It was dark. Thank god, it was dark. She could still smell it, the putrid stench of fermenting tampons intermingled with her own vomit making her dry heave. But she couldn't see them, had only caught a glimpse of them before she'd been shoved in here. That made it easier. It was, admittedly, a paltry consolation to the fact she was surrounded on all sides by used tampons left to rot, crouched in a dark locker not made to hold a teenage girl of slightly above average height. But it was something.

She briefly admired the amount of time and dedication they must have put into this little stunt. This was in a different league of bullying, far surpassing in size and scope anything she'd seen or heard of in person or on the net. Maybe not in the area of physical violence, thankfully less common among female adolescents, but they'd really gotten down and dirty with this one. Pulled out all the stops. No holds barred.

That was another thing, she supposed. Sure she was bullied, but not by wimps, or those who hurt others to hide crippling inner insecurities. No, her bullies were sadists of the highest order, queens among petty vindictive bitches everywhere. Let it never be said that Taylor Herbert settled for anything less than the best.

It was an empty reassurance. These were thoughts she occupied herself with so she wouldn't give in to the intense pressure of tears behind her eyes, to avoid suffering a total breakdown. After all, that's what they wanted, in the depth of their cold bitchy hearts. They wanted to see her crying on her knees, supplanted before them and unable to form a coherent thought through the overwhelming mental anguish she was suffering. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She wouldn't allow them to hear the sobbing she was barely holding back. I hate them, she thought fiercely. I hate them so much.

She held onto that anger, blocking out anything but the righteous indignation bubbling in her chest and overwhelming the tears that were now the furthest thing from her mind. She'd repay them for this. Her vengeance would be terrible. She'd destroy them. She stewed impotently in her fury, fantasies of painful retribution playing through her head like a broken record, each time more out of tune with the morals and ideals that normally bound her.

She stroked the fire of her anger, building it up methodically on a thousand tiny injustices, on the carcass of a friendship betrayed, on the stupid, petty, mindlessness of it all. She felt like she was straining for something just out of reach, on the edge of some great epiphany. Most of all though, more than Sophia's casual cruelty, Madison's catlike satisfaction or even Emma's still stinging betrayal of their old friendship, she resented herself. Her weakness. How helpless she was to do anything about the situation, even fight back. I'll never be that person again.

A dam broke. She was alone, floating in space, except she wasn't really there, because she didn't have a body and could see everything in all directions. But that wasn't important. What was important were the two things,twisting madly through space in a double helix like the universes very own DNA. Their movements were too fast to comprehend, galaxies hurling through space at near the speed of light seeming almost stationary by comparison. The things, the entities themselves, were massive, larger than the earth, larger than the milky way, folding and unfolding through dimensions, more multifaceted than Johnny Depp on a good day. Taylor could barely wrap her mind around them, they were so outside of a human's regular frame of reference. Taylor had never been religious, it just hadn't been part of her upbringing, but she couldn't help but think this is what god is supposed to look like. She briefly toyed with the idea of this scene painted on the Sistine Chapel, though she knew no physical representation could do it justice.

Even as they moved forward, untouchable in their magnificence, Taylor could see the truth. They were trailing shards behind them, crumbling apart, burning out like falling stars. She should've known they wouldn't last, nothing good ever did. Mom didn't. Why would these two be any different? Almost against her will, her attention shifted to a specific piece of the debris the entities left behind. It glowed, standing out gloriously against the dull shards surrounding it. It was a mistake. They were just leaving excess behind, redundancies, non-vital functions. This was important. This was part of what made them so special. This was a mistake. As if all it had been waiting for was someone to recognize its importance, it blinked at her. The blink felt like Appraisal. She somehow managed to feel self-conscious even without a body. It blinked again, and this time it conveyed Good Enough, or some alien equivalent thereof. Taylor struggled to muster up enough pride to feel offended. Then everything exploded.

She was standing in front of golden gates glowing with the power of the sun, on the edge of a vast store of knowledge she could barely comprehend. She was mesmerized by the grandeur she saw within, and as she stared into the light, the light stared back into her. It changed her body, elevating it into something worthy of its magnificence. And it burned. It scorched the color from her retina, burning her skin even as it healed it, bleaching her hair with its light, her hair which was her last link to her mother after Emma destroyed her flute. The light filled her, and for a euphoric moment it was just her and the light, and everything was complete and perfect and right. And she understood, this is mine. This light, and all the treasures it contained within it, were her's. Then suddenly it was over, and she was just Taylor in a dirty locker alone in an empty school. But that wasn't exactly true. She and Taylor were as different as night and day.

She placed her hands on the locker door and pushed. It buckled, crumbling like tin foil and crashing into the opposing wall with a sound like satisfaction. Taylor tumbled out in an undignified heap. She pushed herself up and stared down at the disgusting filth staining her hair and clothes. Unacceptable.

A golden portal appeared before her, and she reached elbow deep before pulling out to reveal a crystal bottle filled with a clear liquid that shined imperceptibly in the darkness. She uncorked it with her teeth and took a gulp, the impurities covering her dissolving into nonexistence. The bottle disappeared back into the vault with a flash of yellow.

Now for her clothes. She didn't have anything of this era fitting her specifications, so she decided to discard subtlety in its entirety and replaced her boring clothes with a splendid golden armor accented in blue and a red cloth flowing from the back of her waist like the bottom half of a cloak. Much better. A part of Taylor, the reasonable voice that reminded her of her mother, said, If we go home like that, Dad will know I have powers.

The hero-Taylor, the one who'd just thrashed a locker one handed, said, Let him know. We have nothing to hide. A thought occurred to her. Besides, who said we're going home right away?

Reasonable-Taylor had a bad feeling about this.

/

Her legs ached with restrained power as she walked at a sedate pace, enjoying the remaining light as the sun tucked behind the horizon, reflecting off the water of the bay. The thought of taking the bus left a bad taste in her mouth. As she strolled down the street casually, random passersby stopped and stared at her, some even taking pictures. She luxuriated in the attention, at the break from being boring bland Taylor Herbert. Occasionally she even stopped to pose. In an appropriately majestic manner, of course.

Is this what Emma feels like? She wondered. Emma hadn't started her dabbling in the modeling business until she'd stabbed her in the back, so Taylor'd never gotten the chance to ask. Forget her, her conscious whispered. We don't need her. We have powers now. We're special.

She watched the scenery get progressively sketchier as she moved closer to the docks. The passersby started looking less and less friendly and more and more intimidating or, failing that, gathered in a group. This was gang territory. Regular-Taylor would be cautious, wary of the danger of being a single woman in a bad neighborhood. Hero-Taylor, on the other hand, almost wished someone would try something, just to break the monotony. Finally growing bored of walking in public wearing solid gold armor, Taylor decided if no criminals were immediately apparent, she'd just have to find them.

Grabbing a young man with an Empire 88 tatoo on his left cheek by the throat, Taylor shoved him against the wall and kindly asked if he knew where she could find the nearest supervillain. He was reluctant at first, but Taylor managed to convince him of the urgency of her task with a few choice weapons from her vault. She didn't even have to cut him.

He directed her to a nearby dog-fighting ring, being presented by none other than Hookwolf himself, a real heavy hitter in the world of white supremacists. And a cape. Taylor felt a thrill run down her spine.

It was hardly the first thing that came to mind when you think "Illegal dog-fighting ring". It was a pharmaceutical store, small, quaint, conspicuous only because it looked so breathtakingly normal in such a run-down neighborhood. Taylor briefly wondered if she'd just gotten conned when she saw a pair of young men enter, one of which had 88 tattooed to the back of his neck. Well, that answers that question. She walked through the door in time to see the cashier bringing them into the back of the store. She smiled.

She followed them down some stairs into an unusually large basement. She heard it before she saw it, dozens of boos and cheers intermingled into a bloodthirsty call to arms. As she walked through the crowd, skinheads whispered in between themselves, pointing and gesturing in her direction. A mongrel finally got up the courage to confront her, no easy task for one of his ilk.

"You're not from 'round here. You a new recrui—

Taylor slapped him so hard he flew, bowling over several people in the process.

"The next time I hear any of you heathens associate yourselves with one such as myself, I'll kill you. Even whispering your name in the same breath as my own is deserving a fate worse than death. Be grateful for my mercy."

What did she just say? Taylor would never do something like that. She'd never had such an inflated sense her own self-worth, nor would she threaten someone just for trying to talk to her. Especially not a gang member, in a secret underground base surrounded by dozens of his buddies. She almost started to freak out, panicking at the retribution that was sure to come. They were already gathering themselves, getting out weapons, mumbling angrily between themselves.

Until she remembered one crucial fact: she was a parahuman. And not just any parahuman either, her power seemed like an infinite well, an avalanche barely held back by the walls of her restraint. I could take all of them, she realized. It wouldn't even be hard. It was on the cusp of this realization that she saw him, a giant of a man, covered from head to toe in metal spikes that emerged from his very skin. Hookwolf.

"You seem awfully confident, but I've never heard of you. Perhaps you'd do well to realize you're not the only parahuman in this club." His voice was gravelly, rough but not uncultured. This man was sharp, not just physically, but mentally. He seemed to think she'd be intimidated by him, and it gave her great pleasure to do exactly the opposite.

"And perhaps you'd do well to realize when you're out of your league. Perhaps there's a reason no one's ever heard of me." No one missed the implication. Go on Taylor, just keep digging that hole a little bit deeper, she thought to herself morosely. She had no control over the situation. The only option was to escalate.

Plus, she was enjoying herself. This boasting, the threats, the chance to prove her superiority. It was tantalizing. She was standing up for herself for what felt like the first time, and nothing could stop her. Nothing.

Hookwolf seemed to have had enough of this back and forth, and she suspected he was just stalling to get his minions time to get out from under our feet. This was a parahuman fight, the big boy league. They didn't belong here.

The tension was building, and they were both eager for a fight. She could tell Hookwolf was strong, and he had a lot more experience both with his power and with fighting in general. But she was absolutely sure of her own victory. Despite never having actually fought once in her life, despite not even knowing what offensive powers she had at her disposal, she was completely confident. It was absurd. Even she could tell this was arrogance to the point of foolishness, but she couldn't stop. She was going to win. That was all that matters.

He charged forward, transforming into a giant wolf of whirring metal mid-jump. Damn, he was fast. But not fast enough. She smirked, and let go of the floodgates she was holding back. Pools of rippling golden light appeared around her, weapons sticking out and ready to launch. Each was unique and beautiful in its own way, a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Inhuman. They exploded forward, going from completely inert to breaking the sound barrier with a thought. Golden light trailed behind them, making them look almost like lasers to the uneducated mind. But they were much more dangerous.

Hookwolf dodged two, dashing to the right the second he saw the the golden pools of light. He wasn't stupid, this parahuman was obviously new, and had reason to believe their power was strong enough to take him down. That, or she was mad, which admittedly was probably the more likely option. The pools of light swerved towards him, and he wasn't fast enough to dodge the next barrage. They crashed into him like tank shells, physically rocking him back, crumpling his form wherever they pierced and exploding, causing even more widespread damage. Any ordinary parahuman, even a brute, would no doubt be dead. If it wasn't for the protection offered by his core, he would have died.

He briefly contemplated retreat in order to inform Kaiser of this new development, but it felt too much like cowardice. This was what he'd been waiting for. A worthy opponent. Someone that could make him feel that heady rush of fear and knows, his opponent might even manage to kill him. The thought sent a thrill down his spine. He abandoned the wolf form in its entirety, this time creating some kind of snake centipede hybrid. He encircled her and closed in, trying to constrict her in a sick parody of an iron maiden. He was curious if she could point her portals in more than a single direction. She did even better, placing them above him parallel to the ground and launched weapons that sheared through his body, pinning him to the floor. That material was abandoned, and he managed a quick retreat by rolling backward in a spiky ball. He disliked forms without limbs, but he couldn't afford to hold back here.

His retreat had created a cover of dust he could use to plan his next move—Slam! A weapon pierced through his center, almost getting his core and ending his life. More came and he rolled desperately to the left. He managed to look in her direction, and saw her standing in a relaxed posture, staring into an intricate mirror that floated before her. What sort of power did she have? The mirror was what she seemed to be using to find him so easily, as she didn't have to look up to keep firing in his direction. Some kind of tinker power? That'd explain the diversity, but she was too new to her powers and a tinker needed time in order to create their weapons.

He'd formulated an angle of attack. He rolled forward at his top speed, colliding violently with the weapons heading straight for him. He was literally ripped in two, but he'd weakened a crack in his body in such a way that when he ripped, his core was launched forward, continuing his previous momentum. He collided against the discarded carcass of the the metal snake and was instantly linked to every weapon that made it up. Now, this was the coup de grace. When he'd been intending to crush her, he'd placed weapons into the ground like the roots of a tree. He'd grown several branches directly under her and with a grunt of effort, they pierced upwards, impaling her where she stood. Her eyes widened with panic as she realized what was happening, before she was obscured by the dirt kicked up by the attack.

He heard the result before he saw it. A half-mad laugh escaped her throat, the completely honest, relieved laugh of someone who'd just avoided death by a hair. It went on just long enough to be uncomfortable before cutting off abruptly. The dust cleared and she stood there, completely unbothered, her armor pristine, not a hair out of place. The swords that had tried to pierce her armor were either broken or bent. And she was staring at him. She smiled.

Light exploded into existence around her, and he suddenly had hundreds of weapons aimed directly at his half destroyed spherical body. She raised a hand above her head, slowly, relishing her victory. For that was what it was. He'd played all his cards, and he'd been unable to even injure her. Perhaps if he could get at her head, the only part of her body uncovered by armor, he might've been able to kill her, but she'd never let him get that close again. He didn't bother backing up, there was nowhere to hide.

"You put up quite a fight, but in the end even you were unable to resist me. But you've caught my interest. If you beg, I might even let you live on as my personal servant." She was as arrogant as she'd been when he first met her, but he was beginning to think she might be justified in it. After all, was it really arrogance if you were right?

"I will die bested by a superior opponent, I have no regrets." That was a lie. True, he'd always imagined himself dying in some heroic last stand, ideally securing their cause for future generations. But he did have regrets. He regretted not being able to stay with Kaiser and watch the rise of a new and better world. He regretted that his death would be a huge setback for Empire 88, with no second in command ready to replace him. Maybe Purity, if Kaiser could convince her to join again. Victor might've been ready in a few years, but not yet. He didn't even bother mentioning Kaiser's son Theo, who was both too young and too uncommitted to the cause to even be considered.

But most of all, he regretted not being able to injure this bitch right in front of him, with her arrogant smirk and obnoxious golden armor. He'd been recuperating from that huge exertion while she had been waiting for his answer. Foolish, giving him time to recuperate. Despite her power, she was still inexperienced. It made his defeat at her hands all the more galling. Still, he'd rather die standing on his own legs, in the form he felt most at home: A giant metal wolf of whirring weapons. He transformed, bigger than he'd ever been, one with his power in a way that left him exhilarated. He could make more weapons faster, control them with more finesse, move them at higher velocities. He was reliving his trigger event, facing off against a vastly superior opponent without a chance of winning. He'd won then. Could he win again, defy the fates one last time?

She smirked, apparently finding his stubbornness amusing."Going for one last stand? I thought you were smarter than that. I suppose I have no choice but to finish you." She brought her arm down in one swift, authoritative motion, a veritable wall of inhumanly perfect weapons flying forward even as he charged her in one last, desperate gambit.

Swords struck his body, making him stumble, but still he advanced. The wounds piled up, the weapons blocking up the whirring of his body, interfering with his movement. But still he advanced. He lost one leg, then his head, but that was fine because his brain was where his heart should be, and it didn't contain anything but his eyes, which he hardly needed at this point. She wouldn't move. She hadn't stepped from her position the entire fight, and she wouldn't start now. Her pride wouldn't allow it. So he kept moving forward, step by excruciating step, until he stood before her, towering over her puny human sized body.

Was this what he'd been so afraid of? This little girl? He smiled without a mouth as his brain shut down, his core having already been pierced several times. The giant metal wolf stood, beaten and battered but still standing, the person who controlled it absent. This was his final message to the world, a declaration of his struggle against an insurmountable enemy.

Taylor inspected the statue, before smirking slightly and pressing one gauntleted hand against it. She traced the swords curiously and with a slight push tipped it over, observing what was left of the once proud warrior collapse into itself, just a messy collection of blades. She watched it for a second, contemplating the corpse of the man she'd killed before turning away, and walking towards the stairs. She didn't look back.

/

Taylor woke up to the sun piercing through her window. She yawned, stretching like a cat as she did so. She felt slightly drained, what happened last night? Her eyes widened as it came back to her, and she almost fell off her bed in shock. Who was that last night? Had her powers somehow changed the way she thought? She'd killed a man last night. She'd walked around in golden armor without a mask, exposing her identity to the world. People had taken videos. And she'd assaulted a member of Empire 88, the one gang in the city with more capes than the local protectorate. She stumbled out of bed and ran to the bathroom.

She'd thought she couldn't be anymore shocked, but what she saw in the mirror blew past her numbness. She looked...different. The most notable difference was her coloring. Yesterday she'd been pale, almost unnaturally so, and she'd had dark brown hair and eyes. The person staring back at her had golden brown skin, blood red eyes and hair bleached blond by the sun. But it was more than that. Ignoring the coloring, her mouth was less wide, her cheekbones higher. The slope of her nose was different. She looked like her mother.

She wasn't what anyone would consider a model, but she liked how she looked now. This was herself as she'd always wished to be. This was her own idealised version of herself. All the little imperfections she'd obsessed over, those were all gone. She was recognizable, but undeniably different. She had a figure now, for one. Not an impressive one, her bust was still small, but she didn't look quite so wafer thin. There was definition in her arms and legs. Was this all a consequence of her power? Making her an ideal version of herself?

Staring into a strangers eyes, it all came crashing down on her. The locker. The Beings. Hookwolf. The changes in her own body. Would her mother even recognize her? She curled up in a ball and cried for the first time since her mother's death.