Character Creation 1.1 through 1.5 were authored by Faria Lyton as a part of Co-Op mode. I am reposting them here as a part of A Bug in the Game with his permission.

Character Creation 1.1

I'm in a locker. It's clean, and surprisingly empty, but it's still a locker. And is it wrong that right now I'm just happy it's not MY locker? I keep A LOT of largely random crap and WAY more books than are actually required in my locker.

Instead, I'm in Taylor Hebert's locker. She hasn't stored anything in it in months. Las Tres Putas seem to break in and steal or destroy anything she leaves here. On the plus side, that's why it's empty enough for me in here. On the downside... I'm not sure how long it'll take for me to get out.

[New Quest Alert: Get Out Of The Locker]

What.

[Get out of the locker, by any means necessary.]

The.

[Time Limit: 2 hours]

Fu- Two hours? What happens in two hours?

[Reward: Freedom, 200 XP, increased relationship with ?]

I'm still not sure what's going on, but my XP whore side is all into this.

[Failure: Decreased reputation (general), incontinence, dehydration, starvation, and/or death.]

Welp. That gets my focus back to the issue at hand. A countdown appearing at the upper left edge of my vision keeps me focused.

I barely have room to move at all, but maybe if I twist just so...

[-1 HP]

Nope. Also: ow. I cannot get the leverage to kick even a little. Maybe I can elbow the lock itself.

[-2 HP]

Note to self: locks are hard. Maybe I should try something else.

Arching my back into the door while I push off the back wall does nothing but leave a lockprint in my back. Elbowing on the hinge side is equally futile, but less painful than the lock side.

Eventually, I hear voices outside my locker.

"Hey, isn't that HER locker?"

"Do you think she's in there again?"

"Can't be, I just saw her by Gladly's room. Besides, it doesn't smell enough."

[1:23:27]

I can't have lost yet, so I take a chance and call out. "Nope. It's me. James. Here's a tip: it's possible to simultaneously insult the skinheads and die drei Hündinnen enough that they'll put aside differences while they stuff you in the first locker they can open. Think I can get you to let me out or get a janitor or something?"

A pause. Really? What is there to think about? What kind of spineless-

"I don't want to get in trouble with anyone." Rapid footsteps.

Ah. It's Greg. Nevermind.

I try twisting my shoulders, and while it isn't comfortable, it isn't painful and I'm not getting damage notices.

I should probably have already mentioned, but I'm a Parahuman. Probably. I only triggered an hour or so ago. I say "or so" because I got knocked out right after Triggering while getting my ass handed to me by a few skinheads who didn't appreciate open speculation on the fallacies of their beliefs or the implications about their sexual preferences Freud, Jung, and Kinsey could extrapolate from their dress and habit. And to be fair, I probably deserved it a little when Sophia joined in. Even if she basically stood there watching after she wandered in, I did go a little overboard with what I said about her probable interests. But enough about that.

On second I'm coming to terms with the fact that "Hans" has a knife (and my mortality), the next I have a health bar and can see every hit bringing me closer to death. Still not sure why they stopped and lockered me.

So my power lets me see how close to death I am. Thinker 1, I guess. And whatever you would call the thing with the quest. Still Thinker 1, unless I can actually do something with experience.

Anyway, I'm able to get twisted into a shape where I can (barely) elbow BESIDE the lock. Now, if this locker was made of steel, or not older than me, this wouldn't do jack. But this is Winslow, the quantafiably worst funded school in Massachusetts. And that's saying a lot. In this case, it's saying our lockers are only made of tin because gallium is too expensive.

[-1 HP]

But the door dents. A little. And that's more than enough for me. I've been in here an hour, with no other progress.

[-1 HP]
[-1 HP]
[-1 HP]

[Due to your dillegence, your VIT has increased by 1!]

Huh. I guess my power is doing something for me? My maximum health just went from 80 to 85. Still down to 13, though. Is it worth continuing or am I just killing myself? Each hit does almost nothing, but the dent has gotten fairly deep, and I THINK the door has bent enough that I can feel some give in the lock...

As I'm considering giving up, my health ticks back up a point. Regeneration? Even a little is worth a Brute 1. This power might be worth something after all...

Keeping an eye on the quest clock and my health reveals I'm regaining one health per 7 seconds. Roughly. Maybe a hair slower. Either way, if I just wait a little... wait.

[0:09:32]

...how long was I elbowing for? Whatever, I've got 21 HP, and I really don't want to risk failing. Maybe I can try to hover around 10 HP for safety...

[0:05:19] The give is real! I push harder, letting myself drop to 5 HP.

[0:02:02] I hear voices. Are they letting me out? Did Greg grow a pair?

...must just be whoever ends my quest. Probably Gladly to complain about me 'damaging school property' like I did this on purpose.

[0:00:24] I elbow as hard as I can. The door gives!

I fall out, head taking an early lead.

If elbowing a lock takes of 2 HP, I bet cracking my head on the floor will take more than the 5 HP I have left.

Character Creation 1.2

"Ow!"

Instead of cracking my head on the floor, I hit something soft and yielding. Well, bony and yielding. And by 'yielding' I mean 'collapsing under my weight'. Either way, I didn't die.

-3 HP

Barely.

[Quest Completed!]

[You have gained Freedom! and 200 XP]

What about my relationship boost?

"James, were you in MY locker?"

"I think Sophia wasn't creative enough to stuff me in a different locker," I say as I roll off of Taylor. She picks herself up and takes in the sight of the mangled locker.

"At least it's clean this time," she said with a shudder.

I'm not in any of the same classes as Taylor, but we talk occasionally. Even if she wasn't the best balance of well-informed and not-spazzy of the other cape geeks, I'd have known about her after her significantly worse stint in the locker.

Sophia, Emma, and Madison (les trois chiennes) locked Taylor in her own locker with fermented femine hygene products a few months ago. Everyone knew who did it. Most people didn't even try to help. I got my first ever broken bone (clavacle) when MADISON of all people (creepy cutesy twit) tackled me when I approached the locker despite threats to my manhood and reputation if I tried to help.

When I tried to tell Principle Blackwell what happened, Emma's dad threatened my parents with a defamation suit. My mom made me write an apology. If it weren't for the clear signs that nothing I did at that point would help, I wouldn't have done it. As it was, I used a simple misspelling code to describe my true feelings on the matter in lurid detail.

Next time I'll remember the bitch can't spell well enough to catch it.

I take a moment to come to my feet and look Taylor in the eye.

[Taylor Hebert]
[Level 12]
[Unaffiliated Parahuman]

I don't need... No, I don't want to know that. Using powers to discover a cape's secret identity is a huge breach of the so-called "unwritten rules". (Not only are the "unwritten rules" available in whole on at least sixteen parahuman fanboards, including ParaHumans Online, the freaking Protectorate AND PRT websites have them as well. And there's a truly intimidating video that KEEPS popping up on Youtube of the Marquis laying out the rules.) This is a ticket to getting my ticket punched if anyone finds out.

I think my face must have gone white, because Taylor started trying to comfort ME. "Hey, there's nothing in there, and I wasn't using the locker or anything. We'll just leave and no one will blame you for the locker. Unless Emma or Madison or Sophia says you did or something. But the dent is from the inside, so maybe the teachers will believe you were locked in there or-"

"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine." Did I really regenerate four health without her taking a breath? "I think I just need to..."

What do I need to do? School isn't actually even over yet. But I'm not up to going to class. Especially since I'm pretty sure I'm supposed be in gym, and that dodgeball might kill me right now. And going home is kinda pointless. No one else will be home until at least 6. I kinda want to talk to Taylor about my maybe powers, but if she is a cape she might kill me or something if she thinks I'll out her or something. Parahumans are notoriously touchy about their secret identities.

[Relationship with Taylor Hebert increased!]
[Relationship with Taylor Hebert has advanced from 'School mates' to 'Friends']

Fuck it. If she hasn't destroyed San Guchi for what they did to her flute or for the locker before that (and that was a trigger event if I've ever heard of one) she wasn't going to kill a friend. As long as I was careful. I hope.

"I'm hungry. And I hear Fugly Bob's lost the whole 'frying veggie-patties in lard' lawsuit. I'll pay?" I swear, if I was half as well-spoken out loud as I am in my head...

Taylor's expression reinforced my poor opinion of my speaking skills. "You'd better not mean-"

"Do I look like Greg? No, I just wanted to talk with you. And eat something. Preferably lard-free. And meat-free. And Bob's is closest, and I wouldn't presume to ask someone to come along without paying."

Apparently that was good enough.

Character Creation 1.3

Fugly Bob's is a terrible place to eat for a vegetarian. They technically have three or four meat-free items, but the premade salads all have bacon bits, the french fries are fried in beef grease or lard or SOMETHING, milkshakes aren't really food, and even after getting sued for exactly that reason, I had to specifically ask that they NOT soak my vegeburger in whatever bacon-dripping, beef grease, lard glop that covers everything there. Of course, what do you expect out a half-fast food, half-bar in a weathered building on the edge of Merchant's territory? The lunch rush just ended, fly-harried workers are mostly busy cleaning up leftovers, and a few rumpled men are half-consciously swaying over their beers in a corner.

Taylor's order is much easier, other than the fact they try to give us each other's orders. Twice. I swear, every time I eat out… I sometimes wonder if my sister started eating meat for the humor factor of my reaction to being offered chunks of dead animals by sexist waitstaff.

Eating the food is easy. Banging around in a locker for two hours is hungry work. We mostly just stuff our faces. Talking is tough. I'm not about to discuss powers in what is probably the most popular fast food place for Winslow students, even if the post-school rush won't show up until after school actually ends. Things are quiet for a few minutes before I try, "So... I thought you'd stopped using your locker...?"

"I was walking past and saw the door bulging. I almost thought Emma had filled it with something again but I heard banging."

I hope that didn't trigger a flashback or something. Last thing I need is her thinking about that trauma right now. "Nope. It was Sophia. And some Nazis. Maybe I should be proud. I got Nazis to work with a black chick..." I half-forced a smile. "Almost done?"

Looking over the rapidly-wilting lettuce on the last fourth of her burger, Taylor apparently decides she'd had enough. "So, I don't think you asked me here to talk about lockers..." she says leadingly.

"Actually, I did. Or more accurately, what I think happened in there." Okay, bad way to start the conversation. The glare is strong in this one. "Sorry, I know you don't want to talk about it, and it's really not something you should bring up - and I don't mean you-you, I mean a more general you, in this case me - I mean..." I stop for a second to end the babble. Deep breath. "The same thing happened to me right before I ended up in the locker. I think..." I trailed under her glare. I swear, for such a twiggy girl, Taylor has a downright intimidating stare. Even if I didn't know... think? I'm still not sure I know...

"What do you think happened?" Her quiet voice has the same knife-like intensity as her gaze.

Holy crap. I've never found an emotionless voice so scary. "I, uh, think I'm," I try not to be too obvious about glancing around the joint. Thankfully it's still mostly empty, so my absolute lack of subtlety is probably unnoticed. "A parahuman."

"Getting yourself out of a clean locker gave you powers? And what powers do you have?"

I don't know if Taylor has the best poker face ever, or if I'm just coming across as a lunatic. "No, it was the beating and threatened stabbing beforehand that did it. And I-"

"Who put you up to this?"

Wow. I thought she was scarily emotionless before. There's absolutely no inflection in her face or voice, but my every nerve is screaming that she's pissed. Even the flies around the garbage cans seem agitated.

[Due to realizing how badly you've put your foot in it, a new skill has been unlocked!]
[Sense Danger (Passive) Lvl 1 Exp 0.00%]
[A natural survival instinct. It allows the user to sense when a bad thing might happen. The higher the skill level, the sooner it can sense danger.]

Well, I wish that had shown up a few minutes ago. But if it's anything like in those Earth Aleph comics... I could use that.

Right as I'm about to completely fumble out denials in terror, I realize something. I'm not actually scared. I check Taylor. Still glaring. Still way more intimidating than a skinny white girl should ever be. And yet I'm just not... well, I'm still intimidated. But it's not controlling me.

"I triggered. At first it just seemed like a really crappy Thinker power - I can tell exactly how close to dying I am. And watching that tick closer while those punks beat me-"

"Stop. You're not even good at this. You aren't injured, not even bruised. Your clothes are barely ruffled."

Huh. I knew my health bar was back up to to 85/85 after a few minutes, but hadn't really noticed that I didn't have a mark on me. "That's the second thing I noticed - I seem to regenerate. Not too fast, but maybe nine or ten minutes from almost dead to perfectly fine." It cannot be healthy for a teenager to be able to hide their emotions so thoroughly for so long. It suddenly occurs to me that she's probably got a lot of practice dealing with Sophia, Emma, and Madison.

"That's... convenient." Dripping sarcasm finally betrays some emotion. "And why are you telling me this?"

"Well, it seems I also get some information about everyone I look at. Name. Threat level. And some extra information. Like 'unaffiliated parahuman'. And... I don't know. It just seemed like... you're a friend, and neither of us has many, and all things considered I thought I could tell you."

The flies stopped buzzing.

[Relationship with Taylor Hebert decreased!]
[Relationship with Taylor Hebert is now 'School mates']

I disguise closing the window as waving off a fly. Wonder what I did to make that drop...

"Friends?" she hissed. "You think we're friends? When did we become friends? Did you help out when I was being bullied? Did you get me out of the locker? Did you tell ANYONE who did that to me?"

"I tried-"

"Tried? What did you try?"

The flies had apparently gotten bored, and I was able to use swatting them away to take a moment to try and not put my foot in it. "Do you remember that… What about the time I… sonovacrap. I tried to let you out of the locker, but Madison tackled me. Broke my collarbone. But the weird strap set-up the doctor's had me on by the time you got back to school was probably covered by my backpack every time we bumped into each other in the hall. I've got no way of proving shit though."

Taylor just stared.

I waved off the increasingly persistent flies. I might be done eating, but it doesn't mean I okay with the flies finishing my meal in front of -

[Danger!]

"Huh?" I don't see any danger, but catch a glimpse of this one fly that's decided to just chill on my hand.

[Controlled Fly]

I stare at it.

[A skill has been created through a special act.]

[Through continuous observation, a skill to find the target's information, 'Observe', has been created.]

[Controlled Fly Lvl 1]
[HP: 1 MP: 0]
[A normal housefly controlled by a nearby parahuman. One fly is hardly a threat.]

I look up at Taylor's largely emotionless face. I look past her at the horde of flies swarming the trash cans. Every single one has a sign floating over it. They blend together into a huge blue blur. I still can guess what they all say.

[Controlled Fly]

"Shit."

Character Creation 1.4

Fight or flight doesn't even factor in when you realize you're actively pissing off someone who can apparently control enough flies to make you flash back to watching The Ten Commandments. I barely even notice the near word-for-word recreation of a 90s Raid commercial by [Fugly Bob] himself as I desperately try to think up a way to fix this. Preferably before she kills me and/or someone calms down enough to realize the swarm of might have something to do with the girl who isn't freaking out with everyone else.

Clearly, talking is just making things worse. Show, don't tell. I grab the nearest utensil, Taylor's fork, and ram it point first into my left hand. She jolts as if to stop me, but she's too late. Thankfully, the cheap plastic doesn't break on my skin.

[-8 HP]

Unfortunately, it still hurts like a bitch. I am distinctly aware of each tine, four irregular beams of agony speared through my hand. Thank God I didn't grab the serrated knife.

Taylor's face shifts to aghast as she lunges across the table and yanks the fork out my hand, flinging it across the room. "Why did you do that? Are you okay?"

The pain starts fading immediately. I hold up my hand so she can watch it regenerate, but there's no wound. "Huh. You saw that, right?"

She grabs my inexplicably uninjured hand roughly, and for a second I think she's going to inspect it right there, but instead she stands abruptly and drags me out of the restaurant. I barely avoid banging a hip against the table, or worse. Behind us, the flies disperse as their natural instincts kick back in.

Taylor pulls me past kitschy souvenir stands, along a derelict pier, and down a half-concealed stairway. On the shaded sand under the Boardwalk, surrounded by the various bits of litter that fall through the cracks overhead, Taylor stops and draws my hand to eye level. There's no sign that anything happened. "I thought you said your regeneration was slow. This," she shakes my hand around, "Is not slow."

[HP: 81/85]

I twist my hand in her grasp, taking a moment to look at the palm. Still no mark. "...I'm confused. My power is showing me at 81 out of 85 hit points. But there's no holes…"

"Hit points? Like in an RPG?" Her tone makes it less a question, more a demand for information.

"Yeah. I think my power is a little weird. It also told me I'd gained vitality while trying to bash my way out of your locker, gave me a quest with a two hour timer to get out of there, and leaves little signs floating over people's heads. Like I said earlier, it tells me name, level, and that you're an [Unaffiliated Parahuman]."

She gives me a dirty look and releases my wrist. "And what are you going to do with that knowledge? Are you trying to out me as a cape? Push me into using my powers in public?"

"No!" I'm borderline flailing my arms in denial. "Hell no. Not a chance. I was hoping to get your help figuring out my powers..." Honestly, I really hadn't thought that far before now. I've been running on auto-pilot since I realized I can see when someone has powers. I'm not sure if I'm trusting Taylor because she's a friend, because she's been bullied, or just because she's got cool hair. Long hair has always caught my eye. I hope it's not the last one. I really don't like to think I'm making life-changing choices based on hair. "...and maybe team up. And not just 'cause I'm not sure how good my powers are in a fight and need backup." I'm still thinking out loud. "Like I said earlier, I assume you got your powers in the locker. That means you've had the ability to control flies for -"

Taylor interrupts me with a smirk. "Insects. All insects." She gestures at the beach a few feet closer to the ocean as a dozen or so crabs boil out of the sand and approach us… in a crustacean congo line? "Oh, and arthropods. You know, lobsters and crabs and such."

A [Controlled Wasp] floats about six inches from my face, making me go cross-eyed for a moment. "That's even scarier." I have got to get my thoughts back ahead of my mouth. "And still proves my point. Emma, Sophia, and even Madison are still alive. I like to think I'm a good guy, but the urge to go all bug-Carrie on them would be REALLY hard to resist."

Wasps, flies, and a few spiders - are those black widows? - weave between the fingers on Taylor's right hand as she lifts it to eye level, an indecipherable look on her face. "I thought about it. I really did. Somedays it got so bad it took everything I had to keep the swarms drawn by my rage in the walls. To not drown them in the bugs they linked me to. And every time, exactly one thing held me back."

It hits me. I know. I was right to trust her. "You're better than them."

"I'm going to be a hero," she agrees.

There's only one thing to do: I offer her my allegiance. I almost offer my hand in an overly-dramatic gesture, but think better of it. "I'm not sure how much I can do with my power, especially compared to yours, but I'd lo- be honored to be your sid- to fight at your side." Smooth. I should probably let her do the talking when we deal with other capes.

"I've seen the statistics for independent heroes. They're pretty grim. And as a Master, I could use a Brute as backup." She smiles in a way I haven't seen since middle school. "Tell me everything you know about your power."

Character Creation 1.5

[Relationship with Taylor Hebert increased!]
[Relationship with Taylor Hebert has advanced from 'School mates' to 'Friends']

I take a moment to figure out where to start, how to order things. I'm less likely to forget anything if I try to go chronologically. But first I have a thought I need to address. "You said 'independent heroes'. Are you not planning on joining the Wards?"

"I want to build a little rep first. Make sure my name is well-enough known that their infamous PR department can't rename me Madame Butterfly and tell me I'm not allowed to use stinging or biting insects. And I'm not sure I want the teen drama and regulations that come with being a Ward. After Winslow…" She trailed off.

I can't help but agree. "Fair enough." I've got the impression that Clockblocker and Kid Win could be fun to hang out with. Vista, too, even if she is a kid. But that might just be PHO and PR talking. Gallant and Aegis seem kinda jock-y, not that there's anything wrong with that, and if Shadow Stalker is anything like the rumors on PHO say… I'd rather deal with Madison, Sophia, and Emma.

"If I can manage it, I'd like to hold out and join the Protectorate as an adult. But I won't know until I, or maybe now we, have fought a few thugs and see how well we do on our own. We'll see how we work together, then decide." Taylor set down her backpack in the sand and pulled out a worn notebook and a pen. "So, powers. Spill."

"Well, it was immediately obvious that I could see how close I was to dying as HP." So glad Hans never got around to stabbing me. Still not sure why.

"Weak Thinker. Brute once you figure in the regeneration," Taylor muttered as she scribbled a page towards the back of the worn notebook.

"Then I got some kind of pop-up, almost like on a browser, telling me I had two hours to escape the locker. Or else." I'll leave the stated consequences vague. My eyeballs were floating by the time made it to Fugly Bob's and I got a chance to 'wash my hands'.

Taylor pauses in her note taking and looks up. "Precognition? Even if it's weirdly limited, that's a really good Thinker power." It seems she's got more to write about this than the other powers.

"I'm not really sure." Don't think I've heard of blue windows giving people text descriptions of the threat they face before. "I haven't had any other… premonitions like that one. It also promised a reward for escaping. 200 XP and a relationship increase, which was apparently for you."

"...relationship increase?" She sounds just as perturbed by the idea as I am.

"It told me we'd gone from classmates to friends. Of course, I totally blew that by being an idiot at Bob's. And it just went back up. It's kinda distracting, really." Reminds me of why I can't stand dating sims, really.

She seems to be considering the idea. "Is that why you said we're friends?" I'd say she sounds hopeful, but experience tells me it's all in my head.

"Well, that and I call almost anyone who isn't clearly my enemy a friend." Which just makes it so much sadder that I only have almost no friends at Winslow. Of course, I do pretty much automatically consider anyone who willing associates with Empire 88 or the Azn Bad Boys or the Merchants an enemy by default. Racist scum and filthy degenerates, determined to drag everyone down to their level. I pull myself back to the topic at hand before I can work myself up. "But yeah. If it weren't for how… wobbly? it is, I'd be afraid it's a Master power."

"Because you think your power made me your friend." Taylor frowned briefly, then shook her head. "I'm pretty sure that it wasn't Master, because if I was Mastered then I wouldn't have gotten angry with you. Your power laid out a set of actions. If you did them, they would result in a 'relationship increase' with me. That's a weird precog variation: do X and Y then Z will happen. Thinker, not Master."

"Yeah, that's a relief." And not just because it meant I wasn't likely to be Mastering anyone. It may be juvenile, but I don't think anyone has explicitly stated they're my friend since grade school. "That way lies bad-ness. I got another pop-up telling me I'd gotten a boost to Vitality after elbowing the door for a while. My max HP went up to 85 then. ...is that Trump, or just more Brute?"

"Brute, I think. Or maybe just more Thinker, measuring how much benefit you'll get from the exercise." Her face is back in the book, pen dancing as she scribbles notes.

I nod sharply. It makes more sense than thinking I've got some ultra-rare self-improving power like Dauntless. "Right. Well, then I noticed the regeneration then. And I kind of doubt I can actually do anything with the 200 XP I got for escaping the locker." ...I didn't apologize for that, did I? "Sorry about landing on you, by the way."

"I was wondering if you'd remember," she teases, grinning a little over her notebook.

"Sorry. Um… then I noticed a floating nametag over your head calling you [Level 12] and an [Unaffiliated Parahuman]." I really should try to get a better idea what's considered a normal level. For both humans and parahumans. Twelve is rather impressive in Dungeons and Dragons, barely a start in Final Fantasy, and jack-diddly-squat in Disgaea. With my luck, it's like Disgaea and even Mush is probably over level 200.

Taylor is suddenly aiming her pen at me. "That could be useful in separating capes from the minions. The titles might also identify gang members. Very useful, but you'll want to keep that one mostly secret. I hear no one tolerates people outing capes. Villains or heroes."

"I know! That why I started freaking out. Dragging you to Bob's was me running panicked damage control." And could have turned out so much worse. "While I was tempting fate over burgers I got a pop-up informing me I'd 'earned' a Sense Danger skill. Le-"

"Danger sense? Well that's really useful." Taylor actually looks a little jealous.

That's what I thought. "No. It isn't. So far, it just means I get a warning after I already should have known I was in trouble. That said, it did tip me off to taking a closer look at that one fly. Which showed up as a [Controlled Fly]. And then I got an Observe skill, which just told me that, yes, the fly was controlled, by a parahuman, easy to kill, and not much of a threat by itself. Then I saw a couple hundred [Controlled Flies] and kinda panicked."

"I thought you were trying to grab me or something."

"WAAYYY to scared of you to try anything." It's almost funny that she would have been worried about that. Nearly everyone in my family is allergic to bees. Odds are, she could kill me on accident. So, yes, scared. "Looks like an odd set of Thinker Powers, some minor Brute, with a possibility to improve that. And if the XP thing is anything more than my Thinker abilities just being stranger in yet another way, it'll probably only boost the Brute."

"Considering the videogame theme your powers seem to have, there might be more. And the XP thing might actually be really useful. We should probably experiment further. But probably not here." Taylor gestures upwards as a fresh shower of sand sifts down onto us, dislodged by pedestrians overhead.

I take a moment to think. Asking her to my place could be… misconstrued. And I really don't want to let my family mess this up. And they would. Inviting myself to her house would be rude, and she might be just as reluctant to involve her family. Abandoned warehouses are a huge risk, given how many aren't. Abandoned, that is. That really only leaves one option. "Ship's Graveyard? If PHO is to be trusted, it's generally viewed as one of the safe places to practice as a new cape."

She packs away the notebook and stands while absently noting, "That's probably because it's so easy to get lost there."

"Really? When did you go there?" Rumors about the place abound. Some people treat it like a haunted house and sneak in at night to prove their bravery. Some say that the truly desperate sometimes squat in the old wrecks. It's also said that markets so black even the gangs won't touch them met there occasionally to sell all things illegal and reprehensible. Slaves, drugs, weapons, and worse.

"My dad's the Head of the Dockworkers' Union." Pride creeps into Taylor's voice, followed by nostalgia. "I wandered into there a few times when he took me to work with him after grade school. It should be a good place test things for a few hours."

If she's sharing… "Sounds like way more fun than when my parents took me to work. Mom's a secretary. At Medhall. It's like spending four hours in a doctor's waiting room, but with worse magazine. And Dad's with IT for the PRT. Half the time he's running around the country making sure all their computers are running the same software, and the other half… well, when I'm eighteen I might be able to get clearance to be in the same room as his work computer." He told me he once accidentally discovered to located of a top-secret base from toilet paper requisitions in a buggy spreadsheet. It's amazing what you can pick up from the most random of data. "The Ship's Graveyard should work great. Lead the w-"

[New Quest Alert: Mom's Half-Day]
[The Gamer's mother got off early and will notice if he's not home soon!

Fuck. Yeah, I know that. And she won't react well. I wonder how soon she'll notice.

[Time limit 30 minutes.]

If I run, I might be there in 20. Wheezing like an asthmatic 80 year-old chain smoker, but there.

[Reward: 50 XP, increased closeness with mother.]
[Failure: Decreased reputation with mother, grounding.]

"I got a new quest, apparently my mom got home early, and will throw another hissy fit if I'm not home soon. Meet you there tomorrow? I'll tell her I got invited over to a friend's place. That should give us a few hours."

"I understand. ...you know, you should keep a journal of when it happens, and maybe more importantly, when it doesn't. For now you'd better run. If your power is warning you to get home, you'd better hurry. See you tomorrow. Is ten good?"

[New Quest Alert: Weekend Training]
[Meet Taylor for powers practice at the Ship's Graveyard. You might want to pack a lunch!]
[Goal time: 10 AM]
[Reward: 200 XP, ?]
[Failure: Decreased closeness with Taylor Hebert]

I smirk as I turn to leave. "It's a Quest."