(TAYLOR HEBERT) CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Taylor had expected the PRT training room to look more impressive. After everything she’d seen over the last few weeks—the Simurgh, alien transformations, and Lung sitting around half-naked—a giant concrete chamber with fortified walls and faded floor markings felt strangely underwhelming.

Then she noticed the dents, the scorch marks too, and how some of the sections of the walls looked like they’d been repaired more than once, the newer concrete standing out just enough from the old to make it obvious. Suddenly the place stopped feeling underwhelming.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” she admitted softly.

Beside her, her dad nodded in response as he took in the room too.

Armsmaster stood near the center waiting for them, halberd tucked beneath one arm while a small cluster of technicians moved around him setting up equipment. Miss Militia leaned against one of the observation railings overhead, a generic-looking baton vibrating slightly at her hips.

“You’re late,” Armsmaster said.

Taylor blinked. “We’re like two minutes late.”

“Yes.”

“…Okay.”

Her dad made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh before covering it with a cough.

Armsmaster gestured toward the far side of the room, where several new machines had been wheeled into place already. Some looked familiar enough from earlier tests—scanners, monitors, and targets—while others looked like they’d been stolen straight from a spaceship. All were expensive enough to bankrupt a small country.

“Most of today will focus on your transformed states,” he said. “Durability, strength output, energy projection, mobility—”

“Because the whole ‘take apart the watch’ thing failed,” Taylor said.

Armsmaster’s mouth thinned considerably.

“The watch remains impossible to properly disassemble,” he replied, sounding personally offended by the fact. “Every attempt so far has failed.”

Taylor looked down at it instinctively, the sheer irritation in his voice catching her off-guard enough to make her laugh out loud. “You mean the part where your scanner melted?”

For a moment, Armsmaster seemed slightly offended by the reaction before continuing.“That was one scanner.”

Miss Militia snorted from where she stood. “You said that about the first three.”

Armsmaster ignored her. “The device produces a defensive response whenever invasive analysis is attempted. Energy dispersion, electromagnetic interference, localized spatial distortion—”

“And the explosion,” Taylor added.

“A contained incident,” Armsmaster stressed. Before Taylor could retort, he continued. “The point remains that invasive analysis has proven… difficult.”

Taylor glanced around the room again after that, attention catching on thick retractable barriers built into the walls and ceiling. There were more of them than she’d first realized. A lot more.

“…How destructive are you expecting this to get?” she asked.

“One hopes minimally,” Armsmaster replied.

“That didn’t answer the question.”

“It answered it perfectly,” Miss Militia called down.

Taylor looked toward her, then back toward the room. There were reinforced doors at every exit too. Huge ones. The kind meant to contain things rather than keep people out. That should probably have been comforting. Instead, it made something twist in her stomach.

Her dad seemed to notice. “Taylor.”

“I’m fine,” she said automatically.

He gave her a look that suggested he didn’t believe that for a second, though thankfully he let it go.

One of the technicians hurried past carrying what looked suspiciously like a fire extinguisher. Taylor watched him go.

“…Wow, you guys are really optimistic about this.”

“Prepared,” Armsmaster corrected immediately.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” Miss Militia said.

Armsmaster ignored that too with the air of a man deeply accustomed to being outnumbered.

“The transformations you’ve displayed so far vary wildly in capability,” he continued, walking toward the center of the room as he spoke. “Strength, speed, energy generation and projection, and advanced technokinesis composition.”

Her dad folded his arms tighter. “And you’re sure this is safe?”

There was a pause, which Taylor immediately regretted hearing.

“It is controlled,” Armsmaster said carefully.

“That’s not the same thing,” Danny replied, staring at the hero for a second.

“No,” Armsmaster admitted. “It is not.”

One of the technicians snorted before quickly pretending he hadn’t.

Taylor rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly very aware of how this looked and sounded from literally anyone else’s perspective.

Hey Dad, I’m going to turn into random alien monsters inside a heavily fortified government bunker while a tinker analyzes everything.

Perfectly normal teenager activities. And honestly, a small, embarrassing part of her was actually looking forward to it.

She blinked, realizing that the earlier feeling she had wasn't hesitation but excitement, and she found herself relaxing. 

Which was weird.

A few days ago she’d been standing in ABB’s territory threatening one of the most dangerous men in Brockton Bay. Before that she’d fought the Simurgh. Somewhere in between she’d apparently decided fighting Leviathan sounded reasonable.

And now she was here, in a giant testing room, actually excited.

It really felt embarrassing to admit, even to herself. Because yeah, she’d worried about people finding out too much. Every transformation she used became another thing people could prepare for. Another weakness somebody smarter than her might eventually exploit.

But another part of her—the louder part, honestly—still wanted to know. She wanted to know how strong these forms actually were, which ones could survive Leviathan, and which ones couldn’t. She wanted to know what the watch even considered possible. 

“Miss Hebert,” Armsmaster said, moving away from the center of the room before turning toward her and gesturing at her.

Taylor looked up.

Armsmaster was watching her expectantly now. “We’ll start whenever you’re ready.”

She rolled her shoulder once, suddenly aware that everyone was watching her now. Her dad shifted slightly beside her, arms tightening again, Miss Militia straightened a little overhead, and even the technicians had stopped moving around as much.

Taylor looked down at the watch resting on her wrist, the green hourglass gleaming softly beneath the lights.

The Simurgh fight had worked mostly because everything lined up in exactly the right way, panic, luck, and desperation all mashed together into something that somehow worked. She knew that now.

Luck wasn’t a strategy. Luck couldn't last. 

Then she smiled despite herself. 

“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath. “Let’s see what this thing can actually do.”

Then she slammed her palm down onto the tower, and green light burst across the room.