Shadow Monarch (Chapters 7-9)

Chapter 7

Taylor woke up the next morning and immediately checked her System.

The Daily Quest appeared once more, with the numbers reset to zero. The requirements were the same.

She breathed out a sigh of relief, used the restroom for her morning ablations, and knocked out 20 of each of the three bedroom-appropriate exercises.

She was able to hook her feet under the dresser in her room, though it hurt her bare feet and she awkwardly wedged her pillow between them as a cushion.

Maybe dad wouldn’t mind drilling in one of those toe bars that the gym used?

She’d wait to see how persistent the Daily Quest was before going for a long-term modification like that. For all she knew, the quest was only on offer for the next week, or randomly change the parameters to a harder type of exercise. 

The System… she didn’t understand it. It was somewhat capricious, offering things out of the blue, and not something she had any control over. She didn’t want to rely on it.

No, that wasn’t true.

She had no choice but to rely on it, as it was her power.

She didn’t want to assume it would stay the same.

It wasn’t like any power she’d heard of in her research, changing and mutating to new circumstances.

Taylor went downstairs in search of breakfast.

Being as it was a Wednesday, her father had already left for work. 

Taylor called for a PRT pick up before she prepared food. The timing was good. She just finished eating when it arrived.

She had a backpack with her notes, paperwork, the book of costumes, and her water bottle.

Taylor first hit up the gym and finished her sit-ups, push-ups and squats in four gruelling rounds of twenty.

She had to take almost a ten minute break halfway through because her arms kept buckling on the push-ups, but she managed it.

It did, however, leave her too tired to start the run right away.

She did a jogging lap to warm up, idly thinking about getting an MP3 player or something. With such a small track, it was thirty laps to run five miles, and it got monotonous quick.

Even just that warm-up lap showed her she was far too tired. Frustration ignited in her. A few sit-ups, push-ups and squats and she was this exhausted?

Taylor stepped into the locker room, pulled on her track suit jacket, and toggled her mask into visibility. She shoved her hair into a pony-tail and pulled on the beanie.

Hopefully, she’d have a costume soon.

Ideally, she’d work out without powers, but the appeal of testing her running skill– and improving her control and execution of it– was too tempting. Running 30 laps without any mana at all would take forever.

However, since she wasn’t doing anything new, she forwent requesting supervision.

After a while of sitting around on the locker room bench, sipping water, she stood up with renewed determination. She made her way back to the track, her current foe.

Taylor started off jogging, and pushed mana into her legs. She sped up for the straights and slowed down as the turns approached, but never cut off the mana.

It turned her regular jogging speed into a fast sprint, and her sprint into something truly impressive. It was a rush to move so fast, like running down-hill– down a really steep hill.

It left her breathless with adrenaline and excitement.

With her current mana, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to finish out all five miles. However, her unique power afforded her an equally unusable ability: using math to figure it out.

She didn’t have to guess.

Taylor ran six laps and counted her time. Instead of a standard track’s quarter mile loops, this one was a 1/6th of a mile for a lap. Six laps was one mile.

Taylor pressed stop on her phone’s stopwatch, and took a few steps around breathing hard and stretching.

She felt a little dizzy afterward, like being on a roller coaster. Each lap was a challenge, really testing how fast she could take the curves before she lost control.

When she got her breath back and the sweat had cooled a little, Taylor checked her phone screen. She blinked and checked again.

4 minutes 43 seconds.

She googled something real quick.

Huh. 

Sure, supposedly a five minute mile was rare, putting her in the 99th percentile of runners– but not the 99th percentile of competitive runners.

She imagined that number also included people who couldn’t run a mile without stopping, so it wasn’t that impressive.

Even with magic, Taylor was barely hitting collegiate athlete levels. Still, it was faster than she’d ever been before, and faster than she had any right to be.

Right, the math.

Taylor had 34 MP. It took 5 MP to activate the skill, and 1 MP per minute using it. She’d just used up 5 minute’s worth, meaning 5 additional MP on top of the activation cost.

Running the calculation made her grin.

If she kept up that pace– and it wasn’t particularly difficult, with magic running through her legs, though she certainly felt the exertion– then she’d need to activate it again (5 MP) and run 4 more miles (5 minutes each mile, 5×4=20 minutes, 20 minutes = 20 mana). 5+20=25. 

Having just spent ten, she only had 24 mana.

Then again, she’d jogged a warm up lap, taking a sliver off her daily requirement, and it wasn’t quite taking the whole five minutes for each mile– she’d rounded up. 

Taylor growled, and decided to just go for it.

When the quest tracker clicked over to 5/5 miles, she had one measly mana point left.

Yes. Her warm-up lap had come in clutch.

Maybe. She was too tired to do the additional math just then, bending over and holding onto her knees.

Five miles at a sub-five-minute mile pace was something else. She was a little dizzy, her body confused about what they’d just done. Her stomach wasn’t too happy with her, either.

Still, she’d done it! With a satisfied air, she went back up to her Wards room and showered off., still riding the high of the run.

Then, she made her way downstairs to Costume, Imaging, and PR. It was a bullpen of an office and she asked for a meeting with someone.

The same agents from yesterday were happy to meet with her. She showed them her thoughts.

To her pleasant surprise, they did eventually agree with her choice of name.

Her costume required some workshopping. She’d have to run it by the head of imagining once they got it properly up. For now, they went through the book of cape costumes she’d marked, and spoke with her about her reasoning.

They were going to mock up several design choices to run by her, and then take the final version, with its alterations and ‘PR’ considerations, to the head of the department.

Taylor felt good when she left, if a little intimidated by the amount of paperwork and number of hands her costume choices would go through.

She got a tray at lunch and was halfway through eating when Clockblocker sat down beside her.

He was wearing his full costume, so she looked from his tray to his expressionless mask and back again.

“It got panels.” He explained cheerfully, touching the side of his mask.

Previously invisible seams appeared, revealing his mouth– and only his mouth.

He was white, and his lips were pink. No scars or anything recognizable.

“So, how are you settling in, O’ Teammate Who Remains Yet Unnamed?”

At this, Taylor could grin.

“Prodigy.” She said, pride and shyness warring evenly. She tried to keep composed.

“Oh, forreal? Sweet.” He picked up a utensil. “I’d make a complaint about cafeteria food– real funny, you understand, swooning etc.– but the DFAC usually has really tasty stuff on offer.”

He pronounced it Dee-Fack, and Taylor had never heard that word before.

“DFAC?”

“Dining-facility.” Clock shrugged. “I think it’s a hold over from military lingo, or maybe some FBI acronym.”

She considered asking him why he was here so early on a school day, but of course doing so might reveal identity-releated information.

“Hey, are you in the group chat yet?” He asked. “Rhetorical question, mostly, I saw that you weren’t.”

“I’m in the Wards ENE chat on the PRT communications app.” Taylor corrected.

So far, it’d been mostly patrol schedules, and perfectly professional messages.

It helped that Armsmaster and Miss Milita were in that chat. 

“Nah, that’s the official one. We’ve got an unofficial one for just chatting. Uh, it’s on the PRT app so we can’t be too inappropriate, but so long as we’re not sending NSFW pictures or anything, they don’t really care.”

“Really?” Taylor asked.

“Yeah, see, I’d ask for your actual number to add you to a text chat, but you’re not out to us, right? So what if we meet at school and exchange numbers? Then it’s like. Well, fuck.”

“I see.”

Privately Taylor thought her chances of exchanging phone numbers with anyone at Arcadia were not great. 

She almost asked him if he went to Arcadia. Then she’d have to admit whether she did, and it would be. This whole thing.

He saw the frustration on her face and laughed a little.

“It gets better! As you get used to not asking certain types of questions. Living in a mask is a lot to get used to.”

“I see why people unmask to each other.”

“Yeah.” Clock said easily. “But seriously, no pressure. You can’t take it back once you do, so you should be sure. Very sure.”

“I imagine it doesn’t help that someone could come into the program and then move to a better area.” She mused.

He nodded, eating semi-politely and not speaking with his mouth full. 

“Shadow Stalker, the last one to join, didn’t ever unmask.” 

“I just missed her, didn’t I?” Taylor asked rhetorically. “I was told she wasn’t part of the team anymore.”

“Yeah, she moved, though we weren’t told where. She didn’t have a good relationship with any of us. I won’t speak bad about her, but she was going through some stuff, angry, that type of thing. She might rebrand with a different name.”

“That’s common?”

“Oh, yeah.” Clock said. “It happens. With, you know… the circumstances for different capes…”

Taylor made a noise of understanding.

Trigger events.

Crisis points, as they were sometimes called, to be polite.

Something, somewhere, happened to a person; something so severe or significant that a parahuman walked out of it.

It was an interesting area for Taylor.

“Here, let me add you.” Clock fiddled on his Ward phone and Taylor was added to a chat. “Again, this is less official. We send memes, complain about our bosses maybe a little, and talk about switching patrols more casually than the official requests.”

He sounded a little embarrassed.

Taylor clicked open the chat.

It was named Wardz Central.

She rose an eyebrow.

Clockblocker: Eyyo I’m at the wcr after lunch, anyone gonna be there?

Aegis: Not til 2 for work study

Gallant: not a half-day for me, stuck at school

Vista: boo hoo, a full day of school

Vista: imagine

Taylor laughed. It was, as promised, a bit unserious.

She hadn’t talked to the youngest Ward yet.

As she watched, a new message popped in.

Kid Win: Also coming at 2. Patrol schedule shows me and you today, you’ll be done with your apt by then?

Clockblocker: Yep! Big Aeg on console?

Aegis: Do not start calling me Egg again

Clockblocker: Anyway look who I found @Prodigy

Prodigy: Wow, PRT works fast. I just decided my name half an hour ago

Aegis: They actually try to be quick with that. It’s easier to register equipment etc to your cape name. Welcome to the team!

Gallant: Good to talk to you again! Prodigy, huh?

Kid Win: Skilette in my heart

Clockblocker: LOL

Vista: Wait, you guys already met?

Gallant: Yesterday after school. She’s nice!

Vista: @Prodigy, will you be there tomorrow? 

Kid Win: Oh hey, we’ll have an even six again! Huzzah

Vista: FINALLY!!

Aegis: We have an odd number of Wards and need two for patrol + 1 on console, so we’re stuck doing only one patrol a day.

Kid Win: I think Vista might be glad to take a six hour console shift if it meant the rest of us would, too, and we could open up the patrol schedule.

Vista: Six hours isn’t that long, you big baby

“Yeah, she’s kind of intense.” Clockblocker said out loud. “She’s still in middle school, so they don’t do a work-study program letting her out in the afternoon a couple times a week.”

“High school does?” Taylor asked.

Clockblocker paused.

“Arcadia does.” He admitted. “That you don’t know that and I do is a bit telling, sorry.”

“Inevitable after a point.” Taylor shrugged. “Work schedules and all.”

Inwardly, she was kicking herself. Then again, she might have just moved to the area, or might not be in Arcadia at all.

“When does she Patrol?” 

“As often as she physically can.” Clock said. “She does Saturday and Sunday, and a couple times a week after school for the evening patrol. She has the best grades out of any of us, because the PRT limits patrol hours if your grades suffer.”

The oversight chafed and it hadn’t even happened to her yet. Taylor’s eye twitched.

“That said, Vista’s more limited than the rest of us due to the Youth Guard. She’s younger than us and they have, in her opinion, bullshit rules for younger capes.”

“We try to do at least one evening patrol a week for her, but it’s been put on pause this week with Shadow Stalker’s move leaving us one short.” Clockblocker said.

“And the rest of you patrol in the afternoon because you get off school for it.”

“Mm.” 

Irritating for Vista, but at least it was only a week.

“Do we always patrol in 2 wards out, 1 on console?” She asked.

“Yep. Wards don’t patrol alone. Vista hates it. You didn’t meet her, but Shadow Stalker hated it more. The rest of us are mostly fine with it. It makes scheduling a pain sometimes, but patrolling is more fun with company, and it’s nice to have backup when you live in a city with villains like ours.”

“Do you encounter villains often?” 

“Not as often as you’d think. We’re careful. The Protectorate handles most of that. Plus, villains don’t like to engage with us.”

Taylor started to ask, then thought better of it.

Everyone knew killing a Ward was a death sentence. The PRT had an unofficial policy. A Ward death required a Triumvirate visit.

“Have you signed up for the Patrols class yet?” Clockblocker asked. They both realized they were done eating and stood to bus their trays, Taylor relieved when they seemed to mutually agree to walk up to the Wards common room together.

“No, they want me to take…” She pulled out her phone. “Cape Ethics, Cape Law and Use of Force, Master/Stranger Safety and Procedures, and finish the CBTs for Power Classifications: The Twelve Types of Capes, Console Operations, Tinkertech Safety, and Evidence Handling, and Wards Patrol I, first.”

Clockblocker winced.

He whistled.

“Quite the list.”

They chatted casually about the classes– the CBTs were no issue– on the elevator ride to the Wards area.

Since Taylor was coming in and didn’t know anyone’s identity, they waited 15 seconds after activating the buzzer to go in.

Clockblocker seemed utterly unbothered, lending some truth to his claims that there was no pressure to unmask. Taylor appreciated it.

She also bowed out to her room briefly.

Once the door shut behind her, she pulled a screen, patiently waiting off to the side, to the center of her vision.

The Daily Quest has been completed

Rewards have been issued.

+1 Status Recovery | +3 Stat Points | +1 Lucky Box

Identical.

She let out a breath she’d been holding all throughout lunch.

It was identical to yesterday’s reward. No variance at all strongly implied it would continue to be the same.

Curious, she checked the Status Recovery option, thankful a moment later that clicking it didn’t spend it.

Status Recovery

One-time use. Restores fatigue, HP, and MP completely

Her eyebrows flew up.

Okay, that was surprisingly powerful. Taylor had noticed but largely ignored the fatigue counter she now had. It hadn’t gotten truly atrocious and it healed over time. Even with her grueling work-out regiment, it had only gotten into the tens, and that was this morning.

It had been slowly fading back down to zero the more she rested.

She clicked out and before accepting the notification, clicked into the Lucky Box.

Lucky Box

One-time use. Contains a useful item.

Accepting the notification put the box into her hand again. Taylor willed it open and the outer shell dissolved into blue light.

Would it be another mask?

It was a pen.

Taylor found herself a little irritated. 

Pen

A pen that never runs out of ink. This item can be stored in your Inventory.

Well, at least it was storable in her Inventory. Taylor put it there and then paused. She willed it out again and it materialized into her hand.

Hm.

Well, that wasn’t useless. Now she’d always have a pen to hand, and it was perpetually full of ink.

It was also presently the only thing in her inventory, the other two items gifted to her by the System being equipped things visible on her Avatar screen.

With this pen, I conquer spacial magic!

Taylor sighed, putting it back. Her Inventory would be absurdly powerful if she could put mundane items inside. If it was limitless? A little creativity could make it a seriously powerful ability.

As it was… she had a pen.

Though, if her Lucky Box pulls were reliable and static, she’d soon have dozens, thirty within the month if she kept up with the Daily Quests. 

Villains, tremble before the almighty might of her… collection of slightly-magical office supplies!

Taylor slumped. She walked back out to Clockblocker, who was browsing idly on one of the computers. A corner of the common room was set up a little like a college library, with a cluster of computers on desks facing each other in a corner.

She logged in and plodded through some of her CBTs. 

They were informative, but even dryer than the classes themselves. Since she was starting Arcadia on Monday, she piled up tomorrow with a request for all three required classes to patrol.

Well, all three classes that were prerequisites for Patrol & Power Handling, which was the actual required class for patrols.

Based on the course description, it was a one-hour class rehashing everything from the Wards Patrol CBT and a second hour working with Protectorate members to establish some basic self defense/patrol skills for her.

Then she’d have a required patrol shadowing two other Wards, which was required for five sessions before she was cleared for regular patrols– which were, of course, still not solo.

Solo patrols were explicitly forbidden.

She only got through two CBTs by the time the buzzer sounded, and Kid Win and Aegis came in, already in costume.

They set their things down in their respective rooms– or rather, Kid Win did, and Aegis took his bag over to the dedicated Console set up.

“Patrol starts in 30.” He reminded Kid Win, who was apparently rushing to get in some lab time and equipment maintenance before the scheduled outing.

“I got it.” He jogged lightly back out the door.

“He doesn’t got it.” Aegis sighed, to Clockblocker, who stayed seated at his computer– apparently browsing PHO.

“I’ll drag him out on my way down.” Clock promised, unconcerned. “You know how tinkers get.”

They shared a look of poetic understanding.

Aegis turned to her.

“And you’re Prodigy!” He said, smiling warmly. She couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes made it clear.

The red of his costume and the white of Clockblocker’s felt… professional. Real. 

It wasn’t quite power armor for either of them, no tinker tech heaviness, but the effect was still impressive.

Taylor felt decidedly underdressed around them.

Taylor stood and reached out a hand for him to shake. It was polite, business-like. He didn’t try to crush her fingers.

“I’m new.” She said lamely.

Luckily, Aegis didn’t judge her for it. He laughed.

“We all were, once upon a time. I’m Wards leader here, so if you need anything, be sure to let me know. I have a few more privileges than other Wards, but also more responsibilities, and I take them very seriously.”

“He does.” Clockblocker chimed in.

Aegis ignored him.

“We like to have fun around here, but safety comes first. If anything ever makes you uncomfortable or feel unsafe, speak up right away. Even if it turns out to be nothing, we’d all rather you spoke up. Better safe than sorry.”

The expected joke from Clockblocker never came. He nodded, not belittling the point. 

Huh.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Taylor said. “I know it’s not a game.”

“It can be fun, though.” Aegis said, before Clockblocker could– he was visibly gearing up to butt in. He slumped.

“Obviously, take it seriously, but don’t be afraid to enjoy life. We do something few people can properly imagine. It’s a hell of a job. There’s more upsides than downsides, if you let yourself find them.”

He cut his eyes over to Clockblocker.

“Shouldn’t you be doing your homework?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Clockblocker challenged.

“I’ve got Console shift.” He shot back, then for Taylor’s benefit turned: “After you have 15 hours logged of Console duty, you can do schoolwork. If it’s found that you failed to prioritize the patrol and can’t set it aside properly, the privilege is revoked. They don’t play around.”

“Distractions really aren’t allowed for Console shift.” Clockblocker admitted. “There’s a couple games on the screen, but they’re not high-stakes; things that can pause and wait, like Free Cell and Chess. Nothing too fun. They also automatically minimize when you get a message, and every three minutes, to make you look at the map.”

“I’m pretty sure they only gave us that much because a study found you were more likely to get screen fatigue if you had to stare at a map the entire time, missing crucial information or changes.” Aegis said.

“Basically your eyes glaze over from boredom.” Clock laughed. 

 Aegis shoved him lightly, then walked over to the console and started getting set up.

“I recommend bringing snacks over. It’s a three hour shift, so make sure you have water.” He said, with a tone of casual instruction.

“Non-water drinks aren’t allowed at the Console, since the sugar would fuck the electronics.” Clockblocker said. “So, if you’ve got an energy drink addiction, prepare for withdrawals.”

“If I jump to the Console I CBT, can I ask you questions as I go?” She asked.

“Yes, but since I’ll be on Console and on the radio, I’ll need to interrupt you often. Also, don’t be offended if I cut you off rudely to address something on the Console itself. The shift duties come first.”

“You also get in trouble if you miss something critical because you were shooting the shit and chatting with other Wards in the common room during your shift.” Clockblocker said.

“For good reason.” Aegis glared briefly. “Patrols aren’t supposed to be dangerous for Wards, in general, but–”

“It’s the Bay.” Taylor finished.

“It’s the Bay.” Aegis agreed. “It’s a real patrol out there, capable of running into real villains, real situations, and you’re their lifeline while they’re in the field. Ignoring that responsibility will put your fellow Ward’s lives in danger.”

He paused a moment to let it sink in.

“There is a PRT agent, sometimes a Protectorate member depending on availability, on the Protectorate Console any time the Wards console is active, monitoring the patrol route and on hand for final decisions. We’re not the final arbiter of life or death situations, so don’t freak out the first time you’re on Console alone, either.”

“Got it.” Taylor said.

“You’ll read about this in your course.” Aegis said, demonstrating a feature. “This is a noise dampening field. Don’t be offended if I turn it on while you’re talking to me.”

When he flipped the switch, a purple light came on in a circle around the console, bathing the entire thing in it.

“It automatically comes on if it detects background noise above a certain level, so that I can hear incoming comms.”

Taylor nodded thoughtfully.

“Alright.” Clockblocker stood up, stretching a little. “I better go fetch Armsmaster Junior from the labs.”

“He’s going to kick your ass if he hears you call him that.” Aegis said, not without humor. 

“We only have one adult tinker! One day Win-man might live up to those bearded, bearded footasteps. Only time can tell.” He wiped an imaginary tear off his mask.

Chapter 8

That night, Taylor worked diligently through her CBTs. Though she was using her power in her daily running, she felt dissatisfied, restless, and impatient.

She wanted to be cleared as soon as possible for patrolling.

When she woke up Thursday, she made straight for breakfast and the gym. She did half her exercises in five sets of ten, finding it was even easier than sets of twenty.

It still left her ludicrously tired, muscles burning.

However, the fresh wave of mana when she started running was oddly refreshing. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel the effects of running so long– far from it, as her hair matted with sweat and her clothes became damp– but she was getting much more out of it than she put in.

The magic helped her keep going when otherwise she would have quit. She gave her full effort, and yet managed half again more than she’d be able to run otherwise.

Well, more precisely, it would be 30%.

Although her abs complained, Taylor forced her way through the last fifty sit ups before her first class of the day.

Sit-ups were the hardest exercise to complete outside of the gym. Squats and push-ups could be done in any room, if she were willing to risk getting caught looking stupid working out in public.

For example, Taylor did ten squats in the empty elevator on the way to the Wards common room, feeling self-conscious yet determined the entire time.

She knocked out another ten push ups as she waited for her shower to heat up.

Thankfully, they’d provided her with adequate copies of the standard non-costume cape attire, so she didn’t have to change back into the sweaty track suit.

Taylor’s restlessness contributed to her doing something she hoped she did not regret.

As she contended with forty more push-ups, and forty more squats, she eyed her unspent stat points.

In the name of experimentation… 

For science…

She put one point into Strength, bumping it up to 13. It was now her strongest attribute. She was fiercely curious if she could tell the difference.

By now, Taylor was quite familiar with the effort of completing ten push-ups. She did another ten before getting into the shower, and was pleased to discover she could tell the difference. She got all the way to ten push ups with the same effort of doing four or five!

Before she could talk herself out of it, Taylor distributed one more point into Strength, and did ten more push ups. It was easier!

She still felt the burn, but no longer did her arms collapse like limp noodles once she finished a set!

Before, she had to take so many breaks for several minutes between ‘rounds’ of exercises. Now she cautiously began another ten, determined to finish out her account.

Taylor achieved that coveted 100/100 on the screen, and let her arms collapse out from under her, laughing.

Taylor still had ten unspent stat points from leveling up, and four from her daily quests. Her strength was 14, higher than the other stats by two.

Giddy, Taylor decided to even them out. To herself, she rationalized that hoarding them wasn’t good. She had previously cautioned against doing it, for fear that she might need the boost in a fight.

Now, she knew that spontaneously getting faster or stronger in combat was a horrible idea, because she wouldn’t know her own strength or speed. She would over reach, or stumble, and that might cost her head.

For that same reason, Taylor resisted the urge to just even out her point distribution then and there. It might help her get used to the boosted stats easier, but she also wanted to observe any effects. It would help her better understand her own power.

Taylor got into the shower, feeling the hot water rush over her.

It washed off the sweat of her workout and she sighed contentedly.

“Now, if I put one point to Sense…” It was the only stat whose changes might be observable in the shower.

Would the hot water feel different on her skin? More sensitive, perhaps?

She was leery of having a stat named Sense, aware that parahumans with heightened senses– taste, sound, hearing, pain– often struggled with them.

In the end, Taylor decided to wait until she didn’t have somewhere to be. She held off on adjusting any of her other stats. What if the effects were so severe she needed time to adjust, and couldn’t make it to class? That’d bring questions she didn’t plan to answer. She finished the shower with her mind racing with questions.

It was still early; Taylor got to her first class with time to spare. Though she’d indicated availability to take all the in-person required classes, she was informed that not all were being held, or able to be held for her.

Her first patrol was delayed further.

It threatened to disenheart her. Despite her disappointment, Taylor managed to pay attention well enough through her classes.

Cape Ethics was interesting, probably her first truly philosophical class. Some of it was rooted in fact; every parahuman she meets will have gone through the worst day of their life and come out changed.

Parahumans needed to use their powers. They needed some sort of outlet for it. Parahumans were traumatized.

A crisis point– trigger event, her mind whispered– damaged someone so badly that they never healed, power stitching up the gaps, tapping on the wound every time they used their abilities.

It was a startling perspective. They challenged Taylor’s worldview multiple times in that class. Then they moved on to ethical uses of a parahuman power, asking probing questions before launching into an overview of laws, regulations, and the requirements of being a hero.

Her head was spinning by the time it segued into Cape Law and Use of Force. 

Now they got into the gritty details of the laws, how each restriction came to pass, and where she fell on it. What was an acceptable “use of force” for someone with supernatural abilities? What was a helpful level of escalation, what was unacceptable, what was an appropriate and proportionate response?

She could see why this class was a prerequisite to patrolling. They walked her through many scenarios where she had to choose between three different options– lethal force, de-escalation, or some gray area between.

The grey area was the money zone more often than not.

There was nuance involved. There were also hard limits, few but there.

Taylor was especially quizzed on those limits.

She couldn’t, for example, intentionally kill a parahuman without a kill order, except in very limited circumstances. If such a situation was reviewed and several courts and higher authorities agreed that she had no choice, a kill order would be back-dated and approved.

That was, of course, the most extreme side of the spectrum.

More than one of the scenarios involved a freshly triggered parahuman, and coached Taylor through techniques on handling them, based on whether the new parahuman was a kid, a teenager, or an adult.

This was a two hour course, and still Taylor felt like they barely scratched the surface of an iceberg.

She could, maybe, understand why they denied her the Master/Stranger Protocols class.

Of course, even after she was allowed to patrol, she still had a number of courses to take in the first three, six and twelve months as a Ward, if she didn’t want to get put on restricted status (limited patrols) or be benched from patrolling entirely. 

There was some leeway there, and even more variety in which classes she could take, though a handful were ‘universally’ required non-negotiables. 

Since she didn’t have any classes after lunch, Taylor didn’t bother hitting the gym. She finished out her daily quest requirements in her Wards room, a faint sheen of sweat beading between her shoulder blades, which were more visible than normal in her black muscle shirt.

She had her grey jacket tied around her waist. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, the vision stopped her dead.

For the first time in her life, she was compelled to flex.

Her biceps, bare in the type of tank top, had some visible definition to them. The Taylor in the mirror was still skinny, of course, but some of that now seemed to be a lean thinness, hinting at hidden muscle.

It almost seemed like she had a swimmer’s build.

Taylor curled her bicep like she’d seen boys do at the gym, staring at the hump there. 

Two points to Strength did this?

She tore her eyes away and focused on her quest completion screen. It gave her the same rewards as the past two days, settling some of the tension in her stomach.

However, a few moments later she was awash with surprise as an unfamiliar item sat on her palm from her Lucky Box.

It was a key. Not a house key, or a car key, or any other reasonably sized unlocking apparatus. This seemed largely decorative, unless one happened to own a home from the sixteen-hundreds with a giant cartoon padlock barring the gates.

Instant Dungeon Key

Rank: E

A key that can unlock an instant dungeon; a pocket dimension to test your skills away from the real world. This item can be stored in your Inventory. Use this Key at Archer’s Bridge.

She pushed it into her inventory, ready to get the sweat off her. And since she didn’t have any classes this afternoon…

For the second time, Taylor stepped into the hot shower, cataloguing every sensory aspect of the water sluicing down her skin. The damp hair on her shoulders and back, the tile beneath her soles, all of it. Then, she took a deep breath.

The effects of adding a point into Sense were immediate. Fortunately, they were not debilitating, as Taylor had half-feared. It seemed one stat point did not make such a difference.

In fact, if she had not braced for it and taken careful stock of her perceptions, she might not have noticed the subtle change.

The hot water was the most evident, feeling hotter and different against her skin, which was slightly more sensitive. It was akin to turning the hot water dial of the shower up a few degrees.

It became slightly easier to smell her shower products. The lingering flavors of lunch were a little more obvious in her mouth.

Because she had mentally prepped for any changes, she also noticed a slight change in her… awareness of the glass shower around her. 

Proprioception?

All in all, it was a small increase in the senses, akin to what she felt under the effects of adrenaline in a fight.

Taylor took a breath, and then another. Barely a few seconds to adjust. The changes settled in as if they’d always been there, and she was left with the sense that she would not have noticed them if she weren’t laser-focused on any differences.

That boded well for future stat increases.

Taylor got out of her shower and toweled off, taking care with her hair since she didn’t have any pressing appointments in the afternoon.

It felt good to dedicate time to it, and she paid extra attention to her slightly heightened senses. The strands felt softer if she concentrated, the pull on her scalp as she brushed through her wet curls not quite more sensitive or painful, but somehow more obvious.

Towards the end of the task, her hand absently reached for her Wards phone and scrolled it open. She checked through her Wards email and found a request from Costuming.

They had some designs ready. Rather than go in person, Taylor paged through the sketches sent to her and gave thoughtful notes about each design, feedback on how they looked, how she’d like to wear them, what elements she liked and didn’t like.

Then, Taylor got a PRT-app message that had her setting aside her hair brush and staring.

Armsmaster was requesting her presence, in civilian attire. Taylor was leery of leaving the Wards area without a mask, though of course she had her System-derived mask equipped and invisible. It should be fine.

Plus, the only cameras in the Wards area were monitored directly on the Rig by security personnel cleared to know about Protectorate and Ward identities, though they weren’t outright provided their names.

They monitored things such as “one person of this height and general description goes in, one comes out.” Red flags included more people going out than in, people coming out that hadn’t gone in, and unknown persons in the area. (Taylor had had several questions about the secret identity maintaining measures during her classes.)

With trepidation, Taylor changed into the only ‘civilian’ outfit she had stored in her Ward room. It was a pair of jeans, a jacket, and a soft white hoodie that only stayed that color because she’d not worn it to Winslow once 

She’d need to bring in more. Sleepwear and a few basic options for everyday clothing, at least. Since she’d started showering here after the gym, the only thing she had appropriate multiple copies of was her underthings.

A glaring example was that it hadn’t occurred to her to bring pyjamas in, when she first brought her toiletries to stock the bathroom. Complimentary versions of standard items like tooth brushes and tooth paste had been provided, but she preferred her own, especially as the default brand of shampoo and conditioner was not ideal for curly hair.

Taylor put her still-damp hair into a scrunchie, and pulled on her hoodie. It was warm and cozy. It used to be her favorite.

She was glad she’d spared it any number of incidents at Winslow. Juice poured on her, glue residue, or stains from getting a lunch tray shoved into her… It seemed like the trio was just getting more and more creative as time passed.

It was, however, a little snugger than she preferred, now, after nearly a year of not wearing.

If she didn’t prefer her hoodies a size too large, she wouldn’t even be able to fit in it. Irritating, that she’d wasted almost a year of the thing’s lifespan due to the bullies.

It was the least of their crimes against her, and yet it stuck with her. Maybe it was the distance. Maybe hindsight had started to kick in, now that she didn’t have to go back.

The reminder put a smile on her face as she exited the Wards common room. It still felt stupid, and not secure, since any of the other Wards could come down the hallway as she left, rendering her face known to them, but the exit door to the common room had a camera and small display showing the hallway, and it was clear. Wouldn’t help her if the elevator opened into one of the boy’s face, and she was wandering along alone and un-escorted, of course…

Surely there was a solution to that.

Personally, Taylor thought it made more sense to just not be in the PRT building in civvies. No Taylor Hebert here, no sir.

Taylor walked into an office and found the cape waiting for her, feeling larger than life in his power armor that faintly hummed. He was standing next to a large machine.

“Good afternoon, Ms…” Armsmaster paused. He frowned. A voice spoke from the computer speakers.

“Hello, Ms. Hebert.” The feminine voice sounded, somewhat amused. “You may know me as Dragon.”

Oh, wow. Dragon.

The greatest Tinker in the world.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You as well. Do you, perhaps, have an unrecorded stranger ability that prevents people from associating your civilian identity with your cape identity?”

The question was polite but rather pointed.

Taylor jerked.

“I think I picked up that ability recently, yes.” She said cautiously.

“Could you, perhaps, turn it off?” Dragon asked.

“Why would I?” Taylor questioned first. “It seems that right now, the only people who can know my identity are people I’ve told, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“I see.” Dragon said. “Have you considered the onboarding challenges inherent to not being able to be aware of a Ward’s identity?”

“As I understood it, everyone who needed to know was informed.”

“Almost. Not quite.” Dragon was amused. “Armsmaster, for example, would benefit greatly from knowing the identity of one of his charges, predominantly because there’s paperwork he needs to sign off on.”

“Oh.” Taylor frowned. “Why do you know my civilian identity? No offense, but you’re in Canada, right?”

“None taken. I have a number of programs that remotely monitor PRT security, including acting as a safety net for the recorded powers of new Wards and Protectorate members.” She paused. “Primarily to detect unrecorded Master or Stranger powers that could compromise people in-person but are vulnerable to someone offsite communicating via technology.”

“I see.” Taylor said. “I’m willing to let Armsmaster specifically know my identity, but I’d like to know when you became aware that Taylor Hebert is Prodigy.”

“Shortly after your power testing results were submitted, I perused your file.” Dragon said. “Nothing stood out at the time.”

“That’s before I acquired the Stranger ability.” Taylor informed her perfunctorily. “So you may not be immune to it, actually.”

“You’re categorized as a Brute 1, Mover 2.”

“I’m preparing notes for a report about the inadequacies of the power testing team.” She said. “Is Armsmaster ignoring us because we’re talking about things he can’t consciously realize about my identity?”

“Yes. It’s as though he can’t pay attention to matters regarding you at all, unless you’re fully in costume.”

“I see. I’d be willing to drop the Stranger effect for long enough to tell him my identity, but it would mean anyone who sees me unmasked like this might be able to pick it up from the cameras or video surveillance.”

“If you’d be willing to trust me, I can run a small loop on the cameras here and disable any audio recordings.”

“Would you be willing to disengage from the feeds? I don’t presume to know how your systems work, but your own audio or video feed would be a record that could be compromised.”

Dragon was quiet for a while.

“I can disengage from the systems for thirty seconds.” Another pause. “I’d consider you paranoid if I weren’t intimately aware of just how vulnerable we are to information security. Nod when you’re ready.”

She did.

Taylor unequipped her mask.

“Good afternoon. I’m Taylor Hebert, the Ward known as Prodigy.”

She equipped the mask again.

As far as she could tell, there was almost no reason to ever leave it ‘off’ for long. Sure, the PRT would have to personally come ask her before sharing her identity with anyone, but in her opinion they should have been doing that to begin with.

It should have to inconvenience them to make the decision to share her identity. She should know how, when and why someone learned that information.

Armsmaster stood still for a moment.

“That is incredibly disconcerting.” He finally said. “However, as far as Stranger powers go, it’s a useful one at least. I apologize that we haven’t had a chance to meet yet.”

Taylor shook his hand.

“I imagine it was rather difficult if you were looking at any documentation that has my civilian name on it.”

“It’s true that I arrange visits for the individual, not the cape. I meet with Taylor Hebert, not Prodigy. Prodigy and I will have ample time enough in the field to form a rapport, but when a new Ward enters the program, I like to meet with them and address any concerns they have, and answer any questions once they’ve had a few days for the paperwork to settle.”

He paused.

“We will unfortunately have to schedule you for further power testing, to ensure that your Stranger power works as you understand it.” 

“That’s understandable.” Taylor said. “I’d intended to compile a list of my grievances against the power testing team, although this being a new power wouldn’t apply.”

“I will need to hear about the issues you’ve had with the power testing team, but out of professional curiosity: you’ve gained a new power in less than a week since your testing?”

“Yes, my power is to pick up new skills and abilities over time.”

“I see. That’s definitely a Trump ability not recorded in your file– now that I can read your file. How did the power testing division fail so completely?”

“They refused to let me detail any information about my own power. My understanding is they take the ‘parahumans know what their power is’ with a grain of salt, and wished to instead test any abilities I had to see what they were really doing.”

Armsmaster sighed.

“While it’s true that what we think our power does often isn’t how it literally functions, it’s beyond unacceptable to not ask you for a description of your own power.”

“Particularly as my power comes with instructions.” Taylor said, unable to resist it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My power comes with written instructions for the new abilities I pick up. I am physically able to see new abilities as they become available to me, and a brief overview of how to use it.”

Armsmaster pinched the nose of his helmet. It was a purely performative gesture born of exasperation.

“While I don’t blame them for preferring an empirical approach, they testing team must also use the parahuman in question as a source of information. Even if we are wrong about how our powers work, the way in which we’re wrong is telling.” He turned and started typing on a keyboard that appeared to be sized to his gauntlets.

“We’re going to have to re-do any power testing done by this team for a period of time. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.” Taylor thought she’d be dismissed, but he merely finished typing out a succinct email and turned back to her.

“Now, how are you settling in? Have you met the other Wards?”

“All but Vista, as her schedule and mine haven’t aligned.” Taylor admitted. “I’m settling in as well as can be expected. My time is mostly taken by classes and CBTs, and I’m in the final stages of designing my costume.”

Armsmaster praised her productivity and after checking which classes she’d taken, was pleased with her initiative there. He asked a number of rote questions designed to catch anything else that might have slipped through the cracks.

Did she have toiletries here, was she able to exit and enter the building easily, did she know about the gym, cafeteria and wreck room.

Taylor did not know about the wreck room, and upon questioning it, Arsmaster confirmed the spelling. Wreck, not rec as in recreation. It was a room full of targets and old items, like damaged furniture, set aside to be destroyed.

Since it was well known that parahumans experienced adverse mental effects if they didn’t use their power, it behooved the PRT to provide spaces where power use was encouraged.

Taylor noted the location.

“You’re starting Arcadia on Monday. Do you have any concerns?”

“I’m surprised you’re talking to me about all this.” Taylor said, before realizing how it sounded. He held up a hand to forestall her trying to take it back. 

“I’ve recently discovered it’s more efficient to discuss these things in advance of any legitimate problem occurring. A five minute conversation prevents half-an-hour to hours solving a minor issue, or days to week solving major issues. As such, it is my preference that you come to me– preferably by booking an appointment via PRTeams for the approximate length of time needed– any time you have an issue, or suspect you might have an issue.”

“What if I waste your time?” Taylor balked. “The things I worry or stress about rarely deserve protectorate attention.”

“Except you’re a Ward now, so that’s not quite true. I’ve factored in that it might be ‘nothing’ and how likely that is; the numbers still indicate increased efficiency in a meeting. Additionally, the conversations build rapport, making you more likely to come to me in the future. A problem headed off in the early stages is infinitely more manageable. The psychological effects of handling such matters before they can evolve into serious problems is also significant.”

“Have you considered hosting mandatory sessions for these discussions?” Taylor asked. “With only six of us, a ten minute meeting a week would only take up an hour of your time, and having a standing appointment might increase the efficiency. Moreover, your current model relies on a teenager judging their cause to be worth ‘bothering’ a respectable and busy adult figure, as well as ‘asking for help’ which is a difficult skill to master.”

“An intriguing proposition. I believe I’ll implement it for a time and see if the expected beneficial effects are comparable to the previous method. The logistics will need to be figured out.” He paused. “Regardless, you’ve not answered the question. Rest assured, I’m aware we have no rapport built up and don’t expect full emotional disclosure.”

Oddly enough, that did reassure Taylor.

“I’ve greatly appreciated not going to Winslow this week, as that environment led to my parahuman status.” There, a tactful way of putting it. “I admit to some amount of nerves regarding the new school, but am tentatively hopeful the PRT would assist me in escaping a mentally harmful environment.”

“You’re an unusual but not unique case.” Armsmaster said. “When a parahuman has a school-related crisis event, we first try to change environments. It is well documented that continued exposure to the crisis situation, or similar, can cause adverse mental effects.”

“Believe me, I know.” Taylor said.

“Based on our conversation so far, I’ve determined it will do more harm than good to keep you ignorant of your choices. Should you find the continued exercise of public school genuinely intolerable, we will move to have you enrolled in a distance learning course. The Youth Guard in particular considers it a last resort due to socialization concerns, but even they must capitulate to the damage such an environment can cause a Ward. As a worst case scenario, we’re prepared to put individual cases before a federal judge.”

A weight Taylor didn’t know she’d been holding fell of her shoulders, so suddenly she nearly stumbled when the words sunk in.

“It’s only three more years.” She said through numb lips. “I can take it.”

“And yet you shouldn’t have to.” Arsmaster frowned. “Moreover, Parahumans are in a delicate equilibrium with their mental state already. If the circumstances proved too similar to your crisis event, you will suffer extreme effects we’d like to avoid. It would be considered an abusive situation to force continued exposure.” 

–

Taylor left Armsmaster’s company with her head spinning.

There had been one more concern she had, and he was more than happy to help out. She suspected he had allocated far more than ten minutes for her ‘initial’ mentoring session with him, because otherwise it made no sense for Armsmaster to escort her around the building himself.

Maybe he considered the sacrifice of time worth the ‘rapport’ he was constructing with her. 

Although she’d taken the courses about the set up of the facility and some of its security features, available to general personnel, she wanted to know specifically about the office of the director, the assistant director, and where she could find Miss Militia or himself.

As a Ward, and a cape for the PRT, there were chances she’d come into contact with sensitive material or information that needed to be brought immediately to one of them, and she wanted to know exactly how to do so for such an emergency.

Armsmaster showed her where his office was, directly across from the room he was using to meet with her, which was itself apparently a light lab he used for the occasional maintenance or repair task when he wasn’t at the Rig.

He, efficiently, combined his time completing mandatory PRT paperwork and his on-site hours of availability for Wards and the director by spending a number of hours each week in the office.

The rest of his time on-duty was either at his laboratory in the Rig or in the field.

Miss Militia had a similar set up. However, as the assistant Wards supervisor, she kept different hours; she was the primary contact for the Wards in the nighttime hours and did her paperwork at night, keeping office hours in the early morning.

Both of them prioritized field time, but when possible arranged for patrols separately, to be available for Ward contact.

Armsmaster took Taylor to the top floor of the PRT building, where the Director’s office was. There was a helipad on the roof for quick evacuation for the Director.

The Assistant Director’s office was on the second floor, to diversify any target they presented. The third in line worked from the Rig.

Taylor was introduced to the Director’s aide-de-camp who acted as a secretary. Armsmaster told her which words to say that would indicate an emergent, and then an emergency, situation.

She was cautioned not to abuse the trust given to her as an active cape, and to only use these procedures when absolutely necessary, or there would be severe consequences. However, having said that, she was encouraged to always err on being ‘rather safe than sorry’, and would not be punished for a good-faith interpretation of what qualified as an emergency, and not fear retaliation if she felt something deserved that level of urgent response.

Taylor eyed the door beyond the desk with trepidation. It was shut, for now, as Director Piggot often had back-to-back meetings handling sensitive matters. No sound came from beyond the door.

She was shown Assistant Director Rennick’s office which followed the same set up, and then made her way down to the ground floor and the parking lot beneath it, where she scheduled a ride home.

Just before an early dinner, her Wards phone buzzed with an email.

She checked it and found Design had gotten back to her with a final mark up of her costume.

Well, three final designs of her costume. The first one in particular spoke to Taylor, though the full-cloth-face covering of the second design had her abruptly changing tunes about what kind of mask she’d wear.

When she imagined the two designs combined, with a few changes here and there, she could suddenly picture it.

“These elements, but with a silver tool belt. Change the colors up, a design here in techno-blue to match my screens…”

She fired off the last email, pleased.

Her costume wasn’t ready. Prodigy couldn’t patrol yet, couldn’t go out and use her power for anything interesting at all.

Taylor, however…

Chapter 9

[Note: This could, technically, be the first Chapter of Arc 2: Hunter.]

Taylor clutched the bronze key in one hand, fingers curled around the familiar skin-warmed metal. She’d spent hours with the thing in hand debating on if she was really doing this.

The thing was, Taylor hadn’t gained a single level since the cape fight in the alley. 

Before that, it had taken her over a month to gain a single level. Worse, that was the first level, and what she’d seen about ‘experience’ and ‘leveling up’ from her research into video games and role-playing games almost always indicated the threshold for a new level increased exponentially.

It could take 100 XP points to get to level 2, and 1000 to get to level 3. She just didn’t know.

It was almost certain that her initial level gain was the easiest she’d ever have it.

And level 2 had come almost by accident, with one fight.

It was clear to Taylor. Studying, learning, making big choices like joining the Wards– none of that counted as experience, even if it was ‘life’ experience. She hadn’t ‘increased her INT state’ by studying.

The only way for her to level up was through combat.

Here, she could kick herself for joining the Wards. It was the safest route, but Taylor didn’t need safe. She needed to fight other capes if she wanted to improve.

Worst still, even when she was cleared for Ward patrols, they actively sought to avoid letting the underage capes engage in combat.

Her only option was the instance dungeon offered by the System.

It, too, knew exactly what she needed to improve.

Instance Dungeon Key

Rank: E

Opens a private instance dungeon, where you can defeat monsters to grow stronger. This item can be stored in your Inventory. This key can be used at Archer’s Bridge.

What she needed was waiting for her.

Taylor dressed simply for it, her mask equipped but invisible, her normal attire replaced with a dark hoodie and jeans. She wore her sturdiest pair of shoes, some tennis shoes that had seen better days, the same ones she wore to the indoor track each morning.

Hopefully, some of the money she made as a Ward could go to buying some footwear that didn’t suck.

The Bay’s air blew past her, jostling her hair. It was a cold, clear night. She almost wished for something sturdier than her hoodie.

It was the height of foolishness to be out and about this late, in the middle of what Taylor suspected was Empire territory. If it had been ABB territory, or her skin any less pale, Taylor would have sucked it up and came during the day.

Her main motive was that she couldn’t be sure there wouldn’t be a light show. Some powers, when activated, threw off visible effects. Her own power tended to show little motes of blue light when she summoned an object or activated a Lucky Box.

True, the glow might be easier to miss in the day. However, she’d weighed that against the greater likelihood of empire capes being awake and nearby, and came up with the current plan.

She was already here, and short of turning back now to go home, which she would only do in an emergency change to the situation, her only option was forward.

Feeling stupid, Taylor held the key out.

Immediately, a blue barrier jumped up. It was under the bridge. More to the point, it spanned the entirety of the bridge’s underside, as if a forcefield was painted along the area in front of it, like a sheet draped over the side of the bridge from the top.

It rippled and shimmered strangely. It was also incredibly transparent.

With a curse, Taylor leapt off the concrete sidewalk and down the dirt between the river and the road. Shrubs and plants impeded her little.

The one lucky thing was that she didn’t have to go in to the water: the forcefield shimmered all the way up to the banks. 

Taylor approached it cautiously. 

She swallowed against a tight throat. There was no telling what was inside.

It would, certainly, be dangerous. She had only leveled up through combat. The key promised monsters.

Perched on the threshold, Taylor forced herself to hesitate. 

Her hand was shaking, not in fear but with anticipation. Despite her trepidation, she wanted it, more badly than she’d ever wanted anything. More vividly than she’d imagined slamming Emma’s head into a desk over and over, than she’d wished for Alexandria’s power to do worse, than she’d ever wished for strength to save herself.

Hovering on the precipice of this decision, one which she wouldn’t be able to take back, it felt like no choice at all. Like her future spread out before her. She had to stop and think things through.

It felt like no choice at all, but there was a choice.

She could ask for help. She could come clean, let the PRT have some control over her life, her future, her power.

It was abhorrent, something she flinched away from even considering, yet Taylor forced herself to picture it. To imagine what it would look like, giving up any autonomy, letting her growth be decided by someone, anyone else.

She forced herself to think it through. Yes, it was intolerable, yes, it filled her mouth with the taste of blood, yes, it activated her fight or flight and made her heart race, but could she survive it?

Would it be that bad?

After long minutes, Taylor had her answer.

She could tolerate it, for as long as she needed. She could survive it, as she survived Emma’s betrayal and the trio’s torment, and the still more infuriating averted eyes of the cowardly teachers, a thousand times more complicit in her eyes, and the students who hurried by with guilty relief that it wasn’t them.

Her eyes hardened, jaw tightening. The wind blew the hood of her jacket around and ruffled her hair, the rush of the water and the cold air grounding her. The quiet of the night prickled her skin, night bugs buzzing around what streetlamps remained lit and functional, and her answer came slow as her breathing steadied.

Yes. She could almost certainly survive it, if she had to.

But she’d rather risk death in this dungeon than ever find out.

So resolved, Taylor walked through the barrier, the sand and pebbles crunching underfoot.

–

The key dissolved into blue motes. Instantly, she could tell it was not simply in her inventory. It had disappeared completely. A single-use item.

Pity. That meant she couldn’t come back, though she had passing little interest in visiting this corner of the city again.

The underside of the bridge had disappeared, transformed instead to a cave of some kind. When she turned around, the same blue barrier was up on the mouth of the cave, showing the outside world.

When she walked forward into the cave, immediately wary– the item description had promised monsters, after all– the scene that greeted her was straight out of a fantasy novel.

Stone walls stretched up in muted tones of mottled brown and grey, irregular like a natural formation, rather than carved or man-made. It would have been too dark to see, save for the clusters of bright green mushrooms that dotted the ground, putting off a strange glow, and blue-green lichen that crawled from the corners and ceilings above, likewise bioluminescent.

Water dripped somewhere, giving a moist appearance to the cave, though the ground beneath her feet was thankfully dry and not muddy.

It was uneven, paths moving up in the form of large rocks, with shadowed corners that threatened where the glow of the various flora didn’t reach. Most of the light sources overlapped, making it a startlingly well-lit creepy dungeon cave with unknown monsters.

Taylor called her simple dagger to hand, the motes of blue light more obvious than ever before. It was a comforting weight in her palm, though the blade was sharp and intimidating. She made sure to keep it pointed away from her body, going so far as to hold her arm out at an awkward angle.

Her footsteps were loud to her sharpened hearing.

She heard it then. A strange crackling noise, rattling and shuffling. It was accompanied by an odd, high-pitched rhythmic noise that, after a tense moment of listening, she placed as distorted laughter. 

Shivers tore down her spine.

It was creepy.

A few minutes after she heard them, they came into view. Taylor had crouched, cautious, behind a tall outcropping of rock against the cave wall.

Three of the figures stepped into the light. One held a torch, a stick of wood with something dark bundled on the top and set alight, the orange-yellow flame it cast off a queer contrast to the cave’s natural bioluminescence. 

The figures were stooped, dressed in hides and primitive clothing. Instead of pants, kilts of badly stitched leather reached unevenly to their knees.

Their skin was green.

Faces, inhuman, distorted into a perverse version of glee and anticipation.

Taylor was just starting to catalog the various weapons they held when one turned to her, its oversize nostrils flaring. It let out an avid cry, beady eyes going wide.

Its brethren likewise shrieked, and suddenly they were rushing her.

It became immediately apparent that she wasn’t trained for this. Panic took over, unhoned instincts barely keeping her alive. She hopped bodily back from the flash of a knife, the steel glinting firelight drawing her eyes above all else.

The fire swiped at her next, animal memory urging her to dive away from it. 

Taylor stood up panting, frantic, her mind unable to form coherent thoughts. Adrenaline had the wheel, and it screamed run.

Heeding it, Taylor took off, retreating back to the entrance of the dungeon. The monsters followed, their eager chittering and mad cackles throwing splash after splash of gasoline on her fear.

The blue barrier to the outside world came into view. Taylor made haste to it, long legs pumping.

She crashed into it.

“What?” She gasped, banging her fists on it. It took long moments of frantic demand before a ping sounded, blue infringing on her vision.

You cannot exit the Dungeon.

Please defeat the Boss or use a Return Stone

Fuck.

Annoyingly, her first thoughts were of PRT protocol, the closest thing she’s had to combat instruction. What to do when overwhelmed out in the field, or engaging hostile capes.

Step 1: get to safety, retreat if possible.

Step one failed.

Step 2: call it in at once.

For the first time, Taylor realized how out of her depth she was, here. There was every chance these monsters would kill her. Would the dungeon disappear if they did?

Would her body remain in the cave forever, depriving the PRT and her father even the closure of knowing what had become of her?

Her thoughts were frantic, as desperate and undisciplined as her breathing. She had to figure out something to do, some way out– some way to win– but they were like hummingbirds, moving too fast and blurring from one concept to another, never settling on anything long enough to focus.

Pain erupted in her shoulder. Taylor went down with a cry, stunned by the blow and brain blanked further by the sharp, radiating pain. Her hand went to her shoulder, knees crashing to the ground. Red smeared her fingers.

She fell, her back onto the rock. Looking up revealed the sideways view of a creature swinging at her again. He bore a wickedly sharp curved dagger, more a short sword in his hands.

The red text above his name said Goblin.

Of course. What else could a short, green-skinned monster in a cave be?

The swing never connected. Taylor rolled hard out of the way, panting, eyes wide, the blade skittering sparks off the place she’d just been.

Her dagger in her right hand felt horribly clumsy and slow, like she might drop it at any moment. What good was it if she couldn’t fight!?

Taylor swung, lashing out wildly at the goblin. It dodged, so she put both hands on the weapon’s hilt and brought it back around for a diagonal slash across its body.

The goblin caught her blade with its own, steel ringing on steel, a clash of golden sparks again.

She felt the blow all the way up her arm, reverberating in her teeth. They held the block for impossibly long seconds, both fighting for the upper hand, pushing their blades forward. 

The goblin disengaged first, leaping backwards with a sneer. The jump took it further than it should, five or six paces back, gracefully through the air like Yoda.

She lowered her arms, nearly exhausted from holding the clash, and never took her eyes off it.

Mistake.

As it disengaged, the other two rushed in, and Taylor learned the lesson of never forgetting how many opponents you were facing.

Luckily for her, the two rushed in together, and when she scrambled back, got in each other’s way. They fought amongst themselves for a moment, culminating in a shove as the weaker goblin– the one with the torch– was tossed aside.

The victor approached her, likewise with a wicked blade in hand. Instead of a straight line like her simple dagger, the back of his was carved out, dramatic swooping ridges curving like stylized fire. 

He wielded it threateningly, raising it to strike, eyes squinting and mouth wide on a grin to have cornered his prey.

Taylor rushed in, dagger out. Her grip was wrong, she knew at once. Her wrist hurt as she forced it in. But she plunged the blade in through its chest, skidding off something hard– his sternum, she guessed– and catching between two ribs.

The goblin squealed like a pig and dropped his weapon, both arms flying to hers and scratching as he tried to force her off and out of him.

Panting, hair in her face, Taylor forced herself to stay in place, her legs steady and bent on the ground, lending her lunge power. Blood poured out of the wound, soaking her fingers, making it hard to grip her knife.

She eased out just slightly, adjusted her grip, put all her weight down on her feet and shoved the blade in further.

The goblin’s struggling grew more frantic, then weak. He slumped. Taylor pulled the dagger out.

She’d wipe it on her hoodie and pants, but those were filthy, too.

Her eyes couldn’t sit still, flitting from the other goblins to around the cave to her knife. She couldn’t breathe.

Her shoulder was radiating fire and unhappiness. Every move pulled at the cut to her muscle, and slick blood, warm and cold by turn, mingled with sweat along her back, pooling into something disgustingly wet at her waistline.

The torch goblin came at her then. It brandished its fire-tipped stick with a furious shriek. Again, Taylor instinctively shied from the heat, her eyes caught on the fire.

She hacked at his arm, missing at first, but her second hit met flesh. Blood flew through the air. He dropped the torch. Taylor kicked it away, not wanting to risk her clothes catching.

Light skidded and flickered down the pathway following it, painting their battle in shadows.

The goblin reached for its belt, where a hilt awaited. Taylor panicked and kicked it in the chest.

To her surprise, the kick was substantial enough to move it. It went further than a human of the same size would; perhaps its bones were hollow like a bird’s.

A war cry was her only warning that the third goblin had joined the frey once more, sprinting in from behind her. 

She made to turn, which is the only reason its knife missed her spine and instead plunged in to her side.

“Guh.” The breath was punched out of her, the pain from her shoulder slash dull in comparison. This was deep, piercing, pain radiating up from the tip of the blade where it was embedded in her.

Her hand was around the goblin’s dagger. She didn’t remember putting it there. Her own blood mingled with her already-soaked fingers, and they felt kitten-weak as she tried to pull it out, to bat the goblin’s hands away.

That can’t be sanitary.

The goblin sneered at her and twisted the knife.

Agony.

White hot, forcing her eyes shut. Forcing a scream out of her throat. Her knees fell weak.

Her only saving grace was that the goblin let go of the knife instead of ripping it out and plunging it in again, pleased by her death cry and happy to let her bleed out.

It stepped away, laughing again as Taylor slumped to the ground. Her fingers found the blade, slippery, sliding uselessly against it.

Leave it in, the first aid CBT whispered at her.

Beady eyes watched with glee as she crawled around, fingers crasping at the stones. Where was she even going? Her dagger was on the floor, dropped when she’d been stabbed. It wouldn’t do her any good to reach for it.

She rolled onto her back, curling up around the pain.

Blood was everywhere.

The torch goblin got to its feet, shuffled over with more rattling, more chittering– the bones in a necklace around its neck, and its own evil language– until it could kick her fiercely in the ribs.

Pain blossomed, dull and easy to ignore.

A gross noise, something wet landing on her cheek.

It spat on her.

Alright.

No, something deep in her spirit said, in far more than words. No, Taylor wasn’t about to die here, watched avariciously by two petty monsters. Her death wasn’t going to be a show for them.

She grit her teeth and sat up.

The two goblins made noises of upset, dancing back warily.

Taylor’s fingers scraped against stone, curling around her dagger’s hilt. 

She picked it up in a reverse grip, thumb on the pommel. It wasn’t a slashing grip but a stabbing one, and her wounds protested every movement, screaming at her.

Taylor screamed louder, mouth open on a yell that visibly startled them as she forced her way onto her feet, using the momentum to lunge. It was all one motion; anything less and she’d fall over.

She took the leftmost goblin where the shoulder met the neck, plunging it in. Unlike him, she didn’t hesitate, ripping it out– it took so much more effort than you’d think, the pulling motion doing hideous things to the blade impaling her– and immediately whipping it around to come down on the throat of the second.

It had more time to overcome its shock, time enough to react. It got its arm up to stop her. Taylor hacked at it, force radiating up her arm and through her body as her blade hit, with a dull thud, the hindrance of bone.

She wrenched her blade free– it stuck, like an axe in a tree trunk– and stomped on its foot. She’d prefer another kick, but didn’t have the strength. It hopped up and down as its bare toes were stomped and its injured arm waived around.

Taylor got close, fingers painfully tight in her grip. They slid around, holding the knife in slashing position again. She went for its neck again.

This time, her strike was true. It wasn’t an even slit like in movies. She caught the flesh of its neck and carved away a chunk, blood spraying like a fountain.

It went down and lied still. Sound and movement had her turning around. The goblin she’d plunged her knife into from above was reaching for a weapon, fingers weak, noises upset and angry.

She wanted it to just die already!

Taylor stood on it, the creature too weak to stop her. She couldn’t reach, so she fell into a kneel on its chest. It looked directly in her eyes as she brought her knife down to its throat. Contempt and hatred bored into her.

This time, there was no speed. She was too tired for it. 

Her fingers were numb, arms shaking with the effort to remain up. She had to lean her body weight onto the blade instead of rely on her wrist strength, which was too greatly diminished.

Her blade cut in, finding more resistance than she’d have expected. There was cartilage and bone and sinew in the way, and she didn’t have the strength to force it.

The goblin drowned on its own blood long before she could cut its head off. When it stopped struggling, eyes going dim, she stopped trying.

With an explosive sigh, Taylor slumped, arms useless to catch her as she hit the ground once more, the cave floor slick with blood.

She gasped, wet and ragged. And again. It took long minutes before she could get her breath back, tears of pain and overwhelm running through the dirt and red on her face. 

It hurt. Even with adrenaline pumping through her, she couldn’t get over how much it hurt. There was no where to put the pain, no way to push it off, out of her.

When her breathing adjusted as well as it could, thin and reedy with pain and trying to spare her stomach moving, she found the strength to move on.

Yes, it hurt. It was going to hurt. She’d felt out every edge of that pain, cataloged her wounds, let the agony consume her.

Now she had to live.

There was nothing in her system to help. No bandages, the store still closed to her. She hadn’t bothered taking a bag of supplies, for which she now kicked herself.

A first aid kit would do wonders, though most that she recalled didn’t have the kind of heavy duty supplies she needed for a deep laceration and a stab wound.

Ping.

You have leveled up!

+5 to all Stats

Taylor bared her teeth at it.

She was still low-level enough, however, that the bump in stats was tangible. Her Constitution went from 13 to 14, her health points bumping up.

Over a hundred health points added, but she now stood at 201/540 instead of 160/430.

201 was hardly better than 160, and she was still over half dead.

On her back, Taylor grit her teeth through a scream as she pulled the goblin’s dagger out of her. Blood gushed, pooling obscenely at her jeans. She rushed to shove a hand over it, jaw tight, and shoved her remaining three skill points into Constitution.

At 17, it was now her highest stat, topping out her 15 Strength by two points.

328/880 HP.

A moment ago, her max HP was 430.

The pain lessened significantly and her breathing eased up. When she lifted her hand, she found not a deep puncture but a fleshy red seal, angry and bothered.

It twinged when she sat up, but did not scream with agony.

The deep slash against her shoulder blade had become a shallow line.

Taylor gnashed her teeth again, punching the ground.

Fuck.

She’d almost died, and for what? A single level?

Yet this was the fastest way to ‘level up’, and if she left– if she even could leave– she could not countenance not receiving another opportunity for weeks or months, if she ever did.

She’d remain this weak forever.

No, that could not be bourne.

Taylor climbed to her feet.

She frisked the goblin corpses ruthlessly, picking up their curved wicked daggers, which could be stored in her Inventory.

Grimacing, she looted anything not actively a body part of one goblin, just to test the limits. She flipped him prone so that she didn’t have to see any of his– and it was a he– private business.

Unfortunately, the outfit wrapped around his waist, which was more-or-less one long piece of leather and fur, was something she could store and even equip.

Common Fur Clothes, +1 to her Constitution. 

Taylor was not in such a position that she could pass up such a buff, but even knowing it wouldn’t be touching her skin… 

Practicality won out.

Taylor equipped the ‘armor’ with a shudder.

One goblin was barefoot, but another had foot wraps. These were even more displeasing to touch. However, they were equipable, and more than that were one of those rare items with an effect. 

Silent-Step Ankle Straps

Crude enchanted ankle wraps that slightly muffle footsteps.

The last and final goblin had an item on him as well.

Taylor found the rough-spun cloth strips and saw they had some sort of herbal paste on them.

Her System identified them as a Rough Bandage Roll, a set of bandages that were slathered in a healing poultice of dubious origin that promised to restore HP.

It was the first healing item she’d found so far. Was it better to save it for later, where it might pull her back from the brink of death, or use it now to make her HP closer to full?

No, she couldn’t take the risk. There was a chance she’d be hit with an attack that would instantly reduce her HP down to zero, and she wouldn’t have time to use an item.

Taylor decided to use the bandages. Before she could put the wraps on her skin, they dissolved into familiar blue motes. Her wounds ached less. 

A countdown timer appeared. Over the next minute, her HP went up by slow increments.

So, it wasn’t an instant effect. A minute was an eternity in a fight. Good that she decided to use it now, then.

After Taylor finished her search, she retreated back to the large boulder that had hid her briefly, leaning between it and the wall to rest and think.

None of the goblins had had the Return Stone she needed.

Additionally, once she left the dungeon, without the key, she had to assume she would not be able to come back. The key had dropped from a Random Loot Box, which she received every day for her Daily Quest, but she had no idea how rare of a drop it was, nor how long her Daily Quests would continue for.

The chances of receiving another key were completely unknown.

It was still her best chance to level up.

Moreover, even if she wanted to leave the dungeon, she couldn’t, without beating the boss. If these were canon fodder, mere foot soldiers, and she’d struggled, how powerful must the boss be?

Her only chance to survive was to level up.

To level up, she needed to find, fight, and kill more monsters.

It felt crazy to think of. This entire situation had a part of Taylor’s mind– a gradually growing smaller part, to be sure– slightly hysterical at how ridiculous it all was, how strange and unlikely, and trying futile to find a way out of this.

Part of her was full of doubt, wanted to crawl in a hole and scream. She could die. This was real. It was dangerous and foolish and not worth risking her life.

She had to give the small sense of dismay some credence. This was a choice she was making. It was an insane choice.

Outside of that small voice, however… Taylor was rapidly finding she didn’t want to give up. Yes, it would be hard. Yes, she almost died, and likely would again. But if she grit her teeth and kept going, if she fought and bled for what she wanted… she could have it.

Previously, no amount of writhing at the bars of her cell, at the fate she was trapped in, would help her situation. She had to bear it, and though it took every iota of strength, still Taylor had felt helpless and bitterly angry and always, always like she was one day– or one hour, or even one more minute, sometimes– away from crumbling under the weight of it.

Now, she could change her fate. Now, enough effort and rage and action on her part would let her get stronger, and more powerful, and have the control she desperately wanted over her life.

It was a stark and grim bargain the System offered her, but she could respect it. A cold bargain, one that asked much of her; kill the part of you that hesitates, and choke out your fear. If you step into the bloody arena and emerge victorious, you will be rewarded.

Taylor’s strength. Taylor’s wit. Taylor’s tenacity.

If she endured, she would be rewarded beyond her wildest imaginings.

What was her reward from enduring the torment of her life, before? Another day of torment?

Now, she could change it all. Get stronger. Fight for something that mattered. Fight for a reason.

And all she had to do was better herself, which she wanted to do anyway; to become good in combat, learn how to swing a sword or a dagger, and keep herself alive.

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

It was not something she could turn her back on. She’d already decided, hadn’t she? When she held the instance dungeon key in her hand. There was no going back.

Taylor was going to kill all the monsters in this dungeon and take the EXP it would give her, with or without a return stone. The corpses would slake the bloody thirst of her system and be harvested into levels, taking her higher and higher.

There was no time limit on the dungeon. The longer she fought, the stronger she’d get. If she couldn’t fight them all at once, well, she’d find a way to fight them one by one, until her level was high enough to cut through them.

Planning, tactics, traps– she just had to win, it didn’t matter how. They were a list of targets she could pick off at her leisure, reducing the risk and reaping the rewards.

Each enemy was more practice, allowing her to hone her technique to better kill its fellows, another chance to perfect how she was going to do this. The new art of violence Taylor had just begun to study.

They would be her stepping stones to get to the boss, which would– surely– contain the most EXP points, and the best learning experience.

Taylor equipped the wicked curved dagger. It was a slightly higher attack power than her simple one. The weight was unfamiliar in her hand, the weapon deadly sharp and glinting in the bioluminescent light.

She had time. Patience. Will.

Taylor wasn’t trapped in this dungeon.

The monsters were trapped in here with her.