Two Important Conversations simultaneously. And while in the first conversation I hold all the cards - I am, after all, the Great and Terrible Administrator - in the other I'm just Amy. A harassed and oppressed girl who has problems with her mother, with her father, with her own sister, with self-esteem and boundaries. Boundaries that Amy doesn't feel and therefore lets anyone violate them, then gets angry about it and violates others' boundaries, but already in the realm of biology.
I would prefer to conduct both conversations as Administrator, not as Amy. There's a non-zero probability that during the conversation with Carol it will happen - I'll slam the door. Stand to my full height and step beyond the boundaries set for Amy. Because the bubbles of passion are too close to the surface in me, and I've been boiling over lately at the slightest provocation. Probably hormones.
So while one of my bodies descends in the elevator to the depths of the base, where Kaiser and Fenja are thawing in baths with organic solution - my other body is now sitting at the table, head down, studying the tablecloth with my gaze.
"How long have you been able to resurrect people and work with brains, Amy?" Carol asks me. Or rather - repeats it. Because I didn't answer the first time. I lowered my head and started looking down. That's probably what Panacea would have done. On the other hand, Panacea would never have resurrected someone or worked with brains. Would never have crossed her boundaries, which she set for herself. Why? Primarily out of fear. Fear of exactly this kind of conversation with her mother. When Carol leans forward slightly and speaks in that tone - it gives me goosebumps. Calm, but threatening.
"Mom!" Victoria squeaked nearby and immediately shut up, obeying her mother's imperious gesture. So that's how it is - Vicky also lives under Carol's tyranny. Interesting, interesting. Carol is the king and god in this family. Mark, her husband and mine and Vicky's father - has long since stopped expressing his opinion in Carol's presence. Victoria - honor student, athlete, picture-perfect girl, ideal for a wall poster. And Amy - a gray mouse, unattractive, not bright, not active, but! Amy is also picture-perfect, just for some religious magazine like "Holy Martyrs Fall-Winter This Year." She doesn't think about herself, always proper, always decent, always helps others, heals people.
"I've seen this before," comes the voice of teacher, mentor and friend in my head. Fifth, the bastard. You're no friend to me, no teacher, you're a maniac I can't kill, a plague in my head, a creature that slowly shifts the parameters of acceptable, expanding the Overton window, reconciling me with the thought that for a high purpose one can walk over corpses, loudly chomping flesh and washing it all down with blood.
"Now, now, Taylor," a smile comes through in his voice. "You're just very irritable today. Listen, you can give this Important Conversation to me. I'll smooth over our relations with Carol, you'll see. I'll fix the family. You don't understand what's happening here, do you?"
"And you're so smart," I reply, because I really have nothing to answer. What's happening here? Carol is going to yell at Amy, I can feel it right in my skin. Years of bullying at school didn't pass without a trace - I can sense people who want to attack and dominate, hurt with words, humiliate and mock from a mile away. And now Carol is going full Sophia Hess, drilling me with her eyes. What's interesting is that Sophia now, after everything I had with her, no longer evokes such feelings. As if everything has settled. But... Carol's tone, aggressive posture, hands that seem ready to hit me - it's like returning to Winslow school, when Emma, Sophia and Madison cornered me in some dark corridor to mock me to their heart's content.
Something starts smoldering inside me. A small but burning flame of anger. If I fan it bigger... even bigger - then I'll snap. Blow this living room to hell, the whole house, set insects on Carol, tear off her arm and beat her to death with it... and it would bring me a feeling of grim satisfaction. A picture flashes in my head of me standing on the ruins of the house, clenching my fists, covered head to toe in blood and... smiling. But only my lips are smiling, my eyes are narrowed, focused. No one dares...
Another picture pushes into my head - Victoria Dallon, who stands on her knees over her mother's broken body and looks at me with horror in her eyes. Like at a monster.
I close my eyes, clench my teeth and exhale. No, I can't snap. It would be harmful for the barely beginning to straighten relations with the PRT, for my image, for the future development of my team, and most importantly - I don't want to disappoint Victoria. Why? I don't know, maybe because the poster with her still hangs in my bedroom, despite all Tattletale's threats to take it down. For the former Taylor, the one who died from Panacea's attack - Victoria Dallon was a shining ideal on high, the embodiment of heroism. And least of all would I want to see that expression on Victoria's face - horror, fear, disgust. But most of all I feared seeing disappointment on her face. That would be like a punch to the gut - "so that's what you're really like, Taylor." No, I don't want to see such a face on Victoria. And not because I fear confrontation with the PRT, no. But because this is part of me. To refuse this would be like refusing myself, ceasing to be myself, and I already have problems with self-identification.
Who am I? A monk who dreams he's a butterfly, or a butterfly who dreamed she was just a monk? Administrator, a girl who was bullied at school, Taylor Hebert, Poison Ivy, or still Butcher Fifteen... no Sixteen - just in Panacea's body? I gather the remaining air in my lungs, bite the tip of my tongue and exhale completely, straightening my diaphragm. I am my father's daughter. Taylor Hebert the Seventeenth, my grandfather's granddaughter. Behind my shoulders stand generations of my ancestors. Mom and Dad. Grandfather and grandmother on Dad's side, grandfather and grandmother on Mom's. In the second generation I already have four people who gave me life. In the third - eight, then sixteen. Thirty-two. Sixty-four. One hundred twenty-eight. Two hundred fifty-six. Many people invested the fire of their life in me. And I will act as my heart tells me. Yes, I'm my father's girl, I live my life, just like my father's done. And I won't doubt. I know my path. No matter how much I want to get up now and grab Carol by the back of the head - hit her face against the table - I'll restrain myself. Because I am not a wild beast.
"Always," I answer Carol, raising my gaze. "Always. I could do it from the very beginning."
"What?" For a second Carol gasps from realization. Red spots appear on her cheeks.
"Taylor, Taylor..." again Fifth's voice in my head. "You don't understand this woman, do you? For her it doesn't matter how things really go, what happens in the family, the main thing is how it looks from the outside. She barely talks to her husband at home, they sleep in separate bedrooms, but in public they don't just have a marriage, but a pastoral picture of the perfect family. Carol Dallon is a person for whom the wrapper is so important, not the contents. If there's a choice between looking good or feeling good but looking terrible - she'll always choose the first. This family is crippled by the fact that people here don't tell each other the truth. Turn around, Taylor, look at this house, it's like proof of my words. On the first floor, where guests are allowed, on the wall - a whole gallery of beautiful photos of everyone together, thanks from the city and Protectorate, medals and awards, a vanity fair. And on the second... sometimes it's not even cleaned up properly. Old furniture in your room, shabby wallpaper, and if it were only your room - you could say Amy is Cinderella here. But it's even like that in their bedrooms! You can't look at the dresser in Carol's room without tears... and you know that the very idea of New Wave, capes who don't hide their civilian identity - is Carol's idea? Most heroes are satisfied with the fame that goes to the heroic persona, who they are in ordinary life - most people don't know and that's fine. But that wasn't enough for Carol. Because otherwise she wouldn't have been able to hang all these certificates, awards and diplomas on the walls of her house, all these photos with the mayor, with the Triumvirate and newspaper clippings. She needed fame, a picture, an impression... and as a result her daughters are like trained circus dogs, just look at Victoria, the poor girl is ready to pose for a photo shoot and smile at the camera at any time of day or night, no matter how shitty she actually feels. Do you understand? You won't win this fight, Taylor, words won't be enough here. This is teenage rebellion against imposed rules, in the end Carol will corner you with words 'while you live in this house, I demand that you...' and you - you'll snap and cause trouble. So - let me. I'll resolve the situation. I know what's needed. Where to press, and where to show that you've given in. For me she's like an open book, Taylor, let me out. Let me take the wheel."
"No." I suppress Fifth and shove him into the first cockroach I come across. I'm sure Fifth could do it. But it would be him, not me. I would never learn anything, just run from difficult conversations and crises. And if it continues like this, then I'll start transferring control every time it comes to this, and... we understand where this will lead. That's what Amy did - just withdrew from controlling her own body, immersing herself in her fantasies, escaping from reality. Oh no. My father never ran from difficulties, and I won't either.
"So you've been deceiving me all this time?!" Carol raises her voice. "And not just me, but everyone around?! Is this how heroes act? What will people say? It turns out you could always... resurrect heroes?! Do you know what they'll say about us? That we are the cause of every death since you got your abilities! That you could, but didn't! It turns out you could have resurrected Hero! Or... Fleur and Mike! Can you resurrect them?!"
"I don't know," I
"You conducted experiments on your own relatives?! How dare you?! You didn't even know if it would work and you... stole bodies from the morgue!" Carol rises with each word, creating the feeling that she's growing over me. Looming from above. Amy's body is small after all, she's a short girl...
"Mom!" Victoria jumps up. "Mom! Enough! It was me! I talked... Amy into it! I helped her break into the morgue and pull out the bodies!"
"You be quiet!" Carol waves her off. "We'll have a separate conversation with you, Victoria Dallon. You'll be locked at home until you come of age! No movies with friends, no dates, no shopping trips! You've all relaxed too much here! Taking advantage of my kindness!"
"But, Mom!"
"Be quiet! You..." she turns to me. "Do you even understand what you've done?! Our team's reputation is under threat. I'm already being asked questions! Which I don't know the answers to! And most importantly - why did you hide this? Did you want to secretly use your advantage? Do you know what your powers and abilities look like? No? You're Nilbog! Do you understand what people will say? That we have Nilbog on our team! And if you can work with brains, then you're a Master!"
"...listen," I say, raising my hand. Something inside resists, and I can't call Carol "mom," although it's so simple. But... my mom is Annette Hebert, an English language and literature teacher who never raised her voice at me. And I will never call another woman that, at least out of respect for her. Carol Dallon is not my mother.
"Shut up!" Carol raises her voice. "Did I give you permission to speak? Did I say you could open your filthy mouth and babble something?! Shut up and listen! You are a disgrace to our family! Your actions have compromised all of us - me, your father, your sister and..."
"For God's sake, Mom!" Victoria slams her palm on the table and it falls apart from the blow, but she doesn't even notice, she jumped to her feet and stands flaring her nostrils. "Uncle Neil and Eric are alive! And it's thanks to Amy! I thought you'd say thank you to her!"
"Alive?! How do I know if these are my relatives or just her meat puppets? Miracles don't happen, Victoria! Look at her - she hid her powers from us, do relatives act like that?! She specifically waited for someone in the family to die so she could raise them! The PRT officially certified their death! And these... cadavers - who are they?! Walking corpses? Zombies raised by your sister for her purposes? You know what? Uncle Neil and Eric are just delighted with Amy... she brainwashed them!"
"Oh God, Ma!" Victoria rolls her eyes. "If I were raised from the dead - I'd be delighted too! It's..."
"And how do you explain that Amy hid that she can affect brains?! It's because she wanted to hide that she's actually a Master!" Carol shouts, rising upward. The air around begins to crackle noticeably from the abundance of energy between them.
"Girls... don't fight," Mark Dallon says weakly. "It's late, time for dinner... we can set up in the living room since the table is broken."
"Because she was afraid!" Victoria raises her voice. "Because she was afraid of exactly this! And..."
"Afraid? What happened that made her stop being afraid? And look at her - she's not afraid, she's looking at me with a defiant gaze and even has the audacity to smile back! She's mocking me!"
"Yeah, fuck..." I say and in the short pause between words, in the ensuing silence - it sounds unexpectedly loud.
"What? Amy would never..." Carol grabs the back of the chair as if trying to stay on her feet. "Amy would never..."
"Amy grew up and understood a lot," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "So now she'll swear, engage in casual sex and pose for Playboy magazine for a nude calendar spread."
"Who are you?" Carol squints. "Come on, tell me what phrase I said to you last summer on the beach when you dropped a watermelon on your foot?"
"Stranger/Master protocol? Seriously?" I raise an eyebrow.
"What color was your gift last Christmas?"
"Uh... blue?" I try to guess. "No, yellow? Striped?"
"You're not Amy!" Carol rises into the air, her entire body surface flares with golden-yellow light, she clothes herself in hard light armor, a beam-spear appears in her hand.
"Mom, no!" Victoria shields me from the blow. "Mom! Stop please!"
"Victoria Dallon - step aside. I'll talk to you later. Can't you see, your sister has been taken over by a Master, we need to isolate her and hand her over to the PRT! Or... say there was an accident... after all we don't need scandals in the press."
"Mom, enough! There's no Master here! This is Taylor! Amy... attacked first! She killed Taylor, and now Taylor is in her body and..."
"Butcher Fifteen?!"
"I managed to play undercover agent for quite a long time," I grumble, getting up and brushing small splinters off my clothes. "Thanks a lot, Vicky."
"Shut up," she snaps. "You can't act anyway. You're as much a spy as I am an academic."
"So you knew?" Carol extends her arm and points her index finger at Victoria. "You knew?! How... or are you also under the Master's influence? What color..."
"Tiara. You gave me a tiara," Victoria answers. "Though why do I need a new tiara? And you gave Amy a certificate for nursing courses."
"You don't think that..." at this moment Carol as Brandish, dressed in her light armor, shifts her gaze somewhere behind us, higher and to the left. Victoria follows with her gaze, turning slightly and... the beam-spear stabs into my chest! Or rather - I allow this to happen, despite Tactician's warning. After all, experience from numerous encounters and knowledge of her daughter's psychology allows Carol to outplay Victoria completely any day of the week.
"Taylor!" Victoria cries out, the beam disappears, the spear shortens in Carol's hand, and I unhurriedly lower my gaze down, examining the bloody hole in my chest. Chest perforation, left lung torn, heart pierced, spinal damage. If Amy had remained Amy, without enhancement and accelerated regeneration - she would have serious problems right now. If she hadn't received urgent medical help within minutes, she would have died.
"I think I'll go," I say, raising my head and meeting Brandish's furious gaze. "I have a feeling I'm not welcome here."
"You're not going anywhere! Victoria - grab her!" Brandish-Carol commands. "She's a monster! Took over your sister's body and..."
"Now be quiet!" I raise my voice, engaging Fifth and Carol freezes with her mouth open.
"Vicky, I don't want to harm your family, so it would be better if I leave now," I say, turning to Victoria. She stares wide-eyed at the hole in my chest. I frown in annoyance, slap my thigh, liquid Panacea from the attached bio-kit injects into my blood. Butcher's regeneration is already working, but a burst won't hurt now - they made quite a big hole in me. I get up and head for the exit. No one tries to stop me. At the door I stop and turn back to Carol, who still stands in combat stance with raised beam-spear.
"As for you, Carol... you have one warning. I believe in second chances, but not third ones. Want to know what happens to people who cross my path? Today you attacked me, though I gave no cause for it. You have one warning, there won't be a second." I say. Right now I could hit her with a pain impulse, paralyze her with an insect bite from those hidden in her clothes, and... much more I could do to her. But... to hell with her. I straighten my back and go out the door, carefully holding it. This isn't my family. I did what I could, let Piggot just try to accuse me of something...
"Taylor!" Victoria flies out after me. "I'm coming with you!"
"Where?" I ask her lazily. "Where are you going? This is your home."
"Anywhere, just away from here! This isn't my home anymore. She tried to kill you! Kill Amy! What the hell?!" She picks me up in her arms, and the G-force presses my face into her shoulder, while the houses below become so small. And why can't I fly?
At this very moment at the base, in the bath with organic gel - Kaiser opens his eyes. Opens his eyes and meets my gaze.
"Miss Hebert," he says and both my bodies sigh in sync. No rest for the wicked...