Taylor
She watched as Madison got to work, unloading her bag like some kind of chaotic magician's act, metal plates, odd scraps, and various materials clattering onto the workbench in no particular order.
Then came the hammer.
It was… big. Really big. The handle looked like a length of galvanized pipe jammed into a sledgehammer head, the whole thing rough, mismatched, and absolutely lethal-looking.
…Had she made that herself? With her power?
Taylor didn't have long to dwell on the question before Madison snatched it up and brought it down on the metal with a thunderous strike, her face splitting into a grin that was far too wicked to belong to a sane person.
The sound hit like a physical force, metal screaming under every blow, punctuated by bursts of gleeful cackling that echoed off the walls.
Taylor found herself covering her ears, wincing, thoughts scattering in the din.
How could Madison stand this?
More importantly… how could she enjoy it?
Despite the noise, Taylor can't look away. She watches, transfixed, as the metal twists and flows under each of Madison's hammer strikes, guided not just by raw strength, but by something deeper. Almost like the steel itself is eager to obey her, bending with a will of its own.
That has to be her power at work… right?
Before long, Madison sets the hammer aside and takes what will become the chestplate into her hands. She begins shaping it directly, her fingers pressing and coaxing the steel as if it were soft clay. Gone is the manic grin from moments ago, replaced by a calm, almost meditative focus, every movement deliberate, precise.
The metal smooths and gleams under her touch until it catches the light like liquid moonlight, the silver so pure and striking it steals the breath right out of Taylor's lungs… and sends her imagination spiraling into some very unhelpful, very vivid territory.
This goes on for hours, a swing-and-scream cacophony punctuated by bursts of laughter, then stretches of almost absurd calm. In the corner, the pile of gleaming metal grows like a hoard.
Taylor stays through all of it, watching as Madison slowly but surely works up a sweat… which, unhelpfully, fuels a few more fantasies.
All tasteful, she promises.
Eventually, the noise dwindles. Madison sets the hammer down and studies the remaining steel, eyes distant, weighing possibilities.
Despite the racket, the chaos, the unhinged giggles, Taylor realizes she's…happy, just watching Madison work.
It's nice, being the first person Madison trusts with this secret. It warms something fragile inside her, and stokes desires she knows will never be returned.
If only her heart knew better.
"What are you thinking about, Madison?"
"I'm deciding what weapon I want to make."
Taylor raises an eyebrow. "What, is Miss 'punch the punch' not happy with just fisticuffs? Besides, won't you not even be able to use it most of the time anyway?"
"I mean, you're kinda right," Madison admits, "but part of it is coolness. You know, having a thing. And if I don't get to use my dream training montage to do full-on knight stuff, I am going to rebel!"
Taylor snorts. "Rebel against what?" she asks between quiet giggles.
"I don't know," Madison says with a dramatic shrug, "but I am certain they'll know it when it happens!"
And just like that, they're both giggling, the sound echoing warmly in the cluttered basement.
Not long after that, Madison makes her decision.
"A poleaxe," she declares with the solemnity of a knight swearing an oath. "That way I can slash, shank, and smash any motherfucker that deserves it."
She says motherfucker with this strange, almost theatrical inflection that Taylor can't quite decipher, half emphasis, half inside joke she's apparently not privy to. Probably just another one of Madison's endless, weird little quirks.
And then, without further preamble, the banging resumes, loud, relentless, and accompanied with manic laughter.
This is getting a bit much.
The noise, the chaos, the sheer Madison-ness of it all.
But… Taylor thinks she likes it this way.
Before long, Madison completes the weapon, haft and head both gleaming silver, the metal etched with curling flames and delicate roses.
It's… beautiful. Striking and dangerous all at once, like something out of a storybook that forgot that it's supposed to be meant for kids.
"So, what do you think, Tay?" Madison asks, eyes bright.
"I think you're amazing," Taylor says before she can stop herself.
Madison grins wide and lets out a delighted cackle. "Careful, that'll go straight to my head!"
Madison freezes mid-movement, a little twitch running through her like she just remembered a grievous, world-altering oversight. Then she turns to Taylor with… was that annoyance?
"You didn't tell me what your favorite color is!" she suddenly shouts, stabbing a finger at Taylor like she's delivering a courtroom accusation.
The sheer drama of it nearly makes Taylor laugh, but instead she just blinks and says, "…Oh."
She hadn't exactly planned on telling her. It's silly, and maybe a little embarrassing. But what's a color compared to Madison trusting her with the biggest secret she has?
So she steels herself, opens her mouth… and what comes out is more a half-swallowed mumble than an actual word.
"Huh?" Madison tilts her head.
"It's p-" Taylor starts strong, but the end fizzles into a pathetic little squeak that wouldn't carry across the room.
"Taylor, I'm sorry, but I cannot understand you," Madison says, now looking unreasonably curious.
Taylor throws her hands up, cheeks blazing. "IT'S PINK!"
"You didn't have to yell it, you know?" Madison teases, her grin far too smug for Taylor's liking, basking in the glory of Taylor's very obvious blush.
Taylor just grumbles something unintelligible, but Madison only cackles and swoops in for a hug.
It's… nice, at first. Warm. Solid. Comforting in that chaotic Madison way.
Then the smell of sweat hits her.
Taylor's face scrunches up instantly, and she pushes the smaller girl back. Madison goes willingly, still grinning like the menace she is.
Her crush just laughs at her misery.
"Hehe, sorry, I forgot," Madison says, pulling an exaggeratedly cutesy expression, like she's just stepped straight out of a gag scene. Probably another one of her references Taylor doesn't get.
Taylor's only response is a withering scowl.
"Oof, okay, that one hurts," Madison says, clutching her chest in mock injury when she catches Taylor's expression.
Then she looks at Taylor more seriously, tilting her head just so. "I'm sorry, Taylor. Can you please forgive me?"
Her face transforms into a picture of innocent regret, slightly trembling lip, watery eyes shimmering in the basement light.
NO.
She must resist.
The puppy dog eyes got her last time, but she is stronger now. She will not fold. She will be iron.
Her will is unbreakable! She will not be undone by the strategy of a toddler!
…And then Madison's lower lip juts out, just a little. Her eyes go glassy, like she might burst into tears at any second.
Ba-bump.
NO!
Not like this.
Not again.
…Too late.
The basement echoes with the strangled, high-pitched squeal of repressed teenage emotion as Taylor's defenses crumble into dust.
"So… am I forgiven now?" you ask once Taylor's done making… whatever that noise was.
…
…
"Yes," she finally says, still sounding a little breathless. "Just… please don't use that face on me again. It's too powerful."
She's got this far-off look in her eyes, somewhere between Vietnam flashbacks and being stuck in the DMV line for six hours straight.
So… points in favor of adorableness powers? Maybe?
"I'm going to go get some water. Do you want some?" Taylor offers, her voice edging back toward normal.
"Yes please! I worked up quite a sweat, you know," you reply cheekily.
Taylor just rolls her eyes at your youness and heads upstairs.
The second she's out of sight, you pounce on the opportunity, time to try on your masterpiece. Normally, putting on a full suit of plate armor would take several minutes at best, but you? You're anything but normal.
The metal clasps and buckles snap open and shut at the barest flicker of your will, sliding into place like they were made for you, which they were. By the time you hear Taylor's footsteps on the stairs, you're lowering your helmet into position.
She steps into the basement… and stops.
And looks at you.
And keeps looking at you.
…
Her face is turning very, very red.
…
Is she even breathing?
Nope.
THUMP!
"WAA! Taylor?!"
She fell over. Did she just faint?!
"Taylor, hold on! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" You say as you rush to her fallen form.
Oh no.
Your costume is too powerful!
A few minutes later…
"I said I was sorry!" you plead, hands out like you're trying to calm down a startled deer.
"And you should be!" Taylor fires back, voice tight with indignation.
"I am! I can't get any more sorry!"
Taylor crosses her arms and hits you with another one of those glares, sharp, flat, the kind that makes you feel like you've just been caught shoplifting in front of God and your grandma.
Seriously, what is with this girl and her stares? Those things are OP. You could forge armor out of that judgment.
"I didn't mean to scare you!" you insist.
"Well, you should have thought of that!" she shoots back, leaning forward slightly, like she's trying to physically pin the guilt to your forehead.
"I couldn't have! I'm kinda dumb!" you blurt.
Taylor makes a sound that's somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, though she hides it quickly behind another glare.
Of course, you have no idea that she wasn't scared at all. The truth? The second she saw you standing there in that gleaming silver armor, veil draped just so, cape flowing like something out of a dream, her brain flatlined. Pure, overwhelming happy overload. Her heart had slammed the emergency shutdown button.
But she can't exactly admit that. So "you scared me" is the official story.
You, meanwhile, are still pacing, running a gauntlet of self-recrimination, trying to atone for a crime you didn't commit.
"Next time," Taylor says finally, "give me some kind of warning. You can't just… walk out looking like-like that without a heads-up."
You pause mid-pace, tilting your helmeted head. "Like what exactly?"
"Never mind," she mutters quickly, cheeks threatening to betray her again.
You shrug and start to pull your helmet off, setting it carefully on the workbench. The sound of your gauntlets clicking free echoes in the basement as you shake your head to loosen your hair.
Taylor's gaze lingers for a second… and then lingers longer. Her brows slowly furrow.
"…Madison?"
"Yeah?"
"…When did you get a wig?"
You blink at her. "…What?"
"The white one," she says, pointing at your head.
You freeze, hands halfway through unbuckling your chestplate. "…Taylor. I'm not wearing a wig."
There's a long beat as her words hang in the air.
Eh?
Some experimentation later…
Helmet on.
White.
Helmet off.
Brown.
Helmet on.
White.
Helmet off.
Brown.
White.
Brown.
White.
"So are you going to keep playing with your hair, or…?" Taylor asks, her tone hovering somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
"Yep," you reply cheerfully, "this is fun."
Brown.
White.
Taylor just kind of stares at you like you're the biggest idiot she's ever met. And maybe you are, but come on. This is awesome. It's like having built-in identity protection! Secret cape mode, engage.
Brown.
White.
Badass.
Brown.
White.
You let out an absolutely unhinged cackle, reveling in your new party trick, flipping between colors like some kind of discount magical girl transformation.
You keep going until Taylor, long-suffering saint that she is, finally gets tired of your shit and forcibly removes the helmet from your hands.
Aww…
After that, it was time to go, your dad had pulled up out front.
You gave Taylor a quick hug before leaving, and, as expected, she blushed again. Adorable, yes, but also a clear sign she desperately needed more socialization. Blushing over every little thing? Amateur hour.
You jogged to the car, tossing your bag into the trunk where, if it rattled with the sound of suspiciously forged metal, nobody would notice.
The moment you slid into the passenger seat, your dad glanced over with a smirk that immediately put you on edge.
"So, how was it at your girlfriend's place?"
"Not my girlfriend!" you shot back instantly, a little too loud, ignoring the traitorous flutter in your chest.
…Okay, so maybe you wouldn't mind being more than friends with Taylor. Anyone who could deal with the real you, full, unfiltered Madison, for that long without running for the hills? That's like… wife material or something.
But you shook the thought away. There was too much history, too much baggage between you.
Best to let sleeping dogs lie.
With a grin you plan out the next day.
It's time for managing your clique.
[ ] [Clique Management] Cloak and Data: Nerd Recon Patrol
You've got nerds in every flavor, gamers, fanfic authors, miniatures painters, LARPers, tech tinkerers. Some of them have unsettling amounts of school gossip. You could use that. Set up a lowkey info network to sniff out hostile moves from rival cliques. It's not spying. It's… strategic nerdwatching, or something.
[ ] [Clique Management] Nerd Fight Club: part 1
Your nerds are loyal. Your nerds are smart. Your nerds are… squishy. Time to fix that. Start with the basics, how to throw a punch without breaking your own hand, how to stand so you don't get bowled over, and maybe how to dodge something larger than a paper airplane. It'll take time, but every hero party needs a few frontline fighters.
Now for your activity.
[ ] [Activity] Taylor Time: The Public Outing
Invite Taylor out somewhere that isn't your failgirl lair. Movies? Arcade? Maybe find the one café in Brockton Bay that isn't depressing? Public bonding time could do you both some good, and it's a chance to show everyone at school you're sticking by her off school as well. Your mom will be thrilled.
[ ] [Activity] PHO Deep Dive: Cape Weirdness Rabbit Hole
You can't focus at school anyway, so you might as well go home and research gold blood, weird powers, and other cape trivia. You might not get real answers, but you'll definitely get weird forum drama and unhinged conspiracy theories. Worth it.
[ ] [Activity] Reconnaissance and Regret: The Emma-Sophia Situation
Something doesn't add up. You humiliated them. They backed down. Sophia backed down. What the hell is a "predator," and why did Emma look like she'd just insulted Kaiser to his face when Sophia said that? Time to play spy. Lurk, listen, and maybe figure out what the hell game they're playing. Because you don't like not knowing the rules.
[ ] [Activity] Lurking in the Digital Shadows
That creepy cult site isn't going to monitor itself. You keep an eye on their posts, waiting for more hints about this "Dark Mother" business. It's tedious, unsettling, and you're pretty sure the site's UI was designed to make your eyes bleed, but if they slip up and post something useful, you'll be ready.
[ ] [Activity] First Patrol: Discount Knight Edition
You've got the armor. You've got the weapon. You've got… absolutely no clue what you're doing. But you're not going to learn by hiding in your basement. Time to pick a part of the city that isn't immediately suicidal and go looking for trouble. Best case? You save someone and look cool doing it. Worst case? You learn the armor really was worth the weight.
Not gonna lie this one kicked my ass a bit. It's a little rushed and you will probably notice in some spots.
Anyway here you go, go crazy.
Oh and if you guys decide to patrol, have some names ready because you will pick your name if/when you do that.
As you march up the cracked, graffiti smeared steps to Winslow for yet another thrilling day in the educational gulag, your mind isn't on the usual things, like dodging suspicious puddles or avoiding whatever social disaster the cafeteria is brewing today.
No, you're turning over the puzzle pieces of the Emma and Sophia situation.
Why are they friends?
How did they meet?
And why did that friendship mean Taylor got shoved down to the absolute bottom of Emma's personal food chain, beneath dirt, beneath mold, beneath the slime you find under dumpsters?
In all your time hanging around them, they've never let anything slip. Nothing. Not a stray comment, not a story, not even a moment of offhand gossip. It's like they've got a standing pact to never talk about it within earshot of anyone else.
And that, if nothing else, is suspicious as hell.
The best lead you've got is Sophia's occasional bursts of weird pseudo-philosophy, the kind of drivel that boils down to might makes right and don't be a pussy. Real deep stuff.
Honestly? What a stupid bitch.
You're still mulling it over when Taylor peels herself away from a little knot of Warhammer Scholars and gravitates toward you, sticking to your side like a loyal, if slightly awkward, shadow. She picks up on your distracted air instantly, like she's got a radar for your moods.
"What's wrong, Madison?"
You consider brushing it off, but end up going for the mostly honest route. "Sophia."
Taylor's face dims, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I see… That makes sense, I guess. She has that effect on people." Her attempt at a joke comes out weak, but it's there.
"Yeah," you sigh. "I just… really want to figure out-"
"Ack!"
You're cut off by the sudden, violent impact of Taylor glomping you from the side. The much taller girl nearly bowls you over, wrapping you in a hug so sudden you don't even get your arms up. From the outside, you're sure it looks ridiculous, a beanpole of a girl clinging to someone half her size like a giant, awkward koala.
"Taylor?!!?"
"I- um-" She stammers, then pushes through. "It's just… I don't want you to be sad! You already do so much for me, and I don't like it when you're sad. You should be your loud, ridiculous, wonderful self!!"
…Was that supposed to be a compliment?
Well, the way your cheeks heated up probably means it worked…
Probably.
…
Okay, yeah. It totally worked.
Seriously, this girl needs to stop being so adorkable. That level of wholesome ambush affection should require a license. It's weapons-grade.
You can't help but giggle a little at your own thoughts, which only makes Taylor beam down at you with a smug little smile of victory. And honestly… yeah. She kind of did win.
"Alright, get off me, you big goof, you win," you relent, giving her a light shove.
After that, the two of you fall into step, heading toward first period together. Taylor's still wearing that same small, content little smile, like she's holding on to the moment.
And honestly? Seeing that smile here, in the middle of Winslow's gray, surrounded by the daily grind of misery and mediocrity…
It makes you feel just that much lighter.
Later that day, the idea hits you, why not ask your nerds if they've ever picked up anything about the Emma-Sophia mystery? If anyone would have scraps of gossip or stray intel, it'd be your people.
…The results are kind of disappointing.
"None of you guys ever heard anything? Second hand, third hand, nothing?" you press, scanning their faces for even the faintest flicker of a tell.
One of them shrugs apologetically. "Sorry, but if anyone knew anything about Sophia and Emma's deal, we figured it was you."
Which, okay, fair. But seriously, teenage girls are not supposed to be this good at operational security.
You should know! Every single day you half expect your parents to burst into your room screaming, "You're a cape! You're grounded until infinity!" and you have no idea how they haven't yet.
"Bummer," you pout, crossing your arms. Damn it, how are you supposed to figure this out when you've got nothing to go on?
"Actually…" one of them pipes up slowly. "Hey guys, do you think we should tell her about the thing?"
"She won't care about the thing, and it's ours anyway!" another snaps back immediately.
"I bet she'll love it, though!" chimes in a third, far too enthusiastically.
"This isn't a democracy! I made it, so I get to decide!"
…Okay, this is getting old fast.
"What the hell are you idiots even talking about?" you demand.
"I-"
"He-"
"But-"
You cut all three off with a single, sharp gesture and your best glare.
Instant silence.
Thank you, Taylor, for the glare lessons. They work like a charm.
"You." You point at the one who first brought up the mysterious thing. "What is the thing, and why would I care?"
"Um." He looks really nervous for some reason.
"I'm waiting…"
Then they finally started to share.
To sum it up, the thing turns out to be a bot they rigged together, hooked into, like, six different forums of… let's say questionable moral fibre. Its only job? To listen.
Specifically, it scans for certain keywords and forwards anything it catches to the idiot trio, who then sift through the results looking for anything interesting.
Mainly, they use it to spot if the ABB or E88 kids at school are about to kick off some major brawl. If the answer's yes, they make themselves scarce before the fists (or knives) start flying.
Simple.
And potentially very useful.
"Next time you guys get an alert, or something important, let me know," you tell them, already plotting how this could be of use to someone of your… Cape-abilities.
Heh.
The idiots three agree, one of them rather mulishly, like you'd just asked him to hand over the crown jewels instead of share intel.
Not exactly what you came here for… but you'll take it.
Hours later, you're home, flopped on your bed, staring at the ceiling, still turning over the puzzle that is Emma and Sophia.
And, shocker, you're making absolutely zero progress.
Man… trying to be a better person is hard.
You want to figure this out. You want to be able to sit Taylor down and finally explain why Emma treated her like she was the dirt under her shoes.
But you've got no hints. No theories. Not even a bad lead to chase. Just… nothing.
Too bad you don't have some kind of Sherlock Holmes brain upgrade or something.
Eh?
Eh?
…Yeah, you didn't think that would work. Can't just get convenient new powers all the time.
As you lay there, mentally sifting through every interaction you've ever had with those two, one moment sticks out like a flashing neon sign.
Sophia calling you predator.
Not as an insult, but like it meant something. And Emma's reaction, wide-eyed, rattled, like she'd just watched someone step on a landmine.
You've never heard Sophia use that word before.
But Emma had.
Which means… Sophia knows you're a cape.. Probably.
…
…Does that mean Sophia is a cape too?
…
…!
That's it.
It all clicks together in your head like the final piece of a puzzle snapping into place.
Her confidence. The way she struts around like nothing can touch her. The way Emma hangs off her every word, like she's basking in the glow of some higher being.
Sophia must be a cape. And Emma must know. That's the secret they've been guarding so carefully.
They probably met while Sophia was out doing cape stuff, and that's why you've never heard the story of how they met. Instant secret origin, locked behind a wall of teenage paranoia and operational security.
Man, this is just like one of your stories.
It would be fucking awesome… if they weren't both such psycho bitches.
However you can't go off half cocked, you need to be sure.
You scramble for your computer like a woman possessed, sliding into your chair and firing it up with the urgency of someone about to solve everything.
Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you start pulling up images of every known cape in Brockton Bay.
On paper, that sounds like it should take forever, but the truth? When you start eliminating people, it gets easy fast. The city's roster is mostly Nazis, drug peddlers, New Wave (who love their publicity and don't even bother with secret identities), or mercenary cape-53s who definitely aren't secretly high school girls.
Can't be Tattletale, wrong skin color.
Sophia would literally rather die than be Parian.
Not Vista, duh.
Not Miss Militia or Battery either.
Which leaves you with…
Shadow Stalker.
You pull up one of the few decent images of her in costume, studying the way she stands, her height, the slight tilt of her shoulders.
Yeah… yeah, that definitely reminds you of Sophia.
Her costume covers her from head to toe, so there's no telling skin color, but the build is right. The presence is right.
You dig deeper and manage to find one of the rare interviews Shadow Stalker ever gave.
The video buffers for a moment before flickering to life. The setting is some bland, city sponsored press event that sucks the very joy out of super powers simply by existing.
Shadow Stalker sits in the middle, flanked by a smiling PR rep.
Stalker, however…
Even through the grainy video, you can feel how much she'd rather be literally anywhere else. Her arms are crossed, the plates of her black-and-gray armor shifting slightly with every twitch of impatience. Her mask hides her face completely, but her body language is pure "I hate this."
The interviewer, a well meaning woman with a clipboard, leans forward. "So, Shadow Stalker, as one of Brockton Bay's youngest Ward members, what inspired you to take up the mask and fight crime?"
Shadow Stalker tilts her head, the movement sharp and predatory. "I don't really believe in inspiration," she says flatly. "Some people are just strong enough to do what's necessary. Others aren't."
You pause the video right there, staring at the screen.
That tone. That cadence. The complete, unapologetic arrogance.
You've heard that before.
The interviewer laughs nervously, clearly not sure how to respond, and tries again. "Well, could you tell us a bit about what it's like working with the Wards?"
Shadow Stalker leans back in her chair like the question is beneath her. "The team knows to keep up or get out of the way."
And that, that, is the final nail in the coffin. The posture, the attitude, the words dripping with "might makes right" energy…
It's Sophia.
It's so Sophia.
You sit back in your chair, eyes wide, the dots finally connecting in perfect, crystal clarity.
Uh…
Now what?
[ ] [Info] Tell Taylor ASAP
[ ] [Info] Tell Taylor Later
It's time for managing your clique.
[ ] [Clique Management] Nerd Fight Club: part 1
Your nerds are loyal. Your nerds are smart. Your nerds are… squishy. Time to fix that. Start with the basics, how to throw a punch without breaking your own hand, how to stand so you don't get bowled over, and maybe how to dodge something larger than a paper airplane. It'll take time, but every hero party needs a few frontline fighters.
[ ] [Clique Management] Operation: One of Us – Dice and Glory Edition
Taylor's watched the nerd kingdom from the edges, but today she's stepping onto the battlefield. Literally. Be there for her first full Warhammer match, help her with the rules, walk her through the strategy, and fend off the inevitable rules lawyers. Win or lose, she'll walk away with a story, a deeper bond with the crew, and maybe the first spark of real nerd pride.
[ ] [Clique Management] The Council of Dorks Convenes
You've got anime club weebs, tabletop generals, computer gremlins, and LARP enthusiasts all under your banner, but they still mostly stick to their own circles. Time to call a Great Council, a meeting where every nerd faction comes together for snacks, dumb arguments, and maybe a joint project. If you pull it off, the alliances will make your little empire stronger than ever.
[ ] [Activity] Taylor Time: The Public Outing
Invite Taylor out somewhere that isn't your failgirl lair. Movies? Arcade? Maybe find the one café in Brockton Bay that isn't depressing? Public bonding time could do you both some good, and it's a chance to show everyone at school you're sticking by her off school as well. Your mom will be thrilled.
[ ] [Activity] PHO Deep Dive: Cape Weirdness Rabbit Hole
You can't focus at school anyway, so you might as well go home and research gold blood, weird powers, and other cape trivia. You might not get real answers, but you'll definitely get weird forum drama and unhinged conspiracy theories. Worth it.
[ ] [Activity] Lurking in the Digital Shadows
That creepy cult site isn't going to monitor itself. You keep an eye on their posts, waiting for more hints about this "Dark Mother" business. It's tedious, unsettling, and you're pretty sure the site's UI was designed to make your eyes bleed, but if they slip up and post something useful, you'll be ready.
[ ] [Activity] First Patrol: Discount Knight Edition
You've got the armor. You've got the weapon. You've got… absolutely no clue what you're doing. But you're not going to learn by hiding in your basement. Time to pick a part of the city that isn't immediately suicidal and go looking for trouble. Best case? You save someone and look cool doing it. Worst case? You learn the armor really was worth the weight.
[ ] [Activity] Home is Where the Anvil Is: Forge & Lair Hunt
Taylor's basement is great and all, but if you're going to be a proper armored badass, you need your own place. Somewhere to work without worrying about Taylor's dad coming downstairs and asking why there's a poleaxe leaning on the washing machine. Time to scout the city for the perfect cape hideout, abandoned warehouse? Forgotten boat in the Graveyard? Derelict factory with great acoustics for maniacal laughter? A good lair is the foundation of any successful hero.
As you march up the steps of Winslow yet again, you're buzzing.
Just a little.
…
Okay, more than a little.
You can't help it, today's not just any day. Today you get to watch Taylor dive into her first-ever Warhammer battle, and after that, you're heading to the boardwalk together.
It's going to be great. You can feel it in your bones.
But… deep inside, there's a splinter of doubt. The kind that worms its way in and refuses to be ignored. How's she going to take it when you finally tell her that Sophia, that fucking Shadow Stalker, is a Ward?
That she's not just a cape, but a hero who's been making Taylor's life hell.
…
Like you used to.
You shake your head sharply. No! Nope. Not going there. Today is a good day. Happy thoughts only.
Besides, Taylor's going to need you at your absolute peak, full of energy, grinning like an idiot, ready to cheer her on through every dice roll and splatter plate.
She's walking into her first tabletop clash, and you are going to make damn sure she has all the backup she needs.
As you step inside, you spot Taylor instantly, and the way her face lights up when she sees you is like watching someone flip on a switch. She makes a beeline straight for you, slipping into place at your side like she's magnetized.
Honestly, this girl. She doesn't need to be so fixated on you all the time. You're hardly the person most worthy of that kind of attention.
…But you're working on fixing that, one step at a time.
"So, are you excited?" you ask.
"Yeah," she says softly. "It's been so long since I've gone to the boardwalk with a friend."
Eh?
"Not just that, silly! Today's your big day! You get to show off all your skills to the Warhammer dudes!" you say, grinning like you've just announced she's being crowned queen.
Her expression shifts, a nervous edge creeping in. "Madison, I'm only doing that because you asked me to. I'm not good at that sort of thing…"
"How do you know if you don't try? I think you'll be great at it!"
That earns you a blush, though she stays quiet after that.
Man… she really does need a boost to her confidence. Hopefully she gets one today, preferably by absolutely steamrolling her opponent.
The rest of the day drags on like it's actively trying to spite you, seriously, you're convinced the clock is slowing down out of pure malice.
But then, during fourth period, something actually interesting happens.
You're halfway to the bathroom, already running the mental math on whether you can get away with hiding there for the rest of class, when you freeze just before pushing the door open. Voices.
Familiar voices.
"Sophia, what are we supposed to do! I don't know how to deal with a cape in school!" That's Emma, and you've never, never, heard her sound this rattled.
"The same thing we always do, survive," Sophia says, her tone calm, almost bored. "If you ask me, all we have to do is wait. Most new capes get themselves killed anyway."
Wow. Okay. Reassuring someone with the prospect of your death is just rude.
"But what if she doesn't? Or starts trying to push us out? You've seen how she's been making her own little slice of Winslow."
"If that happens, you have me, remember? No newbie cape is a match for me."
"I-You're right… Hero."
"I know I'm right. Now let's get going. Besides, we shouldn't be talking about this here anyway."
Uh-oh.
You back away fast, ducking into the nearest unused classroom and holding your breath until you're sure they've gone. Then you wait another two minutes, because paranoia isn't paranoia when people are out to get you.
Huh. So Emma's already stressed just by you existing. That's… interesting. And your theory? Yeah, consider it extra confirmed.
Double confirmed?
Whatever.
You've got bigger things to focus on right now. Like, for example, actually getting to the bathroom before you explode.
School's finally over, which means it's time for the real main event, supporting Taylor in her very first Warhammer match.
You're practically bouncing on the walk to the club room, already imagining the look on her face when she crushes her first opponent into the dust.
When you get there, the battlefield is already being set up, sprawling city ruins, crumbling walls, and little scatter pieces dotting the board like a warzone frozen mid-collapse. Her opponent is unpacking Tyranids, big, chitin covered murder-bugs that look like someone put a hive of wasps and bunch of dinosaurs through a blender.
Taylor, meanwhile, has been… saddled… with Ultramarines.
Blue. Berry. Boy Scouts.
You stare at the neat little rows of blue plated poster boys for all that is boring and codex approved, and you have to physically stop your face from showing the sheer depth of your disappointment. This is her first match and they gave her the least spicy flavor in the galaxy.
But hey, fake it till you make it, right?
You plaster on your brightest smile and stroll up to Taylor.
"Hey, ready to stomp some bugs?"
She looks up, nervous but smiling back. "I hope so."
You don't hope, you believe. Even if she's rolling with the Blueberry Brigade.
You eye the battlefield as they begin to setup their units.
Taylor's force is arrayed neatly on her side of the table, three neat little squads of Assault Marines, Tactical Marines, and those lovely plasma armed Devastators that you're already eyeing as MVPs.
And then there's the crown jewel, a Predator tank, all guns, armor, and that heavy, boxy confidence that says, I am the wall your nightmares crash against. You can already imagine it chewing through alien monstrosities like popcorn.
Across from her, Matthew is setting up his swarm. Rows of Hormagaunts and Termagants spill across his deployment zone like an advancing tide, chittering mandibles and spindly limbs poised to rush forward the moment the game begins. A few hulking Tyranid Warriors loom over the smaller bugs, their organic weapons twitching with predatory intent.
And then there's his big gun.
The Carnifex.
It squats in the center like some massive, bio-engineered tank of muscle and chitin, its claws thick enough to tear through ceramite like wrapping paper. It's the kind of thing you'd expect to see rampaging through a hive city, not politely waiting for turn one.
You glance at Taylor and grin. "Well… at least your Predator's got something worthy to shoot at."
She swallows, eyes flicking from the Carnifex to her own tank. "…Right."
Oh, this is going to be good.
From the moment the first dice hit the table, Taylor's "I don't know what I'm doing" routine somehow morphed into a masterclass in improbable war crimes.
At first, she was hesitant, moving her Assault Marines in these cautious little hops, glancing at you after every step like she was waiting for me to confirm she hadn't just committed some unspoken tabletop faux pas. Then, out of nowhere, she casually rattled off the exact range bands for a bolter like she'd been doing this for years. You blinked, and she just shrugged like it was nothing.
Her first round of shooting? One Tactical squad pinged a couple of Hormagaunts and she looked thrilled, like she'd just won the whole game. Then the Devastators opened up with their plasma cannons, and in a single blast they erased half a Termagant brood. She flinched at the dice, mumbling something about "not meaning to roll that well."
Just what?
Matthew tried to regain momentum by pushing his Carnifex right down the middle, the big bastard thundering toward her line like a nightmare freight train. I was halfway through whispering advice about screening it when Taylor just… tilted her head, aimed the Predator, and said, "I'll focus fire on that one."
Then came the lascannons.
Twin-linked turret, both sponsons, every single beam hitting home with this perfect, surgical precision. The Carnifex's saves just evaporated under the rolls. Matthew was still processing his bad luck when the damage rolls came in, maxed. Every. Single. One. The thing didn't even get to do anything before it basically collapsed into a smoking pile of alien mulch.
Taylor blinked at the table like she was surprised too, then gave this tiny, utterly smug smirk before covering it with a fake "oops" expression.
The rest of the match was this weird pendulum swing between utter beginner's luck and terrifying flashes of tactical clarity. Her Assault Marines would bumble into melee only to miraculously chain perfect rolls, wiping out twice their number, and then she'd forget to move a squad for a turn because she "was thinking about our trip to the boardwalk later."
By the final round, she'd reduced Matthew's swarm to a scattering of bugs hiding behind terrain while her forces casually patrolled the board. She didn't gloat, oh no, that's not Taylor's style, but every so often I'd catch that little victorious sparkle in her eye, and I swear she knew exactly what she was doing the whole time.
Heh, what even is this girl?
After packing up all the minis and exchanging the standard awkward "good games" with the Warhammer crew, you and Taylor make your way out of the school. The air outside is cool, a little crisp, and she's still wearing that tiny post-victory smile like it's a badge of honor.
"Somebody had fun," you sing-song, drawing the word out just enough to make her blush.
"I-yeah. Maybe," she mumbles, eyes flicking away like she's afraid if she meets your gaze you'll somehow see the smug little tyrant that just annihilated a Carnifex in a single turn.
You cackle, bumping your shoulder into hers with just enough force to make her stagger half a step. She giggles, quiet, almost like she's embarrassed she made the sound at all, but it's there, and it makes you grin wider.
"So," you press, "have you decided what faction you'd want to play? What sort of army you want to build? Are you feeling 'unstoppable death swarm,' 'elite murder machines,' or maybe 'space nuns with guns'?"
She shakes her head, lips curling into that thoughtful little almost smile. "Not really? There's so many books, and I've only been able to read like… two of them. I don't even know where to start."
"Well, when you decide," you say, wagging a finger at her like it's a royal decree, "you have to tell me. I'm super curious. I want to know if you're going to be a grimdark hero, a bug overlord, or the queen of war crimes."
That earns you another quiet laugh, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny glint in her eyes that says she's already thinking about it.
You and Taylor linger on the cracked steps of Winslow, chatting idly while the afternoon sun turns the parking lot into a shimmer of heat. Your ride isn't long in coming, an old, beat-up pickup truck that rattles a little as it pulls up to the curb. Behind the wheel is a tall, somewhat thin man with a thinning hairline and a weathered face.
Taylor straightens instinctively, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "That's my dad," she murmurs.
The driver leans over to get a better look at you. "So this must be your friend Madison. I'm Daniel, Taylor's father."
"Madison Clements," you reply, a bit stiffly, giving a polite nod. For some reason, meeting a parent always feels like walking into a surprise pop quiz.
A moment later you're climbing in, and because fate hates you, you pull the short straw of being the shortest one. Which means you end up squished in the middle seat, pressed between Taylor and her dad. The old bench seat creaks under all three of you.
It's… awkward. Very awkward. But Mr Hebert doesn't seem to notice, or care, as he shifts the truck into gear and starts driving. Almost immediately, he starts peppering you with questions. Where you're from. What your folks do. How long you've been friends with Taylor.
And the whole time, you can feel Taylor's eyes flicking toward you like she's silently evaluating your answers… or maybe just silently laughing at how out of your depth you feel.
Thirty minutes later, thirty minutes of fielding questions, dodging a few too-personal ones, and outright lying about certain details, you are finally free after both promising to be safe.
You and Taylor step onto the boardwalk and wave as her dad's truck rumbles off into the distance.
"That was terrifying!" you blurt the moment he's out of earshot. "Does he do that to everyone? He was like the world's most friendly interrogator!"
Taylor giggles, the absolute traitor.
"No, not usually… he must just like you."
"Why would he possibly like me? I'm kinda a mess, you know!" you protest, throwing your arms up dramatically.
Taylor's laughter bubbles out again, warm and light.
"Well, you did bring a smile to his daughter's face," she says simply. "That means a lot."
And now you're blushing. Full-on, flaming cheeks blushing. This girl! Blushing is supposed to be her thing, not yours!
You plunge into the boardwalk with every intention of wringing every last drop of fun out of what's left of the day.
First stop, the anime shop.
The moment you step inside, you're off like a shot, darting between shelves, flipping through artbooks, squealing over figurines, and pointing out every other thing that catches your magpie attention. You're moving with the chaotic energy of a hyperactive kid set loose in a candy store, and poor Taylor is left trailing in your wake, half laughing, half trying to keep up.
Taylor
"I think you might like this one, Taylor!" Madison practically bounced on her heels, holding up a pastel-pink Blu-ray case like it was a sacred artifact. "The main character's this really tall, shy girl who plays VR games so she can be cute and small! But then she finds out she actually likes the adrenaline rush of this post-apocalyptic FPS and goes on an adventure and saves her friend. And her favorite color is pink, like you!"
Taylor wasn't sure what startled her more, that Madison had thought to connect the story to her, or the sheer enthusiasm presented.
Madison didn't even give her time to process before she was shoving another DVD into her hands. "Or this one! It's about a guy who loves playing this game with his friends, treats them like family, but then they all eventually abandon him, and the game they played together, sending him into this depressive spiral." Madison's voice softened there, just for a beat, before picking back up with renewed enthusiasm. "But then, on the last day of the game, something happens, and the game becomes real! It sends him, the guild base, and all the NPCs into another world! It's funny, has great action, awesome writing… but it's also kinda sad."
Taylor stood there, blinking between the two cases, half hearing the words and half just… watching Madison. She was so animated, her eyes bright, her hands moving constantly to emphasize this point or that detail. There was a kind of raw eagerness there, like Madison didn't often get to talk about these things, and now that she could, she was going to pour every ounce of herself into it.
It made Taylor's heart flutter in a way she didn't quite know how to handle.
"Well, which one do you recommend first?" Taylor asked, still holding the cases.
Madison actually paused mid–hyperactive sweep of the shelves, freezing like she'd just been challenged to a duel. Her expression went uncharacteristically serious, brows furrowing as she weighed the two choices in her hands.
"I think you'll like SAO Alternative more… maybe." She tapped the case for emphasis, then fixed Taylor with an oddly intense look. "But, if you do like it, you must never touch anything else SAO. Ever. It's trash." The last word came out with such venom, such a theatrical scowl, that Taylor half expected lightning to crackle behind her.
She got the impression that asking why would unleash a rant so monumental that they'd get kicked out of the shop before Madison even hit the halfway point. Best to… redirect.
"How about after this, we go to the bookstore?" Taylor offered.
Madison blinked, the storm cloud vanishing in an instant, replaced by open surprise. Then she smiled, bright and warm. "Sure! You can tell me about your favorite books then!"
And just like that, Taylor's heart fluttered again. Not only because of her very inconvenient crush, but because… she'd missed this. Missed the simple joy of having someone to talk to, to make plans with, to share pieces of herself with.
It felt… nice. Really, really nice.
Taylor had thought she was clever.
She'd thought that if they left the anime shop and went to the bookstore, she could sidestep Madison's building anime rant.
She was wrong.
So very, very wrong.
All she'd managed to do was trigger a different rant.
"And all the elves are perfect," Madison was saying, voice rising like a kettle about to boil over, "better than everyone at everything, all enlightened and smug and, ugh, vegan. And then the main character starts turning into an elf, and guess what? He goes vegan too! And his girlfriend? Elf. It's just, argh! Get your fetish out of the writing! I read almost every book and it just kept getting worse!"
By the time she finished, Madison was practically panting, hands gesturing wildly as though she could physically claw the offending tropes out of the air.
Taylor hesitated, waiting to see if there was more. When it seemed safe, she reached for the most neutral, most calming response she could think of.
"There, there?"
Madison scowled, crossing her arms like the entire Inheritance Cycle had personally wronged her. "Eragon is stupid and I hate it."
Taylor sighed softly. "I know."
…Well, now she did.
Taylor decided that if she didn't intervene soon, Madison was going to work herself up into either a crusade against bad writing or an aneurysm.
Possibly both.
She glanced toward the café section tucked into the corner of the bookstore, a little beacon of salvation in the form of coffee, tea, and overpriced pastries.
"Hey," she said, pitching her voice just loud enough to cut through Madison's muttering about how self inserts are trash, "how about we get something to eat?"
That got Madison's attention. She blinked, the rant's momentum wobbling as the thought of food apparently bulldozed over her outrage.
"…Do they have muffins?"
Taylor allowed herself a tiny smile. "I'm pretty sure they do."
Madison considered this for all of half a second before nodding, already moving toward the café like a heat-seeking missile.
Disaster averted, for now.
Taylor's eyes lit up the moment you asked her one simple question, like you'd just turned a key in some hidden lock.
What is her favorite book?
"It's just… it's perfect," she said, already halfway into the gush before she realized she'd started. "It's not about some invincible hero or chosen one, it's about Bilbo, this ordinary guy who doesn't think he can do anything brave. And then he gets swept into this huge adventure with dwarves and dragons and danger everywhere… and he surprises himself. Over and over."
She leaned forward a little, completely forgetting about her tea. "And the world feels real. Every mountain, every forest, every bit of food they eat, Tolkien makes you see it. Taste it. And it's not about winning every fight, it's about surviving, and helping your friends, and finding courage when you thought you had none."
You couldn't help noticing the little smile she had while she spoke, or the way her voice softened when she said the word friends.
"And the ending-" she hesitated, then sighed in that dreamy, content way people do when thinking about a favorite part. "It's bittersweet. Things change, and not everything goes back to the way it was, but Bilbo's stronger for it. It's… I don't know. Comforting."
She finally looked back at you, a little shy now that she'd realized how much she'd just rambled. "Sorry. I really like that book."
"I can see that, and I like seeing you so enthusiastic. Besides," you add with a smirk, "I think you've earned a ramble after dealing with me all day."
Taylor's smile is small but warm. "You weren't that bad… just passionate. And it's good you have things like that you feel so strongly about." She tilts her head, teasing lightly. "Even if it's just complaining about bad writing." A soft giggle escapes her.
The two of you lapse into an easy, comfortable quiet. Muffins, warm drinks, the sound of people drifting in and out around you, it's the kind of moment you wish you could bottle and keep forever.
Yeah. This is nice.
…
…
But nice moments don't last forever, and you know it. The weight in your chest reminds you of what you learned, and what you need to tell her.
It's probably time to tell her about the Sophia thing…