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Being smart was hard, but doing smart was easy. It came naturally to me. The average person wouldn’t need to activate their brain for more than a few minutes per day, give or take. They’d get out of bed and run their lives on autopilot, dumbly forcing their daily obstacles through a series of if-then conditions until hours passed by, and they were tucked back into bed.
But not me. I was far too smart to fall into that pattern.
The cold outside air stung my face as I flowed with the foot traffic towards the Boardwalk, and towards Victoria Dallon. Last night, I’d determined that she’d make an appearance there, and something super fucked up and wrong was going on with her. So it was my job to figure out what. I just had to know. Tattletale had to know—that was basically the entire point of her—hence me not wearing that mask today. Nobody would expect the very normal and cool Lisa Wilbourn to care about anything or have a superpower, and my fans would be in awe when I revealed Glory Girl’s dark secret at the most annoying time.
I was on a mission, and nothing could get in my way.
Sidewalk elevation higher than normal ; tripping hazard.
Without looking down, I casually stepped over the tripping hazard and continued on. Another victory for the woman formerly known as Sarah Livsey. This was just more evidence of my vast intellect at work.
“Excuse me?” asked a voice. It was… a voice. I was pretty sure it was a voice, at least.
Masculine; gravelly. Older, mid-forties.
Annoyed, behind schedule.
I blinked a few times before realizing I’d stopped moving. The man who’d spoken at me was annoyed and behind schedule, which I struggled to understand as being my problem.
“What?” I snapped, not bothering to turn around.
“Could you move? I’m carrying something and need a little more space.”
Carrying tall box, late to delivery.
Annoyed at Lisa-self for blocking path.
I wasn’t sure why I was thinking about myself in the third person, or with that name, but learning more about this unimportant delivery guy didn’t interest me. So I thought more about the name thing. Obviously, that meant my disguise was working. This man didn’t recognize me as Tattletale, after all.
“Lady?” he asked with a louder quality to his tone. “Can you please move?”
Considering another route to destination. Considering alternative plans for the day. Considering quitting job. Considering giving up. Considering—
Swinging around, I pointed my finger at the guy holding a tall box. “I know what you’re thinking, you fucker!”
“Whoa, whoa,” he said while backing away in apparent fear at my words. “I’m not doing anything! I’m just trying to do my job, here—but I can take a different way if you wanna live on the sidewalk.” And then he fucked off like he knew what was good for him.
Another victory for the record. I was so good at doing smart.
After basking in sixteen seconds of reflection on how awesome I was, I remembered I had a mission to do. My feet started moving because I told them to, and the rest of me went along for the ride. Reflecting was another thing I sometimes did; not everyone was so aware of themselves, like me.
I was special, and special things needed special attention. Unfortunately, my power didn’t seem to work on myself directly, so I tended to spend most of my cultivated brainwave budget on thoughts about myself. That was good, though, because I’d probably have plenty of inside-my-head time as I journeyed to find the airborne Dallon child.
More blobs of things that didn’t matter passed me by until I finally arrived at the Boardwalk. I engaged my eyes, flicking them left to right, easily finding someone with glorious hair and girly clothes.
Not Victoria Dallon.
As expected, my eyes were working, but this person was not whom I was looking for. I decided to try the next person. Not even a few feet away from the previous girl, someone was hovering midair while holding an object to one side of their head.
Victoria Dallon; phone conversation.
Perfect.
It wasn’t difficult to perfectly situate myself closer to her. And with how crowded it was, I didn’t have to worry about being spotted. That wasn’t a problem for me. Due to my aforementioned abilities, nothing could really get in my way. No, the real problem was how fucking ripped this girl was.
I mean, what the fuck? Muscles fit all across her body, from head to toe—even in places I didn’t know the names for. Her clothes snugged tightly against them, revealing details I hadn’t asked for. She was ridiculous. Why would she even put in the effort when she had a superpower that did all the work for her?
Oh. Maybe she was one of those people who—
Enjoys exercise; social activity.
What a dumbass lmao.
I tried my absolute best not to stare as Muscles McDallon floated in circles and whisper-shouted into her phone, but my brain was too occupied making sense of what I was seeing to do that many things at once. Damn it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, deciding to make a small sacrifice of my eyesight to expand my attention span.
“I get why this is so important,” Victoria said. “But do we really need to do this tonight?”
Some muffled voice on the other end of the call answered her.
“Mom. I’m not a kid anymore, I can make my own—” Victoria paused as she was interrupted. “Yes. But power testing? Again?”
Power testing?
Victoria’s feet touched the ground as she sighed. “I just said I know it’s important, you don’t have to treat me like—ugh!” She snapped the phone shut in anger, mumbling to herself about something or other as she flew away, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore.
A foreign concept had entered my brain.
Power testing. Structured discovery of power limits, downsides.
Victoria Dallon active power tester, healthy lifestyle informed by power testing. Exercise recommended after power testing to offset downside of power.
Jackpot. This was the secret I’d been looking for. Glory Girl participated in this secret ritual to address these so-called downsides in her power, probably as part of some PRT-recommended bureaucratic process.
I could have stopped there, gone home, and made some post about it on PHO—but for some reason I didn’t. The idea of testing powers nagged at me. It sounded boring. So very, very boring… but maybe it would be a good idea to try it myself?
Yeah. Why not? It couldn’t hurt. Power testing sounded like a good idea. Sure, I had no idea where to start, but I remembered reading about what newer capes would sometimes do after first getting their powers. There was a place anyone could go, free of charge.
Nodding to myself, I started walking.
The Boat Graveyard was an eyesore. Beached watercraft sat aground as I swiveled around, taking it all in. Piles of trash, too. Oodles of piles of trash. This place was a de facto junkyard. But at least it was—
Area empty of people. No surveillance.
I was alone. That was my last gripe with the idea. Power testing might end up totally embarrassing, so I would rather not be watched. Just in case.
The only thing left was to figure out how to test my power.
“Hmmm… power testing,” I said, aloud. Inspiration struck, and I raised both hands to my temples, closing my eyes in concentration. “Testing… power… now!”
Boat graveyard result of economic decline, misfortune. Fear of Leviathan affecting trade routes. Brockton Bay—
No, no no no. I opened my eyes and stomped my foot, annoyed at my power. This was just normal power use. I needed to test it somehow.
“Testing, testing,” I mumbled as I absently wandered around, closer to one of the piles of smelly trash.
Leftover material from new cape power testing; tinker. Old grease and oil; expired paint; rotten eggs; a working laptop.
Oh, nice! I stood on my tiptoes and reached to grab the free laptop that God had decided I deserved. Fucking finally. My fingers managed to get a good grip, but it was lodged into the pile pretty tightly. That wouldn’t stop me.
Pulling a little harder, the entire pile shifted as the laptop finally went free, only for it to sail out of my hands and onto the ground, where it made a loud snapping sound.
Broken from fall, no longer functional.
Fuck.
Metal snapped and groaned behind me as I silently contemplated how cruel God was to take away my laptop just after He’d given it to me. Sighing, I glanced over my shoulder and—
Trash pile collapse imminent. Lisa-self within path of fall; trash heap will cover Lisa-self.
“I hate you,” I said to the leaning trash mound. “You should just die.”
It didn’t listen, though. Instead, it continued to groan and snap as smaller pieces toppled down. I realized after a second or two that I probably needed to do something about this.
Sludge; old grease, water, insect parts.
Lisa-self will be covered—
Oh, I got it. I relaxed as I realized what I had to do. This trash was targeting Lisa, so I just had to stop being her. I smirked as I prepared to put on my Tattletale mask, before remembering I left that at home.
No matter, I could always be Sarah again, just for a few—
An old rag covered in slime slapped my face as I was pummeled with plastics and old, rotten food. Crashing noises and the odd splash, here or there, hit my ears, and I nearly toppled over myself as a couple more glops of ick slopped over my clothes.
Muck and mud.
I was covered in muck and mud. Goddamnit it. Was my hair okay?
Sulphur exposure to Lisa-self’s hair.
Oh my fucking God. I wasn’t quick enough with the mask change, apparently; I was still Lisa. That was why the trash pile hit me!
“Good job, Li—Sarah,” I chastised myself. I’d remain Sarah for the rest of the power testing, just in case any other trash piles got some ideas. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Without much of a clue of what to do, and getting annoyed at my icky clothes, I decided to just keep using my power on everything until something happened. That was a test, right? It had to count.
I closed my eyes, twirled in a circle until I felt dizzy, and then snapped them open. My first sight was—
Ocean; bay, polluted with toxins. Salt content typical for ocean water, supporting marine life. Fishing industry moderately active.
Seafood from bay unsafe for consumption. Local economy suffering. Outside help temporarily supporting—
I flicked my eyes around, spotting something familiar.
Remains of oil rig; unoccupied by Protectorate HQ. Missile defense system offline.
Forcefield still operational, covering structure, made by parahuman tinker.
Parahuman activity increasing. Villain to hero ratio unequal, conflict inevitable. Damage to city infrastructure, leading to unsustainable spiral of local resources. Collapse. Social cohesion at all-time low. Parahuman population booming; more violence in the streets. Population fleeing city as social order breaks down—
Oh my god, nobody cared about this shit.
I groaned as I sat my butt on a toppled canoe and wiped away trash from my hair. A headache was the least of my problems right now, even as it made itself known, pounding against my skull like my brain wanted out.
What was the point of all this, again? My power could tell me anything I wanted all damn day, but it was all useless without context. All this mumbo-jumbo about social collapse was so dull. Ever since Leviathan showed up and broke a few things, I’d been using my power non-stop to figure out who did what and when and where. I just wanted a fucking break.
I took a long, deep breath, and readied myself to use my power again—to find a way home—but stopped myself at the last second. Why did I need to use my power for that? I knew the way home, right?
Slowly standing up, I wobbled on my feet as I looked back and forth, struggling to recognize the path I’d taken to get here. But I just couldn’t spot it. All I saw was mud, trash, and beached boats.
Why had I even come here to test things? My headache spiked as I resisted using my power, as was instinct at this point. I wasn’t useless without it, I could find my way home.
I picked a direction that wasn’t towards a body of water and started walking, making sure to avoid any towers of trash. Remembering what happened the last time, I suddenly felt so embarrassed by how I’d acted before being hit by muck.
“What the fuck?” I swore out loud as I picked up the pace. I was covered head to toe in trash, with what was probably rotten eggs in my hair. “What the actual fuck?” How long had I been here, just standing around in this filth?
Why had I thought that deciding on a different name would shield me from the trash heap? Why had I gone with Sarah, of all names?
Why had I decided to go here at all?
Once again back on a sidewalk, pedestrians gave me a wide berth as I power walked back to the base, eager for a shower and a change of clothes. I did my best to ignore everyone’s faces as they noticed me. This was familiar. They’d look disinterested, with some apathy and disgust mixed in. They thought I was homeless or mentally ill, and they likely weren’t far off on the latter idea.
I’d been under the effects of some sort of psychosis until now. As for what caused it, the answer was easy now that I was thinking again. I’d been using my power far too much. My poor brain had begun to rot away from underuse.
That was the entire point of power testing. That was why Victoria exercised.
It wasn’t just me that wound up like this. Anyone was at risk of power overuse. This was a systematic problem for capes, everywhere. I was just lucky enough to snap out of it before it was too late.
Relief was short-lived as I realized who might be affected. Brian had been using his power more often, getting lazy with closing doors or wearing a mask when he could just cover himself in clouds of darkness. Alec would sometimes use our vocal cords to communicate, instead of getting up from his game. Rachel had seemed fine. She’d been avoiding me lately, though. It wasn’t difficult to imagine why. Taylor was…
Oh.
Shaking my head, I abruptly switched course for Skitter’s lair. She hadn’t been outside in weeks.
Layers of spider webs covered the door to Skitter’s room, sealing it shut save for a freshly cut hole near the bottom. A nearly empty plate of food covered in ants sat just inside, giving away its purpose.
“Skitter?” I said to the door. “Are you alive?”
A couple dozen spiders slid down from the ceiling, landing on my shoulders. They did a little jig in the slime that was still stuck there. Worrying, but at least she was somewhat lucid.
“I’m coming in,” I said, making sure to speak as clearly as possible. “And don’t ask about why I’m covered in muck.”
Swiping up and down, I cleared away the cobwebs and then pushed open the door, stepping inside. The room was a mess of insects, trash, and clothes scattered around. Notebooks sat open on the floor, covered in enough bugs that I couldn’t make out what was scribbled inside them. But that didn’t matter at all. My heart sank to my stomach as soon as my eyes adjusted to the light and I recognized the lump on the bed.
“Taylor?” I whispered. “When was the last time you’ve gotten out of bed?”
Bleary eyes stared at me from behind greasy hair as Taylor opened her chapped lips, just to rasp out a groan. My ears picked up a buzzing sound as a vaguely human-shaped mass of bugs formed beside me.
“Using my human body is unsafe,” Taylor spoke through the vibration of hundreds of little wings. “It’s much more efficient to keep it here while I live through the swarm.”
This was worse than I thought. Shaking my head, I fought off another stab of pain as I thought over how to snap Taylor out of this.
“You’re literally rotting on the bed,” I pointed out.
The swarm’s ‘head’ moved back and forth. “I’ve made arrangements to ensure my body is taken care of.”
Fuck. Okay, I wasn’t going to convince her with just words. I had to do what worked for me: power testing.
I put my hands on my hips and smirked. “But your power is less effective this way. You’ll have to engineer overcomplicated bandaids for tasks you can just do by being normal.”
The buzzing got louder as she was clearly offended by my observation. “That’s not true,” she denied.
“It is true. Look,” I leaned down and grabbed one of the notebooks, finding a pencil underfoot. “I can write my name on this in less than a second.” I did as I said and wrote Lisa in fancy cursive, turning the book around to face Taylor on the bed. “Can your swarm do that?”
“That’s pointless. I can just spell things out with—”
“You need to be able to write things down, and you know this. You’ve been trying all day, haven’t you?”
Taylor grumbled on the bed as her swarm answered. “I’m just practicing.”
I set the notebook on the edge of the bed, pencil on top, and stood back.
“Show me.”
Buzzing louder again, a couple ants and a few larger beetles crawled onto the book, forming a makeshift hand that could grab the pencil. Slowly, it moved, drawing a shaky line of large text that in no way resembled the cursive I’d used for my own name.
“Tavor,” I read aloud, once she was done. “You spelled it wrong.”
The room went silent for several seconds, before I noticed movement on the bed. Taylor moaned in frustration, and probably a little pain, as she stretched and shook her way into a seated position. She took a few deep breaths from the exertion.
“What the fuck?” she finally said in a gravelly voice.
I strode to her side and grabbed her arm, helping her up onto shaky legs. “Welcome back.”
Her hands groped at my shoulders as she struggled to find her land legs, stilling when she felt the slime between her fingers. “Why are you covered in trash?”
“Why were you rotting in bed?” I asked, before answering. “We’ve both been victims of a parahuman psychosis.” Leading her further away from the bed, we approached some clothes on the floor that she could change into. “We overused our powers. I’m thinking of calling this ‘power rot’.”
She nodded as her swarm began to clear the room. “This will happen again?”
“Probably,” I confirmed, keeping hold of her arm as she began sorting through the pile. “And it’s not just us. I think it hits everyone at some level or another.”
Taylor stilled again as she absorbed my words, before nodding. “Then I’ll need to plan for the next time. Leave instructions for when I’m bedridden again.”
Accepting consequences of power rot; does not plan to reduce power use.
I swallowed to prevent a hiss from escaping as my brain suffered from more stabbing pains. This girl would be the death of me one day, at this rate. She was just going to accept this.
“Oooorrrr—” I said, drawing out the word to make sure she was listening. “We could do what the heroes have been doing for ages to stave this off.”
“What’s that?” Taylor sat down on the edge of the bed and stared down at her hands, waiting for me to continue.
“Power testing,” I announced, with minimal flourish. “Regularly scheduled and regimented, boring ol’ power testing. Whatever it takes to remind us about the limits of our powers.”
Grunting, Taylor reached over her head to start undressing, which was my cue to leave. I could borrow her shower before I left. I wanted this slime off my skin as soon as humanly possible.
Really, this was a close call. Who knew how long we would have been stuck in this state if I hadn’t snapped out of it? If anything, this was a net positive. Most capes probably never caught on to how power rot affected them.
As I gathered my spare costume from a nearby cubby, I rushed to the shower and disrobed. The warm water hit my skin and I sighed in relief. What a fucking mess. Once I was out of here, I’d grab Taylor, and we could gather the rest of our team to unrot their brains. The Undersiders were lucky to have someone like me to rescue them from shit like this. Not just anyone could snap out of psychosis like that—especially when I’d managed to operate fairly well with just ten percent of my brain.
Doing smart was easy, but being smart was hard.