"...and Mr. Grievens, stage four lung cancer, inoperable tumor, metastases and... yes, thank you." The voice sounds incredibly dry, and I'm already mentally painting a picture of a thin, wrinkled old prune in a white coat, probably with wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, drumming his fingers in that disgusting way doctors do. Why a white coat? Because this is Dr. Smith, one of Panacea's handlers at Saint Benedict's Hospital. Why do I have to imagine what he looks like? Because my connection to Panacea's surroundings is completely one-sided—I can only hear what reaches my little bug-tracker in her pocket. The tracker doesn't transmit images; it doesn't have eyes. I suppose Amy could grow it eyes. Actually, I suppose she could grow it eyes, horns, a plasma cutter, and claws that could slice through tank armor if she wanted to.
I don't like how Dr. Smith treats Amy—or rather, treats Panacea. There's something in his voice... contempt, maybe? If you think about it, here's this doctor who probably studied for a decade or more—residency, internship, continuing education courses every two years or more often. A diploma, status as a practicing oncologist of the highest category, and all of it just so he can point his finger at a girl with superpowers and say "now heal this one, please." And... if you think about it a little more, it becomes clear why he's the one walking around Saint Benedict's Hospital with her. There's only one Panacea, and capes who can cure stage four cancer aren't exactly common, but cancer is cancer. A person slowly and painfully dies before their loved ones' eyes, those loved ones move heaven and earth to get an appointment with Panacea, and Panacea herself prioritizes the severe cases first—the hopeless, the dying. There's always work at the hospital, sure, but there are no more hopeless cancer patients left in Brockton Bay. Mr. Grievens was brought here from Boston specifically hoping to see Panacea. It's not rocket science—just transfer to Saint Benedict's Hospital in Brockton Bay, and on Thursday or Tuesday, Panacea will definitely examine the patient. And a stage four cancer patient with metastases? She'll definitely cure them. Panacea doesn't let people die. She doesn't have medical errors or cases where doctors throw up their hands and say "we're sorry, medicine is powerless here." The locals have gotten used to it somehow, but it still seems insane to me. Don't you people understand?! I want to scream. She's literally Panacea! Everything humanity could ever dream of—immortality, eternal youth, the ability to regrow a lost limb, beauty and body modifications from tails to wings—she can do it all! Panacea... a cure for any disease? Hell no, she can do so much more! So much more! Just thinking about her capabilities makes my head spin. Somewhere deep inside, the Butchers are scratching around, discussing possibilities and probabilities as usual—arguing among themselves.
I lift my head and look at Tattletale, who's sitting across from me with her head tilted back, pressing a wet towel to her nose. Red stains are visible on the edge of the towel.
"How are you? Everything okay?" I ask her, and she shakes her head.
"Oh sure, just peachy," she says nasally, pressing the towel to her nose and lowering her head to meet my gaze. "First you become the Butcher, then you drag Bakuda to my place, and now... Amy Dallon, for fuck's sake! The biblical plague would be like a mild cold compared to what she could pick out of her nose without breaking a sweat! If there's a cape who could wipe out all of humanity with a single sneeze, it's her! Jesus Christ."
"Aren't you exaggerating?" I ask carefully. Actually, I'm of roughly the same opinion, but I want to hear her out. Lisa's power, her ability to analyze and produce results, confirms my fears.
"If anything, I'm understating it," Lisa says. "All she needs is a sample of your DNA, and she could create bubonic plague that would only work on you. Well, maybe your dad too. And if you had an identical twin sister. What?!" Her eyes widen, she lowers her hand with the towel, staring at me in amazement. Blood streams from her nose, and she quickly tilts her head back, pressing the wet towel to her nose again.
"Perfect. She already has your DNA. You gave your tooth to Victoria Dallon." She speaks in an unnaturally calm voice, staring straight at the ceiling. "Just wonderful. Sit here, I'll go get you a pen and paper."
"What? Why do I need—"
"To write your will," Lisa explains, lowering her head again while still pressing the towel to her nose. "Please pass me some painkillers. That box over there. Thanks."
"...ugh..." She chokes on the pills, washes them down with water from the glass I hand her, and tilts her head back up again.
"Actually, you know what, you don't need pen and paper. Know why you're still alive? Because even though Amy Dallon has monstrous power and abilities, she's still a stupid little girl. She's afraid to kill you—you're the Butcher, after all. She wants you to suffer," Lisa says, still staring at the ceiling and pressing the towel to her nose. "My head is splitting!"
"Well, sorry," I say. "How about I come back later? Dad and I were planning to have dinner together tonight and—"
"Don't you dare move!" Lisa commands without taking her eyes off the ceiling. "You're not going anywhere! Do you even understand what you've gotten us into?! The longer we drag this out, the greater the chance that our little avenger will snap and unleash a plague on you. You know, something that completely removes voluntary impulses. The personality remains, but there's no strength to act. I've seen that before—it's horrifying. Her imagination just doesn't go beyond 'immobilize and make suffer,' but you've got teleportation and insects, so you'd still find a way out, and you could damage her too. You and her are like two nuclear powers before Scion destroyed all the atomic bombs—on the brink of mutual destruction. And the longer this goes on, the worse it gets. Know why my nose is bleeding and my head is splitting? Try reading what's happening with Panacea on the other side of town while looking at your face, while simultaneously listening to all your Butchers' dialogues, plus your abilities are fucking cheating! So sit here. We have a crisis on our hands, and a big one... you're not going anywhere until we figure this out."
"Uh... okay," I agree. Arguing with Lisa in this state... I've never seen her like this before. Usually she's all refined and sarcastic, with that mocking little smile and a pose that says she's the smartest one in the class and knows it. But now...
"Is the bleeding still going?" I ask sympathetically, looking at her tilted-back head.
"It stopped," she replies, pulling the towel away from her face. "I just don't want to look at you. Your Butchers are sending me so much information that my head is splitting! You've got it good—you can't be overloaded with information. You have this seemingly bottomless ability to absorb and process it... I wish I had that."
"Yeah, there's that," I nod in response. I don't mention that it's only thanks to this ability that I'm still relatively sane and haven't gone crazy from the voices in my head. What are voices compared to simultaneously feeling hundreds of thousands, even millions of insects? Not just knowing where they are, not just seeing through their eyes, but literally feeling everything they feel. Every morsel of food, every broken leg, the smell of pheromones, the sound of vibrating wings from each of them. Hell, one bug gives three times more sensations than a Butcher's ranting. And I have this 24/7, around the clock. But Lisa already knows all this—she's Tattletale, after all.
"This one too. Mrs. Lepinski. Stage four. Cancer. Inoperable tumor..." Dr. Smith's voice sounds in my head again.
"Mrs. Lepinski, my name is Panacea. Do you give me permission to heal you?" Amy's tired voice once again recites the mandatory formula for obtaining consent for parahuman medical intervention. I've only been eavesdropping on Amy for half a day and I'm already sick of this phrase.
"Nod if you can't speak." The tracker in Amy's pocket sways as she leans down to heal another patient.
"So why does she hate you so much?" Lisa says, still carefully studying the ceiling. "She literally can't stand you. I get that you beat up her sister in front of those idiots Leet and Uber, but... wait!" She lowers her head and looks at me. "Seriously? Broken ribs and internal bleeding?"
"Oh, I made tea..." comes a voice from the open kitchen door. Bakuda. In her black t-shirt with skulls and Japanese characters, leather pants, and barefoot. Polite girl, takes her shoes off indoors.
She's still feeling out of place. Actually, she's terrified—that's what my little bug-tracker under her skin tells me. I wonder if I'm violating the imperative human right to mandatory consent before performing operations on their body and health without their prior, informed consent with these little bugs of mine? I immediately shake my head—I've only been eavesdropping on Panacea for half a day and such thoughts are already creeping into my head. It's simple for me—I have situational ethics here. If I don't do this, I'll die. They'll kill me, that's it. And even this short but sturdy Asian girl is actually a psychopathic killer, a crazy bomber. I remind myself of this not to start torturing her here, but so I don't forget when I see how she flinches and looks away when I'm in the room.
"Alright then," I say. "Bakuda, do you have a human name?"
"Tomoko," she answers and cringes again.
"And... that's not her real name," Tattletale casually shoots her down. "She's afraid to give her real one, worried you'll go after her family."
"N-no! I..."
"Whatever. Tomoko it is. I can't keep calling you Bakuda all the time. So here's the deal, Tomoko—you're with us now. With me. My choices aren't great: either kill you or bring you under my control." I speak in language she understands. After all, she was in the yakuza; she knows how things work.
"Hai," she bows her head and even seems to calm down a bit. Right, I think, uncertainty scares more than a familiar pattern. New boss came in, everything's clear, now we work under him. Immediately calmer. Back in a gang, back in a group, and she wasn't at the top for very long anyway. She's more used to being subordinate and not asking stupid questions—no wonder Lung valued her.
"I can kill you at any moment, any time of day or night—you understand that, right?"
"Hai, Taylor-sama."
"Good. So now you're dismissed. Change into civilian clothes—Lisa will give you something from her wardrobe. Don't make that face, Lisa, I'll replace everything later. And you, Tomoko—go to ground. I have your phone number, don't make me call you back or search the city for you, okay?"
"Hai, Taylor-sama." Bakuda bows her head. Everything is clear and understandable to her. She tried, she failed, she's back in a gang, back under a boss. Nothing has changed. Except the new boss probably won't rape her. I look Bakuda over. Short, compact figure, strong legs, broad nose. You couldn't call her ugly—she's more... exotic-looking. A typical young Japanese woman with strong hips and calves, slightly pigeon-toed feet, and long straight hair. But Lung didn't do that to her because of her attractiveness. He needed to assert his dominance over her. He generally had trouble understanding the concept of women as equal subjects. I don't feel sorry for him one bit. And yes, I definitely don't plan to rape Bakuda.
"Perfect. Lisa, give her something that doesn't scream 'I'm a cape villain, please call the PRT' and send her on her way. Tomoko—when you get where you're going, text me your location and what you plan to do. I'll need your workshop... and we should talk about tinkertech. I have a few ideas..."
"Hai. Taylor-sama?" The questioning intonation in her voice makes me raise an eyebrow.
"Taylor-sama. The ABB still exists. And there's another cape there," she says. "I don't know if he'll run the ABB like... the old boss. Oni Lee isn't the most... intelligent person. He's ready to follow orders, but nothing more. However, he won't accept defeat either. He's capable of... stupid actions."
"She's right, you know," Lisa says, setting aside the bloody towel. "Oni Lee won't leave you alone. And if someone in the ABB points him in the right direction, considering that your civilian identity is no longer secret from the PRT, and what the PRT knows..."
"What two people know, the whole world knows..." I sigh, remembering the old saying. "Shit. He could..." I immediately picture Oni Lee throwing a grenade through the window of mine and Danny's house. Nothing would happen to me—you could shoot me with a cannon—but Danny...
"Well, that's two corpses planned for this week," I grumble. "And I promised my lawyer no more than one."
"Hmm. I knew you'd agree," Lisa chuckles, getting up and pulling clothes from the closet, sorting through them for something inconspicuous. "But let's talk about that later. I can wait a week with my business. Coil isn't going anywhere."
"Whatever, it's all empirically verifiable anyway," I wave my hand. "We'll see. Where does this Oni Lee usually hang out? Where's his lair?"
"Unwritten rules, Taylor..." Lisa warns me. "What? Yeah, I know you don't give a damn, but I have to say it. And if you're going to do it anyway, hide the body. Let the insects eat it."
"I mostly wanted to talk first. Maybe we can end this stupid war with him. I don't have any particular complaints against the ABB. Just let them release whoever they're holding against their will from their brothels," I say. "It's always better to talk than fight."
"Very funny." Lisa tosses clothes to Bakuda. "Here, there's a normal t-shirt and jeans. Keep your boots—I don't have your size. And here... a unicorn jacket."
"Seriously?" I raise an eyebrow. "Glory Girl told me that wearing something like that with a face like hers would only attract attention."
"Glory Girl was right. Except she was talking about your face," Lisa smirks. "Put it on, put it on. No one will recognize you."
"Hai." If Bakuda wanted to say something, she kept it to herself. She quickly stripped off her clothes without even thinking to go to the bathroom or hallway, and I barely restrained the urge to look away. After all, I'm Butcher Fifteen and generally scary and terrible—what the hell do I care about propriety? What, I haven't seen breasts before? I haven't seen these specific ones, but I see them in the mirror every day. Though Bakuda's are bigger, yeah. Well, she's older and broader in the shoulders, so that makes sense.
Bakuda pulls on the jeans, t-shirt, and jacket and becomes some kind of ridiculous parody of herself. The same crazy bomber, just in a ridiculous pink unicorn jacket and a t-shirt with Glory Girl's logo on the chest.
"Yeah," I say. "Like this she'll walk up to the first cop and..."
"Amateurs only see half the work." Lisa steps forward and carefully places dark glasses on Bakuda's nose. But what glasses! Huge, cartoonish, like they were cut out of Disney movies. She walks around Bakuda and deftly gathers her long straight hair into two ponytails on the sides of her head. She admires her work with satisfaction.
"Well? How's that?" she asks me. "Up to the first cop?"
"Uh..." I manage to squeeze out. Bakuda has completely transformed. Now in front of me is a cape fangirl who came to Brockton Bay to look at Armsmaster and Glory Girl, walk along the Boardwalk, and take photos in front of the PRT building.
"I look stupid," Bakuda complains, but catches herself and throws me a quick glance. "Hai, Taylor-sama."
"I haven't even said anything yet," I'm surprised.
"No, that's right," Lisa says. "That's a preemptive 'hai.' Let her go already, and we'll resolve the crisis."
"I... could help, Taylor-sama," Bakuda says. "My ability... I can stop time with a bomb. If we take Panacea and..."
"How small can you make bombs?" Lisa immediately asks her and winces from her headache. "Aha, I see. Taylor, she'd have excellent synergy with you—remember when you went hunting for botulinum toxin? Now you have your own bombs... She used to implant them under the skull, and there's not much free space there. When it comes to miniaturizing bombs specifically, she could give Armsmaster a run for his money."
"I can make any bomb. Anything that explodes—I can do it," Bakuda says. "There are no limits. Almost. I... don't know. There's never been a case where I wanted to make a bomb with a specific effect and couldn't pull it off."
"Oh, now we have a new challenge," Tattletale responds. "Seriously, let's keep her around, Tay-Tay?"
"I have a couple of ideas," I say. "What if we take and..."
"Don't even think about it!" Lisa interrupts me. "Absolutely not. Forget it."
"But—"
"Now that's not a bad idea. We'll try that one."
"Show-off."