Chapter 33: Chapter 32
Amy was isolated, stuck alone in a cell with only her thoughts for company.
No.
No, that was too melodramatic.
She was stuck in a room, sure, but it was hardly a prison. The walls were lined with steel and concrete, but painted a soothing shade of green and peppered with motivational posters and Protectorate propaganda.
Adorable kittens with big eyes and cheerful writing (Hang in There!) to distract Amy from the reality of the situation.
And books, so many books! There was plenty to read, should she desire it, and places to relax. A comfortable couch to lay on, a beanbag chair to flop on, a small desk to write on, an office chair to sit on. It was basically a studio apartment, only lacking a kitchen and any real form of electronics.
But Amy, well, she was a traumatized teenager, and she knew it, and her watchers knew it, and so she sat in her bed and wallowed in her angst and felt perfectly justified in that decision.
It wasn't that she blamed herself... much. There wasn't really anything she could've done to prevent her clones from killing dozens of people and several of her friends. Nobody actually plans for an evil clone situation after all.
Sure, maybe she'd done some silly thought experiments at some point or another, but what cape hadn't?
The reality was simple; as soon as she was captured, there was nothing she could have done. She could accept that. Not happily, not without the occasional nightmare, but she could accept it.
She was even a little proud of what she had accomplished. Shutting down the monster's cloning while effectively stoned out of her mind was no small feat. It was downright heroic in truth. A nice little factoid she could put on her cape resume.
Amy was less thrilled about actually getting captured in the first place, but once again, what could she have done? It's not like she had a lot of warning- well, she had as much warning as everyone else.
And, like everyone else, she had simply gaped at the gargantuan Case-53 as it charged her. Honestly, Amy should counter herself lucky just to be alive and not splattered across the ground.
So, yeah, it wasn't guilt that kept Amy curled up in bed. She just... didn't feel all that guilty about her clones' actions. Her well developed cynicism told her that she honestly didn't give a shit about the people who died, aside from the Wards that she knew personally, while the most bitter part of her was thrilled that, for once, she wasn't responsible for the life and death of others.
Those thoughts did make Amy feel guilty, but no more than what she usually carried around within her, that little seed of bored apathy watered by the gratitude of the masses. She could deal with those feelings, push them deep down inside her where they belong. It was an effortless, automatic thing.
Guilt had no hold over Amy Dallon.
None at all.
"What did this?" Amy asked.
"In a way, you did." Carol replied tersely. "Clones of you, the very worst parts of you. All of the bad with none of the good."
That wasn't quite how Amy would put it, having seen their minds in the making.
"They... aren't me."
"No." Carol agreed. "But you could be them."
Carol never wanted her; that was a fact Amy could recall. There was no context involved, just an angry conversation plucked from her murkiest memories.
"I don't want her. I can't take her."
Amy might've thought she could change Carol's mind, once. When she was young and naive and longing for love. When she could still mistake tolerance for affection.
"You'll be old enough to move out, soon." Carol told her. "I think it's best for everyone that you do."
Amy walked, mutely, at her side.
"I'm not ungrateful for what you've done for New Wave, and my family." Carol continued. " I'll give you a stipend for food and lodging until you can carry yourself."
They came to a stop beside Vicky, beautiful, lively Vicky, maimed and unconscious in a bed. It was wrong for her to be so still.
Amy reached for her sister, arms trembling under Carol's watchful gaze.
Nothing hurt quite like being cast out for something that wasn't your fault. Maybe if she'd killed someone, used her power to liquefy a villain or something equally awful, she could understand.
She could understand being turned over to the PRT, being unceremoniously dumped into a room by her lonesome, being told that the Wards were her best option from here on out.
She could understand being abandoned.
But this wasn't her fault!
She did nothing wrong!
Amy wanted to cling to that thought, that certainty. She was not at fault here. She knew it. She refused to feel guilt, refused to take blame undeserved. If Carol didn't want her, then that was Carol's loss.
Vicky would understand. Vicky would still love her. Even if it meant defying her mother, Vicky would still be there. Amy could survive so long as she had her sister.
No, she could do better than survive. She would fucking thrive, if only to spite that bitch who threw her away. She was Panacea, the most famous healer in the world. She had options.
Amy fished out the crumpled business card in her pocket.
"If you're ever looking for a change, give us a call."
Vanguard, it said. Blocky black capital letters on a white background, and a phone number on the other side. The name stood out rather vividly in her memory.
The corpse of an Endbringer tended to have that effect.
"She said her name was Catalyst. Part of some new team called Vanguard. Based right here in the Bay too. Imagine that."
Thank you, chatty PRT person.
Amy gently pocketed the card. She had the beginnings of a plan. Her situation wasn't hopeless. She would survive this.
But her anger was draining away, taking her energy with it. Lethargy returned, and sadness alongside it.
Two more days. In two days, Amy would be free. In two days, Amy would need to be composed. In two days, Amy would face the world unflinching and unafraid.
But for now, with only herself and whoever was monitoring her room to see, she would cry.
Her mom had abandoned her.
It was okay to grieve.
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