The Girl

Taylor Hebert   Taylor surveyed the floor beside her bed, now littered with bags filled with clothing, personal hygiene items, and various other essentials needed for daily living.   There was a considerable amount of money on the debit card. This sum paled in comparison to the figures the Undersiders had juggled after they cleared out Coil's accounts and seized control of the city. Even so, the amount was quite substantial at first glance.   But only at first. Given that Taylor had literally nothing to her name, she needed a whole mountain of utterly mundane, yet vitally necessary things for comfortable existence.   Nearly the entire previous day, after receiving her documents, she and Davidson had spent shopping. Taylor found it hard to remember the last time she could afford to engage in such an activity. It was another half-forgotten sensation, one of many.   Of course, the absence of one arm was an inconvenience. It attracted unwanted attention and pitying glances, significantly limiting her abilities. Taylor tried not to be discouraged, at least because despair threatened a nervous breakdown or something akin to it. Following Davidson's advice, she tried not to dwell on it, living only in the present and planning for the future, but even so, it was clear that this couldn't go on for long. She began to contemplate seeking professional help.   And the chance to receive such help presented itself almost immediately, with the arrival of Mallory. Taylor found it quite strange that the Deputy Director of the CIA would personally visit an unofficial agent's apartment, but then again, she didn't have much experience interacting with such structures.   However, it was fairly easy to imagine a reason for such an occurrence. Taylor and Mallory really needed to discuss many things - about the past, present, and future. This conversation had been impending since the very beginning of their acquaintance a week and a half ago. The CIA clearly expected answers from her to some very crucial questions. And Taylor was ready to answer many of these questions, as well as ask quite a few of her own.   It wouldn't be accurate to say Taylor was nervous about the impending doorbell ring, but she wasn't completely at ease either. She felt that although the worst possible scenario might have passed, there were still many things hanging in the air, things upon which her independence depended. Much of the future of these issues would rely on her conversation with Mallory and the subsequent action plan.   By an act of will, Taylor focused herself on choosing a new and clean t-shirt to wear for her meeting with the Deputy Director. Eventually, she settled on a simple beige shirt with the logo of some European brand she knew nothing about, presumably due to the absence of this brand on Earth Bet.   After another ten minutes of anxious waiting, the doorbell rang. Davidson quickly went to the door, welcoming the high-ranking official into their temporary abode.   Taking a deep breath, Taylor opened the door of her room and entered the living room, almost immediately meeting the gaze of Grace Mallory.   The Deputy Director was of an advanced age. It was difficult to determine the exact number, but Mallory appeared to be no less than fifty. Her short, blonde hair, clearly dyed to conceal grayness, was styled elegantly. With her pale blue eyes, she scrutinized Taylor, her gaze lingering for a few seconds on the place where Taylor's right arm should have been.   Hesitating for a moment, Taylor nevertheless extended her left hand for a handshake. The Director reciprocated the gesture. Her handshake was... firm.   "Director Mallory, it's good to see you," Taylor said respectfully, nodding.   "Just Grace will do."   "Then you can call me Taylor. That's my real name... and I don't see much point in hiding it." Especially since she had already told Marvin, so there was no longer any sense in pretending. She wanted to keep her own name, even though her documents now identified her as Meredith Preston.   "Alright. I think we should continue the conversation we started earlier."   "Honestly, Director, I don't even know where to begin."   "Perhaps from the very beginning. But first..." Mallory turned to Ashley, who was standing in the corridor, clearly unsure of what to do next. "Agent Davidson, you are dismissed for now, but from today onwards and for the duration of the 'David' initiative's operational activity, you report directly to me. You will receive additional instructions in a few days."   After waiting a few minutes for Davidson to leave the apartment, giving Taylor a quick hug goodbye, Mallory finally signaled Taylor to begin. Taking a deep breath, Taylor started her story.   "On May 20th, 1982, our world... as well as thousands of others, changed forever."  

***

Grace Mallory   "...he hovered above the ocean, alone and lost. The Golden Man. Zion. That's what he eventually called himself."   Grace listened to her new subordinate's story with a certain detachment. Despite all the madness in this damned world, the concept of an almost infinite number of parallel Earths was imaginable but extremely hard to believe. It contradicted everything Grace had ever learned or known. In her understanding, humans were bound to Earth, to one single blue sphere floating in the vast emptiness of space. But to comperhend that there were countless such blue orbs with the same countries and continents... It sounded like something out of a fantasy.   Yet, it was no more fantastical than all-powerful aliens devouring worlds for their survival. Her visit to Groom Lake twenty years ago had completely dispelled any inclination to believe in such conspiracy theories.   If Grace hadn't known the circumstances of the girl's arrival in Springfield, if she didn't have a considerable amount of indirect evidence suggesting that the girl's words could be true, Mallory would have never believed what she was hearing. Her job literally involved disbelieving fantastic theories, finding the truth hidden behind a web of lies.   But setting aside the fantastical nature of the backstory, much of the aftermath described by Hebert corresponded in some way to her understanding of how a society with a large number of randomly powered supers could exist.   Ever since she became a field agent and gained her first access to classified materials, one fact always amazed Grace - all the supers known to the CIA were born in the United States. She didn't believe the words of televangelists and propagandists about a 'God-ordained nation,' because if God really existed, he was unlikely to choose such individuals as supers for his grace.   No, Grace was absolutely convinced that Vought somehow created supers and then marketed successful products. Everything she knew about supers and "Vought International" pointed to this. The only thing she lacked was evidence and authority to gather that evidence.     However, despite her healthy agnosticism, Grace was ready to thank all the gods at once for the fact that on... her Earth, supers received their powers from birth, rather than as a result of a traumatizing event. Mallory saw nothing surprising in the fact that the number of supers committing crimes on Earth Bet was so large.   "The Golden Age ended in '92 when Behemoth appeared in Iran. The first Endbringer..." Hebert continued her story, which Grace occasionally interrupted to ask clarifying questions.   The situation in the world from which Hebert had come was unfolding in a nightmarish way. Grace understood something about global geopolitics and could imagine the scale of the disaster.   Even the mere fact of randomly appearing supers, whose powers were statistically more often used for criminal purposes, was very bad news. Traumatized people, often incapable of rational thinking, armed with such a wide arsenal of potential abilities – if what Hebert briefly described was to be believed – could turn the world upside down. Heartbreaker, Teacher, Nilbog, Machine Army, Nice Guy – even a brief description of their powers was enough for Grace to thank God that Vought could keep its supers under control.   As for the Endbringers... her daughter once dragged her, then the head of the operations department, to a screening of a Japanese Godzilla movie. What she saw then... was not impressive. But if she tried to imagine the existence of something similar in reality... her imagination fell short. It was a threat she had never even come close to encountering, a threat beyond all possible competencies.   And that made it harder to believe in the existence of such things. But Grace knew what she was getting into. Even though the story sounded fantastic, it was hard to imagine the depth of the horror with which its inhabitants coexisted.   Of everything Hebert had told, the most valuable information was undoubtedly the systems for classifying supers and various protocols of action for the Protectorate and the PRT. Yes, Vought had its own system for categorizing superpowers, but due to the relatively modest number of supers and the fact that they were always under Vought's control, the corporation's classification system was at best rudimentary and served different purposes. The system described by Taylor assessed the potential threat of a super and prescribed a specific action plan in case of hostile contact.   After nearly two hours of monologue and several glasses of water, Hebert finished explaining the context of the world's situation as she knew it. She mentioned that not everything was as simple as it seemed, and some things would only become relevant later.   "I... received my powers in January 2011. How and why, I won't tell, it's personal. But as a result, I gained the ability to control insects. I spent several months experimenting with my abilities and getting myself in order..."   Hebert's account of herself was... quite fascinating, from a certain perspective. Yes, the girl was clearly omitting some facts and uncomfortable topics, but the overall picture she painted was quite understandable.   Grace wasn't even surprised that the girl became a "villain." Unfortunately, Mallory knew statistics all too well and understood the mentality of residents of slowly dying cities like Brockton Bay. Teenage gangs in such cases were indeed one of the few ways to find friends and create some kind of interest group. Of course, this all worked with the caveat that we're talking about supers.   Local law enforcement didn't impress Grace either. The semi-open war of gangs with radical ideas and foreign support, barely maintaining a fragile status quo, incompetent people in leadership positions, backroom intrigues. Essentially - nothing new, but as if someone turned the heat of passions to their peak.   It was a powder keg. And her protégé, if not lighting the fuse, was certainly standing nearby with a lighter.   And the city erupted... quite literally. Grace again thanked God that neither she nor the FBI had to deal with a deranged spiritual heiress of the Unabomber, who was also a super.   The story of the Endbringer attack and what happened during it... was, in general, within the insane rules of the world Hebert described. Even in the normal world, there are overly enthusiastic idiots with fiery gazes, ready to do anything for a promotion. Even in the Agency, she could recall a couple of cases where agents snitched on each other, suspecting everyone of playing both sides.   However, the actions of Hebert and her friends were not much better. No, the girl tried to speak the truth, as she perceived it. She clearly softened some moments, but she probably didn't lie. But the picture that was forming for Grace, and which her analysts would clearly have to dissect, was not too pleasant. The kids were indeed rolling down a slippery slope. Attacking a team of similar teenagers, body-snatching, blackmail, hacking government databases.   No, the leader of Hebert's company was clearly one of those bastards who would step on heads to achieve their goals. Keeping a super prophet, who was also a little girl on drugs, was in the spirit of the most secretive CIA operations like Nicaragua, but even by Agency standards, it sounded like the dirtiest work, only undertaken when all other options were exhausted.   However, given the quite frightening ability of Weaver, such actions might have been excusable for him... for a while. Tattletale... Mallory was very glad that only Hebert tumbled out of the portal to them. Dealing with the kind of personality they described to her was incredibly difficult. Especially considering such abilities.   The Slaughterhouse Nine... It was hard for Grace to describe her feelings about Hebert's account of a group of insane maniacs who travel through cities killing people and supers just because. It even sounded delusional. As if Hebert was trying to invent a cool, dangerous, and absolutely evil enemy for herself, but her imagination failed to extend beyond the descriptions of the superpowers.   Listening to the story about this group of genocidal maniacs, Mallory's gaze suddenly caught the expression on Hebert's face. Or rather, its absence. At first, Hebert showed some signs of emotion, but as her story progressed, her narrative became more and more dry.   And the look. Hebert's gaze clearly wasn't on Grace. Her eyes looked through her.   Looking at the time and realizing that more than three hours had passed, Grace gently interrupted the girl's monologue.   "Enough, Taylor. That's enough for today."   Hebert jerked, then after blinking a few times, refocused her gaze.   "...Are you sure, Grace? This isn't even... half of the whole story. Not the biggest of my sins. Not the biggest revelations about how everything that happened could have happened."   Grace sighed.   "I'll be frank with you, even what I've heard is enough for several months of work for my analysts. If they don't mock me for believing in the existence of parallel worlds. As for the sins... I can imagine the extent of everything you've described."   "With all due respect, ma'am... you can't," Hebert's voice was firm and confident. This did not please Grace.   "Then let's rephrase the question. How critical is the information I don't yet have in relation to the current situation?"   Hebert paused for a moment before answering.   "Perhaps the most important thing not mentioned is that there might exist a secret supragovernmental organization assisting 'Vought International' in creating that blue liquid which gives people superpowers."   "Blue liquid?" Grace asked, sensing the revelations she had sought for many years.   "They call it 'Compound V'. In the hospital where I was staying, the compound was stored in basement rooms under very heavy security. It looks like a bluish liquid, kind of like antifreeze. They put it in IV drips for infants, who are in a special maternity ward. I'm not sure that this stuff is what gives superpowers, but... it would be logical."   "Details. Now.  As many as you can provide."    

***

Homelander.   The unexpected press tour organized by Madelyn had left John quite drained. Mental fatigue was practically the only kind of exhaustion he could feel. In the world, there were almost no tasks capable of physically tiring him, despite all the eggheads' efforts.   He had his suspicions about why Maddie suddenly dumped a whole slew of interviews and talk shows on him. After all, it wasn't every day that "Vought" found itself at the center of a burgeoning scandal involving supers, Hollywood stars, supermodels, singers, and, somehow, a district attorney.   From what he gathered from the PR talks and the numerous news segments he couldn't help but overhear due to his enhanced hearing, it turned out that this idiot - Weaver, being a second-rate hero, decided to make some quick cash by working for some yellow newspaper that thrived on publishing exclusive and often very intimate details from the lives of stars and other important personalities, then profiting from the ensuing uproar. How such a publication hadn't been shut down yet was beyond John, but the fact remained.   Many readers, understandably, wondered how this tabloid managed time and again to get such compromising photos and videos. Finally, some journalist got lucky finding one angle of a photo taken in a penthouse right on Manhattan. And in discovering this angle, the reporter found... spider webs.   This moron Weaver, it turned out, didn't even try to hide, simply stalking his selected victims using his powers and leaving behind spider webs in absolutely indecent amounts. And it would have been fine if the photos were just taken from interesting angles, but Weaver managed to stalk and photograph people even in public restrooms.   John had nothing against voyeurism and other innocent hobbies; after all, most of his colleagues in The Seven engaged in similar activities to some extent. Why resist one's instincts when one could follow them and enjoy the pleasure?   Homelander's problem with Weaver's actions was that this idiot got caught multiple times, thereby compromising both the company and The Seven, led by John himself. He couldn't stand being held responsible for other supers, especially not for the actions of someone as dim-witted as Weaver.   Suddenly, John felt his smartphone vibrating in his costume's pocket. Pulling it out and seeing the number, Homelander immediately answered the call.   "Director Edgar?   "John. Are you alone?" - Director Vought's voice was as dry as usual.   Homelander looked around. He was standing on the roof of one of Manhattan's skyscrapers. No one was in sight, except for onlookers taking photos of him from a window in one of the opposite buildings. Pushing off the ground, Homelander soared and ascended to an altitude of about two kilometers above the ground.   " I am."   "Good. A few days ago Marathon died while escorting a super who appeared in Springfield. Stillwell is still figuring out the details, but I need to ask you something, John." - Homelander swallowed. Mr. Edgar was one of those people he had to listen to, and when Mr. Edgar asks, he had to comply.   "What is it, Director?"   "Stay out of this. Completely. We don't know much, but she could pose a threat to The Seven. You can't be seen involved in this. Do you understand?"   "Yes, Director Edgar."   "Good, John. I hope we understand each other. Check your mail, my secretary will send you a cover story for the press regarding Marathon's status."   "Understood, Director."   Edgar hung up.   John... John didn't know how to react to the news of Thornton's death. Marathon was a weakling and had greatly declined, but he was still one of the oldest heroes of The Seven, one of its symbols, albeit a retired one. And losing a hero like that... John understood it was important from the company's perspective, but he himself felt... nothing.   Yes, it was unpleasant that Thornton died, and he would've loved to deal with his killer, but death itself? How was it any different from the way other test subjects of Dr. Vogelbaum died?   John didn't know how to react to this death.   However, according to the Director, it shouldn't concern him too much. Maybe later he would ask Madelyn about it.   Thinking of the woman, John felt a rush of blood to his groin. Yes, Madelyn certainly knew the answers to all of John's questions and desires. Perhaps he should visit her.   Invigorated by these thoughts, John immediately took off towards the Vought building.