Gear flew over the city on his way to the Gas Station of Solitude. His mind swarmed with plans and fears: what he needed to do first, where to get supplies, how long it would take, what to do if he found something, the possible outcomes if things went wrong removing those hypothetical things. BacPac swerved him well, running crash avoidance while he was distracted. He touched down in front of the building and used his key to enter, flipping on the lights and he started to set up.
Somewhat thankfully he had the time to work without interruption, today and tomorrow school was closed due to the chaos caused by Brainiac's rampage through the city, and after that was the weekend. A lot of people had been injured by vehicles and buildings suddenly vanishing leading to major traffic accidents. Richie avoided looking at the missing persons reports that were cropping up in the wake of the disaster, he already knew how many people had been digitized and absorbed. He knew everything about them because their data was inside his head. Their last moments of terror flashed behind his eyelids every time he blinked. Humans, animals, entire murdered worlds that Brainiac left ghosts of in his mind. If the ship hadn't been absolutely destroyed, he could have reversed the digitization process but he didn't have the energy for it at the time and the ship was too dangerous to leave intact. A niggling thought suggested that he was too dangerous to leave intact as well.
Instead of thinking too hard about it, he spent the day going back and forth rooting through his room and lab for pieces of alien technology. Silvery blue lumps and disks emblazoned with Brainiac's logo were hidden in the hardware of his desktops and his room phone. His skin tingled when he touched them, like something in his body was reacting the solid masses of nanites. Probably more nanites, he thought. Unsure of what to do with them yet he put them in a tupperware bowl and put it in the deep freezer under the venison and wild turkey. The cold should prevent them from activating on their own in the meantime.
Richie wiped the memory of every computer he had access to while under the supervirus's control- school, home, local library (through breaking and entering after closing). He gave BacPac the very important job of reprogramming the other devices. Really the little robot's joy of getting to help was the only thing that brought him some happiness and that was only due to the neural connection that Richie shared with his creation. From his end of their link, BacPac got a few extra helpings of apprehensive dread that showed itself in overreaction to stimuli. Richie played chill on the shock-vox for Virgil but he had too many thoughts zipping around his head. Unpleasant ones and frightening questions that needed answers.
It didn't take him long to build a functioning homemade Magnetic Resonance Imaging device, but longer than he'd've liked to make one that wouldn't cause pieces of metal to move when he turned it on. It did require the sacrifice of that perfectly good forty inch tv he salvaged from the dump the week before he'd been taken over, a printer also from the dump, and a metal detector wand 'borrowed' from the nearby Hemingway high last year. Both his work computers and BacPac's shielding were good enough that they wouldn't be affected by the power of the magnet as it's electromagnetic waves passed through his body during the scan.
The results of the scan came out pretty clear for the imaging qualities of a ten-year-old school television. What Richie saw turned his face several shades whiter until he got a firm grip on himself. His spine and braincase were entirely outfitted with complex circuitry. There were also at least two unidentified sacks of metallic fluid in his abdominal cavity, one just under his diaphragm and the other seemingly inside of his stomach. The discovery was… concerning at the very least and as soon as possible he needed to get some clean unused medical supplies before he could collect some proper samples. Or for BacPac to collect samples while he was anesthetized.
Being anesthetized sounded great right now. But he didn't have the right mix of chemical compounds to safely knock himself out at the moment. So the next best thing was getting drunk off his ass and maybe a good roll in the hay to get his mind off of things.
…
A chartreuse sign flicked in the dark of the Dakota docks. The bedazzled grime surrounding the back alley club brought back fond memories of self-discovery and less fond memories of bloodshed and arson. Still, it was the best place that Richie knew of to find someone who swung the same way as him and they didn't card for drinks as long as you didn't look ten. Since it was a weeknight there wasn't a whole lot of activity. Not like it would be on the weekend with queers and queens from all over the city and even out of the state to party and socialize.
He knocked on the heavy dented steel door three times. A slot opened and glowing purple eyes peered through, it gave him a bit of a start but the club wasn't terribly far from where the Bang went down. Richie flipped his fingers into a clumsy isosceles triangle. The Bang Baby on the other side of the door grunted and undid the locks. The blond's face tinged pink with embarrassment at the thought that the twins might call him out for not visiting since he'd started superheroing. Darnit.
"Long time no see Twinkletoes," The doorman pulled open the door and his deep rumbling voice was so familiar. The purplish-black skin and canine head were making identification more difficult than it should have dogman laughed and handed him a white wristband that read 'UNDER 18', "Smells like the Bang got you too, huh?"
The laugh like rich molasses on a hot summer morning, the bright blue eyeshadow, and turquoise jewelry, the light silk dress suddenly hit him like a fireball. His green eyes went wide and he looked the furry drag queen up and down again, "Bast?! Is that you?! Oh god, you're even more of a furry."
"Yeah, was on the docks takin' care of that new skin-head group that was tryin' ta getta holda what used to be Rasta Rebel turf. We ain't lose anyone like some of the other gangs, thank Ra. I was in the hospital for awhile and then I was out of town for the Mid-West Drag beauty pageant for a while, won third thankyouverymuch, and then community college kept me away from the club too. Then I started mutating a few months ago and well shit happens ya know?" The canine-like Bang Baby booted the door closed and locked it. He grabbed a bright purple wristband that read 'BANG BABY' from a fishbowl on a stool next to the door and tossed it to Richie. "So did you get your buddy home ok that night? And what power did you get anyway?"
Richie's face fell as the implications of his fellow hood's questions hit him like a speeding truck. All the Tri-Corners knew that he'd been to the docks to help Virgil, sure he'd gone when he knew everything had calmed down and well after the blast was over… (which thinking about it didn't really mean he'd been safe from any lingering traces of the stuff in the air but he'd be damned before he'd let Virgil get in trouble or worse for something he'd been forced into). They knew that the two of them were Bang Babies. His second thoughts followed up with: oh god they know what I look like in spandex they probably know. His third thoughts chimed in to remind him that he had put on some weight recently and was certainly buffer (and ok maybe a little softer in the belly than he'd like added since his family had stopped having dance classes another chain of thought, but fuck that train of thought went a fifth one) than when they last saw him in tights so maybe they didn't know? He opened his mouth and said something that not technically a lie, "Yeah, I found him passed out and carried him home. I guess my reflexes and senses are a lot better since then, not much use to me since the rents haven't been able to afford my ballet classes in a while."
"Luck of the draw man, luck of the draw. Be thankful that you still look normal." Bast sighed wistfully. Noticing that Richie had yet to slip on the purple band and he gestured for the younger teen to do so. "Bands are mandatory for Bang Baby identification in the club since a… messy incident with a normal passing fucker three months ago. Shit took a while to clean up after."
"Seems sensible. 'K man I'm gonna go get wasted, see ya again on the way out." Richie walked down the short hall to the club proper. He was right about there not being a lot of traffic during the near barren dance floor was deep magenta and glittered in the low lighting with a decade and a half's worth of encrusted body glitter. Chartreuse booths with glass tables lined the right-hand wall and did, in fact, hold a few customers either chatting and drinking or eating and drinking. On the left-hand side of the club the identical twins Spinner and Sparkle served at the long bar like always, the brother on one end mixing and serving drinks and the sister on the other cooking up and serving food. The brother's tentacles and his sister's spindly extra arms only seemed to help them work faster. There was an old white-haired man at the bar that Richie had never seen before, he was wrapped up in bandages like a mummy but damn if he didn't have some nice muscle tone.
The smell of the grill reminded the teen that he'd forgotten to eat lunch what with all of the emotional distress and medical equipment building. Richie sat down on the grill side about to order when a hot spatula held by an angry Spinner caught his attention.
"Where you been white boy?!" The older Japanese girl glared at him. Her spider-like limbs continued to flip burgers and cook fries as she did so, a feat aided by the gemlike eyes he'd spotted at the back of her head as he approached the bar. Sparkle, Richie observed was giving him some serious side-eye as he polished some beer mugs. "You missed so many meetings. We worried that the gas killed you like so many of the others! If Babe, you know Bunyan, ain't spot you and your buddy at the community center we wouldn't know! All you babies being so stressful and not checking in, gonna give me white hairs!"
"Ah, sorry Spinner," Richie rubbed the back of his neck and had the decency to look sheepish about his lack of involvement. Sure the Chartreuses didn't expect him to take on anyone in a fight since the strip club incident, but they did have some less shady community programs that they could use an extra hand for. And heck it was nice to have a place where he didn't have to pretend to be straight 90% of the time around people. "I've been really busy lately helping my bro out with a big project."
They talked for hours catching up with each other and what was going on with the Chartreuses and Richie got progressively more buzzed with super sugary girlie drinks. Since it wasn't his first time drinking and he didn't feel like going home for dinner he also made sure to take advantage of the food discount for Chartreuse members. Getting some grease in his stomach to cut the effect of the alcohol (no need to get shit faced when he still had to walk home). In the middle of his second double cheeseburger, a familiar face coming out of the conference room caught his eye.
"Incog?" Richie asked incredulously. The white passing teen's red eyebrows shot up in disbelief and then he walked through the bar like it was air. The thought crossed Richie that all of the Chartreuses might be Bang Babies and it was probably a good edge on the remaining gangs. He also thought that Incog looked a but scruffier and leaner than how he used to.
"Twinkletoes!" The other boy hugged Richie tight before taking a seat next to him. It was good to see the other boy, they'd gone through so much together. Hell, Richie owed Incog his life for helping him get out of that NeoNazi compound. They got caught up. Turns out that the Bang had other shitty side effects other than death and permanent disfigurement. The Bang could give you shitty vampire weaknesses. Which… really made as much sense as anything else. After a while, Incog, who was going by Fade now, left with a friend called Tech (who also got super smarts from The Bang) to go get some more work done before sunrise. He'd left a phone number for Richie to contact him with if he wanted to hang out and/or meet his new gang.
Well fed and reasonably tipsy Richie scanned the other patrons for someone to make out with to end his night. He mentally crossed out all the patrons that were obviously too old, like the yummy muscle mummy at the bar. Distracted by eyeing the eye candy of some of the new faces chatting it up in the booths Richie failed to notice the approach of an old classmate until he'd wrapped a warm muscular arm around his shoulder. Richie didn't need to look at Francis to identify him, the blonde knew the older teen's smokey burnt rubber and hair scent from fighting him as Gear often enough.
"Heh. Hey Twink," Francis said in a way that sent a shudder down Richie's spine that he blamed on alcohol and hormones. He knew exactly what Francis was playing at by shortening his handle in that way. Really, the other Bang baby only called him by any variation of Twinkletoes when he wanted something; usually, Francis preferred to call him variations of 'Princess', though there was one straight week that the pyro only referred to him as a 'Sugarplum Fairy'. "Ain't seen your scrawny ass over this way since the Bang."
Richie turned his head and stared blankly at the other Bang Baby. "I've been busy," He replied as flatly as he could. "'Sides, I distinctly recall somebody harassing two of my best friends, setting one on fire and burning off my shirt. I dunno Frankie maybe I've been avoiding an asshole?"
The redhead's cocky smirk dropped into the beginning of an unamused sneer. Both of them were very aware of the twins' attention and how Francis would be getting another talking to because they hadn't heard the bit about his shirt. Frieda and Virgil were outsiders, friendly to him but harassing a friend of a Chartreuse was different than threatening a fellow Chartreuse. Richie was also quite aware of the probability of the hothead giving him a shiner by the end of the week. Entirely because snitches get stitches and Hotstreak was very good at holding grudges.
Francis leaned in and whispered into Richie's ear, "I was trying to be fucking subtle, Gear. So how 'bout we go upstairs or do you want everyone in this joint to know everything?"
Richie's heart skipped a beat even as he tried to keep up a smug appearance. He swallowed thickly as his thoughts raced. Strings of expletives preceded and followed questions such as: was Hotstreak going to blackmail him? Did he know Static's secret identity too? Did this potential blackmail material cancel out the leverage that Richie used to hold? Or were they even now and he didn't have a way to protect Virgil and Freida if Hotstreak went after them again? The only thing Richie was reasonably certain of was that Hotstreak wouldn't tell any of the other Bang Baby thugs because if he did and Richie wound up dead because of it (which was very likely given how gangbangers tend to really get rid of problems) then Hotstreak would get far worse than a talking to for endangering a fellow Chartreuse (because like hell he wouldn't leave something behind to take the asshat down with him). And frankly, they had history, he'd hope that Frankie didn't want him dead.
When he came back to reality Richie found himself sitting cross-legged on the bed in the pink room in the upstairs of the club. Richie had some fond memories of this room, more than a few interesting encounters happened on those hot pink sheets. Frankie lay at the foot of the bed like a French girl ready to be painted and wearing only his goofy heart-print boxers. The blond felt his face turning red, partly because he was tipsy and Francis was very attractive and partly because he was a little ticked off that the other teen thought he could use the mostly naked negotiator tactic again. After the disaster that was the strip club incident, he'd promised himself that he'd never let tits get him into that much trouble again, no matter how nice they were.
"Ya know next time someone says that they caught on to your secret you really shouldn't panic and space out." Hotstreak said with a laugh. As potentially dangerous as the situation was Richie couldn't help the way his heart fluttered at the other teen's hooded eyes and cocky smirk and just how the way he was laying helped guide the eye along to highlight his best assets… Damnit, focus! Blackmail material, secret identity revealed. "Just sayin' leads a dude into thinking he got it right, Princess."
"All right I'm Gear," Richie confessed with narrow eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look intimidating. "So what do you want?"
"As far as the thing with Sons of Odin we're square. That's what your secret identity is worth, period."
"That's...fair" And it was. Richie didn't like it and it left him with the problem with Hotstreak potential hurting Frieda and Virgil or worse because he felt like it. Hmmm.. it's possible that he could make a memory erasing nano-virus to fix this? Richie felt like that was the kinda world endangering superscience that he should run by his best friend first. And really this wasn't the sort of thing he wanted to tell V about in the first place.
"But, for Hawkin's being Sparky you owe me instead." Richie's pulse remained steady. There was no shock. No tuggings of his conscious as the vast and scattered output of his mutated mind crystallized into an arrow of thought: he could easily end Hotstreak by emptying the pseudo organ full of nanomachines under his diaphragm while in close proximity to dissolve the other teen's flesh. Hotstreak's heat would only fuel the growth and speed of-
"Ok! I'm just askin ya to look the other way when Carmen and Ferret are up to some petty shit, jeez no need for the glowy death glare," Francis grumbled snapping Richie away from that surprisingly homicidal thought. Was it possible that Brainiac's remnants were already trying to influence him? He regained his composure while pretending to ignore the mostly naked superthug slowly and deliberately advance on him. In the lamplight he could see the faint scars on Francis's shoulders and chest from the thing with the Son's of Odin, part of him really wanted to run his fingers over them.
"Really that's all you're asking for?" Richie inquired, his face flushing as the redhead sidled up between his legs to stare him down. Or to further seduce him and, well, he did plan to get laid tonight, so stopping a good looking rugged guy from being sexy and mildly threatening was not something he felt like doing. Still, he persisted his line of questioning if only to be 100% sure of what the other bang baby was asking. "You know my best friend's greatest secret, something that gives you a fuck lotta leverage over a downright supergenius such as moi, but yer gonna use it up on just, 'Cut my buddies some slack'?"
Hotstreak laughed, not in the taunting way that he'd done in school when mocking his victims but in that breathy genuinely amused way that slipped out when Francis actually found one of his jokes to be funny. And hot damn it was really starting to heat him up. "We're not buddies but yeah, 'sides you already look the other way when I'm not setting fucks on fire."
"Point." Richie shrugged. He wasn't a snitch if no one was getting or going to be hurt. Besides, you can't just rat on folks in your gang, even if they were just backup muscle. "Deal, just leave V and Freida alone alright?"
"Eh sure, I won't fuck up your boyfriend-" Hotstreak ignored his fellow Tricorner's grumbling about his friendship being completely platonic. "And I don't plan to mess around Frieda anytime soon, it's not fun since she got superpowers."
Richie blinked. And reprocessed that sentence as his fellow mutant distractingly started pulling off his clothes. He blinked again, "What."