Chapter 239 - My CO Stash #39 - I Just Love Killin by BlueNine (RickandMortyXWorm) (1/2)
-I'm honestly only recommending this Taylor ”MC” story here just for my boi Krombopulous, yes Krombopulous the f_u_c_k_i_n_g assassin from Rick and Morty, I shit you not he gets isekai'd to Worm~ They did my dude dirty honestly, how they gonna let Morty accidentally kill this dude... Anyways he's pretty much Taylor's ghost sensei now, his positivity for a serial killer makes a real nice comedic tone!
Sypnosis: Instead of a boring old Shard, Taylor receives the spirit of Krombopulous Michael, the friendly intergalactic assassin. Can an idealistic girl make a difference with the help of one cheerful hitman?
Rated: ???
Words: 130K
Posted on: forums.spacebattles.com/threads/i-just-love-killin-worm-rick-and-morty-crossover.446513/#post-27181706 (BlueNine)
PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)
-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)
Chapter 1-1.7
<*><*><*>
Krombopulous Michael, hired killer extraordinaire, leveled his newly acquired antimatter pistol at the Target and began to pull the trigger. Unfortunately, a b_a_r_e fraction of a second before he could discharge his weapon, a small intergalactic vessel plowed through the wall behind him and crushed him neatly against the floor. Thus, the assassin's life came to a sudden and somewhat anticlimactic close.
Normally, his physical demise would result in his soul's migration to planes unknown. However, the fatal crash also caused a fractional loosening of one of the dimensional-locking bonds that held the Target in place. For an instant, a pulse of instability rippled across the boundaries that defined the current dimension. The end result was that Krombopulous' ascending essence, in effect, slipped through the cracks of the universe. The collection of d_e_s_i_r_es and memories that made up Krombopulous Michael slid across the infinite strata of the multi-verse, following the path of least resistance.
Then, suddenly, a semi-static point appeared in the roiling chaos. It was not quite an empty vessel, as the cycle of rebirth usually demanded, but it was well-suited for another soul to take root. To Krombopulous, it shone like a glittering lighthouse in a sea of darkness.
He drew closer to the Vessel, but was intercepted by another presence.
[PROVENANCE?]
It did not speak, as such, but rather issued forth a packet of direct meaning.
”Howdy,” Krombopulous sent in reply.
[DESTINATION?]
”Oh, I'm headed down there.” He tried to point, but realized he no longer had claws.
[NEGATION. LINK PRIORITY ESTABLISHED. ADJUST TRAJECTORY.]
”Hmm, I guess you had dibs on that body. You sure you can't let me have this one?”
[NEGATION.]
”Oh, boy. Well, sorry about this, then.”
Krombopulous slid forward and seized the other presence. He wasn't totally clear on the particular mechanics of the situation, but even as an incorporeal thought-form, he was a competent and enthusiastic killer. He began to quickly disassemble the other entity.
[NEGATION. NEGATION. SEVERE DAMAGE DETECTED. NEGATION. FATAL ERROR.]
”Yeah, that's usually how it is.”
After a brief struggle, the other presence dissolved.
”Well, that was refreshing. Time to go.” He gathered his strength and descended.
<*><*><*>
I had never screamed so loudly in my life. I still wanted to scream, but I could no longer manage anything more than a hoarse gurgle. I tried to control my breathing, but each breath brought more of the rot, the hideously pungent smell of decaying blood that singed my sinuses. I might have blacked out a few times, although I couldn't be sure.
I shuddered, and something broke in me. I stopped banging on the locker door and weeping. It was almost peaceful. Was this what it felt like to drown? To struggle and struggle, and then just… let go, as the waters closed over your head?
Then, a piercing headache struck me like a nail being driven into the base of my skull. I gasped and clutched at my head, sliding down even further into the pile of filth. The pain writhed up and down my neck and my jaw spasmed wildly. Was I having a stroke? Slowly, the agony began to subside to a single point and then vanished.
”Hiya!” a chipper voice said.
I flinched. The voice sounded like it came from right next to my ear.
”What… who?” I rasped.
”Oh, right! Where are my manners? I'm Krombopulous Michael, nice to meet ya.”
I was going crazy. That was nice. My brain was shutting down, and I was hallucinating as the last synapses fired off.
”What's your name?” the voice prompted, after a long pause.
What the hell. What did I have to lose at this point? I might as well talk to the voices.
”Taylor.”
”Great, that's a very nice name, I love it. So, Taylor, it looks like you're in a bit of a pickle.”
I couldn't help it. The situation had gotten too absurd. If I didn't laugh, I was going to cry. So I started to laugh. Or well, my c_h_e_s_t shook and I sort of made choking noises.
”You could say that,” I said, once my hysteria died down.
The voice sighed. ”Yup, pretty nasty. Haven't smelled anything this gross since I crawled up that septic pipe on Krebulon. Well, anyways, let's get us out of here.”
”Us? Where are you? You know what, never mind, I'm going crazy, I don't even know why I'm talking to you.”
”Hmm. To answer your first question, it looks like I'm hitching a ride in your noggin. Don't know how, doesn't matter. Let's focus on the more immediate problem.” A short pause. ”Oh, and if you are crazy, don't worry, I don't judge. I'm very open minded.”
”Uh… okay?”
”Haha, that's the spirit! Don't let a little schizophrenia get you down. Anyways, don't worry, we'll be out of here in no time. They haven't made a prison that can hold me.”
The casual way he said that made me shiver. ”O-okay. What do I do?”
”Hmm. You wouldn't happen to have a knife, would you?”
”A knife? I'm at school!”
”…So that's a no?”
”Ugh… yes, that's a no.” My voice was starting to give out entirely.
The voice I was now mentally calling ”K” made a tsk sound. ”It's always good to have a knife. Well, no biggie. Feel around the edges of the door for me, would ya?”
I leaned forward and complied. Having something to do, something that might help, gave me a glimmer of hope to latch onto.
”Aha!” K cried. ”There's the lock. It doesn't look too tough; I've gotten out of worse. You ready for the next part?”
”Y-yes.”
”Great, you're doing great. I need you to wedge yourself as far back as you can get. Brace your shoulders against the wall behind you.”
I shifted around as best as I could in the cramped space. I ended up having to turn my torso quite a bit to get any leverage.
”Good, good. Can you get your leg up?”
My t_h_i_g_hs burned from being stuck in one position, but I managed to lift my right leg.
”Okay, good. Now, kick as close to the lock as you can without hitting the lock itself. Just really give it a go.”
I lashed out and felt a small but negligible shift in the door frame. I snarled in frustration.
”Don't sweat it, kiddo, we'll get it. Drive from the hip. Imagine kicking through the door, not at it.”
So it went. I kicked over and over again, occasionally accepting a correction from K. After an especially hard kick, I heard a metallic creaking sound and froze.
”Right on!” K said. ”That's what we were waiting for. Take a breather and get ready for the last push.”
I closed my eyes and grinned viciously. I was going to do it. F_u_c_k The Trio, and f_u_c_k everyone that looked the other way. I was going to escape on my own. Or, well, with the help of my hallucination.
”Ready,” I said.
”Never doubted it. Feel around the lock again.” I did so, and felt a few places where the metal was bent. ”Okay, looking good. Kick just above that bendy bit there.”
I sent a few more kicks and was rewarded with another squeal of tortured metal. Yes, yes! I slammed my foot forward with all my remaining strength.
Thud.
I.
Thud.
Am.
Thud.
Going.
Thud.
To LIVE!
With a final clank, the locker door crunched outward, spilling me forward in a cascade of rotten tampons and victory. As I began to black out, I heard K's voice.
”Nice work! See you on the other side.”
- - -
AN: Yep, it's a locker scene. What sin, what travesty! I hope the dialog makes up for it.
Chapter 1.2
I did not bolt awake with a dramatic gasp. My consciousness returned in fits and starts, letting me catch small fragments of conversation before I was dipped repeatedly back into the foggy, surreal soup of fever dreams.
”TAYLOR! Oh my God, oh my God…”
I slip a blade neatly under the Target's jaw.
”No witnesses have come forth thus far…”
I kneel in the moonlight, warm blood spilling down my face.
”What do you mean, they don't know?”
A windpipe crunches under my fingers, and I smile.
My eyelids fluttered open, and I was greeted with the most monstrous and all-consuming headache I'd ever experienced. I g_r_o_a_n_e_d and pressed a hand against my forehead.
I felt someone grab my hand. ”Taylor, are you awake, sweetie?”
I craned my cramped neck to see Dad at my bedside. ”Uh-huh.” My throat felt like it was full of sand. ”Water?” I tried to ask. It came out sounding more like ”Waah?”
Dad pushed a plastic cup of water into my hand, and I chugged it so fast that I sputtered and choked. Ow. Not helping my headache.
”Where'm I?” I asked, once my coughing had subsided.
”Brockton General. The cops said you were passed out in the hallway at your school.”
My jaw tightened and I looked away. ”Is that all they said?”
Dad put a hand on my knee. ”Something about possible assault. What happened, sweetheart?”
I bit my lip hard and forced down the lump in my throat. ”They… pushed me in.”
”Pushed you? Who did?”
”Them, okay? Those f_u_c_k_i_n_g three! They shoved me in my locker with all that…” I bit the sentence off. He didn't understand any of the context of what I was saying.
Dad's eyes widened at my outburst. ”Are you saying you know who attacked you?”
My eyes fell to my lap. ”It doesn't matter. They're not going to get in trouble. Just… just let it go, okay?”
Dad leaned forward, his eyes hard, and I flinched despite myself. ”No, it's not goddamn okay. You tell me right now, Taylor.”
I start to deflect, but I found that the typical reassurances wouldn't come out. It wasn't okay. I wasn't fine. I didn't want my shit-pile life to tip over onto my Dad, but it was like I was packed so full of misery that I just vomited it all up. I ended up telling him everything, including all the events that had led up to the locker.
I hated seeing his reactions. Nausea. Rage. Despair. His compassion was too heavy. It made my pain more real, somehow. There was a long time where my Dad just held me as I shook uncontrollably.
”Why, Taylor? Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?” His visible guilt stung me.
”I couldn't, Dad. There was nothing… I couldn't do that to you.”
”Do what? Confide in me? I'm your father! Don't you trust me?” Another sting.
”I do! I do. It was just too much. With Mom, and your job, and everything. It was too much to deal with.”
He cursed. ”I don't want that, Taylor! I know I haven't… been a perfect dad, since your Mom passed, but you should be able to talk to me.”
Yes, I should. But you haven't been in any shape to talk about anything.
But there are some things that can't be said out loud. ”Okay,” I said, ”I'll try to talk to you more.” I wanted the words to be true, but they tasted like lies in my mouth.
”That's all I can ask for.” He smiled sadly for a moment, but then I saw rage flare up on his face again. ”I still can't believe that Emma would do that to you. If Alan knows about it…” The threat hung unspoken.
”Dad, please don't. I can't have you go to jail.”
”Taylor, Emma and those girls have been torturing you. You could've died in there. I don't care if Alan's a lawyer, if he's been covering for her, I'm going to-”
”Dad, stop!” I yelled. ”That isn't going to do anything. Just… don't. Please?” I gave him my best pleading face.
For an uneasy few seconds, it seemed that he would stand up and storm out anyways. But at length, he sagged back into his chair. ”Okay, okay,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, ”But I'm going to talk to the school, and you're giving a statement to the cops. Those girls put you in the hospital. This shit isn't going to stand.”
Fat lot of good that'll do. But I decided not to say anything. Dad needed to believe that he could do something, and I didn't want to tread on his hopes.
”Alright. I think I need to sleep. I'll be okay by myself for a while; you should get back to work.”
”Are you sure? I can stay. The guys will survive without me for a day.”
”Dad, no. Please, just go. Please. I'll be fine. I'm just gonna sleep.”
He hesitated, then smiled. ”Okay, sweetheart, if that's what you want.” He kissed me on my forehead before he left.
<*><*><*>
I closed my eyes, and the full weight of the situation began to settle on me. I could have f_u_c_k_i_n_g died. The only thing that kept me alive was the fact that I had a bout of… what? Temporary insanity? A nervous breakdown? I peered around surreptitiously.
Once I saw the coast was clear, I whispered, ”K?”
A tense moment of silence. Phew. It looked like it wasn't-
”Hey there!” A familiar voice piped up. ”I tried to give you a little space, on account of your dad being here.”
Oh God. It wasn't a temporary thing. Was I going to hear voices for the rest of my life? I guess it was a small price to pay for being alive, but… what was I supposed to do? I decided to play along.
”Uh, thanks. For that, and for… you know, before.” Very smooth. I was even awkward talking to my imaginary friend.
”Oh sure, no biggie.”
”Right. So, sorry, but who are you, again? Things got a little… crazy.”
”Heh, don't sweat it. Your first near death experience can be a doozy. I'm Krombopulous Michael, and I'm an assassin. You can keep calling me 'K' if you like, I know my name's a bit of a mouthful. I'm not sure how I got into your head, but let's make the best of it, alright?”
”An assassin. In my head.”
”Yup! I'll kill anyone, anywhere, that's my motto,” he said brightly. ”Speaking of,” he continued, ”I couldn't help but overhear your troubles with those three girls. What do you say we murder them?”
He slipped the question in so casually that for a moment I found myself considering it. It wasn't a terribly long moment, but I really didn't want to start down the path where I listened to the homicidal voices. The President is a Reptilian and must die? Of course, Mr. Voice.
”Um, thank you for offering, but I don't think I can do that.”
”Sure you can, it's easy! I'll walk you through it.”
”Well, I don't mean I can't, I mean I won't. I won't kill them just because they're bullies. Killing is… wrong.”
A long pause, followed by a chuckle. ”Okay. You seem like a smart girl, Taylor, so I'm going to be straight with you. This is your body, and it looks like I'm just a passenger. But I would like to keep, uh, doing what I do best, and it looks like the only way I can do that is by working through you. I'm not picky; I'll help you kill anyone you want.”
I opened my mouth to refute him, but he cut me off. ”Ah, hold on. I know it sounds a little out there right now, but once you hear me out, I'm sure we can come to a compromise. Quid pro quo and all that jazz.”
I fiddled with the IV in my wrist. ”Sorry, but I don't think so. Honestly, I'm not completely convinced that you're even real.”
K chortled. ”I guess that's fair. It's a weird situation, for sure. But could you do me a favor? Just for the purposes of this conversation, assume that I am real?”
I supposed that I owed him that much. Whether he was real or not, he did help me get out of the locker. ”Okay. I'll try.”
”Thank you, Taylor. I understand it's a bit of a leap. So, first thing's first. Why don't you tell me what you want?”
What did I want? I bit my lip as I considered the question. For the longest time, all I wanted was to survive. To go unnoticed. Could I aspire to something else? If so, where would I even start? Anger boiled low in in my gut. Was I so ground down and broken that I had no hope or d_e_s_i_r_es?
”I want… to be strong. So I don't have to worry about getting hurt.”
K hummed a bit to himself. ”That's an interesting one. But let me ask: is that something you can base your life around? Or is it just your fear talking?”
I snarled, ready to make an angry retort, but then froze. He was right. I even said it out loud. I didn't want to worry. I was afraid. But that wasn't going to be enough, not any more. I looked a little deeper, thinking about where I wanted my life to go. If I could do anything, what would it be? My first thoughts went to the city I lived in, the decay and the hopelessness.
”I want to make a difference,” I said.
”That's better. How do you want to do that?”
”By helping people.”
”Good, but vague. How, exactly, do you want to help people? Give me an image.”
God, this was annoying. My headache was coming back. ”I don't know. Why does it matter? Why do you care?”
”Hey now, don't sulk. Okay. Here. I'm one of the most successful assassins in the Galactic Federation. How do you think I got there?”
”I'm sure you're going to tell me,” I muttered.
”What did I say about sulking? Sheesh. Anyways, I got to where I am, or well, was, because I know exactly what I want, and I have a passion for it. There are very few people who want it as bad as I do. I love being an assassin. I know it sounds corny, but if you're not doing what you love, you'll never reach your true potential.”
Bleh. It was like listening to a homicidal self-help book. But I couldn't just lay there in sullen silence after he opened up like that. Even if what he shared with me was kind of terrifying. I racked my brain for true love, or whatever. Want, want, want. What did I want?
”Alright, alright, fine. I want to help people by protecting them from bad guys.” God, that sounded childish. But it was true. I wanted to make sure that people couldn't be trampled and forgotten like I had been.
”Hoho, now we're getting somewhere! Bad guys are just the worst, am I right? Makes you wanna just get rid of 'em.”
”I'm not going to just start killing criminals, K,” I said flatly.
”What? Of course not. I never said that.”
”Uh-huh.”
”…Maybe you could kill just a few?”
”Oh my God, you don't quit.”
”Darn right! That's why I'm the best. But seriously, I'm not talking about all bad guys, but I'm sure there are some, you know, real nasty characters you could kill. The worst of the worst. People no one would miss.”
I winced a bit at that, but gave it more serious thought. There were people with Kill Orders on them, individuals who had committed acts so vicious and horrible that the government put a bounty on their heads. I explained the system to K briefly.
”…But those people are totally out of my league,” I said. ”Mass murderers and super dangerous threats that are pretty much un-killable.”
”Now now, hold your horses. 'Un-killable' is a quitter word. The important question is: would you be willing to kill these… bad guys, if you could?”
I felt like I was suddenly standing over a very deep pit. Would I be willing to pursue and murder some of the worst serial killers in the world? I couldn't half-ass something like that. Did I have the passion, as K put it, to pursue that goal wholeheartedly? No, this was stupid. I didn't even have any powers. How could I hope to fight someone like Nilbog, or the Slaughterhouse Nine?
”I don't think I could…”
K cut me off. ”Hey, no. I asked: 'would you, if you could?' Don't think about your capabilities right now. Think about your heart.”
I took a deep breath and tried my best to look into my ”heart.” I imagined myself killing a person as bad as Jack Slash. Avenging his victims and making sure he could never hurt another soul. Making the world a better, safer place. It made me feel strong. Purposeful. But still, was that enough?
”I guess so. But I wouldn't want to just be a killing machine. Most criminals don't deserve to die. I'd want to put them in prison.”
”Hmm. Well, I did say it would be a compromise.” He paused. ”Okay, how about this. First, I'll train you up, teach you the business. It'll be like Leon: The Professional, but without the brooding and weird s_e_x_u_a_l tension.”
”Huh?”
”What, you haven't seen The Professional? Jean Reno? Gary Oldman? No? Jeez, teenagers these days. It's a great assassin movie, we've gotta watch it. Anyways, once you get the basics down, you can practice on some street-level chumps. With… non-lethal take-downs, if you want.” I could feel K shudder with distaste. ”And then, we'll slowly ramp up to the real baddies, weapons free.” He made some pew pew sound effects, and I couldn't help but giggle.
”Alright, I can agree to training with you. But that's all, for now. I'm not promising to kill anybody,” I said firmly.
”That's fair. But no sandbagging. And… try to keep an open mind?”
I was aware of the slippery slope beneath me, but I decided to agree to the spirit of the compromise.
”I can do that.”
And thus, I made my first deal with an assassin.
- - -
AN: Wow! I'm encouraged that so many people have liked my story thus far. Please keep the feedback coming, and don't hesitate to let me know if there's something I could improve. I'm here to learn.
Chapter 1.3
The discussion with the cops went about as well as could be expected. They offered to have my dad present while they took my statement, but I declined. I knew what was going to happen, and it would just piss him off more. I strongly considered not saying anything at all, but I had sort of promised my dad that I would at least try to talk to the police. I told them about the prior bullying and gave them the names of the Trio. Unfortunately, since I was pushed from behind, I couldn't honestly say that I saw their faces when they attacked me. I could've just lied. What were the chances that I was randomly attacked by someone other than the Trio? But no. I wouldn't leave any opening where I could be seen as a liar.
So, I told the cops the truth: I hadn't seen my attackers. That got the reaction I expected. Lack of evidence, no witnesses have come forward, terribly sorry, blah, blah, blah. To be fair, the cops at least had the decency to look remorseful. When the school faculty gave me the ”there's nothing we can do” speech, there was usually an edge of apathy or contempt. I nodded with understanding and accepted their assurances that they would investigate further. K took the opportunity to once again suggest lethal vigilante justice.
Meanwhile, Winslow High had entered full ass-covering mode. They dressed it up like it was in my best interest, but they basically told me they would pay my medical bills if I kept my mouth shut and didn't sue them. Dad was against it, but I managed to convince him otherwise. I'll admit, the idea of raking the school over the coals was tempting. But suing them would require time and energy that would be better devoted toward my new mission, so I didn't pursue it. It was nice to have a bit of clarity in that way.
I was eager to leave and get started, but I apparently had a host of nasty infections from the biohazard I had been covered in, including some antibiotic resistant strains. Thus, I was bumped up in the queue to see Panacea before I was discharged. This was quite the stroke of luck for me; I had heard that the waiting list to see the miraculous healer was massive.
My knee shook with nervous energy. Everyone knew about Panacea, the Angel of Brockton Bay. I had expected her to be this infallible, radiant saint. When she arrived, however, she looked more tired than I was. Her signature white and red robes dragged the floor as she shuffled in, and I saw dark bags under her hazel eyes.
”Do I have your permission to heal you?” she asked. There was a bit of an edge in her voice that I couldn't identify.
”Yes, please. Thank you so much for making time for me.” I tried to force as much glowing gratitude as possible into my words. She would accept my goodwill and this would be a lovely experience, dammit.
”Just doing my job. No need to thank me.” she said, with the pale ghost of a smile.
I frowned. I'm supposed to be the queen of angst. ”Hey, no. If you weren't here, I'd be stuck with Hepatitis and a bunch of other crap. That's a big deal. You shouldn't… put yourself down.” I felt my face flush by the end. Why was I lecturing Panacea, of all people? I had gotten carried away because she looked a little tired-
She smiled again. It was small, but it looked more real this time. ”Thanks,” she said, ”but don't worry about me. Let's see about you.” She reached out and touched my wrist. After a couple seconds, her eyes widened and she quickly moved to close the door before returning to my bedside.
What the hell was that about?
”Are you aware of what a trigger event is, Miss…?” she asked.
”Hebert,” I replied. ”Taylor Hebert. And no.”
Her mouth drew to a tense line. ”The term refers to a traumatic event which manifests parahuman abilities. Based on what I saw, I believe that you have recently undergone a trigger.”
I heard K humming thoughtfully at that, but I ignored him. ”I'm a cape?”
”I believe so. Your cells are… unusual, and you have some of the neurological markers that are indicative of a parahuman.”
”Unusual how?” I demanded, before catching myself. ”Uh, I mean, if you wouldn't mind explaining it to me, Miss Panacea. Ma'am.” My face was burning again.
She snorted. ”Ma'am? I hardly think I'm older than you. Whatever. Basically, all of your metabolic functions are boosted. You'll heal faster and be a bit stronger than you were before, among other things. Nothing too crazy, but definitely outside the normal human range. That's all I can see. You may very well have other abilities.”
”Huh.” So was K part of my power? I'd never heard of ”voice in the head” as a parahuman ability, but there were weirder powers out there. Strangely, I didn't feel any shock. I guess I was at a saturation point for crazy new developments. ”Well, thank you. For telling me.”
Panacea nodded. ”Normally I wouldn't bring it up, but you seemed new. Just be careful.”
”I will. Thank you. Again.”
”Mm-hmm. Now, let's clear up those infections.” She stepped forward and touched my wrist again. ”Hep C, MRSA, bunch of other bugs. Yuck, how did you get all of these at once? Flushing them now.”
I felt a wave of wellness pass through me, like she was smoothing wrinkles of sickness out of my body. I hadn't realized how ill I had felt until the infections were gone. ”Wow. I mean… wow.” Why must I be so lame? Why? ”That's amazing. You have the best power ever.”
An unreadable look crossed her face, which shifted into a wry smile. ”It has its moments. You didn't have a lot of body fat to fuel the healing, so you should eat a lot in the next couple days to recoup the calories.”
A clean bill of health, plus an excuse to stuff my face full of pancakes? ”Thanks a bunch, Miss Panacea!” I said, beaming and shaking her hand furiously.
For a long moment, she simply stood there with a blank look. But then she laughed out loud, and for once I was glad I was such a dork. ”You can call me Amy. It was nice to meet you, Taylor.”
What. Panacea said I could call her by her name. Do it. Do it. ”You too, Amy.” I did it! I had a social interaction that didn't go down in flames!
As she departed, her robes swishing around her, I felt like my life might actually be turning around.
<*><*><*>
My life was Hell. It turned out that K's breezy aw-shucks persona didn't apply so much when he was in ”drill instructor mode.” This was not the fun training montage that I had envisioned. Two weeks had passed, and every other day had been consumed by a borderline sadistic exercise routine, accompanied by a similarly strict diet. My souped-up biology gave me some additional strength and helped me recover faster, but I still had soreness in muscles I didn't know existed. And though my running habits helped somewhat with the cardio conditioning, my lungs were screaming at me. If there was one nice benefit, it was that I was too exhausted to care what the Trio did to me at school.
While I did my workouts, K would pepper me with observational exercises. In the middle of chin-ups, he had me shut my eyes and list off all the blue items that had been in my field of view. At the end of my runs, he would ask me detailed questions about all the people I had seen on my route. And so on. He never repeated a question, so I was forced to pay constant attention to everything around me.
My ”rest days” were spent either researching criminals or learning K's weird hodgepodge of martial arts. The latter was a challenge, since K didn't have a body to demonstrate the motions with. However, an unexpected solution arose during a standing meditation session. Under K's direction, I was trying - and failing - to properly visualize a palm strike. His frustration become more and more palpable, until I could feel his presence come to the forefront.
”Here, let me show you,” he said, and I felt something on my wrist. I jumped and my eyes snapped open. There was a green claw-like appendage resting on my forearm. I recoiled with a yelp. Standing by my side was what could only be described as a… bug person. It had red compound eyes and spindly, spiky green limbs, but it was humanoid in shape. I opened my mouth to scream when the bug-person leaned in towards me.
”Whoa, can you see me?” it asked, in a familiar voice.
My mouth worked soundlessly for a solid couple seconds. ”K?” I finally managed to ask.
”Wow, that's a trip. Yup, it's me.”
”Why are you…?” I struggled.
”Huh? Why am I what?”
”Not… human.”
”Yep, I'm a Gromflomite. Nice to meet you in the flesh, so to speak,” he said, extending a claw.
”Oh, okay,” I said faintly, shaking his claw gingerly. His… skin? was smooth and cool. I suppose I should have been freaking out that the voice in my head had just materialized as a bug-thing, but the primary thought running through my head was ”why not?” Why shouldn't my power get even weirder? It's not like it was normal in any other way.
K stepped away and poked at a tree experimentally, but his claw passed right through it. ”Huh. I guess I'm still just in your head. This'll make teaching a little easier, though.” A little thrill of fear passed through me as I imagined how the ”teaching” would change. ”Shall we continue?” he asked, turning to face me. I swallowed hard and nodded.
Combat training was much more effective, even though K g_r_o_a_n_e_d melodramatically every time that he had to show me the ”nice” (nonlethal) version of a move. Since K was still an illusion, his strikes didn't actually injure me. However, ”illusory” pain was real enough to hurt like a bitch. It was also fairly frustrating to be thrown onto my back by what was basically my own brain. But I began to learn things that only came from actually sparring with a partner. I stopped flinching when a strike came at my face, and I was forced to correct my form in several throws and joint locks. To compensate for the lack of real contact, I scavenged and pieced together a wooden ”training dummy” for me to condition myself on.
Even with my dad's lax supervision, there was only so much intense training I could do before he noticed something was up. Understandably, he was a little concerned that his traumatized daughter had apparently developed an obsession with working out and fighting. I managed to convince him that it was a healthy ”girl power” type deal, rather than planning a school shooting or something. I did have to promise him that I wouldn't go looking for any fights. Was it technically ”looking for a fight” if you never intended for your target to be able to react? I decided to think not.
My least favorite part of training was definitely surveillance, for a couple reasons. First, it was a bit creepy. The only way to practice surveillance is to, well, stalk people. I spent a lot of time following random people and stealthily taking pictures of them with a cheap digital camera. Second, it was boring. Oftentimes, my target would stop somewhere, and I would have to position myself properly and wait. And wait. And wait. K derived a great deal of amus_e_m_e_nt from my crushing boredom.
”You think this is bad? Try laying on your stomach for 20 hours waiting for a sight line,” he said, chortling.
I rolled my eyes. ”Okay, grandpa. I'm sure you had it real rough 'back in the day.' It's still super boring.”
”Don't sass me, kiddo. When you're a pro, assassination is ninety-something percent preparing and waiting. Better get used to it now.”
I winced. While I was running and lifting weights and sparring, it was easy to forget that the end goal was ostensibly for me to become a killer. I was still on the fence about that, and I couldn't help but feel that I was leading K on. Accepting his guidance and training without intending to follow through on his plan. If I was being honest, I really couldn't see myself killing anybody. But was it fair to only prioritize what I wanted while K was stuck living vicariously through me?
I decided to put off that conversation until later.
”So, what's next?” I asked.
”You feeling up to a little weapons training?”
I was.
- - -
AN: Bwahaha, how do you like that minor cliffhanger? Reader tears are sweet like honey! In all seriousness, though, please let me know what you think about the format of her training in this section. I wanted to show that she's training hard and that K is being thorough, but I didn't want to force people through chapter after chapter of ”power testing,” so I tried to summarize. Would ya'll prefer more detail? Less?
Chapter 1.4
I eyed the electronic monstrosity I had built and shook my head. ”I guess I should know better than to doubt you at this point, but I still don't think this is going to work.”
”Taylor, honestly, you worry way too much. The system is meant to be easy to use.”
”It's not going to explode, is it?”
”Don't be silly. The chances of that happening are, uh, small.”
”You can't see my face, but I'm glaring at you.”
”Yeah, yeah, I can feel the angst from here. Just plug the darn thing in.”
I shielded my face and plugged the power cable into the garage outlet. After a few seconds of not being struck by shrapnel, I uncovered my face and examined the machine. It crackled and hummed softly, and a pale green glow shone from the base.
”Is it supposed to do that?” I asked.
”Yup. Now enter the code on the keypad.”
I typed in the long alphanumeric that K provided me with. Once I was done, a green oval the size of a large trash can lid flickered into life above the device. It writhed and spun in midair, making a loud sizzling noise. The sharp tang of ozone filled the garage. I flinched back reflexively.
”Okay, reach in and grab the trunk,” K said.
”That doesn't look safe at all.”
”Taylor, just trust me.”
Trust wasn't easy for me, but K hadn't steered me wrong so far. I winced and reached into the oval. My arm got cold, but I pulled it back out with no obvious injury. I stuck my hand back in and groped around until I felt a box with a handle. I braced myself and pulled hard. A dark blue trunk slid out of the portal, and I grunted with effort as its weight pressed into my torso. I cursed and dropped the container onto the floor with a thud.
”Super! Now press the red button.” K said.
I did so, and the swirling portal quickly shrunk to nothingness. I sighed with relief. Even if it was ”temporary and minor”, having a portal open into another dimension was… stressful.
”Alright. You want to tell me what we just pulled out of thin air?”
”Oh, this and that. Go ahead and crack it open.”
I pried open the trunk, coughing as a bloom of dust rose from its interior.
”Wow, been a while since I accessed the ol' emergency stash, eh?” K said, chuckling. ”Ooh, forgot I put those in there. Take 'em out.”
I fanned through what looked like a bunch of business cards. ”Hashtag Kmichaelkills?'” I asked.
”Catchy, right?”
I snickered. ”And what's this map in the bottom corner? Do you have an office?”
”Nope, that used to have my current location displayed on it.”
”What, seriously? Did you really want potential clients to know where you were all the time? That seems a little dangerous.”
K cleared his throat loudly. ”Anyways, take out that long bag there.” Was he ignoring me? Suspicious.
I drew out the bag in question. ”Is this…?”
”Yup. Variable output energy rifle. Compact, minimal maintenance, super deadly. Not a lot of armor piercing, though.”
I unzipped the bag and pulled out the weapon. It was a sleek purple rifle about the length of my arm. With the press of a button on the side, a recessed scope and barrel extended out. I flipped it over and found a mark that looked like the letters ”RS” in a stylized logo. In short, the thing was gorgeous. I honestly didn't think I was going to get all gun crazy, but as I held the weapon I started to feel like a real badass.
”How do I shoot it?” I asked with a wicked grin.
K chuckled. ”We'll get around to that. Let's see what else we've got.”
I proceeded to pick out each item while K described them. Overall, the remaining inventory was thus:
Two pairs of goggles, one for low-light conditions and one for ”lookin' sharp.”
One half-mask with chemical filters
One armored vest that was too big for me.
One grappling hook launcher.
One energy pistol.
One nasty-looking knife.
A sack containing 200 golden coins K called ”Flurbos.”
”Wow. My dad can never see this.”
”Yeah, pocket dimension stash not looking so unreasonable now, huh?”
”Whatever,” I drawled. ”Do you want to be smug or do you want to show me how to shoot?”
After some deliberation, we decided to head out to the Boat Graveyard to practice my marksmanship. But before he would let me fire a single shot, K forced me to go through all sorts of gun safety rules and other ”fundamentals.” Proper maintenance and cleaning. Trigger discipline. Proper breathing techniques. Stance and form. There were a few things I didn't need to worry about with the energy weapons, such as bullet drop, recoil, and wind speed, but we went over them anyways. In great detail. I had to recite each lesson verbatim before I could start shooting. And as if that wasn't enough, K promised that there were all sorts of weird guns with unique rules that I would need to learn in the future.
When I fired it, the energy rifle was surprisingly quiet, making only a muffled pew with each shot. Once he was satisfied that I was reasonably competent shooting prone, he made me try to fire from all sorts of positions. Standing. Sitting. Kneeling. Lying on my back. Then we worked with the pistol. I admit that I got pretty frustrated at that point. As compared to the rifle, the pistol was tremendously less forgiving of improper stance, unsteady hands, and shaky breathing. Even at mid range, I struggled for hours to land my shots anywhere near the target. Patience and focus, K told me. Patience and focus. Apparently the weapons had some sort of exotic energy source, so I fired day in and day out with no regards to running out of ammo. Even so, it took weeks before I could reliably get my shots on target.
After one too many days coming home late from shooting practice, my dad finally expressed his concern for my safety.
”Where are you even going?” he asked.
”All over. Running, exercising. A little parkour.” Not quite a lie.
”Par-what?”
”Parkour. Using urban surfaces as an obstacle course.”
”Sweetheart, God knows I'm glad you have a hobby, but I don't know if it's safe for you to be running… obstacle courses late into the evening.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but K cut me off suddenly.
”He might have a point, Taylor. You could spend more time with your dad,” he said. ”Not everybody gets the chance to do that.”
What? K was suggesting I take a break? Where was the single-minded drill instructor? Well, whatever. I have been feeling kind of guilty for being out of the house all the time.
”Okay, Dad. I'll try to be home before dark.” His relieved smile gave me a nice fuzzy feeling.
So, during the evenings, K suggested that we watch a vast queue of crime, war, and action films that he declared were of ”educational value.” By that, he apparently meant that he would give running commentary on gunfights and kung fu moves. Most of them I just endured, but I enjoyed Full Metal Jacket a surprising amount. I guess I empathized with the boot camp trainees. If my Dad was puzzled at my sudden d_e_s_i_r_e to watch violent movies with him, he didn't show it much.
As another form of father-daughter bonding, I managed to wheedle him into teaching me how to drive. Even though I wasn't yet sixteen and thus couldn't get a permit, I could still drive… dubiously acquired vehicles. I did feel a little guilty about making my dad an accessory to my future crimes, but I soothed my conscience with two facts. First, I would only acquire vehicles from criminals. Second, it seemed like it made Dad really happy to teach me something. He had been especially depressed about his inability to protect me since the locker, so he quickly latched onto the opportunity to be a ”real dad.”
In the meantime, K had stated that my skill had risen to a ”passable” level. This meant that I could start planning my first relatively low-risk job. I had gone back and forth with K on what I should do, and we both agreed that the job would need to make me money. The unfortunate reality was that my skill set didn't lend itself towards ”typical” hero activities. I needed equipment, information, and connections to make a real impact, and those things cost money. I was fortunate that K's emergency stash gave me some basic equipment, but I needed more, and Dad and I weren't exactly swimming in cash.
I had checked the laws, and there were some dispensations for seizing cash gained through criminal actions, both for police and for vigilantes. However, the fraction that I would obtain legally as an independent hero wasn't going to be enough. I would need to simply walk away with whatever cash I could find. I understood the necessity of what I was going to do, but it still felt sleazy. I wouldn't just be stumbling onto the cash in the process of crime-fighting. I was going in with the express purpose of robbing criminals. Feeding off the proceeds of misery and violence. I decided that my target would need to be especially heinous so that I could steal from them without feeling bad.
I flipped through the profiles of the gangs and their respective members. Lung seemed like a guy who held a particularly… explosive grudge, so I shied away from the ABB. As for the Empire Eighty-Eight, they had a frankly ridiculous number of capes. It was too risky that they would have a parahuman guarding the target I decided to hit. So I settled on the Merchants. They didn't have a very big cape roster, they pushed drugs on kids, and they were just gross in general. If their having a leader named Skidmark didn't clue you in to that last part, I don't know what would.