Breach 1.05
January 7th, 2011
At the northern edge of Brockton Bay, where the coastline bent inward and the water grew shallow and thick with silt, lay the rotting skeleton of Lord's Port. Few people called it that anymore; to most of the city it was simply the Boat Graveyard. The name had stuck years ago, back when the first of the abandoned vessels began to collect there, pushed aside by dockworkers who had neither the money nor the manpower to scrap them properly. Time and neglect had started its decay, and storms had done the rest.
Several dozen ships rested there now, some barely even recognizable as ships anymore. Hulls that had once carried cargo across the Atlantic now stuck out of the water at awkward angles, their rusted frames corroded away by saltwater and years of neglect. Some of the worst ones looked like the ribs of some enormous creature half-buried in the mud.
Most had become hollowed out, their decks collapsed inward and interiors flooded with black water and rotting debris. It had once been busy here, long before capes had reshaped the world and before monsters became something people spoke about on the evening news. Salvage crews had stripped anything valuable years ago, and what remained had not been worth the effort to haul off. Hulls too unstable to cut apart. Machinery stuck in place by layers of grime and rust. Structures that might collapse if anyone tried to dismantle them.
So they were left to rot.
Over the years, the sea had begun to reclaim them. It was a slow process, tide after tide dragging silt and debris into the hollow spaces until parts of the shallows had to turn into something that would have looked more at home in a swamp than in a bay. It was near the edge of the shoreline, where one particular barge rested, that something began to stir.
It had drifted into the mud some time ago, becoming an island of iron close enough to the shore that you could walk there through water only as deep as your knees and ankles, depending on the tide. Half the vessel sat in shallow water, while the other half leaned close to shoreline. The hull had split in several places, allowing seawater to flood into the interior until the lower compartments became stagnant pools of thick, oily water and layers upon layers of black sludge.
It was in these chambers that fish occasionally found themselves. Swimming inside through cracks in the hull to escape predators. Most never found their way back out, so they just swam aimlessly in the filth until they suffocated in the metal-rich runoff that seeped in from surrounding industry and poisoned the water over time, leaving the fish to die and rot where they floated.
This decay fed the rats, and they came in droves. As a result, the boat graveyard had become one of the largest breeding grounds for rodents in the northern part of the city. They swarmed across the barge's interior in constant motion, crawling over each other in search of food. Most of their days were spent fighting, breeding, and burrowing through the piles of debris that had accumulated over the years. They nested inside the hollow shells of the wrecked ships, burrowing through layers of rusted compartments where predators rarely ventured and black mold spread unchecked. With the setting of the sun, hundreds of rats poured out from the shadows, their claws scratching across corroded metal as they spread through the wreckage in search of food and places to nest.
Tonight was no different.
Dozens skittered across the remnants of the floor, ravenously picking through the floating remains of a dozen dead fish. Others clung to the rusted interior walls where nests had been carved into the insulation and rusted support beams, the only parts of the ship that managed to remain dry enough for the pups. Their movements were constant, almost like a shifting sea of fur and claws driven only by the simple instincts that had kept their kind alive for millions of years. Eat, breed, survive. To them, this was a day like any other. Though it wouldn't remain so for very long. A faint tremor passed through the warped metal frame of one of the barges far side walls, sending ripples in the mire below where the dark stagnant water rippled slightly, disturbed by a vibration that did not come from wind or tide. It was far too soft for human ears to detect, but just loud enough that the rats noticed. Yet it was not so abrupt that they fled. After all, these creatures had long grown used to the creaking groans of the ship as it settled.
It was here that something new appeared on the rusted wall.
At first, it looked like rust from moisture, a dark patch forming on the metal, though unlike the many patches of rust along the walls, this one was spreading outward across the steel plate, fast enough that even the human eye would catch it growing. The rust beneath it seemed to swell slightly, bulging outward as if some pressure was building behind the hull. The rats ignored the dark patch as it continued to expand. Metal groaning softly as the surface began to flex. Steel that had resisted decades of corrosion now bent inward like hot wax, the surface moving as the pressure increased. Then, suddenly and without warning, the wall bulged, warping outward as if something on the other side were pushing against it. Metal groaning softly as the shape of the plate began to deform and bulge. Rivets bent and twisted in their sockets, stretching the seams between plates until hairline cracks started to form.
The surface of the metal softened further, transforming from rigid plate into something disturbingly organic, something almost like flesh. It was here that some of the rats reacted, watching as whatever it was on the other side pushed through the walls, ripping against the surface as a long, jagged tear started to split and fray, like a wound opening in reality itself. The metal tore open not with an explosion or violent rupture, but with a slow, deliberate rip. The rust flaked away as the structure beneath it shifted and reshaped itself, forming ridges and folds that resembled muscle more than metal. Layers of sinewy tissue folded outward, stretching the fabric of reality thinner with each passing second as the fleshy mass widened until it stretched several feet across, its edges jagged and irregular as if something on the other side had forced it open through sheer strength.
Now fully open, the edges of the tear twitched and pulsed, almost as if it were alive. Veins of dark matter spread across the wall, branching and thickening until the growth resembled a grotesque blooming flower of meat and flesh. The rats paused; a few lifted their heads. They sensed something, though their simple minds could not fully comprehend it. A vibration deeper than sound moved through the air, brushing against their ears and sending a jolt through their nervous systems in ways their instincts did not know how to interpret. Some crawled away, determined to put as much distance between themselves and whatever was happening; others returned to feeding, and others remained still, whiskers twitching as the fleshy mass against the wall pulsated like a beating heart.
And then something moved. A shadow standing on the other side of the threshold. A long, pale limb pushed through first, clawed fingers gripping the edges of the tear, before clenching tight, digging into the walls as the creature forced its way forward. The head emerged next. Petals of flesh unfolded slowly, revealing the monstrous shape beneath.
It paused at the threshold, hissing a low, rough, breathless growl that rattled through its chest as it listened. Its limbs pressed into the soft, yielding edges of the fleshy opening. The surface gave under its touch, alive in a way the world beyond the tear was not. It held there for a moment, still as a statue. Through its alien senses, it beheld a world of overlapping shapes drawn from vibration, pressure, and distant motion. Then it fully stepped through, pulling itself out with a deliberate, almost effortless motion. It walked upright, though the posture was slightly wrong, its limbs far too long and jointed at angles that did not quite match any natural animal.
Petals of muscle across the creature's head peeled apart from one another, revealing a circular mouth filled with multiple rows of needle-like teeth that twitched and flexed. It stepped forward, its weight splashing into the shallow mire inside the barge, sending ripples through the sludge and scattering nearby rats in a sudden burst of motion. The creature did not pursue them. It simply stood there, its head unfurled wider, the petals of its mouth spreading apart as it inhaled. The air of Brockton Bay flowed across its alien sensory organs. It smelled them, tasted them.
Salt.
Rust.
Decay.
But most importantly, life.
Its tall, gaunt body straightened to its full height, long limbs hanging loose at its sides as it stood motionless below the rusted beams. Only its head moved, tilting slowly from side to side in short, deliberate motions as it sampled the air, listening and smelling all at once. It sensed the vermin scurrying in the darkness, running away the way prey does when a predator is near. The creature's claws flexed, not a full movement, just a tightening through the fingers, the joints drawing in and releasing with a faint, involuntary twitch, as though the muscles were remembering a motion they had not made in a long time. Behind it, the darkness of the portal churned, and the humanoid creature stepped aside. Now that it had opened the wound between worlds, the true work could begin.
From the darkness beyond the portal, a storm churned. Its limbs rolled like thunder, each movement sent crimson lightning crackling along the edges of its form. A roar of wind and shadow followed in its wake as it reached through the gate. Thick clouds of black spores spilled outward in a steady surge, drifting and curling into the barge in thin, sinuous tendrils of smoke that seemed almost alive. Trillions of microscopic organisms rode on psychic currents of will and intent, spreading like ink in water, saturating the air, twisting around railings, coiling along the planks, and slipping into every crack and seam where the rats nested.
Not all the rats fled. To them, the tall, faceless creature was the more immediate threat. Most went still instead, bodies locking in place, clinging to that simple animal instinct that stillness meant safety, that not moving meant not being seen. The spores simply went unnoticed. To the rats, the spores were just another scent wafting through the air. Another trace among a thousand others, faint and meaningless, carried on the same stale currents that always drifted through the wreckage day by day: an invisible presence, no more worth acknowledging than the rot or the mold that already surrounded them.
They breathed, and in doing so, the spores entered their bodies. Tiny black motes clung to fur and whiskers before slipping into lungs with each breath. The particles settled deep within the tissue before extending filaments thinner than hair that grew outward from each particle, spreading through blood and tissue and muscle. The process was slow, almost gentle, as the new growth threaded itself through the rats' nervous systems.
It did not kill them. One rat paused in the middle of the mire, its body shuddered once. Then it resumed moving. Another rat staggered briefly, its limbs twitching as something new settled into place inside its brain. Then it too continued on. Within minutes the spores had spread through dozens of them. Hundreds. The rats continued moving through the sludge, unaware of the transformation already beginning inside them.
Some climbed over the broken railing of the barge and disappeared into the wreckage beyond. Others slipped through narrow holes in the hull and scattered into the maze of ships that filled the graveyard. They carried the spores with them. Within minutes, the air inside the barge had grown thick with the black particles. The cloud that emerged from the portal continued to move, rolling outward into the surrounding wreckage, drifting through open compartments and rusted passageways where more rats nested.
More inhaled, and the infection spread as the spores took root. Cells began to change under the influence of something far older and far more powerful than the creatures that hosted it. Nervous systems adjusted. Chemical signals rewired themselves. The simple instincts that had guided the rats for generations bent slowly toward a new purpose.
Toward a distant will.
By the time the tall creature turned back toward the portal, thousands of rats had already inhaled the drifting particles. It stepped back through the opening into the fleshy portal, and the edges contracted, pulling the warped steel of the hull inward as the organic tissue receded. The opening shrank slowly until it vanished completely. The metal hardened again; the only evidence it was ever there to begin with was a few flakes of rust falling into the mire like snow. Within seconds, the hull looked exactly as it had before. Only the rats remained.
They moved through the Boat Graveyard as they always had, climbing through wreckage, squeezing through cracks in the hulls of long-dead ships, scurrying around corners, but slowly, this began to change. The spores continued their quiet work inside them. Filaments sliding between cells, weaving through the dense clusters of neurons, wrapping around nerves, and threaded through synapses as they settled into the soft architecture of the brain.
The first few rats that had inhaled the spores froze for a moment, whiskers quivering, noses twitching as they sampled the air and nudged against one another. Then, as if responding to a signal they could not name, they surged forward together, bodies twisting and slipping over one another in a sudden, synchronized sprint.
Where before they would have collided and scattered in every direction, now they converged, forming swarm-like clusters reminiscent of ants, turning corners in near-synchronized arcs. Their climbs, leaps, and slips through the warped hulls unfolded in waves, each body reacting to the subtle cues of the ones beside it.
They emerged into the open deck spaces, before slipping over the edge of the hull into the stagnant water below, claws scrabbling for purchase in mud thick with silt and debris. Others followed immediately, shoving past, climbing over trembling bodies, pressing downward until the mass reached the shallow shore. They spread into the surrounding streets, through sewer drains, under buildings, and into the endless network of tunnels and crawlspaces that ran beneath Brockton Bay. The infection traveled with them.
Slow, patient, and most importantly, hidden.
It would be another week before anything came of it.Last edited: Mar 23, 2026418Beastrider9Mar 21, 2026NewView discussionThreadmarks Interlude 1 New View contentBeastrider9AKA Sketchelf CthulhusonMar 22, 2026#104Interlude 1
January 6th, 2011
The locker door swung open.
I felt it before I saw it. The metal scraping against metal, a high-pitched squeal that vibrated loudly enough that my sonar painted a full picture of the real world. I immediately dropped some of the spores I had sent through the portal, letting them settle in the garbage below as my attention stretched and focused on the Janitor as he stepped back, a wave of rotten pads and tampons, soaked with decay, chunks of vomit, and shredded clothes came spilling out of my locker… along with whatever was left of my human body. My stomach twisted, well, not mine exactly, I don't think I have a stomach, but the part of me that could still remember human disgust.
I watched the real world through the locker portal. The janitor crouched, rubber gloves squeaking as he pushed the filth aside, tilting his head to examine something more closely. Which was probably me… ugh, that was weird to think about.
I let my attention drift, mapping the vibrations of the hall through the portal, feeling the tremors of the school as they fed me back the shape of things. At the absolute edges of the mental map I was creating, things kind of broke down. The closer something was to my locker, or more accurately the portal, the better I could 'see' them.
Still, there was more than enough going on that most of the school was within my sphere. Including Emma, Sophia, and Madison watching the Janitor as he examined my remains… that thought was going to take some getting used to.
The Trio was far enough away that there was some blanks in what I could perceive. I kinda wish they were closer to my portal, if only so I could hear what they were talking about better. I imagine that it's probably shocking to see that I wasn't inside anymore. I could see the concern painted on their faces, and I won't lie, the quickening beating of their hearts did amuse me far more than the situation warranted.
Actually, I wonder.
My awareness shifted a bit to the… flower-mouthed thing. It immediately stood to attention as I focused on it. When I had it poke at the portal, it made it bigger, just a bit… I wonder. Experimentally, I sent it walking, heading towards the same relative location that the Trio stood. Once it was there, I flexed it's fingers, and crouched, reaching towards the floor with a single claw.
I felt the change immediately.
Beneath the claw, the tile warped and fell away, creating a tiny pinprick portal on the ground below the flower-mouthed thing, and instantaneously, the mental map in my mind exploded as all the sounds coming from the other side poured through the tear.
The Trio's voices became a little clearer. Low, quick, cautious.
The flower-mouthed thing crouched low, its petals opening and closing as I sniffed the air. I could feel its attention fuse with mine. I let it stretch its claws just a little farther, widening the tear. The portal was still small, almost imperceptible to anyone looking at the ground, but enough that the Upside Down and the real world were briefly aligned. If one were to peek through, it was like the real world was above me, almost like both this empty world and the real one being simultaneously rightside up and upside down… depending on which side you were standing.
It was nothing like the portal in the locker. That one didn't stack worlds above each other at all. Step through it and you ended up in the same locker, only reversed, flipped around instead of above or below. Apparently, orientation between the Upside Down and the Real World depended on where the portal opened.
That was kinda neat, and it made the mental 3D map I was building feel off-kilter, like my brain was trying to fold itself into impossible angles. Then again, I reminded myself, space is relative. Doubly so for mirror dimensions.
"Do you… do you think something happened to her?" Emma asked.
She sounded nervous or maybe even scared… good. Whatever the case, no one answered her right away until Sophia finally said. "I don't know."
Before any of them could say anything else, the janitor froze.
I felt it before I fully understood it. His breath hitched, a sharp, uneven pull of air that vibrated through his chest and into the floor, into the walls, through both portals, and finally into me. I focused a bit on what he was looking at. The pile had shifted a few inches, peeling away to show something beneath, and suddenly I could percive that there was structure there. Something smooth in places and jagged in others…Oh.
That was bone…My bones. I felt the exact moment it registered for him. His breathing stopped, hitched, then came back shallow. His pulse spiked, a rapid hammer that echoed through my awareness. His entire body went rigid, every muscle locking as if movement.
He straightened too fast, rubber gloves squealed as he pulled his hands away from the locker, like he'd been burned. For a second, he just stood there staring…At me, or what was left of who I once was.
There was a strange disconnect there. I knew what I was looking at and I knew it had once been me, but looking at it from the outside… it didn't really feel like it.
"Everyone out. All of you. Now."
His voice was low, but it carried. It vibrated through the hallway and into the lockers, into both the tear in the locker and into the thin little tear I'd opened on the floor beneath the flower-mouthed thing. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be.
"Wait, what? What's going on?" asked Sophia, sounding a whole lot smaller than I'd ever heard her before.
"Out!"
That one hit harder, and it got people moving. Sophia and the other two were frozen for a second, before they were swept back with the crowd. I kept them in focus, tracking the beat of their hearts and the scrape of shoes on tile. Emma stayed close to Sophia, which was interesting in a way that made something inside me curl with a mean little satisfaction.
I felt the distance between them and the portal I opened widen, and with it, the sound from the real world dimmed. Not gone. Just softer. Blunted at the edges. The school's layout shifted in my mind as they passed farther down the hall, and the neat map I had built started to lose precision around them.
So I followed.
The Flower-Mouthed thing I wore in the Upside Down drew itself along the school's mirrored layout, stalking parallel with the Trio's movement, matching the direction they were taking, keeping it aligned with them like a shadow on the wrong side of a wall. Still, the further they got away, I lost some detail. Their voices blurred a bit and their faces became impressions. Heartbeats remained clear, because those carried through better than words did, but the actual conversation became fuzzy.
So I opened another portal, reaching down with the Flower-Mouthed thing as it's claw touched tile. A pinprick tear opened a moment later, and sound rushed through. Sophia, Emma, and Madison continued with the crowd as the staff pushed everyone along. I could feel the janitor still back by the locker, his emotions turning chaotic and jagged. I kept my flower-mouthed thing in step with the trio while another part of me stayed behind, split between the locker, the janitor, and the widening alarm spreading through the school.
"Attention all students and staff. Please evacuate the building immediately. This is not a drill. Follow your designated evacuation routes and await further instructions."
Well, that was unnecessary loud. Regardless, the Trio were getting further away from the portal, so I reached down to open another one below them as Emma spoke.
"Sophia… what do you think… what happened?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Sophia shook her head. "I don't know."
It was here that I noticed something… interesting. As the flower-headed thing followed them, he passed one of the lights in the Upside Down, and somehow… the lights in the Real World flickered above the Trio. I only caught it when Sophia glanced up at them, but immediately dismissed them.
Huh, I would have to test that more later. Could come in handy.
Still things proceeded more or less normally as I expected, the students lining up outside as cops came in to examine my remains. I half forced on them, and half focused on a few other points in some of the empty classrooms. Sending spores around lights to see what happened. Even though I couldn't really 'see' in the traditional sense, I could hear the flights buzzing when I moved around the lights twin in the Upside Down.
Somehow, things on this side still had an effect on the real world, at least a little. If I moved something physical, like a desk, its twin in the real world stayed exactly where it was. But when it came to lights and electronics in general, they would sputter and glitch in response to me just being near them. Not a lot, but enough. It didn't even seem dependent on whether or not portals were around, it just… kinda happened.
I spent a lot of time experimenting with that, seeing what effect carried and which ones didn't. To be honest, most didn't. It wasn't until the Trio split up that I refocused my efforts. A brief conversation between the three stood out a bit. Sophia saying she was going home, but something in her tone was a bit off.
I decided to follow her, call it a hunch or call it something else, but something was telling me that I should. Mostly because the direction she was heading was… well, it was deeper into the city, and as far as I knew, wasn't exactly a location where a lot of people lived. Most of the buildings in this region were office buildings, government buildings, and a few stores. Not exactly a whole lot of residential ones.
I don't know, it just stood out to me.
Then Sophia made a sharp turn and was heading towards the PRT Office, and immediately I poked a hole below her feet, listening through with the Flower-Mouthed thing and a handful of spores. Sound rushed through first. The low hum of electronics. Voices, distant. Controlled. Sophia nodded to someone at the front desk. I caught the motion through the tear. Casual. Expected. Like this was routine.
That did not make sense.
I kept the portal open a fraction longer than I had before, letting more detail bleed through. I don't…Students didn't just walk into places like this. Not like that. Not without being stopped, questioned, redirected. But no one did. No one even tried. Then they let her pass.
What the fuck?
I closed the tear and moved again, shadowing Sophia as she crossed deeper into the building. She kept going until she made her way to a locker room, and started to change. Before she even pulled out the costume, the pieces started to click into place in my mind, and… and I honestly couldn't believe what I was seeing… hearing… what fucking ever I was doing.
A soft knock came at the door and I shifted focus again, opening another thin tear to catch the sound more clearly.
"Shadow Stalker?"
Sophia froze, and so to did I.
Then, "Yes."
So calm.
So controlled.
Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't stood there and watched a janitor pull my bones out of a locker. Like she hadn't helped put me there.
"Director Piggot wants to see you."
"Now?" she asked.
"Now."
"Alright."
Sophia Hess… is Shadow Stalker.
The name surfaced from memory, dragged up from news reports and whispered conversations and the distant awareness of capes that existed in the city. Shadow Stalker, a Ward. A hero… The words did not fit together, not when Sophia Hess was added to them.
Something inside me twisted, not the phantom echo of a stomach I didn't even have, but something else. A low, ugly pressure started building somewhere deep inside me. I wanted to claw at something. I wanted to tear the room apart around her. I wanted her to know what it felt like to be trapped with no way out, no mask, no exit, no one stepping in to make it stop. The flower-mouthed thing leaned closer without me telling it to, and the bulb above Sophia flickered once. Then twice. A quick, nervous pulse of light that made her pause and tilt her head up.
I felt the instant she noticed, especially when her heart skipped a beat.
I paused and pulled back. Not because the anger was gone. It wasn't. If anything, it had only gotten worse. No, I pulled back because if I didn't, if I let that feeling keep building unchecked, I could feel where it was going. I don't think I could have held myself back from tearing my way into the real world and dragging her, kicking and screaming, into mine.
I left. Well, I didn't really leave, I had the Flower-Mouthed thing follow her, but I shifted my attention elsewhere, just to focus on anything else. I needed a distraction. Something to occupy the part of me that had been ready to snap, something smaller and more manageable.
So I looked back. Not at her, but at the locker. At my locker and the still open pinprick portal within it. The janitor had long ago moved on, stepping back to give the cops space to work. The biohazard suits made them look like bloated insects, arms gloved and stiff, hands reaching toward woked like spatulas. Shovels, actually. Thick plastic, serrated edges, scraping at the sludge that used to be me.
My own body, or what was left of it, being collected piece by piece, scooped and bagged. I watched, almost clinical at first, tracing their movements with my sonar. I should have recoiled. I should have felt horror, grief, disgust. And in some part of me, I did. But… It was just so… I don't know, absurd maybe. I had been there, I had been that, and now I wasn't.
Now I was… this… whatever this even was.
There was a weird sort of intimacy in it, in being present in the same world as your own body and yet completely apart. The cops handled me… what used to be me with professionalism, even care. But then… something strange started to happen. A faint, almost imperceptible sensation, like a pulse that shouldn't have been there. I froze mid-focus when I realized what it was. I could feel them, more specifically I could feel them as they collected my own corpse. Somehow, my awareness had threaded itself back into the remnants of my own body.
I… I shouldn't be able to feel this. I wasn't there. I wasn't inside that body. That was gone. My awareness was a network of spores, and tendrils, and the flower-mouthed thing. That… that should have been impossible.
Then the realization came fast. Some of my spores. The ones I had dropped, the ones that had drifted into the locker earlier, they had landed on the garbage, onto… my own body, and some of them had started to grow. Not consciously. Not intentionally. But alive. Somewhere between the decay and my lingering awareness, they had taken hold. A creeping, warm pulse ran through the mess of my former self. Soft, subtle, almost like a heartbeat buried beneath the sludge, the bones, and the pulp. I tried to see if I could move it, I know they were still scooping me up, but I had to know.
It didn't work.
I could feel the vines in my own corpse try to move, but they were so… undeveloped. Too thin, too short, and just too delicate to really do anything meaningful yet. I could make them twitch and stretch, but not much else. Still, the sensation was bizarre, like watching a baby learning to move, but… you know if a baby was made of sludge and bone. I let it go. For now anyway. The tendrils inside my old body twitched, stretched, curled, testing their strength, but nothing more. I could feel their potential, but it wasn't ready. Not yet anyway. Maybe in time, after they grew a bit more, they'd be able to move my body again, but for now I was content to just wait.
Instead, I shifted my awareness back to Sophia. Shadow Stalker. I'd been fully aware of her conversation with Piggot inside that office, every word passing cleanly, without incident on my end. Well… almost. There had been one tiny hiccup toward the end when I drifted too close to the lights with the Flower-Mouthed thing. A subtle flicker had passed across the bulbs, but Sophia hadn't noticed, or at least she didn't react like he did. Either way, she was gone now, heading deeper into the base.
I followed after her. I could hear her faintly, the low tones of her voice carrying across the distance as she spoke into her phone. I opened a pinprick portal with the flower-mouthed thing, just wide enough to let sound through. Emma's voice came through faintly on the edges of perception, a cautious, questioning tone.
"...So she just… I don't… I don't even know how to describe it."
Sophia whispered into the receiver.
"Melted, just… just decayed into a fucking slurry," she said.
Oh, they were talking about me. Well don't I just feel honored.
"…Do you have any idea how this happened?" Emma asked, her voice more than a little tight.
Sophia's pause stretched long enough that I could feel it in the tiny vibrations threading through the portal. She exhaled softly. "I… honestly, I don't know. I can't…" Her words faltered, but I noticed something weird happened, though it wasn't until Sophia spoke that I realized what it was. "…Maybe… maybe there's another cape here. Someone new, fresh, who just… triggered and tested their powers. On Taylor."
Well they're grasping at straws. I won't lie, the obvious sound of panic in their voices really amused me a bit. A small, cold part of me curled in satisfaction. It wasn't enough to make up for the absolute Hell they put me through, but it was at least a start. Still, something happened before Sophia said her little 'theory' or whatever. It's weird but for a split second before she said it, I could almost... I don't know how to describe it, but it's like I knew that was what she was going to say.
I don't know how I knew that I still don't know how I do anything to be honest, but her saying that kind of set alarm bells off in my mind. I mean... for all I knew I read her mind, but... I'd have to test that later. For now, I pushed it aside as I kept listening.
Emma's voice cut sharply through the new pinprick portal I opened up just ahead of where Sophia was walking. "I… I didn't want… I didn't want her to die!"
There was almost a sob in there, caught somewhere between horror and fear. Her pitch rose, a frantic edge creeping in. That was… irritating. Infuriating, even. Was it guilt? Or was it fear? Was she panicking because she actually felt something for me, for those old memories we made together when we were still kids, or was it because she was terrified of the consequences of her own actions?
Yeah, fuck this conversation, and fuck them to.
I had other priorities, I didn't fully ignore them however, but right now, with everything going on at the same time, there was one last thing that I… I really needed to focus on, and one that was a hell of a lot more important than these bitches. So I drifted a little farther back, just enough to widen my focus toward someplace else that I had been avoiding.
My old house, not the real one, but the version that existed here in the Upside Down. It was a bit… weird to see it like this. I mean, my house was always a bit rundown, but this… this was different. The walls and furniture, the floors and doors, all those shapes were familiar and yet… not. A lot of it felt hollow, muted, wrong even.
I traced tendrils toward the kitchen, letting spores drift from them like smoke from a candle. It was frustrating, without a portal, without a direct link, I couldn't really see anything going on in the real world. I needed Flower-Mouth for that. I could move him over here, it would take a bit to get here, but he'd make it, eventually. Yet…the thought of him discovering the truth of me, of what I'd become… It scared the shit out of me.
But I couldn't leave him alone. I wouldn't. I needed him to know I was okay.
I pressed harder, letting more spores slip into the air, saturating the rooms until they filled it completely. I caught… something. A twitch of vibration through the floorboards, almost imperceptible, but enough to register on my sonar, but every time I tried to focus, it just seemed to fade.
It was slow work, so much so that I occasionally found myself focusing elsewhere. Idly, in the background of my mind, I noticed that the police had finished picking up my human remains and were already well away from the school. Interestingly, even though it was far away from the Portal, I could still vaguely tell what was going on around it.
Hm… that was interesting. Apparently, I didn't need portals to see, I just needed a piece of me in the real world. Didn't matter how far away that piece was from a portal either, it still maintained some kind of connection with me. That would come in handy, but right now I continued focusing on my house. It would take time for the Flower-Mouth to get here, but I could still occasionally make out some kind of impression of things happening in my home. All that did was tell me that it was possible for me to see… well… everything in the Bay simultaneously, at least theoretically. I would just have to practice that more.
Regardless, I could kind of feel dad. Not perfectly, not like I could with Sophia through a portal, but enough to know he was present inside the house. I just had to be patient. I just hoped Dad hadn't gone off the deep end yet. If that happened… honestly I wasn't sure what I would do, but I had no intentions of finding out.
Still, I had time. I had a bunch of things I could focus on, and I kept learning new things about whatever I had become. I could do... a lot of things actually, up to and potentially including mind reading... maybe... maybe not. I still wasn't sure how I knew what Sophia was going to say before she actually said it, but that was just another thing I could test for, maybe on Sophia herself... I mean if anyone deserved to have their head studied, you couldn't pick a more deserving target. Something to look forward to I guess, until then, I just had to… figure out what I was going to do next. Hmm… I wonder, if those spores landing on my dead body meant I now controlled it… could I do that with anything else?
I guess there was only one way to find out. I think I'm going to be very busy for the foreseeable future.Last edited: Mar 23, 2026410Beastrider9Mar 22, 2026NewView discussionThreadmarks Renegade 2.01 New View contentBeastrider9AKA Sketchelf CthulhusonMar 24, 2026#143Renegade 2.01
January 7th, 2011
The office was too bright for the hour, or at least it was as far as Hank thought was concerned as he squinted at the paperwork on his desk and then at the clock on the wall. It was early enough that the coffee was still warm, lukewarm but it was better than cold. He had already burned through the first cup far too fast, so much so that it started to give him heartburn. All in all, not a great start to the day. He leaned back in his chair with a long exhale, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
Across from him, Connor looked annoyingly awake. Not just awake. Sharply awake.
The man sat straight in his chair with a mug of what Hank took to be some kind of tea in one hand and a notebook open in front of him, looking fresh as a daisy. Hank stared at him for a second longer than was polite.
"You a morning person Connor?" asked Hank.
"No, not really," replied Connor as he glanced up from the notebook. "Why?"
Hank grunted and set his coffee down hard enough to make the desk shake a bit. "You look like you slept through a full night and then some."
Connor hummed at that. "I maintain a polyphasic sleep schedule."
Hank blinked. "You maintain a what now?"
"A polyphasic sleep schedule," Connor repeated. "I sleep in several shorter periods over the course of a day instead of one continuous block like most people."
Hank leaned forward a little. "You're kidding."
"I'm not."
"Why on earth would you do that?"
Connor just shrugged. "I started in University. I was taking a heavier course load than I probably should have. There were only so many hours in the day. Anyway, a friend of mine suggested I try splitting my sleep. I tried it out. It usually works out to around six hours total, depending on the day. Short naps between things. A longer rest if needed. It's not difficult once you adjust."
Hank blinked. "And you just kept doing that?"
"Yes," said Connor, shrugging one shoulder. "It's a habit by this point. Gives me more time to myself, so I can't really complain. You only live once, so I'd like to maximize how long I'm actually conscious to make the most of it."
Hank grunted something that was almost a laugh, then brought the coffee to his lips and immediately regretted it. He set the mug down again with a wince.
"Jesus, that's awful."
"Why do you think I have this?" asked Connor, holding up the cup. "Yerba mate, just as much caffeine as coffee, but doesn't taste like coffee-flavored mud."
He took a sip, not even looking away from the notebook.
Hank ignored the comment and leaned forward slightly. "What are you reading there anyway?"
Connor looked up from the notebook. "One of the journals they pulled from the victims room. I figured it was worth a look."
Hank stood and stretched, before walking over. "Anything good?"
Connor shifted the notebook so Hank could see. "It's not exactly light reading," he said. "She kept very detailed entries about what was going on at school."
Hank reached out and nudged it closer, picking up the cover. It was a small paperback, pages slightly curled from use, corners worn. He opened it to a random page and scanned the handwriting. Lines drifted across the page in neat rows, a bit too neat for a teenage girl, or at least Hank thought so. He read a few passages and immediately grunted.
"She was bullied," he said out loud. "The Director did mention in her interview with that Shadow Stalker that Taylor was a bit of an outcast, according to Stalker at least."
"Outcast is putting it mildly," said Connor as she turned the page. "Considering she saw fit to write all this down, and how many passages are in this book, I imagine it was… frequent. She cataloged it all, incident by incident. Days, times, what was said."
Connor flipped through a few more pages, stopping occasionally to point at lines that seemed to stick out. "It wasn't just a handful of kids either. From what she's written, it looks like the bullying was… pretty widespread. A lot of people, over a long period." He tapped the page. "But three names show up more than the others. One of them in particular…" He hesitated, letting the sentence hang, then tilted the notebook so Hank could see. "See for yourself."
Hank leaned closer, scanning the page. His eyes caught the name immediately. "Sophia Hess," he said, his voice quiet, almost involuntary.
Connor watched him, noting the reaction. "Yeah. She was mentioned a lot. It's… well, it's a bit damning, how involved she was."
Hank didn't say anything right away. He kept his eyes on the page, reading the same few lines over again like they might change if he stared long enough.
Sophia Hess.
"Shit," he said. "That's a problem."
Connor didn't respond, just watched him.
Hank tapped the page once with his finger. "She's a Ward. Not just that, she's on parole." He leaned back a little, arms folding. "How bad is it, specifically?"
Connor glanced down, flipping back a page or two, then forward again. "From what I'm seeing, it's mostly physical. Shoving, cornering, intimidation." He paused, then added, "Fairly normal as far as bullying goes, but it's not good for her. Not at all."
Hank grunted. "Yeah. No kidding. Stalker was always abrasive and antisocial. Gotta say, I'm not exactly surprised."
"It's not something that, on its own, points to anything beyond ongoing harassment… But it reflects poorly on her. Especially given her parole."
Hank nodded once. "Yeah. We'll have to pass this up to Piggot. Let her deal with it."
Connor nodded. "She's gonna love that."
There was a brief silence before Hank nodded at the notebook. "You said three names. Who are the other two?"
Connor flipped back to the earlier pages. "Emma Barnes and Madison Clements." He skimmed a few entries. "They show up just as often, but it's… different."
"Different how?"
"Emma seems to handle more of the social side. Isolation, humiliation, that sort of thing. There's a pattern of her setting things up so other people go along with it." Connor tapped a line lightly. "Madison is less direct. Smaller things. Pranks, if you want to call them that. Repeated, consistent. Enough to wear someone down."
Hank grimaced. "Mean girl shit."
"About the shape of it," said Connor.
Hank was quiet again for a second, eyes drifting back to Sophia's name on the page.
"You think she's involved in our victims death?" he asked finally. "Sophia I mean."
Connor didn't answer immediately. He turned a few more pages, scanning, then stopped.
"There's nothing here that points to direct involvement," he said. "Nothing that says they had anything to do with Taylor's death in a concrete sense."
Hank watched him. "But?"
Connor's eyes lifted from the page. "There is a pattern, and that kind of behavior that doesn't just stop on its own." He closed the notebook the rest of the way. "So I wouldn't rule it out."
Hank nodded slowly, his expression tightening.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Neither would I."
The door opened a second later and one of the lab technicians stepped in, a thin folder tucked under his arm and a couple of stapled reports in his hand. He looked like he had already been up for hours, hair slightly out of place, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest he had been doing more than standing around.
"Morning," he said. "Sorry to interrupt."
"You're not," Hank said, straightening up a bit as he gave the tech a gruff look. "You got something for us?"
The technician nodded and stepped forward, handing one report to Hank and the other to Connor.
"Preliminary findings on the remains," he said. "We're still working through it. But we figured you'd want an early look."
Hank flipped his open immediately, eyes scanning in quick, tired passes.
Connor took his a bit more deliberately, reading line by line.
The technician rested a hand against the edge of the desk. "So, first thing. As far as we can tell right now, we can probably rule out Breaker or Changer."
Hank looked up. "Probably?"
The technician nodded. "We ran a series of tests to try and provoke a reaction. Temperature changes, light exposure, minor electrical stimulation, standard things we could do without being too aggressive or invasive."
"And?" Hank asked.
"And anything that moved could be explained by mechanical properties," the technician said. "Compression, settling, shifts in material density. Stuff like that. Nothing that looked like it was responding on purpose."
Connor glanced up from his report. "No directed movement at all?"
"Nothing we could confidently call that," the technician replied. "If there's something there, it's not behaving in a way we can distinguish from passive material response."
Connor's brow furrowed slightly. "But you cannot fully rule it out."
The technician gave a small, tight shake of his head. "No. We can't. Not completely anyway. But it's getting less likely the more we test."
Hank grunted. "Well that's comforting."
Connor turned another page. "During these tests," he said, "did you observe anything anomalous?"
The technician gave a small, humorless huff. "Depends on your definition of anomalous."
Hank gestured vaguely. "Try me."
The technician rubbed the back of his neck. "We didn't find it on purpose, exactly. One of the guys was… testing the consistency."
Hank raised an eyebrow. "Why did you say it with that tone?"
The technician made a vague gesture with his hand. "He poked it."
Hank stared at him for a good long moment before he spoke.
"He… poked it?"
"Basically," said the tech.
"Fantastic. Glad to know we're funding the best."
Connor, for his part, didn't react, he just watched the technician expectantly as he waited for him to continue.
"Right, so anyway we found out that the remains are non-Newtonian," he said.
Hank blinked. "It's what?"
"Non-Newtonian," the technician repeated. "Under light pressure, it gives. It flows, slowly, like something thick and viscous. But the moment you apply force, it resists. It stiffens up. Push fast enough and it'll act almost like a solid."
Hank made a face. "Like… what, that cornstarch stuff?"
"Yeah," the technician said. "That's actually a pretty good comparison, it's the same general principle."
"Is that… normal? For a dead body? One that's, you know, been liquefied or whatever?" asked Hank.
"Not to my knowledge," said the technician. "Decomposition produces fluids, sure, but nothing like this. I did look up what makes liquid non-Newtonian. There has to be something inside the remains giving it that property. Particles, filaments, fibers, stuff like that. Honestly, I can't think of anything in the human body, pulverized or not, that would do this. Bones, even reduced to dust are too brittle to have the same mechanical properties as cornstarch. Collagen might do it, it is fibrous, but it wouldn't create the stiffening and flowing effect we're seeing. There's got to be something else in there. If I could actually run some lab work on the remains and see what's inside, I might be able to figure it out, but until then..."
The lab tech shrugged, trailing off.
"You haven't done any chemical or biological analysis yet?" asked Connor.
"No, not yet," the technician said. "We deliberately held off. If this was a breaker or changer, we didn't want to unintentionally hurt them cutting off samples."
Connor nodded once, slow and thoughtful. "A sensible precaution."
The technician leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, glancing between them. "We can proceed with further testing if you want, to actually see what it is we're dealing with. But right now, I wanted to bring you the preliminary read before we did anything drastic."
"Where are the remains now?" Asked Hank.
The technician gestured toward the back of the lab. "In secure storage, temperature controlled. Everything is sealed. Nothing moves, nothing leaks. They'll stay there until we get the green light to proceed further."
Connor tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "If we're confident that this is just a dead body, there's no reason to sit on it."
"After everything, I'd say we're confident enough this is a just corpse," said the tech. "Just an unusual one."
"Then go ahead," said Hank. "While you're doing that, we'll go through everything the BBPD pulled from the victim's room, see if maybe there's something there."
The technician gave a small nod. "Alrighty then, I'll leave you two to it." He shifted his weight, glanced once at the door, and turned to go. "If you need anything from the lab, just let me know."
"Yeah, thanks," Hank said.
The technician let himself out, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound. For a moment neither of them moved.Hank set the report down on the desk and rubbed a thumb over the bridge of his nose.
Hank tipped his head toward the journal in front of Connor. "That thing better have something useful in it, because right now I am not feeling optimistic about the rest of the day."
"It already does," Connor said, tapping the page once. "At the very least, it gives us names."
Hank reached across the desk and nudged the notebook closer to himself again, like he wanted to see the words in a different light. "Yeah, and that's a whole lot more than the Directors interview with Stalker gave us. Christ, I'm not looking forward to the headache when we tell her about what Stalker has been up to."
Connor watched him for a second, then closed the notebook partway, keeping a finger between the pages.
"Do you want me to compile everything related to Shadow Stalker from this?" he asked. "Pull the entries, organize them, put together something we can hand to the Director."
Hank shook his head, already reaching for his coffee again before thinking better of it. He let the mug sit where it was.
"No," he said. "I'll handle that."
Connor's brow creased slightly. "You're sure?"
"Yeah." Hank pushed himself up out of the chair, rolling one shoulder as he straightened. "You keep going through the journal. There's more in there than just Stalker, and right now we don't have anything that puts her at the scene, not yet anyway. Until that changes, she's a separate problem. Bullying's one thing, but it's not murder. Figuring out what happened to Taylor is more important and I don't want to go after Hess unless we find something more concrete. I'll write it up, pass it to Piggot, let her deal with her Ward."
Connor studied him for a moment, then nodded once and reopened the notebook, flipping back a few pages. Hank had just turned toward the desk to start his write-up when the phone rang. Both men look up at once. Hank stared at it for a beat, then picked up the receiver.
"Yeah?"
He listened, his expression shifting little by little as he did. The hand not holding the phone curled once against the edge of the desk.
"Say that again," he muttered.
Connor looked up from the journal.
Hank's eyes went to the door, then back to the desk. "No, I heard you. I just want to make sure I heard it right."
A pause.
Then he said, "Right. Stay there, we're on our way."
He hung up without another word.
Connor had already closed the notebook. "What is it?"
Hank, who was already standing up and started to put on his Jacke glanced at his partner.
"Taylor's remains are missing," He said.
Connor blinked.
"Missing? Missing how exactly?"
"That's what we're about to go find out, c'mon," said Hank.
The two of them took the hallway at a brisk walk, not quite running, but close enough that the few people they passed flattened themselves against the wall to let them through. Hank kept one hand on the front of his jacket as he walked, Connor said nothing beside him. The security office was near the back of the lab, just off the main corridor. By the time they reached it, the door was open and they could hear voices inside. One was the tech's, pitched low and strained. Another belonged to one of the security officers, clipped and professional.
Hank slowed at the threshold. The lab tech was standing near the desk, one hand braced against it, the other rubbing at the back of his neck. The security officer in front of him had a tablet in one hand and a look on his face that said he had already had a bad morning and it looked like it was getting worse. Before Hank could speak, a different man at the bank of monitors glanced over from his chair and raised a hand.
"You two are going to want to see this," he said.
Hank didn't waste time asking questions. He stepped fully into the room, Connor close behind him, both of them angling toward the bank of monitors. The man at the console tapped a few keys and dragged a timeline back a few minutes before selecting a feed. One of the screens flickered, then stabilized into a grainy black-and-white view of a lab room.
"Camera three," the operator said, voice tight. "Storage."
The footage played.
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A table occupied the left and right sides, though the angle of the camera only caught the edges of both. On the left table, the container holding Taylor's remains was visible, but it was halfway out of frame. Nothing moved, and for several long seconds, it was just that. Then the lights flickered. It was brief, a dimming and brightening that lasted less than a second in a way that could have been written off as a power fluctuation if not for the timing. Hank's eyes narrowed slightly. The room settled again. Stillness returned.
Then the container shifted. It was small at first. Barely enough to even register as movement unless you were watching for it. A subtle scrape against the table before it was dragged across the table with a steady pull, not yanked hard enough to tip over, but not gently either. It was the kind of motion that implied intent. And then it was gone. Out of frame in about one second, maybe two.
The only issue was that it was pulled towards a wall, yet somehow, it kept going.
The footage kept playing, but there was nothing else to see. No one entered. No shadow crossed the doorway. No disturbance followed. Just the same quiet, sterile space, like nothing had happened at all. The tech paused the video.
Hank stared at the screen, his expression flattening. "Run it back."
The man rewound a few seconds and played it again.
Stillness. Then that same abrupt motion. The box snapping sideways, dragged cleanly out of view. Connor leaned forward slightly this time, eyes narrowing as he tracked the movement. There was no second action, no follow-through. Whatever had taken it did not linger. The tech stopped the playback again. For a moment, no one spoke.
Hank's gaze stayed fixed on the empty corner of the frame, jaw tight. "That wall. What's on the other side?"
The security officer shifted slightly, hands gripping the edge of his tablet. "Nothing but a corridor," he said, voice clipped. "It runs between the lab and a handful of offices. Not much else to speak of."
Hank frowned, eyes narrowing. "Do we have cameras along that corridor?"
The security officer shifted on his feet, glancing at the tablet again. "Yeah, we do have cameras at both entrances and along the corridor," he said. "I went and checked them after noticing the footage, but… nothing. Absolutely nothing. No one moved through, no shadows either, nothing."
Hank's eyes narrowed. "How thick is that wall between the storage room and the corridor cameras?"
The officer hesitated, then tapped on the tablet a few times, bringing up a digital copy of the building schematics. "Let's see… looks like about three feet thick," he said finally. "Pretty solid. There's a lot of equipment to maintain the room's temperature and containment systems, so the walls had to be thick enough to fit everything and provide insulation."
It was here that Connor decided to speak up. "Does that include anything with an electric current running through it? Sensors, wiring, containment circuits, anything like that?"
The security officer paused and looked up, eyes narrowing just slightly as he processed what was being suggested. That moment of hesitation was all it took for everyone in the room to catch the implication. It wasn't spoken aloud, but it didn't have to be. Within the PRT, there was one person who was capable of walking through walls, but she did have one weakness. Live electrical currents could shut down her powers the moment she tried to pass through them. The officer blinked, then exhaled slowly.
"Not that I know of, but the walls and containment systems in that storage area are insulated; there could be sections without wires running through."
His eyes flicked to the monitors for a moment before he continued, almost cautiously, as if not wanting to step over a line already drawn in suspicion.
"You think Shadow Stalker was the one who took the container?"
Connor just shrugged. "Armsmaster did upgrade her mask, remember? Sensors built in to detect electrical currents through walls, circuits, powered systems. If there was any way through without running into a live current, she would be able to find it. I'm not saying it's confirmed. But if there was anyone capable of doing it without leaving a trace, she's at the top of the list."
Hank rubbed the bridge of his nose, staring at the schematics like they were a map of a battlefield he didn't want to fight. "And it just so happens," he said quietly, "that her name shows up in the journal the victim was keeping. That's more than coincidence, especially given what happened with the remains."
Hank's eyes flicked from the monitors to the officer, sharp and calculating. "Do we know where she is right now?"
The security officer exchanged a glance with his colleague before replying. "According to the schedule, she should be at Winslow right now."
"Confirm it," Hank said. "I want to know where she was the exact moment the remains disappeared." He straightened, glancing at Connor. "In the meantime, go grab the notebooks from the lab. If Stalker is trying to cover up a murder, Piggot needs to hear it now."Last edited: Mar 24, 2026450Beastrider9Mar 24, 2026NewView discussionThreadmarks Renegade 2.02 New View contentBeastrider9AKA Sketchelf CthulhusonMar 25, 2026#166Renegade 2.02
January 7th, 2011
Sophia leaned against the brick wall just outside the school entrance, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as students filtered past her in a steady stream. The morning air was cold enough to settle in her bones, but it did nothing to wake her up. Every time she blinked, her eyes wanted to stay closed, it almost felt like she was moving through a haze. Locker doors slammed somewhere inside, the sound carrying faintly through the open doors, mixing with the voices of various students, all blurring together into something indistinct and very irritating. She exhaled slowly through her nose, jaw tightening as she pushed herself more upright against the wall.
Damn nightmare.
She shifted her weight against the wall, jaw tightening as she straightened just a little, forcing herself upright more out of habit than anything else. Her fingers twitched once against her sleeve, restless energy with nowhere to go. She saw Emma approaching from the sidewalk. Sophia pished off the wall, trying to shake some of the sluggishness away. It was here that she got a good look at Emma; her steps were slower than usual, her posture was just a little off, something in the way she carried herself that made Sophia's eyes narrow slightly. She looked tired. Just as tired as Sophia felt.
Emma reached the wall and leaned back against it with a quiet groan, tilting her head back for a second before dragging both hands over her face, fingers pressing into her eyes like she was trying to force herself awake. When she dropped her hands, her expression didn't improve much. Her eyes were faintly bloodshot, her focus just a little unfixed.
Sophia watched her for a beat before she let out a short breath through her nose.
"You look like shit."
Emma turned her head, giving Sophia a flat look before responding.
"You don't look much better yourself," said Emma.
Sophia huffed once, a quiet exhale that might have been a laugh if she had the energy for it. That was fair.
They stood there in silence for a few seconds while the flow of students continued around them, people brushing past without really looking. Then Sophia spoke again, more out of irritation than anything else.
"Didn't sleep well," she muttered finally, more to fill the silence than because she actually felt like talking. "Had a fucked up nightmare." She said, irritation bleeding into her tone. "Bad enough I have to deal with this shithole during the day. Last thing I need is to be stuck here in my sleep too."
She glanced toward the open doors, eyes narrowing slightly.
"The place looked even worse in the dream," she added. "Like it was rotting or something."
Emma went very still beside her. It was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it. But Sophia caught the way her shoulders locked, the way her hand froze halfway to pushing her hair back.
Emma's voice came a second later, quieter than before. "What else?"
Sophia glanced sideways at her, frowning slightly. "What?"
"In the dream," Emma said, eyes fixed on Sophia. "What else was there?"
Sophia frowned. The last thing she wanted was to dig that memory back up but brushing it off wasn't an option either. That would make her look weak, like she was scared of a damn dream, and that was much worse with her than just saying it out loud. So, she started talking.
"The school looked abandoned," she started. "It was covered in vines and shit. And there was this… noise, low at first but eventually I could hear people talking." She paused, then added, "I was heading down the hall. Toward the lockers."
Emma's breathing hitched, just barely.
Sophia turned her head fully this time, really looking at Emma instead of just shooting her a glance. Emma looked pale. Not tired pale. Not the usual washed-out look from a bad night. This was different. Her jaw was tight, her lips pressed together, and there was something in her eyes that hadn't been there before. She looked afraid.
"…What?" Sophia asked.
Emma swallowed. Her throat moved visibly before she spoke.
"I had a dream too."
Sophia shrugged, dismissive on instinct. "Yeah, so."
Emma shook her head quickly. "No. I mean…" She hesitated, like the words were catching on something. "The same one. I think."
That made Sophia pause as Emma continued.
"I was there," she said. "In the school. Empty. Covered in… that stuff. I made it to the locker. I started opening it but… I was too afraid to, but… something just… burst out and grabbed me. It had this… mouth. Not like a normal mouth. It opened up like a flower."
Sophia stared at her.
"That's not…" she started, then cut herself off, shaking her head. "That's not possible."
Two people didn't just have the exact same dream. Not like that. Not down to the details. She glanced toward the school doors again, eyes narrowing slightly. Then Sophia straightened slightly, pushing herself fully off the wall. The movement was small, but decisive.
"You know what I think?" she said.
Emma looked at her warily. Sophia's eyes flicked back to the school, something hard settling into them.
"I don't think that was just a dream."
Emma's fingers tightened slightly where they rested against her sleeve. "Then what was it?"
Sophia's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like the beginning of one that never followed through.
"I think something showed us that… or someone."
Emma stared at her, waiting for Sophia to continue. Sophia didn't answer immediately, instead her gaze shifted again through the front doors, looking at the interior of the school.
"Are you suggesting…?" Asked Emma before Sophia cut her off.
"Think about it Emma, we were there," she said finally. "When it happened. We had the exact same dream. Same place, same locker, and whose locker was that Emma?"
Emma's shoulders drew in just a fraction. Not a full flinch, not enough for anyone passing by to really notice, but Sophia saw it.
"…Sophia. You can't be saying… You don't think." Emma shook her head, backing off the wall slightly. "No. No, that doesn't make any sense. She… she died Sophia."
Sophia let out a quiet huff.
"Yeah, you sure about that?" asked Sophia.
"You said she melted," Emma shot back. "That seems pretty goddamn definitive."
Sophia looked up at her, eyes sharp. "Unless she didn't," she said. "Unless she snapped. Had a bad day." Her gaze drifted back toward the school. "Maybe even the worst day of her life. Unless you have a better reason on why you and me had the exact same fucking nightmare, cause I don't know about you, but I don't usually dream about monsters with flower mouths bursting out of school lockers."
That was when a third voice cut in.
"…You guys had it too?"
Both of them turned.
Madison stood a few feet away, clutching her bag against her chest like it was the only thing keeping her steady. She looked worse than both of them. Pale, drawn, eyes rimmed red like she hadn't slept at all. She hadn't even approached them all the way, like there was an invisible line she wasn't sure she wanted to cross.
"I… I had the same dream… was… did you see the… the thing like a spider made out of smoke?"
Sophia felt something in her chest tighten, sharp and sudden. Not fear. Not exactly. Something closer to recognition. Like a puzzle snapping into place, whether she liked it or not. Three people. Same dream. Same place. That wasn't coincidence. Sophia pushed herself off the wall, standing a little straighter now, all tiredness bled out of her system.
"Alright. That fucking settles it."
"What does that mean?" Emma asked, sharper this time.
Sophia's eyes immediately snapped to Emma. "It means I don't think Hebert's gone."
Madison blinked.
"What do you mean gone?" she asked, her voice thin. "Did they not find her or something?"
Sophia exhaled slowly through her nose, before she shot Madison a glare. Apparently word hadn't gotten around yet. For a moment, Sophia considered just telling Madison to fuck off. This was already getting messy, and Madison didn't really know anything. Not about her, not about who she really was anyway. Emma did and Sophia was confident that Emma could read between the lines if Sophia had to keep things vague enough that Emma got what she was saying while also keeping Madison in the dark about who she really was, but Sophia really didn't feel like putting in that kind of effort right now… but at the same time, Madison did have the same dream. That wasn't something Sophia could just ignore.
Sophia clicked her tongue softly, irritation flickering across her face before she pushed past it.
"They found her," she said. "Or what was left of her. In the locker. She fucking melted in there, but maybe she didn't die. I'm thinking that maybe she triggered."
Madison went still, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "You think… she got powers?" she asked, voice small.
Emma's lips parted slightly, like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out. Madison didn't react. Like the words didn't fully process. After a moment, her brow furrowed a bit in confusion before she looked back at Sophia.
"You said she… melted?"
Sophia just nodded.
"How do you even know that?"
Sophia's gaze fixed on Madison, more a glare really. A beat passed where she said nothing at all. She cursed under her breath, irritation flaring just that little bit more, something that wasn't helped by the exhaustion she already felt. Of course Madison would ask. She had always come off as the quieter one, a follower more than anything else, but that didn't mean she was stupid. For a split second, Sophia considered just saying outright that she was Shadow Stalker. Ending any further questions and not having to speak around shit just to keep Emma in the loop and Madison out of it, but the thought died just as quickly.
Not here. Not now.
"…I heard it," she said finally, flat.
Noncommittal. Enough to shut the question down without actually answering it. Even still, Sophia noticed that Madison didn't look convinced, but thankfully she didn't push. Not yet anyway, it did look like the gears in her head were turning though. A flash of light captured Sophia's attention as she turned towards the front door of the school. The faint electrical buzz of the lights just passed the threshold wavered…Just for a second, long enough for her to catch it. Her eyes snapped upward, tracking the flicker.
She didn't look at it for long, instead she turned her head, looking at Emma instead. It didn't escape Sophia that Emma looked taken aback. Not just tired. There was something else there, something tight and distant. She looked…uncharacteristically fragile, or at least Sophia thought so.
"You know where she lived, right?" Asked Sophia.
Emma flinched slightly at the sudden noise. She almost looked lost as she glanced up at Sophia.
"What?" she asked.
"Hebert," Sophia said. "You know where she lived or not?"
Emma hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"…Yeah," she said quietly.
Sophia gave a short, sharp nod in return.
"Good," she said. "Then let's go."
Emma blinked at her, the word taking a second to land.
"Go?" she echoed.
Sophia didn't slow down. She pushed off the wall fully now, stepping away from the entrance, already moving like the decision had been made five minutes ago and everyone else was just catching up.
"Yeah. Go," she said. "Skip. Fuck school."
Madison's head snapped up at that. "What? We can't just…"
Sophia cut her off with a sharp look. "You wanna sit in class and pretend none of this is happening?" she asked. "Go right ahead."
Madison hesitated, thrown off by the bluntness. Sophia didn't wait for an answer. Her attention shifted back to Emma, more focused now.
"If I'm right," she said, lowering her voice just a fraction, "and she did trigger… then whatever's going on didn't just stop in that locker, and there's no reason to think it'll stop."
Emma swallowed, her arms folding tighter across herself. "Sophia, that's… that's a lot to just assume."
"Yeah," Sophia shot back. "And three people having the exact same nightmare isn't?"
Emma didn't have a response to that.
Sophia pressed on. "If she's still alive, or whatever, then there's gonna be signs. Something. Her place would be the best place to start." She jerked her head toward the street. "So we check there first, if we find something we go from there."
"And what if we don't?" Asked Emma.
Sophia just shrugged.
"Then we're back where we started," she said. "We literally have nothing to lose, so what if we miss a day? Half the fucking students skip every other week."
Emma lingered where she was for half a second longer, her eyes flicked toward the school doors, then back to Sophia, then to Madison. Madison shifted on her feet, clutching the strap to her bag just a bit tighter.
"This is insane," she said, but there wasn't much conviction behind it.
Her eyes kept flicking between Sophia and Emma, like she was waiting for one of them to shut it down. Neither of them did. Sophia glanced at Madison, before glancing back over her shoulder at Emma.
"Look, I'm going whether you like it or not. You coming?"
Emma hesitated one second longer, then pushed herself off the wall. "Fine," she said quietly. "Fine, we'll go."
Madison made a small, uncertain noise. "Emma…"
Emma didn't look at her. "You had the same dream," she said. "Don't pretend you're not thinking about it."
Madison swallowed, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag. She looked back at the school, then at the two of them already starting to walk away. The distance between them stretched for a moment. Then she hurried after them.
"Wait," she said, falling into step just behind, like she wasn't fully committing to being there. "You still haven't answered me."
Sophia didn't look at her. "About what."
"How you know," Madison said. "About what happened to Taylor."
Sophia's jaw tightened. For a second, it looked like she might snap at her. Instead, she exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing it down.
"I said I heard it."
"That's not an answer," Madison pushed, a little more firmly this time despite the nervous tone in her voice that even Sophia heard. "I can buy that maybe someone would tell you she… died. But why would they tell you how she died? You're a student, same as me. People don't tend to share the grizzly details with us, so I want to know how you know what happened to Taylor."
With a sigh, Sophia stopped walking. It was abrupt enough that Emma nearly walked into her, but Emma managed to catch herself. Madison froze a step behind them. Sophia turned halfway, just enough to look at Madison out of the corner of her eye. Sophia started weighing whether just telling her was worth it or not. She wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea, but considering the circumstances, it might be warranted.
Maybe.
"And if I don't?" Asked Sophia. "What are you gonna do?"
Madison paused, looking down at her feet for a moment as she took a deep breath.
"I'm not gonna do anything, but I had the same dream as you and Emma. I think I deserve to know what's happening to us just as much as you two."
"If you want the full answer," Sophia said, voice low, "then you're coming with us."
Madison blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." Sophia turned fully now, facing her. "You come with us, you see what we find, and then maybe I explain."
"Maybe?" Madison echoed.
Sophia shrugged. "Depends on what we find."
Madison looked like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out. Her eyes drifted to Emma again. Emma just stood there, arms folded tight, looking like she regretted everything about this and was still going anyway. Madison let out a slow breath.
"…Fine," she said.
Sophia gave a short nod, like that settled it, and turned without another word, continuing down the sidewalk.
As the trio departed, there were two things they didn't notice.
The first was the unmarked cruiser that rolled quietly into the school parking lot, its engine low and steady as it took a space near the far end of the curb. There were no markings on the exterior, nothing to distinguish it from any other municipal vehicle at a glance, but the way it moved, deliberate, controlled, gave it away to anyone who knew what to look for. The doors opened a moment after it came to a stop, and two officers stepped out without speaking, their attention already fixed on the school entrance as they began walking toward it.
The second sat half-hidden beneath a hedge near the front of the building, small enough to go unnoticed even in broad daylight.
A rat sat hidden beneath the foliage, its black eyes tracking the trio from the moment they had arrived. Its whiskers twitched once as its claws pushed aside loose dirt and leaves until it exposed the fertilizer buried there. It gnawed at the small pellets, lifting its head to watch the trio as they departed, then returned to its scavenging. Elsewhere within the city, far ahead, a small gathering of rats shifted beneath the sink of a nearby office building.
The cabinet beneath the sink was stocked with bottles of cleaning chemicals, bleach and ammonia stacked together, most of which now set empty as the rats lapped up chemicals that had spilled out through small holes they gnawed at the bottom. Their bodies twitched and flexed in perfect unison, every motion synchronized with the others as they began to move, leaving the sink and scuttling across the office floor with the softest possible steps. The building itself was alive with ordinary activity. People clicked at keyboards, shuffled papers, and spoke in hushed tones across cubicles. The rats passed unnoticed anyway, threading through the shadows between furniture and under chairs, perfectly invisible in plain sight.
They climbed steadily, up stairwells and along pipework, weaving through less-used corridors, until they reached one of the lower floors. One rat found the window nearest the edge of the building. It pressed its paws against the glass, tail twitching, and leaned forward. Outside, the sidewalk stretched beneath them. The trio continued down the street, ignorant of the attention now focused on them.
A signal passed between them, relayed to thousands more within a network that was already crawling silently throughout the city. For the entire trip, there wasn't a single moment that the trio wasn't being watched.402