Free 1.2

The Pelhams scheduled the after-action meeting for later that night. It was made clear the first time I worked with New Wave that future cooperation was contingent on my presence at all the meetings.

The meetings were held in Sanford's, a restaurant directly across from the PRT headquarters. I approved of the level of paranoia, even if I disliked dodging annoyingly chirpy Wards and patronizing Protectorates.

I stashed my phone at the base, a cargo container in the middle of the boat graveyard. There was a roost in the corner to sleep on, a small amount of cash, my phone, and a map pinned to the wall. I'd stick a pin in today's bust later when I had fingers. They always did stuff like that in cop shows and, while I wasn't sure what the benefit was, it made a pretty picture and made me feel better.

I didn't need much. Belongings were chains, anyway, holding me down, keeping me in one place. Better this way. No responsibilities or expectations. I could leave tomorrow and no one would miss me. As it should be.

Should probably bring up my plan to hit the Merchants in the meeting. Probably some time next week. I'd have to find a member and trace him (or her, but it was almost always a him) back to a juicy enough target. I jumped the gun on Tough Guy Johnny, I'll admit, but if PRT hadn't dropped the ball it would have payed off.

And I didn't want to watch that creep for another minute let alone another day.

Of course after the Cube they might say no... Could probably talk Über and Leet into hitting the Merchants. Failing that I could always go after street level crime. But the pay off was always minuscule though and once dealers started getting hit there'd be backup.

No worries. I'd manage.

Crystal waited for me on the roof of Sanford's.

First time here I had found the restaurant easily enough and changed into Spider-Monkey version 1.0 (lots of monkey, too much spider). Walked in, grinned and waved non-threateningly at the hostess… yeah, when you have two inch long incisors there is no way to grin non-threateningly. She screamed, the bus boy screamed, a couple of patrons screamed, New Wave ran out to do battle, and then I got foamed. Very embarrassing.

Sanford's apologized. I apologized. The PRT apologized. I apologized. New Wave apologized. I apologized. Everyone apologized. And we never spoke of it again.

So I went down with Crystal, Changing while still outside. After that little incident I'd made an effort to make Spider-Monkey cute, so I'd shrunk the body, enlarged the head and eyes, thickened the fur, and minimized the teeth. I think I succeeded. There are a few plushies being sold on an online crafting site (unlicensed, but still cool. I'd get one but damp would probably rot it) and I had to watch out for small children hugging me.

The patrons turned and stared as we went past. It's part of the restaurant's appeal: 'Eat here and you might see the heroes!' In return the restaurant didn't charge us for the private rooms.

The Pelhams and Glory Girl were already eating. At the first meeting I had to explain that while Spider-Monkey could eat, the sense of taste and smell were radically different. (Still working on it, but I don't have a steady supply of food to calibrate with. It's low priority.) I'd made sure to emphasize that since I didn't need to eat there was no point in them holding to social niceties, it just made me feel awkward.

Ah, crap. Renick was in the corner talking to Lady Photon. Fiddlesticks. "Gryphon! Wonderful to see you. We've been trying to get into contact with you. Have you thought anymore about joining the Protectorate?"

I nodded and waved for the laptop New Wave brought for me. Shielder slid it over and I booted it up.

"And you've decided?" he asked before I'd finished setting up.

I tapped out, 'I'm not joining.' in Notepad and swung the screen around to face him.

I wanted to join when I first became a hero, but couldn't. They'd find out and make me go back. But now I knew better. The Protectorate wasn't useless, but they were shackled. Unable to act. I was better off alone.

"There are a large number of advantages to joining the Protectorate. Teammates, recognition, a salary…"

He rambled on. I waited a few seconds and tapped the screen where it read 'I'm not joining.'

"Alright. Understandable of course." He adjusted his glasses. "We have been thinking about a program to increase the coordination between the Protectorate and local heroes. A few training exercises, maybe take you along on a patrol?"

Translation: try to analyze how my powers work and then force me to sit through another sales pitch.

'Thank you but no.' A little too close to the line. The PRT handled all the arrests made by independent heroes. Seconds mattered, as today proved, and an upset PRT wouldn't be willing to put forth the extra effort required. I needed to throw them a bone. 'Maybe a patrol.'

"Capital. We'll send you a list of possible times."

'That'd be perfect. Thanks.'

He grinned again, there was something green stuck in his teeth. "So how has life been treating you? Large number of arrests to your name. Very impressive."

'Good. Good weather for flying. Just keep getting lucky I guess.'

"That's good. If you ever need anything the PRT would be happy to help."

"Thank you, Mr. Renick," Manpower called out from across the room. "But we're about to start our meeting."

"I understand. Have a pleasant evening." He excused himself and stepped out.

The meeting started with the development of a time line. Figuring out the exact order of events in a fray was trickier than it sounded and it surprised me how much of the fight I missed. We then moved on to the specifics in the fight and what mistakes were made. Glory Girl broke some guy's arm, we hadn't accounted for the dogs so the two in the ring had attacked forcing Manpower to deal with them, and my use of the gelatinous cube.

'I'm sorry. It was an error in judgment.'

"What was it anyway?" asked Manpower.

'A gelatinous cube. From D&D. Leet designed it'

"Leet? You're using something designed by Leet?" Crystal didn't seem to know whether she should laugh or hit me.

'Well… technically, no. A D&D forum argued about how a gelatinous cube would work a couple years ago. Leet edited it down and fine tuned it. He wants me to use it for the LARPing workshop tomorrow.'

"It's intended for LARPing." Lady Photon frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Then why would you use it for Hookwolf at all?"

'It's an effective anti-Brute form. It's tough, grabs something, draws it in, and immobilizes. Not tested enough. Unexpected drawbacks. It was a mistake. Won't happen again.'

"I think it was really useful," Glory Girl spoke up. "I can see all kinds of uses. She goes Cube and then I throw mooks into her. And it did work really well against Hookwolf. I hate fighting that guy, can never get a good grip or land a straight blow. Pain in the ass."

"That's not the problem, Vicky. She acted against the plan without our knowledge or go-ahead."

"And she's sorry. She's already said she made a mistake. Twice."

"Victoria, we are not assigning blame. Honestly," Lady Photon said, gesturing at me, "her occupying Hookwolf was probably the best possible outcome. But in a combat situation we need to know what our teammates are going to do. Otherwise it turns into a free for all and that's how people are hurt."

'It won't happen again.' I promised.

"I'll hold you to that." She nodded and leaned forward. "Now, do you think you could find another Empire base?"

'Nobody was arrested so I could probably still tail the guy. But I'd prefer to let the Empire's awareness drop a few notches. Thought I'd go after the Merchants again.'

"You do seem to like hitting the Merchants," Crystal commented.

'Lousy opsec. They also tend to keep their loot in bigger stashes.'

"But the ABB have fewer capes," Shielder pointed out.

'And one of them is a teleporting suicide bomber.'

"What about Coil?" asked Lady Photon.

'Tried. Can't find any dealers. Most I've seen are some of his mercenaries but they evaded me. Just because they saw a bird a few thousand feet away. Way too jumpy.'

"Right, call us when you have something." Lady Photon waved at the wall closest to the PRT headquarters. "The PRT wanted to apologize for diverting the pick-up team. The Protectorate engaged the Undersiders and our pick-up team was the closest to their location."

Shielder snorted. "Let me guess, they got away?"

The Undersiders were small time crooks. The effort to reward ratio was too low for me (they were really good at running), but their continued success drove Armsmaster up the wall.

"Of course. Probably one reason they're trying to recruit Gryphon so much," she replied. I perked up. "They only have two fliers, both Wards, neither have your enhanced senses."

So if I brought them the Undersiders they would leave me alone? Or would they try all the harder? Not worth the effort.

I left in a good mood. New Wave would still work with me. But I did have to go on a patrol with the Protectorate sometime. Hopefully it wouldn't be with Armsmaster or Battery, they were sticks in the mud, but the others could be fun.

I climbed onto the roof and Changed. Just a hum and a beep and I was back on the roof. I stretched the wings of a decidedly owly Sauron and headed for my base.

Still had to practice my new forms and then I could- 'Oh, a mugging.'

I dove, wings held to my side, beak cutting the air. Mere feet above the ground my wings snapped out transferring my downward velocity to horizontal, hurtling me towards the muggers face. A swipe with my talons convinced him to flee.

I retained most of my speed. Enough to quickly gain altitude again. I circled the victim a few times—making sure he was safe and uninjured—then I lowered a wing banking away and returned to my base. Still had to practice my new forms and then I could sleep.

Most of my nightly practice was focused on relearning how to speak. I'd modeled my efforts on the parrot vocal cords, or lack of said cords. A syrinx didn't need lips or a tongue or anything, so If I could get it working all of my forms could talk. Well, maybe not Cube, but most of my forms.

So I Changed into Spider-Monkey forming the syrinx under a transparent membrane, and then compared it to pictures and videos I pulled from the web. It was a bit like drawing a portrait with my feet and while being blindfolded every thirty seconds.

I did manage a chirp, so… progress!

Über and Leet were internet celebrities. They did a little bit of crime fighting on the side to help boost their reputation, but most of their income came from using Über's leet skills and Leet's uber tech to act out pop culture. Mostly video games but the occasional movie or TV show thrown in for variety.

I'd expressed interest and they quickly accepted. Cosmetics weren't easy but with enough practice I could transform into almost any creature, as long as it wasn't too big and still anatomically possible.

Today they'd hired out their services to a group of LARPers. Über would teach them how to fight with actual swords, Leet would provide safety gear, and I would provide the finale after they traversed a dungeon full of evil monsters.

Leet promised it would be good, clean fun and it paid well.

While Über trained the customers I hung out with Leet in the tents. He monitored everyone's gear making sure no one was going to skewer themselves or their partner, and I surfed the internet. A chance to not use my phone was always appreciated.

A trip to PHO showed that the bird watchers were too damn good. They'd set up a map and recorded the date and time of all their sightings. I'd either have to be stealthier entering and exiting my base, or move it entirely. I left a request that they stop reporting my location in such detail and- should I? I didn't want to upset anyone, but… I also forwarded the request to a mod.

Then I had to explain for the umpteenth time that I did not choose the name Gryphon (but it was still a good name) and that I would not turn into a griffin because the design was stupid. To create enough lift for a body the size of a lion the wings would have to be huge, and powering those wings needed giant chest muscles which interfered with the front legs and unbalanced the entire body.

I could maybe make it work with a kitten… would people pay for that? I could start an EntLift, get a couple hundred bucks, and make a few videos of me frolicking around as a winged kitty. But would that be too demeaning? Hard to imagine being taken seriously as a hero with a sideline in cute kitty videos.

"Miss? Excuse me?"

I turned around. Someone getting my gender right meant they knew who I was. Otherwise it was always sir—if they were being polite—or mister—if they were demanding something. She was short and athletic. Had to be a massive geek considering that she was here. I waved hello.

"I just wanted to say that I'm your biggest fan. Could I have your autograph?"

I blinked. I had fans? Since when? I'd only been doing this a month.

Leet chuckled and slid a piece of paper and pen over to me. I scrawled out 'Gryphon' and handed it to her.

I had fans. But what if I messed up? Or couldn't maintain my current record? Would they still like me if they found out? I… I just wanted to be left alone.

But now she wanted a picture with me. I tried not to flinch when she wrapped an arm around me, gave a little grin even.

Leet and Über leased a warehouse for these events and some of their movies. They had it set up with cardboard with low lighting and a fog machine to hide that. Various robots and holograms moved about and Leet provided low grade tinkertech for loot to better enable the teams to get through the dungeon. Wand of Magic Missiles, Orb of Light, etc.

I waited in the dungeon. My job was to attack the players as a gelatinous cube. Frighten the pants off of them and run them off. If they did somehow find their way past me there was a treasure chest with a nifty flaming sword. Not sure how they could get past as I was as wide as the corridor and their pointy metal sticks couldn't harm me.

They came around the corner saw me and saw me quivering towards them. Shrieking they ran away. Mission accomplished, I Changed into Cerberus and backed up, Leet was piping music over the PA. Something about a Sir Robin, catchy.

He remotely unlocked the wall behind me so I could take a shortcut to the end. I was the final boss.

The dungeon's final confrontation was set in a big room with plenty of cover, chandeliers hanging by easily cut rope, and battle axes decorated the walls. I curled up in the middle and pretended to sleep. I had to give them a chance to sneak up and stab me.

It's hard to sit still when you're expecting to be stabbed. Sitting there, listening for footsteps—didn't understand how anyone expected to be able to sneak up on three sets of doggie ears—I just concentrated on my breathing.

A high pitch whistle filled the chamber. Doggie whistle. Leet must have decided that they were insufficiently stealthy.

I leaped onto my feet, snarling and blowing low intensity flames all around the room. Über charged yelling a battlecry. The other players followed except for one, my fan (what was her name? Shit! I never asked. Needed to ask when we're done. Or would it be too late now? Would it be awkward?). She circled the room heading for the conveniently placed chandelier ropes.

I met Über's charge with a rushing tackle of my own. He slid under me sticking his sword up and trailing it down my body. Ouch, that stung. I roared, not entirely acting, and spun around to snap at him.

The players took that advantage and attacked my hindquarters. We had carefully explained that they didn't have to hold back against me. Even held a demo fight before they entered the dungeon to make sure they understood that they didn't have to worry about injuring me. In retrospect they learned a little too well.

One player went for my flank while the other two aimed for my rear achilles tendons. I heard them and shifted to better protect myself while blowing a tongue of flame towards Über. The players weren't perfectly positioned so I couldn't move too much or they'd risk striking each other. I received a nasty thrust into my midsection and a slice to my flank for my troubles.

My fan had reached the chandelier cord. I took a swipe at the player who had thrust into my midsection forcing him to jump back abandoning his sword. Turning I faced the other two players who were doing a good job of harrying my faces.

But I'd lost track of Über. He came from the side swinging his sword in a potentially blinding strike. I reared up and backed away… directly underneath the chandelier. It dropped and hit me with a resounding smash.

I heard the whistle again and lay still. The players had done enough damage and I was now 'dead'. The actual amount of damage I'd received was minimal. I didn't have to balance day to day considerations with sheer ferocity so I had no reproductive, digestive or immune systems, extra platelets for clotting, and a sharply reduced pain sense.

Only had to repeat that four more times and I'd be done for the day. Towards the end things were very excitable in that other place. It was better to let things cool, better not to Change for a little while. I'd have to skip my nightly practice today, too.

So I stayed to find out the fan's name (Melanie) and ask about hitting a Merchant drug house. Working with Über and Leet was more profitable than working with New Wave. Any loot would be split three ways and I'd get a cut of the video profits. But they were picky on what they touched, public events like this workshop meant they had to avoid vendettas.

"You know where one is?" asked Leet.

'No. Later as in next week sometime. Have to find one first.'

"Hmm, we'd of course be willing to work with you if one or two minor concessions were made," Über teased.

'Go on…'I typed while rotating one hand in a small circle.

"First, you'd have to go as Bowser-" Yes! "-and second, we're planning on doing a horror video series and we want you to star."

They'd been pushing Bowser since we'd first met. I'd made a big production of saying no, but come on, giant, fire-breathing, spiky turtle? I'd perfected it a week ago. Did you know that turtle's spines are fused to their shell? Had to look up turtle anatomy after a few embarrassing mishaps.

'Fine, I guess I could do Bowser. What do you mean 'star'?'

"Some zombies, tentacle things, you know, things that go bump in the night. We've got a list worked out and you should be able to do them all," said Leet.

'Maybe. Would that send the wrong message?'

"Well, what message are you trying to send?" asked Über.

I didn't know. 'I don't know.'

Maybe if I offset the horror with cute cats? Or would that just make me look schizophrenic? I had no clue, so I asked Über.

"Nah, you're thinking's wrong. A makeup artist can do horror one day and a kid's show the next. That's how you need to bill yourself. You can't limit yourself as 'the girl who transforms into cats' or 'the girl who transforms into monsters.' Instead you need to bill yourself as a professional artist willing to create anything for their audience."

It sounded mercenary. But mercenaries got paid, so I could live with that.