Taylor stepped into Blackwell’s office more than a little unnerved. She had expected Sophia to belittle her, to continue what Emma had started, and yet, she hadn’t. Whatever weird logic dictated Sophia’s life had apparently deemed her suffering to have been enough.
She didn’t buy it for an instant.
Something else was at play, but that wasn’t important at the moment, and likely wouldn’t be for the near future. Sophia was a hitch in the plan, as Taylor expected her to continue the bullying which she could use as further proof. Emma’s little song and dance would have to be enough, and she could cry later.
Shutting off all emotional responses had been necessary to not break down into tears. Emma’s words had been the most hurtful yet, using her mom’s death as a cudgel like that, there was no hope of getting her sister back, she had understood that in abstract, but this was the hammer blow that sealed it.
Her Emma was gone.
What an absolutely perfect sendoff for the shithole of a school. Now Taylor just needed to stick the landing. Blackwell wasn’t really watching her, she had her eyes on the crutches that were keeping Taylor upright. Sure, she had cheated to avoid showing weakness in front of Sophia, but right then, she wanted that weakness to shine.
“Have a seat, Ms. Hebert. This shouldn’t take long,” Principal Blackwell said. She watched as Taylor struggled to take the seat, nearly falling at one point in an unplanned slip that had Blackwell cursing under her breath. “I had no idea your injuries were this severe. I had heard Panacea visited you so I assumed—”
“Cut the shit,” Taylor interjected. “We told you exactly how bad I was. Does the term brain injury ring a bell? Panacea can’t do anything about that. I suffered permanent injury due to a long reported bullying campaign, one that your administration has ignored.”
“Without proof—”
Taylor slammed her fist on the desk, and immediately dialed back the pain receptors because that hurt like hell. “The locker was fucking proof you imbecile! You’ve always just looked the other way, and when the girl responsible comes to gloat about what she did, is it any surprise that I fought back?”
“Again, do you have proof?” Principal Blackwell said, her voice flat. “I already have two statements and will likely acquire more before the day is done. Tell me your version of events please. I have a student being sent to the ER over this, so I need to ensure the correct version ends up on the reports.”
“Check your email,” Taylor said. She continued to upload the files to the school’s servers and transfer them to Blackwell’s computer for easier viewing. “You’ll find all the proof you need.”
A skeptical eyebrow was her only response as Blackwell did just that. After another thirty seconds, her second eyebrow joined the first. Taylor followed along as she watched the first video, then the second, and a third, all showing the same events but from multiple angles and with varying volume of the dialog between them. It would have to be enough, because the final option was to use the footage she captured with her glasses.
Finally, after the last clip played, Principal Blackwell leaned back with a heavy sigh. “It would seem I owe you an apology.” She raised an immediate finger. “That doesn’t excuse what you did, but it does explain it.”
“Only took eighteen months,” Taylor said sharply. “I’ll be blunt, I want out of this school. I want you to file a request to have me expedited to the top of Arcadia’s transfer list due to extraordinary circumstances.”
“You assaulted a student,” Blackwell said in disbelief. “We should be talking about suspensions or expulsion, not a reward.”
“Oh, then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if this particular email winds up in the inbox of every reporter in Brockton.”
A ding sounded as the new message appeared, and Taylor could see the color drain from Blackwell’s face as she realized the implications of the timing. She opened the email and began to read. Not even thirty seconds in, Blackwell jumped to her feet and slammed her hands down on the desk.
“The hell is this?” she demanded.
“Blackmail,” Taylor said simply. “I wanted all the leverage I could get, so I hacked into the Winslow servers and found all of that. Before you ask, yes, I have off site backups if needed. My terms are simple, Arcadia, immediately. Any delays, and I start drip feeding this to the media. What do you want to bet that they’ll uncover more once they start poking?”
“Armsmaster contacted me about you,” Blackwell said. “You’re a suspected cape.”
A counter threat, not unexpected but still one that she had to take seriously. The Protectorate had been relentless and now they were breaking the supposed unwritten rules rather liberally. She’d have to thank Riley for giving her that primer on them, given it seemed everyone just assumed she already knew. If Blackwell knew she was a suspected cape, it was good odds half the gangs did as well.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Just for that, Taylor sent the first seed of a message to a single reporter. It would take them a week or two to trace the missing funds, but it would be enough to get someone poking at Blackwell regardless.
“Tread lightly,” Taylor growled, leaning forward as a dark expression blossomed on her face. “Capes tend to get violent when outed. For all you know, I already joined a gang, and you’re painting a target on one of their own. Always keep that in mind when you think about threatening a cape with exposure. They have nothing left to lose once their mask can’t protect them.”
Blackwell shrunk back at the raw venom in Taylor’s voice and she knew she had won. Armsmaster might be able to threaten Blackwell, but he wasn’t in the room with her. Taylor might have arrived with crutches, but there was never a sure way to tell with capes. One of the most feared capes currently active was the cute and tiny but oh so terrifying Bonesaw after all.
“Arcadia,” Blackwell said softly. “I’ll draw up the papers.”
“Now,” Taylor said. “You will complete them and hand them to me right now, no delays. I’ll ensure they’re filed today and the process will be complete within the week.”
Blackwell didn’t protest, she simply pulled a file from her desk, retrieved a few forms and began to write. Knowing that wasn’t sufficient, Taylor skimmed her documents folder, found a few missing forms and had them begin to print. Blackwell startled for a moment, but didn’t talk back for once. She simply stood and gathered the papers and added them to the pile.
An hour later Taylor was hobbling away with her ticket out of the school.
It wasn’t much of a surprise that Armsmaster was there waiting for her. Taylor glared at the armored figure, her grip on her crutches tightened as she hobbled forward. She was going to take the bus, which was still ten minutes off from its next stop, which meant she would have to deal with the self-righteous prick for the duration of her wait.
“Coming to check on the violent cripple?” Taylor asked, taking her steps carefully across the uneven ground, her crutches crunching in the half melted snow.
“A report was made,” Armsmaster said simply.
“Good for you,” she said, moving past him and to the bus stop bench. At least it was actually covered and dry, not all of them could boast that across the city. “Is this going to be a trend, you following me around? I might need to hire a lawyer and file for a restraining order if it is.”
“You are a suspected trigger that just assaulted a student,” Armsmaster said. “I could arrest you for that.”
“Go ahead,” Taylor said, struggling to sit. She couldn’t wait until she could let that particular charade drop. “Arrest a crippled girl for defending herself from the verbal assault of the person that crippled her. It’s all on video if you’re curious. Someone already posted it to Youtube.”
Armsmaster paused, she didn’t dare try to access his systems to see what he might be looking up, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he was already watching the video in question. Two minutes later, he would have finished it, no doubt setting it aside for further analysis. It’s what she would have done after all.
“That is still assault,” he finally said.
“Then arrest me, see how fast I can get a lawyer suing you for harassment and extortion,” Taylor said. “The only reason I had to return to Winslow was because you refused to hand over the results of the investigation unless I admitted to being a parahuman. I’m no law expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
It was. Dodge had consulted a lawyer named Calle and confirmed it.
The man was just itching to be cleared to pursue legal action, but agreed that letting them hang themselves just a bit more would make it all the sweeter. She had never thought her faith in the heroes would be shattered so quickly, but Armsmaster seemed particularly adept at shoving his armored foot into his mouth.
“I am allowed certain liberties when a suspected parahuman is involved,” he said after a moment.
“Of course you are,” she said as the bus finally arrived. She got to her foot with some effort, crutches tucked under her arms, and turned to the hero. “Well, this is your chance, arrest me. I’m fairly certain those recording on the bus would love to share that to PHO. Then I get to deal with the gangs coming to ask the same questions you are, and they might just do so with more lethal consequences.”
“All the more reason to join us,” he said.
“You seem so dead set that I have powers,” Taylor said. “What if you’re wrong? You’re putting my life at risk on a damn hunch, drawing attention just to satisfy your own urge to be right. I’ll say this one last time. Fuck. Off.”
With that, she hobbled to the bus, struggling to climb aboard the less than accommodating public transport. Armsmaster didn’t move to pursue, and for that she was grateful. It was one of the few that had bench seating along both rows of windows and standing room. That was odd, because such buses were rare in the city having been phased out decades ago. What concerned her however, were the two people eyeing her from the rear seats. A quick reference with her body analysis software seemed to confirm it.
There were a few capes that matched their general build, and she was glad to have taken the time to build the software in her free time. Still, the pair of them together did cement their identity to her software, especially once the software picked up that the woman’s eye was a prosthetic. Victor and Othala, members of the Empire Eighty Eight. It was all Armsmaster’s fault, there was no doubt in her mind of that.
Well, she would just have to deal with whatever play they were going to make, and the otherwise empty bus would be the perfect place to do so. She made her way to the back, and took her seat directly across from them, her crutches set aside as she subtly reactivated her leg but left it slack.
The bus lurched into motion and Taylor took a deep breath.
“If you’re trying to hide your affiliation, I would suggest long sleeves,” she said, gesturing to the eighty eight tattoo on the man’s arm.
He chuckled even as the woman grew slightly nervous. “You have a good eye, Miss Hebert.”
Taylor groaned. It seemed she wouldn’t be putting this off any longer. “Make your pitch already so I can tell you exactly what I told Armsmaster.”