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Shadows and Dust (Updated the 10th of every month): the Mass Effect story where FemShep has the Phoenix Force from Marvel. Chapters 21 through 25
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And So The Eagle Conquered, a Skyrim story with the MC named for, inspired by, and planning to emulate Constantine the Great of the Byzantine Empire. Chapters 4 through 9.
Cauldron of Ghosts, a Worm/Solo Levelling Fusion Fic wherein Taylor becomes The Player. Not an AltPowerTaylor Stations of Canon fic! Chapters 3-7.
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Brockton Bay, New Hampshire. In another time, another place, another world, it would have been a formerly-glorious city on the verge of collapsing into a gang-controlled failed state thanks to the near-destruction of the global shipping industry. A collapse caused by a nation-destroying, landmass-sinking monster named Leviathan. But in the here and the now, in a world without Endbringers, it was one of the greatest cities in the United States, The Jewel of the East Coast. Headquarters of some of the most powerful guilds in the country, and a nexus point for Gates, with more -and higher ranking- gates appearing with greater frequency than anywhere else in the nation. The prevalence of gates had transformed what was a perfectly average coastal city, and what might have been a dying industrial port, into a thriving center of paranormal commerce and activity.
Downtown was a thriving, skyscraper-filled hub of corporate power, high-end housing, and Hunter Guilds. From the glittering spire that was the headquarters of the Medhall-owned-and-sponsored Teutonic Knights, who were 'pioneering the use of combining magic and science to create accessible and lasting solutions to everyday ailments', to the two-block complex housing the National Protectorate Headquarters (East-North-East Division), the entire district was filled with shops that catered to those that dungeon-delved.
The Boardwalk was, in essence, one colossal tourist trap. Beautiful sandy beaches, cafes and restaurants selling food and drink for obscene prices, stores and souvenir shops selling trinkets and high-fashion alike, and its own private security force. The Enforcers, as they were known, dressed in crisp black suits with earpieces and mirrored sunglasses, resembled something out of a government thriller movie rather than mall security. They were a mix of retired Hunters and normals with specialized training, all armed with weapons that could handle both human troublemakers and the occasional lower-rank monster that might slip through a gate, though the likelihood of a Dungeon Break happening in this part of the city was absurd. Really, the purpose of their presence was to allow the wealthy to shop in peace, and ensure that the occasional overly-enthusiastic fan didn't go overboard when harassing the celebrity A and S-rank Hunters who sometimes graced the Boardwalk with their presence.
The Docklands were similar, in many ways, and drastically different in others. Once they'd been the beating heart of the city, but with the advent of the Gates, they'd transformed into something else entirely. The Dockworker's Union had pivoted, in no small part, from handling cargo to becoming specialized gate-resource handlers, their members trained to safely collect and transport everything from dead monsters to mana crystals. But that wasn't all they, and the Docklands, were known for. Quite the contrary, for though the Bay's ability to handle international shipping had waned a bit in the face of super-ships, mid-sized cargo craft and, far more importantly, cruise ships were still capable of navigating her waters. And when Brockton Bay built it, so did they come. Mostly consisting of people with more money than sense who wanted to tour the city that had more gates, and therefore Hunters, per capita than anywhere else in the USA. It was also where the headquarters of the dangerous mercenary guild Oniwabanshu sat, and where the deeply mysterious and dangerous S-rank Hunter known as Lung directed them from.
Lung. Now there was a man that skewed the tourism numbers all by himself. One of the few survivors of not one, but two S-rank dungeon breaks, it was he who had landed the killing blow on the monstrous beast now known as 'Leviathan' when a gate had gone unnoticed in a remote valley of Kyushu long enough for it's inhabitants to escape into Earth. The counter attack, consisting of Hunters from most asian nations and more than a few foreign ones -such as the United States-, had suffered heavy casualties as they fought their way to the hydrokinetic dungeon boss, and when the dust had settled nearly half of Kyushu's population was dead. Something Japan was still trying to recover from, even a decade later. That had been the first.
The second was the one that still had yet to be solved. The dungeon break that had wiped out the nation of Cuba and left the once-paradise island as a nest -literally- of fire-spewing, poison-fanged, spike-tailed pseudo-dragons with armored scales that had proven almost impossible to pierce and the ability to enhance and reflect back spells at those who had cast them.
The Cuban Incident, as it had come to be called, was a disaster that had rattled the global Hunter community to its core. Unlike the disaster in Kyushu, this wasn't a gate that had broken because no one even knew it existed. This was a dungeon that Cuba had sent all of their S, A, and B rank Hunters into, and not a one had emerged alive. So the ruling party had sent in every Hunter that their nation had possessed, in the hopes that sheer numbers would accomplish what power had not.
It didn't.
And the Cubans had spent so much time on their failed expeditions and the secrecy that they had been so dedicated to maintaining for the sake of perception that the gate broke before an agreement could be reached amongst the powers-that-be on who to request aid from. The result, unsurprisingly, had been nothing short of catastrophic. The pseudo-dragons, later designated "Salamandras" by the international Hunter community, poured from the gate in numbers that defied imagination. Initial estimates placed their population at several thousand, but as the years wore on and containment efforts continued to falter, experts revised those numbers upward to tens of thousands. Within hours of the break, Havana had fallen. Within days, the entire island was lost.
As for Lung? Well, Lung had been vacationing in Varadero when it happened. According to the reports —the few that existed from survivors— he'd fought for seventy-two hours straight, his Talent having him grow larger and more draconic with each passing minute, until he towered over buildings and breathed fire hot enough to melt steel. A unique Talent, unlike anything else in the world, and many claimed it had been the result of a Reawakening influenced by the very beasts he was battling. Whether or not that was true, quite frankly, didn't matter. What did matter is the nature of his Talent made him virtually immune to the beasts' attacks and the sheer force behind his thunderous blows had simply shattered the scale-like armor that blocked blade and bow alike. Unfortunately, the reinforcements that had arrived had proven distinctly less immune, and equally incapable of causing much in the way of harm. Oh, the coalition that had assaulted the island had been magnitudes more powerful, better equipped and better trained, than those that had gone before them. But the enemy had numbers, significant numbers, on their side, and of the forty S and A-rank Hunters that had been a part of the strike team, a dozen had died and the rest had all been badly injured in some way.
Three more attempts at clearing the island had been launched in the five years since, and none had succeeded.
So it was hardly any surprise that Lung would bring in the visitors, and the various establishments under his control raked in the cash as a result. Some of which was actually even legally declared, for a wonder, though oddly enough no one was willing to call out such a powerful or famed figure for a few oddities and accounting errors in regards to the rest of it.
All in all, Brockton Bay was a city that was doing very well for itself indeed.
The same could not, however, be said for everyone that called it home.
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Annette Rose and Daniel Johnathon Hebert had not enjoyed the last few days, to say the very least. As a matter of fact, their lives had been less-than-ideal since the moment their twin daughters had Awakened. Oh, they were proud, deeply proud, that their girls wanted to be Hunters, proud that they wanted nothing more than to protect their family, friends, nation, and even the world at large from the monsters that lived on the far side of the gates. But pride doesn't negate fear, approval of motivations doesn't cancel out anxiety, and both had been in more than enough dungeons to know just how dangerous they could be, especially for a pair of young women.
The situation had only worsened when the results of their rankings had been officially delivered to them. One at the very peak of power, one at the very base, separated by a gulf that could have fit the whole world within it. A gulf that would have, between most siblings, become a graveyard of affection, the tomb of their relationship. It hadn't, by the maturity and adoration the twins held for each other and the grace of God, but damage had been dealt on many fields. Taylor had been devastated not to match up to the legacy of her parents or stand equal to her twin, and their comforting and honest words about how much they loved her regardless of her rank had seemed to make little impact at the time. Even the knowledge that she had a Talent, one that would make her a boon to any intelligent raid leader, had proven to be little in the way of a balm for the wound. No parent liked to see their child so sad, so hurt, so brutally and cruelly bereft of their dreams. No parent liked to see a rift grow, however narrow and shallow, between previously inseparable siblings, and no parent liked to see their children become depressed and anxious. Unfortunately, that is exactly what their daughters had become for a time, until the first time someone had bad mouthed Taylor in front of Rose.
It hadn't been a big deal, really. Just another girl, young and vicious and dumb, trying to ingratiate herself with the school mate that had suddenly gone from 'mildly interesting because of her parents' to 'guaranteed to be on the top of the national and international socio-economic ladder' in all of 72 hours. One more would-be hanger-on, out of dozens that had tried and failed, but none before her -and none after her- had dared to do what she did. To interrupt a conversation between two siblings that were working hard to keep their relationship intact, and to do it by suggesting that the 'better' of the two ditch her 'loser sister' to hang out with more popular people.
Under any other circumstance, Rosie would have dismissed her with a handful of words and a look of disdain, but then and there? Seeing the sister she adored wilt, the awkward but genuine conversation that they had been sharing dying in an instant, the smallest spark that she had finally, finally managed to kindle back to life in her twin's eyes gutter?
The younger twin had seen red.
For the first time since her Awakening, her control had slipped, and the classroom had been filled with a pressure so intense that windows had cracked, desks had groaned, and the unfortunate girl had been driven to her knees, wheezing, gasping for air as her body was crushed under the weight of Rose's power. It had taken Taylor grabbing her sister's arm, shouting her name and forcefully turning her eyes away from the target of her wrath to break the spell, and the incident had been quietly buried by the school administration. No one wanted to antagonize a newly-Awakened S-rank, after all, especially not one who had made it crystal clear that her twin sister was off-limits.
She'd been punished, of course, and her parents had put her through some pretty firm training to keep herself under control, but the rift -while still present- had been firmly bridged by the display of unwavering, unhesitant filial loyalty and support. So the Hebert parents had been reassured by the knowledge that their daughters' bond was weathering the storm, and relieved by the fact that neither would be in true, unambiguous danger for at least a few more years. Indeed, they'd been positive that Taylor wouldn't ever really be in any sort of danger. Her Talent being what it was, she would be kept far back from the fighting even in the E and D rank dungeons that she would be allowed to go into. Being a near-perfect, untouchable scout had its benefits, after all, and while they had expected -and were perfectly aware that their expectations had come true- that many would mock and belittle their daughter for her low rank regardless of how potent and useful her Talent was, they knew that she would easily be set for life without being in any real danger.
And really, what more could a parent hope for than that?
They'd been right, too, up until this 'Double Dungeon' incident. Oh, Taylor had picked up injuries here and there. Even for a backline scout like her, that was inevitable, and they knew damn well -even without the quiet words various Hunters or Protectorate members had had with them in the past- that Taylor wasn't inclined to sit next to the gate in safety the entire time she was inside a raid. Not even close. She was their daughter, after all, and neither Annette nor Danny had ever been the type to sit back and let others do the work when there was something they could contribute, and especially not when it could save lives. So when Taylor had come home with the likes of a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, or even -one particularly memorable time- with a massive gash across her thigh that had been hastily healed but still left a scar even with her mother's supplemental efforts, they'd been upset but understanding. The hospital stays had been mercifully brief, the injuries never life-threatening or disfiguring.
Until three days ago.
"I still can't believe she's alright, Danny…" Annette whispered, gripping Danny's hand so tightly her knuckles were white and creaking as they drove through the evening traffic toward Brockton Bay Memorial. "When they called us, when they told us what happened..."
Danny nodded grimly, eyes fixed on the road with the sort of single-minded focus of a man that was holding himself together for his family through sheer will. "I know. Dismemberment. Abandonment. Death. And then...not." His voice broke on the last word despite his best efforts, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. "They've been very vague about how she survived, Ann. Very vague. I don't like it. Either they don't know anything or they're hiding something from us."
Annette nodded, her face drawn with worry and no small amount of uncertainty. "I've called every friend, raid-mate, pot-luck partner… Nobody's heard of anything like this before, Danny. No one. A complete reversal of fatal injuries without a healer present. And those poor people who didn't make it, their bodies..." She trailed off, swallowing hard, and Danny could sympathize. More than half of the raid party had been wiped out, which would have been bad enough, but their living and breathing daughter had been found surrounded by their intact and undamaged corpses when it was all over. Even the Hess girl, who every single survivor swore had been vaporized, had been there.
"The Protectorate doesn't know much, either." she voiced with a sigh, leaning her head back against her headrest. "Colin and Hana interviewed her within a couple hours of her waking up, and she wasn't able to tell them anymore than the other survivors had already said. Well, besides trying to downplay her part in saving their collective asses, obviously, and that she doesn't want anyone to get in trouble for what happened. Which, obviously, is exactly the sort of thing Taylor would do."
"Of course she did." Danny's lips quirked in a small, pained, but oh-so-very-proud smile. "That's our girl. Always worried about everyone but herself." He signaled for a turn, guiding their car around a delivery truck that had stopped in the middle of the road. "Looks like all those books we made her read as a kid came in handy. From what I've heard and read, she's the one who solved all of the 'commandments' that the dungeon wanted them to obey."
Annette nodded, a small smile gracing her features as she relaxed her death grip on Danny's hand slightly. "I'm not surprised. She's always been clever, our little owl. Even when she was tiny, she'd solve puzzles meant for children twice her age." Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "I just wish she hadn't needed to be clever in a situation like that. No sixteen-year-old should have to solve life-or-death riddles to save the lives of a dozen people, her own included."
"No," Danny agreed grimly, pulling into the hospital parking garage with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, the tires squealing slightly as he turned. "They shouldn't. And they shouldn't be in dungeons at all, if you ask me. I know we agreed to let her do this, to let her follow her dreams, but after this... I don't know, Ann. I just don't know."
"We'll talk to her about it." Annette declared firmly, her tone making it clear that she wasn't going to budge on that particular decision, not this time. "If we go sweeping in there and make ultimatums, especially right now, it's not going to end well, and the last thing any of us need is a screaming match right now. For that matter, it might not even be necessary. She might want to give it all up, now, of her own volition."
He frowned as he pulled into a parking space, the car settling into silence as he turned off the engine. "Do you really believe that?" he asked softly, turning to look at his wife, his expression as skeptical as his words and the tone that they were spoken with. "That she'll just give it up? After everything she's gone through to prove herself, to us, to Rose?"
"I don't know," Annette admitted, unbuckling her seatbelt with hands that trembled slightly. "But she nearly died, Danny. Actually died, according to the reports. That changes people, and you know Rose is going to get behind the idea and push hard when she gets home. The way that she sounded on the phone…"
They sat in silence for a moment, each remembering the frantic call that they had received from their S-ranked daughter, who was currently in Japan for joint training with their S-ranks and 'showing the flag' in age-appropriate dungeons, barely ten minutes before the Protectorate had called them. She'd been sobbing, in agony, saying that she couldn't 'feel' Taylor anymore, begging them to find her and help her, positive that something had gone horribly wrong. They'd reassured her as best they could, telling her Taylor had been in a D-rank dungeon in a party with multiple A and B ranks, but promised to make sure and call her back.
Convincing her not to fly home immediately when they told her what the Protectorate had told them had taken some doing, and eventually they'd had to pull their trump card: Taylor's own opinion. Because God, her parents, and Rose all know that if Taylor woke up to find out that Rose had abandoned her responsibilities to come fret by the bedside of her apparently-whole-and-healthy sister, she wouldn't be happy. Which was a problem in and of itself, of course, even after all this time Taylor still struggled with valuing herself, but pushing too hard on that particular subject had often proven to be the fastest way to a bitter argument and days of silence.
As it was, she'd made it clear she was returning as soon as reasonable, and that she wanted to know everything they could tell her on any given day.
Sighing again, Danny reached across to pat and squeeze her hand. "Whatever happens, we all support each other. That's all any of us can do." he pressed a kiss to her temple, before undoing his own seatbelt and continuing in a determinedly upbeat tone. "Now, visiting hours end in three hours, which isn't nearly enough time, so we'd better not spend any more of it sitting here worrying and wondering! Let's get up there, get Rosie on the phone, and celebrate a little!"
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Amelia Claire Lavere, also known as Amy Dallon, was exhausted. Not physically, of course, nor even close to being out of mana. As a Talented S-rank healer, the average day in a regular hospital -even one as busy and popular with Hunters as Brockton Bay General Hospital was- didn't come anywhere close to putting her through her paces, never mind wearing her out. No, the reason that she was exhausted had everything in the world to do with the fact that she was once again on the outs with her mother, Carol. Whom, it must be said, she loved a great deal, was inspired by, and very much wanted to be more like. Likewise, it must be said that her mother loved her a great deal, was proud of her, and even sometimes managed to show it.
But it was only sometimes, and the reason it was only sometimes was the same reason that she and Carol frequently fought to the point of not speaking to one another for several days: her father, Donatien Francois Lavere. An A-rank Mage-class Hunter whose Talent let him create powerful bone golems, and one who wasn't known for his pleasant disposition or unblemished moral compass. Nor, for that matter, was he known for showing a great deal of care towards his (male) team-mates and their long term survival, though it was a famous fact that he bent quite a bit of effort towards preserving the lives of women and those he deemed children.
Also, coincidentally, he wasn't exactly known for being monogamous, with her mother being one of the many women who'd been in his bed at one point or another in his life.
Which is why, Amy was sure, Carol hated him -and hated Amy spending too much time with him- as much as she did. A part of her still loved 'The Marquis', as her father was called by the media, no matter how much she might deny it. And a part of her was likewise afraid that Amy would spend so much time with him that she would start seeing her fellow Hunters, or even regular humans, as resources to be exploited or tools to use and discard as needed, the way her father so often did.
It was a fear that Amy found both insulting and oddly touching. Insulting because it suggested she lacked the moral fortitude to resist her father's more dubious influences, as if Amy wasn't well aware -and often admitted- that she didn't really approve of how her father did things. Touching because beneath Carol's harsh exterior and frequent criticism lay genuine concern and affection. The desire of a mother to see her child be the very best that they can be.
Today's fight, before she had left for the hospital, had been particularly nasty. Carol had discovered that Amy had been meeting her father for lunch every Thursday for the past three months and getting advice on Hunting from him, all without telling her. Not exactly a criminal conspiracy, but from Carol's reaction, one might have thought Amy was plotting to overthrow the government or something equally heinous.
"He's manipulating you, Amy, can't you see that?" Carol had said, her voice tight with barely controlled anger. "That's what he does! He finds weaknesses and exploits them!"
"The only weakness he's exploiting is my fondness for Thai food, Mom!" Amy had retorted in exasperation, immediately regretting her flippant tone and the dismissal of her mother's concerns when she saw the flash of hurt in Carol's eyes. Then that hurt had turned to anger, as it so often did for both of them, and the argument had rapidly spiraled out of control, both of them venting no small amount of spleen, and it had finally ended when Carol had declared that Amy was going to end up just like her father at this rate. 'That she would look at someone bleeding out in front of them and care more about what was between their legs and calculating how saving them could benefit her than doing the right thing.'
Amy had stormed out, of course, at that point, and she knew that wasn't the end of it. Knowing Carol, she'd want to sit down and talk things over when they'd both let their tempers cool, and she'd apologize for the way she'd said it…but not for the meaning behind their words. Because as vicious as Carol could be, as much as her words could winnow you down to the bone, she never said things that were wholly falsehoods. And that was what truly exhausted Amy: the tiny kernel of truth that lurked in her mother's accusations. She had seen it, in fleeting moments, when her father would assess a gate request with an eye only for it's value and potential for greater rewards instead of the potential for a Dungeon Break or the safety and convenience of the civilians. The way his eyes would linger a beat too long on pretty women during their lunch meetings, how his charm would deepen when addressing female Hunters who approached their table for autographs, or how he would ignore male Hunters asking for advice from a man that they so clearly looked up to.
Amy sighed, pushing her hospital chair away from her desk, wishing not for the first time in her life that her father was a perfect man that didn't make her mind doubt or her heart hurt when she thought about him more deeply than their casual, day-to-day conversations. The break room was mercifully empty at this hour, nearly midnight at this point, which meant that there was no one around to notice her discomfort and upheaval and question her about it. Or, for that matter, to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over her. Or, perhaps more accurately, her Talent, since none of them gave a damn about her as a person.
Something that she was sadly a bit used to at this point. S-rank Hunters were rare, S-rank healers even more so, but it was her Talent that really set her apart from even what few of her rank and specialty there were in the world. All healers could cure wounds and illnesses, to one degree or another. It varied, of course, based on their ranks, but that was the baseline. She, on the other hand, was capable of curing anything, and she did mean anything. Anything that was 'wrong' with the person she was helping was fixed. Which sounded amazing, to the ignorant and the uninformed, and why wouldn't it? Cancer, diabetes, bad eyesight, heart problems or liver failure? Gone in a flash!
The problem was, that's not all it did. Anything that the person she was healing considered 'wrong' about themselves was fixed, no matter what it was. Don't like the size of their dick or their tits or their gut? Fixed! Don't like their depression, or their ADHD, or anything else about themselves? Well, that was no problem, not for her power! Just about the only thing it wouldn't do is kill someone who was suicidal -they'd tested that-, but everything else was on the table when she activated her Talent.
Which obviously made her incredibly potent, even dangerous, from a biological standpoint. She could change someone down to their genetic code, restructure their brain chemistry, manipulate their hormones, and more. The ethical implications were beyond staggering, and Amy was well aware of it. She even knew that it was a big part of the reason Carol was so paranoid about her father and the influence that he had on her. She definitely knew that more than a few unscrupulous types had tried to get their hands on her through various means in the past, via everything from false friendship to seduction to outright kidnapping. Thankfully, her family -and the rest of the Hunter world- always kept a close eye on things to make sure nothing bad happened to their magnificent panacea. Their magical, literally, cure-all.
Unfortunately, that also meant, often enough, that she felt she was drowning in security. Never able to be free, to be herself, to just…do whatever she wanted on a whim. Even something as simple as a lunch date with friends required planning, surveillance, and vetted restaurants with emergency exits. The irony wasn't lost on her that while she could fix anyone's problems with a touch, she couldn't fix her own situation no matter how hard she dreamed.
Sighing softly, and quite morosely, to herself, she poured another cup of not-very-fresh lukewarm coffee into her mug and made her way out of the room, resigned to another quiet, depressing night of being stuck in her own head until dawn. At which point she would go home, sleep, and probably do it all over again tomorrow night. Or later today, or what-the-fuck-ever.
A soft sound drew her from her thoughts, and she looked up in confusion -it wasn't time for any of the scheduled rounds in this wing, in fact it had only been ten minutes since the last one, with the next not for another two hours, more or less- to see a patient padding quietly down the hall, apparently unaware of her presence. She was wearing regular clothes, which was interesting, but was carrying her shoes in her hands, which meant she was trying to avoid being noticed. Her first instinct was to call out, or summon security, but something about the way the other girl was moving made her hesitate, and instead she quickly hastened over to the door that the patient had just come out of.
TAYLOR HEBERT, it read, and her eyes narrowed. She recognized that name, and she would have recognized the girl too if it wasn't for the fact that the lights were turned way down. She'd been brought in special for her, and not because she was a famous or wealthy person, either, even if she was kind of famous. Or infamous, depending on your point of view. No, she'd been called in because everyone who'd been with her during the so-called 'Double Dungeon Incident' had sworn up and down that she had lost at least two limbs and been impaled at least once. The clothes she'd been wearing when the response team summoned by the initial strike team had brought her in bore that out, with the damage reflecting the wounds they had claimed she'd suffered and a few more besides, and the amount of blood on them had been…well, she still shivered to think of it, and she was well aware that anyone suffering that level of damage ought to have bled out without immediate intervention by a very good healer.
Instead, she'd been brought in completely healthy, with all of her limbs intact and with a skin tone that certainly belied any sort of catastrophic blood loss. Unsurprisingly, the Protectorate -the federal organization that oversaw all Hunter-related individuals and activities within the borders of the United States, and acted as the communications nexus with foreign Hunter organizations- had wanted to know everything that she could tell them about the-girl-who-should-be-dead-but-wasn't. Which hadn't been much, beyond the fact that she was perfectly healthy, healthy enough that Amy would have thought she'd healed her at some point in the past if not for the fact that she knew she hadn't.
And she hadn't been healed by another S-rank, either, because she was the only one in Brockton Bay. Ariana Vickers, an A-rank Mage, could provide people with healing and increased regenerative abilities using her Talent of Enhancement, but those were -to use the term her cousin Crystal had used once- 'buffs' and not proper healing, certainly not the healing required to undue the kind of damage that Taylor had apparently suffered.
Glancing back at the retreating form of her erstwhile patient, Amy made a split-second decision. Instead of alerting security, she followed her. This wasn't like her, not at all. Normally she was a stickler for rules, especially hospital regulations. But something about this mystery girl and her equally mysterious actions tugged at her curiosity, and besides, wasn't this exactly the kind of spontaneous decision she'd just been lamenting she couldn't make?
The idea of sneaking around, while following someone else who was sneaking around, was really rather exciting. The kind of excitement she'd not been able to have since she had Awakened, and she was somewhat loathe to give it up until she had to. So instead, she'd follow Taylor to wherever she was going and see what happened next.
Within a handful of minutes, she'd noticed something very interesting: Taylor was moving through the hospital with a degree of familiarity that bordered on the bizarre and inexplicable. Even if she'd been here before, -which Amy knew from her records she had, a lot- there was no way that she should be moving as if she'd been working at the hospital for years. Like she had a map in her head, almost. It was weird, and it only made the other girl and her activities more interesting. Even weirder, she was somehow avoiding all of the night staff on duty, far more frequently and far too skillfully than could possibly be explained by serendipity, and before Amy knew it, she'd followed the ravenette across the pedestrian bridge into the attached garage.
Which was just a bit beyond being simply weird, but things went from weird to terrifying when Taylor went out to the balcony, put one foot up on the railing-topped wall, and gripped the guardrail with one hand even as she pushed her weight forward. Amy lurched forward, rushing from her hiding place with a shout of horror, and she had just enough time to grab onto Taylor's arm before the world turned upside down.
[1] https://www.patreon.com/c/astandupphilosopher
[2] https://discord.gg/3VKjmXBYY8
[3] https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/CauldronOfGhosts