Every dog comes up to sniff you at some point as you work, but most quickly lose interest once their curiosity has been satisfied. The exception is a young Labrador ('Bubbles', according to Rachel) who decides that you are his new best friend and that you should never leave his side again.
It probably says something depressing about you, how gratified you are to receive a scrap unconditional love like that, even bestowed randomly by a dumb animal. But you just can't help loving him back a tiny bit. He is so adorably jealous of the attention you're paying the transformed dogs ('Brutus' and 'Judas'), you can't even be annoyed at how much he's distracting you.
The monster dogs in question seem a bit bemused as they wander around, as if they are wondering why they are so big when there's no one to fight. They are keeping a wary eye on you as well, probably suspecting that you're the one they are supposed to protect their master from. But they are clearly well trained, so you don't worry about them attacking you. Unless you piss off Rachel, of course.
But never mind all that. The whole point of being here is to study monster dogs, and monster dogs are freaking weird. In the first place, if you hadn't seen them being made, 'dog' would not have been your first guess. More like 'post-apocalyptic rat-lizard hellbeast'.
The power surging through them, you quickly realize, does absolutely nothing to make them stronger or tougher. No, they seem to be exactly as strong as you'd expect a critter made out of a ton of solid muscle to be. And yes, you do mean solid. There's a reason real animals don't consist of 100% muscles, and Rachel's power is working really hard to ignore that.
You're not a biologist, so you can't name and describe every system that is being papered over with... let's just call it magic, because that's essentially what it is. But there's a lot of them. Do they eat? No, their muscles spring into being pre-loaded with, uh, muscle fuel. Do they even breathe? Uh, maybe? You'll come back to that question later.
Freed from the menial parts of dog care, Rachel spends her entire time training them. Once you're done scooping poop she has you feed and water the dogs, then groom them. She doesn't trust you to check their health, but she tells you exactly what she's doing and what she's looking for while she does it. She's clearly training you as well.
All the while, you keep studying. Brains, nervous systems? Not really. Rachel may not be Mastering her dogs, but her dogs are essentially Mastering their meat suits. Completely lacking a physical means of transmitting nerve impulses from the chewy dog center to the crunchy monster exterior, her power makes do with metaphysical means.
You also get a good look at Rachel's end of things, as she has to regularly infuse more power into the dogs to keep them monsterized. Just as planned. Villainous laughter, etc. At first she keeps calling them over and touching them to top them off, but a few hours in she grows tired of this and starts broadcasting her power across the room. You can't quite hide your surprise the first time this happens, but you don't think she noticed.
It brings up an interesting point. Even Rachel, the least sophisticated person you know, initially tried to hide the full extent of her powers even from someone trusted to know the location of her lair. Between that and Lisa keeping her power largely secret (and claiming to be psychic when you first met), you begin to wonder if sandbagging and misdirection isn't another unspoken keystone of cape life. Makes you wonder what other capes are hiding.
You're going to find out, of course.
When it becomes time to go home you ask Rachel to stop empowering the dogs, as you want to watch them return to normal before you leave. As the muscle fuel runs low, it is concentrated deeper in the body and the outermost layers of muscle are reabsorbed. Once a certain critical point is reached the whole thing falls apart and the dog itself emerges, wet with rapidly evaporating - no, vanishing - amniotic fluid(?).
The whole thing strikes you as incredibly baroque. But on the other hand, you do know enough biology to know that evolution isn't all that sexy up close. It's not inconceivable that this was the most expedient way to fulfill a sudden demand for completely reversible monster dogs, the same way that the human retina is welded on backwards.
Just how this bit of natural selection was plucked from its ancestral environment and stuffed into Rachel's brain is another question, though. It's the question in parahuman studies. All things considered, 'God exists, and he's a bit off' might be more plausible than an evolution-based explanation. Scion exists after all, and there are people that claim that he's God and/or the source of powers. He's certainly a bit off.
"Come back same time tomorrow," Rachel says, startling you out of your unproductive ruminations.
"Tomorrow is Saturday," you point out.
"So?"
"No school. I can come by much earlier if you want."
"Yeah. Do that." With that she turns away, leaving you to find your own way out.
---
"Where have you been?" your dad asks when you get home. When you get a bit closer he wrinkles his nose and furrows his brow. "What's that smell?"
"I was volunteering at a dog shelter," you say. It's almost entirely true, and an after-school activity that is unlikely to be forbidden. "Lisa knew one that needed some help and introduced me."
His relieved smile proves your assumptions correct. "Did you have a good time?"
"It has its ups and downs. And by downs I mean dog poop. I'll stick with it for a week or so at least." God damn, are you good at telling your dad the truth or what?
---
You arrive bright and early the next morning, ready for a full day of menial labour and phenomenal cosmic power acquisition. Rachel doesn't even say hello as she hands you the poop shovel, but Bubbles greets you as if you had been gone for a month. He's simultaneously unwilling to leave your side, and so excited that he can't stand still. He compromises by running in tight circles around you, bumping into your legs at least once per lap. Once again his behavior mysteriously fails to annoy you.
Taking care of a dozen dogs is not a full time job, but you don't really want to leave early when there's studying to be done. Your agreement didn't specify anything so formal as hours per day, and Rachel doesn't object as your contribution gradually shifts from working to helping with training to just plain playing with the dogs. Late in the afternoon she shakes things up, though.
"Wanna go for a ride?" she asks.
You blink in confusion before you notice that she's gesturing at Brutus and Judas. You've seen smaller horses, now that you think about it (you have not seen larger horses). You suppose they could serve as riding beasts.
"Sure," you answer. It's not like you're going to turn down quality time with her power.
Rachel climbs up on Brutus' back with practiced ease. You, uh, you had expected saddles, and reins and stuff. Which is silly, where would a homeless person get specialized tack and gear like that? Judas is looking at you expectantly, and you gaze back with a certain apprehension. There are enough bony spurs and protrusions that climbing up does not look overly difficult, but by the same token his back is not going to be very comfortable.
You mentally chastise yourself. You're not here to be comfortable. You scramble your way up and take a seat. The ground feels improbably far away, considering how short the climb was. You let out a small yelp when Judas starts moving, making his way over to Rachel and Brutus at a leisurely pace. You grab hold of some conveniently positioned bone spurs to keep yourself from falling off.
For your next trick you'll try to relax your white-knuckled grip somewhat. You can do this. A slow walk around the yard is no problem at all. When you think about it, this is no different from the pony rides you loved when you were little. Except the girl leading the ponies around the track back then wasn't a mentally unstable murderer (as far as anyone knew).
Then Rachel shouts "Up!", and Brutus gathers himself and leaps four meters straight up, clearing the half-finished back wall. Judas starts running towards the same wall.
"Waitwaitwai-oof!" Your protests are cut off as the force of the launch knocks most of the air out of your lungs. You get about half a wheeze in before the landing, predictably, finishes the job. You spend some time just lying on top of your mount, gasping for breath.
When you look up, you see Rachel grinning at you. It's not a very nice expression, for all that she's clearly amused. Seeing that you've mostly recovered she clicks her tongue, which has Brutus set out at a trot. Judas dutifully follows.
"Rachel, wait!", you shout. "I can't be seen like this! I still have a civilian identity!"
She stops long enough to hand you her mask (a cheap plastic thing, depicting a dog face), then she's off again. Halfway down the street she gives another command, and Brutus turns, leaps, clings to the side of the building, and leaps again to land on the roof opposite. You brace yourself and hold on for dear life as Judas follows suit.
Next time. Next time that happens you won't scream like a little girl.
---
You're not going to claim that it wasn't exciting, or even fun once you got used to the gut-clenching terror and bruising impacts. But when Rachel leaps off her dog still able to walk, you're prepared to grant her an honorary Brute rating.
One larger than yours, certainly. You slide off Judas and land in a heap, whimpering slightly as your butt touches the ground. Look, there's Bubbles again. You protest weakly as he walks all over your prone body in his eagerness to welcome you back.
Rachel snatches her mask off your face. "Same time tomorrow," she says. Was that humor? You're pretty sure Rachel just did a humor at you. You nod weakly at her. Bubbles takes the opportunity to start licking your face.
Eventually you summon the wherewithal to get to your feet. If you make it all the way home you'll be impressed. If you get out of bed tomorrow, you'll be amazed. You're going to go home and soak in a hot bath for hours.
Picturing the steamy bliss ahead of you gives you some comfort as you walk. Then you remember that you promised to hang out with Emma today. Fuck! Ok, home, quick shower, then up and at them again. You really shouldn't complain. Somewhere out there, other capes are having lasers shot at them right at this very moment. Your career so far has been much less stressful than theirs. Probably. Maybe.
---
Your dad looks a bit surprised at your bedraggled appearance. "Tough day at the dog shelter?" he asks.
"You have no idea," you tell him truthfully, but decline to elaborate. Shower, now.
---
On you way to Emma's place your thoughts turn back to your problem at school, and it occurs to you that you've been an idiot. Again. You've been so focused on reverse blackmail that you completely forgot about the regular kind. You had the solution in your grasp all along.
After greeting Emma and retiring to her room (and roughing her up a bit for her ongoing crimes against friendship - you didn't want to bother, but she insisted), you share your brilliant new plan.
"On Monday we're going to go see the principal," you say, "and we're going to tell her that you're willing to confess everything and rat out your friends."
Emma goes pale. "I can't, Taylor! Sophia would kill me."
"It won't come to that," you assure her.
"No, you don't understand! She's killed before. I've seen her do it!"
Huh. You knew she was headed for prison, but murder? And the heroes still found it acceptable to recruit this person. You're not even pretending to be shocked any more.
"It won't come to that," you repeat, "because you're not actually going to confess. Your friends have powerful friends, and Blackwell does not want to disappoint them. She'll offer us a deal in exchange for your silence."
Emma looks at you searchingly at the mention of powerful friends. Suspicion, not confusion, which means that she knows about Shadow Stalker. You had been wondering about that.
Emma has no further objections to your plan (that she dares voice), and proceeds to ask about your day. You spin her a tale of dog shelters, featuring cute dogs and smelly poop. Emma hesitantly asks if she could come along and experience it for herself. How gratifying, your minion is working maintain adequate friendship levels on its own.
You consider the scenario of Emma meeting Rachel. Prognosis: Fucking priceless. You promise to ask tomorrow.
---
"You trust this girl?" Rachel asks.
"Oh yes," you say. "She's supernaturally loyal." Rachel doesn't get the joke.