Factions 4.1 was written by Faria Lyton and is reposted here with permission.

Factions 4.1

In the end I get no sleep. Details on new capes are a hot commodity in the school yard, and Andy is a greedy little bastard. Oh well. I couldn't have grabbed more than a half hour nap and expect to wake up on time to grab a shower before school. Andy promises to not tell anyone (including the parents) I was there (out all night), not because I bribed him, but because he "didn't want people to know I'm related to a dumbass who failed to get TWO new capes' autographs". Yeah. Great kid, my younger brother.

I lose my usual shower time when Andy decides he'll go early since he's already up. 'Quick' shower or not, that gives me at least half an hour before anyone else wakes or he's out. I grab a bowl of granola («Observe» likes it better than Cheerios or Raisin Bran) and scuttle back to bed to leaf through "A Beginner's Guide to The Gamer".

It's a thick book and very dry reading, so I mostly skim. The chapter on skills confirms that I can use skills silently after level 5, but at lowered effect. Some skills fold into others, some evolve into others, some spawn new skills at max level, etc. Skills max out at level 100. Kinda already figured, but it's nice to see in black and white.

I thumb backwards to stats. Physical first, since I've been prioritizing them lately. STR is strength. Lift more, hit harder, and half the equation to moving faster and jumping higher. Visually, it results in larger muscles, within reason. AGI is agility. Flexibility, dexterity, and the other half of track and field. It gives a tighter, more defined musculature. The speed bit is a little more realistic than most games, but it makes sense. VIT is vitality. Endurance, durability, and 5 HP gained per level per point. Not retroactive. The sooner I get my VIT, the more it benefits me in the long run. I'll want to get more points in there before I level up again. According to the guide, a good score here will result in general good health and 'idealization'. At my current 39, I should have a fairly easy time keeping to a good weight, very little acne, and it looks like I might just catch up with Andy on height a little.

On the subject of 39, let's see about the mental stats. INT is intelligence. Memorization, speed of thought, skills allowed, and 5 MP gained per level per point. Also not retroactive. No wonder I can throw around my skills freely. Still, more is better. WIS is wisdom. Somehow that's described as perception, quality of thoughts, learning speed, and 1% MP Regen per 10 points. I suppose 'quality of thoughts' sounds kinda similar to what people usually mean by 'wisdom'. LUK is luck. Not really a 'mental' stat, but even less a physical one. The guide states that it affects everything, but is more obvious in situations where skill and outside forces matter less. Like dice, cards, and loot. Mmmm, loot.

A few more skimmed pages brings me to a section about macros. Apparently I can create verbal shortcuts for using more than one non-contradictory skill at once or for accessing inventory functions. Which includes... saved outfits. I grab my other pair of black jeans and build a few saved 'heroic' outfits. One for each augment, in case I need to change quickly. I'll try them out later. A last second thought has me adding an athletic supporter.

Still need to replace the shirt and armor. The «Undead Shirt» and «Pauldrons» will make for a good start there. Not making those here, too much chance of being seen. And I have no clue how 'normal' my «Crafting» skill looks. For all I know there will be a spinning glow floating in front of me for thirty seconds followed by a loud ding as the parts poof into a new item. Not something to test around people. Just in case, some sewing supplies find their way into my inventory as Andy finishes his forty-five minute shower.

Of all the odd things about living with my power, morning ablutions are the most jarring. I'm not sure I actually need to brush my teeth or hair anymore. They feel and look fine despite everything. Still need to shower. Sweat and smoke are rather noticeable smells. Undressing manually, I notice something in the mirror. Abs. Those were not there two days ago. I didn't really have any fat on me, but I certainly didn't have these muscles. I waste a minute or two flexing at myself before hopping into the shower. I'm resigned to dealing with a damp shirt if I toss it right on a head out early enough to skip any morning drama, but equipping it directly seems to also dry my torso instantly. That's convenient.

I'm always out the door early. It's a habit from when all of us were under the same roof. The house isn't small, but it isn't meant for holding seven. I usually use the extra time to do my homework, but I've got another idea today. I duck behind the house. "«ID Create: Empty»" Silence.

The bench in the backyard has never seen so much attention. I dump out the various zombie bits and absorb the «Undead Shirt» blueprint. A moment's concentration and my hands begin moving. It's almost like folding clothes or washing dishes; it's like I've done it so many times I don't even have to think about it. Five pieces of foul leather are laid out in the rough shape of a shirt: a rib next to each shoulder, two teeth at each cuff, and one tooth by the collar. My scissors flash through the material, precision cuts made in seconds. I'm not sure I'm actually touching the needle as it sketches out neat seams, buttonholes, and hems. The bones act more like clay in my hands, teeth melting into buttons and ribs reshaping before fusing to the shoulders of the item. It's ugly. The pale leather and yellowed ivory look gross, in a murderhobo way. Before I can even complete the thought, the colors change. Oh, this is much better. It's black with stark white buttons and a bone ridge of sorts over the top of each shoulder.

«Crafting: Success!»
«Crafting's level goes up by 1!»

«Undead Shirt»
«Type: Underarmor; Quality: Common»
«A tough yet thin leather shirt for wearing under armor made from parts of the undead. Provides a +3 boost to VIT while equipped. Minor Protection vs. Crushing and Slashing Damage.»

That's a keeper. Not exactly something the bards will sing about, but it's a damn good start. My saved outfits now include a shirt. Hopefully this one will last longer.

Crafting the «Undead Pauldrons» goes much the same. In a matter of minutes I've got «+2 Crafting» and a nice pair of round, bone-rimmed, black pauldrons, each decorated by a pentagram with white spikes at each point and intersection. I'm going to look so badass in this.

«Undead Pauldron»
«Type: Medium Armor; Quality: Common»
«Hardened leather shoulder armor made from parts of the undead. Provides a +1 boost to VIT while equipped. Moderate Protection vs. Slashing and Piercing Damage. Minor Protection vs. Crushing Damage.»

Well, I've got nothing more to make, and no more materials to make it with, so I get up, stuff everything into my inventory and take a nice peaceful jog through the Illusion Barrier. There's no traffic in here. I love it. An alleyway about two blocks from Winslow gives me a good place to retrieve my backpack and exit the barrier.

School begins like any other Monday. I'm still here early enough to do my biology homework I really should have done over the weekend before class begins. The final last semester was graded on a curve, assuming no one would get more than a hundred out of the hundred forty questions right. I got 134. Come to think of it, I think a few of the Neo-Nazis who attacked me Friday are in this class. I guess I shouldn't have laughed at them when they tried to bribe me to 'not blow the curve' this time. Oh well. I consider faking a limp, or pretending to disguise a limp I don't actually have, but it's not worth it. It has been a few days.

Greg Veder is also in this class. I could be upset that the little shit didn't even try to get me out of the locker, but wouldn't expect help from him anyway. He didn't help Taylor either, and if you took him at his word you'd think they're dating. He's got less spine than the worms we dissected last week. His attempts at ignoring me are so obvious they make it hard to ignore him. But not impossible.

Mr. Moore pauses next to me on his way in, but doesn't say anything. Good grades buy a lot of leeway, especially at a pit like Winslow. I know I missed half my classes on Friday. He knows I know. As long as I keep my grades up and don't make a habit of it, he won't make an issue of it. Of course, before I 'fought a girl at school' he wouldn't have even paused.

There aren't many good teachers at Winslow. Most are non-entities, keeping their heads down and going through the motions to collect a paycheck, just hoping they don't get dragged into gang business. The few who really try all have their faults. Mr. Gladly tries to be the fun, dynamic teacher but he's too focused on being popular for it to work as an educational approach. Also, I hate group projects. Mrs. Knott has to teach two computer classes at once, instead of separating skill levels. And her somewhat mannish appearance just makes it harder for her to get some students to take her seriously. Mr. Moore is great at teaching his subject, but he's just some gym time and a buzz cut away from looking like an E88 recruitment poster, so about half the students here assume the worst of him. It's his first year teaching here, and I don't think he has the nerve to stay here even until I graduate. Once again, Winslow is a pit.

«New Quest Alert: Complete [Biology] In-Class Assignment»
«Complete the worksheet before time runs out. 1:21:26 remaining»
«Reward: 50 XP, Increased Reputation with Winslow Staff, [Biology] skill»«Failure: Decreased Reputation with Winslow Staff, Increased Reputation with Winslow Students»
«Accept?»«Yes» «No»

That's new. All we get for class are worksheets. The worksheet is absurdly simple - label the various organs of the worm. Pretty much just a way of checking if we actually paid attention last week. Apparently we weren't, as a few of my classmates are trying to look over my shoulder. I flip the completed sheet over after a few minutes («Quest Completed!») and get to work on a persuasive essay. With a sideways glance at an asian kid who's still staring at my desk, I scrawl out a rough draft about helping cheaters by failing them. It's the little things that make school worth it.

Second period is gym, just like every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. I'm halfway through pulling on my gym shirt when it occurs to me just how normal this is. I helped capture Lung, the most dangerous single parahuman in Brockton Bay last night, and I'm here getting changed for class like nothing has changed. Shouldn't there be this weird feeling of detachment, like none of this really matters anymore? Eh. It's probably better I'm acting the same as always. Well, almost.

Officially, this isn't 'gym class', it's 'personal physical fitness'. Coach Shane lets us choose between weight training and a cheesy cardio-by-kickboxing video, but doesn't let anyone slack off. I've done the video so many times, I could probably do the whole thing with just the music as a reminder by now. Today, I head for the weights. It's not like one class can do much for my AGI or VIT, but STR is low enough I could maybe squeeze out an extra point or two. Also, it's much more quantifiable, so I can see my progress.

Last time I tried to bench press, I managed to complete a set. With just the (weighted) bar. I think that's fifteen pounds. But I couldn't have been above 4 STR at the time. An additional twenty-five pounds on each end should be doable today.

Doable is an understatement. Sixty-five pounds feels almost like benching a broomstick, but I finish a set for the sake of form. Another set of weights slides onto the bar. I'm feeling the weight, but I can do more than this. Another set of weights. That's the stuff. It's a serious strain, but the bar isn't tipping over or crushing me, so it's all good. I probably can't do more than a set like this.

«Through concerted effort, your STR has increased by 1!»

The bar instantly feels lighter. Not 'add another set of the big disks' light, but 'might make it through the second set' light. I settle into a second set.

"James Barron!" I almost drop the bar. Six feet and five inches of bald, tanned ex-Marine (if the rumors are true) is headed my way. Coach Shane doesn't look happy. "What have I told you about spotting?"

Let's think… "Not to do it for anyone else and that there's no point in me bothering with it?"

"That was when you weren't lifting enough to crush your ribcage." Huh? Fifteen plus twenty-five, no, fifty, plus another… and another… I don't weigh that much! "I'll spot for you today, but don't you dare pull this on me again. I'm not getting another injury on my record because you picked up bad habits when you couldn't lift enough to hurt yourself."

Think I just found a downside to my increased stats. Spotting is awkward. There's a grown man in stretchy shorts looming over my head. I finish the set in silence before switching one of the machines. This one has me pulling a bar down to pull weights up. I set the thing to sixty pounds and take a seat. The bar is just out of sitting reach. I shift up, but a pair of tanned hands grab it first. Is he spotting me on a machine? Is that a thing? Weird. I do my best to ignore him. He isn't saying anything anyway. I just focus on finding my new limits on one machine after another.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "Alright people, I'm in a good mood," Fuck, last time he said that we all had to run laps until we collapsed. "So let's call it a day a little early. Hit the showers. That includes you, Mark. Changing clothes isn't enough." I rack the barbells I've been curling for the last few minutes and head for the door. A hand around my wrist brings me to a halt. "Not you, James. I'd like to have a word with you."

Coach Shane's fairly laidback in class. There's none of that showing on his face as he takes a seat in a balance ball. I perch on the odd abbreviated bench-thing for sit-ups, ready for anything.

"James, mind telling me what's going on? At the beginning of this semester you could barely lift the bar." That's not true! I could lift the bar, I just couldn't if there was any weight on it. "You haven't been in this weight room since then. Even if you had been in here everyday, your growth is nothing short of astonishing." Crap. "What I'm trying to ask is…" He leans in as his voice quiets. Shit. "Is the stuff you're on good enough to still pass a drug test?"

"What?"

"I'll be honest here. I don't approve of steroids. But with the girls' track team bringing home medals, Blackwell wants the other teams to earn some trophies. If our football team doesn't start winning games, she's going to make me do weekend training for the guys. And that would cut into my weekend plans. I think I can turn you into a decent running back or a passable lineman, but there's no point if you're going to get disqualified. So. Can you pass a drug test?"

Can I? Should I? ...do I even want to? Actually, I really don't want to play football. Too much attention, too much time, too… pointless. Sports have never been my thing, and compared to yesterday? It kinda sounds boring.

"Sorry, Coach. A full battery of tests would get me disqualified." I hope I look suitably chagrined. I certainly hope I don't look as pleased as I feel.

"Dammit." Now it's his turn to look embarrassed. "Pretend I didn't say that. And that we had this conversation. But if you can pass by next fall, I want you to try out."

I'll be a Ward long before then, happily attending Arcadia, doing no sports. "I'll do my best."

"That Tinker crap is more obvious than you think. Go get a shower before anyone else notices you aren't sweating. But hurry, class is almost over."

Lunch time. No real hurry. The first week freshman year was enough to warn me away from the cafeteria lines. I just need five minutes in a corner somewhere to eat my sandwich. Maybe I'll try to catch Taylor in the cafeteria? It's on the other side of the school, but I don't exactly have anything else to do for the next hour.

As I near Mr. Gladly's classroom, I hear a hated voice, dripping with familiar malice. "What's the matter, Taylor? You look upset." There's a gaggle of cruelly giggling girls crowding the hall, clustered around four very familiar girls. Most prominently, a… gifted redhead looms over a cringing slender brunette.

«Emma Barnes»
«Level 9»
«Treacherous Bitch»

"So upset you're going to cry yourself to sleep for a straight week?"