I woke to crisp morning air and the sun just peeking over the horizon. Tendrils of steam were lazily curling up from a half-dozen recessed ports under my ‘upper lip.’ I didn’t feel the chill at all; I was comfortable as can be, both in terms of temperature and of support. I loved the fact that I could sleep on concrete and be comfortably supported by the contoured armor plating all over my body.

  I lifted my head up enough to yawn silently and looked around. I was on the landing pad, which isn’t where I typically slept.

  We got the power going and then came back– oh. That’s right. The fight. Guess I lost that one. Been a hot minute since I had to take a mat nap. I must have just passed out afterwards.

  I cringed just a touch internally, hoping that my reversion to my true self hadn’t been overly graphic or traumatizing for any spectators.

  Oh well. Not much I can do about it if it was. Just have to try and apologize.

  I was curled into a loose ring, with my tail passing by my head. In the middle of my big donut shape, Amy was lying on a pair of stacked outdoor lounge chair cushions, passed out cold with a blanket draped over her. Her face was mostly obscured by a giant frizzy mop of hair. I put off quite a lot of body heat even in a passive state, so I expected that she had a warm air buffer warding off the chill overnight. Being on the ocean meant it didn’t get as cold as it did further inland, but there was an ever-present dampness to our cold air in the Bay that could be quite biting.

  As carefully as I could, I got up, scooped her and the blanket up in my arms, and then grabbed the cushions from the chairs with my tail. I also grabbed the ragged strips of cloth that were the remains of my outfit last night. I headed inside and managed to deposit her on one of the plush sofas in the lounge without waking her.

  I knew Taylor was awake immediately upon entering. She was always an early riser, and there were conga lines of beetles and other larger insects transporting the remains of junk food, wrappers, cans, and bottles, and cleaning up what looked like one hell of a mess left behind in the wake of last night’s events.

  Guh. What an amazing and versatile ability she has.

  I padded my gigantic ass over to the kitchen and dining area. Sure enough, Taylor sat at a small table with an empty bowl and cupped a mug of tea in her hands. She glanced up at me as I slid a chair out from under the table and folded my arms in front of me in my ‘using furniture’ pose. She took a sip of her drink.

  “Hey,” we both started speaking at the same time, getting a chuckle and a snort out of the two of us.

  “You go first,” she said. I dipped my head to her once.

  “I wanted to apologize for throwing you under the bus last evening, especially in front of everyone and your friends. I was scared that things would explode the moment that anyone did anything, and I felt the need to sell it. I went too far, though, and I’m sorry.”

  Taylor twitched her lips back and forth and looked down at her tea. “I know why you did it, Morgan. And it did sting in the moment, maybe more than it should have. I don’t think you were in the villain space long enough to appreciate how sensitive people are to things like that. Reputation is everything. It’s life and death stuff. Being called out or put on blast like that, and in front of other capes? It… yeah.”

  She took another sip, and I thought about it.

  “It was a bit cathartic, watching you get the hell beaten out of you by Vanessa last night. I don’t think it was your intention, but it honestly helped. Thank you for apologizing, though. I forgive you.”

  “Mm. I have to admit that I was surprised. She’s very good. Is she okay?”

  Taylor looked back up at me, and she drew her brows together fractions of an inch. “Do you care if she is or not? I got the impression you two were oil and water, and you were just barely tolerating her presence. Even if you were the loudest voice in the room for her acceptance, when it came time to decide on her being allowed here longer-term.”

  I sighed quietly, talking as I normally did, without unsealing my jaw. Maybe less sighing and more producing a sigh sound. “Yes, I do care about her well-being, at least, for as long as she’s here. Trusting her is something else entirely, but I don’t want to see people getting hurt without reason or just cause.”

  I saw Taylor’s jaw twitch, and her grip tightened on the mug. “I’d say that being a member of the Empire 88 with powers is just cause enough to have the shit beaten out of you.”

  I took a tentacle with a dull claw tip and toyed with the surface of the table.

  The thing is, she’s not wrong in what she’s saying. We still don’t actually know her intentions, why she’s here, or what her plans are for the future. Her evasiveness in answering those things was a major point of contention. But not everyone is ready to address things, especially deep-seated things, right off the top. We’re not all so open book, for better or for worse.

  “Lost in thought?” Taylor asked. I’d apparently lost track of time during introspection on the subject.

  I bobbed my head over the table. “You’re not wrong in what you’re saying. Maybe I’m being naive here, but I have to think that of all the places and all the people she could have gone to, she came here, you know? Maybe it’s naivety or bias on my part? Wishful thinking?”

  I swirled the black claw around on the tabletop with a light rasp. “She could have busted the gates open, attacked us while the Chosen were out front. Instead, she did the thing I told her I wanted her to do, which was to stay inside and protect the people.”

  “By doing nothing at all, which seems to be her preferred state,” Taylor countered.

  Again, I nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t needed, and it isn’t an endorsement or evidence of her character.”

  “But you want to believe that she’s made some effort, even if it’s barely a token, of trying to change or redeem herself.” Taylor’s words weren’t exactly hostile, but certainly carried a judgmental tone.

  I let out another sigh. “Yeah. I do want to believe that. And I’m trying to give her space to be able to handle the loss of her sister and… found family, or whatever the Empire was to her, with the hopes that she’ll be more forthcoming in time.”

  Taylor propped her chin on her palm and her elbow on the table and decided it was her turn to play with the tabletop. So she drummed her free hand’s fingers on the surface and looked up at the ceiling tiles. “I think… You would have a very different take on things if you’d gone to Winslow. Seen the kind of things I’ve seen. Skinheads beating up black and brown people for no other reason than existing. Seeing gang tags on every locker, bathroom, and mirror. Watching people you’d shared classes with for years just go missing, only to be found dead from an OD or with a knife in their gut.”

  She made a face, and I held a lower hand out to her, across the table. She took it, pale cream on sky blue, and I held her hand. “I’m so sorry so much of your life has just been… rancid and shitty, Taylor. You’re right, I would think differently. I grew up in a nice neighborhood, going to the affluent schools, and where the worst things we had to worry about were a classmate blowing their knee out on the court or field, or someone’s dress not fitting.”

  She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, and I very carefully squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

  “You’re a better person because of it, Taylor. I know it’s not exactly an amazing consolation prize,” I told her softly.

  She opened her eyes and looked at me. “I don’t know how you can say that,” she replied in a whisper.

  I matched her volume. “Because it’s true. All of us,” I glanced around with my many eyes without moving my head a fraction of an inch. “Well, most of us first-gen capes have been through the wringer in our own way. But you’ve had a hell of a time with things, Taylor. In nearly every aspect of your life, from the things you’ve told me. All of that? All of that pain and misery? It’s a crucible, Taylor. You came out the other side fierce, strong, hell, at times downright terrifying. Try not to lose sight of how much you’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time. And you’re just getting started.”

  She closed her eyes and took in a shaky breath. I could see she was struggling to keep her shit together right now. I wasn’t trying to get her to become all emotional, but she really needed to hear some of this shit. She was so, so deeply layered with doubts and insecurities. She dropped her head down, chin resting on her chest, and her hand was as limp as an overcooked noodle in my hand.

  “What is it?” I asked her. “I know you just had something pop into your head. I want to know what it is. Please.”

  “It’s just… You say those things, and I start to think that maybe you have a point, but then I am reminded that, for however great I supposedly am, I can’t even save a little girl who’s trapped underground with nobody else to save her.” Her voice was as tight as a violin string.

  Dinah Alcott. Coil’s captive precog. There are so many things going on, so many impending disasters or things that need immediate course correction. We haven’t made any progress on getting to her and freeing her.

  “Hey,” I squeezed her hand. “I made you a promise that we’d get her. And I mean to keep that.”

  “We haven’t done anything at all to save her since the disaster,” she said, just above a whisper.

  I put my other hand across the table and tapped her on the back of her hand with a claw. “Please look at me for a moment.” She picked her head up and opened her eyes, and they were glistening in the light. She put her other hand in mine, and I held both gently, but firmly.

  “You’re right. We haven’t. And that fucking sucks. But we have to be honest with ourselves, Taylor.”

  She just stared at me, not saying anything.

  “She’s in a bad situation. Trapped and surrounded by dangerous people. The fact that she’s being exploited in the way she is is sick. But Coil’s not stupid, and he’s not insane.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “As bad as her situation is, she’s ironically also secure and fairly safe. He seems to think that he really needs her ability, and for that, he has to keep her alive, fed, and relatively healthy if he wants to keep her long-term. Which, from what you’ve said, seems to be the case. We have to get her, and we will get her, but right now? She’s honestly in a better situation than the vast majority of the people here in the city.”

  I squeezed Taylor’s hands when I talked to her about the fact that we were going to rescue Dinah, and although it didn’t come immediately after I finished speaking, she did squeeze back.

  “I’m not trying to make excuses for the fact that we haven’t gotten her yet, but we do have to consider all the other things we’ve been doing in the time between then and now. We’ve been shouldering the bulk of the burden of keeping the people of this city fed, alive, and free of dysentery. I’m not making the greater good argument here, but we are saving the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.”

  She sniffed and nodded quickly. “I know. We’re working ourselves half to death, but it is having an effect. It’s so stupid to think about, but my dad tried to get the ferry restored to help bring work to the DWU and the local neighborhoods, and we did it. Ten years of no luck, and then we just… dragged it out of the foundation of a building, fixed it in a day, and now it’s running. Such a little thing, but one that will make such a big difference.”

  “Did your dad really try to get it running for that long?” I asked her, and she bobbed her head.

  “Damn. Sometimes I love what we do. Just sit in a meeting and throw it out, and it’s done,” I chuckled.

  “Yeah, it’s… something. I have a hard time seeing the bright side most of the time, but you never seem to struggle with it,” Taylor mused.

  I let go of her hands, stood up on all fours, and stretched out. “There’s a reason for it. I’ll tell you sometime, but it’s a long and not very pleasant story.”

  She quickly cleaned her dishes and tossed them in one of the drying racks. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” she told me as she came back over.

  “Taylor?”

  “Hm?” She paused and looked at me.

  “When’s the last time you stopped and did something just for yourself?”

  She tilted her head, then shrugged.

  “Anything since you came here?”

  “I… ordered a few bars of dark chocolate?” She asked, clearly uncertain herself if that qualified.

  “Want to hang out a little after your shower, before it gets too much later?”

  I stood there and watched a group of bumblebees fly past. Each bumblebee was carrying a toothpick, and each toothpick had long, single strands of web attached to it. All the strands connected down to a single rope of silk, which was rigged around the necks of a pair of soda bottles. Beetles were riding along on the caps and threads of the bottles. I tracked it in stunned silence as the bee formation flew over a big 55-gallon trash bin, lowered the bottles in, and then flew back up, the loops undone and beetles riding on the rope for the return flight.

  “Sure, we can do that,” she replied while I was lost, dazed, and confused at what I’d just witnessed.

  “Just how much concentration does it take for you to do all of that?” I whispered slightly louder to her.

  “Uh. None, really. A little thinking to come up with it in the first place, but after that? Nothing.”

  “I am so fucking jealous of your power,” I blurted unabashedly.

  She gave me a blank look, then brought a hand up and started ticking off on her long fingers: “You can fly, you can turn invisible, you can turn into other people, you’re bullet, blast, and knife-proof, and you fistfought an Endbringer.”

  “Okay, I hear you, but hear me out: Brutes are a dime a dozen, and you can do basically all of the things you listed with a big enough bank account or the number to your local Tinker or Toybox. You’re over here doing everything from beating people who fistfight Endbringers in fights to making your bug-powered supermaterial suits and then… that!” I pointed at the formation as they flew over to collect their next piece of large trash; the ones the other, smaller bugs couldn’t handle.

  She rolled her eyes and headed to her room. I followed along behind her and stopped in front of my bedroom door. I’d been slowly accumulating fan art from some of the kids, both the ones we were taking care of here and from other people handing it over to me from their kids elsewhere. Some of it was ghastly, some of it was impressive, and I adored absolutely all of it. My door was decorated with a dozen pieces at any given time that I swapped around when I had a moment of downtime. It was supposedly big bragging rights to be featured in our growing community.

  I was steadily dropping off more and hanging it in my “office” in PHQ when the opportunity presented itself. My current favorite piece out of all of them was a rendition of me looking like a cartoon character and wielding five hamburgers, one in each hand, and cackling to the heavens. I popped open my door and stuck my tail through, and grabbed a change of clothes from my stuff. Having a hand and an eye on this giant appendage swinging from my butt was super useful.

  I grabbed my clothing and headed to the restrooms and the shower block, where I changed over to Morgan and tossed on some basics: shorts and a tank, plus small clothes. I waited outside while a few more people came and went. The crew was steadily waking up and getting ready for their day. Everyone was on slightly different schedules, but from around seven thirty to ten, the second floor tended to be pretty busy. My mom came by, and I gave her a hug and a kiss while she was still bleary-eyed and yawning.

  She was the boss of Operations here, and that basically made her the super for things projects around the city. She was working her ass off, but thankfully, she’d always had a knack for the whole work/life separation thing, as opposed to me, who basically operated as if they were indistinguishable. I guess things are a bit different for capes, though. It’s not like you can just take your superpowers off when you get home.

  Taylor stepped out, and I waved to her and followed her back to her room. She hesitated outside the closed door, then turned around to face me. “Should we go to your room instead?” she asked, just a touch too quickly. I shook my head, and her shoulders slumped slightly.

  “Okay, just… Don’t go getting any ideas, it’s not what it looks like.” She turned around and carefully opened the door, and stepped inside.

  Oh? What's not what it looks like?

  I stepped in and shut the door behind me.

  Oh.

  I rolled my eyes at Taylor. Lisa was half-dressed and sprawled on one side of Taylor’s bed, a blanket mostly covering her, and rocking a major case of bedhead. Her breathing was deep and steady.

  “She’s a pretty sound sleeper, so it shouldn’t be a problem if we talk quietly in here,” Taylor informed me.

  “You have your suit in here with you?” I asked.

  She nodded and turned around to her armoire and dug out a key to unlock it.

  “Second question, and this one is a bit uhh.. Weirder than normal, at least, from me. I think.”

  “Mhm?”

  “Do I have your permission to uh… mimic you?”

  She looked back over her shoulder and paused in digging out her suit and mask. Her brow was furrowed. “Hm? Why?”

  I pointed at where she was getting the suit. “I wanted to try experimenting with making you those armor pieces, and they’d be better if they were fairly form-fitted, you know? Fewer hot spots and better protection if they’re distributing impacts across the shape of your body.”

  “Oh, hm. I never really thought about that before, but it makes sense. Sure. Do I need to do anything?”

  I looked over her. She was wearing a pair of fairly short and snug shorts and an oversized t-shirt. “Take your top off? Assuming you have a bra on underneath.”

  She pulled her suit off and set it on the desk that was alongside the wall and positioned between us. Her cheeks were warmly glowing. “I um- don’t wear them all the time because… You know.”

  I smiled at her and tried to project warmth. “Listen, you do what you want, what you are comfortable with. I’ve gotten sort of over the entire nudity shame thing because I didn’t have much choice, and you’ve seen my ass out a fair few times. If you want to put something on, go right ahead, but I promise I won’t melt into a puddle if I see a nipple.”

  She fidgeted in place. “I don’t need to see you naked or anything, I just need to see your structure, you know? Something form-fitting works just fine.”

  “Will it take long?” She asked after a beat, and I shook my head quickly.

  “No, not at all. Just need you to spin around a few times and I’ll be good.”

  I didn’t think her cheeks could get any redder, but she managed to force more blood to the surface, somehow. Then she pulled her shit off and held it loosely in one hand. She held her hands out from her sides just a little and looked me in the eye.

  Copy her.

  My power was already attentive, and started rocking and splashing about.

  “Alright, spin when you’re ready. I’ve got things started.”

  She turned around once, and that was all it took to satisfy my ability. It hit me with a solid wave, and I signaled my desire to start at a moderate pace.

  “All set,” I told her as I started to change. I’d only done this a few times, and it was a slightly different sensation than what I normally expected with a change. Almost pleasant, and easy. It made sense to me; there really wasn’t a dramatic difference between one person and another, at least, not as far as the changes I normally made were concerned.

  A couple of moments later, I was done and brushing dark, curly hair out from in front of my eyes. Taylor had put her shirt back on, and I took my shirt and shorts off, standing there in my sports bra and thong. There was a big body shape difference between Morgan and Taylor, and thankfully, the tight, stretchy activewear undies I wore adjusted decently. I had to pull my underwear straps up a little higher over my hips and give my bra a tug or two, but things were good.

  Taylor’s eyes were running up and down me, never stopping. I mirrored her earlier move, held my arms out a bit, and slowly spun in place for her. When I turned around, I cocked my hip out, planted a palm on it, and brushed some of the voluminous curls over one shoulder with my other hand.

  Taylor had a strange look on her face. I imagine it had to be a bit of an odd experience to see yourself in the third person like this. A frown started to form on her face, those dark brows of hers coming together, and the corners of her expressive mouth turning downwards.

  “What is it?” I asked her in her voice.

  “I don’t–” She hesitated. “I don’t like you making fun of me like that. It’s not like you, it’s… cruel.”

  I blinked my eyes rapidly. “What?”

  “You… I don’t know, you did something. Tweaked things. Showing me what you think I look like instead of what I actually look like.” She brought one hand up and grabbed her elbow.

  What? Had I? I was pretty sure I hadn’t.

  I concentrated on my power. Did you copy her exactly?

  I just felt the sensation of lapping water and small eddies. No response.

  No, this is a copy of her. It’s her that’s the issue here, not me.

  Oh. Ohh.

  Oh, Taylor.

  “Do you have a pair of spare glasses I can borrow?” I asked her softly.

  She looked like she was going to refuse, then pulled a fairly beat-up pair from her desk drawer and held them out ot me. I put them on, and yikes, that was a strong prescription. I blinked rapidly, and the blurring seemed to fade away, which was good.

  Turning back to Taylor, I stepped up to her and placed my hands on her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “You trust me, don’t you?” I asked her, and not as a rhetorical question, but an honest query.

  She nodded several times. I turned her around by her shoulders, put my arm around her, and walked her back over to the armoire, which she’d left unlocked with one door barely open. I reached out and pulled the other door open, the one with the full-length mirror on the inside, so that she could look at the two of us side-by-side.

  Two identical Taylors stood, side by side, one arm wrapped around the other’s shoulders, both wearing glasses. One had on a pair of short shorts and an oversized tee, and the other was wearing a somewhat ill-fitting sports bra and a thong with the straps hiked up. The underwear highlighted the natural curve of the one’s thighs and hips, and the trim, flat plane of her abdomen.

  Both were rather attractive, standing there with their hair just sort of poofed out, no product on at all, and in their bedclothes. Attractive, bordering on hot. It wouldn’t take much at all to go from one to the other. A little skin care, a touch of makeup, and some flattering clothing, and she’d easily be one of those tall, model-esque stunners.

  But she can’t see it. She’s completely blind to how she looks. And when she saw me and started to recognize it, she instead clung to a defense mechanism and thought that I was prettying her up and mocking her.

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  I reached out and tapped Taylor Hebert’s reflection in the mirror. “Look at her, Taylor,” I told her in no uncertain terms. She did, and that frown returned. Then I tapped on Taylor Rivera’s reflection, right next door. “And now look at her, Taylor.” Her eyes flitted back and forth.

  I held her shoulder tightly and kept my voice–her voice–low. “I would never do to you what you thought I was doing. We’re identical. I’m bragging, but my power is very good at doing this, and it’s something I practice a lot. In fact, I practice it every single day Morgan walks around.”

  Her eyes continued to look between us in the mirror. Taylor had a nightlight in her room, so it was decently half-lit. The lighting wasn’t great, but it was present, just less intense than daytime brightness. She looked high, from face to face, then worked her way down. Chest, arms, waist, hips, legs, feet.

  I silently closed the door so it was mostly shut once again, and I turned to face her, taking my arm from her shoulders in the process. She turned to face me.

  “Look at me, Taylor. Look at yourself. Touch and feel yourself. This isn’t something just anyone gets to do; this is a very rare opportunity for you to be able to get to know yourself better.”

  She scrunched her face up. “Don’t be weird, Morgan.”

  I stared at her, dead serious. “I’m not. This isn’t some sexual or kink thing, I mean it.”

  She studied my–her–face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  She sighed quietly and relented. “Fine, but I don’t see the point.”

  “Yes, you do,” I told her.

  She was looking but not touching. I grabbed her hands and planted them on ourselves. Guiding them over Taylor Rivera’s neck, shoulders, and arms. Her collarbones, the upper slope of her chest, her abdomen, her ribs, and her sides. While she did that, I did my best to try and perfectly mirror her actions on her own body, so she could ‘feel’ her touch. I was hoping that it’d help link the image before her to her sense of self, which really seemed to be the issue.

  I dedicated all of my attention to replicating her as perfectly, as seamlessly, and as simultaneously as possible. I left my head and became Taylor’s reflection. My power was bubbling and chopping in my head, active as can be. I think it was assisting me, maybe.

  We stood there, tracing our fingers over one another, brushing strands of hair, tracing over birthmarks, scars both old and new, and the couple of odd bruises and healing scuffs here and there. Most were faint, probably thanks to Amy.

  Anyone walking in and witnessing us would immediately think this was some pretty pervy sexual fantasy going on, but while there was energy between us, the touches weren’t sexual in nature. It was deeply intimate, yes, certainly. She took a partial step closer, and I matched her. Our faces were only inches apart, and she brought her hands to my face, and my hands went to her face. We traced our noses, ears, jawlines, turning one another’s heads up, down, and to the sides, taking in different angles.

  Hesitantly, her thumb drifted up from her jaw and breezed over her lips so faintly it barely registered as contact. But as sensitive as her lips were, they knew the truth. Her eyes grew damp, and her jaw trembled as she observed herself, and she leaned in, ever-so-slowly, and pressed her lips to herself. Her lips parted momentarily, and she hesitantly tapped her tongue against itself as she held her own cheeks and wiped her own tears.

  She parted her own hair to each side with one thumb while holding her face and sniffed. Her free hand looped around her slim flank and hooked on the small of her back, palm pressing against her own flesh, warm, stabilizing, and comforting. When she spoke, she spoke to herself and in harmony with herself.

  “I… I never realized I looked like this. Even looking at myself, my brain keeps saying that’s not how I look. But I can see it, I can feel it. I can compare and see myself and see I’m the same. This is… Hard to think about. I’ve had these feelings for so long, it’s… I don’t know, comforting, I suppose, to constantly revisit them, even if I know they’re bad and harmful.”

  She placed her forehead against herself and simply hugged herself for many long minutes. Lightly rocking and swaying herself, tucking her head against her shoulder, and closing her eyes.

  She shared skin contact, intimacy, vulnerability, and comfort with herself, then eventually stirred and pulled back slightly. She kissed herself on the cheek and thanked herself, then stepped back and disengaged. When she did, she was smiling.

  I came back around with warm fuzzies filling my chest and a smile on my lips. I reached out and tapped Taylor on the nose, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Want to see a neat trick? I will actually go and do what you thought I was doing at first,” I asked her.

  She nodded, and I turned around, opened the door halfway, and looked at Taylor’s reflection closely in the mirror. I blasted through five, ten, twenty, then thirty different ‘makeup applications’ on her face, narrowed it down, comparing and contrasting between two or three at a time, each transition occurring in the time it took to blink. I got it down to five, then I started doing the same thing once again, but for hairstyles. Different arrangements of her current hair length flashed at a slightly slower pace as my–her–hairs arranged themselves in a dozen different styles. I picked two, then experimented with some varied cuts and lengths that stood out from what she had right now, and got another three.

  I closed the mirror once again and turned to face her, and showed off my chameleon skills by demonstrating some makeup styles and hairstyles that I thought would complement her look. I mixed and matched several makeup styles with the different hair styles, rotating through them and letting her pick what she did and didn’t like. I modeled her, for her, slapping on various polish colors, finishes, and some nail art as well, holding my hands up like I was on a haute couture runway.

  Some got head shakes, some got frowns or a stuck-out tongue, but a few seemed to capture her attention, too. Really, what I wanted to do was show her not just what she was, but also what she could be. When we finished up, she nibbled her lower lip and looked like she had some things on her mind.

  “Do you… Think you could maybe show me how to do some of those things you did?”

  I smirked at her. “Sure, but I’ll have to get Vivian out and do a little bit of surgery. I just found out she’s good at doing tattoos by accident the other day.”

  Taylor’s mouth opened, and I snickered. “I’m joking. Well, about doing that to you. The tattoo thing is real. Of course, I can show you. It’s not too hard, just takes a little practice. Memorizing the order everything is applied and a few basic techniques. I didn’t show you anything that was like, really challenging to do. You’d be surprised how some of the good-looking stuff is easy, and then some of the garish stuff is actually very technical.”

  She nodded quickly.

  “And if you want the real expert, talk to my sister, or Crystal. She’ll have you dolled up in ways that make my abilities look basic as hell.”

  Lisa shifted on the bed, stretched, and then yawned with a delightfully cute purr. I elbowed Taylor, and we took up next to each other, arms slung around one another.

  “Good morning, Lisa,” we both said in unison.

  She rolled over so, so slowly and looked at us.

  “Oh, hell no,” were the first words out of her mouth, and the two of us burst out into identical laughter.

  “This will be the first time, and the last time I ever sleep over here if this is how I get woken up. What the hell is wrong with the two of you? Really?!”

  Her exasperation only got more laughs out of us. She huffed and wormed her way over to the side of the bed, where she retrieved her skinny jeans and pulled them on.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” she muttered and headed for the door.

  “We’ll be here when you get back,” we said. She turned and gave me a dead-eyed stare directly.

  “Coffee’s brewed in the kitchen, help yourself to a big cup,” I said.

  She closed the door behind her.

  “Worth it,” Taylor said.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed.

  I twisted and stretched some, eliciting a few pops and crunches. “Oof, that feels amazing.”

  Taylor eyed me from the side and admitted, “I wish I were that flexible,” while I practically folded myself in half, stretching my thighs, calves, and butt.

  I peeked at her upside-down face from between my legs. She was eyeing her rump as I held the stretch.

  “Yes, Taylor. You do, in fact, have a very nice ass. I’m extremely happy that you’re finally noticing this.”

  She spluttered, cheeks turning beet red, and she looked away. I finished my stretch and stood back upright.

  With a gigantic, shit-eating grin on my face, I waited until she looked back at me to tease her further: “You know what they say, right? It’s not gay if you have sex with yourself. It’s just masturbation.”

  She gasped and socked me directly in the shoulder fairly hard. I laughed, trying hard to keep my volume down to not wake any of Taylor’s immediate neighbors.

  “Okay, okay. Show me how you get this monstrosity you’ve created on, please. I need to understand how this thing fits, how you want it to move, and where you feel you want and need protection.”

  Taylor nodded quickly and pulled out the chair for her desk. “It’s easier to get into if you sit down. It’s one piece, with the exception of the mask, so you have to put the bottom on first and then pull it up. Oh, uh, hang on one sec.” She rummaged around in her armoire and tossed me a pair of what looked like Spandeez stockings. “Toss those on first, they help a lot.”

  I shrugged and slid my legs into them. Sure enough, it was synthetic stretchwear, like a type of compression stocking, but much more durable than nylons. From there, she helped open the suit and held it for me while I stepped in and worked it up my–her–lower half. From there, it was a matter of getting my arms threaded through and slipping the rest on. She told me to take my glasses off, and held the mask up, helping me get the head straps in place, and then tucking the long neck into the opposing high neck of the one piece.

  “Whoa. I see you have lenses in the mask for your vision, but doesn’t the yellow mess with you?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. If anything, it helps when the light isn’t that great. Sort of gives things a better contrast. I really notice a difference when it’s dark, or if the weather is sort of crappy, like rainy or foggy.”

  “Hmmm,” I mused. “We’ll have to keep aware of that for things like callouts. If you say to attack the guy in the brown outfit, I’ll have to look for the one in the red, or whatever. I’m not great at art and color theory stuff.”

  The door clicked open, and Lisa came walking back in, looking much perkier, carrying a couple of different protein and snack bars and a trio of mugs. Two coffees and a tea. Her eyes darted between us, then she closed the door behind herself and doled out her goodies on the desk.

  “I was wondering what you two were up to,” she said, then looked at me. “You having the suit on makes my eyes water marginally less when looking at you.”

  I crossed my arms over my trim chest and stuck a hip out. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  She held her hands up and took a seat on the side of the bed. Taylor reached over and kicked the main overhead lights on. “Sorry, sorry, I should explain that probably came off worse than I intended.” She licked her lips, and the corners turned up.

  I let out a low groan.

  “It’s just– when you’re doing your mimicry, I get this weird sensation. It’s like a cross between a slight fuzz and a bit of an itch in the front of my head and around my eyes. I can’t tell that you’re not a person. My power doesn’t tell me that you’re not a person, but it’s like my power is sort of going ‘hmm.’

  “So as a Thinker, you can tell that I’m not me right off the bat?” I asked her.

  She twisted her lips to the side and thought a moment. “No, I wouldn’t say that. It’s very subtle. I think I’m more sensitive to it because I’m aware of it, of what’s going on, so maybe I’m partially looking for it, or causing it to stand out more than it might otherwise?”

  “Hmm. Interesting. I’ll have to keep that in mind if I’m ever in a situation where I’m undercover or something, and might encounter other Thinkers.”

  Taylor and Lisa helped themselves to their tea and coffee, respectively, and both munched on protein bars.

  “So, Tee. Where does your armor work well, where doesn’t it work well, where would you like more coverage, or less? You’ve got all the combat experience here with this.” I occupied myself with checking the range of motion and for any ideas I could think of myself.

  We chatted back and forth, and she pointed out a number of issues she’d had so far. I asked her where she tended to get things like bruises. Lisa was also super helpful with making suggestions for potential improvements. As we discussed, I worked on building a mental image of where the plating would need to go and how it would need to be shaped or segmented to avoid mobility issues. In my time as Apex, I’d gotten quite a good feel for what made effective armor and what didn’t, where it was vitally needed, and where you could skimp to save weight.

  I had a pretty solid map of things in my mind, but there was one gigantic outlier and fundamental flaw in Taylor’s suit: her head. She had some jaw protection with her faux mandibles, and the eye protection was good, but her entire skull was exposed to blunt force trauma. She told me the silk was virtually cut and stab proof, but she could just… get knocked out, or worse, with a good blow to the head.

  I brought this up to her. She polished off her second protein bar, sticking the last of the dark chocolate and peanut butter in her mouth and munching on it. When she was done, she took a deep breath and let out a little huff.

  “I know it’s stupid, and I know head injuries are literally the worst, but it’s… I don’t know, a vanity thing, I suppose. I like the way my hair looks. It is… was… one of the few things I was sort of proud about. It’s why I made it the way I did, and because I didn’t want to have a bulky helmet on that would make me look like an egg-head with how skinny I am.”

  I clicked my tongue and thought about that. “What if I could preserve the look, or something close to it, but give you some actual protection for your head. Would you take it?”

  She hummed under her breath. Lisa elbowed her softly from her position next to her on the bed. Taylor looked over, and Lisa gently reminded her: “Remember how much concussions suck? How long you were out of commission, and the other things that happened because of things like mood swings?”

  There was a knock on the door, and the three of us looked over at it.

  “Come in,” Taylor called out loudly enough to be audible through the heavy door.

  The door opened, with Amy standing in front, and Chris behind her.

  Where’s he been? I didn’t even know he spent the night over here, either.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, pile in,” Lisa said after glancing at Taylor.

  I held a finger up and pointed at Chris, then towards the wall in the direction of my room. “Grab my office chair from my room, please.” I used my Morgan voice. He nodded quickly, and a moment later wheeled the chair into the room and shut the door. He offered it to me, and I shook my head. “It’s for your use.”

  Amy and Chris were glancing between Taylor, sitting on her bed, and the Skitter that looked nothing like Morgan, standing in the middle of the room. I pulled off the Skitter mask and grinned at them both. Speaking in Taylor’s voice, I said: “Welcome to your worst nightmare come to life. I present to you… Apex Skitter.” I struck a pose and threw bullhorns with one hand, and my tongue hanging out.

  “What the hell, Morgan. I didn’t even know you could do that!” Chris shook his head.

  “That’s right,” I warned him sternly, “you think the wrath of Piggot is bad? You haven’t seen bad. Piss me off and I’ll take your entire likeness and post selfies of you doing the most cringeworthy and embarrassing things ever all over PHO.”

  “Wow, now that’s a thought,” Lisa said, tapping her chin with her index finger.

  Chris gulped, and I winked at him.

  “Just messing with you. Or am I?” I let the question linger with a decidedly Tattletale smirk on my lips. Taylor’s lips.

  Chris looked around at the rest of us. “Have you all seen what Amy has in the basement!?” The excitement in his voice was barely constrained. I could only imagine the sensation a Tinker must get when seeing extremely original work like that. Probably inspired a lot of ideas.

  “Yeah,” Taylor and I said in unison, and Lisa just shook her head.

  “I take it you enjoyed your visit, then?” I asked him, and he patted his hands on his thighs and nodded rapidly. “I’m sort of surprised that you stayed the night. You cleared it with your parents, I hope, and didn’t tell them you were working overtime?”

  “Oh, yeah. We talked, and they weren’t worried about me being over here with all of you and New Wave right here. Honestly, you’re legit the safest place in the city outside of maybe PHQ itself. Anyways, the Vee Two tournament ran late, and I was a semifinalist, so I decided to just play it out and stay the night. Amy and your sister helped me out and set up a cot upstairs for me in the clinic.”

  I smiled at hearing that. Glancing around at the others to do a temperature check, I went ahead and asked the burning question on my mind.

  “So, I was out all night. Tell me how the finals went!” I glanced between the lot.

  Chris spoke right up again. “So we did rounds of round robin to build a points pool and then cut to the top four for elimination. It was me versus Leet and Melody versus Jamie. Leet beat me, and Melody beat Jamie.”

  I motioned with my hand. “Uh huh, uh huh, and…?”

  “Your sister and Leet did the best three of five for the final match. She played with him for the first two matches, and he got an inflated ego, then she pulled the rug out from under him and shut him out in the final three rounds.” Lisa told me, then took a swig of her coffee. “It was pretty bad, and Leet had a fancy controller and everything, just like hers. Which…” Lisa lowered her head and looked over her lashes at me. “ Interesting choice of a birthday present for your sister, Morgan.”

  I held a finger up. “Listen. Melody freaking adores Narwhal. If it wasn’t for the literal end-of-the-world-type shit going on that day, I promise you she would have been screaming her head off from being in her presence.”

  Chris coughed. “Should… we be talking about this, like this, with…” He gestured vaguely at Lisa.

  I flapped a Taylor hand at him. “Please, she knows damn well who Eclipse is, and I at least trust Lisa enough not to have to worry about that kind of thing.” He squirmed a little and looked a bit uncomfortable for having called Lisa out like that. “I appreciate you thinking of it and bringing it up, though. Infosec matters!”

  Amy spoke up next, the topic of last night’s activities having passed. She looked at me. “Why are you wearing Skitter’s outfit?”

  I told her about what I was working on, a project that had been on the back burner for some time now. Both Amy and Chris got engaged when it came to the topic of suit design. I tossed some ideas back and forth at Chris and Amy about what I’d been thinking about for helmet designs, given the sorts of features and constraints that Taylor had in mind. I also explained to Taylor that Chris was responsible for my Phoenix Strike helmet, which was one hell of a piece of tech, and one that I loved when I still wore that identity.

  Chris took the praise rather well, only occasionally mumbling.

  The back and forth went around the group, discussing the merits and drawbacks of various designs for headwear. Meanwhile, I thought about making a concept, and was feeding my power little tidbits of ideas. It seemed very engaged at the moment. The few conversations I’d had with other people about their powers had led me to believe that mine was rather dramatically different than most, and not just in the ability itself, but the weird sort of relationship I had with my ability.

  I suppose I was sort of anthropomorphizing it, or maybe thinking of it like a pet, or something. I didn’t think of it as a person, but there was something there. I got the impression it liked puzzles, or something. Maybe complex problems.

  I tried to package up these ideas going around in my head. A helmet, but not for Morgan me, but the me I currently was, Taylor me. I held the mask in my hands and looked at the ‘face.’ It needed similar coloration and a similar style of this dark, matte fabric texture. More importantly, it needed to incorporate several key features: eye protection with vision correction for Me-Taylor’s eyesight, and it needed to have her hair similar to how her mask did. Finally, it needed to protect her head from various threats, like impacts, as well as cutting and piercing. Bullets would be good too, but she wanted it thin and light, so I didn’t know if that could be done.

  I let it percolate on that, and I also fed it the placement, sizes, and shapes of the plating. I wanted to grow this plating from my body, Taylor’s body directly, so it would be rather form-fitting. It would have to attach to her suit, but she could figure that out for herself. It needed to also be inert, or at least, persist after I took it off or detached it, so she could keep it and use it.

  Fuck, this is a lot to try and think about. So many moving pieces, and so complicated.

  I kept feeding it information. The activity in my head built, and I was starting to get a bit of a headache from it. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. Not having the glasses or lenses wasn’t helping. I pulled the mask on the way Taylor had shown me and re-tucked the neck.

  “Morgan?” Taylor asked.

  “I’m working on something. Can I borrow your earbud, and does your suit have what you’d normally have in it?”

  She nodded and got up from the bed. She took the charging and carrying box for our PRT headsets and earbuds out and handed me her earbud. I put it in my ear, then leaned back against the wall, crossed my arms over my chest, and tossed one ankle over the other. I had to admit, this suit was pretty awesome. It was also shockingly light.

  “Do you think the armor inserts will be heavy?” Taylor asked.

  “There’s a decent chance that they will be. I’m hoping that having them well-fitted will help offset that,” I replied.

  “Do you remember what I mentioned last night after your spar?” Amy asked softly.

  “Yeah, I… I’ve been thinking about it. It’s a little anxiety-inducing, if I’m being honest,” Taylor said.

  Amy parted her hair and peered at Taylor. “Do you think I’ll make a mistake or something?”

  Taylor shook her head and rubbed her cheeks with her palms. “No, that’s not it at all, it’s more of an image issue. Like I might not like the way I look.”

  I looked between the two, and I wasn’t the only one paying attention to the exchange. Taylor wrinkled her nose and sighed. “Amy offered to help me out with training goals when she was healing me last night.”

  “Hmm!” Lisa perked up. She glanced over at Amy. “As in enhancements?”

  Amy held her hand out and rocked it from side to side. “Sorta. Less of an upgrade in that sense, and more helping fast-forward her natural, existing processes.”

  “So what, she munches on a big steak and gets ripped?” Lisa asked rather pointedly.

  “Yeah, pretty much exactly that. I’ve done it for a long time, especially with patients who have lost a lot of muscle or body mass from an injury. I tell their body to regrow the muscle, and about what ratios of different muscle types. Then, either use biomass if there’s a big difference, or make temporary changes to their metabolism to stimulate appetite and accelerate growth if it’s a minor difference.”

  “What’s biomass entail, exactly?” Lisa asked.

  Amy sighed. “It’s where things can get a little gross. The macro nutrients are the big thing, so for muscle, you want… muscle.”

  “So you’re grafting on cow tissue without rejection, or something?” Chris asked, and he looked like he was half-lost in thought.

  “Oh, god, no. That is super crude,” Amy answered quickly with a shudder. “No, the tissues and cells are broken down into components and then regrown entirely fresh from scratch. And it’s their tissue, and body making it, just through an ability instead of digestion and pumping weights.”

  Taylor drummed her fingertips on her cheek. “I have a sort of different impression of things now that you’ve spelled it out for us.” She glanced over at Lisa.

  Lisa tongued her cheek, clicked her tongue, then shrugged. To Taylor, she said: “Seems all above-board to me, not that medicine is my area of expertise. But if hospitals and doctors seem to be fine with the patients she’s treated, I don’t think that you’d have anything to worry about.”

  Taylor glanced at me. My headache was building, and I was rolling my head around. I closed my eyes and thought it over briefly. “I mean, I trust Amy and her judgment on this stuff, of course. The reason I advised against doing that kind of thing in the first place is that I think training has merit beyond just getting stronger. But if you’re naturally predisposed to having a very light build, it could really help you out. I know people who are sort of genetically predisposed to certain builds can have an easier or rougher go of their training journey.”

  “Are you okay?” Taylor asked me as a total non-sequitur.

  “Working on this suit project is giving me a headache. Normally doesn’t happen, or ever, for that matter. But then again, I’ve never tried something like this before, either.” I shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

  The activity of my power spiked in my head, building to a crescendo, a whipping storm, and I got the sensation of readiness.

  “Whew, there it goes. Finally. I’m going to kick this off, fingers crossed.”

  I paused a moment and thought twice about that. “Actually, can we have some privacy?” I glanced around at the small group. “I might need to strip, and that gets slightly weird when we consider it’s not my body in the first place. ”

  A collective “Oh” face went around, and people got up. Chris and Lisa stepped out.

  Amy looked at the two of us. “Would it be okay if I stayed and observed?” She looked at me, and I thumbed over my shoulder at Taylor. She shifted her gaze. “This stuff is sort of fascinating for me. Morgan’s power is sort of very similar to mine. Sometimes, I can learn things by watching with my ability while she does her thing.”

  Taylor shifted on the bed, scooting back a bit. She had a touch of pensiveness on her face. Then she just seemed to get over whatever it was that she was thinking about, and said: “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

  Amy closed and locked the door, and I got to stripping, handing the pieces of the suit over to Taylor for safekeeping as I guided Amy to take a seat, and I turned away from both Amy and Taylor, for Taylor’s privacy sake. I slipped my sports bra off, slid my underwear down in a way that preserved our shared modesty, and kneeled nude on the floor.

  Taylor thanked me for being considerate. I closed my eyes and concentrated, and I felt Amy’s fingertips on my shoulder.

  Taylor. Skitter. Bug controller. She’s as terrifying in her armor as her swarms of insects. She needs to look the part, but I don’t just want her to look good, power. I want to keep her safe.

  More turbulent splashing and crashing into and around me was my response. I took it as an affirmation, but that could have just been my mind playing tricks on me.

  I took several slow, deep breaths, and then I opened myself and let my ability flow. The typical sensation of heating in my chest came first, followed by some twitching and tingling in my limbs. A weird sensation in my gut and stomach, rapidly intensifying, doubling again and again, shooting past a twinge into clenching pain and oppressive pressure.

  Amy sucked a breath right as I felt like I was simultaneously punched in the gut and having the world’s worst heartburn, and I doubled over. Elbows tucked against my waist, my mouth surged with saliva as I let out an anxious, pained groan.

  “Are you okay?” Taylor asked from behind as drool ran out of my mouth, and my skin surged with perspiration.

  Oh fuck– I’m going to!

  The loud sound of retching and splashing liquid hit my ears first, as my eyes were squeezed shut. Thankfully, the wicked, acidic stench of vomit didn’t assault me. Instead, it was the bitter, mineral-laden, slightly metallic taste and texture of my own weird blood. Goopy, sticky, stringy, thoroughly revolting, yes, but also familiar.

  Three productive yarfs later, I felt slightly better. “Bluh…” I panted a few breaths, and then it was time for round two. I pulled my eyes open just enough to see what my knees and shins were telling me: that there was quite a large puddle of black-as-pitch nastiness spreading. Sweat poured off every square inch of me.

  “No, don’t touch her,” Amy cautioned behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut once again and doubled over, clutching my abdomen and resting my head on the floor tile, regardless of the sick slick. I felt my sweat change textures, rolling down my body as my vomit writhed and snaked up my skin.

  Black ichor congealed mid-drip from my lips, slick with mucous and saliva, thread-like filaments sliding over my tongue and tonsils, coaxing another heave. It clung like tar, stretching in ropes over my teeth before spilling to the floor with a wet snap.

  My skin crawled, tunnels and veins lurching and burrowing just beneath the surface. Puckering dimples and swelling blisters crept over my arms and legs, tracking into my torso, while muscles twitched and spasmed in strange, disjointed sequences. My hair squirmed aggressively, slick with sweat and slime, slipping around my face and coiling until it interwove, sealing my head in a squishing, churning, suffocating mass.

  I couldn’t breathe. Though my urge to vomit had passed, my gorge still rose as tendrils of claustrophobia whipped from the darkness. Rational thought fought irrational instinct.

  The puddle beneath me wasn’t still. The ichor thickened, clumps animating and crawling up my–Taylor’s–body with repugnant determination like an amoeba made of raw filth. Heat seared along the spots I had mapped for armor plating. My hair unsealed in places, letting me draw air and restoring hearing. I was still blind.

  My back arched further against my will. I felt skin tear, heard wet, gruesome ripping, slick squelched, and sucking pops as vertebrae flared and segmented plates pushed free from my dermis. Oozing dribbles rolled down my back and sides; I hoped desperately that it wasn’t sheets of gory skin sloughing off in view of the two witnesses to this orchestrated horror.

  Without warning, an intrusive current lanced up my spine, through the base of my skull, straight into my brain. Each point where the armor forced itself through my skin burned raw, a sting of open wounds mixed with the maddening itch of fibers piercing my living flesh. I wanted to scream, but braided through that agony was something obscene: a molten bloom of pleasure coiling between my hips and radiating outward. My breath hitched as it climbed, cresting through me and behind my eyes, as if the same instincts driving the suit had learned precisely where to make strings howl inside me.

  It was wrong– horrifically, impossibly wrong–to feel my skin tearing while I shuddered with orgasmic fullness, every nerve singing with diametrically opposed signals. My mind hovered, entranced, watching as pain and pleasure wound together until indistinguishable. My hands planted on the floor at some point, fingers flexing against the tile without conscious control. Part of me wanted to vomit more. The other part… hungered.

  Ripples of heat and shivers surged along my spine, shooting up to my scalp, then cascading outwards into my arms and thighs. Each nerve ending thrummed, as if my body vibrated with exquisite tension. The crawling and burning agony of piercing tendrils warred with the swelling fullness in my belly and head, layering sensations that bent my mind. Each exhale came with a tremor I couldn’t suppress, and every heartbeat hammered a symphony of pleasure and pain I barely contained. My body shook involuntarily, arms clenched around myself. Tensing and aching, both resisting and reveling in the transformation.

  Plate after plate slid and stacked, creeping from Taylor’s ass up her spine until they met my skull, clamping into place. Crackling snaps, pops, crunches, and rasping solid-on-solid friction filled the air as plates grew from my head, emerging through the hair wrapping the surface. The jawpiece, mandible-like hard armor slid forward, gently but firmly cupping my jaw with a teasing, tight spring that made my facial nerves sing with confusing sensations.

  I breathed through the hair easily, feeling it shift like fabric over my face. Each breath carried sharp, attenuated sensations through my mouth and down my throat. My teeth ached, tongue tingled, and the tension of fusing plates blended with the pleasure coursing through me. I gasped and trembled on the floor, panting, breathy traces of vocalization slipping out as sensation wound down.

  I rested, slumped in a fetal position with ankles, knees, and head on the floor, breathing heavily and coming down from the experience of growing the suit. My power still sloshed about in my head, and a dark, witty crack flitted through my mind before I could stop it. I wouldn’t voice it, even internally.

  Slowly, carefully, so I didn’t lose my balance, I sat back upright and opened my eyes. The sight of a yellow-tinted room in sharp focus greeted my sight. I looked down, fearing the worst. Some clumpy piles of transparent goop and liquid encircled me on the floor, odorless steam rising from all of it. I was similarly soaked from head to toe with the same transparent slime, and it was flowing down and dripping off me from where I’d sat up. I was similarly steaming, and the cool, wet sensation felt quite good as it aided me in cooling off.

  The room was as close to silence as you could get in a big, increasingly active building with people talking in the hallway outside.

  I closed my eyes and rested, my chest rising and falling as my heart rate and breathing slowed. I felt like I’d just gotten done with a cardio session, a dip in energy levels, but in a way I recognized as temporary in nature.

  “Please tell me you’re okay under there,” Taylor said, her voice tight with an urgent stress.

  “That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen,” Amy was gushing with excitement.

  I cleared my throat, and replied in Taylor’s voice. “I’m okay. That was not at all what I was expecting. Leave it to my power to never quite give me what I’m asking for in the way I expect it.”

  I brushed my hands over my arms, chest, and thighs, breaking loose some larger clumps and squeegeeing off excess to try and accelerate the drying process. I swallowed and wished I could take a drink of my long-since cold coffee on the desk, but I didn’t want to rush things and would wait for the suit to finish drying. It shouldn’t take long.

  “That seemed…” Taylor trailed off for a moment. “Painful?” she ventured.

  “Mm,” I replied. “It was pretty bad, certain parts and places at different times, but I’ve had worse. Much worse,” I corrected myself.

  Like the time I found out what running out the clock on holding a human shape was like, and then passed out from the pain, right after.

  “I’m sorry. I wish you hadn’t done that if it was going to be like that,” Taylor quietly mused behind me.

  “She not only wanted to, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second to help out her team or her friends,” Amy said to Taylor.

  Taylor’s response was dry. “Doesn’t change how I feel about her hurting herself to do it.”

  “Sometimes–” Amy started to say.

  I interrupted. “Please. Don’t argue. I’m a big girl, Taylor and I wanted to, and I knew it was probably going to suck before. I didn’t think I was going to make a full suit, but here we are. Please try not to let the fact it was hard and unpleasant for me color your opinion on the end product. I honestly hope that it’s to your liking.”

  I stood up carefully. I didn’t want to slip and immediately face-plant and wreck the new suit. I was almost completely dry now. I could feel there was a weight to the suit, and while it wasn’t heavy, it was certainly a lot heavier than what Skitter’s suit weighed. The weight was sculpted to fit her body, distributed flawlessly. I turned around to face Amy and Taylor.

  The look on Taylor’s face answered the doubts and insecurities that were bubbling up inside of me.

  Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes widened some, and her eyes were sharply focused and taking in details. She slid off the bed and stepped closer, leaning forward slightly, and her hands extended out, lightly touching and feeling.

  From what I could see and feel, the suit was absolutely Skitter, but there were traces and brushstrokes of Apex in there as well. It was similar to Taylor’s first suit, a full-body mesh fabric from head to toe. The mesh was thicker and far more densely woven. It moved and stretched similarly to her spider’s silk, and it breathed. The mesh was a deep, dark charcoal gray, and there was a very light shimmer to it, but it wasn’t reflective. The way the material looked under the bright white light above was distinctly organic, just like her silk.

  The armor plates lay over the fabric, seamlessly integrated. Near-black, matte layers, their surface swallowed most light until the angle shifted, and revealed the faintest sheen. Muted rings and swirls of deep green and violet, like the edges of a beetle’s shell. The texture felt paradoxical, cold, hard, and dense as hammered metal, yet with a slight give when firmly squeezed or flexed, reminiscent of chitin. Movement teased the buried colors of the hard parts, of which there were quite many, as if something watched from just beneath the surface of the plating.

  I didn’t have the faintest fucking clue how to get out of this. The entire damn thing was utterly seamless. I tried pinching and tugging the neck, and–yes, there it was. The fabric slid up around a pretty typical shirt-like neck. It was flared to extend down and sit on the upper chest and back, and the excess material bunched when it was drawn up through the neck of the suit.

  Now, how to take the head… thing off.

  The helmet, and I was pretty confident calling it that, seemed to be a design unlike what I was familiar with. The upper half was very helmet-like and included upper face protection and those yellow lenses, then it connected through fabric to jaw protection that was fitted to my jaw, and there were plates all down the neck. There were strips of fabric connecting the neck plates to the mandible, maybe that was it? I pulled, carefully at first, then with a bit more force, and found that the mandible was springy–although very stiff– when flexed outward. It didn’t flex inward at all. Pulling the back sides of the jaw wide, I just tugged the entire thing upwards, and off it came.

  I handed it to Taylor and immediately went for my coffee before we got to the next part. I wound up chugging the entire cup in one go, as I was damn thirsty at the moment.

  Amy stood up and was standing alongside Taylor, poring over the helmet in fine detail. I grinned at them, but both women were lost in their own little world at the moment.

  So I worked on figuring out how to get out of the suit. I assumed it was one piece, but I wasn’t actually sure. I felt around the neck, pulling, stretching, lightly tugging. I felt a spot where the fabric was noticeably thicker, halfway across my right collarbone. I pulled on it, seeing if it would separate. I was about to give up when, with the sound of ripping fabric, a seam parted. I was terrified that I’d torn the suit, but I noticed the sides were clean, no threads or fibers lingering. So I shifted my hands down and pulled more. Sure enough, the seam went down further with a ‘shrrp’, so I kept pulling. It went down to the belt, where it passed between two overlapping ‘belt’ plates and ended at the top of the right thigh. I held the flap up with one hand and grabbed my underwear, turning away to wiggle out of the suit and put them on.

  Then I decided I’d soft-revert back to Morgan. Taylor took the suit from me and was eagerly getting herself ready to put it on, stripping down to her own smallclothes.

  When I was done changing, I opened my eyes to see Taylor adjusting the neck with the full suit on.

  Good god.

  I glanced over at Amy, and she laughed. I suppose I had the same expression as they’d had.

  The suit was a menacing organism masquerading as armor. A seamless fusion of matte near-black fabric and iridescent chitin plates that seemed to be growing out of the wearer directly. Over her shoulders, collarbones, and upper chest, the armor was all sleek, sculpted panels, each overlapping like the carapace of a gigantic beetle. They weren’t glossy, instead they drank in the light, plates so matte that they seemed to seamlessly blur at their edges. When Taylor moved, faint, ghostly halos of green and purple shimmered and slid across the organic contours of the armor like oil over stone. The fabric connecting between plates was thicker and stiffer, yielding just enough to flex and move with her body, but not slack or elastic enough for the plates to move out of alignment.

  A rigid spinal column of segmented armor ran from the base of her skull to the tip of her tailbone, each plate nested and overlapping the next with precision. At the waist, the line merged into a high, sculpted girdle of interlocking curved plates that wrapped around her waist into a single double-ended plate at the front. Below the girdle hung a skirt of thinner lamellar segments. Still chitinous-looking, but curved and flared for freedom of movement, and their edges barely whispered against one another when she shifted. Beneath the skirt, large front and rear thigh plates curved over the muscle, with the inner thighs covered in that shadowy fabric.

  Her lower legs were sealed in towering, articulated boots that rose over the kneecaps, each joint hidden by a layered arrangement of plates that mimicked the look of some nightmarish insect knight. Some part of me was pleased to see big, claw-toting faux toes. I knew the claws weren’t for show, either. They’d work well for traction or climbing, especially on steep surfaces or fences. Shoulder armor cupped around each of Taylor’s shoulders and several plates angled down, giving partial coverage to the outsides of her upper arms. Full elbow to wrist bracers were a wrap-around, two-piece design similar to the thighs, with fabric covering the inner arm that expanded to allow passage of the hands. The gloves were a gauntlet-like design, fabric on the inside, with some padding on the inside of the palm areas, and sharp, straight dagger-like fingernail claws attached to the cups at the fingertips and plates over the back of the hand.

  Better mention that while it’s on my mind.

  “Taylor, be really careful with those claws until you get a chance to test them. I’m used to having claws full-time at this point, but your hands aren’t as armored as Apex’s are. You might be able to absolutely maim yourself if you tried to punch someone with a closed fist, and I don’t know how sharp they are. Mine are… dangerously sharp and hard.”

  She jerked her head up from where she had been peering at her hands. “Oh! Yeah… Noted.”

  The helmet was wicked. It wasn’t entirely a helmet, and it wasn’t entirely a mask, either. Some hybrid amalgamation of the two. The cheekbones and eye ridges were exaggerated, sharp, and angular-looking and clearly designed to take the brunt of impacts, as were the giant insect mandibles on her lower jaw. The helmet gave the impression of a snarling mouth with the dark fabric stretched over her lower face, and an upper face and head that looked like a cross between a beetle and a mantis. Large, yellow eyes stood out, and they even looked like compound eyes from the outside, with honeycomb hexagonal segments between the eyes. I figured the eyes were like those car window stickers where you could see through one way, but not the other.

  Starting from the top of the head and fairly closely mirroring her hairline were long, very thin strips of more of that lamellar chitin material, by the hundreds or even thousands. They looked like, flowed, and moved similarly to how Taylor’s long, wavy, loose curls did. From only a few feet away, you could clearly see it wasn’t hair, and it gave the buggish helmet a very otherworldly background, like a dark aura. The strips were fairly tightly bundled, and I hoped they’d be a good place for her insects to hide in for when she did her whole ‘exploding with insects’ trick.

  “Well… it wasn’t what I was trying to do, Taylor. I wanted to just make you some armor plates to stick in your suit, but I hope–”

  “ I love it. ” Her interruption and tone left no doubt.

  “I know it’s heavier, I hope your bugs are able to cling to it the same way you’re used to. Between you, me, Amy, and Chris, we’ll figure out ways to make sure you can carry all your kit like you’re used to.”

  She held her palm up towards me.

  Those claws look damn good on her.

  “I’m not worried about it, and we’ll either figure out any kinks or I’ll get used to the differences. I’d give you a hug right now, but uhh… I’m a lot harder and sharper than I’m used to at the moment. I’ll give you an IOU instead?”

  I grinned and smiled. Taylor shook her arms and legs out and headed for the door, pulling it open and stepping out. The others weren’t waiting right outside the door.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Amy stepped over and took my hand. She let out a little gasp after we made skin contact, and looked at me with her eyes wide and her cheeks coloring.

  I coughed. “I’d prefer not to talk about it at the moment.”

  She nodded.

  We heard a shout from down the hallway, Chris’s voice.

  “Holy shit!”