Chapter Text
I stood in the middle of the street, loosely holding Oni Lee's sword in one hand, as I tried to figure out what the fuck just happened.
The ABB using an 'abandoned' building as a place to store weapons or explosives makes sense, but-
But that explosion was way too fucking large to just be ammunition cooking off. Even if they had literal crates of grenades or something, it wouldn't go up like that. That was at least a few hundred pounds of TNT equivalent. It doesn't make sense for an urban gang to stockpile loose explosives like, fertilizer or something, in large quantities near their front lines. Never mind that nothing actually touched off the explosives. If the gunfire had done it the building would have gone up during the fight. If the fight had started a fire in the basement your bugs would have noticed, Hindsight said.
And then there was the question of why, apparently, random people were defending the building with an unnatural absolute resolve.
Ironsides said, Human Master? As far as Victor was aware the ABB had none but there's always been tons of capes in this city. Could be someone new. Either a recent trigger or someone from out of town.
I wanted to gather more information, probably by returning to the scene of the fight, but the Choir had other ideas. Muramasa was insisting on fixing up Oni Lee's sword as soon as possible.
Chisel was also excited by the prospect. My power is slow and imprecise with metal now, but the sword doesn't actually need that much work. The handle and stuff will need to be completely replaced but Muramasa can talk you through that. The blade itself can be fixed if you take your time and you're careful with it. Even for what my power can't do directly, it can still help a lot with the methods Muramasa is explaining! We just need some material!
Marauder was a lot more direct. You're not a fucking detective! I don't fucking care what the fucking Asians were up to, I want a badass sword!
Several more Choir members joined him in chanting, Sword! Sword! Sword!
I kept turning the mystery over in my head even as I started making my way towards the nearest hardware store. I had a sword to refurbish.
The proper process for putting together a katana was fiendishly complicated, but the Choir's powers were surprisingly good at cheating it. Between Nemean's claws, Muramasa's cutting aura, and Chisel's inorganic matter manipulation, it was actually fairly simple to carve and shape things as Muramasa instructed.
A couple of hours of careful application of Chisel's power saw the warps in the blade and the metal bit above the handguard straightened out. The handguard itself wasn't warped enough to cause any problems even if it was visibly scorched. Muramasa was upset that I likely lacked the ability to properly restore it, but the rest of the Choir liked the look.
The metal parts were the most difficult for me to work on, but also the least damaged. I didn't even find the scabbard and the actual handle had been ruined by the explosive teleport that had forced Oni Lee to drop the katana in the first place. Some fancy wood that I'd stolen was used to replace them. The fits had to be very exact. It should have been difficult but again, I just cheated by wreathing the blade in cutting aura and sinking first the tang into the handle then the blade into the scabbard. From there it was just carving down the outsides of those two parts to the shape Muramasa desired. Despite stealing the fanciest wood I could find, it wasn't the kind of wood that was supposed to be used, but whatever. We did the best with what we had.
I found the process of working on the katana at Muramasa's and Chisel's direction incredibly relaxing. The last step was finding something to wrap around the handle to make a grip, and fashioning some way to secure the scabbard to my armor. Thankfully, my swarm provided. Black widows were wrapping the handle in a complicated silk braid when Nemean screamed at me.
Hey! Fucking eat something! We're fucking starving here!
As soon as Nemean said it everything hit me all at once. I was sore from kneeling over the sword on the concrete floor of an abandoned office building. I was dehydrated but also needed to piss. And, as Nemean had said, I was fucking starving.
My back ached in that strange painless way as I straightened up. It was broad daylight outside. How long had I been focused on repairing the katana?
Sanguine said, Holy shit I've never seen someone be bad at being high. You only killed a few guys. Not even capes, just fucking minions! Then you spent the next however long playing with blocks of wood!
Fester said, No, unless Oni Lee has been hiding Brute powers or the ABB picked up a healer on top of their new Human Master, Oni Lee almost certainly died of his wounds. So that's one more dead cape to the Butcher's name.
I picked up the sheathed katana. I abandoned the excess material left on the floor and began considering my next steps.
Ironsides said, The way you focused on the katana was almost like a Tinker fugue, but none of us are Tinkers!
Firecracker said, Fester's right. Teleporting right on top of someone like that usually kills them. Now that I think about it, its actually surprising that he was able to run away at all!
Nemean said, Get some fucking food you stupid bitch!
Hindsight said, No, you dipshits. Hyperfocus is a common effect of methamphetamines. She was tweaking at first but after the fight she settled down and got tunnel vision. Meth is used as a combat drug because it helps people focus. We wanted a sword so she just focused on that. The tweaking was caused by y'all fucking with her. You dumbasses also got the hyperfocus, you just hyperfocused on sex or murder.
Deadblow said, Either Oni Lee was hiding an ace up his sleeve, or he just powered through the pain until he died on his feet. Some motherfuckers are intense enough to do shit like that.
Getting food presented some issues. It was the middle of the day, I was still in costume, and now had a weapon that I could not conceal. I wanted to just go home, but sneaking around would be next to impossible and I would be spotted going to the house, or at least near there. I didn't want to give that away.
Sanguine said, You're supposed to indulge in unreasonable amounts of sex or violence while high! Especially when you're the fucking Butcher! So, I was right. Taylor is bad at drugs, or at least meth. She's just fucked in the head and it doesn't work right for her.
I was also unsure of how to feel about probably killing Oni Lee. He was a villain and the ABB was clearly up to something weird. Even if the rumors of sex trafficking were false, using a Human Master to recruit random civilians as meat shields for an explosives warehouse was kind of fucking evil. The man himself was confirmed to be a multiple murderer though, so I felt confident in the assertion that if nothing else he wasn't exactly innocent.
Butcher said, Why are you so concerned about being seen in the light of day? You're the Butcher. We don't have a civilian identity, we don't live with our parents. Just go to a restaurant and take some food. Its not like anyone can stop you.
Marauder said, I hope she doesn't have a bad reaction to other stimulants, it's been too long since we did cocaine!
Butcher said, That doesn't matter Marauder. At worst we can simply try new things until we find something that works for Taylor. No, what we should be focused on is that Taylor is shaping up to be a Butcher worth the fucking name! Terrorizing the heroes and both of the city's major gangs in one night? The way she immediately took control of both situations and dealt out the fucking pain like a storm dealing rain? She made those motherfuckers sing! It was beautiful! She was beautiful!
I stumbled on my way towards the building's door. My heart raced and my face was... warm? I felt- No. I was upset at Butcher threatening to force me to do more drugs, or the reminder that I had hurt people. I did not enjoy hurting people. Or was it emotional bleed? I tried to separate myself from the Choir, lock down their subtler influences.
The Choir's laughter was soft, low.
I didn't like that.
I walked into the daylight. The part of the Docks that I found myself in was largely abandoned. That meant no people to see me, or at least no one inclined to call the PRT. But that also meant nowhere to get food that we'd consider eating. I was going to have to venture into one of the inhabited areas of the city.
Butcher flickered fear-hate at me. Stand up straight and walk like you own the fucking city. You've earned it girl. Now, I feel like burgers!
I did as commanded and followed the scent of greasy fast food my bugs were picking up two blocks away while the food voting began in earnest. Just walking into a restaurant in full costume was going to devolve into a shitshow and almost certainly a fight with at least one hero.
Fester said, Taylor dear, relax. It'll be fine. There won't be a fight, normals are dipshits and likely won't recognize you.
I had just beaten the shit out of a hero what, twelve hours prior? The details of my appearance in costume, who I was, what I was would be known to the entire fucking city by that point.
Hindsight said, Nah. The PRT definitely knows that Butcher XV is a fit girl in a black bodysuit and gray armor, but I doubt the public does. Remember, the PRT is fucking terrified of us, the current PRT ENE especially. They try to be hands-off to avoid provoking us. As if we need a reason. They don't want to lose one of their precious heroes to our blade, or worse, the Inheritance. I doubt they've made a public statement yet. A minimum wage service worker won't know who you are, or give a shit that you're a cape. Also, I agree with burgers.
With the final vote cast, I made my way into the burger joint.
I sat on a bench perilously close to the Boardwalk and ate my bag of quarter pounders at a steady pace. Turns out the restaurant that I smelled had been in the thin strip of business between the boardwalk proper and one of the larger sections of abandoned city north of Downtown.
Fester and Hindsight had been right, no one recognized me and I was able to order, pay for, and take my food without issue. I could have probably eaten in the restaurant as well, but the seating area was cramped and the other customers were staring at me. Sitting one street over from the Boardwalk on a Wednesday afternoon I still got more than a few looks, but there were no crowds and the light foot traffic didn't do much more than look. Whenever I noticed someone pulling up a phone to take a picture I made a point of flipping them off.
I was on my third burger when my swarm picked up something. Two people walking down the Boardwalk side by side, both of them in the same smooth material that had made up Velocity's costume, though one had solid plates over it. Both of them in helmets with full face masks, one didn't even have eye holes. Capes.
I hoped that they would just stay on the fucking Boardwalk and not bother me and my lunch. The only capes that'd be taking a stroll though a tourist hotspot in the middle of the day were Protectorate capes, and I didn't want to get into another fight.
The Choir was always rumbling for more action, and none would ever be opposed to a fight, but at the same time none were pushing me to start anything. Mostly because lunch came first.
Of course, I had the worst luck possible so the two capes started heading my way.
Ironsides said, Not really much luck to it, if I had to guess. You're near the north end of the Boardwalk, where things start to peter out because even the designated tourist trap is half-empty in this fucking city. So their planned route either has them doubling back to go back south along one of the parallel streets. Or they intended to zig-zag between the Boardwalk proper, the less fancy but still nice areas just off the Boardwalk, and the interface with the fucked up parts of the city. That is, the entire fucking city not within two blocks of the Boardwalk.
While Ironsides had been explaining why my hopes for a quiet lunch were doomed from the start the two capes took a side street to where it met the one I was on then turned to face me. The intersection they were at was less than a block away from where I was sitting. They took a few steps but then the one with eye holes in their helmet stopped short, their buddy doing the same shortly after.
They'd spotted me.
I sighed as betting began on who they were and how soon violence would erupt.
I couldn't actually see them with my human eyes at the moment, and while my bug vision was improving, it would still take a lot of practice before it was useful outside of a few very niche situations. As for why I couldn't see the incoming capes directly, it was because I had a solid full face mask. That wasn't very conducive to eating while maintaining any hope for my civilian identity remaining a civilian identity. So, I had awkwardly pushed up my mask to reveal my mouth and in the process blocked my vision with the part of my mask that normally covered said mouth. I was using Sanguine's blood sight to see the people around me. And through that sight, I saw the two Protectorate capes quietly loose their shit.
They were too professional to openly freak out at being fifty yards from the Butcher while surrounded by way too fucking many civilians, but the massive increase in their heartrates told the tale all the same.
Sanguine said, Wait, does that motherfucker have two hearts!?
I paid more attention to the one he had pointed out. He was taller and wider than his companion, and was the one with the open eyes in his helmet. The motherfucker in question did indeed have two fucking hearts. Interestingly, after the initial spike in their beating, his hearts slowed down again. Meanwhile his buddy was still hosting a hummingbird in his ribcage even if his outward body language, as observed via the squiggly wireframe of his entire circulatory system, was calm. Fucking professionals indeed. But fuck me if I knew which professional heroes they were.
Hindsight took that as her cue to do the headspace equivalent of shaking herself awake and join Ironsides, who had just finalized her bet, in sorting out who I was dealing with.
Of course, I could just put my mask on properly again, but that would prevent me from continuing my lunch, which honestly at that point I might as well just turn myself in without a fight! Between Nemean and my stomach growling at me, lunch came first.
Butcher said, You could dispense with all the guesswork and find out who they are by just attacking them, even with just a few bugs. Capes use their powers when you hurt them, universally. We have to. We get our gifts because we were hurt. Because we suffered at the hands of others, because we finally put our foot down and said, 'no more'.
Powers are absolutely unique, it takes a shit ton of intentional misdirection to make yourself look like anything other than what you are. Even dime-a-dozen fodder like basic Brutes and pyrokinetics are unique when you press. When you push them. When you make them pull every little trick they have out of their spandex sleeves. Its a beautiful moment too, when you learn firsthand the shape of a cape's soul, outlined in pain. To see everything that makes them what they are, before you end them.
I didn't buy into Butcher's philosophy, if you wanted to cheapen the word, but his smooth voice and the sheer confidence in it made for pleasant background noise as I ate.
While the Choir worried about who the capes were, I worried about finishing my burger and retrieving the next one. As I did so, the gnats I had on the sides of the Protectorate capes' helmets picked up vibrations, but I was unable to resolve any of it into intelligible sound even with my rapidly improving post-processing abilities enabled by Hindsight's memory. Whatever communication came through the speakers in their helmets, it caused the two capes to back away until they were out of my direct sight. The skinny one jumped into the big one's arms, who then flew off.
Ironsides said, Fuck. Protectorate ENE only has one true flyer, Dauntless, unless they got a new cape in since you ate Victor. No shield or lance so that wasn't Dauntless. Those were Wards. Their only true flyer, Aegis, fits the description. Absent any last minute costume changes, the only other cape that fits skinny's description is Clockblocker.
Deadblow scoffed, Amazing name, kid.
Hindsight said, Best to get a move on Taylor. SOP for us is to not let Wards interact with us at all. Victor confirms that remains unchanged. Those Wards absolutely called us in, the real heroes will be here soon.
I thanked Hindsight, scarfed down the rest of my burger, then teleported away.
I wearily walked home in the dark. I couldn't sleep, didn't really get tired, but there was something mentally exhausting about spending almost twenty four hours out of the house and fucking around, especially when I was kept out of said house against my wishes. Physically, the only thing I really needed from home was a hot shower, maybe somewhere soft to lay down and collect my thoughts for a bit.
I had spent the afternoon training with Muramasa's and Chisel's power in yet another abandoned warehouse out in the Docks. It was fun to work with the concrete, to get a feel for how the material flowed under the power. Once Chisel released his power from an object it was subject to the laws of physics again, which was a fascinating constraint to work with. Thankfully Chisel had been an engineer before triggering so he had a head start on understanding the limits of his power, and while I lacked the education he had, spending some time just playing around making otherwise impossible structures and outright artwork served as a crash course in developing a material intuition that would serve as a good foundation for the Choir's advice to build on.
I still want to make something big, something real, but people have an adverse reaction to a parahuman slowly shaping a massive block of concrete into a residential building or bridge for some reason. Regardless, making models and sculptures with you was refreshing, Taylor.
The reason Chisel's power had come up was because it was also well suited to making practice targets for Muramasa's power. Now that I had a sword to work with she was chomping at the bit to teach me. I could rely on her memories and skills for swordplay, but the slight differences in our minds and bodies would always mean I was just a little off, a little slow. Never mind that if I was ever cut off from the Choir again I'd be on my own. So, I practiced, I learned, without leaning on Muramasa for more than the first few minutes. I wasn't going to be a master swordswoman after a few hours of practice, but I at least knew how to properly hold a katana, and how to use it in combat even if my execution was stiff and flawed. There was something surreal in letting a voice in my head, a mass of memory and emotion whispering in the depths of my headspace guide my actions. At several points it had felt like Muramasa was bodily whispering in my ear. I could have sworn I felt her hands on my arms more than once as she adjusted my stance.
I wish you had access to my original power. The depths it held were immense. Sadly, the Inheritance was cruel to me. My power is so... shallow now.
We had tried it, unleashing her original power in the hope that the pattern of my own powers interacting oddly with the Choirs' held in our favor. Sadly, it didn't appear so. She had triggered with a kill aura. Pure, unadulterated will cleaving through steel, flesh, even power-generated effects. That was how she had killed Obsidian. Muramasa's will cut right through the semi-illusory material her predecessor summoned, and her predecessor.
Instead, we only had the secondary use of her power. A cutting aura that had to be attached to a sharpened implement. What once was a useful way to take care of inanimate objects or maim instead of outright killing was now her only power.
That didn't mean that the attempts were useless, however. Something about Muramasa's power reacted to the focused desire to kill. And the focus required was so similar to what Muramasa demanded of me while practicing my mundane swordplay that it helped there too.
While I ruminated over a productive afternoon and evening home entered my range. On instinct I swept through it and-
Why was Dad still awake? Why was he sitting at the kitchen table? My human body froze and I did my best to make my swarm seem more natural.
The Choir laughed and I felt heat spreading across my face.
Dad was looking around. Hopefully he didn't think too much about the unnaturally synchronized flight of houseflies that had bumped into him. I tried to figure out my next move.
Fester supplied, Just fuck off. Spending time with the useless dipshit is a waste. Teeth have everything you need and more. Why care about that failure of a man and father?
I growled aloud. It wasn't the time to get into an argument with Fester. I focused. I could find somewhere to stash my costume and sword, the backyard perhaps. No, use Chisel's power to open the window in the back looking into the basement, toss my things in there, collect them after Dad went to bed.
Deadblow shouted at Fester, You're just mad that he stole your girl! Oh wait, actually you abandoned her like the cheap whore she was. Got no special claim to her or her kid. Stupid fuckin' lesbian, fumbling fine pieces of ass like that.
Now both Fester and I were pissed at him. Fester wanted to hurt him, but our headspace didn't work like that. He simply withdrew into the depths with a cackle to avoid her ire. Unfortunately, I could do no such thing.
I stumbled as she ripped into me. I couldn't stop her, but I couldn't let her stop me either. Had to focus on the plan, as much of a plan as it was.
Ironsides said, So your plan is to walk in through the back door looking like you spent the last twenty four hours rolling around on the ground in the Docks, wearing nothing but your underwear? That's supposed to what, make him less worried than you being a cape?
Quarrel shouted, Damn it! You shouldn't have told her!
I could slip myself through the basement window.
Nemean said, You're thin, but not that thin.
I could use Chisel's power-
Interesting idea, but you'd have to move a lot of material and that would probably cause additional problems. Probably won't take down your house if you're careful, but it will likely make a lot of noise.
Firecracker said, Even if you could pull it off, how do you explain that? Your house is on a small footprint, he would hear either door opening. You appearing from the basement without him hearing anything makes capeshit the most likely explanation, putting you back to square one again. Also, you'd be in just your undies too.
Fuck it. I'll just wait around until he falls asleep. He'll have to eventually.
Reflex said, His teenage daughter has been missing for at least eight hours in Brockton Bay. The man has his faults but he is still a father. He will not just let that go. You can already feel him getting antsy. Either confront him, with everything, or run to the Teeth with your tail between your legs like the coward you are. You can't have it both ways you little monster.
He was right, Dad was moving around the house, checking each room. I grit my teeth so hard I felt them straining. There had to be a way out of my situation.
Hindsight sighed, We gotta teach you crisis management kid. Reflex is just being an ass, its not a binary choice. Instead of either-or, its Plan A and Plan B. Best case, you come clean as both a cape and the Butcher and talk it out with him. Worst case, the Teeth will always be your family.
Maybe I could tell him about being a cape, but not that I'm the Butcher?
No dice. He's gonna look into your cape persona and as soon as the PRT goes public with the details of the newest Butcher, he's gonna put two and two together. Have to tell him everything.
I snarled at Fester and her bullshit but kept walking home.
"Taylor?"
The back door swung shut behind me as I stood in the rear hall.
As soon as the door had opened Dad had shot from where he had been pacing by the phone in the living room. He stood at the other end of the hall. He leaned against the corner and held his breath. His face shifted through several complicated expressions that I couldn't parse. I looked past him, a sliver of the kitchen framed by his body and the arm he was using to brace himself. Yellow light from the front of the house cut into the front half of the hall. Orange light from a streetlight filtered through the back door and cut into the back half of the hall. Our bodies threw complicated shadows across the entire space.
Holy shit stop stalling!, Nemean screamed.
I flinched.
Dad was still the first to break the silence.
"Are you hurt?"
My head snapped to him.
"No."
"Talk to me Taylor, please."
I worried on my lip, the tough and painless flesh felt rubbery under my fangs.
"Can I get out of this costume first, take a shower?"
"Taylor-"
"Have you eaten yet?"
Dad's face and voice hardened.
"No. I've been too busy wondering where the fuck you were Taylor. I come home to an empty house, voicemails from your school saying you've missed classes. It's past midnight."
A tall man in a doorway, the light spilling around him keeping his face hidden. Stress billowing from his frame like poison gas settling in that fucking basement. Tension in his powerful limbs, anger in his rough voice. Sometimes he hit Mom, my sister, my brother, kicked the dogs. Sometimes he hit me. Sometimes he joined me in my bed. Sometimes his quiet disappointment hurt more than any belt could. Sometimes he simply wasn't there when I fucking needed him.
He moved.
My drifting vision snapped to him. In an instant the sword, my sword cleared its scabbard with a rasp and-
And I paid back every ounce of pain he ever dealt me.
And I ripped out his still beating heart.
And I broke his hand in my grip.
And I shattered his skull like an overripe fruit.
And I just wanted to be back in my room.
And I wished he would stop putting so much pressure on me.
And I wished him dead.
The memories of the Choir clung to me like viscous oil even as my head broke the surface tension and my lungs reinflated with a breath of stale air.
Dad was frozen mid step. Between my lanky arms, the forward lean of my stance, and the length of the blade the tip of my sword reached down the hall and stood just to the left of his throat. Fester's and Muramasa's powers coated the sword's blade. Drippy caustic black under a gently glowing sheen of pale green. Despite the tension in my body, and the thunderous beat of my heart, my blade was steady as a statue.
I quickly sheathed my sword, mindful of the narrow walls of the hall. I didn't look at the long gash in the wall to my left.
We were silent.
I opened my mouth to speak but my throat was dry and the flesh stuck to itself.
I had to say something though.
"I'm-"
I coughed.
"I'm sorry I-"
What the fuck was I supposed to say?
The truth.
"Bad memories. Memories that- Not from my childhood. I know you- You'd never do- Never do that to me. Any of that. Never have but-"
"Taylor, you're scaring me."
His voice was wavering. He didn't sound afraid though. That wasn't the fear of death. That wasn't the expectation of hurt.
Concern. Fear not for him. Fear for you.
"Its not just voices. Its their memories, their emotions. I figured out a way to keep it all organized on the first night but- Sometimes its just too much. Gets all jumbled together despite my best efforts and I have to stop and sort out who's who again and-"
"Kiddo?"
"Dad. I'm the Butcher."