The Girl

Eight hours later. Springfield. “So, Dr. Sard, what do you have to say about the patient?” A man clad in an office suit with the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned asked not too politely as he sat in a visitor's chair. A middle-aged man with a slight gray in his temples, wearing large glasses, took his eyes off the results of his research and answered. “You know, I was hoping you could tell me, Mr. Teller. I haven't seen an injury like that since, I guess, Iraq. And even there such cases were rare, because very few people survived to the hospital with such wounds.” The man in the suit frowned. “Would you care to elaborate? Vought needs details.” The doctor chewed his lips. “Details, details..." he rustled through his papers, searching for something specific. When he had found it, he adjusted his glasses and quoted, "The wounds to the back of the head are the major threat to the patient's life. The nature of the injuries are consistent with bullet wounds with low-impact cartridges. The MRI findings suggest that the bullets did not strike any vital areas of the brain, damaging, however, an unknown tumor found between the frontal and parietal lobes of the brain. In addition to the bullet wounds, a scar characteristic of surgery was found on the hairline, but the fact of surgery itself could not be confirmed."        "In the acromion bone, pieces of metal were found fused to the bone tissue, which could not be removed. On the right side of the ribs there was evidence of a large laceration that had healed."        "The right arm is amputated from the elbow. The nature of the amputation corresponds to a field amputation, there are traces of cauterization. Traces of multiple wounds and contusions are found. Scar tissue covers more than ten percent of the patient's body."        "The nature of the injuries sustained implies systematic violence, possibly torture." Having finished reading, the doctor raised his head again, looking at Teller, "Is that enough for you, or are there any other questions?’ “What about the prognosis for recovery?” “It's too early to judge, young man. We've barely managed to stabilize her condition, but she's now in a medically-induced coma. She's lucky Strange was in the O.R. before he left for New York. However, even after surgery from one of the best neurosurgeons in the country… I'm afraid we've only managed to repair the external damage. I don't have half the necessary tests on hand yet, but I can talk about nervous system damage, residuals of something resembling combat stimulants in her blood, and other internal damage. Also, this tumor..." the doctor nodded at the scans on the table, "is inoperable. Yes, we were able to remove the bullets, but we can't do anything about the tumor. But from what we've seen, it's not life-threatening for the patient. But generally speaking... The prognosis is not good. She may survive, but it's a miracle if she can get around on her own.” The Vought employee nodded, quickly typing something on his smartphone. “One last question, doctor. I know it might sound strange, but still. Do you think this girl is empowered?” Vincent Sard scratched his nose before answering. “With the exception of an abnormal area in her brain, we haven't detected any abnormal mutations. So my answer is no.” Teller finished typing on his smartphone before getting up from his chair, then turning to the doctor. “Thank you for the information, Dr. Sard.” “That's my job, young man. Which pays well, to boot. And, tell your superiors that the other projects are on schedule, all information on potential "targets" I have already sent.” “I will. Good day Doctor. Keep us informed of any changes in the patient's condition. It's very important to Vought.“ “It certainly is. Goodbye, Mister Teller”

***

CIA Headquarters, Langley. Grace tiredly finished reading reports on the current state of affairs in Iraq. The president had asked for a report to Congress, and Petraeus had dumped the job on her, himself engaged in some "What are we going to do about Assange" type of meeting. And some morons suggested borrowing a couple of supers from Vought and forcibly extraditing him back. Were ridiculed, of course, but the trend itself was seen by Mallory as extremely disturbing. She was not alone, however, in noticing the diligence with which corporates licked the Department of Defense’s ass. There were enough voices, on all levels, to raise a whole ruckus in Congress over the insolence of Vought. Even the Samaritan Amendments were wrapped up on such joys. But everyone in the CIA, as well as most of the congressmen, understood that it was only a matter of time. The election was just around the corner, and with it the change of administration, directors, and so on and so forth. And who knows how many elected officials with glowing eyes Vought already has on their financial hooks. Her project to oppose the supers is now up in the air. The team was ready, as was the information. There were quite literally just a couple of signatures missing before things got rolling. And damn it, Grace had been waiting for this day. The selector beeped. “Ma'am, Hodgson from Analytics is here to see you.” Her secretary muttered. The woman peeled away from her monitor, pushing the answer button. “Send him in.” A couple of seconds later a perpetually disheveled man in his thirties with hair like Bob Ross, except a few shades lighter, walked through the door. His nametag dangled dashingly over his shoulder, and the crumbs of something resembling chips were clearly visible in his beard. Grace sighed. Reprimanding the Analysts for their appearance was about as useless as trying to shoot Homelander. It was a waste of time.  “So, what have you got?” The vice director asked.  “Ma'am, we got something here. You're really not gonna believe this.”  “I saw a guy talking to fish and I still want to shoot Mesmer as potentially the greatest threat to the information security of the United States. Spit it out, Hodges.” The analyst fussed, took a tablet out of the inside pocket of his thinly-worn jacket and, after some fiddling with it, displayed the information on the TV screen hanging to the right of Mallory.    “Anyway, ma'am. Yesterday at 4:27 p.m., in Springfield, right next door, this happened," at these words, the TV started playing a recording of some kind of video clip.         Mellory spent the next couple of minutes trying to keep from hitting Hodgson on the spot, because she was only just hearing about this. Incidents involving injured or dying superheroes were very rare. It was even rarer for these incidents to be made public. “I assume you have a good reason for reporting this only now?” The vice-director slowly inquired, taking her eyes off the screen.   “Yes, ma'am. We've been trying to gather as much information as we can on this super. Anticipating your question, the delay was that we found nothing. Nothing at all, ma'am. No leads. DNA database, cameras, history, similar designs, all blank. We even borrowed the MYSTIC servers and their facial recognition system from our friends at the NSA for a couple of hours. We even talked to Europol. It's all blank. As far as we can tell, no such person exists in the United States or Europe.” “What if it's a shape-shifter? I mean, we're supposed to be trying to track one of these guys.” she suggested. “It's unlikely. The design of the costume doesn't suggest the possibility of a change of identity - more like hiding it. You saw the mask yourself. But that's not what I mean, ma'am. Remember I told you we borrowed MYSTIC? Well, I took the liberty of monitoring Vought's internal logs. Now, based on their messenger logs… they're out of the loop, too.” “Are you saying they don't know where she came from either?“ Grace raised her eyebrows in surprise. Things were beginning to take an interesting turn. “Yes, ma'am. For a company with a near monopoly on supers to have no information on someone who looks like a fully formed super... it's strange, to say the least.” “Are you suggesting foreign interference?” “Highly unlikely, ma'am. And even if so, why now? Why Springfield? Either we're missing a huge amount of information, or it's just something else. But we're working on that, too.” Grace rubbed her temples. The new information was changing a lot of things. “What's happening at Vought? How did they react?” “They're paying for her treatment with their funds, but they're obviously waiting for her to come to her senses.” “How realistic is it to intercept her from them?” “This is going to be a scandal. We have no real grounds for detention other than the fact that Jane Doe doesn't fit any of the known databases. They'll cite corporate regulations. We'll challenge it, we'll be sued... we can get involved, but we'll be stuck for a long time.” Hodgson was right, it was too early to get into a direct confrontation with Vought. Not when her project was about to go into effect. Six months would have been enough time to try. As it was…  Grace frowned. “Okay. Keep an eye on all the corporatists' body movements and send a plainclothes man to the hospital. We need to know about every breath this Doe takes. The last thing I want to do right now is deal with supers who learned to teleport out of nowhere in the middle of the United States.“ “Roger that, ma'am.”

***

??? The last thing she remembered was Panacea's hand touching her forehead. Or rather, that was the last clear memory she had. She was pretty sure there was more than that, but the images were jumbled and blurred into mush. She remembered the woman in the suit. She remembered the pain. Or she didn't remember it, but she felt it now. The past and present blurred and connected to form something that could hardly be called her consciousness. Yes. She definitely felt pain. It wasn't hellish, but she was very bad when it came to measuring the limits of pain. It seemed to be about some kind of… bomb that had gone off next to her? She remembered the bomb. She remembered what it felt like. But she didn't remember the circumstances at all. There were faces. Voices. But there was no context. Connections were severed. There was no sense of the passenger. She knew that. She didn't know who " Passenger" was, but she couldn't feel it. She could not move. Was conscious, but at the same time unconscious. A strange sensation. But familiar at the same time. But there was an understanding that she was missing something. Probably that was the Passenger. Whatever it was. Survival was the first priority. However, since she could not interact with the world, the current task was to restore sanity as fully as possible. Her name was... Taylor. Taylor Hebert. It was a name that recurred often in her memories and evoked a sense of belonging. Brockton Bay. It was a… town. She was born there, grew up there. But then something happened… What happened? The car. The water. A relative. Mother? Annette. Annette Hebert. Annette Hebert was her mother? Yes. Annette Hebert was her mother and she died. She died in a car accident. Is that how it started? No. Yes. She wasn't sure. It had something to do with it. But not really. The flute. She had a flute that belonged to Annette. What had happened to it? A memory. Sadness. Resentment. Anger. The flute was broken? By whom? Images. Three. Trio? Did she call someone "Trio"? An old friend. An Hench Girl. A Hero. Hero? Doesn't feel right. Wrong context. Hero-Villain. Not a Hero, but a hero. Ward? Ward. "Old Friend." Disgusting. Why? Flute. Diaries. Many associations. Betrayal. Yes. A friend betrayed her, broke the Flute. Ward helped. Hench Girl… existed. Is that the beginning? No. But close. What came after? Dragon Man? The bombs? No. Before. Too unusual. Winter? Winter. She remembers... the hospital. A hospital in winter? She was in the hospital. Close to the beginning. School? School. Trio. Winter. Not a memory, but an image that makes her whole mind seem to shake. Nothing concrete, but she remembers terror and fear. Is it where it began? Yes, it is. The memories after that are fragmentary. She was... running. Preparing for something. For a fight with the Dragon Man? Not exactly. An accident. A hero. She wanted to be a hero? She did. A hero implies... power. Extraordinary one. Power... Passenger? Yes. No. Not enough data. It's a working assumption. If the Passenger provides an opportunity to act somehow within a position similar to the present, the Passenger interacts with the world around her without her manual input. Correct Conclusion. Lots of them. Small ones. She remembers the interactions. Living organisms? Living organisms. Insects. She controlled insects. A strange power. But scary. That's what she was told. Power. Insects. Lots of them. Swarm? Was her name Swarm? No. Something different. Associated with movement. Associated with movement and associated with bugs. Some kind of bug movement. Skittering? Recognition. Identification. Association. But her name was Taylor Hebert. Duality. Schizophrenia? Incorrect. Double life? Close. Images. People. Costumes? Heroes? No. Not really. Not heroes, but perceived as such. Villains? Not really. Villain-like-heroes? Looks like it. Was she one of them? Lots of images. Pleasant sensations. Yes. She was. Unpleasant associations. Lots of them. Hostility, anger, hatred. Did she hated someone? Lots of images. Not only the Trio but other people… and not people. Monsters. Scary ones. Six of them. Lots of feelings. Association with death. Association with power. She hated and fought those monsters. Numerous times. With bugs. Sounds horrifyingly wrong. How did she even survive? Names, Places, Association. An image. The Golden Man. Son? The Golden Man's name was "Son"? Close Enough. Something more archaic, more literary. Scion? Yes.  Golden Man... Not Man. Something more. Can't remember. Can't understand. Something more. Associated with death. With destruction. With Inevitability. Did he kill someone she knew? More. He killed more. A lot more. Did she try to fight him? A lot of images. A lot of associations. Definitely a “yes”. But again, with bugs? What… What was she thinking? There’s no information. She hopes that it’ll make sense when she remembers. Yes. She wanted to kill Scion but their last plan failed. She was wounded and taken to Panacea. There, she asked her to remove the restrictions on the Passenger and then... Now she's here. At the end of the logic chain. She was supposed to kill Scion and she did something to accomplish it. However, as a result, she was shot. But she is alive. The shot either didn't kill her or shouldn't have killed her. Which means she either succeeded in her plot or failed so badly that she was chosen to be killed. Not enough information. But it gets better. All the more reason for her to come to her senses. She could feel it, because her hearing was coming back to her. “ ...coming to her senses. I repeat, the patient is regaining consciousness. Get Dr. Sard in here.”  She'll live. She was obliged to survive. She'll find out what happened. Whatever it takes.