James Ashworth
White. The first thing James would see the moment his eyes flickered open was White. The ceiling was a crisp clean flat white, no deviations, no marring, not even dirt. Shifting in place as he blinked, he let out a quiet groan. He was laying on some kind of cot, bolted to the wall. The metal railing of which was digging painfully into his side- the one which had been injured.
The room he was in, when he managed to convince his aching head to actually move, was bare. With only a large reflective window and a nearby metal door being the only standouts in the white cell. Straining his head to look down to himself, James let a small curse escape his lips. He was dressed in a blue jumpsuit- the kind you'd find in prison. Or at least, that's what the first thought that came to mind. His legs and wrists weren't bound though, which was a small relief.
James let his head slowly fall back onto the flat pillow that sat on the cot, eyes staring up at the ceiling high above. God, where was he? And for that matter, how could he remember what he assumed to be certain cultural phrases, but nothing else? It just made no damn sense! 'I'm a damn amnesiac. Holy shit.' James' breathing began to quicken, hands reflexively curling into and out of fists. He hadn't had the time to fully process the fact earlier, but now that he had, it hit like a truck.
What had he been doing there, with the dead person? Who was that blue armored man? Was he from his past? Did he have a family? Was he going to be killed now? Would he even be missed if he died right now?
James felt a migraine come on, and let a ragged sigh escape him as he brought his hands to his face, covering it as he squeezed his eyes shut. His breath picked up the pace, and he could feel tears brim under his eyelids.
No, no. He couldn't panic. Not when whoever had taken him could be watching. The thought caused a shiver to shoot through his spine, James slowly forcing his hands from his face and opening his eyes once more. He could feel tears threaten to spill out from his eyes, but he quickly wiped those away. Just bottle up the feelings for now. He could deal with them later.
There came a crackle from atop the door, a familiar voice ringing out from it. "James Ashwroth, remain where you are. A PRT officer is going to enter the room, any attempt to escape or attack the PRT personnel will result in you getting foamed. Do not move."
That caused Jame's eyes to shift wide open, the boy quickly scrambling to sit up, only to let out a pained groan as a hand went to his side. Before laying back down onto the cot.
A second went by before the metal door slid open. Two figures in what looked to be riot armor came into the room, standing on opposite ends of the door as a man in a simple set of formal civilian clothes walked in with a smile on his face. A moment later a round segment in the middle of the floor started to rise up into the air. Forming a table, another smaller circle rising up next to the table not long after.
The metal door slid shut and the man came and sat down across from James. He motioned out to the opposite side of the table. "Please, have a seat. We have a lot to talk about. The name is Smith." He told James, that same easy smile on his face.
James stared over towards the security personnel, and then to Smith warily. Brow furrowing, James began to sit up once more, much slower this time. Letting out a small sigh as he leaned back against the wall, body still aching.
"Is it.. Alright if I stay here?" James questioned quietly, his voice hoarse. "I… don't know if I can walk yet." Smith nodded.
"Yes, we had to put you through the proverbial wringer. You had microfractures all across your body, a concussion, and that nasty wound on your waist that was infected with something quite nasty." Smith leaned back slightly, folding his hands atop the solid metal table. "James, can you tell us why you came careening towards the East North East Protectorate Headquarters at terminal velocity in a TinkerTech suit?" The man asked
James stared blankly towards Smith in response, brow knitting together as he pursed his lips in apparent thought. Glancing occasionally back towards the security detail before back to Smith, a long silence stretched on after Smith's question.
"...What's 'TinkerTech'?" James slowly questioned about half a minute later, shifting his position slightly on the bed. "And where's the uh… NorthEast… thing...?" He questioned, trailing off into silence. The man continued to look James over for a moment, his brow raised.
"Son. Do you know where you are? What state or country are you in?" Smith questioned, smile gone.
Smith met once more with James' blank stare, the boy shifting uncomfortably on the cot. The silence dragged on for another minute, James opening his mouth once before closing it again. Before simply giving a small shake of his head.
"No... sir." He replied in barely a whisper, tone bashful as he looked towards the man. Quietly he swallowed, wringing his thumbs together in his lap as his gaze fell slightly. The boy was practically sweating bullets.
For a moment the man stared at the boy, before nodding seemingly to himself. "That's unfortunate. Seems that double landing might have knocked a few things loose up in your head." Smith motioned to James. "So, Ashworth-May I call you James?"
"I… yes." James looked back up to Smith, nodding quietly. "How did you get my name?" He paused for a moment. "Well, I think that's my name." James let out a groan, leaning back against the wall.
Smith nodded. "You had a credit card on you, in your name."
"A credit card…?" James muttered to himself with a small frown. Vaguely, he recalled the concept, and nodded along. "Where was it?" James questioned. "The credit card, I mean, and my other items?"
"That suitcase you were carrying had the credit card. A fine, expensive laptop as well...and a gun." Smith shook his head. "James, do you see the picture that paints? A strange boy in TinkerTech, of whom we have no record of existing, suddenly careens off the forcefield protecting a government facility, crash lands, and when Heroes come to investigate he tries to run while carrying a suitcase with a long range rifle and a laptop?"
The man shook his head. "What does that look like to you?" As Smith spoke, James continued to fidget on the cot, looking increasingly uncomfortable as Smith went on. Swallowing quietly, James' gaze fell to the floor as the gun was mentioned. Not to mention the force field! That was something straight out of sci-fi! But if Smith was telling the truth…
James looked back up towards Smith, mentally steeling himself for whatever was to come next.
"L-look. Mister Smith, I… don't know what I can tell you. Hell, I hardly know my own name." James motioned towards Smith, his hands beginning to shake once more. "I-if I was sent here to kill someone or… do anything really, I wasn't very good at my job, was I?" James mentioned. "I don't want to harm, or kill anyone! I just want to know who I am." James replied, taking a shuddering breath.
For a moment Smith only watched James, then minutely his smile became warmer. "I believe you James." The man nodded, "So, that's why I want to help you if you'd hear me out."James blinked. Then blinked again, staring at Smith in apparent surprise.
"Wait… you believe me?" James questioned, dumbfounded. His brows raised before knitting themselves back together. "This isn't some sort of trick, right?"
Smith shook his head. "Kid, I've been in this business for thirty years. I can tell when someone is lying, especially a teenager. No offense." He raised his hands as if to placate James before settling them back upon the top of the solid table. "But, I will admit. My offer helps us as much as it helps you. After all, you have very little to lose by listening to it, no?" Smith asked
James eyed Smith silently for a minute, before nodding slowly. He looked rather relieved at man's words, before frowning slightly. "What sort of offer? I don't want to be used like a guinea pig." James replied.
Smith nodded "I understand the feeling. Needles scare me." The man gave James a rueful smile. "Before I continue, do you remember anything about parahumans? Or the Protectorate?" James shook his head.
Smith sighed rather sadly "That makes things a bit more difficult. I'll go ahead and give you the long and short of it. You are a parahuman, your brain has a structure in it that allows you to do things no normal human could. In your case you seem to be a Tinker, someone who can build technology that is beyond Humanity's current scale. Which is...hazardous for your health. Gangs, governments," Smith motioned to himself with one hand "Terrorist, and cults all want Tinkers. They are not above using...torture or forced addiction to get Tinkers to work for them."
Smith nodded "As such the Protectorate, a branch of the United States Government dealing with parahumans, seeks to help Tinkers avoid becoming either a statistic or a forced Villain. They have a program called The Wards for children who find themselves with powers and the desire to help others. The Wards is meant to teach kids and teens how to use their powers without harming themselves or others. It also helps the Ward by supplying income, a trust fund that can be accessed once you turn eighteen, and for parahumans such as yourself, material to Tinker with. My offer to you is to join The Wards of Brockton Bay as a probationary member for a year while we help you find your identity." Smith looked James over and sighed. "It's not perfect. You'd have to remain in the Wards until you turn eighteen, but you'll have the resources of the United States government helping you. Which is better than one of the gangs finding you, I assure you."
James eyed Smith silently while he spoke, giving the older man his best poker face… Not that he knew what Poker was. But the phrase had come to him when he had taken on a neutral expression. So he went with it.
"So…" James trailed off slowly as Smith finished speaking. "What's the catch? Because that just sounds too good."
Smith's face curled slightly. "We need the manpower you offer. Honestly. The ratio of Villains to Heroes is two to one, it's an uphill battle keeping everything stable much less working." The curl in his face left and he let out a tired sigh, still managing to look professional as he ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "The catch is that you'll be staying here, in Brockton Bay. Where the Protectorate is simply outnumbered by the four major gangs that dwell within the city. We need people, we need Heroes." Smith stated, stressing the last word. "And if all it takes to gain a strong Tinker such as yourself is to help you find your identity and offer you a job that supports your needs? Hell it's a win for everyone but the gangs."
James was quiet for a long time, gaze returning to the ground. This was almost too much to take in. And as crazy and fantastical as it all sounded- why wouldn't it be true? He had no real reason to believe he was being lied to. He had to admit, the deal sounded good. Having the backing of an entire government could come in handy.
On the other hand, he'd be making a lot of enemies by taking this Protectorate's side. But he'd have their protection, too. James didn't know if he wanted to make such a decision so quickly… But what real choice did he have? Having the backing of the government in the search for his identity would be extremely useful.
"...Earlier, you mentioned something about 'heros', and 'villians'," James looked back up to Smith, tone quizicall. "You mean parahumans that… fight, right?" The man nodded to the question.
"Yes. Heroes and Villains being parahumans who fight on opposite sides of the law." Smith explained. "Heroes being those who go independent, join the Ward, or the Protectorate." he shifted to lean forward on the table. "There are rogues who forgo cape business to strike up a trade...they tend to not last long thanks to Villains, who are those who use their powers for their own gain and to harm others."
"And you… want me to fight these villains...?" James inquired slowly, his gaze meeting Smith's briefly before he looked away again. Smith gave a nonchalant shrug.
"Kid, that suit you crashed in was most likely built by you. With the supplies you have here, you could easily build something better. But no, you are not going to be forced to fight the likes of Hookwolf." Smith snorted. "No, Wards are officially a JROTC program. But what I said of Brockton Bay earlier. Heroes are badly outnumbered. So the Wards here do more than just PR events and patrol the rich neighborhoods. Yes the Wards do get into altercations. But parahumans don't fight to the death, it's against the unwritten rules. I'll explain those in a bit but you don't have to worry about some kind of grand battlefield. If you're worried about being hurt, there's always just choosing to do console duty, I know your fellow Wards would love you for picking that up."
James nodded quietly, taking in a deep breath. There was a brief silence between the two, before finally he looked back up to Smith, meeting the man's gaze.
"Alright. I'll do it."
A/N: Once I would like to thank my Cowriter/Beta Drew for his time in writing James Ashworth and checking to make sure my story makes some sort of sense.
Good news is that the next chapter is an Interlude of two and the end of the Mixed Beginnings Arc!
I can't wait to show off all the good stuff I have planned and yet feel horribly nervous about it!