*000000*

[X] Ask her if she knows anything about trying to make money as a parahuman, particularly a healer like her sister.

((()))

"So," you say as the two of you begin to cruise out towards the coast at a more leisurely pace, "Does Panacea do healing as a regular job, or is it just for crisis events?"

"She goes in twice a week," Glory Girl says, rolling over to fly on her back, facing you with a bit of a smirk, "Just volunteer stuff so far."

"Volunteer only?" you ask a bit incredulously, "I saw the kind of work she did. Stuff that's literally impossible for normal doctors to do should be worth millionas."

"It's bad PR to demand money for saving people's lives," she replies with a shrug.

"It's also bad PR to make people live in poverty because you don't want to pay for your life being saved," you retort, "Or do you think that regular doctors shouldn't be paid for their work?"

"...It's different," she says with a frown, "they spend like ten years in school to learn medicine. That's really expensive."

"And they end up earning hundreds of thousands of dollars a year," you say, shaking your head, "And the really highly-skilled specialists earn the most. I guess I'll just have to look into things for myself."

"Sure," she says, "I'll text you the standard links New Wave uses to explain law about parahumans. It should at least be a decent starting point."

"Don't bother," you say, shaking your head, "I called you from a payphone."

"Really?" she says, sounding curious, "I guess if you can't afford a cell phone, I can see why you'd want a solid source of income. You know the PRT will give you a basic model if you sign up as an affiliate?"

"If I get one from them," you say, "I'll make sure to give you my number."

"Thanks," she says with a smile, "So, I'll be honest, I've been trying to figure out how old you are, and I haven't been able to place it. You sound like you're young, you talk like you're a teacher or a college student, but you came to hang out with a high-schooler like me. I'll be honest, I'm looking for a friend who gets cape stuff, and you can 'get' Amy's side of things too.

"I'm looking for a cape friend, but I'd be happy with someone just willing to patrol with me. What are you looking for?"

What say?

[] A patrol buddy is good.

[] A cape friend sounds great.

[] Write-in.

((()))

AN: Another short update, but there's so many key conversational points that I can't pass without removing a lot of agency from the players. Taylor can't talk about her past without putting some risk of outing herself. She can't talk about Ravnica in any detail without giving away being a dimensional traveller. She has no experience as a 'regular' cape on Bet, and Vicky definitely doesn't want to talk about Madison right now. All of which means conversation can only get so far before explicit 'do we broach this topic' votes come up, and since 'try to teach Vicky magic' didn't win, I'm keeping that as 'Taylor isn't going to risk giving things away on this subject' for now.

After there's been some time to see where that relationship does or doesn't go, and Taylor's characterization is more solidly established, I can run longer updates without getting to things that I feel should definitely be voted on.

[X] "I'm looking for friends; that you and your sister are capes is just icing, actually."

((()))

"I'm looking for friends," you say, "Having friends who 'get' cape live is just icing on the cake, really."

"Great!" Glory Girl says with a smile, "Call me Vicky."

"Okay," you say, "Give me a week or two to get used to hanging around, and being back in Brockton, and I'll share my non-cape name too."

"'K," Glory Girl says with a smirk, before rolling over to face forward again, "I'll call you 'Bookie' until then."

"I'm not a gambler," you point out, "Or someone who holds bets for others."

"Should've thought of that before you picked a cape name that doesn't abbreviate any other way," Glory Girl laughs, "It's either that or 'Wyrm,' and I'm pretty sure you don't want that! Now come on, the Truce is still on, so nobody will really try anything, but it's good to show the flag anyways."

The two of you do a long, lazy circuit over most of town. Nothing much of interest happens, the two of you just chat about different parts of the city, and what you've experienced in them. Your impromptu flying patrol ends on the edge of downtown, with the two of you landing at the library.

Once there, Vicky uses her library card to get computer access, and the two of you visit the New Wave website. There's some basic legal guidelines for vigilantes there, as well as links to more exftensive databases about Parahuman law.

The basic rules of parahuman vigilantism are pretty simple:

1. You're only allowed to try to make an arrest if you saw the crime yourself, or asked to help by law enforcement.

2. Be very, very careful with how much force you use against non-parahumans. Unless they're armed with a lethal weapon (knife or gun generally, simple clubs rarely count), you can get into trouble for excessive force. If they're threatening you with a lethal weapon, you're generally as legally safe as someone using a gun in self-defense, which means mostly safe.

3. If you're a Brute who is highly resistant or immune to bullets, you must be even more careful to avoid excessive force.

4. Any parahuman villain with a known criminal record, who is in the process of committing a crime, is always considered lethally armed and dangerous. There's a couple court cases about Thinkers in process, but any other parahuman is basically always considered to be carrying a gun for legal purposes.

5. If law enforcement from any branch ask for your help in apprehending a parahuman villain, that's permission to arrest them even if you didn't seen them commit the crime for the next 24 hours.

6. Good Samaritan laws do not exist in all states. In Massachusetts, where Brockton Bay is, an explicit verbal threat against a civilian by a parahuman is legally considered to be brandishing a lethal weapon, which means you are covered under Good Samaritan laws to protect them.

"What are 'Good Samaritan' laws?" you ask Vicky.

"Decades ago a bunch of stupid lawyers started suing people," Vicky says, rolling her eyes, "Because they weren't the ones being mugged, and they attacked the mugger to protect someone else. In some states, they actually were able to win damages, because nobody had thought they'd need laws to keep a convicted mugger from suing the person who stopped them from mugging someone.

"Good Samaritan laws explicitly protect you if you're stepping in to protect someone else, and they're generally pretty robust. Most states with them make it easier to protect yourself from getting sued or hit with an excessive violence charge when you're protecting yourself, instead of someone else."

"Okay," you say, nodding slowly, "So that's the basic vigilante stuff. Anything else on that subject before we move on to making money?"

"...I'm not all that experienced yet myself," Vicky says hesitantly, "I just should warn you, some gangbangers really have a mouth on them. They'll try to piss you off enough to get yourself an excessive force charge."

"Okay," you say, "I'll remember to keep my cool.."

You move on to one of the links that is a site about parahuman civil law. That is a much thicker, duller, and more obnoxious thing to try to wade through. NEPEA-5 is hundreds of pages long, and even a decent index for it made by the site only gets you so far, especially considering there's plenty of legal rulings and smaller laws that contribute to the overall legal environment.

You have to look through eight different areas just to make sure you've covered all your bases on the matter of healing. The 'all parahumans' section of the law, the 'Striker-type powers' section of the law, since most healers are apparently Strikers, the 'Master-type powers' section of the law, since there's argumentation about whether or not affecting hormone levels automatically should count as a Master ability, and so on and so forth with a maze of cross-references.

As best you can tell, there's nothing inherently illegal about using parahuman powers to act as a healer-for hire, but there's a lot of leeway that is 'at the discretion of the reviewing agent.' Given you'll be offering to save people's lives, hopefully that discretion will work in your favor.

"Well," Vicky says, shaking her head as she logs out from the computer, "That was more trouble than it was worth. This was way harder to follow than when I've gone to work with mom a few times. I should probably get back home now though; when do you want to meet up again?"

"Give me a couple days to get some other stuff done," you say with a sigh, "Tuesday?"

"Call me when school gets out," Vicky says with a shrug, "Which is just after three, in case you didn't know."

You nod, and the two of you exchange a little pleasantries on your way to the library exit, ignoring some onlookers with camera-phones, before both taking off once you get outside.

What does Taylor do next? It's getting on towards evening, but there's still some sunlight left today.

[] Find a place to change back into human form, then-

-[] Back to the Barnes.

-[] Go check on your own house.

[] Go visit the PRT to ask how things have gone at Madison. Might as well 'strike while the iron is hot.'

[X] Find a place to change back into human form, then-

-[X] Go check on your own house.

((()))

You lazily wing your way out towards the Docks, riding thermals off of the city's concrete and asphalt surfaces to gain altitude as you wait for night to set in. Once the light has mostly faded, you slip into a low-hanging cloud, and use it to break line of sight in case anyone is still watching you.

After a few minutes circling just above, waiting long enough to let the sky get just that much darker, you begin a shallow spiraling dive down towards your home. It takes a good ten minutes to get back down to ground level, but by the time you do the streetlights are the primary source of illumination.

Blind alleys are much easier to find in your part of town than the Barnes', and it only takes a couple of minutes to turn into your human form and approach your house from the rear entrance. The lock on the back door is simple, and you're more than familiar enough with it to grasp it with prestidigitation, clicking it open before heading inside.

Your house smells wrong.

Stale.

Empty.

You grit your teeth as you close the door behind you, and head into the living room. It's a cluttered mess; usually there would have been clutter on the coffee and end tables, but some kind of rhyme and reason to it. Now instead of stacked loosely together, there's newspapers all over the coffee table, and a mess of beer bottles have completely overrun the end tables.

Part of you hopes that the build-up is because of how long dad was home alone, rather than how fast he was going through them, but at this point, does it even matter?

You turn around and leave the living room while you can still see clearly.

The kitchen isn't much better. Used dishes are piled up in the sink and across the counters, though at least none of them have rotting food on them. The trash can is empty, not even a bag on it, which strikes you as strange, but not really relevant.

The downstairs bathroom is maybe the only room in the house that looks (and smells) like it should, and you linger there for a moment, feeling angry at that fact. How the hell is the bathroom the only part of home that doesn't feel wrong?

Going upstairs brings back a faint trace of the smell of home. You're not really sure why, probably something to do with airflows, but it's a bittersweet improvement at best. You check the guest room first, and it looks the same as it ever does, not that you ever spent much time in it. There haven't been any houseguests since mom died, so it's not like there's much reason for anything there to have changed.

After that you check your room. It looks just about exactly like you left it when you left for camp nine months ago; the only real difference is that everything seems just a little bit smaller.

You have no idea how to react to that.

Moving on, you come to the upstairs bathroom, and like the downstairs bathroom, it looks and smells exactly like what you remember.

Right down to the toothbrushes sitting in a cup on the sink.

Dammit.

He still left mom's toothbrush there.

You can't see clearly anymore.

Stupid toothbrush.

You stumble out of the bathroom and kick open the door to your parentsdad's room. The place is way messier than mom would have ever tolerated, enough so that you're pretty sure someone must have been searching it after dad died; if he'd stopped caring enough to leave it this much of a mess, there would have been beer bottles strewn about in here as well.

The gun cabinet is open. Dad never used them much; you specifically remember that he hasn't actually gone hunting since his own father died, back when you were too young to really remember the man. He'd go shooting clay pigeons at least once a summer with Mister Barnes, but that was about it. Normally, the case would hold three rifles, a shotgun, a revolver, and an M1911 that you've been told at least a dozen times was grandpa's service pistol when he was in the marines.

Instead, it has two rifles and the wedding picture that would usually be on the bedside stand.

"Dammit dad!" you shout as your vision clouds the rest of the way over, "What the hell gave you the right?"

Dammit.Getting your face cleaned up is made a bit more difficult by the fact that the water has been turned off. A couple dozen tissues let you get most of the snot and tears off of your face, but it still feels a bit gross, and you're worried that if you don't clean it properly soon, you'll get pimples from rubbing it in.

You spend a few more minutes around the house, checking the basement and attic briefly, before leaving, careful to lock the door behind you. A few minutes later, you're flying back towards the Barnes' neighborhood.

((()))

Shape-shifting apparently wipes away the signs you'd been crying. Not sure why you were worried about getting pimples when you have literal magic to make things work for you, but whatever.

"Welcome back," Aunt Zoe says as you enter, "How was your day?"

"...I think I made friends with Glory Girl," you say glumly, "We flew around and hung out at the library. I went and visited the house afterwards."

Without you needing to say anything further, Zoe moves over and pulls you into a hug.

Thankfully, she doesn't seem to feel the need to actually say anything, because you definitely can't think of anything that would actually help the situation, especially empty 'it'll be okay' platitudes like people seem to be so fond of in situations like this.

((()))

You don't sleep very well. You have an incredibly stupid dream of your dad attacking Thumpy's shack with a rifle, and the giant summarily squashing him flat. It sucks, but at least it ends when you wake up.

You spend the couple hours between when you woke up and when Zoe gets up trying to disentangle NEPEA-5 some more. At this point you're pretty sure legal language is designed specifically to confuse non-lawyers; all that you're really gained by the end of that time, is more confidence that an awful lot of the law ends on 'discretion of the enforcing agent.'

Once Zoe is up the two of you start cooking breakfast together, and you notice more than one concerned look sent your way. She's trying to be subtle, but you're a lot more alert than most teenagers at this point.

"I'm going to be going to the equestrian club today," Zoe says when you sit down to eat, "I'm having lunch with a member of the city council there. Do you need anything? Do you want to come with to the club?"

What is Taylor's top priority for today?

[] More time doing research, on cape law, local capes, and what has gone public about Madison.

[] Go down to the PRT HQ in Dragon form and talk to them. See what they're willing to tell someone who was actually at Madison helping out.

[] Look into what's involved in being legally un-disappeared and claiming your 'inheritance.'

[] Go with Zoe to the equestrian club. Horses are nice.

[X] Look into what's involved in being legally un-disappeared and claiming your 'inheritance.'

((()))

"I think I'll look into what's needed to be legally 'undisappeared,'" you tell Aunt Zoe, "I'm going to have to do it sooner or later; I might as well look into it now."

"I'm glad to see you're interested in taking up responsibility," Zoe says with a warm smile, "Leave me a note if you decide to go out again, okay?"

You nod, and little else of interest is discussed during breakfast.

((()))

Apparently, ending a missing person's case, is usually easier than expected. In places other than Brockton Bay, teenagers disappearing is most commonly 'just' the result of arguments with parents, and they generally show back up within a few days or weeks of their own accord. The standing legal state procedure is that if the teenager shows back up unharmed, the police are notified to close the missing person's case, and that's about it.

If they're gone for a particularly long time, CPS usually gets involved to at least check that the home life isn't a danger to the child, but running away and coming back over a single weekend won't merit that, unless the child themselves claims mistreatment.

Your case, however, has known parahuman involvement, and there are other missing persons as well, which means that the PRT is definitely going to want to talk to you about where you were and what happened.

Missing persons.

Melissa disappeared from Camp Luigi as well.

You groan and collapse sideways onto the couch at that revelation; does this mean that she's somewhere in Ravnica as well?

The records that are publicly available online are limited, but apparently she disappeared at the same time as you, and the PRT has an ongoing investigation looking for all three of you. The fact that the case is ongoing, and you are obviously the best lead to trying to find the other two, means that the PRT are going to want to get every possible bit of information they can from you to help them find the other two.

Feather talked about missing person cases in District Nine a few times, and how once they go cold, it was rare for any form of new information other than dead bodies to show up, and when it did, officers jumped on it as quickly as possible. If they didn't, odds were painfully bad about the chances of the person showing up alive again.

All of which basically means that if you want to be out in public as Taylor Hebert again, or have any chance of the Barnes getting legal custody of you until your parents' condition improves or you turn 18, you're going to have to have to talk with the PRT. And not just a short talk, but a long interview with a professional investigator who will be trying to get every bit of useful information of the case that they can.

On top of that, as the sole beneficiary in your parents' wills, if you want the life insurance money and to keep the house and everything in it from getting auctioned off, you're going to have to be established as being back in Earth Bet again.

With all of that firmly established, you look into just how much trouble you might or might not be in for dimensional travel. You didn't voluntarily go to Ravnica, you were pretty much kidnapped, but you did actively work with the Izzet to try to get back, which might make you culpable depending on what the laws say.

Fortunately, it doesn't look like you're going to be in trouble for trying to get home. There's a treaty between the various technologically advanced nations of Earth Bet and Earth Aleph not to pursue technology for dimensional travel until 'adequate measures for ensuring disease transfer between alternate Earths does not occur are developed.'

Mostly that's meant that nothing new has actually happened in more than a decade. All that's still active is a coin-sized portal between worlds created by Doctor Haywire's technology, and kept in a vacuum chamber on both sides to make sure nothing but data transmissions comes through.

You might get in trouble for not going into quarantine as soon as you got back, but given you showed up during the middle of an Endbringer attack, you kind of doubt it.

Aside from that, so long as you don't try to travel to Earth Aleph without permission from the other side, you should be fine on at least that front.

For some reason, you still have a bad feeling about talking with the PRT, but you're not sure why.

What do?

[] Don't talk to the PRT yet.

[] Go talk to the PRT.

-[] As Taylor.

-[] As Bookwyrm.

-[] As both. (Reveal ID connection.)

[X] Go talk to the PRT.

-[X] As Bookwyrm.

-[X] Use Divine Insight and Empathy (and precog, if possible to do covertly) to try and figure out if something is going on with the PRT. Best to get the lay of the land before going as Taylor.

((()))

You decide that it's time to bite the bullet, and at least sound out the PRT. Trying to look at things positively, they're going to have control of the Madison Quarantine, so maybe they'll be helpful there.

...That's probably just you trying to overcorrect into optimism.

You're starting to get into a rhythm for finding an unobserved part of town to shape-shift in, after which flying downtown and finding the PRT building is pretty easy. Seeing the PRT building during the day, it strikes you as somewhat jarring how different it is from a Wojek Precinct Fortress.

The PRT building looks any other office building downtown, the Wojek use actual fortresses, with gatehouses, portcullis, firing slits, and murder holes. The PRT building has a secretary in the lobby; a Wojek fortress has gate guards, usually at least one giant or minotaur, and junior watch members armed and in armor. On the plus side for the PRT, they have electric lighting and climate control, something you appreciate as you enter. Your Dragon form isn't as sensitive to temperature differences as your human form, but it is Winter, even if there isn't any snow on the ground yet.

You still found the Wojek fortifications a lot more imposing, and because of that, more reassuring. You take a moment to activate your emotion-sensing Psionic power, and cast Divine Insight.

A Dragon entering immediately draws the attention of everyone in the atrium, which is thankfully almost completely empty, just a handsome young man behind the reception desk, and a middle-aged man in business casual leaning against it and chatting with him.

"Ah!" the young man calls out, "You must be Bookwyrm. I don't suppose you've come by to look into signing up?"

"No," you say, shaking your head as you cross the lobby, "I'm just getting my bearings, and wanted to ask about a couple of things."

"So long as it isn't classified," the receptionist says, "I'd be happy to help you."

"I'm looking into getting set up as a contract healer," you say, "And I'm also worried about how things have turned out in Madison. Can I get anything more than the 'no comment' and 'The Simurgh has left' that's been made public so far?"

"I'll have to ask one of the higher ups about information on Madison," he says, fingers hammering away at the keys lightning quickly, his emotions showing excitement, "As to healing work, I can give you the general brochure for Rogues, and print you out some of the more specialized bits for Associate Cape status with the PRT. The usual stipend is doubled for capes with decent healing abilities."

"Two healers in town?" the other man says, looking at you curiously, "Well, that'd really be something. What brought you to Brockton Bay?"

What say? (Remember this is going to frame whatever is told to the PRT)

[] "I'm a local."

[] "I had to go somewhere after Madison, and Panacea was coming here, so it seemed like a decent option."

[] "I'd really rather not say."

[X] "I'd really rather not say."

((()))

"I'd rather not say," you reply, "Especially to someone whom I know nothing whatsoever about."

"I'm Frank," he says, offering you his hand, "I work in payroll here at the PRT."

"...Bookworm," you say after an awkwardly long pause, raising one of your forepaws to cautiously shake his hand, "I'm not entirely sure why you're talking with me?"

"Not every day you get to shake hands with a Dragon," he says with a shrug, "Anyways, my break's just about over, so unless you've got questions for an accountant, I should head back to my floor."

"Only if you can tell me how to file taxes as a Dragon," you say flatly.

"Sorry," he says with a laugh, turning and heading for the elevators, "But that'd take hours, and you'd probably want to talk to a CPA. See you at quitting time, Fred."

"See you later, Frank," the receptionist replies with an absent wave, before handing over a couple of brochures for you, "So here's the general brochures in this stack, and the two handouts we have for healers on the right. Since the PRT has an active interest in keeping heroic-aligned healers in play, standing orders are to set you up with a briefing from either a senior member of the PRT, the watch member of the Protectorate, or if you have someone you know by name and they're reasonably available we're amenable to that too."

"...How long would something like that take to set up?" you ask a bit hesitantly.

"If they're on base right now?" Fred says, glancing at a clock, "Probably could have something set up by the top of the hour, especially since things are still slow in the aftermath of Madison. A meeting would also be your best shot at getting more information at what's happening out there, by the way."

He pauses gauging your expression and body language, before saying just a bit more.

"Frankly," he says quietly, leaning forward over his desk, "You're going to want to talk with someone friendly, before the truce ends and someone decides a healer wandering around alone is too tempting to pass by."

Well. That wasn't exactly comforting.

What do?

[] Ask for a meeting with the Protectorate member on watch.

[] Ask for a meeting with a senior member of the PRT.

[] Ask for a meeting with a particular member of the PRT (Fred and Frank being the only ones you currently know of here in the Bay)

[] Just thank Fred for the paperwork and leave.

[X] Ask for a meeting with the Protectorate member on watch

((()))

"Meeting with the Protectorate member on watch sounds good," you say after a moment's thought, "Who would that be?"

"Battery this afternoon," Fred says, "I can send her a quick e-mail, and she'll be ready to meet with you by the top of the hour."

"Sure," you say with a nod.

"Alright then," he says, hammering away at his keyboard swfitly, "In the meantime, could I interest you in some tea or coffee?"

((()))

About twenty minutes later, Battery joins you in a comfortable but not fancy meeting room. She's a very fit and curvacious woman, though her skintight outfit hides literally anything else about her, since it covers all of her skin and hair.

"Bookwyrm," she greets with a warm voice, "I'm glad you decided to come by today. Fred said that you were interested in doing contract work as an Associate healer, and any information you can get out of Madison?"

"That's right," you say, "I've read over some of the legal stuff, and it looks fairly straightforward, except for all the 'at the discretion of the attending agent' parts."

"That," Battery says, tilting her head in a manner that suggests rolling her eyes as she sits down across the small conference table from you, "So far, given how incredibly different parahuman powers can be have made it so that it's hard to have broadly standardized legal codes. New law is coming in at the speed of bureaucracy, like usual, so we'll probably see the first decent set in five or ten years."

Her emotions read a little bit of irritation, some anticipation, and a lot of excitement at being here with you.

"So I should be good," you say, "But I'll have some PRT Agent checking my work periodically?"

"Once every six months I think," Battery says, "Unless you screw somebody up, in which case that'll obviously be looked at in some detail, and if it happens multiple times, like more often than your average surgeon makes a serious mistake, you'll get reviewed more regularly."

"Okay," you say, "So basically, establish a good working relationship with whoever is assigned to my case?"

"Pretty much," Battery says with a nod, "I can help you submit paperwork for Associate status when we're done, but first-"

Her mood drops sharply.

"-What I can tell you about Madison. If you want to start with the roughest part, I can give you a list of confirmed dead. People confirmed to evacuate, or confirmed to be in the quarantine areas but alive, those lists take weeks and months to finalize, but I can get you what we have so far if you want."

What say?

[] "I'd like to look at all of the lists you have so far."

[] "Just one list."

-[] Write-in which.

[] "I was more interested in the condition of the city as a whole than any one person."

[] Write-in.

[X] "Before reading the lists could you give me a brief overview of how the whole situation is progressing?"

((()))

"Okay," you say taking a deep breath, "Can you tell me about the general condition of Madison while I look the lists over?"

"I can tell you what's slated to be released in general," Battery says, passing a tablet with some sort of database software pulled up on it, "Since I didn't deploy there, I don't have access to anything else, though I do have it a day or two earlier than PR will be making public statements."

"I'll take what I can get," you say with a nod, carefully starting to page through the list with your claws, "How bad is it?"

"Both better and worse than most Simurgh attacks," Battery says, her tone of voice grim, "Damage to the city wasn't too bad, and because Madison is a relatively low density and spread out city, more people were able to evacuate before the deadline than usual, but the Simurgh pulled out a new trick, and started messing with Tinkertech."

"...Biotinker?" you ask, glancing up from the list for a moment, "I fought these eel-minotaur things on my way out."

"No," Battery says, shaking her head, "PRT storage for captured and otherwise out of use Tinkertech was in an underground vault in Madison. The Simurgh ripped out some of Doctor Haywire's technology, and started opening portals to other dimensions, letting all kinds of strange creatures in. There's been some speculation that you're one of them; would you feel comfortable answering a few questions about that?"

"I'm from Earth Bet, if that's what you're asking," you reply, trying not to react too obviously, "And I'm not really keen on questions around my civilian identity."

"Sorry," Battery says, shaking her head a little, "Normally I wouldn't even have asked that much, but the Simurgh being the Simurgh, everything has to be taken a lot more seriously. Still, you're on record as not just getting out of her area of effect in time, but helping fly a bunch of kids across the line as well, cutting it down to the last few seconds, combined with being a healer, you've turned some heads.

"I hope you'll understand this is meant as a compliment, but the Protectorate would really like to bring you on board."

"I'm certainly willing to do healing work for the Protectorate," you say, not looking up from the list you're rapidly paging through, "But I'm not sure if I have the right disposition to work as outright law enforcement."

"It's not for everyone," Battery agrees, "There's been talk about setting up Parahuman fire-fighting teams. No need to deal directly with villains, but a lot heavier focus on disaster rescue and the like. If something like that gets started, would that be more your speed?"

"...I do like the sound of it," you say, glancing up at her briefly again, "But I'd have to look into the details before I could make a commitment to something like that."

"I'll try to keep you in the loop if the plans do go through," Battery says, "Getting back to Madison, there were initially a lot of casualties from the creatures coming through the portals, but not all of them were hostile, some actually helped fight off others, and shortly after the Simurgh fled, the last of the murderous ones were put down. Since then, things have stabilized as much as they ever do in a Quarantine zone.

"The general pattern with quarantines has been that the more people that get out, the lower the population density, the less likely riots and outright gang wars will erupt. Madison has pretty good prospects for this, especially with the way a number of lakes divide up the quarantined area. Odds are that whoever you're looking for will at least make it out alive."

"...Hopefully," you say with a sigh, setting the lists aside, "Given I didn't see what I was looking for on any of the lists."

"I'm sorry," Battery says with a wince, "To avoid asking questions around your civilian identity, would you be okay with answering questions about your cape career? You don't come across as a complete novice, but we have no records whatsoever of you being active in North America, or anywhere we have record-sharing agreements with."

What say?

[] Flat no.

[] Some questions within reason.

[] You'll answer just about anything, but you'll be changing names for privacy reasons.

[] Open-ended yes.

[X] Some questions within reason.

AN: Back home from road trip, so a more regular update schedule should ensue.

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"I'm willing to answer a few questions within reason," you say.

"That's fair," Battery says, her emotional aura reflecting genuine pleasure at your response, "So, how long have you been a parahuman?"

"About nine months?" you say, "I don't remember the exact date, and things were rough around then."

"I understand," she says with a grimace, "Would you mind sharing why you wouldn't have shown up on any of our records if you've been active that long?"

"I haven't really been 'active' that long," you say, shaking your head, "Aside from a very unpleasant experience with getting abducted by a villain right after I triggered, using my powers to escape, I've kept my head down and worked with a couple of researchers on trying to gain a better understanding of my powers. I think Madison was only the second time I've acted like a cape at all since the start."

"That's some very impressive restraint," Battery says, her aura showing surprise and respect, "Most capes can't keep themselves restrained for anywhere near that long."

"I picked 'Bookwyrm' for a reason," you reply with a shrug, "I'd rather spend most of my time studying or curled up with a good novel, but sometimes, like at Madison, there's a moral obligation to do what you can."

"I understand," Battery says, leaning forward leaking sympathy, "That's why I chose to go into law enforcement myself. I've had a pretty good life, for the most part, and I joined the Protectorate to try to help others have a chance at the same."

She's practically glowing with earnestness as she says that, and right now, she seems like she would fit right in with the Boros.

You can see that she wants to pitch joining up to you again, but she restrains herself, and instead moves on to other questions.

"Do you have any odd needs or requirements that the PRT could help you fulfill?" she asks, "Your claws, teeth, and horns look like they're real metal; do you need to eat any rare or expensive sorts regularly?"

"No," you say, shaking your head, "I can eat metals, and some of them are pretty tasty, but I can get by on a human diet just fine. Is that a common problem with capes that have altered forms?"

"Not common," Battery says, "But at least one cape had a very unfortunate need to eat human flesh, or he'd start literally going crazy. He's in jail for dealing grievous bodily harm, but we set something up through the same system medical cadavers are handled to help him stay sane. He didn't actually kill anyone, so if he keeps up good behavior he'll be out on parole in about six months; we want to head off any possible repeats as best we can."

"The thought is appreciated," you say, "But not necessary in my case."

"Good," she says with a nod, before visibly bracing herself, knowing that she's going into a question you may not like, "How much are you willing to tell us about how your powers work?"

What say?

[] Tell her more or less everything, couched in 'metaphysical power' language instead of ever saying 'magic.'

-[] Describe yourself as a grab-bag.

-[] Describe yourself as a Trump.

[] Tell her you have a handful of different powers you can use a limited number of times per day, healing by far being the most potent so the one you use the most.

[] Tell her about your basic physical capabilities; you're a low-end brute and mover, can spit acid, and can heal a dozen or two times per day.

[] You're not comfortable answering that.

[] Write-in.

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