《Badass》 Post 1: Aron Ralston 1 Post 1: Aron Ralston 1 10 am, Monday January 3rd, 2011. Winslow High School, Brockton Bay. Trapped in the locker, Taylor was left thinking one thing. She was thinking it desperately, grasping at the thought with all her strength to avoid thinking of just where she was, and what she was in. That thought was a simple one. ¡°I wish I was a badass.¡± Badasses, after all, don¡¯t end up shoved in lockers of rotten human waste. And if they do, they reap a bloody vengeance afterwards. And given how she was feeling, she could do with a nice, bloody vengeance spree. Time passed. Then more. And it was getting harder and harder to ignore her situation, harder and harder to hold onto hope that someone, anyone would hear her, smell her, save her. But why would they, when no one had cared before? And so Taylor began to beat on the door of the locker with the one arm free enough to do so. Bang, bang, bang, bang. Again, and again, and again with the small movement left to her. Her flesh ached and bruised, her bones cracked and ligaments popped but still she beat on that door. At some point, she lost focus, and when it came back she knew she was changed. She was now Aron Ralston. Oh, she was still Taylor. But she was also Aron, a man hard enough to not just last days pinned by a boulder when canyoneering, but to cut his own arm off with a multi-tool when he realized that no rescue was coming. Oh, and that¡¯s not all. No, first he had to break the arm, because the multi-tool would never be able to cut through the bone. A man hard enough not just to survive that, but to hike back to civilization afterwards. Razor sharp focus on the target: survival. Steely determination to do whatever it took to get there. That¡¯s what Aron gave her. Her fist beat harder, harder, harder against the door. The bones in her hand broke, splintered. Her hand was a bloody wreck. But the door gave way. What¡¯s the most badass thing I can now? Taylor asked of her herself with newfound freedom. What do I need to do to survive and thrive? After a moment of consideration, she knew what to do. It was, Taylor thought, time to deal with this issue for once and all. And so she walked off, covered in rotting filth, hand broken and bloody but straight backed and steely eyed. She would never again be pushed into a locker. If she had her way, after today there wouldn¡¯t be anyone to do the pushing. When she reached the door to Mr. Toby¡¯s English classroom, the classroom she should have been in, the classroom that Emma and Sophia were in, she twisted the handle and slammed it open with her shoulder. The class and teacher looked on at her nightmarish, stinking form aghast.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. In the silence she strode up next to Emma, grabbed her hair with her good hand and slammed her gaping face onto the floor in the aisle between desks. Emma grunted in pain, but before she could do more Taylor dropped down heavily on Emma¡¯s chest, straddling her fallen form, and began to rain down blows backed with a hundred percent of Taylor¡¯s strength. Like a woman lifting a car off her baby, Taylor¡¯s power was far greater than she should have been capable of. Doubtless her body would pay for it later. Her hand, already a wreck, was rapidly becoming a ruin. But those shards of bone were sharp, and perfect to destroy her treacherous former friend. The meaty thump, thud, squish, thump of the blows and Emma¡¯s pained grunts rang out in the room¡¯s stark silence. Then with a sharp cry of rage Sophia sprang forward, tackling Taylor and sending her half-sprawling into the table Emma had been sitting at. With a crack, the bone on Taylor¡¯s damaged arm broke, a compound fracture that left her radius poking through her skin. Without wasting a moment and with a rictus of purely lethal determination on her face, Taylor twisted, flicking the blood and bone from ruined hand into Sophia¡¯s eyes. As Sophia recoiled backwards, her hands coming up to save her sight, Taylor lunged forwards and buried the sharp point of her broken bone in Sophia¡¯s neck, piercing the carotid. Sophia¡¯s eyes widened in horror as her hand came up, desperately trying to stop the blood that was literally jetting out to the side through the ruined hole that was, moments ago, muscle and flesh and skin. She flickered into a shadowy, smoky state. That bitch! Taylor thought, worried for a second that her stab wouldn¡¯t be sufficient. But then Sophia flickered back into reality and fell unconscious, her blood-loss too great and the flow of oxygen to the brain too low. She¡¯d be dead in moments, Taylor thought with great satisfaction. Taylor turned back to Emma¡¯s form. The model was uncoordinated and weak from the blows to the head. Grasping Emma¡¯s hair in one hand, Taylor yanked backwards, exposing the vulnerable neck. Emma¡¯s desperate hands came up to block, but were pathetically incapable of stopping Taylor from driving her arm¡¯s bone through the throat in a repeat of how she had dealt with Sophia. Two down, one to go, Taylor thought as she stood up, taking Emma¡¯s cell phone with her. Her hand was leaking blood onto the floor, something she¡¯d need to take care of soon. Her hair was slick with sweat, her blood pulsing in her veins, her heart fit to burst. She was just fine. She turned to leave. One of the meatier boys in the room, a member of the football team if she remembered correctly, looked like he was thinking of involving himself. Taylor looked him in the eye. She glanced down at her arm, at the two corpses surrounded by blood on the floor, drawing the boys eyes along with her gaze. Then she stared him right in the eye, and perfectly raised one single eyebrow in challenge. To her satisfaction, he wilted backwards. As she got close to the doorway, the room still in shocked silence, Taylor realized that something was missing from the moment. Then it struck her, what she needed to do. ¡°Sic semper tyrannis,¡± she said, just loud enough for everyone to hear her clearly. Nailed it, she thought as she left the room, snagging the door handle without looking and closing it behind her. She called 911, ordering her ambulance so it would be waiting when she was finished with the matter at hand. Now, where was Madison this time of day? she wondered, smiling a bit at her pun. Ah, that¡¯s right. Spoiler: ¡±Power¡± Basically, being a mimetic badass. As most powers in Worm, this has a primary function, and a supporting secondary. Primary: Taylor becomes a randomly selected ¡°Badass¡± from Badass of the Week. Lasts 1 week, then changes. Can draw on the abilities, attributes, and some tools, equipment, powers, and physical form associated with and/or necessary for that badass, scaling to the level of conflict Taylor needs to overcome (up to a max of high tier Heroic Spirit similar to those from Fate). Secondary: She has a constant internal drive or motivation and a power-provided talent/aura/field that helps Taylor to do badass things/ be badass. Week 1: Aron Ralston (see link in post title for link to description of badassery) Overcome obstacles through self-sacrifice. Perfect determination and effort. Ability to take whatever action is necessary to survive, no matter how painful, and knowledge (roughly, not like Contessa) of what that action is. Post 2: Aron Ralston 2 Post 2: Aron Ralston 2 3pm, January 3rd, Conference Room, PRT Headquarters An overweight, unhealthy looking woman sat at the head of a table. To either side of her were a man with a goatee in power-armor and a buff man in red holding hands with a woman in a black suit decorated with blue glowing lines. A young man, also in red, was next to the man in power armor. At the far end of the table sat a younger, fitter woman in a cheap suit, another woman with careful if not particularly prettily arranged hair and a pale pink cardigan, and a man in a khaki blazer and colorful blue and red checkered shirt. The overweight woman at the head of the table reached over and toggled a switch. ¡°Initial meeting concerning the events of Monday, January the third, which occurred at Winslow High School,¡± she began speaking, the rage audible despite the practiced way she rattled off the details, ¡°Brockton Bay relating to Taylor Hebert, and the deaths of Sophia Hess, Emma Barnes, and Madison Clemens. ¡°Present are PRT ENE Director Emily Piggot, Protectorate ENE leader Armsmaster, Protectorate members Battery and Assault, Wards ENE leader Aegis, Shadow Stalker¡¯s handler Agent Webstone, PRT ENE head of imaging Tiffany Richards, and staff psychologist Henry Smith. This discussion is confidential, and any disclosures outside of those cleared, in other words personnel present and Miss Militia, who is still onsite aiding in the PRT investigation, is both a violation of your contract and the law.¡± ¡°Now that the niceties have been observed,¡± she continued, levelling a glare at Armsmaster, ¡°Armsmaster will bring everyone up to speed on today¡¯s epic clusterfuck. Armsmaster?¡± Armsmaster licked his lips then began to speak in a quick, measured, and formal manner. ¡°Around 8am this morning, Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess, Madison Clemens, and a few other girls, all students at Winslow High School, forced Taylor Hebert, a fellow student, into a locker filled with trash, used feminine products and other refuse. They were recorded doing so, and the footage was leaked publicly sometime after the events that followed. It is not certain, but considered extremely likely that these girls were also the ones to fill the locker with the filth, and were responsible for an extended bullying campaign. ¡°Hours later, near 10:42 am, Ms. Hebert managed to escape the locker. Judging by the force with which the door had been hit, the fresh blood on the floor, and witness testimony she did so by smashing her hand against it hard enough to splinter the bones in her hand and cause sever compound fractures in said hand. ¡°She then proceeded to the classroom of one Mr. Anton Toby, an English teacher at Winslow High. It was her normal classroom for that time period. Also in that classroom were Ms. Barnes and Ms. Hess. Ms. Hebert assaulted Ms. Barnes, pulling her out of her chair, straddled her body, and began to rain down blows using both fists. ¡°It is unsure at this time what Ms. Hebert¡¯s mental status was, but given the previous damage to the hand, and the subsequent damage such blows inflicted, she either has some sort of Brute rating allowing her to ignore pain, or was in the middle of some sort of hopefully temporary mental episode. ¡°After landing several blows, Ms. Hess tackled Ms. Hebert. In the process, the right arm radial bone, the same arm that was previously damaged, received a compound fracture. Ms. Hebert then proceeded to stab Ms. Hess with the sharp end of the broken bone in the throat, causing significant damage to the carotid. Ms. Hess went into her shadow state to try and survive the wound, but quickly fell unconscious then expired due to the blood loss. ¡°Ms. Hebert then proceeded to stab Ms. Barnes in a similar location before leaving the classroom. She was heard to say ¡°Sic semper tyrannis,¡± translated into English as ¡°ever thusly to tyrants,¡± as she left. The exact meaning of that phrase, whether it applied to her victims due to bullying her, or was aimed at Ms. Hess¡¯ identity as a Ward, is unsure though currently the subject of much debate online.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°After leaving the room, Ms. Hebert called 911 and requested an ambulance while walking to Ms. Tasha Hendricks US History classroom. Once there, she proceeded to approach Ms. Clemens, yank her head back by the hair, and stab her in the throat in a manner consistent with how she killed Ms. Hess and Ms. Barnes. ¡°As she left this classroom, Ms. Hendricks asked her ¡°what did you do?¡±, to which Ms. Hebert replied ¡°be badass.¡± At that point, she left the school, and departed on the ambulance before the police arrived. She remained at the hospital and is currently being treated. Hospital staff have refused to administer an MRI until she has been treated and decontaminated. Evidence of her clothing and injuries has been taken, and her father contacted. Panacea has been requested to come and administer healing, as well as check whether Ms. Hebert is a parahuman, and should be by after she gets out of school. After she has been treated, Miss Militia and I will question her.¡± As Armsmaster had been talking, the other people present were looking more and more shocked. ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± Assault breathed out in horror. ¡°Somehow,¡± Piggot said dryly, ¡°I doubt that He had anything to do with this. Webstone, what the fuck were you doing? How did things get this bad?¡± The younger woman grimaced. ¡°Look, it wasn¡¯t that bad until now. Just, you know, a bit of school-girl nastiness. Since-¡± Piggot slapped the desk, interrupting Webstone. ¡°School-girl nastiness? A major biohazard and three deaths, just school-girl nastiness!? What does it take to be worse than that then, mass casualties? The whole city on fire? You moron, Hess wasn¡¯t allowed any school-girl nastiness! She was on probation, a probation that you were meant to be enforcing! Do you have anything to say for yourself?¡± The agent was silent, looking down at the table. ¡°No? Nothing? THEN GET THE FUCK OUT!¡± Piggot yelled. ¡°You¡¯re on indefinite unpaid suspension while this is investigated and I decide whether we should be charging you. Corporal Jones will take your security credentials and weapon, and escort you out of the building. Don¡¯t leave town. Now get the hell out of my sight.¡± Piggot panted, catching her breath as the agent fled her presence. ¡°Tiffany, how bad is the fallout going to be?¡± she asked after calming down. Mrs. Richards grimaced. ¡°I¡¯d rather be dealing with the PR for Chernobyl. Hess being Shadow Stalker is already public, and has been picked up by the media. As has everything that led to this sordid mess, and its outcome. It¡¯s already going national. I¡¯m not expecting a minor squall, or even a storm. We¡¯re going to be buried under the avalanche of shit flowing our way.¡± Assault cracked a half-hearted grin at the imagery. ¡°Wonderful, but nothing unexpected given the situation,¡± Piggot groaned. ¡°What am I meant to tell the other Wards?¡± Aegis asked. ¡°You can tell them that Sophia broke her probation in the worst way, and that she and her two co-conspirators died for it. Tell them that Ms. Hebert¡¯s situation is under investigation still, and it is to be determined whether she was a fresh trigger, undergoing a temporary mental break, simply on a spree of rage-fueled homicide, or something else. ¡°Will we be recruiting her?¡± Aegis asked incredulously as he read between the lines of Piggot¡¯s statement. ¡°That¡¯s still to be determined,¡± Piggot answered with a frown. ¡°You can¡¯t expect everyone to work together after¡­¡± Battery protested, pausing for a moment as she searched for the words to encapsulate the situation, ¡°after all of this.¡± ¡°Well, to be fair, we work together after everything. And more, right puppy?¡± Assault leered, but everyone could tell he was just going through the motions. Battery elbowed him anyways. ¡°I¡¯m more concerned about how the gangs will react,¡± Armsmaster interjected. ¡°Both to the possibility that Ms. Hebert is a parahuman, as well as what the Empire Eighty Eight will do given Ms. Hess¡¯ race.¡± ¡°Doubtless nothing pleasant,¡± Piggot agreed. ¡°The PRT is already at enhanced readiness, and Shadow Stalker¡¯s family are in protective custody. Dauntless is currently guarding Ms. Hebert, with a squad of PRT at the hospital to support him. Battery, Assault, you will be reinforcing him, and trading off with him when his shift finishes. Miss Militia will try to talk to Ms. Hebert when the doctors clear her, but don¡¯t press her. I don¡¯t want to be burying any other capes, and would prefer to avoid burying any more high school girls as well.¡± ¡°Yes Ma¡¯am¡±/ ¡°Got it, boss-lady,¡± the two replied. ¡°Alright. Well, I¡¯d like a brief update from everyone when they¡¯re done for the day. If nothing else happens, we¡¯ll meet again tomorrow at four pm to continue dealing with this situation. Doctor Smith, I¡¯d like you to stay behind so we can discuss the effectiveness of the current counseling program, and how to improve it. Thank you.¡± Post 3: Aron Ralston 3 Post 3: Aron Ralston 3 4:30 pm, January 3rd, Brockton Bay City Hospital Panacea stepped past Dauntless and the armored PRT trooper and entered the room where Taylor Hebert was being treated. As she stepped through the door, and saw the absolute wreck that was Taylor¡¯s arm, she didn¡¯t even pause. She¡¯d become inured to even worse sights long ago. ¡°Do I have permission to heal you?¡± the tired hero asked. ¡°Sure,¡± Hebert replied with a slightly strained grin. Then, when Panacea touched Hebert¡¯s arm, something happened. Something she hadn¡¯t experienced in a long time. She was shocked at Taylor¡¯s medical condition. ¡°What the hell. How are you even conscious? And which idiot forgot to give you painkillers?¡± Panacea blurted out in surprise. She could see that there wasn¡¯t anything strange with Hebert¡¯s biology, with her nerves, and given the damage, and how long Hebert had been waiting¡­ Torturous was just the start of what she¡¯d describe that experience as. Hebert¡¯s grin became a bit more strained. ¡°They didn¡¯t forget, I refused them. Pain is weakness leaving the body, and I¡¯ve lost a lot of weakness today.¡± ¡°Is that your power? Gaining strength proportional to what pain you¡¯re experiencing?¡± Panacea asked curiously as she began to fix the arm, the bone and flesh flowing and fitting together as good as new. Hebert laughed, partially in relief. ¡°No. Promise you won¡¯t tell anyone? I¡¯m not quite sure how things will play out with the PRT after this, and don¡¯t want them getting a wrong impression.¡± ¡°Fine, so long as it¡¯s not something that puts the hospital or city at risk,¡± Panacea agreed. ¡°I think my power is all about being a badass. There seem to be two parts. The first, and most obvious, is that I channel some badass. Their knowledge, history, abilities, attributes¡­ basically, their legend. I¡¯m channeling Aron Ralston right now, a climber who got trapped in a rockfall, cut his own arm off to escape, and then walked back to civilization.¡± Panacea¡¯s eyes widened, but Taylor just continued. ¡°The second is an innate sense on being badass, and a compulsion to do so. Though that last part might be psychological. When I was in the locker I was pretty fixated on how other, better people wouldn¡¯t end up in that situation, wouldn¡¯t be weak how I was.¡± Taylor almost missed the look of sympathetic longing that flashed across Panacea¡¯s face at that. I wonder¡­ Taylor thought to herself. ¡°Like you, for example. You¡¯re pretty damned badass, and one of my favorite heroes.¡± Panacea scoffed a bit self-deprecatingly. ¡°You¡¯re saying that because I¡¯m healing you, but thanks.¡± ¡°No, I mean it!¡± Taylor protested. And Panacea could tell she did; she was still holding Taylor¡¯s arm, and could see the truth in Taylor¡¯s body. But that didn¡¯t help against Panacea¡¯s knowledge that she would never, could never, do enough, be enough. That she was always just a moment from falling, from becoming a monster. ¡°You have that whole, badass medic thing going on,¡± Taylor continued, flailing about with her poor social skills. And then Taylor seemed to know what to say. ¡°After all, you¡¯re probably the most badass healer in the world. And even if you¡¯re getting a little burned out, that¡¯s fine. Even the most epic badasses need to take a break, and be badass some other way after a while to avoid badass burnout,¡± she said with a nod. ¡°Like Ekaterina Mikhailova-Demina.¡± Panacea looked a little confused at the reference, which wasn¡¯t surprising. Prior to that day, Taylor had never heard of Ekaterina either, until her badass power made her know. ¡°Who¡¯s she?¡± she asked, interested despite herself. ¡°She¡¯s this totally badass Russian nurse from World War Two. She wanted to be a soldier, but was only fifteen so they rejected her. Instead, she joined up with the military hospital. After the battle-lines moved up, and the hospital got bombed and evacuated, she switched over to work as a field medic with the Red Army. Then, after a couple more years of being a heroic medic, she got bored. She needed to change it up, and be badass somehow else.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°So, after rejecting her application a few times, she was finally accepted to serve with the Soviet naval infantry, basically their marines. One time, on a commando raid, she single-handedly assaulted a fortified Nazi position, took fourteen prisoners, and still had time to treat seventeen men from her unit. Another time, her unit of fifty men had to do a diversionary attack. Only thirteen survived, all wounded, and at least half would have died if it weren¡¯t for her. She, also injured, got double pneumonia. But that didn¡¯t stop her from escaping hospital to rejoin her unit. ¡°She was the only Russian woman to get the Florence Nightingale medal, and was later made a Hero of the Soviet Union, which was the highest distinction they made.¡± Panacea was smiling at Taylor¡¯s enthusiasm, and at the comparison between her and this epic woman. Still, the sarcasm was strong with her. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly commando material,¡± Panacea noted dryly, gesturing at her relatively small frame. ¡°Dr. Mikhailova-Demina wasn¡¯t either. But no, you¡¯re totally right. I think you¡¯d be much better as a White Mage type, everyone knows not to mess with the White Mage. Or maybe a Deadly Doctor, using medical skills to save the injured and prevent the injury by smiting the wicked. Oh, maybe your powers would let you become a Beastmaster. Tigers are badass, so are gorillas. Everyone knows that.¡± Taylor nodded decisively, as if such things were obvious. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± Panacea said, giggling despite herself. ¡°And don¡¯t think I didn¡¯t notice when you said I was only one of your favorite heroes,¡± she mock-grumbled. Taylor made her face look really serious for a moment. ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to be Alexandria since I was four. No one is more badass.¡± Then she relaxed her face, and they both broke out into laughter. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve finished fixing you, so you can go get showered now,¡± Panacea said. ¡°I¡¯ve also taken the liberty of improving your immune system just in case, and fixing your eyesight. I can honestly say you¡¯ve been the most interesting patient in weeks. I¡¯m giving you my card, give me a call when you¡¯ve worked everything out with the PRT, and we¡¯ll see if you can help me become more of a badass, as you put it.¡± ¡°Alright. Thank you so, so much!¡± Taylor exclaimed. Panacea looked like she might say something else, but couldn¡¯t think of anything, so just smiled, nodded, and left, closing the door behind her. Her sister, Victoria or Glory Girl in costume, was outside chatting with Dauntless. ¡°Hey, Sis,¡± she said as Amy left the room. ¡°How¡¯d it go?¡± ¡°Good. That girl has a crazy pain threshold,¡± Amy replied. ¡°But I shouldn¡¯t talk in front of these guys,¡± she said, gesturing to the PRT officer, Dauntless and Miss Militia. They went up to the roof, then Glory Girl took hold of Amy and flew off towards their home at a relatively sedate thirty miles an hour so they could talk. ¡°So dish!¡± she exclaimed. Amy smiled. ¡°Well, you were right. She wasn¡¯t bad.¡± ¡°I told you. If they¡¯d locked me in that, I¡¯d have probably done a lot worse.¡± Amy hummed in agreement. ¡°Still, that doesn¡¯t mean she would be good afterwards. But her power is pretty interesting.¡± Victoria vibrated in anticipation, her aura pulsing her happiness. ¡°So, what is it?¡± ¡°Promise you won¡¯t tell Dean?¡± Amy asked. Victoria paused in indecision. ¡°Promise?¡± Amy pointed repeated. Victoria sighed. ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°Alright. Her power is being badass.¡± ¡°What.¡± Victoria deadpanned. ¡°No, really. That¡¯s how she described it. Basically, her power makes her want to be badass, and helps her along. Plus she seems to channel badasses, and either knows about other people who have done ridiculously amazing things, or her power is giving her that knowledge. Today she was channeling Aron Ralston, who got trapped by a rockfall when climbing, and cut his own arm off to survive.¡± ¡°That¡¯s pretty hard-core,¡± Victoria said appreciatively ¡°Yeah, especially for someone who isn¡¯t a parahuman. Taylor ended up totally smashing her right arm, but still refused painkillers. It was basically hamburger. Shards of bone everywhere. Her nerves were lit up so much I was surprised she was conscious.¡± ¡°Taylor, huh?¡± her sister teased. ¡°Shut up. She was¡­ nice? That¡¯s not really the right word. Sort of unconventionally charismatic and friendly, and genuinely wanted to help me out when she realized I was tired.¡± ¡°Even under all that pain?¡± Victoria asked in surprise. ¡°Yes, even with all that.¡± ¡°So how did she try and help?¡± Victoria questioned. ¡°She tried to convince me that I was getting badass burnout,¡± Amy said deadpan. Victoria laughed. ¡°Badass burnout? I love that.¡± Amy smiled. ¡°That¡¯s right. That I was a healing badass, but apparently needed to take a break and be a badass in some other way.¡± ¡°And what did she suggest as an alternative?¡± ¡°That I fight as a White Mage, or Deadly Doctor, or maybe a Beastmaster. I¡¯m guessing those are archetypes of some sort,¡± Amy answered. Victoria laughed. ¡°Well, I for one love the idea of a pet tiger, so you should totally be a Beastmaster,¡± she joked. But Amy was liking the idea more and more as she thought about it. ¡°Maybe I will,¡± she mused quietly. ¡°What was that?¡± her sister asked loudly. ¡°I couldn¡¯t hear you over the wind!¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± Amy said louder. She needed to think a bit more before bringing anything up, needed to consider the angles. But she found Taylor¡¯s concept of badass strangely appealing, and what Amy was already doing was killing her by inches. Post 4: Aron Ralston 4 Post 4: Aron Ralston 4 4:40 pm, January 3rd, Brockton Bay City Hospital Almost immediately after Panacea was done healing Taylor Miss Militia came in. Looking at her in her military-esque fatigues, an American flag bandana around her face like some resistance fighter beating back an evil commie invasion, Taylor couldn¡¯t help but think that the hero looked pretty damned badass. Which was just fitting, after all; Double-M¡¯s power was basically guns. Which sounds awesome, until you think about how that basically makes her just as good as any cop, who might carry a pistol, have a shotgun in the front seat, and a rifle in the trunk. Double-M was left with just that, going up against the likes of Lung, Oni Lee, Kaiser, and Hookwolf, superhuman monsters one and all. So, definitely a badass. Miss Militia sat down in the chair next to the left of Taylor¡¯s bed. ¡°I¡¯d offer you some water, but¡­¡± Taylor motioned with her left arm, currently restrained to the side of the bed with a padded cuff and wide belt. Taylor couldn¡¯t see because of the bandanna, but she could tell that Miss Militia grinned briefly at that. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s standard procedure after an event like earlier,¡± Militia replied. ¡°So, what brings you here?¡± Taylor asked. ¡°I¡¯m sure this isn¡¯t an interrogation, not without my father present.¡± Militia snorted. ¡°The rules are somewhat different for capes, but no. I just wanted to ask you if there was anything you wanted to say before he showed up. Anything that you couldn¡¯t say with him present.¡± ¡°Wait, are you saying?¡± Taylor asked. ¡°No way! Dad never did anything bad!¡± she exclaimed. The heroine relaxed somewhat. ¡°Well,¡± she said awkwardly, ¡°that¡¯s good then. He should be here soon.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Taylor replied, also bitten by the awkward bug. Totally not badass, she thought in the back of her head. The unpleasant silence stretched on until they could both hear the tromp of a pair of booted feet. Both perked up, expecting to be rescued from the moment by a newly arrived Danny Hebert. Which was why both were surprised when a pair of Brockton Bay police officers stepped through the door. Both had tight crew cuts and were fit, reasonably handsome white men in their late twenties or early thirties. One, with brown hair, had a nametag that read H. Jones. The other, a sandy blond, J. Hendricks. ¡°Officers, the PRT has jurisdiction on this case. Why are you here?¡± Miss Militia asked sharply. Taylor wanted to know the answer to that question too; her instincts were blaring their warning. One of the officers, Jones, opened up his breast pocket, and took out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed it over to Miss Militia. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± he said with a faint sound of distaste at the respectful term of address, ¡°we¡¯ve got an IEA transport order for Miss Hebert here.¡± ¡°An IEA transport order?¡± Militia questioned, puzzled. ¡°Involuntary Emergency Admission, Ma¡¯am. For mental health,¡± Officer Hendricks added helpfully in a strong New England accent. ¡°Dr. Green signed off on it. And here¡¯s a PRA-73, for you and yours to assist in transport with an escort.¡± Miss Militia frowned. ¡°This is highly irregular.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am, I just get told to go here, go there. That¡¯s above my pay grade,¡± Jones replied. ¡°Let me just call the judge and check everything¡¯s kosher,¡± Militia asked. It was clear it wasn¡¯t a question. She was looking at Jones, and didn¡¯t notice the way Hendricks¡¯ lip curled at the word ¡®kosher.¡¯ ¡°Hey, I¡¯m getting paid either way,¡± Jones agreed. ¡°It¡¯s no skin off our nose.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t we step outside,¡± Militia suggested. It was clear it wasn¡¯t a suggestion, and that she trusted both men about as far as she could throw them. Double-M may have been a badass, but she wasn¡¯t very big and didn¡¯t have any super-strength to go with ¡°all the guns¡±. ¡°Yes Ma¡¯am, be happy to,¡± Hendricks replied. ¡°In fact, why don¡¯t we get some coffee, give you time to check with whoever you need. We¡¯ll be back in five minutes, alright?¡± Miss Militia nodded, visibly relieved. They all left the room, leaving Taylor alone. This, she thought, is quite the interesting development. A few minutes later the police returned. An obviously suspicious Miss Militia followed them as they brought Taylor outside, cuffed her hands behind her back, and loaded her gently into the rear of the police car. Jones and Hendricks got into the front seat and pulled out, Miss Militia a visible escort in the rear-view mirror on her motorbike.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. A moment later Hendricks, sitting in the passenger seat, half turned around to face Taylor. ¡°Sorry about all that, kid. I know how scary this can be. But you¡¯ll be fine, with your own people lookin¡¯ out for ya. And about the cuffs, if I didn¡¯t put those on ya¡¯, then that Towel-head woulda known something was up.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. We know you didn¡¯t do anything wrong. And we¡¯ll make sure nothing bad comes of it. Hell, after what that nigger Hess put you through, you should get a damned medal.¡± Ah, Taylor thought. The famous Brockton Bay Nazi ¡°community organization¡±. Now it makes sense. Her lips quietly said ¡°Thank you,¡± while her mind thought I¡¯ve been taken by some Nazi plot¡­ at least if it comes down to it, killing them will be badass. It¡¯s always badass to kill Nazis. About an hour later, they were at NHH, the main state psychiatric hospital, where Taylor was transferred into the care of a Nurse Amity and a pair of large, meaty, thick-necked orderlies. ¡°Be good kid, and fight the good fight,¡± Hendricks said quietly to her while taking the cuffs off. ¡°Oh, I will,¡± Taylor promised with a guileless grin. =================================== In New Hampshire, much like many states in the US, there is a shadowy, poorly known set of laws and procedures that allows the extended incarceration of citizens who have never been charged of a crime. First, a person petitions for an Involuntary Emergency Petition. They can fill out a form to request police assistance in bringing their target in. The subject of the Petition is then transported to a hospital, often against their will with little to no explanation. A doctor does a medical examination, and a psychiatrist a mental one. They can then order the subject brought to NHH, a secure psychiatric hospital, to be further processed. Sometimes, NHH is over-subscribed, and so the subject is held at the emergency center, often being charged massive amounts of money for the privilege. Once at the psychiatric hospital, if the victim wasn¡¯t half-mad to start, they soon will be. They are urged to take mood-altering drugs, held with minimal outside contact, kept in the dark by restricting access to cell phone or computer (because otherwise they might look up ways of legally escaping, or be able to prepare their defense and we can¡¯t have that). Just the boredom is a massive stressor. Very few people nowadays can survive without a constant stream of stimulation: facebook, tv, books, reddit, etc. Being in a stressful situation just makes it worse. They are further surrounded by other people who are held within this facility, many of whom are legitimately crazy. Many of whom are aggressively so. So, this terrified, drugged, bored, effectively kidnapped individual is then forced to talk with the psychiatrists. Talk about how horrible this is and they don¡¯t deserve to be there? They aren¡¯t committing to the process, and the psychiatrists may even threaten that such an act proves they need to stay longer. Agree with the psychiatrist? They¡¯ve just admitted they have psychological issues. There¡¯s no way to win, nothing to say that can¡¯t be twisted, misconstrued. After three business days there is a court review, the first actual court proceeding to decide whether the so called patient should remain involuntarily committed. The hearing occurs at the psychiatric facility itself. Family members, friends, and other support for the, effectively, accused are only allowed within with the support of all parties, the person to initially petition to put the victim inside included. How fucked up is that? The victim doesn¡¯t even have the right to choose their own attorney, having to use a court-appointed one. If the judge agrees there was probable cause for the involuntary commitment, the duration can be extended to ten business days. Now remember, if the victim can pay, the psychiatric facility is actually charging the victim this whole time. Still, two weeks isn¡¯t too bad, right? Wrong. At the end of the ten days, if the facility, remember one that is making money from this process wants to, they can file to keep the ¡°patient¡±. There¡¯s another court hearing, this time within a further fifteen business days, so the patient has been a prisoner for up to five weeks by that point. Very few people can withstand five weeks of the kind of hell these psychiatrists can cause without breaking. Hard military veterans break under much less of what would be, in any other situation, deemed torture. A normal person stands little to no chance. So a wreck of a person shows up to this hearing, which can decide to further commit them. In New Hampshire, for up to five more years. And all this without a jury, and a strong financial incentive for the psychiatric hospital to keep its beds full. Now, you might think that a mental heal professional would never do something like that. After all, it¡¯s not like doctors would do evil shit. No cardiologist would ever head up a chemical and biological weapons project. Or target patients, lethally inject then rob them. Or be Britain¡¯s most prolific serial killer, praying on the elderly to an estimated two-hundred and fifty kills. No psychiatrist would unethically testify that a person was an unrepentant killer without even examining them. Oh, wait. All that shit happened, and worse. The truth is, two types of people become psychiatrists or psychologists: those who are deeply fucked up, wanting to understand why and how, and those who want to play god, changing people. The first are dangerous because of their own issues. The second because even the truly well-intentioned (and not all are well intentioned) will try and mold their patients into their idea of ¡°good¡±. Kaiser knew all about this. Knew all about how all he really needed to get someone locked up, discredited, held hostage, even driven insane if needed, was a single doctor at the city hospital, a single judge, and a single psychiatrist at NHH. He had that and more. Doctors and judges that had fallen under his sway. Extra money, a problem taken care of, a supply of girls or boys, an affair being kept quiet, a drunk driving incident where someone came forward to admit to stealing a car and doing the deed¡­ the Empire made hay when the sun shined, and gathered every cloud¡¯s silver lining. And this tool of his, this warped usage of the psychiatric system, wasn¡¯t just used to ill effect. Temporary insanity got any number of the E88¡¯s people off. Not too frequently, not too overtly, but for a newly initiated member without a serious rap sheet, someone who was related to the right people, important in the right ways¡­ their errors could be smoothed over. As for Taylor Hebert, he wasn¡¯t sure what camp she fell into just yet. Prisoner being held by his shadowy steel web, or recruit being protected by legal fiction. But either way, she was in his territory now. Post 5: Spartacus 1 Post 5: Spartacus 1 8am, Monday, January 10th, NHH Lying in her cell, sorry ¡°treatment room¡±, Taylor woke up. She sat up, stretched, cracked her neck, shook out her arms. Rotating to the side, she put her feet on the floor and stood up, a devilish grin on her face. ¡°It¡¯s a new dawn, it¡¯s a new day, it¡¯s a new life, for me,¡± she sang softly underneath her breath. ¡°And I¡¯m feeling good.¡± And she really, really was feeling good. Aron¡¯s power had wanted her to wait, and she had. But it had been hard. The last week had truly sucked. Being trapped in a Nazi-run insane asylum was a literal living nightmare. It wasn¡¯t just that the doctor and nurses kept trying to fuck with her head; she could cope with that pretty easily given Aron¡¯s experiences. He¡¯d managed to push through a self-amputation; sitting silent in front of psychologists trying to screw her over was nothing in comparison. Not that minor head-games were the end of it. But whatever she faced, she overcame. When they tried to give her drugs, she refused. When she sensed her food had been tampered with, she just walked up and took food from one of the damn E88 members who were in there with her. Their food was much nicer anyways. When one of the E88 boys thought about starting something with her, she just stared him down, got up in his personal space and kept pushing forwards as he retreated until he was huddled in the corner. Actually, that probably pissed her off more than anything about this situation. There was a clear divide between prisoners, there as hostages or victims of those shitty neo-Nazis¡¯ manipulations, versus the ¡°righteous nationalists¡± who were there as a way to avoid prison. The latter, scumbags one and all, lorded it over the prisoners. Harassment, bullying, hell even sexual assault seemed to be matter of course. But Taylor knew, knew that if she acted then it would be worse. So she did what she could, made sure no evil occurred in her view. And she waited, passing through the harassment and the pressure and that damned piece of shit corrupt judge who signed off after day three of her stay in club psycho swastika. So waiting, that had sucked. But it gave her a nice bit of bottled up rage. And that, well that she could use. Especially as her new persona. Spartacus. The man was literally a byword in badassery. He wasn¡¯t just one of the deadliest fighter to ever live, but was an amazing commander too. He went up against a world power with beat-down slaves, and he won. His untrained ragamuffin rebel-slave army thrashed four legions. To put that in perspective, Caesar started off with four legions when he conquered all of Gaul (modern France). After that, Spartacus seized the town of Thurii, and held it for years against the Romans. In the end, the Romans sent eight legions against him. That¡¯s roughly equivalent to some rebel needing to be put down by the entire US Marine Corps. Even then he might have won, if his men hadn¡¯t lost all their discipline. But they didn¡¯t follow his plan, and instead gave the massive Roman army the kind of fight it was built to win. Unlike in that famous movie Spartacus didn¡¯t get captured and die on a cross. No, he went down fighting like the badass he was, charging with a small band, basically solo against a full two hundred Romans who were guarding their general. It got so bad that both Roman centurions, each hard-ass veterans with decades of warfare, tried to double-team him. He cut them down, but isolated and with his men retreating he was eventually brought down like lion surrounded by dogs. Taylor would just need to make sure she didn¡¯t make those same mistakes. But there was a certain elegance to it all. After all, it seemed only right that this so-called Empire would face one of the greatest rebels to ever live. It was almost breakfast time. So she waited, and ate, and then went along to the common spaces. Her new charisma was set loose, drawing in the recluses, bringing them out of their rooms. They gathered around her, the broken and the lost, the victims of that doomed attempt at white-supremacy. ¡°Tomorrow,¡± she spoke, her voice soft, drawing them in. ¡°Tomorrow, you will wake up. And for a moment, a brief shining moment, you will not remember where you are, but will be free. But then it will crash down onto you. Your situation, our situation, the cross we all bear trapped here in this forsaken pit. And some Aryan doctor, perfumed, blond and blue eyed, in fine clothing, will come. And they will poison you, fill your head with the lies that this is your fault. That your suffering is somehow due to you, your family, your friends, your race. ¡°I¡¯m here to tell you a secret. You¡¯re not to blame. We¡¯re not to blame. They are, these monsters that would make animals of men. If you are truly beasts, then stand here. Wait, for that tomorrow to become your today, again and again and again. Wait like a foolish sheep, still and helpless before the butcher¡¯s knife. Taylor grew louder. ¡°But if you¡¯re men, follow me! Strike down the guards, take their cars, and let us make our way to Brockton. Let us do the bloody work our ancestors did and burn out this plague of Nazis! Is liberty dead? Is that old revolutionary spirit frozen in your veins, that you are happy to cower and whimper like a beaten dog underneath its master¡¯s fist?Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°Comrades, survivors, Brocktonites! If we must suffer, let us suffer for ourselves,¡± she growled, full of venomous rage. ¡°If we must kill, let us kill not our own hearts, but dance in our enemies¡¯ blood. And if we must die, let it be under a blue sky, by the bright ocean, in noble, honorable battle. ¡°But first, let us make a ruin of this fucking Empire!¡± And the other inpatients, some thirty odd young adults, went wild. They turned on the handful of Empire youth and guards, tearing them apart with their hands, smashing in faces with books and chairs, clawing and biting and choking. It was a terrible, awful sight, like something out of a zombie movie. Taylor smiled at the beauty she wrought, and raced off, the nucleus of her army baying around her like hounds on the scent of their prey. They were a living tide, tearing through the paltry resistance that their Nazi oppressors put up. Soon, Taylor came onto the ¡°good¡± Doctor Pritchett, scrambling for his phone. She leapt over the table, bringing him to ground. ¡°Hey Doc,¡± she said cheerily, smiling innocently, as if her face were not speckled with blood. ¡°Let¡¯s have a little chat, hmm?¡± She pulled him up. He struggled a bit, but she rabbit-punched him in the stomach, hard. It was the sort of blow that could put the fight out of a hardened gladiator. He fell to his hands and knees, retching. Taylor sat down on Pritchett¡¯s office chair, two of her rebels flanking the door in an imposing manner, and put her feet onto Pritchett¡¯s back. She reached over to the desk, picked up a recorder, and turned it on. ¡°Now, Pritchett, we¡¯re going to talk. Or, you are. You¡¯re going to tell us everything. Every person involved in your little Nazi asylum here. The names of those responsible. How it worked. When you were paid. How you were paid. Names, dates, everything.¡± He was gasping, so she shoved him a bit with her foot to get his attention. ¡°Pritchett, are you paying attention? Because if you aren¡¯t, we can help with that.¡± We can help with that. One of his favorite phrases, the twisted little fuck, that he used when his victims weren¡¯t being sufficiently amenable. He¡¯d say it all false-kindly, and then, then something nasty would happen. A day of sensory deprivation, or being held face down in a full bath, or force-fed drugs, or denied drugs that the victim had been addicted to, or perhaps being locked in a room for a few hours as a visit to ¡°help improve the morale¡± of some of the nastiest, most brutal Hitler-youth. Pritchett shuddered. There is little a torturer fears more than to be at the mercy of his victims. ¡°Taylor, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± he began to complain. ¡°You need help Taylor, if you¡¯ll just ¨C¡° She reached down, grabbed his hair and yanked him up, cutting off his lies. She slammed the side of his face onto his table. His arms were flailing, trying to reach her. She didn¡¯t like that, so she reached out, with all the grace and precision of a master swordsman. She grabbed his index finger, and broke it. ¡°Aaahhh!¡± he screamed. She punched him in the kidney, shutting him up again. ¡°Quietly, doctor, quietly. We¡¯re inside, I expect you to use inside volume, or you won¡¯t speak at all.¡± Yet another of his little phrases, one that preceded being gagged for hours. Not that Taylor had let them gag her, but she heard about it from others. He was whimpering, crying. ¡°Taylor, please, Taylor, I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t, you know what they¡¯ll do to me!¡± ¡°Oh, Doctor, Doctor, Doctor. You shouldn¡¯t be worried about that. After all, they¡¯re far away. They have no idea what¡¯s happening here, in your little slice of hell, behind its insulated walls. No, you shouldn¡¯t be worried about what they¡¯ll do to you. You should be worried about what I¡¯ll do to you.¡± ¡°You, you can¡¯t!¡± he argued desperately. ¡°The police, the PRT, they¡¯ll-¡° She cut him off by bouncing his face off the table. ¡°They¡¯ll do nothing. Just like they did nothing when one of their Wards tortured me, when you and your Nazi friends sentenced me to this nightmare. And don¡¯t you know, Pritchett, I¡¯m crazy. You said so yourself. I¡¯m not responsible for my actions right now. Legally, in fact, I think you are. So let me tell you what I¡¯ll do, you¡¯ll do to yourself, Pritchett,¡± she crooned into his ear. She picked up a pen, brought it next to his face which was still pressed into his table, making sure he could see it. ¡°I¡¯ll start with this, Pritchett. I¡¯ll take your eyes. Then, then I¡¯ll take your hands from you. Tie a tourniquet on them, nice and tight, and smash and smash and smash until there¡¯s nothing left. I¡¯ll take your block and tackle, Pritchett, make sure you never misuse it again. I¡¯ll break your spine, you¡¯ll never walk. I¡¯ll take your hearing. I¡¯ll rip apart your nose, to never scent or taste again. Pritchett, I will leave you in the darkness. And unlike your little experiments with sensory deprivation, with isolation, there will be no coming back.¡± He was sobbing now. The interesting thing about torturers, especially amateurs, is that they often use things they themselves are afraid of. This was his favorite punishment. This, she sensed, was his deepest fear. Being left, forever, in the dark. ¡°Or. Or you can cooperate. And when we¡¯re done here, you¡¯ll have a head start on Kaiser and his men. You could make it out from this, Pritchett. It doesn¡¯t have to be the end. You can run, hide. You can turn yourself in to the PRT, make a deal in exchange for testimony. Be smart.¡± Then she smiled, cruelly. ¡°Or let me get a head start on my technique for when I work my way through the Empire.¡± He talked. When they were done, Taylor gave him his head start. She broke his neck, and let him go down to prepare hell for its new arrivals. There would be quite the number coming, if she had anything to say about it. Spoiler: ¡±Power, *¡± Basically, being a mimetic badass. As most powers in Worm, this has a primary function, and a supporting secondary. Primary: Taylor becomes a randomly selected ¡°Badass¡± from Badass of the Week. Lasts 1 week, then changes. Can draw on the abilities, attributes, and some tools, equipment, powers, and physical form associated with and/or necessary for that badass, scaling to the level of conflict Taylor needs to overcome (up to a max of high tier Heroic Spirit similar to those from Fate). Secondary: She has a constant internal drive or motivation and a power-provided talent/aura/field that helps Taylor to do badass things/ be badass. Week 2: Spartacus (see link in post title for link to description of badassery) Unmatched combatant. Genius tactician. When ramped up a bit, can ¡°convert¡± the oppressed to his banner, making them each a match for a regular soldier. Will not lose so long as his plan is followed by his subordinates. *Speech modified from Spartacus monologue by E. Kellog Post 5.1: Omake (Non-Canon): XxVoidCowboyxX (Moderator: Brockton Bay) FYI, any use of ¡°moderator,¡± ¡°mod,¡± or similar forum-type terms in the following is just for story purposes. If you missed the AN on top, it''s not satirically portraying the RRL mods either. [center] Omake (Non-Canon): XxVoidCowboyxX (Moderator: Brockton Bay) [center] Richard Greene woke to the strident blaring of his alarm and stumbled downstairs. His teenage son, Jon, was already dressed for school, tapping away at his cell-phone while waiting for his father to make breakfast. Richard believed in family time, especially after his wife passed (cancer), and made sure to wake up at the ungodly hour of seven AM each morning to make sure Jon got a good start to the day. He blearily made his way to the fridge, opened, and still on autopilot tried to take out the package of bacon. But, strangely, he couldn¡¯t move it. Focusing a bit more, he looked down at the bacon. Plastered over the sweet fat and salty goodness was a massive warning: [Inappropriate Content - Gore] ¡°What the hell?¡± he asked himself aloud. His son unexpectedly answered him. ¡°Oh ya, the bacon,¡± Jon said. ¡°That¡¯s been banned by this new cape, Void-Cowboy.¡± ¡°What?¡± Richard asked, too tired to properly process this. ¡°This kid, Void-Cowboy, became a cape last night. Apparently he got dinged so many times on PHO he went nuts, and triggered with the powers of a moderator in real life.¡± Richard took a moment to process that. ¡°How does that translate to no bacon?¡± ¡°Apparently, it¡¯s gore. Animal flesh. Moderator ¨C that¡¯s his cape name, by the way ¨C banned all gore sometime around three AM according to some all-night convenience store workers.¡± Richard sighed. ¡°BLEEPING capes¡­ it¡¯s breakfast meat. Wait, what the BLEEP?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t swear either,¡± his son said, mildly amused. ¡°Oh for BLEEP¡¯s sake¡­ BLEEPING capes, if it¡¯s not one thing it¡¯s another. I guess it¡¯ll have to be an omelet this morning.¡± Richard reached for the eggs, cheese and milk, took them out and put them on the countertop. He then took out a metal mixing bowl, and tried to crack an egg on it¡¯s side.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. It didn¡¯t crack. He tried harder. It still didn¡¯t crack. He put the egg, back, took out another, and tried again. Still, no crack, not even when he was smashing the egg as hard as he could. The metal was clanging loudly, and even dented slightly. ¡°What the¡­?¡± he said softly, peering at the egg. Jon burst into laughter at the clownish scene. After a few seconds, Jon was calm enough to speak. ¡°I forgot,¡± he said, still gasping. ¡°Eggs are unborn children, they¡¯re considered gore too, so now you can¡¯t break them open.¡± Richard facepalmed. ¡°Does this idiot even realize these eggs aren¡¯t fertilized?¡± ¡°Apparently not!¡± Jon replied, still laughing a bit. Richard sighed again, then put the eggs and milk back in the fridge, taking some bread out to make grilled cheese instead. ¡°What are the heroes doing about this? Wait, don¡¯t tell me. Nothing, as usual.¡± ¡°Pretty much. That cape, Badass, announced she was going to hunt him down and end his tyranny.¡± ¡°The one that killed all those Nazis?¡± Richard asked rhetorically. ¡°Thank God. I don¡¯t know that I could take much more of this.¡± ¡°Ya, well, don¡¯t get excited too early. Apparently this morning Badass became a tank of all things, a Panther from WWII,¡± Jon said. ¡°Wait, wasn¡¯t that a Nazi tank?¡± ¡°I know, ironic right? But Moderator declared her a bot, and froze her.¡± ¡°Of course he did,¡± Richard moaned, depressed at the thought of so much mod!cape inflicted misery. He took out a cast-iron pan, cut a piece of butter onto it, and placed it onto the stove. He turned the gas on, and heard the *tick tick tick* of the ignitor as it failed to light the gas. ¡°Jon, why isn¡¯t the stove working?¡± Richard asked, his anger mounting. ¡°Moderator banned any flames,¡± his son replied. ¡°I forgot to mention that, sorry. Also, the heat¡¯s off.¡± ¡°BLEEP it,¡± Richard tried to swear. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll just make us some granola.¡± He lovingly made two bowls up with toasted oats, some cracked rice, mixed nuts, dried raisins, cherries and blueberries, and sliced up half an apple and a banana into each. He put Jon¡¯s bowl in front of him, sat down, and reached for the milk before pouring it over his bowl of granola. [Inappropriate Content - Lewd] ¡°Let me guess,¡± he muttered. ¡°Milk comes from BLEEPS,¡± he winced a bit at the reminder of oppression, ¡°which are lewd?¡± Jon nodded. ¡°That¡¯s my guess.¡± Richard sighed once again. ¡°BLEEPING BLEEPING BLEEP-hole. This, this is why we can¡¯t have nice things. Pack a bag; I¡¯ll call the school. We¡¯re going to visit with Grandpa for a week or two.¡± Jon winced. ¡°That might be a bit difficult. Cars won¡¯t start because of the ¡°flaming¡± thing. And even if they could all the bridges are shut down.¡± ¡°What? Why did this idiot shut down the bridges!?¡± ¡°Best as the internet can tell, it¡¯s because trolls live under bridges. And there¡¯s no trolling. Same thing with underpasses and tunnels; they¡¯re apparently considered anti-bridges, and so have anti-trolls, which includes the word ¡°troll,¡± so¡­¡± Richard grit his teeth. ¡°Fine,¡± he hissed. ¡°Pack light. We can walk. It¡¯s only a couple miles to the city limits, and Anthony has that sailboat to get over the river. I¡¯ll call Grandpa, he can pick us up. But we are getting out of this madhouse.¡± Post 6: Spartacus 2 Post 6: Spartacus 2 10am, Monday, January 10th, NHH ¡°Gentlemen and ladies,¡± Taylor said, addressing her gaggle of followers. Such polite titles weren¡¯t accurate, not anymore. The previous hours had transformed them. Before they were like toy poodles, forced into ¡°cute¡± outfits by their owners, toyed with and manipulated at will. Powerless, pathetic. Now they were speckled with blood, knuckles bruised, scratched and scuffed but alive and free; they had regressed to a more savage era, when their life was taken and earned from the life-blood of their prey. This, Taylor thought is something that I can work with. They grinned at address. They knew how false that appellation was now. ¡°Gentlemen and ladies,¡± Taylor repeated, grinning. ¡°You¡¯ve done well. Your prison guards and torturers are dead and broken at your hands. Now, we have the evidence required to overturn our imprisonment, to achieve our freedom.¡± She held aloft her prize, the recording made by the damned Dr. Pritchett, like it was an enemy¡¯s defeated banner. They cheered, hugging and smacking each other as brothers (and sisters) in arms are wont to do. Taylor raised a hand, quieting them. ¡°It is not enough,¡± she pronounced. Suddenly her followers were more grim-faced. ¡°And it will not be enough until we are truly safe, truly free. Do you think the Empire will stop? That suddenly you are not valuable hostages, victims to be discredited? No, they will simply take you again, punish you and your families for daring to resist. We will become a lesson to this city of what it means to fight the Empire.¡± Taylor let that sit there, let her crowd grow more disquieted until finally someone spoke out. ¡°So when will it be enough,¡± Gabe asked. He was a slightly flabby, brown-haired boy, his muscles hidden underneath a layer of fat from his more recently enforced indolence. He had fought like a lion during the morning¡¯s rebellion, but now he was near tears. You see, Taylor had had enough. She had reached her limit a week ago, in the locker. And she had dealt with that situation. But the Empire wanted to break her, and so must in turn be broken. Especially since she had already begun her rebellion. The dice were cast. Either she would perish, or the Empire would. That was just what she wanted. No gladiator ever survived by cowardice, after all. Not in the long run. With her back against the wall, Taylor had to fight, had to win. She refused to die to an empire a second time, especially one so small and weak as the Eighty-Eight. ¡°It will be enough when the Empire itself is broken,¡± she snarled her truth. ¡°It will be enough when Kaiser and all his men and women¡¯s heads decorate the floor at our feet. It will be enough when those who would keep us as slaves are dead!¡± She had the crowd with her again. She had awoken their animals that morning, that primal part of them that fought and killed. But like any animal, they were feeling content and lazy at the end of a successful hunt. After her speech, they were ready to hunt again. Her enemy was large, and powerful, and had the support of many soldiers. She feared no duel; no, even two on one she was confident in her ability to overcome the Nazi capes. But to win, to see her enemy destroyed, she needed numbers. She needed her fellow psychiatric rebels. But while her small group of other victims was a start, they didn¡¯t even make up a single century. They weren¡¯t enough.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. No, Taylor needed to recruit. But much like needing money to make money, she needed people to get more people. ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡± Abbigail, a small, black haired Italian-American asked. Taylor smiled. It was the sort of smile that reminded those who saw it that teeth are one of nature¡¯s natural weapons. ¡°We¡¯re going to get the word out. We¡¯re going to make sure that everyone knows what the Empire was doing. We¡¯re going to inspire them. And then all of us, all the good people of Brockton, will tear the Empire down around Kaiser¡¯s ears.¡± Taylor needed an uprising. She would take all the huddled masses, flinching under the whip of their abusers. She would make them know their strength. And when she was done with them those poor wretches would rise up and tear out the throats of their masters with their teeth if that was what it took. The Empire had ruled with a steel fist. They had left the city cowering from their might. They had given Taylor everything she needed to win. Well, except for a propaganda machine so that people knew to rise up, and to do it now. But with her band of fellow travelers, Taylor could appropriate one of those for herself. =================================== In the US, there was a protocol called the Integrated Public Alert and Warning System (IPAWS). It allowed the President, FEMA, National Weather Service, and other organs of federal or state government to distribute emergency warnings across the nation, state, or more local areas. Examples of this system included the Emergency Alert System over the television or radio, and wireless emergency alerts sent as texts to peoples¡¯ phones. And, sadly in Taylor¡¯s broken age of heroes, monsters, and hostile gods, the Endbringer alarms. The wonderful thing about the IPAWS was that it was automated, and could be triggered by people working at National Weather Service offices. Over the years there had been several hacks and errors, including false reports of zombie outbreaks in Montana and Michigan, missiles incoming for Hawaii, or even a hazardous materials spill in New York state incongruously accompanied by Dr. Seuss lines. Taylor wasn¡¯t a hacker though. She had a simpler plan: steal the Nazis¡¯ cars, load up as many people as possible, drive an hour to a near-ish National Weather Service station, and seize it. Taylor¡¯s plan was simple, effective, and would reach the absolute maximum of people with Brockton Bay and New Hampshire as a whole. Even better, they were far from a significant police force. Hostage situations required SWAT, and that violence only be used after negotiations failed. It could take hours for the police to have SWAT and negotiators there, and even more time before the situation was resolved. In other words, Taylor had more than enough time for her message to get out, and for all but a sacrificial rearguard to return to Brockton and begin the rebellion. The plan went reasonably well. Taylor and her partisans managed to successfully sneak out of the hospital of horrors, and found the cars belonging to the deceased guards, piling in. There were only enough seats for twenty-four though, so about eight of the former prisoners used their phones to order Ubers, distributing themselves within Brockton to act when the time was right. Luckily, two of the cars had pistols, so Taylor¡¯s little army wasn¡¯t starting off completely unarmed. Then they got a little lost on the way to the National Weather Service office. Taylor¡¯s troop were, after all, relatively inexperienced drivers and unused to the countryside. But they made it there eventually. Janet, one of Taylor¡¯s more exuberant recruits burst through the doors into the relatively small office. ¡°Any of you fucking pricks move, and I¡¯ll execute every mother fucking last one of you!¡± she screamed. One of the four employees, a middle-aged man with short-cropped balding hair stuck his head out of his cube. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡± he asked. Taylor entered second, facepalming. ¡°Thank you, Janet,¡± she said, ¡°but please let me take it from here.¡± Her teen army was swarming through the door, ensuring the workers didn¡¯t call the police. ¡°Wait, was that Pulp Fiction?¡± one of them asked. ¡°Damn, I wish I¡¯d thought of that,¡± another replied. ¡°I don¡¯t know, it was a bit over the top,¡± the first disagreed. By this point all four of the employees had been brought into the entry-hall, and everyone was staring at the byplay. Taylor cleared her throat. As the two turned to her, she arched an eye. ¡°Michael, James, if you¡¯re quite done?¡± ¡°Sorry, boss,¡± they chorused. She turned to the weathermen (and single, solitary female IT/equipment technician), and smiled. ¡°Are you good Americans?¡± she asked. Hesitantly, they nodded. Her smiled sharpened. ¡°Good. Then you¡¯ll be happy to help fight Nazis.¡±