Cans of Worms

by Louis IX

You end up in an endless corridor with numbered doors. Most of them lead to another version of Earth Bet, where the nexus that is Taylor Hebert experiences life differently - sometimes very badly. Others reflect upon other characters.

16. Undaunted Offspring

CANS OF WORMS
by Louis IX

Check first chapter for disclaimer and global warnings.

Undaunted Offspring

"Dad… I have something to tell you." A pause. "I think I Triggered."

Another pause, my father's eyes widening and his eyebrows raising in alarm. But he didn't say anything immediately – partly because his mouth was full – we were Sunday morning, and taking a late breakfast together (a rarity).

He didn't need, though, as I understood his questioning move: he belonged to the generation of heroes who required serious trauma to trigger, and feared I had had the same. "No! It's not like that!" I said, lifting my hands.

He made a circular move forward with his hand, as if to tell me to go to the point. Despite his verbal communication lacking, he had a way with body expressions.

"You know they say that children of parahuman parents trigger more easily?" I asked, and he nodded so I continued. "Well… I imagine that it's true. For me, it was just after our argument, two weeks ago."

He turned his head to the side, his expression inquisitive as he finished swallowing his jammed bread.

"Well, you know, I'm growing up… a bit… and some things you told me I can't help wonder about… sometimes."

He nodded understandingly. "Normal teenage rebellion." he said softly – he was a big softy, at heart. Slow to anger. Slow of thoughts, too. But quick to act. Last week had ended with a slap I remembered quite well, and we had both apologized the day afterwards – me for provoking him, and him for reacting that way. It had been the only time he had ever hit me… and I was thankful that he hadn't been in costume. Because his costume is his power.

Yes, my father is Dauntless. I'm Addison, his only son. I have the privilege of having been born thanks to his efforts, as my mother was dying in their mobile home trapped in a mudslide. It was then that he triggered, by the way. He told me so, anyways.

I have no reason to doubt him: he's a man of routine, always doing things in the same way. Lying would change things too much for his peace of mind. That's also why, despite his growing power and reputation, he dislikes being in the spotlights. And that's also the reason behind his preference for his "main" items.

"You were… tending to your equipment." which was an understatement: my father had a "charge", a potential energy, that he could store into his equipment, each day. And he had spent so long doing so that it was now almost a religious observance, in which he would slowly lay his hands down onto one of his favourite pieces of equipment. If there were religious sounds at that moment, one day, I wouldn't be surprised – choirs, or bells.

"I remember." he said simply, not quite frowning but still unhappy that the episode had led to my trigger.

"I asked you why you were only doing the same items, mostly." Which was true: most days, he increased the power of his shield (imbued with the conceptual power of protection), lance (same with offence), or boots (for moving around, quickly, even flying). There were precious few days on which he did his helmet instead (to improve his perceptions), but it always required the thing to be sent back to the other Protectorate Tinkers to adjust the added Tinkertech inside.

"I said I remembered." he said, not understanding why I would rehash the whole argument. And I understood him, too. But it was important, in a way.

"It has links to my trigger, dad. So, please… listen?"

He was unhappy about it, but he nodded and let me continue. I would be unhappy in his place. Or I think I would: to have your son asking pointed questions about things you did every day for fifteen years… either I had been wrong, or his method had been, and in both cases, he would have been unhappy.

"When you charged your items, at the beginning, each charge increased its power greatly. Now, it comes more slowly, right? Diminishing returns, they call it in my Economy class."

A curt nod, clearly unhappy, and the same hand movement for me to get to the point. He had rejected my ideas, two weeks ago, and had also explained that he had "felt" his power latching on the first items he had enhanced, and they were the ones with which he worked best, on the field. Set in his ways, he didn't want any other artefact. For him, any day not spent imbuing one of his fetishes was a net loss. Like an addict requiring a fix of his chosen substance and no other. I had vowed to myself not to be like that.

Until my teen years, I had no reason to doubt him or his methods. But now, I'm older, with a mind slightly more independent. Thinking I saw some flaws in his way of thinking, I had wanted to help him with suggestions for improvement. And the result… "Well, apparently, I triggered with a power similar to your own, but different. And my ideas work quite well with it."

"Can you… explain?" he asked, tense. I understood, too: he had slapped me and dragged me to my bedroom, so that I'd "calm down." I had worked myself in a rage after that, and that had made me trigger. Although, since I had been in bed already, my dream (of space whales sowing the seeds of power over the planet, not that I remembered it in details) had lead right into a deep sleep.

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Monday

"That Monday, two weeks ago, I realized that when studies say that children of parahuman parents trigger with powers in relation with their parents', it wasn't just empty words. I kind of "inherited" your power… or something close, anyway."

"Yes, you said so. How did you find out?"

"When I awoke, I felt a strange energy inside me, only to leave me after I touched my phone."

He looked at me incredulously.

"Hey, it's the first thing people touch upon waking up: their alarm clock! And my alarm clock is my phone, like… everyone I know."

"Still… you won't be able to fight with a phone. It's like… you expanded a day's worth of charge for nothing."

"Well… remember that my power doesn't work like yours, alright? True, my power affected my phone: I saw it switch off when I felt energy entering it, and was afraid I had lost it in a burst of static. But it ended up in better condition afterwards, and I can now manipulate it without touching it." A pause, to let him absorb this little nugget. Because the next was larger. "And then, I thought myself done for the day, but I felt the same transfer of energy flowing to the next thing I touched."

"What? You have two charges per day?" he asked, almost envious.

"Not… quite. I was surprised, and discovering everything, at that time. You'll see afterwards that it's not that interesting. In fact, I better not use my charges on the same item, day after day. If I do so, I have greatly diminished returns."

"Like… what?"

"I'll tell you about Tuesday, but afterwards. Now, I was on that Monday morning, and, remembering I had Physical Education at school, it was my sneakers that I grabbed while thinking of being better in sports."

"…and you improved them to make you faster."

"Just a bit, at the beginning. Like the phone, the first time my energy enters an item, it starts by straightening it, repairing wear and tear, cleaning things a bit, and improve the item's durability."

"Just like your old dad, uh?" he asked, smiling, and messing my hair playfully.

I smiled, too, as I tried to avoid his patting hand. "Yeah. So… speed. And then I grabbed my schoolbag." I saw his mouth mouth "Three?" silently, and nodded. "And then my cloak, various clothes, and my Japanese swords." I finished with a grin. "…but it did nothing, there."

"You scoundrel!" dad said, holding his heart. "You almost gave me a heart attack." A pause. "Wait a second… is your bag the reason why your room is ordered, now, more than ever in your life? And why it isn't a rush anymore to get you ready, in the mornings?"

I nodded, a bit guiltily. "Yes. Well… sorry about that." It was true that I had the habit of upending my bag above my desk every evening, meaning that I had to lose time filling it every morning. Now, everything returned in the book bag if I didn't need it. It was also able to hold all the day's books without appearing larger (and weighing more).

"No problem… as long as your room stays neat."

I gave him a thumbs up, not really needing a verbal answer to that.

"And then?"

"And then you called me down for breakfast, and I had to rush to get clothed. I had so many questions about my powers that I was a bit distracted for most of the day – the most pressing being whether those three charges would be a daily occurrence… or if I needed longer to get them back."

He nodded. "You could have talked with me then, you know? I would have listened."

I nodded. "It was too fresh in my mind. I wanted to explore it a bit, before talking about it. Discover my new limits, you know? I was already happy to be able to send text messages discreetly, to be slightly faster than before, and to always find my stuff in my satchel instead of wondering where I lost it." A pause. "Besides, you had to work most of the day."

He nodded too. "You're right, sorry about that." A pause, while I nodded and waved that particular point aside. "Still, I understand your reluctance, actually. Powers seem to require us to do that. But you know that you can always talk with me, right?"

I nodded but I looked at him strangely. "Isn't that what we are doing?"

We exchanged a laugh, and then I started with the second day.

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Tuesday

"The next morning, I grabbed my phone first thing, as usual, and felt power pass between me and the object. It reassured me on the fact that the charging of items could be done daily, at least. Like you do. Only… it barely did anything to it. I felt it improve in computing speed and memory, but if the previous day had been an increase of 100% in functionality, with the new ability of using it remotely, this one was a mere 1%. Or something like that."

"But… that's… low!" dad expressed his disbelief… and a little pity. "I know my own increases are now quite low, but the first ones were only slowly decreasing. Like an increase of 100% the first day, and 99% the next, only losing 1% each day. Not actually being reduced to 1%. Or something like that, too."

"I thought about it, as well." I replied. "And I have found ways around that. I'll tell you later. Now, after realizing that I would only gain a minuscule amount of progress if I kept touching the same things, I looked at others I could improve."

"Oh!" he interrupted. "Oh, I see… we disagreed, and when you triggered, your power ended up tailored to your interpretation of it. That's… actually nice. So… what did you get?"

I smiled contentedly at seeing my father genuinely happy for me, and waiting for the retelling as a kid would for a storytelling parent. "I avoided my trainers or book bag, and grabbed my cloak next. And my power made it flow, from my hand onto me, like… a liquid, flowing around its own gravity well."

"I remember that cloak – long, and leather. You were watching Matrix again, from our stash of Earth Aleph imports, and didn't stop commenting on their outfits. I believe you only required that one present, for Christmas."

"And I got it, thanks."

"Does it only allow for you to get outfitted quickly, or did you get more?"

"More. Even that first time, it already protected me against the elements. That concept seemed natural for a cloak. With it on, I never suffer from heat or cold. Or rain. It is a thick and resistant layer of leather, also, a plus if I ever found myself in combat… which didn't happen."

"Thankfully! Because, with everything you have said until now, I didn't hear you speak about enhancing a weapon." dad said resolutely, arms crossed. I know it made him wary to speak to be about getting a weapon, but he was a super-hero with a weapon, himself, and it would be hypocritical not to allow me one. Or more.

"I decided not to get weapons that morning: I was going to school, and didn't need one. And I thought about something else instead." A pause, while I looked at him intently. "I saw how you came back from work, some days, not having been healed by Panacea because you thought you weren't that hurt. I saw some of the bruises and cuts… I decided to imbue an item with a healing power."

I saw him practically jump in surprise at the concept, and pace for a while, frowning. I felt him reach the conclusion that, without necessarily following my enhancing spree, he could get a couple more items for his own use – healing capes were exceedingly rare and useful, and such a feather on his cap (or the cap itself) would increase his usefulness even more. And his survivability.

In my own mind, I wanted to check if he simply could use mine. But we'd broach that topic later. "I have several mystical-themed rings, from the yard sale we went to, last month. I chose one, and left my power do the rest."

"What does it do?" asked my father, looking at the ring I showed, sitting snuggly on my left ring finger – it was a silver-like ornate ring, with a red cross embossed on it – it was the one of Malta, not Switzerland, but who cared about that detail?

"That was the first time I enhanced it, and it became able to hold one of my charges, to be expended later to heal the person touched by the cross."

"Amen." dad said, smirking. "And?"

"Well… that's all. I haven't had any reason to use it, yet, so I don't know exactly how it will manifest."

"And your day?"

"It went slowly, the classes barely interesting. Even the current teen drama between Glory Girl and her boyfriend didn't catch my fancy."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I was tired from all the tests and pop quizzes the teachers seemed to pile on us. I also had to run to catch the bus – my sneakers made me faster, or I would have missed it. I ended up wanting a nap as soon as I arrived home."

"A nap?"

"Yes. And here's why it's important…"

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Nap time

"When I woke up, due to my alarm clock waking me in time for dinner, I grabbed my phone… and, surprise! I felt yet another expenditure of power."

"Again?"

I nodded. "Apparently, I renew my charges each time I wake up."

"But… that's… cheating!"

"Don't worry, I have a limit. But I'll get to it after. Now, we're still Tuesday afternoon, and I'm left with two charges, if my math was right. Now, remember my daisho?"

"Your what?"

I offered a "I know something you don't" smile, which I dropped quickly – I hated when others did so. "Well… your antics have inspired me for a long time, and I liked swords and swordfighting for just as long."

He nodded. "I know. You've finished your kendo kyus, I believe, and are preparing for your first dan."

I nodded back, happy to see he was interested in my life. "I also bought copies of Japanese swords, in a yard sale, a bit ago: a katana, the long sword; a wakizashi, the short one; and a tanto, the dagger."

"Yes, but I remember inspecting those, and they weren't even fit for waving around, and much less for combat. Unless…"

I smiled as I nodded. "I grabbed the two largest ones at the same time, one in each hand. Two charges were expended, and I now knew that they could be hidden into some sort of subspace within my clothes – much like a mix between my bag's space (and weight) management and my cloak's fluidity. And they were much more solid, too."

"That's nice." dad said. "But, please, son… don't bring weapons to school. Even hidden ones. You don't want to be the one escalating to lethal levels."

"I know. It's not for school. It's for patrol."

"Hm." he hummed pensively – being a Protectorate hero, he couldn't really forbid me to join the Wards, and they were sometimes in the thick of things. "We'll see. And before that, I'll have to see what level of physical training you have… and improve that."

I gulped. Knowing his religious zeal concerning his training (almost as much as when he charges his equipment), I was a bit worried. But not too much: like his self-imposed (as I still believe) limitation to his items of choice, his number of tactics was a bit limited. On my side, I had plenty of things to do in different ways. Surprise will be on my side.

He laughed and patted my shoulder. "Later, later. Now, what happened Wednesday? Or was there something more for Tuesday?"

I shook my head. "I was too excited to take another nap. So, instead of trying to return to sleep to test my hypotheses, I prepared the items I wanted to improve the next day."

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Wednesday

"When my phone woke me up, I deactivated it from afar. And then I grabbed the three items I had prepared: a belt, for strength; a boomerang, for some distance weapon; and a lasso, for utility. It worked like a charm, too: once I equipped the belt, I could lift my bed easily. Well… more easily. It isn't the weight of a car yet, but it was only my first charge. The boomerang… I got it as a birthday present, from one of your co-workers, a couple years ago. I believe it was the one named Ethan."

Dad's eyebrow lifted but he nodded in remembrance.

"I have played with it before, and could throw and catch it already. With its enhancement, I can now use it to attack from unexpected angles, such as behind cover, and it will always return to my hand afterwards."

"Nice." dad nodded. Cover was something he had to deal with his own lance, and it was sometimes difficult to get around. Especially when other parahumans peppered you with powers. "And the lasso? Did it become the lasso of Truth?" he smirked.

I blushed, because he knew that my viewing the Amazon movie from Earth Aleph had nothing to do with the fighting but more with the woman's physique. "No." I ended up saying. "I imbued the concept of binding into it. I can now use it as a lasso (obviously) to catch people. I can also bind it around things, to make traps or move over gaps."

"Like that other movie… Spider-something?"

I nodded. The name escaped me as well, but we both had the image in mind. Although the lasso wasn't elastic… yet. I wrote the idea in a corner of my mind, shared with my phone for storage, and went on with the story. "I tried to nap after school, but I wasn't tired enough."

"Hey, that was Wednesday, right? I remember it was when you started to use my gym in the evening. You also worked in your room for some time afterwards, right?"

I blushed. "Yes. I wanted to see if, by sleeping late, I could get the need for more naps the next day."

"Did it work?" he asked, and laughed when I motioned my hand in a so-so fashion. "Right. Self-adjusting sleep cycles rarely work immediately. I'd wager you were tired the next day, but… I already know so."

I hung my head for a couple seconds, gaining another laugh from the old man. But I soldiered on.

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Thursday

"Thursday morning, I wondered about my power itself. As I awoke that day, I tried not to touch anything."

Dad harrumphed. "Bet that went swimmingly." he muttered.

I nodded. "Yes, it's quite impossible if one has to get clothed and prepared for school, and go to school."

"Also… eating. Did you make a plate of infinite meals?"

I blinked. "No… where did that come from?"

"Good idea, right? I'll explain later. Remind me to get my table-top RPG stuff out, after your story."

I winced. He had loved that stuff, in his youth, and tried to get me hooked, but it never worked. In my admittedly short-lived experience, pen-and-paper stuff tended to lose against instant-gratification video games. "Well… there went the idea. But still, it inspired another, later. In the meantime, I was in bed, more tired than usual, and I wondered: I could improve items, why not… furniture?"

Dad blinked. "But…"

"It might seem useless, sure. You can't bring furniture into a fight. But if it's improved, you can use it between fights. Imagine a hospital bed that would accelerate healing?"

"Oh!" A pause. "So, your bed…"

"Well, I already had something to heal, then. So, with the intent to catch a nap easily that afternoon, I improved its ability to get myself to sleep. With happy dreams."

He smirked. "Not too happy, I hope."

I went red, I believe. Crimson, even. "NO!" A breath. "No, just… no nightmare. Good sleep, resting, easy time getting asleep, waking up refreshed… that's all."

"That's all? That's impressive, that's what it is. Can you… make a list of all the things you have done? I might test a few things myself."

I concentrated, and the printer in the den started working, its noise surprising my father.

"What? It was two weeks ago. I can do more than just connecting to my phone, now." I told him.

"What else, then?" he asked, the printer forgotten as it returned to standby mode.

"I was thinking of furniture. I enhanced my desk to make me do my homework faster – by making me gain knowledge more easily, I mean, not by cheating. And then, I did my laptop computer. It was an old model (and still is, in its base form) and could benefit from the upscale my power gave it. And I thought that, later, I could get it powerful enough for state-of-the-art games, you know?"

He nodded, remembering that I had to borrow the "family computer" in the den to play those games, which wasn't easy since my friends liked to voice chat, and the room was often shared with dad or his wife, my step-mother, Jennifer – and I won't speak more about her, as I abhor her and her gold-digging ways. I believe dad started seeing through her wiles, though, and I resolved to spend more time with him to soothe his ego, should an eventual divorce rattle him.

"That afternoon, I was excited but tested my bed."

"It worked?"

"Like a charm." I smiled.

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Nap time

"Sleep came hard and fast, and I woke up quite refreshed… but with no idea for new items. So I touched those I already touched, again: my phone, my shoes, and my healing ring. And I got quite a surprise… or, rather, a realization about how my power worked."

"What is it, then?"

"My phone, which I had imbued twice on Tuesday, with a 1% increase in functionality each time, got the equivalent of about 4% after that nap. My shoes, not touched by my power since Wednesday morning, got 16%. And my ring now healed 8% more, in addition to now holding two healing charges – since I hadn't expended the first one."

"That's strange… and quite precise."

"I wondered about that, too. My only answer is that it's power-related. In fact, as I progressed through its application, I started to realize that my power preferred me to wait a few days between charges on the same item. If I did it each day (or each time I would wake up), it would gain 1% each time. If I waited for the next time period, it would gain 2%. But, and that's where those percentages come from, if I wait for the next moment, it's not 3% but 4%."

"It doubles each time." dad breathed. "Exponential growth. It could-"

"Yeah, no." I interrupted. "I thought about that, and it's capped at 100%, at which time the item might gain another ability."

"So, that means how many days? If we don't count your naps, I mean."

"Rather than enhance it the next day, I wait one additional week. Eight "days" between charges on the same item."

"Or one day with eight naps." he wondered, half-asking.

"I tried, but it doesn't work like that." I replied. "I'll tell more later."

"Still, since you seem to get three charges each "day", needing to wait for eight of these time periods leaves you with many chances to improve other items." he said, nodding as he remembered the argument between us which had sparked the whole thing.

I nodded back, having come to the same conclusion before. In fact, despite having the same power, our use of it was almost the opposite.

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Friday

"Upon awakening, that Friday, I touched my healing ring, because there was still a question I had about it. And despite only gaining 1% in healing efficiency, I now had four charges of healing instead of the two I had the day before. I also knew, intuitively, that only one charge of power would be needed to fill the ring to its maximum, whatever the number of healing attempts it still had."

"Yeah, your healing… I had a question about that, too. What does it heal, exactly?"

"Well, at that time, it was quite limited. And I didn't have need for it. Still, since I had imbued it, I knew that, roughly, it would treat small cuts and bruises, nothing more."

"…at that time."

"Yes. I have improved it since then. But I'll tell about it at the proper time, don't worry."

He huffed and mumbled a thing about fathers not worrying about their children not being natural or something. But I caught the amused glint in his eyes and smiled.

"After putting the ring down, I wondered: what item I could touch to maximize its gain in functionality? The answer was "nothing": the earliest was the schoolbag, but enhancing it at that moment would "only" increase its functionality by about 32%, and pushing later the possibility of gaining more abilities. Instead, I wondered if I could hold the charges my power gave me – so that I could touch, say, my bike, without needing to store it next to my bed."

"Not bad an idea…" dad said, nodding.

Inordinately proud (because dad's compliments were rare, and always felt good), I continued the storytelling. "I put the effect on my Ourobouros ring – the one looking like a snake eating its own tail."

"And can you put any number of charges, there?"

I winced. "No, and it's worse than that. Our power, or at least my version of it, wants its charges used as much as possible. If the ring has charges when I go to sleep, it loses them… and I lose the same number of charges from the next day's allotment."

"What? But…"

"I know, I know. Not that I tried that, of course. It's what I felt as my power imbued the item." I didn't tell him of my further ruminations on the subject, though. Yes, losing some progression can be bad. But I also thought that actually forcing oneself not to have charges for a day could be seen like a vacation. Or a rehab course – I had seen my father's state when he spent a day of vacation without enhancing his stuff, and it was like an addict with his drugs removed. I did not want to end up like that. "Next on my schedule was an item to protect against mental attacks."

"There is no telepath cape." he said instantly.

"There's the Simurgh. If I work at it, if it works, if I can make it work for everybody…"

"It would change everything." he breathed.

"Well, I'm not sure my stuff can work for everyone. Yours don't, for instance."

He nodded. That point was so well-known that villains stopped trying to disarm him a few years ago.

"And there might be no true telepath, despite that Undersider villain claims, Tattlegum, I believe. Or is it Bubbletale?"

"Tattletale." he said, remembering his Protectorate briefings on the various denizens of the Bay. And their threat assessments, straight from the Thinker think tank who could conduct those remotely. "Pretends to be psychic. Infers data from the tiniest clue. Best counters for normal contact include lack of micro-expressions. For capture, the best is a squad of PRT troopers with earplugs and full-helmet: she's quite squishy, after all. Rarely without her own muscles, though, as in the other Undersiders Hellhound and Grue. Last member is Regent, a supposed Master."

"Thanks for the info dump." I said with a smirk, and he shrugged. "But there's a kind of mental attack I would like to avoid, and your mentioning Regent loops back into it: Master effects."

He tried to lift his hand to correct me, finger raised, but then thought about was Master did, and his hand lowered. His mouth stayed open mid-word, though. "I… never thought about it that way." he ended up saying. "Have you succeeded?"

"I imbued one of my caps with it. So far, I have not had any problems."

"You have not met a Master, yet."

"I know! Proof that it works, no?"

"Actually…" he began, before seeing my smirk. "Okay, I fell for that. That line is old, though."

"Proof that you're old, old man, if it works on you."

Once again, he demonstrated his superiority by grabbing at my neck and rubbing my hair, while I mock-wrestled with him. Surprisingly (or not, all things considered), I pried his arms open with only the slightest effort. "Super-strength?" he asked, before huffing when I nodded sheepishly. "Spoilsports."

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Nap time

"Back from school, that Friday, I trained for some time with the swords, and I found something disturbing."

"Again?"

"No, not about my power. It's about the ring rules. See, I had been sure that the RPG rule of using only two rings, one per hand, was just something to avoid munchkinery."

"Yeah, I see what you mean." he said, remembering his days of playing the various games.

"It appeared that, no, it wasn't only that. Unless you are not using your hands for something else, having rings on each finger isn't really efficient. Wielding swords while wearing multiple rings, for example: it makes them rub against your fingers and create welts, worsening the grip and potentially damaging the ring. Even when I simply put my hand in my pocket, it's problematic: any ring on the pinky risks falling off when I pull my hand out of it."

"You're right. The fingers are specialized. Index and middle finger are the strongest for grasping, and the little finger allow for balance when using weapons. I think that's why wedding rings go to the appropriately-named "ring" finger."

I nodded. "Yeah. Those… and whatever magic ring we could imagine. Unless we go with no weapon." We looked at each other, before bursting into laughter: both of us depended on items to do our shtick, so going without would only handicap us. "Yeah. Thought so."

"So, what did you do?"

"I took a chain from mom's stuff. It was for a pendant, which I left alone."

He paused and looked at me intently. "You took things of your mothers'?"

I shrugged. "You gave me a box with some of her stuff, years ago."

"It was so that Jen wouldn't throw- Sorry."

I nodded, understanding the unfinished reasoning. Still… "Since it was in my cupboard, I thought I had some rights to it. I pulled a plain chain, so that I could still enhance a ring, only I'd wear it as an amulet."

"…okay." he said, still disturbed.

"I also found a mouth organ, which I took to play. It made me think of the other musical instruments I knew, and I wondered if I could make my guitar into something worthwhile."

"And then you took a nap and got the most harmonious guitar in the world." he said, somewhat playfully.

"Well… no. I didn't know what to do about that. I didn't know what to enhance, either. So I put all three charges on my Ourobouros ring, to expend later. And, not having found an idea when I went to sleep, later, I put them all on my healing ring."

"But… you haven't waited the proper time between enhancement?"

I nodded. "I had no other idea right then. And it ended up multiplying the number of healing charges, still, and slightly increasing the severity of the cuts and bruises each could heal."

"So, how many charges does it have, now? Of healing, I mean."

"32, for now. Unless I go play Healer during an Endbringer attack (for which I would need to train the ring some more), I don't see a standard day where I would need more."

"For you, perhaps. But there are instances where the massive collateral damage from a single cape fight translates into hundreds of wounded civilians."

I thought about that and nodded. "I should see if I can make a version that acts on everyone in a given radius."

"And that would continue to do so at regular intervals, like a pulse, so that you can leave it with the Healing people when there's an Endbringer fight."

"Only if I can be sure it's not stolen and used by villains."

"Yes, there is that." he said. "Don't you want to write all that down?"

I smirked. "Already done." I showed him my phone, where I was in the process of adding a schematic picture of what my Staff of Healing™ would look like – with a winged snake around it, able to hover in place and fly back to me… or return through teleportation inside my satchel (which, right now, didn't look like a satchel at all… but I'll come back to it).

"Don't cheat at school." he warned, suddenly aware of that use of my remote use of technology.

"Wouldn't think of it." I replied, posture open and honest. "Besides, I know what I want from my life, now. And good grades play a part in it."

"What is it?"

"Law, with a specialization in capes. There are some, but I see so much stuff to be squared that I wonder why there aren't more… or if people are simply too… laissez-faire."

"That's… interesting." he muttered, not commenting on my use of French (I was studying better). I knew, and he knew, that having a lawyer a phone call away was one of the most useful perks one could have in the US. Merely telling that to a misbehaving figure of authority (including cops and teachers) meant that they immediately became meeker. "Be aware that they could block your entrance if you're a parahuman, fearing that you're a Master."

"They can't block the parahuman entry, there's already a precedent."

"What? I mean… who?"

"Brandish, of course."

"Of course." He nodded pensively.

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Saturday

"That Saturday morning, you went to work. Not me, and I intended to have as many naps as I could."

"Not that different from your usual week-end schedule, as I recall." he said mockingly. He had noticed that I had the tendency of sleeping very late, with only the briefest waking moments during which I went to the toilets or ate breakfast. Sometimes with my eyes still closed, like a zombie.

Still, that counted as naps, and furthered my power mileage. "I took my schoolbag, first thing: I had devised that it was the one item having "waited" enough for a big enhancement. And it truly changed: afterwards, it could change shape between its normal appearance or a backpack. It could also hold more than before, without altering its weight much: things I put inside could be stored as normal, or hidden. Hidden things didn't weight anything, and only I could remove them."

"Nice." He smiled. "Your own Bag of Holding. Like Myrrdin's power. Or Circus'. And then?"

I blushed, and he was suddenly interested. "Well… I was lounging in bed… it was morning, and I needed to… scratch myself."

"Did you improve… yourself?" he asked, bewildered.

"No! Besides, if I could have done that, I would be enhanced a few times already, with how I sleep." A pause, growing more uncomfortable by the second. "I scratched my boxers."

"You enhanced your boxers." he translated. "…with what?"

Thankfully, the uncomfortable feeling could stop there, as I hadn't done dubious things. With the fear naturally felt when something happened near the "family jewels"… "They can now protect against critical hits. Besides staying clean and fresh, of course."

He paused for a moment before bursting in laughter. "Sorry, I just thought about something: if your underwear has powers, you could wear it outside your pants, with normal underwear underneath. That's why the Superman comics have him with his briefs outside his costume! Hah!"

"I was sure you'd mock me somehow." I grumbled, even if I knew he wasn't mocking me, per se.

"That's an interesting idea, still. But you'll lose on charges if you have to repeat that on every piece of underwear you own."

"That's why I thought about doing the same on an exterior piece of armour, or something."

"Alright, alright. What, next?"

"I touched my sunglasses. I wanted something like your helmet, for clarity of vision. Now I can see better in the dark, and farther away too. And, of course, they are more solid than before."

"And then you returned to sleep."

"And then I returned to sleep."

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Nap time

"Waking up around eleven, I touched my cloak, because it was the next item ready for a fully-optimized enhancement. And it changed, truly: instead of "just" flowing onto me, it changed into a full outfit in barely three seconds. Despite starting barefoot and in my pyjamas, I found myself wearing soft leather shoes, pants, and a vest. And the cloak, too. All in the same leather."

"Isn't it a bit… monochromatic?"

"You're right, so I tried to think of something else to wear, and pushed that idea towards the cloak. And it complied."

"Instant outfitting? I'm so jealous!"

"Hey, if you want ideas for your own stuff, you can get the paper on the printer."

"Later, later. So, what did you test first?"

"I copied your biker's outfit. With how thick the jacket is, it can be considered as armour. And with the cloak's inherent resistance, it was. Same with the pants, boots, gloves, and helmet."

"All in black, with the red and orange flaming motifs on the sides and back?"

I nodded.

"I'm jealous again." he said. "Jen doesn't-" he started and interrupted himself. "Not your problem." was mumbled.

"I don't have a motorcycle, though."

"Ha!"

"But I have kept my other charges in my Ourobouros ring and, after going down for lunch, I took my bike out… and improved it."

"You didn't make a motorcycle out of it, did you?"

"Not exactly. It's still a bicycle, but it's faster. And, apparently, when the cloak flows around me, it can encompass other items. That's how I can wear my cap of mental protection and have the cloak mimic a helmet instead. And when I look like a biker, my steed will look like a motorcycle, not a ruddy bicycle."

He sighed. "As long as you don't get pulled over by the police and asked for the papers."

"…you'll have to tell me how that kind of things look like."

"So that you can produce fakes? That won't work: those papers are registered in the State, and cops can request that information. Not having papers is a thing, showing obvious fakes is another." He sighed again. "I'll have to buy you the real thing, and teach you how to drive it… but not today." Seeing my abating excitement, he smirked. "Sunday. Shops are closed."

"Drat!" I exclaimed, and continued with an over-the-top "Foiled again!" that made him smile.

"So… where did you go with your bike?"

"I bought weapons and armour."

"…come again?"

"I bought disguises. There's a little shop of joke items with a couple aisles with masks and disguises. Generally one-shot uses for around Halloween, they're of poor workmanship, but inexpensive. Quality wasn't a criteria, however: my power improves the items' appearance and sturdiness already, especially after several iterations. Besides, I couldn't buy real weapons and armour, given my age and the lack of shop specializing in either. And the price – I looked online."

Seeing me pause, he asked "So? What disguise did you buy? The witch? The zombie? The mad scientist?"

"Well, they had a couple racks with medieval-fantasy themed thing – even a dragon, for little kids. I picked the elven hunter and the dwarf knight. And an angel, too."

"Let me guess… the wings?"

I nodded. "That's the next thing I improved upon, once back home. I can still remove them, thankfully, but they become real one when I put the thing on."

"And you can fly."

"And I can fly."

"Nice, isn't it?"

I nodded. It was nice. And dad was also a bit reassured, as fliers were often in less danger when crossing the city. Except…

"Just beware of not being too visible, because of, you know, snipers. And of getting closer to the ground when the fight erupts, unless you plan to move away quickly. That way, should you be struck unconscious, you might not add insult to injury by crashing into the ground." …that.

"That was oddly specific." I said with a smirk. "Personal experience?"

"Shut it, you." he mumbled. I saw him try to mess my hair again, but he now knew I had some strength. "So, I remember you going for a mid-afternoon nap, that day. Got anything out of that?"

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Nap time

"Yep. Weapons. The elven disguise included a bow, which was why I wanted it. A boomerang's fun and can strike unexpectedly, but nothing means "suppressing fire" like a projectile weapon. Especially as I had the concept of summoned ammunition in my mind when enhancing it. Growing into a larger piece of wood that I could still strike people with, the bow now creates the needed ammunition upon me pulling the drawstring."

"Nice. Can you make them non-lethal?"

"I was going to tell you afterwards, but all my weapons are non-lethal by default. Although I can remove that when needed."

"So, that's for the bow. Now, I believe the dwarf in Tolkien had a big-ass axe, and maybe a shield."

"I don't know if it's Tolkien's, but, yes, it had both. I did the shield first." I said, while noticing my dad's raised interest – he had a shield, too, and was genuinely interested. "Despite its fragile state, or maybe because of it, I chose to enhance it with the concept of invulnerability. It grew in size and weight, but thankfully not in my ability to carry it. And it withstood all my attempts at destroying it."

"We'll have to test it."

"Of course. And we'll have to test everything I did… and everything you did, too."

"I did much less items-"

"-but yours are more powerful. Anyways… after the shield, I did the axe, embodying the concept of destruction."

"What? Why?"

"To knock down doors or other barriers preventing me from reaching enemies? Or trapped hostages? Or to free myself from such a situation? That particular concept only applies to inanimate matter, so…"

"Oh. Right. Targeted destruction can be good, depending on the target. Just remember that wanton destruction of whole areas and people is Bad."

"And then, I tried to get an additional nap, with some help from my bed."

"Tried? It didn't work?"

"Oh, yes, it did. But I got no new charge for the day."

"So… that's the limit you spoke about, earlier?"

"Apparently. I can "only" benefit from my charges three times per day."

"That's still nine charges per day. You'll outgrow me in no time, son."

"If I didn't outgrow you before." I snarked good-naturedly, and we exchanged a laugh.

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Sunday

"Sunday morning, that is, last week, I started by enhancing my belt of strength again, gaining the equivalent of a low-end super-strength: I was then able to lift a small car. Following that, I enhanced my tanto, aiming for improved critical hits – if one really needed to go for broke. And then, I improved my lasso with the ability of generating more rope, so that once it bound someone, it could split, leaving that person attached but allowing me to get another."

"Interesting, that. I run off of zip-ties, sometimes, and it's embarrassing."

"I can imagine. The same day, after my first nap, I took care of my bed, which I made both folding (so that I could stow it in my backpack) and able to heal mental and physical wounds for anyone sleeping in it, as we discussed earlier."

"Nice, too. I wonder… you know of people having strange restrictions. Like Leet, who can only make items that don't copy others he had already made. Do you have something like that, or can you make more beds like that?"

"I think I could, yes. You want one?"

He smiled in a self-deprecating way. "With how I am, I'm wary of calling Panacea for minor things. If I could sleep my injuries off, that would be quite the boon."

"I'll see to that. And perhaps you can do it yourself, too."

"Nine charges." he said, pointing at me.

"Guilty as charged." I replied, lifting my hands slightly.

"So… that was your bed. What next?"

"I folded my desk in the same way and made change shape and colour at will. With how studying on it improved my studying in general, I wanted to be able to bring it to places like the Library, or even in class."

"Or you do the same with a placemat, it's less obvious. Or even a watch."

A pause. "Thank you for the ideas, I hadn't thought of that."

"I notice a pattern, now: since you have to wait eight "days" between charges, to get optimal results, I deduce that your next item will be the next you had improved after your bed and desk… your computer?"

"Yes. It's now able to work without expending its batteries, and also able to connect unobtrusively on any network. I think it would be the ultimate tool to get insight on our future missions."

"And you took a second nap."

"And I took a second nap, and improved my phone. It now has the capability of sending data into my brain – much like I was interacting with it before, remotely, I could now see (and hear) whatever came out of it."

"Like a HUD. With sound."

"Yep. And with the laptop nearby, I can hook into all other phones around, and display the name of the people I cross, even when they're perfect strangers."

"Beware of not losing yourself into an approximation of MMO. Life is not a game, gamer."

"Don't worry, I know, and I won't."

"You last increases, that Sunday?"

"It was my shoes next, and, much like the belt with strength, they gave me a low-end super-speed."

"It was last week, I suspect that you improved them one or twice since. Do you think you could beat Velocity?"

"I… don't think so. Diminishing returns are a thing. Even if I feel like it reaches 100% of increase when I wait the appropriate time, it's more like 80% or 90% when I pile on the same improvement. I might cap at a lower total value than what you get with your stuff."

"But with more versatility. To each his own, son, and I'm proud of you whatever you do." he hugged me.

"Thanks, dad." I replied the gesture, wary of not crushing him with my newfound strength. Or I'd need to improve his bed earlier than I expected.

"And then, what did you improve?"

"The cooler box." I replied. Seeing him lost, I explained more. "You bought one for the car, something like four years ago. The goal was to make a trip through the country, but we stopped short and never tried again. It has been collecting dust before I took it."

"I remember those days." he said, reminiscing. "I forgot to bring a powered item to expend my charge on, and we headed back. And I was called by the Protectorate for an emergency, as soon as we were back home." A pause. "So, what did you do with it?"

"It's a cooler box." I replied. "What do you think I did with it? Store food, of course!"

"What special trick does it do, though?" he asked with a smile.

"I imbued it with the concepts of conservation and duplication. I could store a single bottle of water and a single sandwich, and I could go on a foot trip around the world with no need to buy food or drinks."

"You would be tired of always eating the same thing, though." he noted. "Still, that could be useful, even on shorter missions, like stakeouts. And… since that was last week, what does it do now?"

"Preservation of gravity, and of individual state. You can store a cool glass of water next to a bowl of hot soup, shake the thing (even opened), and they wouldn't spill. Also, once I put something new in it, it can hide it in some dimensional storage, and give it out by mental command or pressing a button inside. So, even if it looks empty, you can have a duplicate of any of these dishes. I currently have a dozen types for sandwiches, same for pizzas, a few hot plates and soups, and some desserts too."

"Very nice. But don't abuse it, or you'll grow sideways… or I won't see you at this table anymore." A pause. "What did you do in the intervening week?"

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Just Another Week…

"I continued in much the same way: each day, increase a bit the items I could, and find other ideas. The first category includes all weapons, which are now much more sturdy and able to strike their targets with added damage such as electricity, heat, and cold – nonlethal by default, again: I wasn't going to invoke fire and get sued for giving a villain third-degree burns."

"That's for attack. What's for defence?"

"My cloak and shield, mainly, as well as the cap for those mental attacks. With the addition of a wig, taken from one of the disguises I bought, my mental-protection cap became able to change my appearance as I wanted. Much like my cloak, too."

"I'd like to see that."

"Sure, after. Now, let's see… the healing front. On that, I got my ring able to heal generic illnesses and broken bones, as well as repair things, the concept of healing being linked with "reconstruction"."

"What about when you are unconscious, yourself? Or dying?"

"I thought about it, and I programmed the ring so that it would expend its charges automatically, one after the other, trying to heal me."

"There was something else, that was important… your bag?"

"Yes. My schoolbag is now able to change shape following my will, between several models of pouches, book bags, backpacks, rolling suitcases, or even trunks. Able to hold a much larger load than even its shape implies, it is now large enough, inside, to actually install furniture."

"To live in?"

"Actually, yes. Or, at least, it is a possibility. It is quite the safe house, after all. Among the "new things" I enhanced are some camping items I bought: imbued with power, they are now standalone furniture acting as shower and kitchen appliances, with running water summoned from nowhere, and that disappeared back into nowhere once emptied."

"Lights, too?"

I nodded, smiling. "There's even a window that you can open, with the image of a peaceful mountainside, natural light, and fresh air. I'll see to have several views available, later, the window simply being a frame that I enhanced."

"I'll have to see that, you understand?"

I laughed at his eagerness. "Sure. But… to continue my list, I bought a staff for the on-site healing, which would return to the safe house if disturbed. In fact, I installed a crate in the safe house, crate that I enhanced with a recall function: everything that I really didn't want to lose would end up there if I lost it. With a bracer to bring those items back into my hands, I will never lose a weapon, especially those I spent so much time improving."

He gulped and nodded, thinking of the (thankfully rare) moments he had been disarmed. "You'd be able to make something like that for me?"

"Of course." I nodded as well, before continuing my list. "I created two rods with the concepts of "extension" and "stability" – on both. The first effect can be used to travel quite fast if you grab one end while sticking the other hand against something solid. It can also act as a battering ram, bringing down doors or people. It can also strike people very far. The second effect is so that the rod can be fixed in place."

"In relation to the planet?" dad asked immediately, and then smiled as I looked at him in askance. "Yes, because… fixed in place can mean many things. If it's fixed in relation to the solar system, it will fly away quite fast. Faster, even if it's in relation to the galaxy. If it's fixed in relation to you, it follows you."

I think my eyes had opened wide, because I saw him smile. "Yes, that could be interesting… but, no. Or rather, not yet. For now, I just press the button, and it doesn't move in relation to everything around it. For instance, I installed two slots to hold them on the back of my shield, and when I activate them both, the shield doesn't move. Since it's invulnerable, it's useful to block bottleneck points. I can even let it there and go fight elsewhere. I did so, in fact, to test that."

"So it's in relation to the local environment, then." he concluded, nodding. "I have already seen that in a game. Immovable rods, they were called. You can even use the two to simulate a ladder, releasing and fixing each rod, one after the other." A pause. "I don't remember anything about rods which extend, in that game, but it reminds me of some old anime I watched, a long time ago, in which a boy collected… Dragonballs."

I smiled. "I might have seen it too and taken the idea there."

"As long as you don't create world-ending androids, I don't mind."

I smiled but shook my head. "Not my intention. I have enough things on my plate already. In fact, even with the forced delay and added charges, I see myself coming to a realization like yours: after a time, you always work on the same things. Which makes finding new things a bit difficult. Lately, I got myself a stopwatch. It stops time."

"What?"

"Well, not as such. It slows time. I touch its face to something or someone, and that person sees everything else as having some sort of super-speed. Touch it long enough, and their local time extends so far that they think everybody else teleported when the effect ends."

"Same as giving super-speed to everyone, then?"

"Not only. It should also help with timed things… like bombs."

"I… see. Yes. Very interesting."

"I also got a music amplifier. Remember what I thought about my guitar? Well, with that, I can play any instrument (even an acoustic one, since I have a wireless microphone too), and have its sound waves wash around the place… allowing me telekinetic battlefield control. Or just make people dance."

"Er… just a thought about that: you should tell people that it's telekinesis, or they might think you Master them. It's difficult to get out of such a power category, when it's latched onto you. And it might prevent you from becoming a lawyer."

"You're right. Thanks." A pause. "To finish with my week, I had improvements brought to the items I had already bought and not enhanced yet, such as the dwarven armour – for a bit of plastic, once imbued with the concept of deflecting attacks towards the attacker's own friends, it was a quite impressive bit of metal (thankfully weightless, for me)."

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…End

"When yesterday rolled around, I felt I was as equipped as I could be, only needing "refreshing" my items with a weekly charge (or two, counting one or two daily naps). And I felt I could enact the second part of my nefarious plan to become an independent hero: tell you everything."

"Well… thank you." dad said. "Rare is the new hero not wanting to get out right off the bat, when triggering."

"Not the Tinkers, generally, which means not us."

"We're not Tinkers." He frowned.

"You have a limited number of items, sure. For now. If you follow up on some of the ideas I gave, you might be seen differently. Besides, you're listed as Striker and Trump, while your attack is generated by your lance, not your power. And I don't know why they added Trump, unless it's because you become globally more powerful as time passes? You don't change powers, though."

"It's not easy to change one's classification. Unless I come up with many new items, in a visible manner, they won't change it."

"We are not arguing about changing your classification, I hope. It's no matter if you want to keep it or not. But, as for me, I see myself more as a Tinker than anything else: everything I can do, it's because I have imbued items to do that. I hate to bring someone you don't like into the conversation, but I can see myself as a junior Armsmaster, after his first attempts at making armour and weapon. You know as well as I do that the man spends most of his time trying to improve them. Like us."

He smirked. "Keyword being "trying". Even with efficiency as his specialty, he seems to have hit a ceiling in his armour development. Same as his weaponry: nowadays, he brings to a fight only the halberd specifically designed for that fight – he had a reserve of hundreds of them, for every situation."

"What does he do when he brings the wrong one?"

"He grunts unhappily, but fights well nonetheless. Don't sell the man short: he's an ass, but a hard one." He smiled. "Speaking of ass, smartass, what are you going to do with your powers?"

I saw the suddenly serious man facing me, one with many bad experiences at being a hero. Still, in a world plagued by dichotomy, it wasn't as if I had a real choice of morality. "I want to be a hero."

"A hero." he said, deadpan. I knew what he was thinking, right then and there. Hero means Protectorate… mostly. Minor hero means Protectorate Ward, meaning youngsters under Armsmaster's command, the man known for his efficiency… but not his social skills. The man who would send his charges into combat as "valuable field assets", whether they were PRT troopers or teenagers with more power than common sense. The man who was the main reason of the ongoing conflict between the PRT and the Youth Guard – despite that organization being a club of soccer moms not even linked to the actual Wards' families, they had some good ideas. But being faced with the socially inept commander, they had to ask more so that he'd relent the slightest bit. And it was easy to imagine them being decried as completely defanging the young heroes.

"Yes, a hero." I replied. I wasn't dumb (especially with the enhancements I had used to improve my knowledge), and knew the rate of dead young parahumans. "With a team, preferably… but not the Wards."

He sighed, and his suddenly rigid posture eased. "Thank god." he breathed. "Never ever sign with military people." He advised. "Or the paramilitary that is the Protectorate. Their contracts are hellish and multi-annual, automatically continued, and you can't leave. It's really like being a soldier: if you leave, you're defecting and can be tried. And you would be categorized as a villain, too."

"There's their PR, too." I can't help but add, realizing too late that I was adding fuel to the fire that was already there.

"Fuck them, and fuck Image, too!" he exclaimed vehemently, only realizing afterwards that those words weren't for my ears – not that I complained, I heard worse at school.

"Sorry to have mentioned them. I know how you feel about them."

"And isn't that an understatement." he breathed. "As fighting forces involved in sometimes ugly activities, normal military people have nothing to do with PR."

"Apparently, on Earth Aleph, they have been on relative peace for so long that PR have infiltrated the militaries." I said offhandedly, having read something about that, somewhere. "Soldiers were forced to show themselves as sensitive to minority issues, to the point of wearing heels during their march."

He winced. "I would rather go to combat with socks rather than heels. Another proof that PR is bad for us. And Image and the Youth Guard would be worse, for you."

I stayed silent for a while, remembering about his personal contention with the PR department: his forced public appearances. My old man wasn't one who liked these, but his rising star mandated his presence, according to those in power. And to fill his lack of inspiration when delivering speeches, he had been given a HUD for his helmet, where people fed him lines. He hated that, and that was another point of friction with Armsmaster – who merely saw that as an efficient way to complement his inability to talk in public. I then thought about dad's words. "They would give me a colourful spandex costume, remove all my weapons, and tell me to parade on the Boardwalk." I said.

"That. Exactly." dad said with an emphatic nod of his head. "So… what other groups are we talking about? New Wave?"

"I don't want to mix my personal life and the hero activities." I replied. "Otherwise, I'll be a hero full-time, and it's stressful."

"Right. But I don't see any other group. Unless you plan to join the villains?" Right there was Dauntless, lurking behind his eyes. But a weathered down version. Dissatisfied with both group of heroes, he might be okay with me joining a minor group of villains. Perhaps. If their aim was to help the people of the city.

But it wasn't my intention. "No. I wanted to make a team with you, and then we'd attract the others who want to become hero without the Protectorate's oversight. And there are many of them, I believe. Most people want to live their life in peace, but rogues are often snapped up in villain groups. I'm sure that having a third option for the Bay will gain traction. I've read the PHO forums, and I believe some of the Undersiders might be interested. And some from the Empire, even."

"If we start recruiting them, we'll have to be sure of their motivations." he replied immediately, and I felt that he wasn't completely opposed to the notion

"No problem. I could start imbuing something to that effect." I countered immediately, making him smile.

"I have no doubt that you can. Then, we'll have to have a good lawyer (perhaps even you, if you're good enough, later), or our eventual group will be labelled as villainous faster than you can say "bigotry"." He hadn't forgotten my earlier with to follow Law studies. "We'll also need a safe house to hold them until their name is cleared."

"For that last point, we can use my hidden apartment. You know? Inside the trunk-slash-schoolbag." I smiled, before pushing our idea even further. "And, besides, villains and other rogues, we could even snap up other Protectorate heroes. And Wards. And other heroes too: rumour has it that Panacea works too much for her to have a healthy home life."

He winced. "For the Protectorate and Wards, it depends on their contracts. Mine… doesn't let me leave for a few years, yet."

"We can denounce it." I wondered aloud. "There is something fishy to force people into heroing. We ought to find a lawyer, first thing."

He was silent for a whole minute, trying to find a way around it. "You know what? You're right. All I have on this is the words of my superiors, whom I must obey while I'm under the contract. And they always say I can't break it. Perhaps an independent eye, as in a legal way of finding the truth, might be useful for me, and us."

"And others."

"And others." he concurred. "Speaking of others… how are they going to call you?"

"I don't know. During whatever free time I could squeeze out of the last two weeks, I started working on names and identities. Because, with the armament I have, there are too many possibilities for a single cape identity."

"That might be useful." he wondered. "What do you have, already?"

"Shall we adjourn to the gym? It might be better to show you, and then we could spar for a bit. I also want to know if you can actually use my equipment."

"And you mine?" he asked, a bit more serious than before. "You know that I dislike people touching them with a passion, right?"

"I can pass, if you want. Especially if you fear that I would absorb the effort you made into imbuing them."

"Let's test you first, while I get used to the idea." he said, mumbling the second part.

"The first is Sato, the Stubborn Shogun." I said, activating my cloak – now always on, often disguised as a belt. I grew a few inches as armour panels rippled over me. I ended up wearing the samurai outfit: a lamellar armour, tinted a deep red; a helmet in the same colours, with the drawing of a resolute face on it; a bow on my back, next to an extended banner (with a Greek helm looking much like his, in black against the dark red), and my three Japanese blades at my belt. To prove that these weren't for display only, I rushed to a training dummy with super-speed, and mock-slicked its neck with my katana – I stopped just before making contact.

"Nice." he said, walking up to me, equipping his shield. "Strike at this?"

I obeyed, striking softly at first and then harder. Even if there was a forcefield effect linked to it, dad still felt something when I started hacking at it with my sword held in two hands. I stopped when he raised his other hand. "Owatta, otôsan?" I asked, my voice deepened by voice changer I had included to the closed mask. And the fact that I had morphed into an older and bigger (and Asian) man.

After a brief moment of surprise, he smiled. "Yes, we're done with this one, for now. You can return to your normal self, Addison. Unless you can (and want to) switch between identities?"

To give him proof, I changed into a medieval-looking knight in full armour… except for the head. "The name is Sir Edward, the Noble Knight." I intoned, the voicecoder once again active to deepen my tone, although not as much.

Dad frowned and looked at the blue eyes and blond hair. "No helm?"

I smiled. "I have one. You just don't see it. Besides, it's not my face. And I give two names each time, so that each identity has both a civilian one and a cape one."

"You're heading straight into schizophrenia. Or MPD, I never remember which is which." he muttered as he approached, looking closer at my outfit. Over the armour, I had a tunic in white and light blue, depicting four Greek helmets (again, those looked like his own) in opposing colours. I had a shield with the same heraldry looking painted on it, and my katana had been transformed into a straight sword. I had a cape, too, attached to my shoulder pads.

"Next is John the Bold Hunter." "Edward" intoned, before shrinking… more than my normal size, surprising my father. "John" had an all-encompassing outfit made entirely of what looked like leaves. They changed slightly, even, according to my wishes, and the front of my outfit held a discoloration in the shape of a Greek helm. The bow itself was half-covered in leaves. Under a hood, and over a scarf covering the face, John's eyes were green.

"Harald the Indomitable Woodsman." I announced, not changing my size but growing muscles everywhere. Thick forearms and hands, thick shirt, and large axe held on the shoulder. Scraggly black beard with a touch of grey, no hair. Dark eyes.

"Tjangala the Audacious Australian." I announced next, turning into a dark-skinned old man, white of hair, with equally white paint running everywhere on the body – and, when looking at some of the lines, they drew the same Greek helm on his back. Besides his body, he used a staff for close combat, and the boomerang at range.

"Okay, I get it." dad said, raising his hands. "I knew it was a mistake to let you play MMOs: you made so many characters that you have no real preference, and it translated here, right?

Tjangala displayed a strange face on an old man: the one a teenager might do when lightly shamed by his father. I hadn't even had time to show him Bettie the Brave Rockstar, a fair-skinned redhead woman clad in skin-tight leathers (with a skirt added over her pants, to avoid people looking at my ass), with a guitar and the music amplifier.

Or Angela the Impervious Chorist, the androgynous angel with wings and a halo, without visible weapon but with the same sound amplifier made invisible and linked to an equally invisible mike. Or George the Undeterred Slayer, modelled after Saint George: with a chain armour and a lance… and the same wings. And since I had prepared angelic identities, I also made demons, having prepared an identity named Nero the Unconcerned Overseer, with demonic wings and fire-based attacks. He wasn't really a heroic character: I had made him to test my powers, changing the appearance of the wings and creating fire weapons. Still, having the character concept in memory, I would be able to summon it as easily as the others. In the same way, I had Orlando the Daring Scoundrel, a chubby Latino guy in his twenties, whose personality was an over-the-top fencer. With a rapier and a cape.

I turned back into myself. "So… what do you think?"

Dad took some time to think about it. "Are those illusions? There are so many that I wondered, for a while. The first, Sato, I could feel he was real, but the others…"

"These are not illusions, not at all!" I replied. "Some parts are, like the invisible helm, or the hunter's leaves, or the body paint. But the changes in outfit are the result of my cloak, and the appearance comes from my disguise wig."

"A true disguise hat." he said, snorting. And then he turned curious. "I noticed that all have the same symbol. A helm. My helm, in fact. And all have a synonym of Dauntless in their name."

"That's… for you. Both the names and the helm. Because, when you'll be able to join the team officially, you'll be at its-"

"Stop right there."

"-helm." I grinned unrepentantly. He groaned. I didn't care. "And, together, we'll be at the helm of a change for society. To have more groups of heroes instead of one that actually acts as a gang when recruiting prospective heroes."

"A gang?" he asked, indignant.

"Protectorate procedure when facing fresh underage trigger?" I countered.

"Go to parents, present Wards as option, outline dangers of staying alone: death, amounts of collateral damage, induction in gangs." he recited. "That's… all. Oh, damn."

"Exactly. What reasonable parents won't put their kids in the Wards, presented with that? Not even counting the parents who actually fear their parahuman children." A pause. "Now, procedure for the same with adults?"

"Present Protectorate as option, outline dangers of staying alone: gruesome death, bigger amounts of collateral damage, induction in deadly gangs. That's mostly the same."

"With troubling consequences for not agreeing. And, in both cases, the procedure asks you to include as collateral damage already accrued the damage caused by the trigger event, even though trigger events have already been considered as valid excuses, legally. The Protectorate procedures flout the laws, and they don't call themselves a gang?"

"How do you know so much about the procedures, anyways?" he asked.

I looked at him for a second or three, and then counted on my fingers. "One, I want to go into Law, and worked my ass off those last two weeks to improve myself as well as my equipment – my rising grades can attest to that. Two, I have a computer able to hack into close devices and networks, and a phone that can interact with both me and said computer. Three, I have a father highly placed in the Protectorate, with access to every public procedure in a single place. Of course I would explore the legalities of what I want to achieve."

"And what is it, again?"

"I want to be a free hero." I said, slightly deflating from the anger I was still feeling – exploring those documents had been eye-opening. And alarming. "I want others to have that choice, too. And I want your help."

"What?"

"Teach me. Train me. Accompany me on patrols. Save me if needed, stop me as needed if I go too far, report me as needed."

"You're asking me to do my job, you mean." he noted. "Both as a father and as a member of the Protectorate. While trying to get out."

"We'll find a way. We will be… unwavering. Heroic."

"Hm. These are other synonyms for Dauntless."

"I know."

"Good."

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And then some…

After that discussion with dad, we established a few rules, and started doing patrols together – he would tell me of his, and would join on those I programmed myself. I got to help him a couple times, and, of course, he helped me more (which was to be expected, given that I had just started). But when I was doing my thing flawlessly, he kept to the background.

He would tell me, sometimes, the nightmare that I was for the Protectorate. Laughing, he would describe the numerous meetings they had each time a new parahuman emerged, to brainstorm about their name (which I always provided) and powers and motivations. Since, at the beginning, I didn't show the Greek helmet on my livery, they were at a loss to link the various identities.

Speaking of identities, there was one person who almost undid me: Tattletale. When moving around in my civilian identity, I came across her. We were both sitting at adjoining booths in a café, and she did a double-take when her eyes went over me. And then a triple-take, and some other "takes" afterwards. From my side of things, it looked like a seizure, and I approached, healing ring always ready. "Are you alright?"

"Can you help me?" she asked. "I need a multifaceted hero to get free from a supervillain."

That was… oddly specific. "Of course. You are?"

"Call me Lisa. You're Addison, right? Dauntless' son?"

I frowned. "I don't see how you can-"

"Blame PHO and my power. I'm… not a psychic, but I make deductions very easily."

I nodded. "Okay." A pause. "As to your other question… it might take time."

"I know, you are working your way up. Isolated mooks the first night out, groups after that. Capes only recently."

A pause. "Easily, right." I said, remembering her self-described way of doing deductions. Still, a Thinker like her could be invaluable in our team. Scheduling patrols, acting as control (because Thinkers weren't often Brute as well), and also, perhaps… get the new triggers before they are snapped up by the others. Or kill themselves on their first night out. "Can you deduce where new triggers would emerge?"

She smiled. "I'd say yes, but not always. Recently, for instance, there has been a rush of new heroic identities, and I'm at a loss to what kind of mass trigger might have been the cause." The smile had then morphed into a smirk, to which I answered with one of mine.

"Do you want to-"

"Yes! Thank you!"

I frowned. "I haven't finished my question."

"I deduced it. You wanted me to join? I'm okay. Just get rid of Coil, eventually, and we'll be alright."

"Why?"

"He's an asshole who recruited me at gunpoint."

"I'll try not to top that."

"You don't have guns." Her replies were quick.

"I do have guns."

"Let me rephrase. You don't use guns: you merely loot them."

"Okay… you are seriously… good."

"Not weirding you out?" she asked with a smirk.

"How can you find satisfaction in a conversation exchange, if you dominate it all?" I asked.

Strangely, that shut her up for a while, and I started to make excuses, but she answered then. "Perhaps my satisfaction is to prove to everyone that I'm the smarter one in the room?"

She felt strangely open, right then. But I nodded. "Alright. Just as long as you accept the input of others. Welcome to the team."

Her smile wasn't fox-like anymore, and it lit up her whole face. And then she thought of something else. "Alright, so… that was me. Now, can you get a girl out of an abusive familial environment? Legally, I mean."

"I… think so." Dad could always adopt. I knew that, by now, he was gearing towards divorce with Jen (who wouldn't like it one bit, the gold-digger). "Why?"

"I have heard rumours, which means that my power supplied me with accurate data…"

"Suitably impressed, here." I supplied. "And equally frightened."

"Thank you, thank you. This girl has triggered recently, and has a precognitive power. Her parents are abusive in every ways, but the mother is the mayor's sister, so CPS is never called."

"What can we do?"

"When I'll tell you, can you play the villain, and have your dad follow you through their house? There would be some collateral damage and Dauntless would have a slap on the wrist from the Mayor, but at least you'll be able to lead the hero towards the part of the house where the girl is kept."

I looked at her in askance. "If this is some elaborate plot to discredit Dauntless…"

She lifted her hands. "Completely honest, here."

I resolved to craft something to detect lies. She nodded, having caught that. I immediately decided to do it so that I could use it over a phone discussion. She smirked and nodded again. "Okay, then. I'll await your call. My number is-"

"I already have it." she interrupted, writing something on her phone. And mine pinged. And I saw, remotely, what she had written: "I'll call you tomorrow."

I nodded, making her eyes widen slightly before she smiled her insufferable know-it-all smile. "Alright. See you later."

The next day, I had an earbud that would beep when noticing falsehoods in whatever I was seeing or hearing. I knew I would need some calibration when I used it outside: everyone lied a little to everyone. Even my dad: he had had a late patrol, and his "I'm fine." didn't ring true.

Still, I told him of the circumstances, and the plan. He was wary of trusting an unknown source, but my lie-detection worked, and pinged appropriately when Lisa called.

I started working on an evil persona, wondering if I would have to make others for other false-flag scenarios. For this one, it would be Geoff the Gutless Glutton, a forty-something man with unkempt and receding dirty-blonde hair, long and greasy, a dirty wife-beater over a bloated belly, and ripped jeans. Using his oversized hammer (and a bit of power), he would smash through the backdoor leading to the kitchen, stealing things… and eating their food (they had nice leftovers… for two, of course).

The noise attracted Dauntless' attention, as he was on patrol at that moment – Lisa had hacked the Protectorate to get Dauntless' schedule, and had been coordinating things to the minute. My dad battled the large invader (me), exchanging a few blows (we had already choreographed the whole fight). When the large hammer struck his shield's forcefield, it generated shockwaves strong enough to break through standard doors, and as the fight progressed inside, we could see all the rooms. Especially the one at the end of the corridor, upstairs, which had locks on the outside.

I escaped through that, forcibly not looking at the room, since I knew my father was behind me. And I left through the wall facing the door – the window seemed more solid, given the steel bars and shutters.

In that room, Dauntless found Dinah, and she was in a sad state. Since he could attest that "the Gutless Glutton" had just escaped from the room, her state couldn't be attributed to the villain. My dad refused to leave the girl, then, even when threatened by the shotgun her father had brought down. Police and news teams had been called by an "anonymous source", and both had a field day. If the Mayor stayed on his cushy seat after that, it was only by the skin of his teeth.

And Dinah looked at Dauntless and said "99.99% chance of happiness in my life if you adopt me."

He hadn't been sure of our possibilities, but seeing the wide and innocent eyes, he could only nod in affirmation. The girl joined us, gaining some equipment and a new identity: Delphi the Determined Oracle. Being much too young for combat, she didn't have weapons as such, but I gave her a few things: a necklace (from my mother) which would protect her in general; and a dinette set that could double as weapons in very specific conditions. There was a teapot that could double as a projectile weapon, marbles that could act as grenades, a hobby "alicorn" that could transport her anywhere, and a stuffed bear that could grow and double as a bodyguard. Everything nonlethal, of course… unless there was need for true violence.

With Dinah acting as our prediction engine, and Lisa doing the necessary inferences, there were few things that escaped us, especially when I started to enhance a scented candle for Dinah to sleep peacefully, when it was determined that she suffered from nightmares. Of course, it wouldn't be real fire, and wouldn't consume the candle. But it would still diffuse calm, relaxation, and mental relief, so that she could sleep peacefully… and be more efficient the next day. It was also a "proof of concept" item, to determine if others could use things I enhanced, without my input. I felt that its potency diminished slightly upon use, and that I would have to spend a charge on it every few months. Other items I could make for others (such as armours to protect the squishy Thinkers) would need more stringent upkeep, but I had charges to spare.

Since Lisa was the sole link between Coil and the other Undersiders, she proposed that we recruit them too. For them, it wasn't much of a difference… except that they would be on the side of heroes. With legal help lined up to ease their problems. And my help in divorcing their previous villainous identities. For instance, Lisa became Cecile the Confident Confidant, and Regent became Peter the Poised Pretender. Both got some protective outfit and some weapons for when their powers weren't offensive enough.

Brian, Grue, became Terence the Unyielding Tenebrae. With my items, he could change the properties of the darkness he generated: its opacity, its solidity, and of course its colour – he could even make gradients and create rainbows. He also got his sister Aisha with him – the girl had already triggered, and had some Stranger power that made people forget she was there. She ended up as Ingrid the Intrepid Imp, with a bodysuit that covered her entirely – because, even invisible, video cameras still caught her.

Rachel would always be Rachel, and her power wasn't really inconspicuous. Still, we worked hard together because the idea I had pleased her greatly. In the end, she would end up with an outfit that would "inflate" around her (while staying hard and tough), until she looked like (and could act as) one of her dogs. She would later be identified as the Dogged Underdog.

With new identities, as well as the items provided by yours truly to hide their previous affiliations, they quickly jumped onboard – and I could even keep them furnished with some cash, since we routinely looted the villains we caught… as well as their safe houses.

Warned by our Thinkers, we stormed through Winslow after the Christmas holidays, and rescued a girl who had been stuffed in her own locker, itself full of disgusting stuff. Given our collective reaction to what was happening, she was just in the middle of her trigger event – and given how one of her tormentors fell as well, she was a parahuman. And not only that: upon seeing Brian, she became enraged, jumped to her feet, and attacked him. It led to her outing her shadow shape when he tried to retaliate. And everyone realized that Sophie Hess was Shadow Stalker, a known Hero Ward.

After that, there was no way Taylor Hebert would join the Wards, and she jumped with both feet in the alternative we provided. Discussing the event at Winslow, she told us that our rescue had been just in time, because she would have been stuck with bugs otherwise. The presence of Rachel and her dogs made Taylor's power reach out to the whole animal kingdom (not the humans). She would be called Diana, the Plucky Druidess, and would direct various animals and pets into the path of her enemies (such as her bullies), making them trip and otherwise be quite inconvenienced… from up to two city blocks away, while doing something completely different – she would never need an alibi.

She still had complete control over bugs and could have them do terrifying things or unobtrusive reconnaissance and espionage… after a bit of training. Not that she wanted to, because fluffy animals were naturally more PR-friendly than insects – already self-conscious about her body, Taylor is very careful about her image, and would never send a "swarm of doom" anywhere where she could be seen (and, thanks to her millions of spies, she would know). She's also very practical and down-to-earth, giving plenty of good advice to everyone. For instance, she's the one who told me to enhance a roll of tape into an infinite band that could help to attach, repair, stem, plug, block, bind, silence, and even heal.

She's also the one who noticed Panacea's harried state. Taylor had received a letter with the school district's header, enjoining her to get a mandatory check-up at the local hospital, following the incident with the unsanitary locker. There, she was scanned by Amy Dallon, who immediately knew she was a cape. In fact, it led to a problem, since the whole letter had been a farce: the PRT didn't like our idea to make another team of heroes, and had brought together Taylor and Panacea, with pressure on the latter to get a reading of the former's power (with Dinah on our roster, we were all becoming invisible to the Thinker think tank).

Amy was already bucking at the conflicting orders from her family, her lack of friends, and her feelings for her own sister – she'd tell us about it later. Overworked and underappreciated, she welcomed the hand of friendship Taylor gave her. Same with the safe place we provided for her to crash down and recover for a few days (with video messages to Brandish that she hadn't been abducted), and the new team of young heroes undaunted by the PRT's bureaucracy – as if hobbling the heroes was more important than fighting the Endbringers. It was quite easy to believe in complot theories, nowadays.

With Panacea taking a well-deserved rest, we took up the task of helping the mundane healers. In her stead, to both reassure her and the people waiting for her special touch, I worked my ass off off my healing garb, inventing more of the same to help. Wu the Fearless Monk was old and gnarled and garbed as a Shaolin monk… and he his fists where hard as steel when they struck – because some people never learn and tend to fight before thinking. He had the rejuvenation staff, the healing tape, and the ring of healing, with more charges than one could need.

Wu wasn't the only one I created as I went. In fact, I was juggling quite a bit with my identities, so as to prove those "people" truly existed, and to prove to myself (and my dad, and my team) that certain concepts could be interesting to develop as additional equipment for them.

Since we had effectively started collecting quite a large number of firearms, I made one specialist in those, too. Called Clint the Carefree Marksman, he was equipped with military camouflage Kevlar armour, goggles of far-seeing, and several kinds of enhanced firearms. One was a variable-width laser cone, burning non-organic matter and blinding the living. Another launched various sorts of projectiles: nets and chains, grapple hooks and trip wires, as well as grenades of various sorts. All projectile weapons also had improved range, accuracy, unlimited ammo… and were non-lethal by default.

I created Tobias the Firm Tailor, too. Just to play with Taylor's name… and interact with Parian in our negotiations to recruit the famous rogue seamstress. Tobias would be clad in an impeccable tuxedo… in dark red and shiny leather. And wear a fedora, just because. In the name of exploration of weaponry niches, he was the one who'd fight with two whips.

I also created Eddie, the Undaunted Offspring… with the same outfit as my dad. He had seen my interest in his weaponry and had given us a few inspirational movies from Earth Aleph, to watch on our home theatre: 300, Troy, and the like. In the same period, dad dusted off his old RPG manuals to give us some ideas about enhancements. I then made myself a new shield, to try fighting with two of them at the same time. It didn't work as well as some game mechanics might imply. Still, the new shield got the concept of "inevitability" and worked well to overrun villains or mow through mobs.

Later, on one of our patrols, Taylor and "Eddie" came across Lung as the gang leader instructed his underlings to find the "children" and kill them – the children in question were the Undersiders, guilty of having succeeded in their last heist against one of his money-makers: the Ruby Casino. That had been before we recruited them, of course.

Never far away, dad came to help against the growing dragon, only to be disarmed and knocked away, his lance and shield thrown behind Lung. Regrouping with Taylor playing interference with her animals, I gave dad my own stuff, with which we had both trained, and equipped what looked like a hoplite pike and shield. Once Lung was done with, I helped dad by "healing" his damaged weapon and shield.

We evaded Armsmaster, too, but not without filming his arrival at the scene where a pacified Lung was "offered" to him with a pink bow – a movie released after the glory hound took credit for his capture (as we knew he would).

With the Undersiders as Trojan horses, and with careful planning (we had had to wait for the right moment), we could finally defeat Coil. We looted the whole place, of course, gaining futuristic weapons, money, mercenaries, and also a few parahumans from his payroll, such as Chariot, for transportation; Circus, to play distraction; and the Travellers, with their various powers. Of them, only Sundancer, Genesis, and Ballistic joined immediately, the others only wanting to act as mercenaries as the need arose. Of course, we still had Noelle and Trickster's loyalty with the massive effort we made in healing her. And Jess too, of course.

You know what? Once the show will be officially on the road, with dad out of the Protectorate and acting as our spokesman, we'll have to become a bit more public, and I'll have to choose an official cape identity.

The problem is that I haven't found the one I liked best, yet.

Thankfully, I had worked a deal with Faultline: with her housing the mercenaries we had "liberated" from Coil, in exchange for a few jobs and some healing, she was able to tell any who wished to hear it that most of my secondary identities were part-time mercenaries, too – not that she knew why I had asked that. For all she knew, they were part-time mercenaries.

It still leaves me with the hard task of identifying the one I'll put with the others on the roster pictures – hey, we are doing like the PRT, and some of their ideas are quite good, so we are going to copy them shamelessly. Tourist trap? Of course.

"Welcome to Brockton Bay, the only city with three major supervillain gangs… and three major hero groups." It brings some balance in this world, and in this town. I like it.

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To be continued… undoubtedly

Author's Notes: Some inspiration by "Stronger", by Overt Concerns, on SpaceBattles dot com.