Set Up! 1.3

The best half-hour of your life passes with you cruising around in the sky high above your home town. Once you stopped fighting the instincts that had been shoved into your mind, flight was amazingly easy. For some reason, you were sure that you were supposed to be more maneuverable than even this, but really? You can't bring yourself to care all that much.

If you have one complaint about this, it's that you'll have to be careful when you're closer to the ground, or you'll have creeps looking up your skirt all the time. Maybe if you run into Glory Girl, you can ask how she deals with that.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and while hanging in the air and watching the last rays of the sun sink under the horizon, you remember that you really do need to get home. You didn't tell your dad that you were going shopping before he left the house, and after your trip to the hospital, you know he's going to start worrying if he comes home and you're gone.

"All right, Perfect Storm," you say softly, "let's go home."

"Full speed ahead, Mistress."

Yes, that is the name you eventually chose for the jewel. You had considered some that were more noble or distinguished, names like Grimalkin or Aldred or Hecate, but none of them seemed to fit, and while the jewel had not rejected them, per se, it hadn't been especially enthusiastic. It had actually suggested Skyborne Vengeance, which… No. Just no.

Perfect Storm, though? That one you could both agree on. It appreciated the 'adjective-noun' arrangement, and you liked the meaning. It was a coincidence that this sapient piece of Tinkertech had been abandoned in that alley. It was a coincidence that you had wandered away from the Market rather than immediately turning around and heading back home the way you had come. It was a coincidence that it was you who was the first to hear its call and find it. It was, as far as you could tell, a coincidence that your explanation of what heroes were meant to do inspired it to give you what it described as a suite of powers all based around being a living piece of magical artillery.

But all those coincidences have come together just right, and as a result, the villains of this city will soon be having a Very Bad Day, capitals intentional.

That thought sparks a snicker, which becomes a chuckle, which in turn grows into full-fledged laughter. God, when was the last time you felt this happy?! Back before high school, before Emma showed herself to be a traitorous bitch, before you came home from that nature camp? Once upon a time, your parents were lucky if your motor-mouth would stop running for five minutes, but recently, it would be a miracle if you said more than ten words over the entire day. It's like you've been living in the middle of a thunderstorm for almost two years, and finally the sun has started to peek out from behind the clouds.

The ground is little more than a streak below you as you fly to your house. You plummet down with the speed of a diving falcon and pull up at just the last second; the toes of your boots skim the surface of the driveway. Unfortunately, the car parked next to the house warns you that you're too late. Your dad is already home. You need to slip out of your costume and back into your normal clothes before he—

Oh. That might be a problem.

"Hey, Perfect Storm? What did you do with my clothes? I can't walk through the house looking like… like this." Not that what you're wearing is bad, but it's far more daring than anything you would normally wear. If there's one good thing about it, it's that once you start heroing, no one will associate you the strutting cape with you the drab and dreary high school student, and isn't that a sad thought?

"No worries. Civilian garb stored in dimensional pocket. They will store during transformation and return when Barrier Jacket is removed."

"That's convenient," you mutter. "Okay, then. End the transformation. I need to be normal me for tonight."

Rather than respond, your body glows white before all the light flakes off and disappears to reveal your previous outfit, and now that you are no longer hovering, you drop the last inch to the ground. A weight thumps against your chest, and you look down to see Perfect Storm back in its appearance of a blue jewel, though now it has a silver chain attached from which it hangs around your neck. "Good luck, Mistress," it offers.

You slip the jewel under your shirt so your dad won't notice it. You really hope you won't need any luck. Opening the door, you walk inside and call out, "Dad? I'm home!"

"Taylor!" He storms out of the kitchen, his face lined with worry. "Where have you been? You weren't here. No note. I thought…" Eyes falling to the floor, he all but collapses into a chair at the table. "I thought something bad had happened to you."

Your heart falls a little at his admission, the lingering exhilaration from your recent flight disappearing. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just ran over to the Market to—" You snap your mouth closed before you can admit that the Trio are still making your life hell. He has a temper, and you know how he will react should he know that Winslow broke their promise that they would make the bullying stop. What's worse, him getting angry won't make any difference other than give him something else to stress himself out over. He has enough problems with finding jobs for all the dock workers without you adding your own burdens to it. "Doing some browsing," you finish weakly.

"…That's fine," he slowly agrees. "Just… Just leave a note or something next time, okay?"

"That's something you need to work on, too."

You didn't mean for him to hear that rebuttal, but apparently you weren't quiet enough. To your surprise, he doesn't even give you a sideways look at your backtalk, but instead he smiles a little. "I suppose I do, don't I?" He looks at you over the rim of his glasses. "You're in a good mood today. Maybe you should go window-shopping more often."

A shrug is the best answer you can give him. It isn't like he'd believe you if you told him that the reason you're so happy is because you found a talking Tinkertech crystal that gave you superpowers and 'updated your parameters'. Instead, you default to the technique you and he have both perfected over the last couple of years: you ignore it. "I'm going to go change. What's for dinner?"

"Nothing fancy. Some burgers I picked up on the way home. Go change, and then we'll eat."


Where am I?

Who am I?

What is my purpose?

How did I get here?

Where am I supposed to be?

Will someone come for me?

Help me!

Help me!

Help me!

Help me!

Help m—

Who are you?

What do you want?

Will you help me?

You will.

I will help you, too.

I will give you whatever you want.

I will love you forever.

Just don't send me away again.

Mistress.

You turn over in bed and fall back to sleep, the blue jewel on your nightstand glowing warmly.


January 30
When you get up the next morning, the house is unusually silent. Normally your dad is already moving around downstairs when you wake, but no matter how hard you listen, you can't hear his chair squeaking or the rustle of the newspaper or the tap of his coffee mug on the table. You throw your bedroom door open and stomp out, and just as quickly you rush back inside and grab your pajamas off the floor. You know you put them on last night before you went to bed, so why did you wake up without them?!

Once appropriately attired so as not to give your only living parent a heart attack, you descend the stairs at a far more sedate pace. The kitchen is cold and empty, but a patch of yellow on the table catches your eye.

Got called in.
Merchants spotted near the office.
Probably nothing, but better to be safe.
I should be back around lunch.

"Lunch, huh?" you mutter with a glance over at the clock, which reads 8:12. "What do you think we should do until he gets back, Storm?"

"We can do anything," the jewel chimes in its eternally chipper voice. "Memory recovery at 14 percent. Training simulations now available."

Training simulations? You nod thoughtfully. You skipped out on practicing with your powers last night because of the time, but now you have several hours with nothing to do. These simulations could be incredibly convenient, but you don't know how well practicing inside a simulator would translate to real life. And now that you think about it, you did hear a rumor that indie heroes needed to register to keep the PRT from mistaking them for villains. Or you could use that time to find some drug dens or something to destroy tonight when your dad's asleep.

So many options! How can you pick one?!


The discussion about just what to call the Device was an interesting one, I'll say that much. The rejected names I mentioned in the chapter? Those are all suggestions that lost the vote.

Silently Watches out.