Only when I was home, sitting on my bed, did it finally hit me. I curled up in a ball, knees to my chin, arms wrapped around them, trembling. Who am I, really? Was I always a monster, even before the Butchers appeared in my head? All it took to show my true nature, to start killing people left and right—was opportunity. Power. Ability. Is that who I am? Am I just one of those people who, given power, immediately becomes a tyrant? One of those who, the moment they rise up, finds their tormentors and treats them even worse than they were treated? One of those who remembers imaginary slights and takes revenge on the whole world for their weakness? One of those they show in children's cartoons as villains who lacked the strength to stand up for themselves, but the moment they gained power—decided to take revenge on the entire world? One of those who enjoys grinding their opponent into the dirt rather than simply defeating them? And what's the point of fighting evil only to realize in the end that the evil is me? Maybe everyone would be better off if I just... wasn't here?
Sophia Hess... I could have just stayed out of her way, but no,d just like her. I think I'm better than her, think I have the right to break her life, break her bones... and she never even hit me at school. I enjoyed beating Sophia. I wanted her lying in the dust at my feet, begging...
"You shouldn't justify yourself," sounds a kindly uncle's voice in my head. "Be gentler with yourself. You're not a monster. People just call anyone with more power than them a monster, that's all. monster from their perspective. People fear power, fear those who are different from them. And at the same time, each of them is capable of monstrous atrocities. You're a child compared to some Brooklyn housewife given power and authority. The weakest are usually the most vindictive. You read 'Lord of the Flies,' Taylor, you're a smart girl. People just barely—scratch a little with your nail and you'll find such a beast you'll be horrified. People are capable of much, Taylor... both terrible and beautiful things. But usually they become beasts rather than rise to the heights. Going down is always easier... the path down is quick and easy, but up you have to climb."
"I... I don't know what to do," I admit to myself and the Butchers inside. "I... and Coil. I was ready to kill him. Not in self-defense, not because I was scared, not out of necessity, but just... in case."
"Coil should die," says the Fifth. "It would be right. It would be just. He's too dangerous. He's capable of much. You didn't notice, but he's clearly hiding part of his abilities. Lisa hates him too much to see the truth. He doesn't just run two probability lines simultaneously... he can always return to the point where he started the reality split. That means he doesn't have two attempts, but many more. It's like a save point in computer games—he can only load the latest save, but as many times as he wants. That's why he's still alive despite being an ordinary human otherwise. He survived Ellisburg, Madison, the drowning of Newfoundland, the destruction of Kyushu... he's a threat."
"Kill people just because they're potentially dangerous? Alexandria is dangerous too. What, should I kill her now?"
"Coil is in your immediate vicinity. Coil has shown hostile intentions. He bowed to you not because he saw the light and repented, but because he had no other choice, Taylor. Even your beacons inside his body aren't a guarantee. He's a smart son of a bitch and he has infinite attempts. If Alexandria wanted to kill you and had such opportunities... yes, then she should be killed too."
"Kill, kill, kill! Don't you have any other ways of interacting with people?! No wonder they called you the Butcher!"
"Taylor..." A heavy sigh. A soft voice somewhere at the edge of consciousness. "It's all right. You're just defending yourself. There are so many people around you who want to hurt you, so much evil and pain... it's hard for you, I can see. Just... relax. Don't scold yourself, you're doing the right thing. And if it gets really hard—call for help. I'll come, Taylor. I know what to do."
"I... I don't understand anymore," I say. "So many people depend on my decision. So many people will die either way, understand?! Whatever decision I make! If I stay aside and do nothing—the gangs will start a war over ABB territory, people will die, dozens of people, maybe hundreds. Thousands will be left without means of survival, the city will be on the brink of chaos... and if I intervene and declare it's my territory now—there'll be war and casualties too. Maybe even more. And if I do manage it, there's a lonely, frightened girl behind armored doors in the underground base who's like an Endbringer, and now I'm responsible to her and her team for getting her cured, and I don't know if it's even possible! If I kill her, I'll have to kill her whole team... I probably could, slow poisons, instant backstab attack... but that's betrayal! And if I don't do that and can't find a cure, sooner or later she'll lose control and... more deaths. And as if that wasn't enough—the damn Slaughterhouse Nine! And Alexandria! No one has ever been able to defeat the Slaughterhouse Nine, Siberian alone is worth something! Alexandria! And... more victims. Dead people. You know, Fifth, you don't even need to try—people will die anyway. Everyone."
"Sooner or later everyone dies. Calm down, Taylor. Just... don't think about it. Give me control and I'll set things right. I know what to do. You'll be under my protection, safe and warm..." the voice assures me, and I'm enveloped in warm drowsiness...
"Taylor?" A knock on the door makes me jump on the bed and sit up. It's getting dark outside. How much time has passed? What's wrong with me? I hear the clock ticking on the wall. Such silence in the house, tick-tock, tick-tock. From somewhere below comes the delicious smell of baking. On the opposite wall—a poster with Alexandria looking sternly at me. Next to it—Victoria Dallon smiles, Glory Girl in a swimsuit. This is my room. I'm home.
"Taylor, you didn't come down for dinner. Are you all right?" comes a voice. "Can I come in?"
"Uh... yes, of course," I sit up straight and wipe tears from my face. Tears? Where did they come from?
"I'm coming in." The door opens and Danny enters. He looks at me and shakes his head. I turn away, realizing my red eyes give me away. I turn away and pull my knees to my chin again, wrapping my arms around them. I don't want to talk. Don't want to go downstairs and have dinner either. I want to lie down and be silent. I want to die and not care about this world where everything is so complicated and whatever you do—it only gets worse. Today I scared Lisa. And Coil too, but screw Coil, he deserved it, but Lisa... she definitely didn't deserve it. I wonder how long it'll be before I make myself a machine gun?
"What's happening with you, little owl?" he asks, sitting on the bed next to me. "What's wrong? Fight with your friend?"
"If only," I say. "I'm confused, Dad. I had... a rough day."
"I can see that," he nods. "Can't tell your old man about it?"
"Well..." I hesitate. "You see, I don't know who I am. I... like I'm sometimes capable of terrible things, Dad. I'm scared. Not for myself, but for others. And... for myself too. Am I really just the Fifteenth?"
"The Fifteenth? Is that some kind of game?" Danny frowns. "Does the number matter?"
"It doesn't matter, Dad. You see, whatever decision I make—people might get hurt. And... not making a decision isn't a choice either—even more will get hurt. And... I've changed a lot, Dad. I beat up Emma and Sophia... maybe they didn't deserve it and..."
"They deserved it," he says firmly. "Don't worry about it. They definitely deserved it."
"But..."
"To make you feel better..." he shakes his head, "if you noticed we've been having money problems lately... it's because I have to pay a fine for punching Alan Barnes in the face."
"What? You?!" I'm surprised. "But Alan is your friend."
"Was," Danny says firmly. "If he had acted like an adult... but he chose legal protection for his daughter. Lucky for him they pulled us apart."
"Well I'll be..." I smirk. "Never would have thought, Dad..."
"Irish blood," he smirks back. "Sometimes it boils over at the wrong time. But I don't regret anything. True, I had to dip into savings, but Henry McCallister assures me the school will come crawling to us on their knees soon and offer compensation. So don't worry, everything's fine. I didn't tell you this to make you worry, but so you'd understand we're all human. And those girls deserved a good beating."
"What about death?" I ask, and I see his back tense. "Do they deserve death? I could have..."
"You could have?" he asks, bending over, putting his heavy head in his hands, elbows on his knees. "Really?"
"Yes," I say. I have no doubt. I could have killed not just Emma and Sophia—I could have done it to all of Winslow, damn it to hell. Arrange a branch of the Egyptian Plagues on earth, in Brockton Bay. I've already calculated the limits of my lethality—I'm a weapon of mass destruction. Within two hundred yards, all people can be killed by me almost instantly. Plant an ant queen-Kunoichi with each person in advance, at a certain moment just give the command and... how many people live in that area in dense urban development? All will die instantly... well, not instantly, of course. Instantly they'll fall to the ground, paralyzed, and die in three to ten minutes, but that won't matter anymore. And unlike a bomb—I can move to another place and repeat it all over again. Kunoichi and Medici carry enough neurotoxin for multiple uses. Most importantly—their bodies produce poison, no need to replenish supplies... how many people could I kill in a day if I applied myself, tried hard? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Hundreds?
"I understand," Danny says without changing his position. "I understand you perfectly. I've had that too."
"Really?"
"Yes. In my youth... ah, what's the point of talking about it." He rubs his face with his hand, as if trying to wash, rubbing with all his strength. "Look, Taylor, in such cases only you can make the decision. I'd prefer you don't kill people in the streets, and if you start—learn to hide the bodies first, okay?" He looks at me, and I understand this is only half a joke.
"And I hope you have a damn good reason, a proper cause for taking someone's life. Sophia and Emma—they deserved a good beating, but didn't deserve death. People need to be given second chances, little owl," he says seriously. "Not to mention you'll ruin your own life, even if you don't get caught. After the army, I couldn't sleep peacefully for a long time. But overall—I trust your judgment, Taylor."
"I don't trust my own judgment," I reply. "I'm confused. It's the damn trolley problem, Dad! When there are five people on the tracks and five in the trolley, and whatever you do—it'll be bad! And the worst part—I don't actually know how many people are lying on the rails and how many are riding in the trolley! If it were a simple dilemma—one on the tracks, five in the trolley, then it's simple—choose the lives of five over one and that's it! But here..."
"You're wrong, little owl," he shakes his head. "Human life isn't numbers, not ones and zeros. People aren't just units. What would you do if Lisa were lying on the tracks? Or me? Or even Sophia?"
"Well, I'd run over Sophia anyway..." I grumble, understanding he's right. I'd choose people I know, even one against five. One against a hundred. One against a million... am I completely a monster?
"You understand what I mean..." Danny sighs. "You can't make such important decisions rationally, based on logic and numbers, on profit and benefit, on calculations and equations."
"But... then how do you make decisions?! I..." I fall silent, seeing him start to rock on the bed and hum some melody.
"Mm-mm-mm..." he hums. "Heaaaart over mind..."
"Is that Joe Cocker? Seriously, Dad?"
"Come on, Taylor, you know the words," he smiles. "Heaaaart over mind, yes I'm—my father's son..."
"Heart over mind..." I mutter under my breath. "Heart..."
"I live my life, just like my father's done... come on, Taylor!"
"Heaaaart over mind," I sing, feeling tears well up in my eyes while my lips stretch into a smile. "Yes I'm—my father's girl..."
"Don't think here." He puts a finger to my head. "Think here." He points to my chest. "Life can't be understood with your head, little owl. Only with your heart. You'll manage, you're a Hebert. You're my girl. And... wait a minute." He gets up and goes to the door, and I watch him go while Joe Cocker's tired voice sounds in my head, singing about heart over mind and that he's just his father's son and will live like his father lived. Act like his father acted. Because he's his son. He's the same.
"Here." Danny comes back through the door, carrying an old family album. "Of course you remember it, as a child you loved looking at old photos. Look." He sits next to me and opens the album. "Here, this is your great-grandfather, Kirby Hebert. He went to serve in the army, participated in World War I, was in a storm group, first to break into trenches. A shell tore off his leg, but he didn't give up, asked to go back. Returned to America, married your great-grandmother. And here she is. Great-grandmother Christina, she's from an Italian family, her father was somehow connected to gangsters in Chicago and they fled from there to Brockton Bay. And this is your grandfather. He wanted to be a pilot, enrolled in flight school, but wasn't accepted. So he became a Marine. Died on the Solomon Islands, stayed to cover his men, alone against an enemy machine gun platoon, drawing fire to himself. Left behind children—me and Uncle Joey, remember him? But... you know this, right, little owl?"
"Yes," I nod. Taylor really did know all these family stories by heart. About how the first Heberts came to America. About how great-great-great-grandfather participated in the Irish War of Independence and was executed in the main square in London. About how Thomas Hebert threw heavy bales of tea and spices overboard from ships in Boston. About many things.
"And you remember that our family has no generals, dukes, or celebrities. But among the Heberts there were never cowards or the faint-hearted... and you... look here." He opens the very beginning of the album, the first page, the leather cover where parchment paper with the family tree is attached. "See?"
"What?"
"You're not the Fifteenth, Taylor. You're the Seventeenth. Hebert of the seventeenth generation. Your ancestors stand behind you, little owl. They were different, many of them did all sorts of things in their lives... one of your grandfathers was a corsair. But they're all your ancestors. You're not alone. You're a Hebert. Your father's daughter. And I'm proud of you, dear. And I will be proud. Always."
"..." I silently press against my father, feeling tears flow down my cheeks. I hold myself back, feeling some incomprehensible feeling growing in my chest, squeezing my heart.
"I don't interfere in your affairs, dear," he says, stroking my head. "But I believe that you'll do everything right. Just listen to your heart, little owl. It's kind and brave and big... huge."
"...thank you, Dad... I..." And I begin to sob out loud, pressing against his chest. Tears flow like a stream, my body shakes, and I cry like a little girl, as if I've returned back to where Dad was so big and reliable, when he could protect me from the whole world. But no, now it's my task. Protect him, protect everyone. Like he once protected me. Heart over mind, Taylor, heart over mind... after all, I'm my father's daughter. Hebert the Seventeenth.