Chapter Text
Second Chances
Chapter 1
“Were you really a monster in the end? A warlord, an alien administrator? A vicious killer with a cruel streak, mutilating your enemies and secretly enjoying it? A bully, if you forgive me for using that word?”
I looked down at my hand.
“Or were you really a hero? Do the good intentions win out? Was it Glaistig Uaine’s strength or yours, that held her back from saving Scion in those final moments?”
“Why… does it matter?”
“Because I think you have a chance to come back from this. Not much of a chance. Part of that rides on me. I could help you, or I could stop you from troubling anyone ever again. Part of that? It’s up to you to win the fight, to take control and keep the administrator from claiming everything you have, leaving you a shell.”
“It’s okay. I got the answer, myself.”
I looked away.
I looked up. My eyes were wet.
So many stars. The universe so vast.
We’re s- so very small, in the end.
The first bullet hit me from behind, where my mask offered no coverage, and I slowly toppled. The second hit me before I could fall, before there could be any pain.
I woke up with a scream. The same way that I had woken for the past three hundred and forty five days straight. Almost a year. Almost a year of interrupted sleep, plagued by dreams of the past. Almost a year since I first woken in a hospital bed, coming out from a coma with a scream. Almost a year on this world.
I made my way, bleary-eyed, to the bathroom to shower and get ready. As I stood in the shower, reveling in the warmth of the warmth of the water as it cascaded over me, I could hear the sounds of my foster family waking up.
Every day I had been with them, my dreams had woken me and my screams had woken them. The first few times they had rushed into my room, full of concern. Concern that was subconsciously met with flailing feet and hand. I didn’t mean to, it was a reaction to their still-new faces and touches while half asleep. At least I hadn’t surrounded them with a swarm. The strict and superstitious sisters of St Agnes’ Orphanage had warned them, but Debbi and Kathy (my foster parents) were atheists and immediately discounted their diagnosis of possession.
With the assistance of a psychologist they now favored the scientific diagnosis of PTSD. They stopped rushing into my room and instead awaited me with hugs before breakfast. I was a bit hesitant to accept them initially, but their persistence wore down my apprehension. We had since built somewhat of a routine.
Twenty days in the hospital, since I had woken from my coma. Twenty days in the orphanage before Debbi and Kathy had taken me in. Three hundred and five days in their nice Manhattan apartment.
Although getting out of the hospital was difficult to begin with. When questioned by the doctors, I told them what my name was and where I was from. I lied when they asked what my last memories were of, it’s not something that you can just share with a doctor. They asked me what the date was and I told them the last date that I could remember. When they revealed that there wasn’t a town called Brockton Bay in the United States of America and that the date was four years before the one that I could last remember, I knew that something was up. They diagnosed me with retrograde amnesia as a result of two gun-shot wounds to the brain.
They tried looking up a Taylor Hebert in online databases but could not find one matching my date of birth. Which placed me at fifteen, instead of eighteen. Child Protective Services were called in, they got me documentation through the court and placed me in St Agnes once the hospital had released me. Thankfully I didn't have to stay there for very long, it seemed like everything they said to me was backed by the threat of God's wrath. I did not appreciate that and didn't believe it, what was the threat of their god compared to Scion? They had an exorcist ready to come in when Debbi and Kathy first visited, due to my nightmares and "rebellious" nature.
Thankfully things became more stable for me with my foster parents, it was slow going of course. It only took me two months to stop sleeping with a knife under my pillow.
My psychologist, Doctor Yamada (a coincidence that was its own hurdle to get over), had been a huge help to my mental well being. She was my second psychologist, who we were referred to by my first. He was a child psychologist who recognised the signs of PTSD, but his approach wasn't helpful for me. He commented that I behaved more like a refugee child soldier or a veteran than those he usually counseled, so I began seeing Doctor Yamada instead (whose client base was almost exclusively those with PTSD from war). It's rare that you find a professional who knows when they are out of their depth. While I never discussed details with Doctor Yamada, she was extremely helpful in giving me tools to manage my anxiety and reactions. I think that she was very quick to realize that I had more similarities with her veteran patients than could be simply explained, but did not allow her curiosity to push the bounds of what I was willing to discuss.
I finished up in the shower and got dressed in blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a black hoodie; clothes that felt comfortable to be in. I had come far from the ratty and shapeless clothes of my past life and slightly more comfortable in my body, but I still valued comfort and utility over fashion. I owned dresses, and skirts and pretty tops; Debbi had discovered a love for clothes shopping before they got me and was still in the middle of exploring it and figuring out her own style. Whenever she took me out shopping, we would come home with arms loaded down by bags and Kathy would insist on a fashion show. I'll wear nicer clothes when we go out, but for school: I dress for comfort.
I don't know what strings they pulled to get me into the Midtown School of Science and Technology, but I appreciated it nonetheless. One very interesting, or annoying thing about my “official” age meant that I was labeled at fourteen when I got into school. This placed me with kids four years younger than me, but had the fortunate bonus of giving me school work that was not too advanced for me (considering how much schooling I had missed), nonetheless being the type of school it was I was still struggling with new and different things. Just the previous night I had finished a programming assignment in a language that I wasn’t sure even existed in Earth Bet and even if it had we would never have been taught it at Winslow. Maybe at Arcadia, not that I managed to attend for long.
I went into the dining room to find my foster parents already standing and waiting to hug me, which I accepted with a slight smile of appreciation. It felt good. They avoided talking or asking about my nightmares after the first few weeks, which I appreciated.
"Did you get your computer science homework finished last night Taylor? " Kathy asked.
My foster mother was a short brunette, her hair falling down her back like a chocolate waterfall. She was still fairly skinny, keeping fit by going jogging around Central Park (an activity that I would often join her on). She was a New Yorker born and bred, having spent little time out of the city. She was a lawyer, working for the prestigious law firm Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz. This kept her very busy, but not so busy that she didn't make time for Debbi or I. Kathy used to be a constant coffee drinker, but had begun drinking tea during breakfast after they got me. She still drank copious amounts of coffee during the day though.
"Yeah," I answered, "thanks for making me those c plus plus cheat sheets Deb."
"Not a problem at all Tay," Debbi replied.
My foster mom was a tall woman, taller than me. She, like me, wore glasses. She liked to collect science fiction memorabilia and was a computer programmer working for Hammer Industries. She was the quintessential nerd gamer girl. She was tall and lanky, similar to me and had black curly hair that was frequently dyed in a variety of color combinations. It was only just touching her shoulders, but she'd only started growing it long about the time they got me. Quite often at home she'd be wearing plaid skirts with stripey knee high socks, a black nerdy t-shirt or singlet and striped arm warmer gloves. When she went out though, she'd sometimes dress in jeans and a baggy hoodie like I was that day. She was able to work from home, a situation that allowed her to do most of the cooking (which she loved to do) and was a contributing factor in their decision to start fostering. Deb was from Rosamond, California and her family was still back there although she didn't talk about them much.
Her and Kathy seemed as different as night and day sometimes. Where Kathy was serious, professional and somewhat conservative in appearance, Deb was a joker, carefree and often irreverent. Kathy would refer to everyone by their full first name while Deb would make shorten everybody's names (except Kathy's). I had called out to "Kath" once and the frown I got in answer was enough for me to realize my faux pas. They loved each other very much, that was obvious to me in the short amount of time I'd spent with them. Their differences were a strength to them and something that they loved in each other. They were only in their late twenties and had met while they were both studying at NYU. They had gotten married right after they had both finished school and had settled into building their careers. They had both begun to get very clucky, but Kathy absolutely did not want to go through childbirth, or the whole "baby growing thing" and neither really liked young children much. Hence their decision to foster. Hence me.
We all began to prepare our breakfast, with me making our drinks. Tea for me and Kathy and coffee for Debbi. Debbi began frying up eggs and bacon for me and her while Kathy prepared smashed avocado on toast for herself.
We all sat down together to eat breakfast, interspersed with discussions on the latest news that one or the other had just read on their phones. Breakfast time in the Wall-Sutton (they each took the other’s surname) household was a time for preparing for the day, both with food and information. Usually it was Law360 for Kathy, tech news for Deb and for me… I kept an eye on unusual happenings in case news appeared of parahumans.
Some interesting things had been happening around the world, some of which could be indications of parahumans. There were stories of ‘Captain America’ during world war two but that could have been multiple normal people wearing the mantle of ‘Captain America’. The U.S.S.R seemed to counter this PR stunt with ‘Red Guardian’ during the cold war but the ‘Red Guardian’ disappeared after the fall of the Soviet Union. Looking through the news I hadn’t found many things. Rumors of a big green man along the US-Canada border back in two thousand and five, possibly a case 53? There were similar stories from Japan a year later. Just another ‘Bigfoot’ tale most likely.
I hadn’t found many, that was until news stories through last year culminating in the announcement on twenty five November: Tony Stark’s declaration that “I am Iron Man”. Early on I was both excited and apprehensive. No sudden appearance of Scion, but instead what appeared to be a Tinker’s armor suit. Laser weapons, missiles and flight all packed into a suit too tight to be modern technology. Subtract the lower part of the face and add a perfectly kept beard and he could have been something created by Defiant. Oh, and an obsession with outdated pole-arms. But then Tony Stark revealed to the world that he was Iron Man and my skepticism came back from its holiday. Billionaire genius. Owner of a massive arms-making corporation. Likely had technology in R&D that hadn’t been turned into a marketable product yet. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t cool, slightly awesome and at the same time gave me occasional panic attacks. But probably not a parahuman.
On the Saturday just gone Tony Stark had announced the ‘Stark Expo 2010’ in Flushing and I must admit I was eager to attend. Not quite as eager as Deb, she squee’d for a full minute when she read the announcement. Sure, she worked for Stark Industries biggest competitor, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have a healthy appreciation of the technology that Stark Industries was coming out with.
After breakfast Kathy left for work and I left for school, the door to the apartment cutting off Deb’s cackling at “Pwning the noobs” in a quick pre-work Call of Duty game.
I waved at dear old deaf Missus Jones who lived next door with her four cats (absolutely only four if anyone asks, definitely not any more than four, who would be silly enough to keep twenty cats in an apartment?). She waved back as I passed and accidentally knocked the door open behind her letting out no more than four cats into the hallway.
I said “Good Morning” to Charlie the doorman who tipped his hat with a “Good Morning Miss Hebert”.
I met up with Harriet, a girl in my homeroom, on the street. It was hard for me to make friends at school; my last friends were lost to me on other worlds most likely and I was four years older than my ‘peers’, missing an arm and jumped whenever anybody so much as dropped a book on the ground near me. But Harriet was… patient. And Doctor Yamada was encouraging. It helped that we shared a love of literature. I’m not sure why Harriet sought me out, but I was somewhat glad that she had.
She was a short girl, only about five feet tall and had long blond hair. Her face was somewhat sharp and angular, but very cute. She loved wearing bright colors, often choosing outfits that were composed of multiple primary’s. She was bright and bubbly, cheerful and outgoing. Very much the opposite of me.
“Let’s walk the long way today,” I said as I directed her to walk along West Forty-Ninth street instead of the alley-way we’d usually short-cut through.
“Sure thing Tay,” she exclaimed happily, “need to keep your steps up?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “something like that.”
I looked back towards the alleyway, knowing that if we had gone down it, the guy with the gun in his hoodie’s front pocket would have likely mugged us.