I made it through the school day without issue. Like yesterday, the pressure in my head had been mounting. Around the eight-hour mark, I started getting a low-end headache. Not terrible.

  I got home after school, showered, and followed it up with some deep stretching. Curious about my limits, I decided to keep holding it—my form—while being mindful of time and how I felt. I jotted down notes as I made observations.

  I thought back to what Dragon had told me on the Rig.

  Was it think like a scientist? Perform experiments? Something like that. Be scientific about it.

  I made a mental note to try and reach out to her. From what I understood—and what PHO said—she was kind of a Protectorate member and kind of not, since she was Canadian and a founding member of their version of the Protectorate, the Guild.

  The internet was a mixed bag for cape information. Sometimes it was a goldmine of facts at your fingertips, and other times it was full of deliberate misinformation. Or maybe propaganda was the better word. PHO tried to fact-check and cite sources, but even accurate information could be framed in a way that misled people.

  I’ll call Amy first. Dragon could wait.

  I dialed Amy’s number. She picked up right away.

  “Hey, Morgan. Everything okay?”

  “Hmm, oh yes, I’m fine. Do you have a minute to talk?” I figured the implication was clear: this wasn’t small talk.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty quiet at home. I have to leave soon for the hospital, but I’ve got a few minutes.”

  I’d given some thought to how I wanted to approach this. I figured the direct route was best.

  “I don’t want to sound confrontational, asking this, but… what was that all about at lunch today?”

  There was a pause, so I continued.

  “I’m assuming you were taking a look with your power. Checking on how I was doing.” I tried to keep my tone casual. “I don’t mind, honestly. The fact that you care is flattering. I just thought it was weird you didn’t ask or anything first.”

  “Y-yeah. I did. I mean, yes, you’re right. I wanted to make sure you were okay, but also… I was really, intensely curious about how you were doing what you were doing. I feel like I learn something new every time I see you.” She stammered a little, then added, “With my power, I mean.”

  This girl.

  “Well… am I?” I asked.

  “Okay? You’re way more than okay. What you’re doing is phenomenal.”

  I wonder if she’s as shy as she is because she doesn’t want to show what a gigantic nerd she is on the inside?

  I grinned, and I think it came through in my voice. “I’ll take your word for it. Could you maybe be a little more specific about what has you all excited?”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “Well, you’re mimicking a pers—yourself to an exceptional degree.”

  I caught her correction, but I let it go, considering what she’d just said. I nibbled my lower lip, working through a question. One of those ones, like the first night I changed, where I wasn’t sure if I wanted the answer.

  I asked anyway. “Mimicking. As in, when I’m me… I’m not me-me? Just, like… other-me playing dress-up as me?”

  Good one, Morgan. You sound so incredibly coherent and intelligent right now.

  Another pause, but brief this time.

  “…Yes. In school today, when I touched you? You aren’t human when you’re like that. Not a single piece—bone, hair, cell. But—” the excitement returned to her voice “—when you’re like that, you’re doing such a good job that I’m pretty sure you could fool virtually anyone. Even biometric sensors. Whatever you do, though, avoid body fluid samples. A blood sample under a microscope would blow your cover immediately.”

  I’d been pacing around my living room, and I half-sat, half-slumped onto the sofa. I took a breath and let it out slowly.

  “That’s… thank you. That’s really good to know, and important too, but it’s also hard to hear. I hope you understand.”

  She was quiet on the other end of the line, and I worried I’d offended her. Then, softly:

  “Better than you might imagine. I told you our powers were similar—I get where you’re coming from.” Her voice was firm on that last part.

  “Amy…” I started, trying to sift through how I felt about my power, what she’d said, and what she might be feeling about hers. “If you’re like me and you don’t like talking about your power, just know that you can talk to me. Any time. Any day. And I won’t judge you.”

  I hesitated. My chest tightened, and I swallowed.

  “I’ve struggled every day since I got my power. Since I started learning how terrifying it really is. I feared and denied the possibility that maybe I was a monster underneath my skin.”

  My voice was tight, strained, a little trembly—and I couldn’t stop it.

  “I’m still trying to cope with my reality. What it means? How it affects the kind of person I want to be. How people see me. But—” I took a breath and exhaled, trying to steady myself “—take it from a giant monster… sort-of girl: we can talk about it. And I don’t have a leg, arm, or tentacle to stand on to cast aspersions.”

  That was a lot. Heavy. But I felt a little better having said it out loud.

  The longest pause yet. So long I thought the call might have dropped.

  Then Amy’s voice came back, raw and thick:

  “Thank you. I’ll try sometime.” She coughed. Sniffled. “I… I should get going if I’m not going to be late for work.”

  A smile broke across my face, and I knew it carried through the phone.

  “Amy. Panacea. Go save people’s lives. Go be a fucking amazing hero in that shitty hospital.”

  She laughed a little, offered a soft “Bye,” and hung up.

  I rubbed my palms over my cheeks and tried to clear my headspace for the other call I wanted to make. I shot her a quick text first, asking her to ring back when she had time. I still figured she was probably busy literally saving the world.

  Me: Hey D, I have some pretty heavy stuff on my chest I wanted to talk with you about. Can you call me when you’ve got a little time to talk?

  The reply came back almost immediately, and I snickered at the childish contact name I’d given her in my phone. I was always careful about potentially leaking identity stuff, so everyone had aliases that didn’t actually connect to their real aliases.

  Big D in the C: Call you in five.

  She sounds like a lame rapper. Heh heh.

  I got up and grabbed a drink. The thought of popping some over-the-counter pain relievers for my slowly building headache crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to pollute my science experiment results. I was a good student—I hadn’t slept through my labs, unlike Chris. The memory of him drooling on the non-reactive chemistry tables made me snicker.

  I’d just stretched out on the sofa when my phone buzzed.

  I answered. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Morgan.” That distinctive, almost-Irish accent greeted me again.

  “Hey. Um—I just wanted to double-check that you’ve got a few minutes to talk. This is sort of a lot to get through, and I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

  “Don’t worry yourself about that at all. I got the impression already from your message. We have plenty of time to talk. If something urgent does come up, I’ll let you know and call back afterward.”

  Okay. I can do this.

  “Warning: I might get weepy, but I think talking about things a little here and there has been helping. Do you know what happened to me this past week? I can give you a quick recap if not. I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with the lives of random Wards.”

  Her reply came quickly. “I do know what happened, and again, I’m sorry that it did. I heard things got pretty intense during that meeting, and I believe the entire situation could have been handled much differently.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you hear about it? It’s not like there were a ton of people there, and I was under the impression most of it was supposed to be closed doors.” I didn’t think I let the suspicion bleed through my voice, but I definitely felt it.

  “I can’t disclose the details,” she said, still gentle, “but I’m in regular contact with several of the attendees, both as a consultant and a close working associate with some of them.”

  Her tone wasn’t judgmental, which was nice, but I still harbored suspicions.

  “Armsmaster?” I asked. I felt a flush rise in my cheeks, a twist of anger curling in my stomach at the name.

  She sighed. “Yes, I work somewhat closely with Colin. But Morgan, please understand—despite that, I often disagree with him. On a multitude of things. I’ll also say that… he isn’t the best with people at times, which can be tricky, considering his role as the leader of the Protectorate in Brockton Bay.”

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  I blew out a breath. “There aren’t a lot of people I can talk to about what I want to talk about with you. I’m dealing with some pretty bad trust issues after everything. It felt like someone jammed a shiv straight into my back.”

  I paused, then added, “But I’ve thought a lot about it, and I think… ultimately, the only person to blame is me. I think I did more harm than good to their reputation, honestly. I held back because of my power, and that’s on me. And… at the end of the day, the PRT is a machine. A business, sort of. It’s publicly funded, but… you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” she said. “And I understand having trust concerns after that. But I also think you’re being a bit too hard on yourself.”

  What she said was considerate, but it almost irrationally irked me. I wasn’t even sure why. I challenged her:

  “Am I? I think it was laid out pretty clearly that the case with my employment—or lack thereof—was largely due to my…” Resentment twisted my voice more than I wanted, but it happened anyway. “Limited capabilities.”

  Dragon’s tone remained calm and level. “Morgan, I’ve met hundreds of parahumans: heroes, villains, rogues. If there’s one thing most of them have in common, it’s this: they struggle with their powers. The forms they take. The consequences they cause. Even the best of us hold back in ways we don’t always talk about.”

  She continued, gently, “It’s not true of everyone, but think about it: Glory Girl can lift a car, but she restrains herself in fights to avoid killing someone. I do the same. Faultline is a villain mercenary, but she doesn’t take jobs that involve killing. We all draw our lines.”

  I pushed back. “Glory Girl isn’t scared to fly or lift a car. Sure, she holds back, but she dares to use her power.”

  Dragon didn’t react defensively. Her tone remained steady, almost annoyingly patient.

  “Maybe she is scared. Not of flying or lifting, but of what happens if she loses control. We all fear different things, Morgan. Sometimes it’s the power. Sometimes it’s what it makes us.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t want to argue about this. I feel like we’re getting off track.”

  “I’d like to think we’re debating, not arguing,” she said. “But I’ll push just a little more—because I think you know what I’m getting at.”

  Her voice softened, but not the point she was making. “You’re reexamining ideas you thought you had a handle on. That’s hard. It should be hard. But it doesn’t mean you’re wrong, or that you’ve failed. It just means you’re learning.”

  I sighed. Loudly. “I know you’re right. And I know what you’re getting at. I just…” I paused, struggling to put it into words. “I don’t like shifting blame. I want to own my actions, good or bad. It’s easier to blame myself because I’m closer to the failure. I can understand it.”

  “I don’t know if this helps,” she said, “but I did advise Colin against that decision. I can’t speak for what Director Piggot saw—or didn’t—but I think they underestimated you. If you keep developing your power, and you find the right support… I believe you could be a real asset to this city. Maybe even more than they ever realized.”

  “Well,” I said, my voice quieter, steadier, “that brings me to the big thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Go ahead whenever you like.”

  “I–” I hesitated a moment, doubt clouding my mind. “I mentioned I’m having trust issues with the PRT. I looked up your status online, and you’re listed as a member of the Protectorate. There are things I would like to talk about, but I’m really concerned about those things potentially getting back to them. I’m not saying you would tell them, just…” I trailed off.

  “That’s a completely fair concern, and I respect you for bringing it up. I’m connected to the Protectorate, yes, but I’m also an independent entity with a degree of autonomy most members don’t have. There are things I must report, but far fewer than people assume.”

  She paused, and her voice softened.

  “What I can promise you is that I won’t betray your trust lightly. I’m not here to interrogate you, take notes, or forward your words to someone behind a desk. If you just need someone to talk to, someone who’s seen a lot, who understands how the institutions work and where they fall short? I’m that someone.”

  “And if you’re ever at risk? I’ll tell you before I ever tell anyone else. You deserve that much.”

  I was torn, in more ways than one. I wanted to tell her, and I wanted to believe her. This was a person with an immaculate record and reputation. The doubt weighed me down like an anchor.

  If this comes back on me, well... I’ll have no one to blame but myself. Again. But we’ll cross that bridge when we reach it. Maybe my paranoia is unfounded here.

  “Okay.” I took a breath, gathering myself. “There are two things. One is extremely important to me. The other is something I’m trying like hell to come to terms with—and I don’t think I can change it. It’s complicated. Ugly. A mess. A big mess.”

  “Go on,” she said to me softly.

  “I don’t want to relocate. I don’t want to concede. I want to be a hero. It’s who I am in my mind, and what I’m going to do with my life. I’m planning on going independent, and all the issues that surround that status.”

  “Okay,” her tone was warm and supportive, “it sounds like you’ve thought about this and are aware of some of the risks and challenges, and that you’re very determined, which is good. I am sensing there is a ‘but’ coming?”

  “Yeah,” I said dryly. “A hell of a but at that. Turns out your comment about being bulletproof with more coverage was more prophetic than you knew.”

  She paused, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was thinking or giving me space to breathe. There was certainly stress in my voice. No amount of coagulants was going to stop that from bleeding through.

  Her tone was cautious, like she knew this was a potential minefield: “Are you referring to the changes to your skin?”

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. The headache had been getting progressively worse and was up to what I’d consider a moderate level now. Then there was the subject of my new self, which was an entirely different headache.

  Or is it? God, this is confusing to keep straight sometimes.

  “Something happened that triggered a… transformation, for lack of a better word. I—this is like, ultra top-secret information—changed. Totally. Dramatically. And, according to the best healer in the world… permanently.”

  “Okay,” she said quickly, thoughtfully. “Let’s take this one bite at a time, alright?”

  I nodded. Dumb. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  “Do you know what triggered the transformation?”

  “The blue was spreading without my input or control. I shut my power down—entirely, completely. Locked it up like a bank vault. I was fine for a while, but then I started feeling kind of lousy, and my power stirred. I kept it locked. The longer I did, the worse I felt, and the more insistent my power became. I asked Glory Girl for help—because I trusted her—she brought her sister, who told me I was literally dying and had to let my power work. I did, passed out for two hours, and woke up… not myself.”

  “Okay, interesting. I have theories, but let’s move on. Who else knows?” She asked.

  “The Dallon sisters. Amy and Victoria. Glory Girl and Panacea. That’s it.” I said, more than a little nervous that the list had just grown to three people.

  “You… haven’t told your family?” she asked, sounding puzzled. “Are they out of town? How have they not noticed in the week since?”

  I let out an explosive breath. “I moved out the weekend before it happened. That’s a different story. I haven’t told them because I don’t know how I want to handle it moving forward. I got my own place as part of this independent thing.”

  “Okay. That makes sense. I don’t imagine that was easy, but taking precautions is smart. Independent cape stories… sometimes end in tragedy.”

  Her tone was somber. She knew exactly what my fears were.

  “Exactly,” I agreed.

  “One last thing, I think…” I heard her click her tongue thoughtfully. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume there’s more to this than just… having blue skin?”

  I laughed. It came out a bit sardonic. “The new and improved me is twelve feet tall, has more limbs than I care to count—not including the tentacle hair—is a chimera of unrecognizable species, and, oh yeah, the best part? There’s not a single iota of human Morgan left in me.”

  I swallowed. Again. Trying to relax the knot in my throat.

  “That is…” Dragon’s voice was neutral, contemplative. I braced myself.

  “…fascinating.”

  My eyes rolled, and I let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Why are people like this? I tell you I’m a giant fucking blue monster, and you—like Amy—just get excited and nerd out on me!” I laughed, sharp and a little wild.

  “Morgan, I’m being honest with you. I recognize how difficult this must be for you, but my honest-to-god reaction is that this is incredibly fascinating. Intriguing. As a person.”

  I was caught off guard and backpedaled just a little. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out.”

  “Not at all. You’re going through something monumental. You’re allowed to be frustrated that others aren’t there to help you through it.”

  “Monumental. Is that a size joke? I should be offended.”

  Dragon laughed, and I let myself laugh a little, too.

  “So, putting all that together… I’m getting a much clearer picture of where your concerns and questions might lie. Can I ask you a few questions first?”

  “Shoot. I’m an open book.” I stretched my legs out, closed my eyes, and left them closed.

  “Well, you don’t sound any different than I remember. I’d imagine a giant version of you would sound… pitch-shifted.”

  I chuckled. “Right. I found out I could fake being me again a couple of days ago. There’s a time limit I’m testing right now. I managed to go to school all day today, which was nice.”

  “Hmm. I’d like to make a quick comment before my next question,” she said.

  “Go on.”

  “You shouldn’t keep referring to yourself as a monster. I don’t think that’s healthy.”

  “Well…” I trailed off, thinking. “I mostly mean it in a descriptive sense? I barely look humanoid, and I’m pretty sure I’d scare the hell out of any sane person I ran into on the street. That’s just… a normal reaction to a giant monster.” I paused. “Did you have a suggestion? Blueberry? Mutant? Something else?”

  “If I met you in that form, I might be startled. But being startled doesn’t make something monstrous. You’re not the shape of your form, Morgan. You’re what you do with it.”

  I nibbled my lower lip, then responded: “That’s, I get what you mean, but it kind of smacks of being a platitude. Not everyone is as thoughtful as you are. I don’t think your average Brocktonite is going to pause and consider the broader implications if they see me running down the street.” I was thankful that she didn’t sound taken aback by what I’d said. I worried that it came off a bit more strongly confrontational than I’d intended.

  “Parahumans come in all shapes and sizes, some of them don’t resemble anything remotely human in breaker states, other changers like yourself, etcetera. Case fifty-threes are a bit rarer, but they’re pretty commonly known to exist in the general population.”

  “Fair, fair. I’ll try and be less self-deprecating. You’re not wrong, I’ve said the same thing to other people in different circumstances.”

  “Good. What did you mean by ‘could fake being me again?’” She asked.

  “I just talked to Amy about this earlier. Apparently, when I am human me, it’s just really, really good mimicry. I even fool myself, which is saying something. And don’t- I know you want to say it.”

  She adopted a playful, whining tone with me: “But it is fascinating…”

  “Ugh,” I said, dragging out the sound for effect. “Next question.”

  “I think I only have two left for right now. I am going to have to go pretty soon. Why are you so concerned about the PRT knowing your identity all of a sudden? I mean, I get being bitter about not being offered a slot on the team, but it sounds like there’s more to it than that.”

  “I’m… I’m not sure if worried or concerned is the right word here, but I’m one of the two about my appearance and the relation and reaction of the PRT. There is a notable lack of case fifty-three types of capes in the Protectorate, and well, you know how much image and perception matter.”

  “Oh, Morgan. You are having a definitive teenage moment thinking that.”

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean!?” I said with a laugh.

  “I mean, being very focused on body image. There are C53s in both the Protectorate and the Wards program. You’re right in that they’re pretty rare, but that’s true of C53s in general. They’re only a small percentage of parahumans, and while you’re not incorrect about image and perception, that’s something that the PRT is actively working to try and correct. There’s a popular up-and-coming member of the Wards near you in Boston who is a C53. Sure, he looks human if you were looking at a silhouette of him, but he’s entirely made out of metal! Not a single iota of organic matter in his body.” I felt pretty stupid, but I suppose that’s part of the learning process. “Sorry. I feel dumb right now. I was…” I sighed. “I don’t know, wrapped in my negative thoughts about the PRT and recent events.”

  “Totally understandable. Last question: Do you feel like your new appearance is preventing you from being an independent hero?”

  “Yes,” I answered without hesitation or thought, “...absolutely. It’s something I’m having a hard time getting over, and I keep getting hung up on when trying to make my plans for the future.”

  “I’ll leave you with this parting thought, and I want you to think about it quite a bit, okay?” She asked.

  I replied: “Sure.”

  “I do all my work as a hero using my Dragonflight. You know this.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I don’t make them look pretty. They are function first, form second. Sure, I have a motif and stylings, but I like to style my suits after the dragons of mythology and not the dragons of pop culture. They’re dire beasts, powerful, terrible, and dreadful. When I fly my Dragonflight suits over a crowd, or land them someplace, do people run in fear and terror?”

  “No? You’re probably one of the most recognized and beloved heroes in the world, Dragon.”

  “Do you think that was always the case when people first saw a giant, robotic, fire-breathing, dragon monster tearing through a battlefield? Think about it, Morgan. And let’s talk again soon, okay?”

  “I… Yes, I’d like that. I have some thinking to do.” I answered.

  “Good, glad to hear it. And good luck. Be patient; things like reputation take time. Bye now.”

  With that, she hung up.

  Maybe people did run around, screaming bloody murder when she first showed up. But they don’t anymore. And maybe, just maybe… people can learn to not be scared of me, too.