Interlude 1

Power.

The rate at which energy is transferred to perform work, or a measure of force capable of being applied by an individual or group.

The life of a Tinker was often one of mutual interdependency. Some of them were visionary geniuses, capable of incredible breakthroughs in design and functionality within their specialities. Others were masters at scrounging and engineering, capable of creating fully-functional modern day conveniences using nothing more than boxes of scraps—and if rumours were to be believed—while in caves, even.

Some could create impossible technologies: directed energy weapons, anti-gravity drives, powered armour, powered mecha, advanced life-support systems, zero-emission motors, the list went on and on. For Tinkers, the possibilities were endless.

But every Tinker also required two basic needs that—individually—none could possibly possess enough of: time and resources. While a Tinker could diagram an entire blueprint on their own—and indeed, most did—there were times when it was just faster to collaborate with others and have each one focus on a particular area where they excelled at.

Most Tinkers joined large organisations, nationally-sponsored societies that gave them all the support-networking and resources they could ever wish for, so long that everything they created belonged to the organisation. Others worked alone, but that was the more difficult path by far. Resources were scarce and much of their valuable time was spent fending off advances from paramilitary groups and villain teams—or even hero teams. A few reached out to an unofficial support network of sorts, trading favors and minor designs with each other. Designing, negotiating, collaborating—almost all of their free time was devoted to their work.

Everything Pete did was based on the application of power in some way, shape, or form. Most of his energy and time was spent tracking down designs compatible with his own and figuring out which he could manage with his available resources. His workshop was where he put together his projects. They weren't his inventions, they were designs he had worked hard to weasel, trade, bargain, or outright copy from the other gadgeteer geniuses he associated with. Nearly all of the money he earned from his cape work went into supplies: precious metals, plastics, fabrication machines, spare parts, or raw materials. He worked nearly every waking moment he wasn't out on the job.

His only tradeable commodity was licensing out relatively low-quality designs to his sole creations. He literally traded away power to other Tinkers—high-capacity power cells and ultra-efficient capacitors. He saved other Tinkers valuable space and weight in their own designs and earned a modest fee even for his export-quality products. Naturally he kept the best, most efficient designs for himself. In this way, he kept himself valuable to others in his network, trading up his improved designs as soon as he'd made something even better. He wasn't naive enough to think all of his clients were other heroes or rogues. By knowing the yield of and maximum capacity of his work, he could build up a database of his repeat customers and extrapolate possible uses for his power cells. Every so often he obtained prime blackmail material if he ever found his units being used for... extralegal purposes. In return he received the dumbed-down versions of other Tinkers' works: heads-up displays and software, a form of liquid armour plating, collapsible machinery, and—his personal favorite—comprehensive designs for an electromagnetic projectile system.

Putting it all together had taken some time—time that had been well-spent, in his opinion. The end result had been a lightweight but highly impact-resistant bodysuit. Outfitted with a GPS receiver, wind and temperature sensors, and a built-in computer system he had been able to kludge together his own fire-control system and fit it into a helmet and small backpack. Of course, what a Tinker considered a kludge would still be the stuff an ordinary engineer could only dream of.

Electromagnetic launching systems usually required heavy generators and power supplies to provide the necessary charge to launch objects. This normally limited their field applications to large, turret-mounted structures on large trucks or ships. With his own power cells and the collapsible designs he'd appropriated, Pete was capable of building hand-held railguns. For the sake of nonlethal weaponry, he usually applied them at their lowest settings, aiming them towards the sky and using them as mobile artillery. If he had the mind to, he could have applied a great deal of force rather directly to a single target at any time he wished.

It was unfortunate that the one time he'd been given free reign to utilise his most powerful designs... had been against the one opponent that could nullify it or literally use that destructive force against him. He had been extremely lucky to have survived the attack that had claimed his legs. Luckily he had decided to launch his strike from a location perpendicular to Behemoth's path. Only his distance from the front-lines had kept him alive as the Endbringer had marched off into the distance, leaving Pete unable to move, counting the minutes it took for help to arrive and evacuate him to the off-site triage area.

Pete's fingers stilled on his keyboard as he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his back and neck briefly. He swiveled around to glance at the far wall, filled with shelves upon shelves of batteries. His backshot waterwheel was hooked up to a generator of his own design, one that had a near-perfect conversion of the rotational forces into electrical energy. Were it just that, it still wouldn't have been enough to power even a fraction of the energy he consumed on a daily basis. However his workshop was surrounded by hills and he'd long had discreet wind-powered generators set up around the various peaks. He'd considered solar power at one point, but... well... not bloody likely. Maybe if he ever relocated.

With his full setup, he had a net gain of several kilojoules even on an average working day. On days where he'd been out on patrol or taking a break, the amount stored was much, much greater. After so much time active, even if he decoupled all of his generators now the energy stored in those tanks would last him years.

As he swiveled around to face his computer screens again, he noticed an icon in the corner flashing for his attention, an incoming communication. He did a quick check of the workshop's external cameras and sensor net to ensure nobody was nearby before he stabbed a button on his keyboard.

"Peter's Hardware Wizardry, how may I help you?" he said in a polite, but bored-sounding tone.

"Volley," the voice was crisp, no-nonsense, and clearly not taken in by his attempt at misdirection. "I thought I was calling your personal number, not the one you give out for your public persona."

"And hello to you too, Boss-lady," Pete replied, dropping his affected tone. "Both numbers go to the same place anyhow, I just like keeping up the habit."

"Flurry," the voice corrected him. "This call may not be secure and—"

"—and you want to make sure there are no evil eavesdroppers tapping in on our communications, not secure, yada yada... I'm not in costume. Hi, I'm Pete. Who are you?"

"Volley... " Flurry sounded somewhat exasperated.

"Fine... " Volley rolled his eyes, even though the action was wasted over the call. "What can I do for you, Flurry?"

"How are your legs?" Flurry asked politely.

"How's the arm?" Volley replied flatly.

There was a moment of silence from the line, then the sound of a sigh. "Very well, I wanted to ask you about Looking Glass."

"I saw him the other day," Volley replied. "Seemed fine. Seemed a bit worried about you, actually."

"Was J with him?" Flurry asked, ignoring the comment regarding her own well-being.

Volley hesitated briefly. "Um, isn't J always with him?"

"Roughly six weeks ago I ran into Looking Glass involved in a solo confrontation with an unknown parahuman," Flurry explained. "The unknown was captured but J was... incapacitated somehow. She was, for lack of a better term, empty. Glass appeared to have suffered some form of psychological trauma at the same time, either from the backlash of whatever attack it was or from seeing her in that state."

"Like I said, he seemed fine. She seemed fine, too." Volley shrugged. "She gave me quite an earful about my injuries, in fact. Why the sudden concern?"

"I have been thinking about the nature of his power. There are too many minor things that do not seem to make sense to me."

"Such as?"

"Their interactions with each other. When he first introduced himself to us, I assumed J was a puppet of some sort. However, the way she acts around him is... unusual... for a single mind controlling two different bodies."

"J is certainly a somewhat free-spirited girl," Volley agreed.

"There have been times when they are focused on two completely different activities, yet neither one's concentration seems to fall even with the complexity of whatever task the other is engaged in."

He shrugged, again despite her not being able to see the motion. "What can I say? Powers tend to be weird. Master-class capes tend to be weirder. Maybe he can just multitask very well. Or maybe his power gave a split-personality some extra oomph."

"You believe it to be a psychological phenomenon?"

"You don't?"

"An... alternate possibility... had occurred to me." Flurry admitted. She was silent for several moments and Volley could easily imagine her frowning, her expression shifting minutely as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. "I am aware of your... voyeuristic habits, Volley."

Volley scoffed, "It's called researching, Sunshine. And everything I look up is a matter of public record. It's just not normally so... accessible to the public at large."

"Do not call me that," she said, her voice chilly. "But you have proven my point. Would you happen to know details regarding Glass' family?"

"Well, since he was nice enough to bring us to his family restaurant that one time, it wasn't too hard at all to find out about him. Anything specific that wont get me in serious trouble?"

"... Does he, or did he have a sister?" Volley glanced at his screen briefly to check the connection quality. Flurry's voice had seemed to drop into an odd tone near the end of that sentence...

"Hm... " He swiveled towards the next screen over and brought up what he liked to call his little rolodex program. After a brief overview... "Nope. Parents from Kyushu, Japan, but he was born here. No mention of any siblings, older or younger. He was in a car accident several years back, but only one person was hospitalised—him. He was registered as a parahuman rogue about a month later—I'll let you draw your own conclusions from that—and then he vanished from any official notice until he joined up with us and re-registered as an 'unaffiliated' hero."

"... You picked up all of that from a restaurant name?"

"I'm a curious sort of guy, I like finding out things about my friends. Just like I know you had a trip to York several years back and—"

"You will stop right there," Flurry abruptly ordered him. "And you will never call me Sunshine ever again... or else. Have I made myself clear?"

"Technically, you aren't really my boss anymore, Boss-lady," Volley shrugged. "You kicked me out."

There was a sound that may have been burst of static or Flurry attempting to crush her phone, he wasn't sure. "I would... consider it a personal favor if you dropped that subject."

"Sure, sure."

Flurry was contemplative when she spoke up next. "You have become remarkably abrasive since we last met."

Now it was Volley's time to pause. "I made a promise with Wu," he said quietly. "That I'd be the one to drive you all insane in his absence. I don't think he quite anticipated this scenario, but..."

"I see. Is there anything else you can tell me about J?"

"Hmm... Glass did mention she was curious about... walking. He was here asking about prosthetics."

"Why would he need prosthetics for an astral projection that cannot interact with material objects?"

Volley shrugged. "Beats me. Glass hasn't really gotten onto my bad side... yet. I haven't really been digging too deeply into his past. I still don't really see a need to."

"Yet you looked into mine?"

"Every employee needs to have dirt on their boss."

"I thought I was no longer your boss."

"Details, details..."

Another few moments of quiet.

"I would consider it another personal favor if you could look into it somehow."

Volley grinned. "I make no promises."

"But you will try?"

"Sure, I've been needing a hobby since I seem to be out of a job." He couldn't help the accusatory tone that leaked into his voice.

Flurry's voice was quiet, pained. "... For what it's worth, I regret letting you go. All of you. It's just that—"

"I know. I'll keep in touch, Flurry." Volley tapped another key before she could reply and then leaned back heavily in his seat, his face impassive as he let memories wash over him. After a few moments of contemplation, he smiled once again.

Having a marker to call on another parahuman was always a good thing, even if Flurry wasn't the strongest cape he knew. She was still an intelligent woman and highly principled, both were qualities that could be exploited to great effect if utilised properly. Who knows, maybe he'd find something interesting about James and Jamie while he was at it. Two—or three—for the price of one.

Power wasn't just being able to punch holes into concrete or energising weapons of mass destruction. Sometimes power was being the one person everyone had to turn to for help, being the one most able to enable a change or an action.

Sometimes power was simply the ability of a person to exercise influence and/or control over others.

ooo