Taylor woke with a sharp gasp, her body jerking upright before her mind had fully caught up. She blinked in the dim light of her room, her chest heaving, but there was no pain. No discomfort. In fact, she felt oddly rested, the deep, bone-weary exhaustion from the earlier training entirely gone.
The memories surfaced slowly. The forest. The cold river. The swarm. The feeling of forcing insects down someone's throat.
The image of the Tenno suffocating on the ground flashed in her mind, and it brought up a complex tangle of emotions. On one hand, she recognized the validity of his lesson. In a real fight, holding back against a lethal enemy was suicide. She couldn't afford to be soft.
But on the other hand… ruthlessly drowning a boy—or at least a man who looked like one—wasn't the type of hero she wanted to be. It felt horrible. Like something a villain would do. The clinical detachment she had felt in that moment, the lack of hesitation before she nearly killed him, scared her more than the training itself.
She shook her head, pushing the thoughts away, and slipped out of bed. She looked down at herself. Her clothes were intact. The rips, the mud, the water damage—it was all gone. She frowned, wondering how for a split second before the obvious answer clicked.
Tenno.
She just barely remembered he had done something to her clothes before making her jog back home. From the forest.
Now she was wondering what he couldn't do?
He had Healing, slow aging, teleportation, building powerful suits of drone armor, advanced weaponry, and now, apparently, instant laundry and repair. The longer she stayed around him, the less it felt like he had simply won the power lottery, and the more it seemed like he'd found a power slot machine that only paid out jackpots and just kept pulling the lever until he got bored.
She moved through her morning routine on autopilot. As she brushed her teeth, she picked up her glasses from the counter and slid them on. The world blurred slightly as the lenses slid into place. Tenno had fixed her eyesight perfectly, but to keep up the pretense at home and at school, she had to keep wearing them. Ordis had been kind enough to replace the lenses in her old frames with non-magnifying glass, preserving the illusion without hurting her corrected vision. The last thing she needed was her dad asking why she suddenly didn't need her glasses.
She hopped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering phantom sensation of river water and bug shells. When she got out, wrapping a towel around herself, she heard the familiar clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen. Her dad was awake. The sound brought a pang of guilt; she had been so consumed by the training and the aftermath that she hadn't spent much time with him. Not that they had been close before but it was only getting worse with new things entering her life.
She retreated to her room to change, trying to get her guilt out of mind. She dressed quickly, then moved her hand lower on her dresser to a particular drawer. Hidden beneath a stack of old clothes and the notebook where she kept her documentation of the bullying, she pulled out a sleek, black smartphone with a stylized white flower on the back.
It was a gift from Tenno, given to her yesterday before the training began. He had explained it was a custom device, hard-linked for secure contact with him and Ten-Zero, but fully capable of functioning as a regular phone. He'd told her she could use it for her personal life if she wanted, but to be careful about discussing "business" in public. If she needed a specific feature or app, she just had to ask Ordis.
She had been hesitant to use it for leisure—it felt wrong just owning one after moms death—but having a computer with internet access in her pocket at all times was too useful to pass up. Plus…
A soft vibration echoed in the quiet room.
She unlocked the screen and tapped the notification. It was the Lookout group chat.
Nate: Morning guys. Watch your backs today. Jace told me the Empire knows we're forming a group around Isaac.
Nate: Lookout members shouldn't be too worried about being attacked directly, but next week that might change. Most of the Empire kids at school get off suspension then.
Taylor frowned at the screen. Of course. Blackwell had only given them a week of suspension despite the fact that they had openly committed a hate crime in front of the entire school. It was disgusting, but expected.
More messages began to trickle in.
Samantha: Let them try. We'll fuck 'em up if they mess with us.
Tim: Bet they won't though, they're cowards at heart.
Carlos: Also, heads up. Watch out for the ABB. They don't seem to know about us yet, but they've been antsy with Lung gone.
Taylor typed out a quick acknowledgement, promising to be careful while her mind drifted to the logistics of keeping the group safe. Using insects on her schoolmates was against her personal rules, even if they were bullies or gangers. But leaving her new group without help that she could offer felt wrong. So maybe it was time to bend the rules just a bit.
It had only been two days, but she liked Lookout enough to do it. It was awkward trying to talk to new people, but some of the more extroverted girls—and Isaac—had managed to coax her out of her shell despite her fears of them turning out like Emma.
It was strange, having friends again. Real ones, who shared a common cause.
There were a few Greg-like nerds in the group, but they had formed their own little sub-group, geeking out about games or tech in a separate chain, so they hardly bothered anyone who wasn't interested. In fact, there was talk among the programmer kids about building a dedicated app or website for Lookout. A group chat was fine, but a real platform would build solidarity and make chats easier to organize. Isaac had apparently thought it was a great idea, so they were already working on it.
Taylor wanted to contribute to that. Her coding skills may not be as polished as some of the more talented members of that sub-group but she could still be useful in speeding the creation process up. However, between the grueling training sessions with Tenno and her regular schoolwork, she was always busy.
Taylor stared at the phone for a moment longer, thumb hovering over the screen. She had resources now. Ordis, specifically. If she framed her request in a particular way, the man could probably create the app for them in days, maybe even minutes. He was scarily competent like that.
But after no more than a few seconds of contemplation, Taylor shook her head. She doubted Ordis would appreciate her taking up his time for something as trivial as a high school clique's group project, and the last thing she wanted was to piss off her tech support.
She would just have to figure out how to balance her responsibilities better.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three sharp raps on her bedroom door made her jump.
Taylor shoved the phone under her pillow. "Coming, Dad!"
She crossed the room in two quick strides and pulled the door open, ready to apologize for taking so long.
But it wasn't her dad.
Tenno stood in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, looking for all the world like he belonged there. He offered a tentative, slightly awkward smile.
"Hi."
Taylor froze. Her brain stuttered to a halt, caught between the absurdity of the situation and the sheer panic of her boss standing in her hallway.
From downstairs, her dad's voice drifted up. "Taylor? What was that?"
Heavy footsteps began to ascend the stairs.
Panic surged. Taylor didn't think. She reached out, grabbed Tenno by the arm, and yanked him into her room.
She spun around to face the hallway just as her dad came into view. He looked at her, then at her hand still gripping the doorknob.
"Sorry!" she blurted out, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal. "I was just... talking to myself. Out loud. Sorry."
Danny frowned, looking past her shoulder into the room. Taylor stepped into his line of sight, blocking the view of Tenno who she hoped had the common sense to hide.
"Alright," Danny said slowly, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment. "Breakfast is almost ready. Don't take too long."
"I won't! I'll be right down. Just... need to finish getting ready."
He nodded and turned back toward the stairs. Taylor watched him go, her heart hammering against her ribs, before stepping back and closing the door.
She pushed it shut a little too hard. Slam.
She winced at the sound. Taking a steadying breath, she turned around to confront her boss and home invader.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered harshly.
Tenno wasn't looking at her. He was slowly rotating in place, his glowing eyes scanning the room. He took in the bookshelf crammed with old paperbacks, the slightly faded curtains, and the desk cluttered with schoolwork.
"Nice room," he said, his voice normal volume, which terrified her. "It's very... homey."
To Taylor, this house hadn't felt "homey" since her father's long depression had turned it into a mausoleum of unspoken grief. But she kept that to herself. But before she could respond, he dissolved and reappeared instantly on her bed. He bounced slightly on the mattress, testing the springs.
"Thanks," she said flatly. "And again—what are you doing in my house? I know you're eccentric, but breaking into my bedroom is a bit much, isn't it?"
Tenno stopped bouncing. His playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a seriousness that made the air in the room feel heavier.
"I needed to check something important," he said.
"And you couldn't have called?" she hissed, gesturing to her pillow where the phone was hidden. "Or texted?"
"I could have," he admitted. "But I felt this was something I needed to confirm in person."
He hopped off the bed, landing silently. He looked her dead in the eyes.
"Have you seen anything weird lately? And I mean weirder than average. Nightmares? Family acting out of character? Maybe... a person who looks exactly like you, but with pure black eyes?"
Taylor stared at him, confused. The shift in topic was jarring. "What?"
"Please," he said, his voice dropping. "Just answer the question."
She searched his face for any sign of a joke. There wasn't one. He looked genuinely tense.
"No," she said slowly. "I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary. And the only nightmares I've had were about... well, training."
He hummed, looking unsatisfied. He began to mutter incoherently to himself, his gaze drifting to the window. He looked... edgy. It was a strange look on him when he usually has a devil may care attitude.
"Okay," he said finally, snapping back to attention. "Thanks. Keep a lookout for anything that might seem odd. And if anyone—anyone—creepy offers you a deal, reject it. Immediately. Then tell me asap."
A cold prickle of fear ran down her spine. The way he said it sounded less like advice and more like a warning of impending doom.
"What is this about?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Is my identity compromised?"
"No," he said immediately. "Your identity is fine. For the most part, you shouldn't worry. I just... had a bit of a premonition. Better safe than sorry."
Taylor blinked. "A premonition? Are you a Thinker?"
"With certain Warframe armors, yes," he said casually.
Taylor felt a familiar, petty twist of envy in her gut. Of course he was. Super strength, healing, teleportation, armies of robots, and now precognition. It seemed there was no box he didn't have a checkmark in.
He must have noticed her expression, because he offered a wry smile. "Don't worry. It's not as useful as it sounds. The future is hardly ever set in stone."
He walked toward the window, stepping past her. "Eat your breakfast. I'll see you after school."
"Wait—"
But before she could finish, he vanished.
Taylor stood alone in her room, staring at the empty space where he had stood. She wanted to ask what the premonition was. What about it made him so worried that he had come to her house without so much as a warning to question her. Not knowing made her uneasy.
A doppelganger with black eyes. Was that a Stranger ability?
She shuddered, then grabbed her backpack and phone. She had to get to school. But she made a mental note to keep a few more wasps in her immediate vicinity than usual. Just in case.
She lingered at the top of the stairs when she finally stepped out, listening to the sounds of her father moving around in the kitchen. She took a moment to compose herself, smoothing down her shirt and checking the hallway to ensure the Tenno had truly vanished.
Satisfied she was alone, she descended.
Danny was standing at the stove when she entered, flipping bacon with a focused, slightly hunched posture. He was a tall, thin man, his dark hair thinning on top, his large, green eyes magnified slightly behind his glasses. He looked tired, as he always did these days, but there was a sharpness to his movements this morning that put Taylor on edge.
"About time," he said without turning around. "I thought you fell back asleep."
"No, just... looking for my bag," Taylor lied smoothly, moving past him to the cabinet.
She grabbed a plate, loading it with toast and a few strips of bacon. As she reached for the honey to stir into her tea, she felt her dad's gaze on her back. It was a heavy, evaluating look.
"You were talking pretty loudly up there," he commented casually, though the tone was forced. "Sounded like a conversation."
Taylor stiffened, her hand pausing over the honey jar. "Just talking to myself, Dad. Running lines for a... history project."
"Hmmm." Danny turned back to the stove, but his shoulders remained tense. "Pretty spirited rehearsal for history."
"I'm very passionate about the Industrial Revolution," Taylor deadpanned.
She sat down at the kitchen table, wrapping her hands around her warm mug. The radio on the counter was droning on, the morning news anchor's voice a low hum of background noise.
"...in other news, Trinity has officially taken the spot of the world's premier parahuman healer. With confirmed restorative capabilities surpassing even those of our great Panacea in Brockton Bay, the PRT has released a statement..."
Taylor tuned it out, focusing on her tea. She took a sip, letting the warmth settle her stomach. She looked up to find Danny sitting across from her, his own plate ignored. He was holding his newspaper, but he wasn't reading it. He was staring at her over the rim of his glasses, his expression awkward and uncertain.
"You look... different lately, Taylor," he said finally.
Taylor paused, her mug halfway to the table. "Different?"
"You've been... glowing," he said, gesturing vaguely at her face with a hand. "I mean, not literally. But you look healthier. Your skin is clearer. You just... you look good."
Taylor resisted the urge to touch her face. She knew he was right. Tenno's healing during training wasn't just patching up injuries; it was keeping her in peak physical condition. Her acne had completely vanished, her hair had more luster, and the dark circles under her eyes were gone.
"I've been taking better care of myself," Taylor said, shrugging. "Plus running every morning and sleeping better helps."
"Running and sleeping," Danny repeated. "Right."
He folded the newspaper slowly, setting it down on the table. He looked at his hands, then back up at her. "What spurred this on? I know why you're running but the other changes…"
Taylor shrugged again, picking at a piece of bacon. "I don't know. Just wanted a change. Felt like I was stagnating."
It was a safe answer. Vague enough to be believable, specific enough to satisfy, and true enough she didn't feel so guilty about lying.
But Danny didn't look satisfied. He frowned, his brow furrowing. Taylor wondered why he was pressing so hard. He had never been the type to pry into her personal life; for years, they had existed in a state of polite, painful distance, communicating mostly through silence and the occasional awkward dinner.
"Dad, is something wrong?" she asked.
Danny sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked pained. "No, it's just... Your mother was better at this."
"Better at what?"
"This," he waved a hand between them. "The talking. The noticing. I... I feel like I'm missing things, Taylor. Important things."
He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for a physical blow. He met her eyes, his expression earnest and deeply uncomfortable.
"Taylor, have you... been sexually active?"
Taylor choked.
The tea she had just sipped sprayed across the table in a fine mist, splattering the front of Danny's newspaper and a few droplets landing on his shirt. She hacked and coughed, her face instantly burning hot.
"What?" she wheezed, her voice cracking.
Danny recoiled, grabbing a napkin to wipe his shirt. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I just—you've been sneaking out at night—"
Taylor's heart seized. He knows.
"—and now this morning, sneaking a boy into the house—"
He knows!
"—and I know I haven't been the best dad, but if something's going on with this boy I want you to know you can talk to me, and if you are... if you're going to be... active, I just want to make sure you're being safe. Using protection."
Taylor stopped coughing. The terror in her chest was replaced by a wave of mortification so intense she thought she might spontaneously combust.
"Dad!" she hissed, her face feeling like it was on fire. "Oh my god. No! I'm not—we're not—it's not like that!"
"You mean he's not your boyfriend?" Danny asked, looking relieved but still anxious.
"He's a friend! Just a friend! And I wasn't sneaking him in, he just... stopped by. Unexpectedly. For a project."
"A project," Danny repeated slowly.
"Yes! A school project. The history one I told you about. We're partners."
Danny looked at her, then at the tea-stained newspaper, then back at her. He looked like he wanted to believe her but was struggling to reconcile what he thought was the truth with what she was saying.
"So... The sneaking out?" he asked weakly.
"I went for a run," Taylor insisted, clinging to the lie with desperate strength. "At night. Because I couldn't sleep. I didn't realize I woke you. And Isaac—his name is Isaac—he just came by to drop off some notes. That's it."
She hoped to everything that is and would be that she wouldn't come to regret throwing out his name. She couldn't exactly say Tenno was in her room. It made no sense and tied her to some sort of hero work.
Danny held her gaze for a long moment. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders relaxed. He let out a long, ragged breath, picking up his ruined newspaper.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. I... I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, kiddo. I just worry."
"I know, Dad," Taylor mumbled, staring resolutely at her plate. "It's fine."
"And the... protection talk..."
"We are never speaking of this again," Taylor cut in fiercely.
"Agreed," Danny said quickly, picking up his fork. "Agreed."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the air thick with lingering embarrassment. Taylor focused on her food, her heart still racing from the near-miss. She had to be more careful. Much more careful.
"Soo…When do I meet him?" Danny asked after a while, his voice carefully neutral.
Taylor groaned. "Dad."
"Right. Sorry."
-----------------------------
Lisa Wilbourne stepped into her personal apartment inside the loft, shutting the door firmly behind her. The click of the latch was a familiar sound, usually a signal for her to relax, to let the mask slip and the constant, low-grade hum of her power dial back from a roar to a manageable whisper.
Today, it didn't work.
She leaned back against the cheap wood, exhaling slowly through her teeth. Her head throbbed—a sharp, stabbing pain right behind her eyes that had been building steadily since dawn. She had spent the last three days combing every corner of the building, the surrounding blocks, and even the digital local network for any sign of surveillance.
Nothing conclusive. No electronic bugs, no strange vans parked on the corner, no capes loitering on rooftops.
Except for the claw marks.
She'd seen them on the side of a brick building across the street, gouged deep into the mortar about fifteen feet up. At first glance, they looked like the work of Bitch's dogs. But her power had rejected that immediately, feeding her a stream of data that contradicted the visual evidence.
Too high. Spacing inconsistent with canine gait. Too clean. Not made by biological claws. Metal. Hardened alloy. Recent. Made by something heavy moving very fast.
She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the ache. They were being watched. She knew it with the same certainty she knew gravity would hold her to the floor. But by what, she didn't know.
She pushed off the door and walked to her desk, pulling out her phone. The screen lit up, glaring in the dim light of the room.
Coil: Heist is green-lit for Thursday.
She stared at the message, her lip curling into a snarl. The sight of it nearly made her blood boil. If she didn't know better, she would think he was ignoring her.
Information not received. Or received and discarded. Interference likely.
She suspected this already. That something was actively filtering her intelligence. Whether it was some kind of Ten-Zero jamming technology, a cyber-attack on Coil's servers, or that oily PR manager from the Tenno group she half-suspected was an AI, her warnings were hitting a wall.
She had tried burner phones, coded messages, even physical dead drops—none of it had worked.
She tossed the phone onto the bed without responding, watching it bounce.
Normally, she wouldn't lift a finger to help the snake if he didn't threaten her. Coil had recruited her at gunpoint and was a monster who played with people's lives like chess pieces, and she was one of his knights. If Ten-Zero really wanted him dead, she'd happily step aside, pour herself a drink, and watch the show.
But they likely didn't and that wasn't how she wanted to win against him. She wanted to outsmart him. She wanted to be the one who walked away with the keys to the kingdom while he burned.
And more importantly… no one really escaped Ten-Zero.
Not unless you were a joke villain everyone already treated as harmless—a rogue in all but name. So even if she turned on Coil and sold him out to Ten-Zero, it wouldn't spare her or the Undersiders from being arrested for association to him or revenge-killed by the snake when the revolving door of the PRT let him out.
Not that Brian or the rest could be convinced to turn on Coil. He needed the money, the reputation, and the stability to get custody of his sister. Alec was too lazy to rock the boat, and Rachel simply didn't care about the strategic nuance—she'd fight anyone who came for her dogs, even if it meant death.
It didn't help that her team was convinced they'd simply outplayed Ten-Zero, that their escape from them was a testament to their skill rather than a calculated mercy or luck.
Lisa wasn't nearly as optimistic. Those robotic bastards were probably still out there, watching and waiting. Waiting for the Undersiders to put on the mask, to step out of the unwritten rules of civilian life, so they had a reason to strike.
She paced the small room, her socks scuffing against the hardwood floor.
The question was simple, even if the answer wasn't: What could she leverage?
How did you fight an enemy that you couldn't see, that seemed to know your moves before you made them, and that had enough firepower to make a show of taking out an S-Class threat?
Lisa thought long and hard about the answers to such impossible questions until she gave up.
"Dammit, this is impossible." She cursed in frustration as she pulled at her hair. "Why the hell are they even here in the first place? Don't they have an Endbringer to punch out or something?"
That was the question that had been nagging at her since day one. Ten-Zero dealt with A or S-Class threats, natural disasters, and public relations. They hardly stuck their nose in mundane crime unless it was right in front of them because big players knew better than to act with them around. Brockton Bay was a dying port city with a parahuman crime problem. In the grand scheme of things, they were small fish.
So why were heavy hitters like Umbra and the Super Dominatrix swimming in their pool?
It didn't make sense. It was like sending a nuclear missile to kill a fly.
And as if a lightbulb went off in her head, Lisa realized something interesting about the night of Lung's capture.
Bug Girl.
She remembered the moment clearly. The Undersiders had been perched on a rooftop, ready to intervene—to help the Bug Girl.
Then the drone appeared. It had materialized out of thin air, decloaking right in the middle of the street to engage Lung.
Her power had latched onto it immediately.
Advanced. Autonomous. Built for stealth. Resembles other Ten-Zero drone units.
But the crucial detail wasn't the drone. It was the girl's reaction.
Surprise. Confusion. Relief.
The Bug Girl hadn't known the drone was there. She hadn't called it in. She had been just as shocked to see it as Lisa had been.
Then Umbra showed up. The face of Ten-Zero and one of its core members. He didn't just appear; he arrived with purpose.
Unconcerned about Lung. Not his primary objective. Here to help the girl.
The drone had treated him like the owner, like a subordinate awaiting orders. But the girl... the girl's body language had been telling. Wide-eyed behind her mask.
Surprised he was there. Relieved. Grateful. Familiar with him. He is familiar with her.
Why send a high-value asset like a stealth combat drone to shadow a random independent hero? Why send Umbra—one of the heavy hitters—to secure her personally?
Resource allocation disproportionate to target value. Unless target value is higher than estimated.
Lisa stopped pacing. She sat down on the edge of her bed, her eyes wide. She was getting close to something, she could feel it.
Judging by the speed of Umbra's arrival, he had been close. Very close. Or he had arrived via the Liset. Either way, the response time suggested an immediate protective detail.
Possible emotional investment. Likely related in civilian lives.
Lisa's lips twitched into a smile, despite the headache. It didn't matter exactly what the relationship was. All that mattered was that she now knew the girl was leverage.
Ten-Zero had shown their hand. They had a soft spot. A chink in their seemingly impenetrable armor.
And with them watching the Undersiders, waiting for a slip-up, then the Undersiders needed insurance.
And the Bug Girl was holding the policy.
Lisa picked her phone back up. She still didn't text Coil back. Instead, she opened a new note, hesitated, then threw it to grab a pen and notebook, her mind already spinning a web.
She needed to find out who the Bug Girl was. She needed to know her civilian identity. If Ten-Zero was protecting her that fiercely on the field, they were likely protecting her identity just as fiercely.
But if Lisa could find her... if she could get close...
She could use that. Whether to bargain or to threaten.
The game wasn't over. She could still win.