RWD: 5.x (Intermission)(Aisha Laborn)

Her mom looked weird, all flat and fake on the hospital bed, skin waxy under those shitty fluorescent lights that buzzed louder than anythin

5.x (Intermission)(Aisha Laborn)

Her mom looked weird, all flat and fake on the hospital bed, skin waxy under those shitty fluorescent lights that buzzed louder than anything should in a room meant to be quiet. They'd already unplugged her from the beeping machines, and now the silence felt too big, like it was pressing down on Aisha’s chest. It made the air thick. Made it hurt to breathe.

She curled deeper into the corner, knees drawn up tight against her chest, pressing so hard her skin hurt. She wished it hurt more, because pain would’ve at least made sense right then. Aisha squeezed her eyes shut, fists balled tight enough her nails dug crescents into her palms. The whole thing was bullshit. Mom didn't die quiet and peaceful like in the movies. She’d choked and convulsed, rattling breaths through blue lips. Froth and blood and panicked shouts. And all Aisha had done was stand uselessly in the corner, helpless, watching the doctors scramble around until they'd stopped scrambling and started whispering in clipped, professional voices that didn't bother to sound gentle.

She was alone now. With the body. The hospital room was cold, like the world had finally caught on that it was supposed to feel as empty as it actually was. There was a clock on the wall, but Aisha didn’t need to look at it to know how long she’d been there. Long enough that the fluorescent lights were burning holes in her skull. Long enough that the smell of bleach and dying flowers had sunk under her skin and made itself at home.

She curled tighter into herself, invisible. Her power was wrapped around her like a weighted blanket—too heavy, suffocating, but at least it kept people away. It made the world forget about her. Made it easier to forget herself. It was better that way.

She hadn’t made a sound. Hadn’t wanted to. If she let herself make a noise, she was pretty sure the noise would never stop. Not gonna cry, she promised herself. She couldn’t. Crying would mean she had to accept that it was real. If she just sat here quiet enough, long enough, maybe none of this would stick. Maybe she'd vanish too, and nobody would ever know any of them had even existed.

She should have left. Should have run the second the machine stopped beeping, after the doctor covered her mom’s face with a sheet. But she hadn’t. She’d sat. Let her mind run circles around itself, gnawing on all the ugly things she didn’t want to think about. How her mom’s last words had been gibberish, a half-choked slur about getting her stuff together, but not for Aisha. Not for Brian. Never for them.

Her phone was dead, battery long gone. She’d smashed it against the wall earlier, when the texts from Brian started coming in. She didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to hear the worry in his voice, the frustration, the inevitable, crushing responsibility. She’d called him, anyway, just to say the words. She’s gone. I need you.

She didn’t want to need anyone. She didn’t want to be here.

But she was.

The door creaked open, and she heard voices in the hallway. One of them was familiar—Brian's, tight with stress and exhaustion. Aisha pulled her knees even closer and let her power do its thing. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Wasn't ready to see the look in his eyes when he realised he was stuck with his fuck-up little sister permanently now.

"—thanks again," Brian was saying as he entered the room. His voice cracked slightly on the last word.

"It's not a problem," came the reply, and something about that voice made Aisha look up despite herself.

The guy who walked in behind her brother was maybe eighteen or nineteen, almost as tall as he was, leaner, with a shock of messy blond hair and eyes so blue they seemed to suck the washed-out colour from the rest of the room. He was handsome in a sharp, angular way, but something about him unnerved her. He moved like he owned the room, not swaggering, just… certain. His razor gaze swept the space, lingering on her mother’s body, before looking away. Dangerous.

A doctor in scrubs followed them in, clipboard in hand. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Laborn," he said quietly. "We did everything we could, but the overdose was severe. Her boyfriend, Mr. Davies, passed away before the ambulance even arrived at the hospital. Both victims had extremely high concentrations of fentanyl in their systems, mixed with several other substances."

Brian just nodded, his eyes fixed on the sheet. “My sister… Aisha. Did the people who brought them in see her? Is she here?”

“No one by that name was logged, Mr. Laborn. The emergency responders did mention a third party—a young lady—at the scene, but said they lost track of her. I could page someone to look—”

Brian shook his head, dismissing the thought. He sighed, rubbing his face. “Forget it. She probably ran off. It’s fine. I'll find her later.”

He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing at his eyes. Dropping the subject, he turned his attention to the grim necessities. “The… the bill. What happens now? I don’t think she had insurance.”

The doctor’s expression softened with a practised pity. “We can discuss payment plans with our financial office. Given the circumstances… emergency services, resuscitation attempts, toxicology… it will be substantial. A rough estimate would be in the neighbourhood of fifteen thousand dollars, if we included—"

"I'll handle it," the blonde guy said, his voice cutting the doctor off.

Brian's head snapped toward him. “The fuck you will. I can handle my own shit.”

"You can," the blonde agreed, "but you won't. I'm covering it."

“I don’t—”

“That’s an order, Brian.”

Aisha frowned, disliking the tone. It reminded her too much of their father. Brian bristled visibly, muscles tensing in his shoulders, but didn’t argue further. Her brother, her stubborn, proud, infuriatingly independent brother, dropped the matter. Brian, who never took shit from anyone, had just let himself be ordered around.

And just like that, the pieces clicked together in Aisha’s mind. She knew her brother was Grue. She’d seen the costume once, hidden in a duffel bag under his bed. And if Brian was Grue, a lieutenant in the city’s new ruling power, the Peacekeepers, then the blonde guy giving him orders was...

Hollowpoint.

The cape who had executed Coil, dismantled the Nazis, and ran circles around the PRT. The guy who now owned Brockton Bay.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Well, that's... that simplifies things. I'll have the billing department prepare the paperwork. Is there anything else you need?"

Brian shook his head quietly.

“Alright, then,” the doctor said. “I’ll be outside if you need me.” 

The doctor slipped out, and Brian moved toward their mom's body, shoulders slumping slightly as he said quietly, "Could I get a minute alone?"

“A moment, please,” Hollowpoint said. He didn’t move towards the bed. Instead, he reached into his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, a butterfly knife appeared in his hand, the steel blade catching the fluorescent light. He held it loosely, expertly. He wasn’t looking at Brian. He was scanning the room, his placid gaze sweeping over the empty chairs, the blank walls, the corner where Aisha was hiding.

“I know you’re there,” He spoke to the empty air. “Whoever you are, come out.”

It took a moment for Aisha to power through her confusion. When she finally did, her heart jumped painfully. No way. He can’t. It was impossible. 

She stayed perfectly still, giving free rein to her power, allowing it to make her smaller, to will her further out of existence. For a long, silent moment, he just stared at the wall a few feet to her left, scanning blankly, unsure. Brian frowned, tense confusion plain on his face. “What are you doing?”

Hollowpoint ignored him, taking a slow breath through his nose. "I can smell you,” he said, still as stone, blade glinting as he stared into the void. “Last chance. Don’t make me come get you.”

He sniffed a second time and took a single step forward, head cocked to the side. Then he turned, eyes again tracking just past where Aisha sat. He was off by a meter, easy, but the intent was there.

Aisha’s heart pounded in her chest. Was it possible? Could he really—?

She shifted, easing up from her crouch, debating. Leave? Stay? Before she could pick, his gaze snapped to her exact spot, like he’d heard her move. He moved, so fast she barely registered it, his hand clamping around her throat. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, slamming her back against the wall. The knife hovered, cold and sharp, a hair’s breadth from her eye, and her power flickered out under his grip.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. For a second, she saw herself reflected in his eyes—scared, angry, small.

Recognition flickered there. He let go, blade folding back into his pocket, and dropped her. She hit the ground hard, knees buckling. Air rushed into her lungs, sharp and burning.

Brian’s shout echoed, somewhere far away, before he rushed to her side. “Aisha!”

He spun on the cape, fury radiating from every line of his body. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Hollowpoint didn’t flinch. “I couldn’t take the risk. Not with an unknown parahuman in the room.”

Brian seethed. “That’s my sister.”

“Whose status as a cape you failed to mention to anyone. Dangerous oversight, Brian. I could have accidentally killed her.” The blonde’s gaze was cool, clinical. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sort yourselves out. I’ll handle the paperwork. Call me when you’re ready to leave.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, the door closing softly behind him.

Aisha dropped down, hugging her knees again, breath hitching. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was her shaky inhale, the irritating buzz of those shitty fluorescent lamps, the world shrinking down to just her and her brother.

Brian crouched beside her, awkward but trying. “You okay?”

She managed a weak laugh, more a hiccup than anything. “Sorry for getting you in trouble with your boss.”

For a long moment, Brian didn't speak, clearly debating the value of denying the implication. In the end, however, he simply sighed as he ran his fingers along the furrows of his dreads. “Don’t worry about it. He’s a bit of an asshole, but not usually... I mean, he is, but—”

Aisha snorted, and Brian sighed again, before sinking down beside her. 

Another long silence. Then, finally, she broke, tears spilling over, hands shaking as she buried her face in her arms. Brian pulled her into his arms, holding her tight as the weight of it all crashed down.