment, so fast that I almost missed it, I could've sworn mom smiled at me.
Christmas miracles did exist, after all.
Author's Note
Double chapter, courtesy of Peach. The interlude just kinda has to flow after 5.16 and waiting would be a bad idea.
I think I'm going to cut the arc here. It's already running quite long and I think this is a good stopping place.
Emma is hilariously obtuse. She lacks self-awareness like a fish lacks feathers. And yes, Emma is fifteen or sixteen and a sophomore. Bryce is fifteen (turned fifteen in November). Yes, they're basically the same age. She'll insist it matters anyway.
This is also the hardest interlude I've ever written. Something about catty teenage girl drama is really hard to write.
And yeah, Bryce just jabbed Carol straight in the trigger. Not hard, more like a mildly insistent poke, but that's why she looked so shellshocked.
Animal Fact Correction: As one of you lovely folks pointed out, octopi do not have "high copper content" in their blood. Rather, they use a different protein to bind oxygen. Humans have hemoglobin, which uses iron ions to bind oxygen. Octopi have hemocyanin, which uses copper ions instead. That's why their blood is blue.
They also have three hearts, two of which are dedicated to pumping blood to their gills.
And before someone asks, no, we don't have blue blood. That's a myth. Deoxygenated blood is not blue; it's just a darker red than oxygenated blood.
Thank you to everyone who paid for my groceries. I have a Patreon and Kofi with dozens of chapters written across my various stories. If you'd like to read ahead, receive more frequent updates, vote in monthly polls or even commission a chapter directly, check them out.
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