Awoken 1.7
I don't really know what I was expecting. Weymouth? The Market? Some other unique location?
We pulled into a spot, and headed into Wal-Mart.
"Here," Richard said, passing me a card. "You go get some stuff, I'm gonna go check out the electronics section."
"Thanks. Pin, or what?"
"It should just ring up. Just try to be quick about it, I don't want to be here longer than two hours."
"I'll try."
"Oh, and grab an inflatable mattress and a tote. We're moving you off the couch."
"Okay, sounds good. Mind if I get a few other things, while I'm at it?"
"Sure, whatever. It comes out of your third of our next job, though."
"Fair enough." With that, we split up.
I spent the first hour on clothing, focusing less on looks and more on practicality in the long-term.
Back when I was a boy scout, I'd learned an important lesson or two about practical wear. Lesson 1: In wet environments, cotton kills. The stuff soaks up lots of moisture, and that is undesirable for anything that doesn't need absorbency, like underwear, pants, and socks. Cotton t-shirts were fine, but only because they made for great disposable bandages and cooling towels.
Lesson 2: A good belt can be almost as useful as good rope. I picked out a strong, well-made cloth webbing belt, the kind without that stupid ring fastening system, and got a second for good measure. I also grabbed a wallet and watch while I was browsing.
Lesson 3: Always bring extra socks, a rule I followed as religiously as a hitchhiker followed the towel rule. A grand total of 16 non-cotton pairs of socks were added to the cart, and two packs of underwear followed. Overkill? Maybe, for my current situation, but it paid to be prepared.
After I had my clothing sorted, I headed on to my next bit of shopping. I needed a bunch of stuff, and thanks to the grab-bag that is Wal-Mart, I would find most of it in the camping section.
I grabbed a 20-pack of arrows, some waterproof storage bags, a 3-liter backpack reservoir, a coil of rope, a pocket saw, a cheap but functional one-man backpacking tent, and a few rolls of duct tape. I eyed the knives, more because I liked them than out of any real need; my monoblade should be far better than any non-cape-made blade out there. After some extra thought, I also grabbed some iodine tablets and a few MREs. I would stow the food and Iodine for post-Endbringer prep, probably at the workshop, with more to follow later.
Finally, I grabbed an inflatable mattress and a suitable oversize opaque storage container, dumped them into my full cart, and made my way to the electronics section to check out. I felt like I was forgetting some things, but I'd already spent a fair bit of time browsing.
Plus, I probably looked like a camping nut with all this survival gear in my cart.
"What. The fuck."
I turned away from the cashier to confront my teammate.
"Hi," I said cheerily, "Find anything good?"
Richard ignored my question. "You said a few extra things," he said with a note of exasperation.
"I got a… few… extra things," I replied innocently.
"I figured you meant a candy bar, or some Cheez-Its or something."
I smacked at my head, realizing what part of the nagging feeling of something forgotten was. "No, but I did forget to buy some actual spices. You might make some great tuna salad, but I work best with a wide range of flavors."
"You are an idiot," he said with frustration. "Just... just finish checking out."
I decided not to poke at him anymore. It was pretty fun to mess with him, and I was still slightly grouchy about my abrupt and rude awakening, but he was paying for this stuff, at least in the short term. "Sure thing. I'll meet you at the SUV in a couple minutes?"
"Fine, whatever," he said, turning and heading away.
I turned to the cashier as he disappeared around the corner. "Hey, so… you mind watching this stuff a minute? I gotta go grab some spices real quick."
Transporting Items...
Richard drove us back in tense silence, while I enjoyed the radio and its unfamiliar music. We unloaded the SUV, I changed into a new outfit, and we made our way to a gym.
"So," he said after we entered the private room he'd reserved, "do you have any experience, whatsoever, with any kind of exercise?"
Ouch. Way to be blunt about things. "Yes, in fact, I do. I like hiking and swimming, but walk at least somewhat regularly."
"Okay, give me a rundown of weight, height, age, and activity level."
"Why?" I asked with a frown. That stuff was kind of personal.
"Because I'm trying to figure out how best to make you not be a fat, useless third wheel when we do get in trouble. Just fucking answer."
I conceded the point, answering the Thinker as accurately as I could. It didn't help that he commented on each statistic, but I didn't bother trying to stop him. It was just the same tired, childish shit that a teenager would dish out, and I could care less.
"So, in summation," he said after I finished, "you need to lose, like, fifty pounds, including gains in muscle, and you need basic fighting experience too." He dug out a pad of paper. "Well, I do like a challenge. Go do some toe touches while I write up an exercise program and training schedule."
I nodded, and made my way to a mat. Wishing I had earbuds, a normal phone, or music to listen to, in that order, I mentally shrugged and did my stretches in the quiet, echoing room.
Stupid… sore… muscles… agh. Lack of sleep did not combine well with exercise. To top it off, I was one of those people who got sore two days after exercise, so I was stiff from all the walking of my first day on Bet. My hamstrings were screaming, and my calves were tense, but I pushed through, dutifully working through a proper set of stretches for the first time in months.
"Okay," he said as I finished, "we're gonna start with holds, because you'll do best using size as an advantage, then we'll work backward to basic fighting technique. Then, we'll discuss weight loss and diet. Sound good? Good."
He waved me over to the padded mats that took up the center of the room, and I helped him move weights off them for a few minutes, setting them back around the walls so we had a clear area to wrestle.
Setting down the last of the weights, he turned and led me to the center of the mat. "Turn around," he commanded. I gave him a look, but he just made a spinning motion with his finger. I turned.
"Okay, this is a great hold for when you can get behind someone. I'll demonstrate on you, then show you how to do it properly. You ready?"
"Are you sure that's the best way to teach me? I mean, I get the whole 'see how it feels so you don't abuse it' idea, but…"
"It's fine," he said, a dripping veil of calm coating the deliberate words, "I'm a professional, and it's best to get it out of the way first. Now, are you ready?"
I wasn't, not really, but I said, "Yeah, whenever."
Combat/Unarmed Check(Dex): Rolled 4-1 vs. difficulty 10. Fail.
The hold was sudden, arms wrapping around my torso and under my armpits, snaking up to cup my neck in his hands. I felt the pressure of two thumbs against my carotids, light but firm, and the feeling of fingers gripping my head in such a way as to completely arrest its movement.
"You feel that?" he whispered in my ear. "Your arms are uselessly positioned, your head is immoveable, and I could make you pass out with the slightest pressure from my thumbs. Bonus if you realized how easy it would be to snap your neck from here."
"Very funny," I said, now well aware of that fact, and also fighting the urge to try popping my neck now that he put the image in my head. "You mind letting up a bit? I think I've got the idea." I tried to reach down and pry away his fingers, but I couldn't manage it. "Richard?"
"Like I said, a pretty good basic hold. Total control, especially if you take out their knees to remove kicking from the equation, like so!" I felt my leg give way, felt my shoulder almost give under the strain, and yelled, "What the hell!" as I scrabbled to stand again. "Let me go!"
"Stop struggling, or I put you in the morgue," he said in my ear, quiet and clear.
Uber had killed, in the years after Leet died. He might not do so here, but I had no doubt his moral code was fucked enough to follow through. I stopped.
"Now, you're going to tell me everything," he said with a low growl. "Who you really are, where you're from, why you tried so hard to join our team, and what your real goals are. Then we'll see if you leave with me… or with the paramedics." He punctuated the statement with a twitch of his thumbs, making their presence clear.
I swallowed, tried voicing a denial. "What-" I stopped as he twitched his thumbs again.
"Ap-up-bup, that won't do," he said, mocking. "I'm asking the questions, then you talk. First question: Where are you from?"
"The Bay-"
"Don't say the Bay, or anywhere north of D.C. Your accent says southern, with few outside influences."
"…Arkansas," I admitted. Fucking hell, my shoulder was hurting. "Little Rock, Arkansas."
"Ooh, capital city. Nice. You sent by the Fallen or something?" He pushed upward slightly, stretching my neck out further.
"No, never met them." Shot in the dark. "Just let me go, I'll tell you everything."
"You lied to me, and to my friend, and you have our faces," he growled, tightening his grip. "I'm not letting you go until I have everything I want answered, answered. Next question: what are your real powers?"
"What?" I said, genuinely surprised. I thought I had been careful about that? I hadn't even used them yet!
"You made a bow that has a useless power source, and did it while we were supposedly working on Saint's Row weaponry, which drew my attention. What. Is. Your. Power?" he demanded, spitting the words.
What should I say? He had me over a barrel, here. My only options, that I could see, anyway, were to tell him a lie, which could end poorly; tell him the truth, which I was pretty sure he wouldn't believe; or just demonstrate my power by teleporting out of his grip, then talk to him like a civilized adult, which probably wouldn't turn out too well, either.
I decided on option 3, after a moment of deliberation.
"I want you to know, I was planning on telling you about this eventually. My powers are…" I focused on the mental pools of energy, let some rush through one of the channels of power that carved paths through my brain, while eyeing an area and imagining myself there. The invisible energy pulsed outward, enveloping my skin, then my clothes, and then it moved. I was treated to the disorientating sensation of suddenly being in a different body position, facing a different way, and in a location halfway across the room. "…A bit hard to explain," I finished, rolling my shoulders to dull the pain, then rubbing and popping my neck. "We really should call Zach, though, if we're gonna have a heart-to heart."
-1 PP, 5/6 remaining
"You're a teleporter," he said flatly. "Figures. I really hate teleporters."
"And I really hate being tortured," I said with false bravado, "but you're in luck- this time only, I'll let it slide, because I completely deserved it. I lied, or at least withheld information, and nearly got killed for it. I think that makes us even." I dusted myself off, and continued, "So, how about we go back to the loft, or hell, the tinker workshop full of weapons to turn on me, and I'll fucking tell you every detail. Then you can judge." I shrugged, then winced at the dull pain in my shoulder. "Or," I said, rolling the right arm again, "if you prefer, we can fight, you can find out what other powers I have the hard way, and then we can talk it out. Your choice."
Persuade Check(Cha): Rolled 5+0 vs. difficulty 8. Fail.
"Fuck that," he said, pulling out a knife. Where the fuck did he- that was my knife! Fucking thieving motherfucker took my knife!
Rolling Initiative. Initiative order set.
Round 1. FIGHT!
He ran my way, covering the distance in mere seconds. I channeled my energy into my first-level telekinesis power, starting its five-minute timer; the channel lit up in my mind's eye, burning power like a wick. Unfortunately, this was a mistake; I was unable to move out of the way fast enough to avoid his attack entirely.
-1 PP, 4/6 remaining
-3 HP, 6/9 remaining
It didn't stab deep, but he did slice me across the thigh before I got out of the way. I hissed in pain as he effortlessly opened a gash with the monomolecular edge of the kukri, dodged back and away as fast as I could.
Which turned out to be surprisingly fast, actually. A character could move up to 20 meters while still performing an action, which came out to roughly 3 and a half meters a second. Fuck realistic movement speeds.
Not the time to think about game mechanics, I thought, shutting off the inner nerd.
While I ran, I used my telekinetic powers to lift the largest object I could think of that wouldn't be unwieldy; a forty-five-pound kettlebell, which proceeded to fly past me at almost 7 meters a second and swing in a mighty upward diagonal arc, uppercut style.
Rolled 19+9-3 = 25/20 to hit
Rolled 1d8+2, 8 damage
Richard, who was busy trying to chase me with a knife, never saw it coming. The kettlebell knocked him right in the gut, sending him flying backward and probably damaging a few organs. I winced, and ran over to my now-disarmed opponent.
Combat Cleared. 100 XP.
He looked dead. Or near it, anyway. I checked for a pulse. "You fucking idiot," I said as I found none, "you could have just asked." I focused my energies for the third time in the last minute, and used my newest power: Biostasis. It felt strange; power traveled down my nerves, from my spine, through my arm, into my hand. Once it had all gathered, it pulsed into his chest, and I dimly felt it echo through his torso and head.
-1 PP, 3/6 remaining
He started breathing again, and I sighed in relief. Carefully, I turned his head to the side- a gut punch could mean vomiting, and I didn't want him to drown- collected my stuff, and began thinking of a plausible cover story to get us out of the gym.
"You fucking idiot," I repeated, wrapping a cloth around the cut in my left leg- torn from his red sweatshirt, to hide the blood. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I would live. "You could have talked to me, but noo, you had to steal my shit and go psycho on my fat ass. Now I gotta Weekend at Bernie's you outta here, talk your sane teammate into hearing me out, and then go back to being your teammate and friend, despite the fact you just- ugh," I grunted as I tightened the bandage, "tried to carve me up like a honey ham. All because I failed a check somewhere."
I checked the look of the impromptu bandage. It wouldn't be impossible to hide it, as the cut went diagonally along the pocket line. The same sweatshirt went around my waist, hiding most of it. I dug in his huge pockets, found my knife's sheath, and slid it back into place. I'd clean it later.
"Okay, I'm gonna carry you, and you're gonna stay unconscious. Someone is gonna help me get you to the car, under the pretense that you passed out from exhaustion, and then you and I are gonna go see Zach and get you to a hospital. You got that?" I asked the limp form of my colleague. When he didn't respond, I nodded, and made for the door.
You fucking idiot, I thought to myself, all you had to do was tell the truth.
Resolving Plotline...
"Zach, I need two things."
"What?" he said, skeptical.
"I need a drink. Something alcoholic, don't care what strength."
"This is a hospital, so good luck with that."
I sighed. "Then I need you to sit down, and try your level best to not kill me while I tell you what happened."
He sat.
We had been told to wait for Richard in the lobby, which obviously hadn't been conducive to the whole 'reveal your secrets' thing. Awkward silence had followed, with Zach likely expecting news along the lines of 'we got attacked by X' or something once we had a private room. One short, whispered discussion had ended that idea- I'd admitted to hurting Richard, and it had gone straight from awkward to tense silence. Finally, they'd gotten him a room.
I sat too.
Richard was in bad shape, even after my powers had revived and stabilized him. Heavy bruising and some internal bleeding- pretty much everything in the front half of the lower abdomen had been crushed and battered by the attack. They had asked questions, but my cover story that he'd simply dropped a kettlebell on himself seemed to work wonders.
One hundred-six internal stiches, and twenty to seal him up. An estimated three-week total recovery, with almost a week till he was in enough shape to leave the hospital.
I'd fucked up. I'd killed my teammate, if only for a moment, and I'd left him like this. It didn't matter to me that he'd attacked first, or that I'd been justified to defend myself against lethal force. Either way, it was time to pay the piper.
Persuade Check(Cha): Rolled 12+0 vs. difficulty 10. Critical Success!)
"I did this," I said, looking at the body of my teammate on the bed. "He started it, but it's my fault. I could have gotten away, called you, got him to calm down. Instead, I hit him so hard he almost died.
"I'm not exactly a good person. Sometimes I worry I'm a sociopath who is just… trying really hard to be normal. You know, I didn't cry when my grandfather passed away, or my uncle? Didn't break down when I realized I'd never see my family again?" I didn't say the worst part; how all I'd felt when I realized I'd killed Richard was obligation to fix him, or how the fact that I wasn't having a breakdown ate at me more than the idea that I'd killed a man.
I realized I'd left the thought hanging. "Sorry," I said, gesturing at Richard's form. "This shit has me depressed, and it doesn't help that I genuinely think I want to be your friend. Give me a minute."
I considered how I was going to phrase the next part. I didn't want to reveal my past, even though I wanted to be honest with him, and that meant I had to phrase it properly. I wasn't a tabletop character; I just happened to work like one, but it's totally a normal power. Yeah.
"Look, I'm going to come out and say it; I lied about my powers. It's not enhanced learning, or tinkering, or super science. In fact, that part is just a side benefit. I'm a Trump of sorts, I guess, but it's easier to say it like this; imagine me as a tabletop character."
He quirked an eyebrow at the unexpected statement. "What?"
"Everything I do has a chance to succeed or fail. I could, purely by accident, invent the cure for cancer with ingredients in this room, but I would far more likely just end up with nothing. I could say all the right things to convince you of something, or say all the wrong words and turn you against me. In fact, I probably got lucky with the stuff I'm saying now."
He raised an eyebrow again. "That's not really helping, to say that."
I waved my hands placatingly, and clarified. "It's not controlling people. If anything, I'm being controlled. Imagine those times you had an argument prepared, then forgot all your talking points immediately before you spoke. Same idea, except I can also just as easily succeed with no prep. I can't really control it, but that's nothing new to me. Frustrating, but not new."
"Sucks," he commented flatly. "Anything else?"
"I also have other powers, which sort of… unlock, given experience. Right now, I can do telekinesis stuff, teleport short distances, and revive the extremely recently deceased. More will come, given time. All that runs off a limited pool of energy. In short, I'm like some kind of DnD caster. It's stupid, and I hate it, but it's all I've got.
"I figured, with you two, I could have all the perks of teaming up with people, and none of the downsides of going villain, because I'd have powers to fall back on, to change my identity. That was so stupid and selfish- I was joining you two for a springboard to better things, and I was already regretting it before that first night was over. We make a good team, aside from the whole incident today, and I hope we can work things out."
Zach was silent. I gave him time. Finally, he spoke.
"What happened today?"
I sighed. "It'll sound stupid, but here's what happened. Richard took me to the gym, ostensibly to show me basic fighting skills, and tricked me into a lock. He threatened to kill me, interrogated me a bit, then monologued about how much of a fool I had been, until I teleported out of the lock. I tried to talk things out, he charged me with a knife, hurt me, and I responded with a kettlebell to the stomach, ending the dispute."
"So, he attacked you? Can I see?"
I peeled back the impromptu bandage. The wound would heal on its own in a few days, assuming I kept it clean. I should heal 2 hp per day at level 2, and I literally couldn't have more than…I mentally calculated perfect rolls and a +2 Con modifier… 12 hp right now, so it would be fully healed before Richard was out of bedrest, likely far sooner. Still, it didn't look pretty, and I couldn't help a little grunt of pain as the cloth stuck to my wound.
He whistled a bit. "Got you good." He looked at me again, waited while I rolled the bandage back. "Look, Grant, I'm not happy with this. I'm quite pissed, actually, even though I don't look it. But you did make an attempt to fix your fuckup, and I do admit that he was way out of line with the shit he pulled. So, how about we start fresh." He extended a hand. "Hi, I'm Zach, and I'm your teammate for the time being. Let's not get into stupid fights that almost get a teammate killed, okay?"
I shook his hand. "Sounds like a plan."
"Good."
A pause. "A kettlebell? Really? You had to use a kettlebell?"
I shrugged, winced at the slight twinge of remaining shoulder pain. "I used what I had nearby."
"I mean, you could have tripped him, or wrapped him in a mat, or something, right?"
"Couldn't, I don't have that kind of dexterity yet."
"Huh." We fell silent again.
A thought struck me. "So, on the topic of not keeping secrets…"
"Yeah?"
"I'm gonna unlock healing soon, but I need experience. You mind helping me learn about medical technology so I can try inventing some stuff? I would have asked Richard, but, well…" I trailed off.
He sighed, looking at Richard's bed. "Yeah, that'd probably be best."
"Tomorrow?" I asked, knowing neither of us wanted to leave until Richard woke up.
"Tomorrow," he confirmed.
We lapsed back into silence, and settled in for a wait.