Chapter Text
Brockton Bay, The Docks, Mid April.
Near Midnight
Looking down on the street, pressed flat against the roof in silver steel-plate armor, I continued to regret many of the decisions I've made recently. First among those many regretful choices was whatever made my power decide that I needed a full-face steel helmet after I had already gained the attention of the fuck-off big dragon currently demolishing an abandoned factory–without a permit I may add. Second was the fact that I, for whatever power-forsaken reason, was about to face down Lung–the Dragon of Kyushu–with nothing but a fucking axe.
And yet, I can still say that I have had worse days.
Generally, I was feeling quite in over my head. Not that it mattered, I wasn't wholly in the driver's seat anymore. But still, facing down Lung was too much of a risk for most Protectorate capes, let alone a pathetic waste of space like myself. And my power had whole-heartedly agreed at first. This seemed like a situation best left to the heroes. Not a worthless teenager in a trumped-up cosplay.
[...]
Earlier that night, Docks South. Hebert Household.
It has to be tonight. I can't keep it contained anymore. I can barely keep myself, my-self long enough to talk to Dad for eight or so sentences we share in a day. Especially after today. The fucking Trio. If I don't go out and do something soon I am going to slip and be sent to jail. Do something to them to be arrested. Probably sent to the birdcage. Or worse. They would find out what I can do and make me go away forever and that would mean Emma was right.
So it had to be tonight. I needed to assert some kind of control over my life. I needed to take an action that was mine, not a result of anyone inflicting or forcing anything upon me.
I set the library's copy of Ser Gewain and the Green Knight down on my bedstand and crept to the door. I heard Dad shuffle into bed half an hour ago, my listening confirmed the slow rise and fall of his chest. Slipping back into my room, I stepped in front of the mirror and began to change.
My frame filled out, looking more like a fighter's each second. Shoulders broadening, hips narrowing, and chest barreling, every breath took me further and further away from the picture of Taylor Hebert. My hair shortened and my jaw grew sharp and strong. Stubble poked out across my cheeks. For a moment, I felt completely and utterly disgusted by what my body changed into.
Then, glowing silver steel plate armor grew out of the folds of my pajamas to cover my body, perfectly form fitting and surprisingly light. A green sash tied itself across my breastplate, and a green cloth skirt dropped around my waist in a heraldic pattern.
Stepping out my open window and dropping into my backyard, I put my hand out in an open grasp and held onto the large, two handed executioner's axe as it materialised in my hand. The final stages of the change were just about wrapping up, as I felt my vocal cords constrict and loosen as my thoughts grew increasingly knightly and honorable.
She was a mountain of steel and honor, for the unjust of Brockton Bay to crash upon. A beacon of light in the dark night. A charming and heroic masculine figure to rescue the terrified princesses of Brockton Bay.
Taylor hated it.
[...]
The Docks, Mid April.
Near Midnight.
Stupid power. Stupid 14th century English poets. Stupid Lung openly threatening children. What was I thinking?! A knight of Arthurian Legend? In Brockton Bay? Where, I know the Dragon of Kyushu prowels? What the fuck was I thinking?
I was in too deep now. I couldn't run, despite really, really wanting to. I should have stopped at a payphone or something and called the PRT the second I saw the scaly fucker leave the safehouse. But no, stupid power had to call out the fucking dragon the second I stepped onto the street.
Seriously! What inspired 'Foul Beast! Have thee no honor! A man of such strength, and you threaten a child! Have you no chivalry?' It didn't even have the correct prose or anything! On top of being academically infuriating, it also provoked Lung right hooking me through a brick wall and into the abandoned factory.
Which brings us back to the rooftop, where I was actively watching Lung finalize the demolition of one of Brockton Bay's many abandoned factories. At least his flunkies ran off once he started his transformation. And the rapid, non-approved demolition of a large building was likely to get the PRT called eventually.
So, what to do. Lung was almost single-minded in his focus on me, which was strange since I hadn't really done anything to him other than spout some pseudo-knightly bullshit. I guess a dragon/gang leader/murder doesn't really need an excuse to go full dragon-murderdozer–but it still felt like a disproportionate response to my provocation. Not that it matters, Lung was angry and would probably kill me. Oh well, I came close enough in the past few weeks that this was more like a speed-bump of life than a real second chance. I mentally worked myself up to the incoming duel.
Rising from my perch atop the adjacent roof, I leapt down to street level, hefted my axe towards the collapsing building and roared a challenge in the deep bass of my Green Knight.
"BEAST! You demolish the work of this humble city and poison its blood with your influence. The roiling heat of your rage burns those who hide under you and the pit of your ambition brings more bodies to the streets every day. Even those you claim to protect are more fearful of you than they are of those you claim to protect them from. I have come to remove you from this land. Face my axe and be slain!"
It was cheesy and knightly in a vague, hand-waving way. But the statement served its purpose. Lung burst out of the rubble of the now-smoldering building and landed in the street, opposite me. He was still human-shaped, with scales bristling across his body and his extremities growing into monstrous claws and hooves. Instead of a response, he simply opened his maw and spewed flames across the street.
Expecting to be incinerated or otherwise similarly burned to a crisp, imagine my surprise when the flames ineffectually rolled over my armor. The shock in Lung's body language was barely noticeable. The grin that spread across my face could have been spotted from the PRT Headquarters in the middle of the bay.
I rushed forward, axe held low with one hand held by the head and the other further down the shaft of the weapon. As I neared the dragon I levered the polearm and swung the great head of the axe into Lung's torso at an angle. I expected to have to wrench the axe out as it got caught in his scales or muscle or something. I was not expecting the axe to cut diagonally across his left side, separating the whole of his left arm and a chunk of his shoulder.
Lung roared. I actually felt the roar pass through my armor and flesh. Before his left arm hit the ground, he lashed out with his right and clocked me on the side of my helmet. I flew back away from him and crumpled into a graffiti covered public mail drop box. Helmet and head ringing from the blow, I used my axe to heft myself out of the wreckage and stay steady.
Down the street, Lung had already stopped bleeding and actually prowled down the street towards me. I mean like hunched shoulders, low growl, full-on saturday morning villain prowled down the street towards me. Each step he took changed him further, growing larger and more draconic as he neared me.
I wasn't exactly capable of feeling anything but bravery and chivalry at the moment, but I was acutely aware of how pants-shittingly terrifying this should be. I had time to freak out about that later. For now, I braced myself against the ground with my polearm as the dragon stalked towards me.
In a span of a few seconds, several things happened. First, Lung lunged at me with his good arm as a gout of flame escaped his mask and obscured my line of sight. As that happened, I swept the axehead down across where I thought his leg would be following the strike. I caught the punch across my torso and felt a distinct crack as my breastplate dented. At the same time, the downward sweep on my axe was arrested by a meaty thunk and a splintering of wood, after which I lost grip of my weaponry. Finally, as we fell apart once more I heard the whine of two motorcycles barrelling up the street towards us.
This blow sent me flying further than the last one, this time I ended up wrapped around a stop sign. That blow hurt significantly more than the previous. Having her bell rung was no laughing matter, but my chest hurt. I tried to pick myself up and collapsed nearly the second I put weight on my feet. Laying on the cold of the concrete, I tried to enjoy the last few moments life had to offer. It wasn't easy, what with my presumably shattered ribcage, but I thought I made a good effort tonight. I saved some kids, which I won't be sorry about. I just layed and stared up at the midwinter stars as I waited for Lung to reach me and end this.
And I waited. I waited long enough that he should've reached me, I then propped myself up onto my elbows to get a look at what was taking the overgrown newt so long to end my suffering.
To say I was caught off-guard by that scene would be one of the greatest understatements of my life.
Up the street, where Lung and I stood before the last exchange, was Lung–as expected. Instead of upright, however, his hips seem to have been separated from his torso. A masculine figure in gleaming silver power armor with dark blue highlights was rapidly administering first-aid to the profusely bleeding dragon, and a feminine figure in army camouflage was striding towards me.
With a properly functioning set of ribs, I might have recognized my favorite heroes of my childhood and uttered a squee of excitement. As it was, I simply slumped back onto the ground and waited for my childhood idol to approach.
Miss Militia's bandana'd face interrupted my view of the stars and stared down at me with concern written plainly in her eyes. I can imagine what I look like right now. Dented armor, tattered tabard, broken weapon, messed up face. At least my identity was safe.
"Miss? Are you okay? Do you need first aid? What happened here?" Miss Militia's concerned voice shook me from my reverie.
"No, I don't think I'm dying or anything but my torso hurts a lot and it hurts to breathe or move." I replied.
Miss Militia nodded and removed a first aid kid from a pouch and started laying out its contents. As she did so, she continued "What happened to Lung?"
I thought that was fairly fucking obvious, given we were the only two people on the street at the time when they arrived. Was people in full suits of medieval armor fighting dragons such a common occurrence to the Protectorate heroes that they needed a play by play description of the fight?
"I, uh, was out walking around the neighborhood–on patrol–for the first time when I heard a commotion coming from this street. I peeked around the corner and saw a large group of ABB leaving a building. I recognized Lung from his tattoos and was going to run away when he started talking about killing kids or something. So I stopped him." I practically erupted my explanation at Miss Militia.
She simply stared at me. I imagined an open mouth where I thought one should be. I thought I was clear enough that she understood but I must have tripped over my words or come out unintelligibly.
"I'm, uh, well, I'm trying to be, or I guess I am now, a hero. I don't have a name yet or anything. Am I in trouble?" I spoke to Miss Milita sheepishly. I know what I did tonight was stupid, but I don't think I could've lived with myself knowing I let kids be killed.
That seemed to shake Miss Militia out of her stupor. "Oh. Oh no, oh honey of course you're not in trouble. But you have to know that what you did tonight was very risky and unsafe." She spoke with a soft, motherly voice. It was unsettling and absolutely not what I expected of the woman.
"But… if you don't mind me asking, how did you take him down? You seem a bit young to be facing off with one of the Bay's scariest capes. I don't even see any weapons around you. I figure you have some kind of brute rating to survive a hit from him, but how did you hurt him? Are you a blaster?" Militia continued.
I was confused for a moment and started to speak when my voice died in my throat. My voice died in my throat. Not Gawain's voice, not Gawain's throat. I looked down at myself and saw my pajamas, I became aware of my hair trailing down my neck and how it pooled upon the pavement behind my head. I noticed the pathetically small presence of my breasts under my shirt and the lack of stubble on my chin as my hands reached for my helmet.
I spoke in a very, very small voice. "I.. don't know what that is. I had a costume on when we were fighting.. I.. I don't know what happened to it… It must have been dispelled after that last hit."
She nodded, looking down at me pitifully. "What's your name, hun?"
<><><>
Colin
A distance away, Armsmaster finished stabilizing Lung. He administered the man a tranquilizer and restrained him for the PRT officers to take back to HQ when they arrived.
Colin was bitter that someone else had been the one to take Lung down. He was glad, however, that he was not whatever idiot mutilated the man so horrifically. The repercussions of that action will ring out far and wide, and everyone in the Bay will want a look at the cape that took the Dragon of Kyushu apart.
He shifted his attention to his colleague down the road, who was attending to the only bystander unfortunate enough to be caught in the beast's rage, a young lady who should not be in this part of town at this time of night.
Hannah was a good coworker and a better person than he was, but she had too soft a heart for traumatized girls. It affected her judgement. He resolved to walk over and straighten out the story before the girl's emotions got the better of her or before Hannah adopted her or something similarly squishy.
<><><>
I spotted Armsmaster step away from the ruin of Lung as he began walking over to where I lay. My mind was ablaze. I didn't intend to actually get into a fight tonight, let alone take down one of the most infamous gang-bosses in the city, and unmask myself doing it! This was too much. I needed to be in control. I have to look good and professional for my heroes. I mean the heroes. I cannot be Taylor Hebert. Taylor Hebert has no control over this situation, the useless, ugly, pathetic, frog-faced stupid girl who needs to be rescued and can't do anything herself and–
Miss Militia puts her hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. Intensely. Those eyes manage to convey a lot of emotion considering the lack of facial expression a mask affords. Calming down a little, I look towards the wreck of the fight. I'm too exhausted to try on another change tonight anyways.
Taking her hand away from my shoulder, she stands and turns to Armsmaster. "The girl was walking home from a friend's house when she heard the commotion. Turned the corner and was trucked by a fleeing goon. Looks like he broke one of her ribs, but she looks otherwise fine."
I–Wha? That's not what happened. Why is Miss Militia lying for– She catches my eye and winks, before turning back to Armsmaster.
"This is Taylor Hebert. She didn't get a look at whoever took Lung down, but she is still alive. Which is more than most who have run into Lung can say." She gave me a serious look as she said that last part.
Gulping, I nodded furiously despite the pain in my chest. Armsmaster seemed mollified with that explanation, and turned back to the scene of the battle as he asked, "What can you tell us, Miss Hebert? Anything regarding the fight or the cape who took Lung down. Anything at all."
I didn't quite understand why Miss Milita was lying for me, but I wasn't going to spit in the face of her expertise and contradict her. "I, uh, not much. I didn't see much. I heard a British guy shouting at Lung a lot. He sounded like a knight, from those old fairytales and stuff. Lots of crashing and breaking things. I don't know."
I was shaking. It probably helped sell the effect of a terrified teenager to Armsmaster, because he grunted at my explanation and turned away. At that moment, a PRT van blazed around a corner down the street and settled between Lung and myself. He then stepped away with Miss Militia, shared a word, then stepped off to facilitate the arrest of Lung.
Miss Milita watched him as he walked to the van. She turned back to me and kneeled to my side before speaking again.
" You're not in any state to make any decisions right now. And Armsmaster would drag this whole night out with bureaucratic nonsense and detective science if he knew you did this." She smiled with her eyes softly, still looking at Armsmaster. Turning back to me, "Have you considered joining the Wards, Taylor?"
That was something I had been prepared for, ever since I woke up in the hospital with powers. "I.. I don't think so. Not right now at least. Maybe. Do I have to tell my Dad?"
Again, that warm smile in her eyes. "You don't have to make any decisions now. Here, take my card and when you feel like you want to know more, give me a call. For now, let's get you patched up and going home."
From there, she picked me up effortlessly and took me to a PRT officer with a medic's badge on his arm, only after I made her promise that I could go home without an escort after the fact. When I left earlier this evening, the absolute last thing I wanted to happen tonight was revealing my powers to Dad. That stands true, on top of the monumental list of bad things that happened in the past hour. Dad can not know.
With a bandage across my torso, I waved goodbye to Miss Militia, Armsmaster, and the ruin of my first cape battle, and limped home.