My World My Justice Ch.22

I'm getting absolutely destroyed at Guilty Gear, and it's seriously starting to hurt my old gamer pride. I knew Futaba was good, but this is just ridiculous. She's chaining combos like it's nothing, taking me from full health to zero in what feels like seconds. I can't even get a single punch in.

The controller creaks ominously in my grip, and I quickly set it down before I accidentally crush it. Again. I reach for a different controller and grab another game from the game pile: Crash Tag Team Racing.

"Ooh, switching genres to save your dignity?" Futaba teases, already grabbing a bag of chips and settling back into her pillow fortress. "Sure, we can play that! But don't think you'll do any better at racing!"

‘At least racing games are more even ground. Though I should probably look for Mario Kart or F-Zero GX next time in my apartment; those are way better than this knockoff version.’

Either way, I'm having fun. I missed this. Just sitting in front of a TV, playing games for hours without worrying about anything, really.

We're neck and neck through most of the race, Futaba occasionally cursing through a mouthful of chips when I manage to overtake her. She's surprisingly competitive, leaning into every turn like it'll help her kart go faster.

"Come on, come on!" she mutters, fingers crushing the buttons. "Don't you dare blue shell me, you stupid AI!"

Blue shell is exclusive to Mario kart tho.

Last lap, last curve, and we're both gunning for first place. That's when I spot the perfect opportunity.

"JUSTICE BOMB!" I shout, launching a perfectly timed explosive that nails her kart right before the finish line.

Her character spins out spectacularly, allowing a CPU racer to cruise past both of us for first place. I claim second, leaving Futaba in third.

She shoots up from her pillow pile like a rocket, pointing at the screen with both hands. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was totally cheap! You can't just—ugh!" She throws her hands up in exaggerated frustration. "I demand a rematch! Best two out of three!"

I just grin at her and make the universal "cry about it" gesture with my hands.

Futaba pouts dramatically, crossing her arms as she flops back onto her cushions. "Hmph. Fine. Whatever. I let you win that one, anyway." She pauses, then glances at me sideways. "Okay, maybe I didn't, but still!"

After a moment, she sighs and puts down her controller before she sucks her fingers crumbs and then her expression shifting to something more thoughtful.

"You know," she says, absently crunching on more chips, "now that I think about it, we don't actually talk much about each other. Like, real bonding stuff beyond hero work."

I look at her curiously.

Her eyes suddenly light up. "Yeah! Bonding events! If we do proper character development dialogue, I could raise our affection levels and unlock deeper friendship conversations! And then BOOM, I get bonded and get all my power back! It's basic relationship mechanics!"

Gamer girl applying video game logic to real life. Classic.

I roll my eyes but decide to humor her, giving her a nod of approval.

She clears her throat dramatically and sits up straighter, like she's about to give a presentation. "Okay! Formal introductions once more! I'm Futaba Sakura, also known as Oracle, Navi, Hermit, HoneyOTU, or Medjed depending on what you might prefer!" She counts off on her fingers. "I like video games, especially visual novels with good storylines, programming, curry that doesn't require me to leave the house, and staying up way too late. I dislike crowds, loud noises, people who don't appreciate games, and—" She pauses, thinking. "Oh! And people who spoil anime endings. That's like, the worst."

That's... actually kind of adorable. A complete otaku-gamer girl.

"Your turn!" she says eagerly, bouncing slightly in her seat. "And don't give me that superhero introduction stuff with all the booming and justice speeches. I want the real deal. Like, I know you're a contractor, so technically the protagonist soooooooooooo… what's the actual story?"

I sigh, leaning back against the couch. Guess it was time to talk about it.

I pull out my phone and start typing rapidly in the notes app before showing her the screen. 'Yeah, I'm a contractor. But not the usual kind you know.'

I run a hand through my hair and continue typing. 'I'm a company clone of the real contractor. Brought into this world after some kind of company game show auction. The Host called me "second generation," which made me realize the original me got sent somewhere else first.'

Futaba's eyes widen, her chip bag momentarily forgotten as she leans forward. "Wait, wait, wait. Clone? I thought the company only created Waifu clones, didn’t they?"

I type again. 'I thought so too, one moment I was getting ready to move onto my chosen world and the next moment I woke up in a giant test tube.'

"Duuuuuuuuuuuuude, that's messed up," she mutters with a grimace. "But also kind of cool in a sci-fi way! So where'd the original you end up?"

'The original me is probably living some power fantasy adventure right now, surrounded by his harem and infinite power-ups.'

That feels a little personal against myself, though.

'Meanwhile, I'm stuck in what's basically a grimdark death world where monsters and entities can erase you from reality with a thought, despite me being virtually invulnerable.'

Simurgh, Scion... no joke. And probably other S-class threats I don't even know about yet.

'Oh, and the first me is stuck in Adam Taurus's body in an even more fucked up RWBY world with apartheid on steroids.'

Futaba goes quiet for a moment, processing this information. Then her face suddenly brightens with recognition.

"Wait! The original you went to RWBY?" When I nod, she practically bounces in excitement. "Oh man, ignoring the existential crisis and death world aspects, RWBY seems like a pretty cool place! I mean, the weapons, aura, the semblances, the—" She stops herself. "Actually, Weiss mentioned her world a bit when we hung out. Yeah, Weiss Schnee. She's... was a friend of mine. Total geek for games and tabletop stuff, which really surprised me considering her whole reputation."

I raise an eyebrow and type. 'Small multiverse, apparently.'

"Right?!" Futaba grins. 

She pauses, then claps her hands together with renewed enthusiasm. "Okay! Since you shared the heavy existential stuff, fair's fair. My turn to spill some secrets since you don’t actually know me!" She clears her throat dramatically, then her expression becomes more serious.

"So, uh, I wasn't always the confident, amazing hacker you see before you," she begins, fidgeting with the controller. "I used to be... a little messed up. Like, couldn't-leave-my-room, thought-everyone-hated-me kind of messed up. Had some trauma stuff with my mom dying and thinking it was my fault."

Her voice gets quieter. "Spent like two years as a complete shut-in. Only talked to people online, barely ate, the whole works. It was... not great."

I stop typing and just listen, recognizing this is important for her

"But!" she continues, her energy returning. "I got better! Had some friends help me realize I wasn't actually a terrible person, worked through the trauma, and now I can almost function like a normal human being! Well, a normal human being who happens to be a genius hacker, ultimate gamer and a lot more, but you know what I mean."

She leans forward, getting more animated as she talks. "I used to be part of this amazing group, you know? Like Weiss Schnee, Barbara Gordon, Tony Stark, Exia; among other really cool characters who actually liked games like me! We'd have these massive gaming sessions and D&D campaigns that would go on for literal days since Tony built these super cool holographic tables!" Her eyes light up with genuine joy at the memory. "And my contractor, the one who helped me get better in the first place, was..."

Her hands freeze mid-gesture. The words catch in her throat like they've hit a wall.

"Was... was...was… was?" she repeats, her voice becoming smaller with each attempt.

I tilt my head, urging her to continue.

Futaba blinks rapidly, her eyebrows furrowing. Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly. She touches her temple, rubbing small circles like she's trying to massage a thought loose.

"That's weird," she mutters, more to herself than to me. "I was just about to say a name, but..."

Her hand drops. The color starts draining from her face.

"I... I-I don't..." She swallows hard, her eyes darting back and forth. "How do I not know their name? We talked every day for years!"

Her breathing starts coming faster. She presses both hands against her head now, fingers tangling in her hair.

"Think Futaba, think, think, THINK!" she whispers urgently. "Brown hair? Blonde? Short? Tall?" Each question comes out more desperate than the last. "Boy? Girl? I should know this! Why can't I—"

Her eyes go wide, pupils dilating as the full realization hits her. The bag of chips tumbles from her lap, scattering across the floor.

"Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god." The words spill out in a breathless rush. "Their face is just... there's nothing there. It's like someone took an eraser to my brain and just—" She makes a violent scrubbing motion with her hands. "Gone! All of it!"

I only watch as my companion is hyperventilating now, each breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Her hands shake as she grips the sides of her head, knuckles turning white.

"How could I forget?!" The words tear out of her throat, raw and anguished. "They saved me! They cared about me when no one else did, and I can't even remember what they looked like!"

Tears start streaming down her cheeks as she rocks back and forth slightly. "What kind of person forgets someone who—who—" She can't finish the sentence, choking on her own words.

I reach over and flick her forehead—not hard, just enough to snap her out of the spiral.

"Ow!" she yelps, the hit jolting her back to the present. She blinks rapidly, her breathing still uneven but starting to slow down. "Oh... thanks. Thanks for snapping me out of that."

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by her gradually steadying breaths. She wipes her face with the back of her sleeve.

"That's... that's really fucked up," she says quietly, all that energy gone from her body. "How did I never notice? How do you just... lose someone like that and not realize it for years?"

I type on my phone and show her. 'What about the others? Do you remember them?'

She nods slowly, though her expression remains haunted. "Yeah, I remember them perfectly. Every stupid joke Tony made, every time Barbara got competitive, every moment Weiss pretended not to care about winning or Roll…." Her voice cracks again. "But in every memory where my contractor should be, there's just this... absence. Like a person-shaped hole cut out of my life."

Her hands clench into fists in her lap. "I can remember sitting around Tony's holotable, laughing at something hilarious, but I can't remember who said it. I remember feeling safe and cared for, but I can't see who was making me feel that way." She looks up at me with hollow eyes. "How is that even possible?"

She's spiraling again. 

I clear my throat and speak up, letting my voice take care of the situation.

"FEAR NOT, FRIEND FUTABA!" I boom dramatically, striking a heroic pose from the couch with one fist raised skyward. "For though the memories may be shrouded in the darkest of shadows, the bonds of true friendship transcend the cruel machinations of corporate villainy! Your friends carry the light of their shared adventures in their hearts, as you carry theirs!"

The sheer absurdity of my delivery breaks through her anguish. She starts with a small snort, then breaks into genuine laughter, wiping fresh tears from her eyes.

"Oh. My. G-God." she giggles, her voice still shaky but warming up. "Only you could make an existential crisis sound like a cheesy 80s cartoon." She takes a deeper breath, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Thanks, Daniel. I-I might need some time to think but really, thank you. Sometimes the most ridiculous solution is exactly what works."

Mission accomplished, I guess. 

She takes another deep breath, wiping the last of the tears away with her sleeve and adjusting her glasses. "You know what? You're absolutely right. Even if there's this... gap... the good times I can remember are still real. Those feelings don't just disappear because some company assholes messed with my head."

I type on my phone. 'Plus, mysteries you can't solve are just going to drive you crazy. Trust me, I know.'

"Yeah, no kidding," she says, managing a genuine smile now. "Besides, I've got new friends to make memories with. My heroic contractors who can't turn off the cape speech even during casual conversation."

I roll my eyes. 'It's not by choice.'

She snorts with laughter. "Which honestly makes it even better! So authentic! No fake ham, just pure, unfiltered justice cheese." She grins wickedly. "It's like having my own personal superhero sitcom or manga."

I give her a flat look, which only makes her giggle more.

"Sooooooo," she says, bouncing slightly as she reaches for her controller, "want to go another round? I promise not to have any more existential breakdowns during gameplay."

‘What about between matches?'

"Hey, a girl's gotta keep some mystery in her life!" She huffs dramatically, giving an exaggerated pout. "Can't promise anything during loading screens."

We're just about to start up another race when a phone starts ringing from across the room. The ringtone is some chiptune version of a song I don't recognize, coming from a different phone sitting on her cluttered desk.

"Huh, that's my work phone," she mutters, but gets up to check it anyway, stepping carefully around the scattered chip crumbs. "Usually people just send messages, not actual calls..."

She glances at the screen, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "Oh shit, this actually is important."

Futaba moves a few steps away and answers with her best professional voice. "Oracle here. What's the situation?"

There's a pause as she listens, then her expression shifts to confusion.

"Wait, wait, slow down," she says, holding up her free hand even though the caller can't see it. "You're saying what now?"

She actually takes the phone away from her ear to stare at it in disbelief before putting it back.

"Are you being serious right now? Like, actually serious?" Her voice rises with excitement. "That's... that's actually perfect timing. Hold on."

She glances over at me with growing excitement, then back to the phone.

"Yeah, I might actually have someone who can help with this." She pauses, listening. "Trust me on this one. They won’t be able to escape this one."

The call ends, and she turns back to me with the biggest, most mischievous grin I've seen from her yet. 

"Hey Daniel," she says, drawing out my name like she's savoring it, "how do you feel about some high school justice?"

-----------------------------

-Taylor Hebert, Buzzwing-

Taylor sat rigidly in one of the chairs outside the principal's office, her hands folded tightly in her lap. This was exactly what she'd expected after getting into a fight—or rather, after finishing one that Sophia had started.

Even with her new strength and speed gained from training, which was still a big surprise, Sophia actually knew how to fight. Really fight.

Not trying to scratch or pull hair like typical schoolyard scuffles, but throwing real punches and kicks. She'd quickly overpowered Taylor with grappling moves and painful locks that spoke of the fact that the girl was more than a popular athlete, not just bullying tactics. Part of Taylor's face was burning and swelling where Sophia had landed a particularly vicious hit that sent her glasses flying across the bathroom floor, and broke them.

‘Oh right. I lost my glasses in that fight.’

‘But at least I got more hits in than she expected,’ Taylor thought with grim satisfaction. ‘She wasn't expecting me to fight back at all. The look on her face when my first punch connected…’

She was pretty sure she'd given Sophia a black eye in return. Or at least a severely swollen one.

Of course, Taylor had thought about using her powers—calling the spiders in the bathroom corners to help her. But she hadn't, not only because it would have been catastrophic for her secret cape identity, but also because there weren't any useful insects nearby. The few spiders in that bathroom were too venomous to risk, and she wasn't desperate enough to potentially kill someone.

Heroes don't kill, after all.

Then the staff had come rushing in, pulling them apart and ending the fight. By now, the entire school probably knew about it. Plain, quiet Taylor Hebert had actually thrown punches at Sophia Hess, one of the trio's leaders.

‘So it's a complete mess,’ Taylor thought miserably. ‘A mess that Dad has to come deal with.’

She swallowed hard, thinking about what would happen next. It was impossible not to think about it, especially knowing that Principal Blackwell would take Sophia's side without question.

Suspension? Expulsion?

‘And then there's Emma's dad being a lawyer... ‘

The thought made her stomach clench. ‘Sophia could make up some lie, claim I attacked her unprovoked, and suddenly we're dealing with legal issues. Dad and I don't have money to hire a lawyer to fight back against whatever story they concoct, or to appeal whatever decision the school board makes.’

That wasn't fair. It never was fair when it came to the trio's treatment of her, or this miserable school that looked the other way at every opportunity.

‘But that's not what matters most right now,’ she realized with growing dread. ‘What matters is what True Might will think when he hears about this.’

What would he think? Disappointed? Angry? Would he see this as a failure of everything he'd been trying to teach her about justice and heroism?

‘No!’ she told herself firmly. ‘I trust him. If I explained it to him, he would understand... at least I think he would... no, he WILL help me.’

But then reality crashed down on her again. She didn't know how to contact him outside of their training sessions. He'd never given her a phone number or any way to reach him. Their meetings were always scheduled in advance, and the next one wasn't for two days since he wanted her to rest.

Two days of Dad being disappointed in her. Two days of wondering if she had ruined everything.

Despite her emotional turmoil, Taylor's analytical mind kept working. Sophia knew how to fight—really fight. Not just the casual bullying and pranks, but actual combat techniques. Where did she learn that? And why did she seem so... desperate? Like she had something to prove?

She touched her swollen cheek gingerly, wincing at the tenderness. I held my own better than expected, but I'm still not strong enough. True Might's training is helping, but I need more time. More practice.

Would Buzzwing have handled this differently? 

That kind of thought came to her. 

Would the Winged Guardian of Justice have found a way to stop Sophia without it coming to blows? Or would she have stood firm and declared that justice would not be denied?

The sound of familiar footsteps in the hallway made her look up. Dad was here, his face creased with worry rather than anger. That was something, at least. His eyes immediately went to her swollen face, and she saw his jaw tighten.

Taylor straightened her shoulders slightly, drawing on True Might's lessons about facing adversity with dignity. Whatever came next, she'd face it honestly.

Her father's expression was going through a lot, concern, anger, and other things she couldn’t deduce.

"Jesus, Taylor," he said quietly, kneeling down beside her chair. His large hands hovered near her face before he gently touched her uninjured cheek, though even that light contact made her wince. "Are you okay? What happened to your glasses?"

"They broke in the... in the fight," Taylor admitted, her voice smaller than she intended. 

She searched his face for the bad signs, for the same look of helpless resignation she'd seen so many times when dealing with her problems at school. Instead, she saw something she hadn't expected, approval?

"You fought back," Danny said, and it wasn't a question. "After all this time, you finally fought back."

Taylor weakly nodded, then winced as the movement pulled at her swollen cheek. "Dad, I'm sorry. I know this is going to cause problems, and with Emma's dad being a lawyer—"

"Stop. Don't apologize for defending yourself, Taylor. Don't you dare apologize for that." He paused, running a hand through his thinning hair. "I should have... we should have dealt with this situation a long time ago. That's on me, not you."

‘He's not disappointed?’ Taylor realized with growing surprise. ‘He's actually... proud?’

"I've been watching you these past few weeks," He continued. "Ever since you started training with True Might. You're different. Stronger. Not just physically, but..." He gestured vaguely, searching for words. "You stand up straighter. You smile more. You actually talk to me at dinner instead of just pushing food around your plate."

Hearing that, that was the moment when she felt tears prick at her eyes. "Dad..."

"I know I haven't been the best father," he said with a heavy tone. "After your mother died, I... I didn't know how to talk to you. I was so wrapped up in my own grief, trying to keep the union together, mounting payments, trying to keep us afloat, that I forgot you were grieving too. And then when things got worse at school..." His hands clenched into fists. "I let them hurt my daughter. I took their blood money to pay your medical bills when I should have burned this corrupt school to the ground."

"You're not a coward," Taylor said fiercely. "You work hard every day to take care of us. You—"

"But I failed you when it mattered most," Her dad interrupted. "I doubted you, Taylor. I doubted my own daughter. And it took a hero showing up at our door to help me see what was right in front of me." He looked at her and took a deep breath. "You're stronger than I ever realized. Braver than I gave you credit for. And today you proved it."

"You're not angry that I got in trouble?"

His laugh was short and bitter. "Angry? Taylor, I'm furious. But not at you." His expression hardened, and she saw the union leader who'd stared down men twice his size. "I'm angry at this school for letting it get this far. I'm angry at myself for not acting sooner. And I'm angry at whatever drove you to feel like you had to handle this alone."

‘He really does understand,’ Taylor thought, relief flooding through her. ‘He gets it.’

"True Might's been teaching you more than just physical training, hasn't he?" Her father asked, his voice gentler now. 

Taylor nodded, thinking of all the conversations they'd had about justice and heroism during their training sessions, or more like him bellowing about righteousness while she found herself shouting back with equal fervor.

And she wasn’t ashamed of any of that.

"Smart man," Danny nodded in approval. "And he's right. Your mother would have done the same thing." He paused, his expression growing distant for a moment. "She never backed down from a fight when she thought she was right. Sometimes that got her in trouble, but it was one of the things I loved most about her. She had that same fire you just showed."

Mom would have fought back too, Taylor realized. She wouldn't have just taken it.

Danny stood up, his jaw setting in a way that reminded Taylor of her own stubborn streak. The union leader was emerging, the man who'd gone toe-to-toe with corrupt officials and corporate lawyers. "Whatever Principal Blackwell tries to pull in there, we'll handle it together. And if they want to make this into a bigger legal issue, well..." He cracked his knuckles. "I might not be a lawyer, but years of union work taught me a thing or two about dealing with slimy bastards."

"What about True Might?" Taylor suddenly asked, voicing her biggest fear. "What if he finds out about this and thinks I'm not hero material?"

The words froze in her throat as she realized what she'd just said. Her father only knew about the training, nothing about her actually becoming a hero. She didn't even tell him about her powers or that she was already a registered cape.

However, his expression softened as a new smile formed. "Taylor, from what I've seen of that man, he believes that no injustice is too small to stand against. If anything, he'll probably be proud of you for putting his lessons into practice." He paused and let out a sigh. "But if you're really worried about it, why don't you ask him yourself?"

"JUSTICE COMING THROUGH!"

The booming voice echoed through the hallway, and Taylor turned to see True Might striding toward them, his exaggerated steps carrying the same wide smile as ever. And to stop he came to a dramatic stop directly in front of them, slamming his chest with a fist.

But then Taylor noticed he hadn't come alone. A blonde woman in a formal business suit walked behind him at a more measured pace, and Taylor's eyes widened as she recognized her as Carol Dallon—better known as Brandish, one of the most prominent members of the independent hero group New Wave, but also a renowned lawyer in Brockton Bay.

Taylor quickly got to her feet to greet him, ignoring the twinge of pain in her swollen cheek.

"YOUNG TAYLOR, STALWART DEFENDER OF RIGHTEOUSNESS!" True Might announced her name, his enthusiasm drawing stares from students and teachers alike who had gathered at a distance to gawk. "My justice sense felt a great disturbance, that my most dedicated ally of justice was suffering a grave injustice!"

"Wh-What? How did you—"

"I came as fast as possible, bringing with me another ally of justice!" True Might gestured grandly toward Carol Dallon. "Together, we shall fight this injustice with the power of law and righteousness!"

He punctuated this with a triumphant fist pump.

The woman sighed and stepped forward, adjusting her grip on the large briefcase she carried. "What he means is that True Might has been investigating your situation for some time now. He contacted me as soon as he learned of today's altercation to discuss potential legal action." She held up a thick manila folder from her briefcase. "All of his research is documented right here. And believe me, this was really surprising."

‘He's been investigating? This whole time?’ Taylor thought, stunned.

"This school has committed multiple serious violations," Carol continued, opening the file. "Deliberate negligence in providing a safe learning environment, failure to address documented harassment, conspiracy to cover up criminal acts that resulted in a student's hospitalization and harsh psychological damage, potential embezzlement of funds, and what appears to be systematic corruption involving local gang elements." Her eyes hardened as she flipped through pages. "Everything is documented here with evidence sufficient to pursue both criminal charges and civil litigation against everyone involved in this systematic abuse."

She looked directly at Taylor, her expression softening slightly. "I would have preferred to have more time to prepare, but since you were involved in an altercation with the primary perpetrator, we needed to act immediately to protect you from the inevitable retaliation and unfair punishment you would undoubtedly face."

"The forces of injustice thought they could hide in the shadows of corruption!" True Might declared, his voice carrying down the hallway. "BUT JUSTICE SEES ALL! JUSTICE REMEMBERS ALL! AND JUSTICE NEVER ABANDONS THE INNOCENT IN THEIR TIME OF GREATEST NEED!"

That was when her father stepped forward, his expression a mixture of gratitude and surprise. "I... thank you. Both of you. But how did you know to come here?"

Carol's professional demeanor remained intact. "He said his justice senses were tingling that how he knew and besides, he has been building a case against this institution for a long time based on this investigation. Principal Blackwell's misconduct, the systematic harassment enabled by staff members, the financial irregularities—it all paints a picture of institutional corruption that goes far beyond simple negligence."

"Miss Hess alone has committed assault, battery, destruction of property, and what legally constitutes torture, among other things I cannot mention out in the open due legal reasons." Carol continued, her voice taking on the cold precision of a prosecutor. "Miss Barnes has engaged in defamation, harassment, and conspiracy. Miss Clements has been complicit in all of the above. And Principal Blackwell..." She flipped to another section of the file. "Has committed criminal negligence, obstruction of justice, fraud, and potentially racketeering if our suspicions about her connections to certain criminal elements prove accurate."

Taylor stared at them both, her mind still processing everything that was occurring right in front of her. Her biggest hero had known about her situation even when she hadn't explicitly told him and tried to deflect or diminish it. He hadn't ignored her or looked away, he'd been working to protect her this entire time. All his lessons and teachings had been focused on helping her find the strength to stand up for herself, while simultaneously building a case to bring down the system that had failed her.

That was enough for her to feel the weight of everything; the fight, her father's support, and now this unexpected rescue. All of that came crashing down on her all at once. Tears could no longer be held back as they began streaming down her face, and she realized she wasn't alone, had never been as alone as she'd thought.

Without thinking, Taylor threw her arms around her hero, burying her face against his broad chest as sobs wracked her body. She felt his large hand come down gently on her head, patting her hair with surprising tenderness.

"There, there, young friend." True Might comforted her. "Only the strongest warriors can shed tears of relief after a long arduous battle. Because under my protection, there will be no more tears of sorrow, only tears of victory!"

She was going to become the best hero, just like him.

------------------------------------------

-Emily Piggot-

Emily's migraine intensified as she finished reading another report from Winslow High School. Her hands were trembling from barely contained rage. 

Every fiber of her being wanted to overturn her desk, hurl her chair through the reinforced window, and march straight to that cursed high school to personally strangle Sophia Hess's handler and beat Blackwell into unconsciousness. 

The rational part of her mind whispered that the exertion would likely kill her, given her deteriorating health, but at this moment, Emily was seriously considering it would be worth the sacrifice. She was tired, bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired of dealing with the endless parade of capes bullshit that defined her existence. 

Just when they'd received some moderately good news for once, the universe seemed to collectively decide to give her the middle finger because it hated her. Now they had a massive incident on their hands, one that was directly tied to the PRT ENE, or more specific their Wards, and they couldn't even keep it under wraps because that walking disaster True Might had conducted the investigation. Although Emily had deep suspicions he'd received help from Oracle, that mysterious Thinker who assisted every independent cape in Brockton Bay. No, it was beyond obvious that the Thinker did it in his stead and then handed him the investigation because he would make a big scene out of it because his ‘’’’’’justice’’’’’’ demanded him to act.

That thinker clearly didn’t like them as she knew what was going to happen once something like that became public. At least it wasn’t released to the public as some sort of tarnishing campaign.

And the worst part was that the muscle-brained idiot was practically Costa-Brown's pet project, and Emily ground her teeth at the thought. The Chief Director wasn't just sponsoring him out of some misguided sense of justice—she was also the director of a media conglomerate that had been formed specifically to spread True Might's name and deeds across the country and abroad.  She couldn’t even fathom what was the train of thought of that woman, it made even look like the PRT was straight up sponsoring vigilantism, unrestrained wild independents capes to act however they wanted and were above the laws.

Rather than attempting to control him and integrate him into their command structure, they'd let him run wild, dispensing his brand of "justice" with all the subtlety of a freight train and gaining so much support while indirectly  throwing dirt at the PRT.

But putting that aside, the incident that had triggered this particular nightmare was the cherry on top: Shadow Stalker, one of their own Wards, had essentially caused a trigger event in a civilian girl, who turned out to be the relatively new independent cape, Buzzwing. That alone was grounds for immediate imprisonment, she was going straight to juvie and as soon as that girl turned 18 she would be sent to a regular parahuman prison, as causing a trigger event was one of the most serious crimes. 

Triggers were unpredictable, dangerous, and potentially catastrophic. The new parahuman could manifest something as benign as growing an extra limb, or they could become a walking bomb capable of turning entire city blocks into smoking craters, or worse, much, much worse.

She was acutely aware of the precedents for that line of thought: in 2007, a triggered parahuman in Munich had undergone a transformation that turned him into a living biological weapon, releasing toxic spores that killed nearly seventy people before the German military with the help of the members of the Knights of the Round Table could contain the situation and prevent further tragedy. Or one not long ago, in 2009 in Dallas, according to investigation a group of kids threw another into a hole as some sort of prank and the victim triggered a massive fire that engulfed the forest trails, lots of injured people but no deaths.

These and more incidents had led to strict international laws regarding trigger events and severe penalties for deliberately causing them; she was aware that gangsters were also responsible for that but they usually paid with their lives or life sentences if they were ever caught; and Shadow Stalker had done exactly that. 

For a brief moment, Emily considered whether there might be plausible deniability, but then she remembered the thoroughness of the investigation. True Might, or Oracle, had compiled a complete report with timestamps, witness statements, even freaking video evidence, and a detailed timeline of events. Practically every spot for a solid case with no room for argument, any judge and jury would just side with the accuser unless there was direct manipulation or blatant corruption.

And since this was now a public lawsuit rather than an internal matter, the best they could hope for was a settlement, but the damage to the PRT ENE's reputation would be undeniable. Because Sophia Hess was their responsibility, and that brat was very much aware of the conditions of her probation.

She wasn’t escaping the consequences anymore.

And the Youth Guard…those self-righteous watchdogs who scrutinized every aspect of the Wards program, were absolutely going to hear about this, and Emily could already imagine the bureaucratic nightmare that would follow or that they would demand her to step down because at the end of the day she was still responsible for all of that and once she was taken care of they would replace her with a Yes-man who would bend over at anything any cape demanded from them.

A sharp knock interrupted Emily's brooding. She didn't look up from the reports scattered across her desk as she gave the order. "Enter."

Eraserhead stepped into her office, his disheveled appearance unchanged from every other visit. He didn't take a seat, he never did, just stood with his characteristic slouch and waited for her attention.

Emily finally raised her eyes to meet his. Even after working with him for a long time, his unblinking stare still unnerved most people. Not her. She'd stared down worse things than a tired cape.

"Report," she said curtly.

"We handled it as quickly and discreetly as possible after she escaped from Winslow," Eraserhead began, his voice carrying its usual monotone tone. "Velocity, Assault and Battery assisted. Velocity and Assault were essential to contain and limit her movement and Battery was able to deliver a controlled shock to incapacitate Shadow Stalker, then I nullified her powers long enough to apply the tinkertech restraints. Complete power suppression. She's in custody now."

"And?" Emily's fingers drummed once against her desk. 

"Armsmaster is conducting the interrogation along with Miss Militia."

"Results?"

Eraserhead let out a long sigh in frustration. "From what I observed during the capture and subsequent briefing, this incident occurred because Sophia was primed to explode or snap. She's been accumulating pressure points; attacks against her ego, more accurately."

Emily's eyes narrowed. She could already sense where this was heading, and it wasn't going to improve her mood. "Elaborate."

"Weeks ago, the Decency Patrol humiliated her as she was in her civilian identity. Collateral damage, not targeted, but it damaged her self-image as a predator. Then we discovered she'd been conducting unauthorized vigilante work with lethal bolts." His expression remained unchanged despite the severity of the breach and another nail in the coffin of that bastard who was supposed to keep an eye on the brat. "That stopped when the Case 53 known as Count Spankulot caught her and administered what can only be described as a thorough spanking."

Emily's eye twitched. That idiot was still out there causing problems all because one incompetent worker left the lockbox unsupervised. "Continue."

"From that point, she began lashing out at the other Wards, violating conduct protocols on public forums while using her cape identity. Multiple reprimands were issued. She ignored them all. Same as we learnt that she hasn’t been assisting her mandatory classes and therapy to help her manage her issues." His explanation was only making her more furious. "And then Mouse Protector began specifically targeting her. Consistently."

"Mouse Protector was targeting her?" 

"Consistently and deliberately."

Emily leaned back in her chair, her mind working through the implications. Mouse Protector, while effective, was a pain in the ass for everyone, but despite her childish behavior, that woman wasn't an idiot. She wouldn't randomly target a Ward without reason. Which meant she knew something and was deliberately keeping Shadow Stalker primed to explode at the slightest provocation.

"With multiple attacks on her persona and ego positioning her as prey rather than predator," Eraserhead continued, "she needed to reassert her beliefs and dominance. So she returned to her original victim. Taylor Hebert."

"What she didn't expect was for the girl to fight back. She'd been training with True Might after all."

Emily's jaw clenched so hard she could hear her teeth grinding. "It all comes back to that teenager."

"Yes."

She hadn't forgotten that True Might was essentially another brat who'd just grown large due to his trigger—another cape who thought his powers gave him the right to interfere with proper chain of command. And she hadn't failed to notice that Eraserhead approved of the kid's actions. She could tell by the slight softening around his eyes whenever True Might was mentioned, something approaching respect that galled her professional sensibilities.

It rankled her. Here was a professional hero, someone who actually understood the importance of structure and discipline, and even he was being influenced by him.

"Assessment of Shadow Stalker's current state?" Emily asked, forcing her voice back to its usual professional tone.

"Contained but unrepentant. She views herself as the victim in this situation and shows no remorse for causing a trigger event. Her psychological profile suggests she lacks the emotional development necessary for rehabilitation within our current framework."

Emily studied his face. Eraserhead didn't mince words or sugarcoat assessments, which was one of the few things she appreciated. "Your recommendation?"

"Transfer her to juvenile detention immediately. She's a liability to the Wards program and poses a continued threat to civilian safety. Any attempt to maintain her current status will compromise team cohesion and public trust even further."

"Agreed." Emily's response was immediate and final. "Either way, we need to face this PR disaster head-on. The Youth Guard will be breathing down our necks within hours, the media will have a field day, and Costa-Brown will want answers I don't have."

Eraserhead remained silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "There's another consideration. True Might's investigation was thorough—timestamps, witness statements, video evidence. He didn't just stumble onto this. Someone guided him to it or just handed it to him on a silver platter."

"Oracle." She almost hissed that name.

"Most likely. Though I don't believe this was an attack on the PRT's reputation." His tone carried careful consideration. "Oracle has provided support when we've requested it, and maintains working relationships with independent capes to ensure they address the problem as soon as possible and then direct the BBPD to the scene. This feels more like..."

"Like what?"

"A public call-out. Forcing us to address problems we've been ignoring or covering up. Oracle doesn't seem interested in destroying the PRT image, but rather in pushing us to remove bad elements and improve our standards."

Emily's hands clenched into fists. The idea that some Thinker was holding them accountable, playing judge and jury over their operations, was almost worse than a direct attack. "You're suggesting this was meant to be constructive?"

"In her view, possibly. Oracle coordinates with independents to keep them organized and effective, but she also seems to expect the same level of accountability from official organizations. Shadow Stalker was a problem that should have been addressed years ago."

She'd known Shadow Stalker was a liability, but they needed her in their sight since they needed the good PR along with more numbers on their side to fight back against the growing power of the gangs. The oversight was hers, and now some cape was forcing her hand publicly.

"Thank you for the report," she said, dismissing him with a nod. "Maintain security on Shadow Stalker. I don't want any more surprises."

Eraserhead nodded once and turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Director."

"Yes?"

"Removing Shadow Stalker is the right call. She was never suited for the Ward program. This situation might have forced our hand, but it needed to happen And thankfully it was done by somebody wh-"

“Get back to work.”

----------------------------------------

Bonus scene: Popularity woes.

-Collin Wallin, Armsmaster-

Colin sat at his desk, the harsh glare of his work lamp illuminating two action figures positioned before him in textbook heroic poses. His visor reflected the plastic forms as he studied them with the same methodical intensity he applied to his weapon schematics and other important projects.

It had taken him fourteen months of hero work and persistent requests, form submissions, and bureaucratic navigation to finally secure approval for his own action figure line. The final product had been... adequate. Functional. It served its purpose as a representation of his heroic image, and initial sales data suggested reasonable consumer acceptance, though inventory turnover remained disappointingly slow.

He picked up the True Might figure, noting immediately that it was twenty percent larger than his own. 

This newcomer had arrived in Brockton Bay mere months ago, and somehow already possessed not only action figures but objectively superior ones. The craftsmanship was undeniably better, 18 points of articulation compared to his 7, premium materials, enhanced detail work for his costume. Professional manufacturing rather than mass-produced mediocrity.

And the price differential was small; barely fifteen percent more expensive than his own merchandise. 

Colin pressed the button embedded in the toy’s chest.

"JUSTICE HAS ARRIVED!" the toy proclaimed in True Might's unmistakable booming voice.

He pressed it again, his jaw tightening beneath his helmet.

"JUSTICE PUNCH!"

Another press, this time with more force.

"FINAL JUSTICE!"

Even harder.

"JUSTICE IS MY ARMOR!"

A talking action figure. 

His figure didn't even include basic sound effects.

Market research indicated the figures sold out within forty-seven minutes of restocking, with consumers forming queues that stretched around city blocks. The disparity was both illogical and infuriating. Because his figures sales dramatically slowed down.

Action figures weren't a measure of heroics. Sales figures didn't correlate with crime prevention statistics or threat neutralization efficiency…. But that hero wasn’t idle either. He didn’t like that he was independent but he could still appreciate his work because it helped them a lot.

But due to that he was being overshadowed, and it was illogical to feel jealousy or angry, he was helping and he wanted to help too. But he also wanted to hear people chanting his name…

That was when his communicator chimed, and Colin immediately swept both figures into his desk drawer.

"Colin," Dragon's voice came through clearly, "I need you in Interrogation Room Three. Are you available?"

"On my way," he replied, already rising from his chair and pushing those thoughts aside. 

He had actual work to do.

--------------------------------------

AN: Closing a small chapter and completing the long awaited justice, all to pay off that pesky loan. Although, maybe this isn't the end of Shadow Stalker but who knows....