Tyrant of the Bay (Worm CYOA)
By: Arafell
Worm CYOA. Alexandria power set. Reincarnation in 2004, about seven years before canon.
Perks…
Status: ongoing
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2017-02-22
Words: 63342
Chapters: 22
Original source: https/forums./threads/14472
Exported with the assistance of
Tyrant of the Bay (Worm CYOA)
Introduction
Origin 1.1
Origin 1.2
Origin 1.3
Origin 1.4
Interlude 1
Origin 1.5
Interlude 2
Origin 1.6
Interlude 2, Supplementary
Montage 2.1
Montage 2.2
Montage 2.3
Montage 2.4
Montage 2.5
Original Character Sheet: Wards
Montage 2.6
Montage 2.6I - Mini Interlude
Montage 2.7
Montage 2.8
Montage 2.9
PRT Report: Corporal L
Montage End/Nemesis Preview
Origin 1.1
Worm CYOA. Alexandria power set. Reincarnation in 2004, about seven years before canon.
Perks and complications would be spoilers. I'll post it later on. Will be using new threadmark system to see how it works.
Please keep in mind, this is literally my second story posted. If you see any weird errors, please point them out so I can fix it.
Origin 1.1 - July 11th, 2004
The paramedics checked me out, confirmed none of the blood was mine, then quickly drove me to the PRT tower in the middle of the city.
There was no interrogation. No one pressed me when I didn't want to talk. The room they put me in was cozy and quiet - the only thing making noise was the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. It was completely cut off from the outside world, an oasis of calm with wood furnishings and warm colors.
They sent a shrink in, of course - child psychologist. Left me coloring books and a change of clothes when I didn't respond.
Nice of him, I suppose; the clothes I was wearing were full of bullet holes and blood. I changed in the bathroom, supervised by a mildly embarrassed PRT squad member who brought me back to the office afterwards.
Despite the sound proofing, I could hear them - I could hear the whole floor if I wanted. The tiniest of vibrations made themselves known with the slightest concentration. If I was being completely honest I wasn't sure if I was using my ears or if I was feeling it through my feet. Still, it beat sitting here thinking.
Male. Rough ."Joshua R. Daniels, age seven - was on his way home from his birthday party."
Male. Weak, thready voice. "Christ, seven? That's young for a cape, right?"
"Yeah, but not unheard of - happens every now and then in really rough cases. Child capes are almost always really fucked up in the head. Youngest I know of though."
A light shuffling noise - papers being moved. A copy machine went off in the corner, but I tuned it out.
"Seven. Jesus. He did all this?"
A pause, then more shuffling. "The father. His mother. Kept saying 'it's all my fault.' Practically made me cry, and I've been here a long time."
I stood and began to pace.
"Yeah, I - Jesus. What'd the cape doctor say?"
"Quote, 'like talking to a wall of granite' unquote."
Trying to ignore them now, I grasped the expensive table clock and lifted it. There was no apparent strain - I couldn't feel my powers helping me lift. I set it down, then picked up the desk. There was a slow pulse of energy, the feel of something extending, then the desk rose into the air and scraped at the ceiling. None of the papers laying on it so much as fluttered; I set it back down and flopped onto the couch to ponder.
So - the strength was something intrinsic to a projected field. Both objects should have been heavy enough to require strain, but only the desk required extra manipulation. The field appeared to give me extended grip radius, yet I was sure that wasn't all it could do.
"What do you think'll happen to the kid now?"
A sigh. " Probably be adopted by the Wards. He has distant family and a few close friends, but I think Director Howard will want to make an exception in his case. He's already used his powers lethally; they're not pressing charges, but they want him in a controlled environment and they have justification. Power testing and cape adoption program - at the minimum."
I stood and picked up a piece of paper. If I concentrated, I could feel the field - it extended over it very, very lightly. I narrowed my eyes, trying to push the resisting energy out in a surrounding layer. It flopped once, then straightened out until it was perfectly flat. I turned it vertical, then pressed it against the desk.
It passed through cleanly, cutting the antique wooden corner off like I'd been wielding a sword and not a piece of mundane computer paper. It hit the carpet with a quiet thump and bounced underneath the chair. I hesitated a moment, then touched one of its preternaturally sharp edges directly with my thumb. Nothing - just regular paper to my skin.
The door clicked. I set the paper down and turned, kicking the wood fragment underneath the desk.
There was a woman in the doorway - young, tall, with an American flag around her face. She flinched when she met my eyes, but it wasn't a fear reaction. Instead of backing off, she knelt down next to me and enfolded me in a brief hug.
A computer chair shifted and rattled. "What the hell is she doing? I thought we weren't supposed to get in arms reach until he was cleared! Kid could still be nutso!"
"You wanna be the one to tell her that? You realize she's been a cape longer than Alexandria right?"
There was something - something I had to ask.
"Do you remember?" I asked her leadenly, mind whirling with memories that weren't mine. I had to know if they were true - one way or another. "Do you remember the worms?"
She pulled back, startled, then nodded.
"I see," I said, my last doubts burning away. "Then, we should get started."
Miss Militia gave me a long, searching glance. "You don't have to be strong. Not now."
"I don't have time to be weak," I told her, resolve fueled by guilt. I'm the one who'd killed my parents before I was born - why was she the one who was sad?
Whatever the reason, she insisted on holding my hand until we reached the testing chamber. In return, I insisted on going there today - I wanted this over with. A known quantity would be trusted more than an unknown.
They set me in front of a machine, then told me to punch as hard as I could.
I broke it. Dust sifted down from the concrete ceiling, which had cracked from the force of the machine slamming into the wall.
They put me on a hydraulic weight set. Different room - the other one was structurally unsound.
I stood there arms raised for about ten minutes before it started to smoke and they finally took me off of it.
Nothing they tried pierced my skin. They seemed afraid to try too hard, considering my age.
I was easily Brute 9 by the technician's rough calculations. I think they were afraid to go higher without official authorization to use more damaging equipment; either that or I wasn't showy enough with the super strength. I wasn't able to work out the flight even though I knew I should be able to, and I managed to downplay my enhanced senses to an approximate Thinker 1.
I wasn't sure if I trusted them yet. There were mental associations with this place I could only guess at, even with the way my thoughts kept jumping around.
It was for that reason I never told them about the tactile field. They never asked, and I was only seven after all - youth would be a good cover if I was called out. My Striker rating remained untested and unknown.
Miss Militia was waiting for me after the tests, looking strangely anxious.
I don't know why - they weren't her reviews.
"It's going to be okay, Josh," she said, eyes serious. A whirl of metallic colors resolved into a heavy looking pistol at her side, changing calibers with her emotional state.
A thrum of indignant anger raced through me. What did she know about okay?
She was used as a minesweeper by enemy soldiers - that's how she triggered. Her and other children like her - I think she was the only one that survived in the end.
I blinked, then looked away, anger replaced immediately by shame. "What - what happens now?"
"Now, you have a choice," she said, kneeling down again. It was nice of her - I'd always hated being talked down to. "We tried to reach your uncle, Robert Daniels, but his and your aunt's cell phone were both off the grid. He was your emergency contact, at least in your father's files - did you have someone else you can stay with for a little while?"
I shook my head numbly. I had the feeling that things were proceeding according to scenario - if only I could remember. "Grandpa and Grandma lived in Australia. Mom and Dad don't talk about them much."
A flicker of a frown, hidden by the scarf - hidden from normal people, that is. Monsters like me don't play by plebeian physical laws like line of sight. "I see. No matter what, I won't leave you alone. You may have to stay at the base for a few days, but we should be able to get some of your things from the house."
I nodded again and allowed myself to be steered into an elevator. It was large, the silvery walls and lights giving it a futuristic shine. Miss Militia punched in the lowest floor, then a button with a red domino mask. It flashed three times, then turned off as the elevator began to lower.
As we got lower, there was sound. Since Miss Militia didn't seem to have anything to say, I concentrated on listening.
"I'm thinking Terror Tyke."
"Nah, too Tinker for a Brute like that. Besides, Glen would axe it immediately. I was thinking Terrible Tyrant -"
"Knock it off. Won't matter much anyways, he's only seven - you have to be at least ten to officially debut, and he has to ask to join."
The door opened with a cheerful ding. The two of us stepped inside, Miss Militia's hand on my shoulder.
"Wards," she said in a clear, attention grabbing voice. It was mostly futile, seeing as they'd all stopped talking the moment we'd entered. "This is -"
She hesitated for a brief moment, unwilling to divulge my name but stumbling over my lack of a cape persona.
"Tyrant," I supplied without hesitating. One of the Wards - the creepy one in the optical illusion outfit - flinched, looking guilty.
"This is Tyrant," Miss Militia said, frowning at me. I realized, with a thrill of foreboding, that there would be words over the name later. "I expect you all to be courteous to him while he stays here. As he is not a member of the Wards -"
"I will be."
"-and can't make that decision until he's older, he will not be required to go on patrol or attend training. You are also not required to divulge your identities."
This seemed to be a stock phrase, because they immediately started removing masks. I suppose it wouldn't really have been practical in the first place.
"Cognit," the flincher said, his eyes wary. His costume had a curious, almost hypnotizing color scheme that shifted when he moved. The effect was disorienting; I made sure to focus on the face. He was older than I was - at least fourteen. "Also known as Matthew Johnson."
"Landscape," one of the others offered. He was male, African American - the owner of the first voice. His riotously colorful costume's gloves were stained with black ink; it looked like it had been dyed purposefully. His hand twitched as though he wanted to extend it for me to shake but thought better of it at the last moment. "Name's Jacob Smith."
"Sabrina Trellow," the girl supplied, sounding subdued. Her costume was somber, her mask simpler than the others. Less effort had been spent on it, as if she wasn't meant to be out in public; it would explain why I'd never seen her on the news. "My cape name is Maledict. Tia - I mean, Cloudburst and Steelguard graduated to the Protectorate last month so it's been pretty empty here."
I nodded to each name. "Joshua."
There was a moment of awkward silence.
"Well," Miss Militia spoke, trying to sound moderately cheerful despite the dismal atmosphere. "Let me show you to your room."
She showed me the features, like how to extend my bed, then pointed out the other rooms. She hovered for a while, but finally left after the awkwardness exceeded even her threshold.
I examined the ascetic furnishings and sighed. No training, no patrolling, no nothing until I was ten - just school and 'child socialization.' I had no friends I could relate to, no hobbies to distract myself, and no family left to seek out. To wile the time away I had a bed, a dresser and an empty closet, each one a fold-out model built into the wall.
I sat down on the bed, testing it gingerly. The words 'hard' and 'uncomfortable' came to mind.
It was going to be a long three years. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, I didn't need to sleep.
I grabbed a pencil and forcibly extended my structural field around it. The wall behind my bed was thin wood backed by steel, but my power didn't seem to care. The sharp point of the pencil etched the letters with ease.
I considered them for a moment, then sighed and laid down on my bed to let the first day of the rest of my life pass in relative peace.
[ Next]
Last edited: Oct 8, 2015
Origin 1.2
Origin 1.2 - October 2005
Life went on. And on. And on.
And on.
It wasn't boring just because I was precocious for my age; I had a lot of memories in my head that weren't mine, and the person who'd made those memories passed high school and college with a solid 3.2 grade average. To compound this, I had what I modestly called a supercomputer in place of my brain.
I didn't forget things - ever. Not after my 'trigger' anyways; older memories were missing things, things my power couldn't or wouldn't reconstruct, but anything afterwards I could envision with crystal clear precision.
Suffice to say, third grade did not hold my attention and the teacher knew it. I was lucky in a way that I even went on to third grade this year - they were halfway convinced to give me the rest of the year off, forcing me to retake second grade.
That's right - retake second grade.
I had to argue for hours to convince them otherwise.
It was a massive waste of time.
Despite everything, they forced me to take a couple weeks off from school. With nothing better to do, I researched the issue and found that testing out of school was severely frowned upon; apparently children need 'structure' to form an identity and PRT members were not acceptable role models. There were exceptions, but they were always for Wards whose families had weighed in on their behalf.
I was going to chuck a car at the Youth Guard the next time they came by.
I made sure to vent that particular desire with my Protectorate approved child psychologist, who I now saw once a week. I'd been forced to agree on that as a bargaining chip - go to therapy and I would avoid squandering another year of my life in elementary school.
It didn't do very much good of course - my biggest emotional problems were things I could not begin to explain. Still, it was an outlet, and the guy I went to wasn't really bad.
Sitting in the clumsily decorated classroom with all the other preteens, I couldn't help but think that maybe I should have gone back to second grade; dealing with Taylor during the day was surprisingly tiring.
We went to the same elementary and shared the same classes, so it was inevitable that we saw one another; I'd be fine with that, except she loved to pester me about everything.
It was strange to think about the old timeline. Whereas the Skitter I vaguely remembered was all angst and edges, the current Taylor was almost ditsy. She had this sort of energy to her that burned through in everything she did; it wasn't like she was dumb, she was definitely intelligent, she just went on and on.
That child needs an off switch to go with the installed Seriously-Hyper-Drive.
On a more serious note, for all Taylor's annoying bubbliness I sincerely hope that Annette remained - well, alive for starters. Mr. Hebert had worked with my father a long time ago, and while we weren't exactly close I didn't want to see them hurt.
I don't remember the date of the car crash, but my presence in the timeline should have startled enough butterflies that any solid date would be horrifically inaccurate. There wasn't much else I could do except lecture Taylor about cell phones and driving.
I marked that one down as an idea. Maybe if she thought I was boring she would leave me alone.
I waved to the Heberts as I waited for my PRT minder to come grab me from school. They waved back, smiling, then drove off in their beat up hatchback.
Leaving me sitting here, waiting for my glorified babysitter.
I stood with literally inhuman stillness, watching for the black sedan. I didn't need sleep, nor did my muscles need rest - I could stand here all day if necessary.
The rest of the children had already gone home. I frowned, glancing down the rows of parked cars.
The PRT had never been late before. In fact, most of the time they were early.
"Joshua?" A woman's voice called out as the door opened behind me. "You're still here? Do you need a ride somewhere?"
"No," I said mildly, turning to look at my teacher. She'd always treated me with a measure of wariness - she probably knew I was a parahuman. No doubt the PRT had clued her in the day I sat down in her class. "I'll be fine."
I'm not sure what she read from my expression, but I'd be willing to bet she thought it was cape business. She nodded hesitantly, then, after looking around, left for her hideous lime-colored car. Cape business was none of her business after all. I resisted the urge to scowl.
After about ten minutes, I'd had enough.
Considering the options available to me, I cursed my lack of a cell phone and started to walk. My speed, strength, and durability had doubled over the last year; at least, I assumed my strength had doubled. It was hard to test strength without going down to the graveyard to juggle boats, and we hadn't exactly tested it thoroughly in the first place.
All I know is that extending my telekinesis field is easier now and I needed to be careful with my speed in public.
Of course, that didn't mean I could get around entirely with superpowers. Despite the protection afforded by my speed, I had no mask to protect my identity - if I started sprinting around the chance of a lucky camera catching my face was non-zero. Capes had been outed for similar indiscretions before.
Still, this wasn't a bad part of Brockton Bay - at least, if you were white and it was reasonably bright out. The Teeth mostly stuck to the docks and the Empire didn't go after children. Allfather had literally strung up a man in his gang for being a pedophile, and rumor had it that the man was a cape - a valuable and potentially powerful parahuman. What he would do to a rank and file thug didn't bear thinking on.
It lent a certain protection to kids walking alone in Empire territory.
It was close to dark already - night fell quickly in the winter and it hadn't been a very sunny day to begin with. Now, the sun was beginning to touch the mountains, and we only had about a solid hour of daylight left. My senses thrummed, reaching out and touching the world around me.
There was a certain… energy in the air.
Something was wrong. I made a snap decision and cut through the park.
Brockton Bay actually had a fairly nice park. It was midway between Arcadia, my elementary school, and the PRT building. That meant that it was heavily patrolled for the safety of the students and had a high chance of superheros dropping by.
Yet, walking along the trail, I didn't see a single person.
Splash.
I turned left, headed towards the water at an easy jog.
Splash.
I exited the tree line. The park had a fairly small pond, used primarily to support wildlife. It was gated off to avoid idiotic preteen casualties, but the fences were short and easy to climb - in other words, a perfect example of government policy. I jumped over.
A girl with blonde hair reared back her hand and let another stone fly. It skipped once, then hit the other side. Not really her fault - it was a pretty pathetic pond to skip in. She put her head in her hands, tousled hair hiding her face. I sat down next to her.
"Whatcha' doin'?" I asked, curious. She looked up at me, revealing bright brown eyes.
"Nothin'," she said shyly, looking back to the pond. "Waiting for - my uncle. He told me to wait till he came back or he'd be mad."
"I see," I said, looking out across the pond. A couple frogs jumped, splashing aimlessly in the weeds. "I'm Josh. What's your name?"
She hid her face again. "I'm not s'posed to tell."
There wasn't much I could say to that. "I see," I muttered again, a little lamely. Even before, Josh hadn't been that good with other kids. It was one of the reason I had practically no friends, despite my preternatural advantages weighing in."How old are you?"
She perked up a little. "I'm eight!"
" I am eight and a half," I stated smugly, giving her a superior smirk. She scowled and, with one hand, shot a splash of dirty water at me. I dodged with effortless grace, but the second shot caught me right between the eyes with my mouth still open. Sputtering, I wiped the grime off my face and gave her a gimlet eyed stare. "It's on."
Our battle lasted a good ten, fifteen minutes of watery hell before I finally cried uncle. It was getting dark, and she didn't seem like the type to give up. Now, she was shivering violently in her wet clothes and I couldn't help but feel it was unfair that I didn't get cold.
I sighed, wringing water out of my shirt. Tactile telekinesis would be helpful for this if I could get it under control. The last time I'd tried to do anything with it I'd managed to rip my sweater in half. It was a real tragedy - replacing clothes with the PRT's quartermaster was a trial, and that had been one of my own sweaters.
"Guess it's time to go home then," I told her, looking at the sunset without squinting.
Her eyes widened in alarm. "My uncle said he'd be back by sundown! You need to go, right now!"
I blinked at her. "O-okay," I stuttered, surprised by her vehemence. "Will you be here tomorrow?"
She nodded fiercely. "I'll try."
More heartbeats were approaching. I went the opposite way and jumped over the fence with one smooth action.
No one saw me go. I didn't want to get her in trouble.
It was a soggy, dark walk back to the tower. As soon as I was out of sight, I shed Joshua and was once more Tyrant; there was no place for children in the dark alleyways of Brockton Bay. Despite cutting through gang territory on the way there, not a single person waylaid me.
The guard at the back entrance let out a sigh of reliefwhen he saw me walking up, then started grinning. "You look like you've been rolling in the mud. Your mother's gonna chew you out."
"I'm her ward, not her Ward," I told him, irritated. It wasn't like I minded Miss Militia being my guardian, but she wasn't my mother. I'd have resented her if she'd tried; she didn't, which made me like her a bit more. Out of costume, I was told to call her Hannah. "She can't exactly fire me or stick me on monitor duty."
He chuckled. "You just keep thinking that."
He buzzed me on through.
Miss Militia was pacing in the Ward's lobby. When she saw me, the face under her mask twisted into a ferocious scowl. At times, I really regretted super senses.
"Where have you been?"
Don't show fear, women can smell fear.
Sometimes, it was a pain to have incomplete memories jammed into your head - you could never get a handle on the context, and I wasn't always sure if a joke was being played on me. "The agent didn't pick me up. I had to walk."
She looked at me for a long moment. "And the water on your clothes?"
Keep it vague, keep it vague. Women can smell lies too -
I shrugged. "Took a detour. There was a girl in the pond."
"I see," she said flatly, examining my sopping wet jacket critically. For a moment, no one spoke - even Cognit, watching from the background, had nothing to say. Finally, she let out a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around me, mud and all. "As long as you're alright, I can live with you being a little late."
"Ha- ah, Miss Militia?" I squirmed a little, trying to worm my way out of the hug. "Why wasn't I picked up? Did my driver call in sick?"
She hesitated, then sighed and let me go. "I suppose you have a right to know. Jane was - is not coming back. The Slaughterhouse are in town, and their first move was to hit the Teeth this morning. She got called in to assist right after she dropped you off."
[ Next]
Last edited: Oct 19, 2017
Origin 1.3
thatavidreader said:
Damn! Bonesaw's still innocent enough to skip stones with another kid and not kill him. Can't you save her right now????? It's so sad… a 5 year old…
Click to expand…
Click to shrink…
… Hold on to that thought.
Origin 1.3
The mood was somber. Maledict, Cognit and Landscape didn't have much to do with me at the best of times; now, they slept all day and were out all night.
With the 'real' heroes all out countering the Slaughterhouse, there was too much to do and too few people to do it. The Wards had been light on members for a long time now, and only Cognit could be considered battle ready.
Maledict could be devastating in the right scenario, but her ability was too unreliable to be used frequently. Landscape's ability had the opposite problem - it was powerful and reliable, but very slow. The time and resources required crippled him in direct combat.
They really, really needed me.
Unfortunately, I was still eight, and while they were out there fighting crime and risking their lives I was stuck in second freaking grade. Apparently Miss Militia thought that if I stayed I might be tempted to contribute instead of lazing around while people died horrible deaths.
"Not interested Taylor," I growled, trying to block her out with my workbook. I'd already filled the whole thing out; to my despair, the teacher forced me to hand the assignments in one at a time.
I don't know how, but I had no doubts that the Youth Guard were in some way responsible for this hell.
She scowled at me. "Don't be so mean! All I wanted to know was what you wanted for your birthday!"
My parents back. I put the workbook down and met her glare with one of my own. " I don't want anything. In fact, I wish I didn't have a birthday. It's been three months- I really don't care that you didn't get me a present!"
She flinched. I'd been a bit loud at the end. Some of my classmates turned to look, eyes wide.
The teacher, as usual, ignored everything I did.
"W-well, I care," she said, voice going quiet. To my alarm, her eyes were getting watery.
Damn it, I made another girl cry.
I wrestled with my pride for a moment. After a few seconds of silence, I sighed.
"Sorry," I told her. "I shouldn't have yelled."
She went from teary eyed to bright and sunny in three seconds flat. Girl would not stay down. Taylor was like one of those weighted dolls that fell and popped back up in one smooth motion.
"I forgive you!" She beamed at me with a gap toothed smile. "We're friends after all!"
"Yeah," I said uneasily, thinking of the girl from the park. "Friends."
I lied to the teacher during the last hour of class. I told her I had 'special business' to attend to with lots of meaningful eye contact and she folded like a cheap suit. Miss Tieri flinched, then nodded rapidly, announcing to the class that I had a 'family affair' to attend to.
I walked out of class without incident.
Well, without incident for now - if she talked to Miss Militia I was sunk. Abusing my rights as a parahuman affiliated with the PRT would get me a lecture whispered of only in the seventh ring of hell.
I'd rather fight the entire Slaughterhouse than get another one of those lectures. It was one of the reasons I wasted eight perfectly good hours sleeping once a week.
Much like yesterday, the park was quiet when I arrived; however this time I had to evade the occasional patrolman. For reasons unknown, the park was closed to the public today. With my abilities, it was literally child's play to evade the patrols; still, I couldn't help but worry about my companion.
I knelt down at the pond, tossing a rock up and down. The girl from before wasn't here, and there were no new tracks. I stood, watching the trees around me carefully.
I had wondered - but no, it was probably a coincidence. I threw the rock, causing it to skip across the surface once before it slammed into a tree.
Needles fell in a green shower. I glanced at my watch.
Forty five minutes until the PRT figured out I wasn't at the school. If I went back now, chances were my friend wouldn't show up anyways. I sighed, then began the long trek back.
" Josh!"
I turned towards the voice, mouth forming into a smile I couldn't quite help.
The girl from before was sprinting up to me, long blonde hair flying everywhere. The moment she stepped into the mud, her feet betrayed her. She let out a cry of alarm and slipped forward, still going at full speed. I caught her almost reflexively, whirling her around to disguise the way momentum dispersed from my telekinetic field.
"'Allo mystery girl," I said, grinning at her. She grinned back. "So you snuck out, huh? Didn't think you'd make it."
"Almost didn't," she said, settling onto her own feet. "S-My aunt almost caught me. I only just got away!"
I laughed. "Well, to preserve your cover we'd best not dunk each other in the pond. Come on."
The park had a fairly small playground, but since we were the only ones there a pair of swings was just perfect. Twice, we played impromptu games of hide and seek while patrols went past. They were surprisingly prevalent today. Still, after the first two they stopped coming completely.
At last, I glanced at my PRT approved watch and grimaced. "I have to go."
"Oh," she said, slowing down on her swing. "Okay then."
"Maybe tomorrow?" I asked, leaping off mine with an impressive (and completely mundane) leap. I made a small explosion of wood shavings when I landed.
"Right," she said unconvincingly, voice forlorn, "maybe."
"I -" Couldn't chicken out here. This was likely to be my only opportunity. Still, I hesitated; I had my suspicions, but confirmation might be worse than not knowing. "Uh -"
Heartbeat, twenty five meters behind me. A teleporter, or maybe a cloaking ability? No - Occam's razor; I simply hadn't been listening. I resisted the urge to turn and look.
"So this is where Bonesaw went off to in such a hurry," a man's voice rang out, tone suave and triumphant. My hands curled into fists all by themselves. "Siberian's been worried sick you know. Oh, and what's this? You've made a friend!"
Locked in a shelter all alone; his parents lied to him from day one.
Riley flinched and took a step back."I've - I've been good, Jack! I was going to come right back! I just - I wanted to say goodbye!"
Her reaction told me everything I needed to know. I turned, trying to immolate him with my eyes.
Unfortunately, heat vision was not one of my talents.
Too bad.
"So you're Uncle Jack," I said, shoving Josh somewhere he wouldn't get in the way; there was no time to be eight, not now. He didn't look terrifying - he actually reminded me superficially of one of my cousins. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and was wearing a wrinkled button up - business casual, if not for the bloodstained right sleeve. "I've heard a lot about you from my guardian."
"Have you now?" A spark seemed to light in his eye. It was easy to forget that this man was a mass murderer."Someone I know?"
He tortured her by bringing her parents to the brink of death, then having her heal them.
"You haven't met," I promised him. "She'd have put a bullet in your head."
I could almost see the mental calculus being performed. "Ah, I remember - the one with the flag scarf. Miss Militia - one of the few capes who've survived longer than Alexandria. Bonesaw, have you been making hero friends? Doesn't sound like you've been a good girl to me."
He did it over and over, again and again until she broke.
She shook her head frantically, looking terrified - not for herself, I realized. She was looking at me.
Her mother told her to be good. It was the last thing she -
Wood chips hummed around my feet, the building energy feeding through them uncontrollably.
"Her name," I said, voice going cold, "is Riley."
His lips thinned. Apparently, I wasn't playing by his script. His eyes flicked to Riley, a knife appearing in his hand as if by magic. "Being bad means I'll have to punish you. Of course, you know I care too much to hurt you, we're a family after all - so, I'll just have to get rid of the problem."
He punctuated the last word with a swift flick of his knife.
My collar split on either side of my throat. I looked down, pulling the ends apart with mild irritation. Riley let out a terrified squeak and covered her eyes, as though she expected me to collapse without a head.
"This was my favorite shirt," I told him. Next time I was in combat, I'd have to extend the field more evenly to protect my clothing.
Jack's eyes went wide. He blinked rapidly for a moment, then a malicious smile broke out on his face. " Interesting. I'd have never been able to tell you were a cape yourself - not even a bruise! What do you think, Bonesaw - should we bring him with us?"
He used her for years, turning her Tinker specialty to horrific pursuits; she did whatever he wanted, and he never let her go.
I took a step forward.
He watched me, eyes growing wary and heartbeat speeding up. Despite my sudden proximity, he didn't move back an inch.
Anger thrummed deep in my chest, sudden and powerful, twisting my face into a hateful snarl.
I could banter with him all I wanted, but this man didn't respect banter - at best, you'd be an actor on his stage, performing your role splendidly before bowing out at a dramatic moment.
Fuck subtle banter.
"I'm interesting, huh? You know what I'd find interesting?" I asked, baring my teeth. My next step tore up a spray of bark chips."Reaching down your throat, then hanging you from a streetlamp with your own spine !"
If anyone says I don't have issues, feel free to laugh at them. Then, point them in the direction of a psychiatrist - preferably mine.
Jack flinched. It could have been the volume, or the proximity to a high class brute, or even just the sheer creativity involved in the threat, but it was definitely there.It wasn't a major flinch - it was less in his face and more an involuntary muscle movement in the legs. Still, I saw it, and he knew it.
Jack's eyes went hard. Playtime was over. We were officially off the set; no one who saw Jack show weakness could be allowed to live. The Slaughterhouse lived and breathed reputation. Without it, they were just another band of two bit villains.
"Hatchet Face," he said calmly, knife gripped tightly in one hand, "restrain him."
Powerful, burly arms reached around me. I didn't bother resisting, letting him pull me off the ground. Riley watched from the side, eyes horrified and despairing. There was no uncertainty in them; this had played out before, and she knew exactly how it ended.
I couldn't help but feel an irrational pang of betrayal - she couldn't have warned me?
Jack took a few long steps back, presumably getting out of Hatchet Face's range.
Suppression field might be modular to a point, allowing expansion and contraction to fit a scenario.
Now that I knew he was nearby, I could feel the drain - like a straw trying to suck up the entirety of Jupiter. Despite his proximity, I couldn't hear a heartbeat.
I scowled. Apparently Riley had started her modifications on at least a few of the Nine early; either that or Hatchet Face's biology was weirder than Crawler's.
The evil smile was back - Jack had the upper hand again. Even Hatchet face was leering unpleasantly. Riley just trembled.
"See," Jack said, pacing lightly back and forth like a scolding schoolteacher, "you don't seem to understand the situation here. We're the Slaughterhouse Nine. You don't threaten the Slaughterhouse. I was going to just kill you, maybe slit your throat for the Wards to find, but now I think I've been challenged to be inventive. What did you say - by your own spine?"
Hatchet Face grabbed the back of my head, then began to squeeze. I could almost feel his puzzlement when nothing broke. He redoubled his efforts, grunting, trying to dig his fingers in, trying to do anything; nothing produced any progress whatsoever. I was blocking his efforts absolutely.
I began to pull myself, falling slowly back down to the ground. He heaved, trying to lift me, but failed and settled for a tight choke hold.
Hah. Like I needed to breathe anymore.
"You know," I said, smiling an unpleasant smile of my own, "there's a little thing you didn't take into account."
Jack narrowed his eyes, but didn't ask. Instead, he took a step back.
Petty genre-savvy asshole couldn't let me have one awesome moment.
I reached up with one arm and grasped Hatchet Face's hand. He let out a surprised grunt as I performed a sloppy judo throw with absolutely zero leverage, my field extending to give physics the middle finger.
Something struck me in the forehead, then in the back, but I ignored the feather light feeling and the man who was making them. My shirt spontaneously morphed into a mummy's rags, but at that point something as base as dignity was very far beneath my notice.
Jack switched weapons, simply dropping the knife. His new instrument was an awl, narrower and more pointed than the blade from before. The hits from it stung a bit more than the others, but the pain was still barely there.
"See," I said, baring my teeth again as I prevented Hatchet Face from moving with one foot. He struck back intelligently - aiming for my knee, for my ankle, for the leg pinning him down, but I didn't even twitch. He tried to shove me off balance, exerting his larger frame by doing this weird twisting trick with his legs, but that failed too. I had him - he wasn't getting away. "I was just imagining the conversation I would have with Riley's family, and I got a little angry."
I brought my other leg down with concrete shattering force.
Hatchet Face's head, tough as it was, was not concrete.
Fun fact of the day, I can keep blood from soaking my clothes with enough forewarning. Hatchet Face's head didn't quite explode, but things definitely crunched and flattened.I looked back at Jack, murder in my eyes, and lunged.
Jack rolled to the side in one smooth motion, but he just wasn't fast enough; one trailing ankle remained in my path.
It was a bad place to be.
The ankle snapped with a loud crack, the remaining force enough to send Jack spinning in a quick, humiliating circle. To his credit, he didn't cry out; his only reaction was a tightening around his eyes. He crawled backwards, still using only his left arm.
I turned, feeling another strike of the awl try to pierce my eye. I didn't bother blinking. He laughed, a long, manic sound, and dropped the awl for the knife once more.
This is not an exit.
"No way out," I told him, taking another step forward. I hesitated - capture or kill?
He ended the world last time; he did it from captivity.
"You won't hurt anyone else again." I promised him.
He smiled. His face was gashed from the bark, and blood was dripping into his teeth; he didn't seem to mind. "You win, kid. You're strong, you're vicious - but you aren't me."
Then he made a quick motion with the knife; I almost laughed at the futility of the gesture, then I realized he wasn't aiming at me. I tried to move in between them, but Jack's power transcended petty things like space and time. Despite all my speed and all my strength, the blow connected.
The invisible edge struck Riley on the side of her neck.
She fell like a lost puppet.
" No!"
The world froze as I moved faster than I'd ever moved before in one desperate lunge. The air congealed; moving at this speed, it barely had time to get out of the way.
Blood began to flow, a quick, vital stream. She let out a choking, gurgling cry and collapsed even as I reached down and applied pressure to the gash.
Jack laughed again. I glanced between them for a moment, then cursed and looked back to Riley. Crimson droplets welled up between my fingertips, but I didn't have time to wipe my hands off.
This isn't over. Not by a long shot.
I had one chance at doing this and less than a couple seconds to try.
He'd done this on purpose - even without his shard sense working on my powers,even working on guesswork, he'd known I would choose Riley over retaliation. A plan of action formed as my brain worked at light speed.
I reached out with my senses, feeling for the ruptured artery, then gripped it with my field. There was a delicate balance between strength and pressure - the edges had to be pulled and glued together, but in such a way that I didn't make the damage worse.
I had never done it successfully; preliminary testing on fruit had made fruit salad, and the stakes had never been higher. I stilled my mind and accelerated my thoughts. I had to do it, and I had to do it right the first time - there were no do overs with Riley's life.
I twitched two fingers; I performed it perfectly and with precision. The two neatly severed edges met, forming a seamless whole, and I held them that way.
The blood flow stopped instantly, the flood of red subsiding to a mere trickle. I breathed a sigh of relief and stood, lifting her with me as I did. Riley was unconscious - she needed urgent medical attention. The school was too far; my clamp was only as perfect as I was, and we'd still have to wait for the ambulance to arrive.
I turned back to Jack, sheltering Riley with my body, only to find he had passed out. He was unconscious - injured, defenseless. I glanced at Riley, then took a step towards him.
If I had to kill him with Riley in my arms, so be it. Jack could not win.
A woman in black and white stepped out of the trees behind them. I froze; I knew exactly who she was. We stared at one another for a long moment as she assessed the situation, obviously making the same choice I had.
"I'll be back for her," she promised, walking calmly to Jack and lifting him. She had no heartbeat, I noticed numbly. "You won't take her from me again."
I could have fought her. I didn't know which power was stronger; she'd taken out Alexandria's eye, but I'd be willing to test it at least once.
I could fight her - but I couldn't do it holding Riley.
Kill Jack, save the world - and let Riley die.
If I fought, I'd need both hands, and Riley would bleed out.
There was only one choice I could make.
I let the Siberian leave, Jack cradled in her arms like the world's ugliest baby.
I'll get back to saving the world later.
A regular hospital was out; I didn't want to draw the Siberian to a hospital full of civilians. The PRT infirmary was my best bet, but I didn't know Riley's status - if she was recognized and had a kill order on her head already, she would be shot out of hand.
I needed Hannah, and I needed her now.
I began to run.
[ Next]
Last edited: Nov 2, 2015
Origin 1.4
Alright, I only proofread it twice but I think I got the worst errors. Will post the Ward's profiles after.
Origin 1.4
The PRT building was more full of life than I'd ever seen. From the street it looked like someone had driven a bulldozer through the front lobby, though the melted edges told a different story. PRT troopers patrolled the street, extinguishing the burning cars and searching rubble.
Guess the rest of the Nine have been busy.
I swerved around behind the building, checking Riley's condition every couple of seconds. She was very pale - for someone of her stature, losing that much blood could be lethal. I didn't have much time.
There were no less than five guards at the back, four of which I didn't recognize. They raised their guns. I tightened my grip on Riley and readied myself; there was no way I was turning around now.
"Hold!" the fifth man said in a panicky voice, stepping in front of the others. "Hold up! That's Josh! He lives here!"
"I need to get to the infirmary," I told him, eyes meeting his. He was one of the men that had brought me in; he knew what I was capable of.
"Jesus kid, what happened to you?" Kevin asked, gaping at my blood-soaked attire.
"The Nine happened," I told him, an edge of frustration entering my voice. "Jack stabbed her in the neck, and she doesn't have time for a full debriefing - we need to get blood in her and close the cut before I lose my grip on the artery. So, if you'll be so kind as to open the door before I walk through it?"
It wasn't an idle threat and Kevin knew it. He sighed, rubbing his brow, and tapped a couple keys on the keypad.
One of the extraneous PRT people walked in with me - apparently, they weren't taking any chances. I suppose it was lucky there were no Heartbreaker-spawned body snatchers on the Nine's roster; Master/Stranger protocols would have made this impossible.
The infirmary was on floor three, and the elevator wasn't working. With every step, I had to simultaneously balance Riley in such a way that she didn't jostle and hold the invisible suture closed by not moving my fingers at all.
It was tough, and Riley whimpered at a couple rough spots, but we managed it.
The infirmary wasn't as full as I'd estimated; the reason for that probably had to do with both Crawler and the Siberian's proclivities. Still, it was currently a chaotic mess of screaming patients and shouting nurses.
The morgue was probably even busier.
I shoved the dark thoughts aside and glanced around, looking for a lab coat or an ID badge I recognized.
Doctor Trent was a middle-aged man, reasonably clean cut with rather boring brown hair. I could honestly say I hadn't seen him around much - doctor checkups were pretty hard when you couldn't take blood samples and the subject didn't pee - but I knew him well enough that he wouldn't just walk past me.
"Trent!" I called. "Doctor! I need some help over here, right now!"
He gaped at me. "Mother of God, are you alright?"
I suppressed a twinge of irritation. "I'm fine, I'm practically invincible, now please take a look at Riley."
He nodded decisively, professionalism settling in. He gestured to an empty cot and flagged down a nurse. "What happened?"
"She has a cut carotid," I told him, laying her down on a bed. "I'm holding it closed with telekinesis. If I move my hand, it comes undone."
"How long ago?" Trent asked, giving her a thorough once-over.
"About eight minutes," I admitted anxiously. "It took me longer than I thought it would to get through security and she lost some blood before I could get it closed."
"Move aside. I need room. Keep the pressure on." I complied, watching with queasy fascination as he probed the injury. He pressed a tiny white device to her finger. It made a tiny hissing noise, then beeped. "Nurse! Get me a unit of tech-suture and a half liter of -" Trent glanced down at the device "-type A positive blood!"
One of the nurses attending him nodded and sprinted off, returning a moment later with pack of blood and a plastic tube marked 'Organic Sealant.' He took the tube, letting the nurse rig the needle.
"What is that stuff?" I asked, morbidly curious. He unscrewed the cap, then gently pushed past my fingers to apply it directly to the cut. The color was a bright yellow; it reminded me of Neosporin.
"Tinker tech," he answered, looking mildly offended by the innocuous container. "Basically an improved version of superglue. Doesn't stop Toybox for charging the Protectorate an arm and a leg for it; I hear the Protectorate spends more than a fourth of its budget on medical supplies. It makes it damn hard to hire more staff. You can let go now. It's been ten seconds; it'll have hardened."
Despite his assurances I was incredibly reluctant to release her, but I did; to my vast relief, there was no immediate arterial spray.
"Beats the hell out of stitching, especially when its something tricky and high flow like an artery. You did good kid - girl that young, she doesn't have that much blood in her."
No immediate crisis presented itself; emotions, long held at bay, crashed down with shattering force. I turned and wrapped my arms around him. The room was too blurry to really see anything, so I closed my eyes.
"Thank you," I mumbled, my voice muffled by the lab coat. "Thank you - I thought she was going to die, and then - thank you."
"Hey - whoa!" He patted my head, looking uncomfortable. "Just doing what I can - no need to go all waterworks on my favorite coat. She'll be fine, but I need to replace the blood she lost. In the meantime, you should go check with your mother - she's in the back."
"She's not my -" I began, then I froze as I realized the implications of that last sentence. I let him go and started to walk, ignoring whatever he shouted after me.
The PRT's infirmary was of decent size, containing four separate sections that took up an entire floor. While dealing with disease or other contagious effects, the lab section and one of the two patient wards could be sealed off with their own internal air supply.
It meant it was a long walk. I tried to ignore the smell of blood as best I could, but my enhanced senses didn't work that way.
Miss Militia's bed was the furthest from the door and the curtain was drawn. Dread pooled in my stomach. I could hear the steady beeping of a heartrate monitor as well as the rhythmic hiss of a ventilator. I reached out and parted the heavy plastic -
-and came face to face with a gigantic gun.
Miss Militia stared at me for a moment, then sighed and lowered the assault rifle. "Told the nurses not to let anyone come in without knocking. Should've known you'd just barge right in without asking."
"You're alright!" I said, unable to contain the exuberant smile that spread across my face. She had a long, bandaged slice along her cheekbone and her costume was covered in soot, but she seemed otherwise intact.
"Of course I'm alright," she said, smiling wanly and gesturing to the bed. "I had Armsmaster looking after me."
I glanced down.
"Oh," I said, cheerfulness dying. Armsmaster was most certainly not alright; from the circling stitches around his right bicep, someone had sliced his arm off. Without his signature mask, his face seemed to lose a lot of it's dignity; the hospital domino just didn't cut it.
"He was using a cutlass. That hit would have opened me up from stomach to sternum if he hadn't shoved me out of the way," Miss Militia said quietly. "They aren't sure how much use he'll get out of it now. Jack's power cut it very cleanly, but the doctors are worried about the time it took to reattach it."
"Jack did this?" I asked, staring down at the sleeping Tinker.
I didn't spend much time with Armsmaster - he chased me away whenever he was building something, saying I was a disruptive influence, and since he was always building something it was hard to talk to the man. Still, knowing I had seen Jack only minutes after…
"He'll be fine," I reassured her, swallowing a lump of guilt. "If it doesn't work right he'll just make a robot arm and power through."
Miss Militia nodded, then smiled wanly. "I avenged him - put a bullet right in Jack's shoulder."
I mentally debated the merits of claiming to be the bigger badass in the room, but ultimately decided it wasn't the time. "Who - who did we lose?"
She sighed, standing up so she could peer out at the infirmary. "The PRT took about eighteen casualties. Apart from Armsmaster, the Protectorate itself was only lightly injured - they retreated when Jack got hit, used the Siberian to hold us off till the rest got clear. It's not all bad though - the Butcher took his inner circle and got out of town."
"What about the Nine?" I asked intently. "What's their current roster?"
"Hmm," she gave me a shrewd look, as if she could tell I was hiding something. "Winter was killed by the Butcher during the Nine's debut. I shot Skinslip myself, though I wouldn't call that a real loss; he didn't bring much to the Nine. They still have their core - Jack, Hatchet Face, the Siberian, and Crawler; they also have a clown named Chuckles and a cape named Screamer."
"That's only eight, not including the one they were recruiting." I reminded her.
She nodded, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Yeah. Last one's a bit of an unknown - don't have much on her, she hasn't been with the Nine for long and no one's really seen her. Tinker named Bonesaw - made some really hardy enhancements to Skinslip. It took me three shots with a grenade launcher to keep him from getting back up."
I winced. I had been hoping - but no, I suppose it was inevitable. Now to make a smooth exit. "Right. I'm going to - uh, visit a friend."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "I think I should meet this friend."
… Busted. So, so busted.
I'm telling you they can smell deception.
"Her name's Riley," I told her quietly, standing by the bed. The curtains were drawn now, giving us the illusion of privacy. "Jack had been keeping her captive for her abilities."
"You mean to say," Miss Militia said levelly, each word drawn out in a way that spelled the doom of my personal freedom, "that you snuck out of school, abused your status as a parahuman and knowingly aided a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine?"
It was amazing how terrifying she could be without raising her voice in the slightest.
"I wouldn't put it quite like that," I said, wincing. "I didn't know she was a member of the Slaughterhouse. I mean, with the information I had I thought she might be being abused or something!"
At least at first. I figured that one out real quick.
Miss Militia wasn't buying it. She sighed, rubbing her face wearily. "Bonesaw didn't just enhance the other members you know; she's also suspected of performing autopsies on captured capes while they were alive. She has a kill order on her head - we should at least handcuff her."
"Her name's not Bonesaw," I told her, my hand tightening on the metal railing of the bed. It screeched tortuously under my grip. "Her name is Riley. Jack didn't just kidnap her from her home - Jack made her trigger. Jack tortured her parents, bringing them to the edge of death over and over again until she she was too tired to heal them any more."
She grimaced. "Even if she was forced to do it, she was with the Nine for months. There's no possibly way she doesn't have feelings for them by now - older, wiser heads have fallen to Stockholms than hers. They'll want to imprison her at the least."
"She's six," I hissed. I didn't realize I'd stood until the screeching of metal announced that the railing had been pulled off it's frame. "She triggered younger than I did, and I started out my career by killing five people."
"The circumstances were different. You were forced to kill in self defense." She hesitated, probably seeing the flaw in that argument. Anyone who refused the Slaughterhouse Nine didn't live long. "Also, the victims - well -"
"Go ahead," I told her furiously, looking down at Riley's sleeping form before meeting her eyes. "Say it; I killed a band of worthless druggies, members of the Teeth, and she killed someone that the Protectorate cares about, so I get a second chance and she gets stuck in some hellhole until the government decides she's old enough to shoot in the head."
There's no Birdcage here - not yet.
"They won't let her go," I whispered, all energy draining out of me. "They can't. They'll try her as an adult for multiple murders with a parahuman ability. If it gets out she's a biological tinker - it's only been four years since Nilbog and she was a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine. The public would be terrified. They'll turn her into a scapegoat and sacrifice her without a thought."
Miss Militia began to pace up and down the other side of the bed. Finally, she let out a frustrated noise and threw her hands up. "I can't believe I'm considering this. What you're asking me to do violates all my beliefs, all my oaths to the Protectorate. I want you to know what a terrible position you're putting me in. One word about her identity reaching the wrong ears - just one - and they'll lock me away and throw away the key, you understand that?"
I nodded, hope blossoming in my chest. She seemed to be waiting for me to speak, so I choked out an affirmation.
Miss Militia muttered something angry in a foreign language and left, stepping away from the bed and moving back down the hall. Presumably she was going to check on Armsmaster again.
"Like I'd let them put you in jail," I told her retreating form very quietly before laying my head down on the bed.
I didn't need sleep, but I think I'd like to rest.
I don't dream anymore; not like I used to. When I sleep, there's a sort of centering that goes on. I see myself surrounded by everyone and everything I care about in a tangled, fractal mess. I see everything I've done and everything I want to do, all in a few moments of REM.
It's the closest to being judged by God that I've ever come to.
I woke up to alarms and running feet. For one wild moment I thought we were sunk, that Miss Militia had told and they'd sent someone for Riley, but no team of men with assault rifles burst through the door. Riley was still asleep, her skin a healthier pink. I let out a sigh of relief.
Something exploded a few doors down the corridor, plastic ripping and tearing. I turned, opening the blinds and stepping out just as there was an awful shrieking noise.
She hadn't bothered with the door; much like I'd threatened Kevin with earlier, she'd simply walked through it.
The Siberian was here.
I hate ironic reversals.
The moment she saw me her lips peeled back in a hateful snarl and she lunged. She was fast - luckily for me, I was much faster. I sidestepped, resisting the urge to yell 'Toro!' and wave a red blanket. She crashed into a cart of medical supplies, sending instruments everywhere before rebounding.
"Where is she?!" Siberian roared, closely resembling her namesake. There was a touch of inhumanity in the expression - something wild and furious.
I was surrounded by possible hostages who didn't have my invulnerability. Any fight in here would get people killed or, in the case of Riley, kidnapped again to be the Nine's mad scientist. I made my decision instantly, a plan of attack forming as my powers told me exactly what to say.
"Who knows?" I said casually, kicking a chunk of broken door at her. She dodged, but it was a close thing. The metallic shard sunk an inch into the wall, literally a foot away from a wide-eyed patient. "If you weren't so slow, maybe I'd tell you where they took her!"
She let out another inhuman roar and exploded into movement, but I was closer to the door and much faster.
Thus, the game of anthropomorphised tiger and superpowered mouse began.
I didn't bother with the elevator. I ran up the stairs in leaping bounds, the Siberian on my tail. As we climbed, she began to move slower and slower, until finally she just stopped and screamed impotently.
I stopped, about six feet above her. "Something wrong? At the end of your leash? Too bad - who knows what the government will do, especially to a bio-Tinker and a member of the Nine."
"I'm going to kill you," she/it/he hissed, baring long, vicious teeth, "then I'm going to eat you, then I'll kill and eat everyone you've ever loved!"
She jumped, clearing the next few stairs, but I dodged again and the chase resumed.
"Your threats need work!" I taunted as I climbed in leaping bounds, "just ask Jack for pointers. He, at least, said the right things - before I started breaking his limbs anyways."
The projection's range had extended - Manton was on the move. If the stupid alarms weren't blaring I could try tracking heartbeats, but with so much noise and so many people moving around it was virtually impossible to separate things.
When we reached the roof, I didn't bother opening the door, electing instead to crash through it. The rooftop was a large, flat area with a helipad for emergencies - in other words, perfect for a highly mobile combatant.
If the Siberian had any input on the location, she didn't voice it; I wasn't sure if she could. Manton had to be pushing pretty hard to get himself closer, and from the frenzied look in her eye he wasn't in a good mood.
She darted at me; I lunged to the side, coming up again smoothly. We circled.
"So," I said, tone conversational, "where's Jackie at?"
She snarled at me, weaving left and right, searching for an opening.
"Docks?" I asked, watching her face carefully. "Boardwalk? Maybe the ceme - whoa there!"
I evaded the overhand slash of her fingers by a thin margin. Manton was getting closer; consequently, his doll was getting faster. I only needed to keep her just out of reach a little longer.
"You seem to have some temper issues," I told her, smiling unpleasantly. "Have you thought about getting help? There are support groups for that you know."
She narrowed her eyes and paused her assault. With one hand, she reached down and pried out a support girder. The whole structure of the helipad groaned and shuddered for a moment, then it was free - and about fifteen feet long. She raised it to the side like a massive sword. I could almost see the air parting for it - she'd extended her invulnerability to the whole steel bar.
"Oh," I muttered, "this is going to su-"
I cut off as I jumped backwards, but she had plenty of time to readjust. I yelped as the physically inviolable steel girder swept just over my hair, nearly taking my head off with it. I rolled, evading an overhand attack that shattered concrete into tiny, tiny chunks.
I was near the door. Manton would have to be close by - no doubt somewhere on the floor below us.
Then Maledict came up the stairs.
The Siberian saw her, then smiled and threw the girder like a javelin.
Not again!
I leapt in between the two of them, taking the impact easily. With one powerful slap I dissipated the remnant of the Siberian's influence and tossed the now warped girder to the side. Maledict let out a squeak of shock and fell backwards, safely out of the way.
Then the Siberian was on me. One hand grasped my throat, another punched me in the gut, then she just lifted me into the air. I tried to grip the ground as I'd done with hatchet face, but something was interfering with my control.
"Talk," she snarled.
"Or you'll kill me?" I asked, smiling mirthlessly.
She was strong - almost as strong as I was. If I was Alexandria, she might be able to choke the air out of me this way; luckily, I had no such weakness. I reached out with my field, trying to get a grip on her, but as soon as I did the field inexplicably dissipated.
I blinked and tried again, but it was like trying to cover oil with water; the Siberian's body just rejected the external force and continued on her way.
"No," she said, baring her teeth in a smile of her own. "I'll simply ask her - maybe she knows."
An icy hand grasped my heart. I glanced back at Maledict.
My eyes widened.
The Atchisson Assault Shotgun, generally known as the AA12, is a fully automatic shotgun developed for its ability to put shots downrange at high speed. When it was necessary, the AA12 could fire at over three hundred rounds per minute; unfortunately, its clip size held only thirty two rounds.
Apparently, no one had told Miss Militia.
She held the trigger down in an unending wave of sound, pellets striking the Siberian and I repeatedly. It didn't do much more than tickle, but the Siberian, it seemed, did not like being tickled. She snarled, trying to use me as a shield, or maybe a hostage, but I was having none of that.
With all the power I could generate, I brought my hand down on the Siberian's elbow.
The moment we collided, there was an instant of horrible blinding pain-
Then, I was through - my hand literally went through her elbow. There was no blood - everything that got disconnected from the main body simply dissolved into bluish mist.
She staggered back, shocked. Even Miss Militia seemed surprised for a moment. The combat paused as everyone nearby reevaluated my Brute rating.
The Siberian grimaced, and her arm seemed to reform from nothingness.
"You're a projection!" I said loudly as if just realizing, ignoring the stinging of the skin on my hand. It looked like a bad sunburn. Considering how tough my skin was, that was mildly terrifying. "The real you must be nearby!"
Miss Militia shook her head, tapping her earpiece.
They're starting to search.
I scowled at her.
Leave me and go already. I've got this.
The Siberian froze, then snarled and lunged for me again.
I readied myself to dodge -
- then she exploded into blue smoke and disappeared.
I blinked, looking at Miss Militia. She looked back, as bewildered as I was.
I turned around to find Maledict with her eyes shut tightly and her lips moving as if in prayer.
"Oh damn it Maledict," I groaned, kneeling down next to her. "Did you do what I think you just did?"
"The energy cost to reaching the projection was too high," she said, eyes still closed. It always dilated her eyes when she used her ability; we weren't sure why. "I told it to hurt the Master."
Miss Militia let the shotgun dissipate, turning it back into a pistol. She sounded pissed. "Except you don't know who the Master was, or where the master is, or what exactly-!"
BOOM .
The noise reverberated throughout the complex like the toll of a massive bell.
I sighed. "From that loud crashing noise, I would guess he was in an elevator."
We had to go to the ground floor for a full report.
Long story short, Manton got away.
We found the remains of a wheelchair in the rubble; we weren't sure if it was his or one he borrowed to avoid suspicion. There was blood on the side of the wall, but not nearly enough for me to believe he died. He must have called the projection back to him the moment he realized he was in trouble.
My personal forensic analysis told me that Maledict had broken something in his wheelchair, causing him to fall and slam his head into the railing. Faulty elevator maintenance had met recent damage, causing things to snap that weren't supposed to snap and the elevator to fall eight floors to its early retirement.
All total, a single use of her ability had incapacitated one dangerous parahuman and injured eight people with the shrapnel, plus the impromptu earthquake that had overturned medical trays and woken up patients.
Still, I was the one that got grounded.
Life was unfair.
[ Next]
Last edited: May 13, 2017
Interlude 1
Lo and behold, a brace of three interludes. Not quite happy with some of the dialogue, but I revised it five times and its time for bed. If it sounds off, please point out specific sections so I can work on the tone.
Enjoy _
Origin 1.41 - Interlude
"You lied to him."
Miss Militia looked up, mouth quirking into a small smile. Armsmaster's eyes were open, though cloudy; he was obviously on heavy painkilllers. "You were awake?"
"Until you left," he affirmed, eyes closing again. "I heard the whole conversation. You didn't tell him why there were so few heroes here, why Jack didn't think there was enough fun to keep going."
Miss Militia grimaced, looking down at her hands. "If I told him the Simurgh was hitting Sphere's habitat he would have tried to go. I couldn't risk it; you know how headstrong Josh is when he thinks he's being heroic."
Armsmaster made a low noise of agreement, eyes still closed. For a moment, things were silent. "You're doing a good job with him."
"I can't claim total credit," she said, smiling. "He's a good kid. He's got so much power; I'm not sure I'd have been half as responsible with it at his age."
Armsmaster didn't respond. She waited a moment, then noted the steady rise and fall of his chest; he was sleeping. For a long minute, she was content to watch him.
Her pager went off silently, vibrating against her hip. She turned it off and glanced at the display; it was the Director. Apparently someone from the Youth Guard was here, and they wouldn't leave without talking to her.
This wasn't going to be fun. Miss Militia pulled the thin hospital sheets up over Armsmaster, brushing his hair out of his face with one hand. He mumbled sleepily, but didn't wake up. She left as silently as she could.
Walking past the now empty cots, she paused at Bone- Riley's bed. Josh was there again, leaning on the mattress with his eyes closed. Lying underneath the cot was the destroyed rail, warped in the shape of a small hand and forgotten in the chaos. It was easy to forget, when they were like this, that they were parahumans.
She doubted, deep inside, that the PRT would really kill a child - yet, that didn't matter. What mattered was that Josh thought they would, and if they tried to take Riley from him - even just to put her on trial - Hannah knew exactly what he would do.
He'd lost so much already; he wouldn't risk losing any more. He would fight, and there was no one who could stand in his way - outside of the Triumvirate. Josh would become a one man Endbringer fight, an S-class threat of his own. Whatever the result, there would be no winners, and she would be damned if she saw the child she considered her child become a monster.
The situation would have to be handled with care. Keeping it a secret wasn't viable in the long run. She would have to come up with a plan, and whatever she did conflict with Josh was inevitable.
But then, she was the one meant to take care of him; conflict was always inevitable.
Resolve firming, she let the curtain dropped and continued on. The Director's office was a floor up on an administrative level; the hallway outside was pandemonium, power tools and running feet making the floor reverberate with sound, but the inside of the office was a bastion of order.
Director Howard had been lightly injured in the battle from a stray explosive. Still, judging by the way he was administrating, the bandaged head wound hadn't slowed him in the slightest. He'd been Director of arguably the most hostile city in the Northeast for more than eight long years, and it showed.
"Director," Miss Militia called. "You wanted to see me?"
Howard opened his mouth to reply, but the other person in the room beat him to it.
"No, I wanted to see you," the stranger said, turning to face her. He was a portly man, about 5'1, face red with either anger or the exertion of using the stairs; Miss Militia towered over him. "I've heard some disturbing things, and I've come to find the truth of the matter."
"I'll be happy to assist," she said politely. She hadn't seen him during the scheduled Guard visits, but judging from the stains on his pants he wasn't having a very good day. "What kind of questions did you have?"
"For one, the whereabouts of Cognit," he said, slamming a folder down on the desk. "I've been getting a distinct lack of cooperation from this branch, and that ends now."
"Cognit has been deployed for Thinker support," Miss Militia said smoothly, hiding her irritation behind the mask of her scarf. Despite her best efforts, her eyes tightened. "It was a volunteer only operation, and he was not coerced in any way. His parents signed the waiver, he is in very little danger, and the rest is classified."
Simurgh battles usually were, after all. The Director sighed, cracking open a suspicious brown bottle; from the looks of it, it wasn't the first time today. "If it's classified, John, it's classified."
"Classified." John snorted disbelievingly. "Fine. Let's talk about Landscape's injuries fighting the goddamn Slaughterhouse Nine."
Howard took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. They didn't seem to notice.
"Landscape was injured as a result of the initial assault," Miss Militia countered, scowling. "As soon as we realized the Nine were attacking, we prioritized the Ward's removal from the combat zone; his injuries were light, unavoidable, and he will soon recover."
He opened his mouth again, but she rode right over whatever he was about to say. "As for Maledict, she is not, in fact, on the Ward's roster; technically, she is a Ward Associate until sixteen, as her power is too dangerous to be used in the pursuit of capturing non-parahuman threats and we do not use Wards in higher threat scenarios. The extent of her involvement was a single use of her power to shut down the Siberian, and the consequences were… expensive. I can assure you that it was not PRT sanctioned."
"Oh?" He sneered, stepping closer and raising his voice. "I see what's going on here. Not on the roster, is she? That's convenient - means you don't have to obey any regulations. I heard about the other kid; I know exactly what you're doing."
Miss Militia raised her eyebrows, trying to still the roiling anger she was feeling. Director Howard had the face of a man watching a train slam into a stalled fuel tanker - horrified, and yet fascinated. "Please, enlighten me."
"Even I can tell that's a trap." Howard muttered, putting the bottle away. The other two ignored him.
John pointed one finger at her triumphantly. "You're trying to minimize the influence the Youth Guard have over your charges! I've heard what that kid's like - the soldiers call him Tyrant and brag about his body count! The Protectorate is trying to wear these kids down, mold them before they get into the Wards, turn them into your own personal child soldiers -"
The gun at her side morphed; it's new form was a PSS silent pistol, fielded by the KGB and complete with its own brand of ammunition. She could fire it as many times as she wanted and no one would hear a thing. She very pointedly did not aim it at him.
"Ah, Ha- ah, Miss Militia," Director Howard stammered, as the Youth Guard associate went completely white.
She dropped all pretense of politeness. Her voice went deadly cold. "He is not a child soldier. We do not, nor have we ever tried to 'wear our Wards down.' The one you're calling Tyrant is my son and if you think you can get away with advancing your agenda by pigeonholing him as some sort of psychopath you're dead wrong."
With every cutting word, the Youth Guard representative flinched backwards until she was basically looming over him; at the last sentence, he tripped over the chair behind him and landed on his back. He scooted backwards until he was against the wall, staring at the gun in her hand with terrified eyes.
"Miss Militia," Director Howard said, voice firm. "Please holster your gun. John, I'm going to have to insist you leave. We have answered your questions as best as we can, and we have complied with existing Youth Guard policies. If you have any questions about non-Ward personnel, please forward them to Child Protective Services."
John stood, brushing himself off. The fear on his expression faded, replaced by a belligerent scowl. "You should keep your attack dog on a shorter leash, Director. You haven't heard the last of this - I'll have sanctions brought against every last one of you!"
With that, he fled. There was silence in the office for a moment.
Director Howard rubbed his forehead. "That wasn't very productive Hannah. I know John can be a real ass, but he does good - well, he - in any case, there's no need to shoot him," he finished lamely.
"If I don't direct it my gun changes based on the current situation," she said coolly. "It's well documented, and he was obviously hostile enough to pass the threshold; he won't have a leg to stand on if he reports it."
He visibly considered the merits of pressing the issue, but the glint in her eyes told him not to push his luck.
"Regardless of your justification, I think I see a court case in our future." Director Howard tapped the keyboard, sighing again when it didn't turn on. "Now, I want your report, since nothing seems to be working today."
"Yes sir. We believe we have foiled the Nine's plan in this area. Preliminary briefing suggested they were after at least two targets for recruitment; the first target being Butcher, who we know escaped. The second probable target was Maledict, who we still have under observation. Afterwards, I suspect a third target -" She hesitated, then continued. "From my observations, the third target was likely Josh. He's in the infirmary with his friend now, and I seriously doubt the effectiveness of any plan attempting to target him directly."
"Thank God they failed to capture Maledict," Director Howard uttered fervently, then he grimaced. "We believe there may be a fourth target. We realized it only after they left, but the whereabouts of Darkhorse are currently unknown, and the remnants of the Nine appear to be following his trail."
Miss Militia stiffened. Darkhorse was an S-class threat for a reason - he left a clear trail of devastation whenever he used his abilities, yet despite everything they had no pictures, eyewitness accounts, or even blurry camera footage. They only knew his name because he took the time to carve it in the walls before he left.
"That would be -" cataclysmic "- bad."
"Whatever the case," Director Howard said, settling back in his chair with a groan of relief, "the Nine appear to be retreating from Brockton Bay, and thus aren't our problem anymore. They took serious casualties here, and more importantly a massive blow to their reputation. Due to his age and lack of a, ah, real cape name we won't publish Josh's involvement, but we can definitely say the Siberian was defeated by a new trigger. It's close enough to the truth that no one will cry foul."
"About Maledict," Miss Militia began delicately, "I realize she violated the terms of her parole, but -"
"In this case, I'd say it was justified," Director Howard promised her. "In fact, if it didn't set a bad example I'd commend her for her quick thinking. The information recovered from that battle with the Siberian puts us closer to defeating the Nine than we've been since she joined. I hear we'll also have to modify Josh's power ratings?"
It was Miss Militia's turn to grimace. Higher ratings meant higher expectations; higher expectations meant more danger. "Yeah. He cut right through the Siberian's projection. Didn't help much, she just reformed, but his only injury was a burned hand. Seeing as how Alexandria lost an eye, comparatively -"
"Alexandria's only a 9. He's Brute 10 at least," Director Howard agreed, looking marginally more cheerful. "I'll have to tell Costa Brown. He's going to be a right terror when he hits puberty; think I'll retire when he enters the Wards. Needs a good cape name though - something serious but inspiring."
"If he could fly we'd call him Alexander," Miss Militia responded, grinning. They shared a laugh; they both remembered that week. A thought seemed to strike him; his smile turned malicious.
"On a more serious note," Howard said slyly, opening a folder and handing her a stack of papers. "I got these in the mail, apparently at his request."
"These are - but he knows he can't transfer out, so why would he -?" Miss Militia said, at a loss for words as she scanned the documents. " College?"
"I asked a couple days ago, and according to him he wants to take night classes since he doesn't sleep much," the Director said, smiling. "He's industrious, I'll give him that; his Thinker rating might get a bump too if he keeps performing like he did on the placement exam. He doesn't care if he has to be in two schools at once, long as he gets to meet with his friends occasionally."
She narrowed her eyes at the offending acceptance letter.
They were going to have a talk when she saw him again - a long, drawn out lecture about warning your guardian ahead of time before making life changing decisions.
Origin 1.42 - Interlude 2, Jack Slash
Jack grimaced at his ankle's persistent throbbing. The commandeered boat had a well stocked first aid kit, but without a doctor on board the duty of setting the bone had fallen to Screamer. Supposedly, she had prior medical experience.
He seriously doubted that. Her bedside manner was… lacking.
Still, nothing hurt quite so much as the pain of losing.
Skinslip and Winter were acceptable losses; Bonesaw was definitely not.
Unfortunately, there was literally nothing they could do to get her back; they simply didn't have the firepower to stop that ridiculously powerful child. Jack had searched the local news for his cape name, but there was no one nearby with that sort of sheer durability.
Siberian had returned with an unconscious PRT soldier - presumably for a snack, or maybe interrogation - and a coffin-shaped crate with air holes. When asked, she bared her teeth and indicated 'personal.'
No one pressed the issue.
As if Jack didn't know who was inside.
They were leaving for now, a shameful retreat after being bloodied. The hit to their reputation would be massive, yet they were not defeated. They'd be back.
Oh yes, Jack thought, watching the shrinking lights of Brockton Bay from the sailing ship's deck. Chuckles laughed from below, an odd, not-quite-human noise. We'll be back. But for now - well, Canada sounds nice this time of year.
Origin 1.43 - Interlude 3, Rebecca Costa-Brown
"You're sure this is correct?" Director Costa-Brown asked, staring at the report in her hands.
"Absolutely," Howard told her, voice crackling. They were still replacing damaged phone lines. "Miss Militia witnessed it herself - he went right through her arm. The Siberian's a projection. We're working on a blood sample recovered from the Master now."
She nodded slowly. "I'm tentatively approving his upgrade to Brute 10. For now, work on keeping his involvement a secret; we do not need the bad publicity if its found out an eight year old slipped out on our watch to fight the Slaughterhouse Nine."
"It might be a bit late for that," Howard admitted. "The Youth Guard has been-"
"Let me handle the Youth Guard," Rebecca interjected, "you just focus on Mr. Daniels and rebuilding the tower. Also - get him a new cape name. I'll have a planner call you within the week."
"Yes ma'am," he said, recognizing the dismissal in her voice.
For a long minute Rebecca sat there in her dark office, thoughts whirling rapidly through hypothesis after hypothesis as her fingers drummed violently on her desk.
She knew Cauldron's plans for Manton; it had taken Contessa to convince her not to tell the world his secrets, and if Contessa was involved -
Her thoughts cut short. If Contessa was involved, then she'd either been lied to, or…
Rebecca pressed a button underneath her desk. The blinds closed, steel shutters lowering behind them even as the door locked and a signal jammer spread across the office. She dressed quickly, pulling on her iconic costume. No one would enter while she had the privacy beacon lit, especially not so soon after an Endbringer attack.
She finished, pushing the mask into place.
"Door me," Alexandria told the dark office, her quiet voice going almost entirely unobserved.
Almost.
A moment later, the room was empty, privacy screen still humming faintly. It would be hours before she was back to turn it off.
Last edited: May 9, 2019
Origin 1.5
Sorry for the lateness. I didn't like how the chapter flow went, so I redid it over and over till I was sick of writing it and quit XD
I'm reasonably sure it's better than the first three attempts. Reasonably.
Origin 1.5
There was a debriefing; it came later than I expected it to, but there was one. For some reason, Miss Militia was nervous - she made me change clothes and broke three combs on my hair. Despite my best attempt at pestering the knowledge out of her, she wouldn't tell me why.
The first thing I noticed upon arriving was that we weren't using the Director's office.
This was the other room, the spare - the room I'd been admitted to when I first arrived at the PRT building. Something clenched in my chest at the sight of it. Miss Militia gave no outward sign of her displeasure, but I had seen her at her angriest; at this point, she was beyond fury.
I began to formulate scenarios. This was obviously a psychological ploy - unless it wasn't. Malice or ignorance?
Director Howard was sitting in front of the desk, not behind it. There was one other chair, presumably for Miss Militia.
If he wasn't in charge here, then it was safe to say a guest had chosen the meeting point. It would have to be someone important, someone from out of town who didn't have an office of their own. Ignorance was more likely, but malice was still a possibility.
"Director," Miss Militia began, voice like liquid hydrogen, "I was told your office was undamaged. Is there a reason we're having the debriefing here instead?"
Howard looked very out of touch with the whole scenario; he'd never been a particularly robust man, reminding me oddly of my grandfather, but right now he was positively sweating nervousness. "Ah, yes, surprise visitor from headquarters, really last minute -"
"Who?" Miss Militia asked, narrowing her eyes.
Heartbeats - plural. I didn't know where they'd come from - one moment there were three of us, the next there were five hearts beating within ten meters. I suspected a teleporter.
"Me," a smooth, cultured tone rang out as the door opened. I didn't turn; I could see her just fine, and it was safer this way. She was tall and athletic looking even in a monkey suit, her long black hair pinned up in an immaculate bun at the back of her head. "I apologize for the abruptness of the meeting. I didn't want to take over your Director's office, and the board room is currently being reconstructed."
"Chief Director Costa Brown," Miss Militia stated, mostly for my benefit. I froze, suddenly glad I hadn't turned around yet, and began to carefully manipulate my body language to one of nervous shyness.
That's Alexandria you're in the room with!
Fully composed at last, I turned, eyeing the second woman curiously. She had short black hair and features that pointed to either Spanish or Italian heritage; I wasn't sure what she was doing here, honestly. Could the Chief Director of the PRT really be so busy she had to bring an aid with her?
Alexandria - no, Costa-Brown noticed me looking and smiled. It was an expression every bit as fake as my expression was - a product of superior decision making and precise motor skills, showing exactly what she wanted and nothing else. She kneeled down, putting herself at my level; with anyone else, I would have said it was them being nice, but from her this too was a form of manipulation. "I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Rebecca, and this is my secretary Alex."
"I'm Josh," I said brightly, extending my hand. She hesitated, then shook it; doubtless she had been briefed beforehand on my capabilities. "It's nice to meet you, Rebecca."
Director Costa-Brown glanced at Alex, obviously expecting something to happen, but her secretary remained near the door with a slight frown on her face."It's nice to meet you too, Josh. If you don't mind, I have to talk to Miss Militia for a moment, okay?"
I nodded and went to sit on the couch. Alex sat down on the far end. The rest of them clustered around the desk.
Just like that, I was forgotten. Miss Militia gave me a quizzical look, but my charade was otherwise unquestioned.
I wasn't sure whether to be proud at the deception or irritated at its effectiveness.
"We will begin this interview with your report, Miss Militia," Costa Brown began, pulling out a folder from a very official looking briefcase. "Specifically, we will focus on the casualties inflicted on the Slaughterhouse Nine, beginning with Skinslip."
I sidled over a couple inches closer to the secretary. She turned her attention towards me, eyes cautious but steady.
My power… told me very little. First Impressions was working fine - I understood the Chief Director perfectly, instinctively knew how to act around her, but with Alex there was basically nothing. I frowned pensively.
While we were sizing one another up, Costa Brown was talking. "Since Skinslip was new to the Nine, his bounty is commensurately smaller. Still, he was a recognizable member, and the bounty issued by the PRT was in excess of two hundred thousand dollars."
"That's…" Miss Militia was lost for words. "A lot of money."
"Mm. Take it without regrets; the Teeth already received theirs through a proxy. This will make the situation more… palatable."
Director Howard grimaced. "Paying villains for taking out villains - I understand the concept, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth."
I deliberated for another few seconds before throwing all caution to the wind. Any reaction was better than no reaction. The others were still talking; I had an opportunity. I turned to the scrutinizing secretary.
"You smell like cordite," I told her innocently. Alex leaned away from me uncomfortably. "Do you like guns?"
"Not really," she admitted after a moment. "Only when they're necessary."
"I see," I said lamely, desperately searching for another topic of conversation. I eyed the tag on her suit. It was similar to the Director's, but somehow it held a higher, undefinable sense of quality. "Your clothes are nice. Do you always wear designer clothing?"
"When I can," she said, looking embarrassed. It was the first real emotion I'd gotten out of her. It made me strangely proud.
Director Costa-Brown cleared her throat, eyebrow raised. Alex coughed, then handed her a set of documents from her briefcase.
"There are still a few important things to go over." Director Costa-Brown pulled a set of photographs from the briefcase and began to pass them around. Autopsy reports - I'd recognize the crushed skull anywhere. "Care to explain why this wasn't in your report?"
Like that, the temperature dropped ten degrees. Miss Militia stiffened, eyes flickering to me. She opened her mouth as if to speak.
"Sorry," I spoke up. Everyone turned to face me. Alexandria - and it had to be Alexandria, not a body double - raised one eyebrow. "I forgot to mention it in all the excitement. I was just so worried about my friend, you know - it slipped my mind."
"Slipped your mind. I see. As a Wards Associate, you are obligated to provide a report on any use of your powers, especially in the case of lethal force." She paused, letting that sink in for a moment. There wasn't much impact - both of us knew she didn't have much of a case. "In this case considering your youth, the target's standing kill order and the general chaotic situation, I will let it slide provided a full report is provided by midnight tonight."
I nodded contritely. There wasn't much else I could add.
"This is a serious violation of regulations. While I understand the circumstances, there will be consequences. If you were in the Protectorate and the situation had been any less dire, I would have you stripped of your position and prosecuted. As it stands, I will allow your guardian to determine your punishment. Make sure that something like this never happens again." Costa-Brown said, expression stern.
"Wait," Director Howard spoke up for the first time in ten long minutes. I blinked; honestly, I'd forgotten he was in the room. He looked… disturbed. The pictures were pretty gruesome."You killed Hatchet Face, one of the original members of the Nine? How?"
I shrugged. "I hit him."
He gaped at me. "Hatchet Face is a high level Brute with nullifying Trump powers. How on Earth does a child crush a Brute's skull without access to his powers?"
Everyone but the Chief Director was making the same expression. Costa-Brown just steepled her fingers, face impassive.
I considered. Honesty was probably the best course of action."Dunno. I hit him and he died."
Beat.
Miss Militia sighed, hiding her eyes behind one hand.
"We're going to run a few more esoteric power tests when we're through," Costa-Brown spoke without lowering her hands. "You can look forward to that, as well as the bounty from Hatchet Face. Considering your age, it will be put in a trust supervised by your guardian until your majority."
Ouch. Odds are that by the time I got all that legal tinder it'd be most valuable as literal tinder. I winced.
Ah well. Not like I'd know what to do with that kind of money anyways. I perked up as she began to speak again.
"As for your friend, we found several… oddities." She replaced the photographs and removed several official looking documents that I recognized as death certificates. "You claim she was attacked by the Nine, and our research confirms that - except, the missing persons report was filed several months ago. She also bears signs of experimentation by the tinker known as Bonesaw." You're not fooling anyone.
I leaned forward. "I'm sorry to hear that. I can only say I failed in my duty as a hero, not rescuing her sooner." Don't complain because someone else is doing what you can't.
She narrowed her eyes at me. "There has been considerable pressure to remand her to a more… high security facility. Just in case. Bonesaw had a very deadly specialty, after all." Do you honestly think we'll let you get away with this?
I smiled. "I think you'll find that I'm as high security as it gets. After all, I'm the only one who can overpower the Siberian." I think you don't have much of a choice if you want me on board.
Director Howard and Miss Militia watched the back and forth with confused eyes. I suppose we weren't being that subtle.
"That is true," she conceded after a moment, sitting back in her chair. "She's very fortunate to have someone like you watching over her." I think you overestimate your value.
I nodded. "Much like me, she doesn't have any family remaining. I'm her friend, and probably the only person she trusts. I'll take responsibility for her." No reason we have to be enemies. She can be an asset.
A millisecond's pause as she weighed options. "I see."
Miss Militia sighed. "You realize you can't just adopt her, right?"
I blinked, looking away from the Chief Director. "What?"
She drummed her fingers on the chair impatiently. "You're too young for something like that. What you really want is for me to adopt her. You could at least ask my opinion - and stop with the eyes."
My bottom lip trembled convincingly. Miss Militia glared at me, the knife at her side twisting into a cattle prod. Costa-Brown cleared her throat.
"This neatly segues into our third topic. Have either of you watched the news lately?" Momentarily derailed by the non-sequitur, we both shook our heads. Howard simply sank lower in his chair, face still pasty white. Costa-Brown tapped a control. The screen came on.
"Still no response from the Protectorate about the controversial new program that the Youth Guard is calling 'a blatant attempt at rules lawyering' despite protests at virtually every level. The Wards Associate Program for very young and wayward parahumans -"
She tapped the button again and the volume turned off, the images and subtitles continuing unabated.
Yeah. That wasn't leading to anything constructive.
"How long has that been running?" Miss Militia asked, staring at the silently monologuing anchor.
"We started getting calls from 'outraged parents' about twenty minutes after the representative left. A few hours later they had an interview on live television. Unfortunately," here Costa-Brown sent me an irritated look, "the Thinkers that normally catch this sort of thing didn't, and after the shooting in Kentucky and that scandalous affair in Chicago the Protectorate can't handle any more bad publicity. This was meant to be a pilot, much like the regular Wards were, but after conferring with my advisers we have decided to scrap the Wards Associate program."
"That's…" I was at a loss for words.
Miss Militia leaned forward. "What about Maledict? She can't join the Wards. We'd have to outright lie about her ability. The consequences -"
"Have been considered," Costa-Brown interrupted smoothly, "and relocation has been offered. When she reaches her majority, she can join the Protectorate as a member of our support division. Until then, her mother has agreed to Maledict serving the rest of her probation in the Ice Box."
Ah, Anaktuvuk- how we love thee. I really hope she likes cold weather.
"You said her mother agreed to Maledict transferring," Miss Militia said slowly. "What about the rest of the family?"
"They are staying behind." Costa-Brown said flatly. My hands clenched on the wooden frame of my chair.
"And Josh?" Miss Militia asked quietly. "What will happen to him?"
"Without the Wards Associate program, he won't be able to stay on base." Costa-Brown hesitated. "And, since the raison d'être of your guardianship was based on the program -"
"No," I told her, voice calm. "Not acceptable. I don't care what allegations are being made. Miss Militia is my guardian, and no PR concession is going to change that."
"Whether acceptable to you or not Miss Militia lives on base and as such you cannot live with her," the Director pointed out, voice tight with irritation. I got the feeling people didn't say 'no' to her very often. "We plan to transfer you to California, which will allow you to work directly under Alexandria. Your opinion, in this case, does not matter." If you want access to the girl, you'll do what I say.
"It's not going to happen," I told her flatly, discarding all subtlety. If there had been any more tension in the room, lightning bolts would be spontaneously forming midair between the two of us."I'm not leaving Brockton Bay. If Alexandria wants me for a pupil, she can come here herself. I'm not a Ward - technically I'm not even a Ward Associate any more. As such, I don't believe you can force me to do anything." Try it. I dare you. Push me on this and see what happens.
We glared at each other. Costa-Brown's eyes flickered to her secretary, who simply shrugged. The implicit threat of noncompliance was a very real one. It was basically my nuclear option; really, the only reason I stuck around was out of preference. If I wanted to go for a walk and wander the ocean floor, you'd have to have Clairvoyant and Doormaker on your side to come after me, and there was literally nothing that could make me do what I didn't want to.
If you were a strong enough parahuman, you got a lot of leeway as long as you avoided committing outright crimes.The consequences of pushing such a person could range from simple disobedience to outright villainy.
And yet, the Chief Director couldn't simply give in to the demands of a preadolescent, be he ever so precocious. We were at an impasse made of pride and machinations, neither of us willing to give an inch.
"I have a suggestion," Miss Militia said, the tension in the room decreasing slightly. "Josh technically has a house, after all."
Catching on instantly, I grimaced but played along. "It's a few miles out of town, but it's still in my name."
Director Costa-Brown - no, Alexandria nodded slowly, turning to face her secretary. "Alex, you went over the briefings with me. Do you remember the house in question?"
Alex startled at being addressed, then assumed a fixed expression of flustered concentration. "Oh. Yes. About fifteen miles out. The commute would be more difficult, but the area is wide open enough to be defensible."
Costa-Brown's eyes lingered on her for a moment before moving on to Miss Militia. "I see. You realize, of course, that this option will negatively affect your career?" Fine. You'll get your way this time. I expect great things from you in return.
Miss Militia hesitated, glancing at me for a fleeting moment, then nodded resolutely."I signed the papers. Living a little farther away isn't that bad."
I resisted the urge to gloat and morphed my expression into a pleased smile.
"And the girl - Riley Thornton?"
My smile flickered.
Miss Militia sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I want to meet her first. I sympathize with her circumstances, but I'd at least like to know what she looks like and get her opinion before doing something this important."
Alexandria nodded, eyes containing a sliver of anger. Not someone that liked to be maneuvered. "Understandable. Director Howard, stay - we must discuss the PRT's… response."
Director Howard swallowed heavily, but nodded. He had the air of someone going to meet a firing squad.
There wasn't much chatter after that. The Director handed us some forms, we signed them, then we went our separate ways.
Riley was still asleep. She'd woken for all of ten minutes the day before, but even after I calmed her down some she was close to hysteria. I was cheating with all my might and considerable intellect, ruthlessly using all my knowledge of her past and the benefits of my powers, but I had the feeling this wasn't something that would get better right away.
Right now, her face was calm and peaceful. Due to her distress and the still healing wound, she'd been given mild sedatives. The Bonesaw of the future had been a patchwork person, put together over years of gore and mayhem.
This girl, Riley, was a genuine six year old with bits of her personality sandblasted off through six months of captivity.
Where's Yamada when you need her?
"It's hard to believe," Miss Militia said, voice quiet, "that this girl was a member."
She didn't dare finish, not even with the assumption of privacy. Riley's circumstances could not be allowed to get out.
"Yeah," I said, voice just as quiet. We sat there in silence for a moment.
"Josh," Miss Militia spoke, "back there with the Director - the way you were talking -"
"She knows," I confirmed. "Or she at least suspects strongly enough that she won't investigate."
She frowned at me. "It seems kind of risky on her part. It was hard enough for me - why would the Chief Director of the PRT ignore a threat like h- that?"
"Probably because she's not a good person," I told her frankly. Behind her mask, Miss Militia's eyebrows shot up. "Once you remove the concept of justice, the choices become simple. If she pressed the issue, she would lose a Brute strong enough to overpower the Siberian. If she didn't press the issue, she'd keep that Brute and gain a powerful Tinker as well. It's in the Protectorate's best interests to play dumb."
"That's… ruthless."
"She's trying to save the world." I said, brushing hair out of Riley's face. "She'll compromise whatever she has to in pursuit of that goal."
We were silent for a moment.
"I've met her several times now," Miss Militia said pensively, turning to face Riley again. "It's strange - I never picked that up about her, but you did, and on your first meeting. She's always seemed like - well, a paragon of justice to me."
I grimaced. "I have a - sixth sense I guess when it comes to people. It's not a power, though my power probably enhances it. My father used to introduce me to his business contacts before I triggered, had me check them out. It was kind of a game between us."
Miss Militia nodded, still looking at Riley.
"I don't know her," Miss Militia said after a few minutes passed. "I know of her, know what she's done in just a few months, but I don't know her at all."
"You didn't know me either," I reminded her plaintively, "and I was literally covered in blood after my trigger."
"You didn't join the - them," she fired back. "Her Uncle had her experiment on civilians in ways that would make Mengele blush."
"He forced her to heal her mother first," I told her. She frowned at me, not sure of where I was going with this. I continued relentlessly. If she didn't understand, she wouldn't take Riley in and all my efforts would be for naught. She wouldn't be able to tolerate a foster home, not even a PRT sponsored one. "He cut her, had her bleeding out, and he made Riley heal her. While she was performing surgery, other members of the Nine hurt someone else in a different room."
I let out a shuddering breath. "He did this over and over until she was too tired to hold the scalpel, too tired to walk up the stairs, until she was out of resources to help them with. She joined the Nine because her mother told her to 'be good' with her last words. She didn't know any better. There was no malice in it; it would have taken divine intervention to slip past the rest of the Nine, and more divine intervention to work through Jack's programming."
Or Protectorate intervention, I carefully did not say.
Let it be known, it took a lot to horrify Miss Militia. Still, from the way her knuckles were turning white on the bed's rail, she wasn't thinking charitable thoughts. She took in a deep breath, then let it out. "She - told you all this?"
"Not all of it," I admitted. "Some. Enough. I extrapolated the rest from crime scene photos."
"Hmph." In spite of the tension, the corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "Seriously, what kind of seven year old uses the word 'extrapolate?'"
"The parahuman kind," I quipped back, smiling.
She sighed, straightening. The pressure in the room seemed to leap back up as Miss Militia drummed her fingers on her baton, face implacable. I didn't interrupt.
"If I do take her on," she said finally, tone serious, "we're going to have to be very careful, both with her and with the Director. Howard was in room with us; he'll have heard everything, and will be drawing his own conclusions. Since she's a parahuman and considering her situation, Costa-Brown will expect her to join the Wards when she gets older."
I nodded. "I'll talk to her about it. Does this mean…?"
"Yeah," Miss Militia grimaced, "I'll do it, provided she agrees when she wakes up."
It wasn't the most enthusiastic adoption ever, but it was enough for me. She let out a surprised oof as I put my arms around her and squeezed. She returned the hug hesitantly.
All things considered, today could have gone so much worse.
Last edited: Jun 25, 2019
Interlude 2
Interlude 2 - Alexandria Redux
There was silence in the boardroom. The paused screen flickered gently, showcasing the burning wreckage of what used to be a testing facility.
"Huh." Harbinger said, breaking the silence as he flipped to the end of an official looking document. "I don't believe I've ever seen that many tens applied to the same person."
"Those are just the suggestions," I told him, grimacing. Once a criminal, always a criminal, no matter the cause or the number of times he changed his name. "For now, we're keeping the ratings lower."
"How much lower? Specifically, his Brute rating?" Eidolon interjected. I scowled at him; he was having just a little too much fun with this. He'd known since he began to lose his powers that we were looking for Eidolon 2.0; his sense of irony at the reversal was just a little too strong to hide completely. Harbinger hadn't even bothered to try, cracking up about it halfway through the video.
"Brute 10 for the main ability," I said stiffly. "Mover 7, downgraded due to the drawbacks present at his maximum speed. Thinker 6 for the intelligence and senses. They wanted to stick him with Trump 2 and Stranger 2, but since the anti-precognition only works on parahumans I'm folding it into the Trump 2 rating. It's specific enough that I doubt it'll come into play that often, especially with PRT troops."
Harbinger snorted. "Some drawback - it sets things on fire, so what? The lack of a physics divorcing Manton effect makes it more powerful, not less."
"Not everyone is as bloody minded as you are," I reminded him, narrowing my eyes. He simply smiled, refusing to take offense. "If Joshua wants to be a Ward, he'll keep it to a lower level."
"We're nearing the topic that most concerns me," Doctor Mother spoke for the first time in half an hour. Contessa shifted next to her. "You said he is aware you are a parahuman?"
I nodded. "Unmistakably. There was an unusual Thinker power reaction caused by similar abilities. However, connecting me to my parahuman identity would require an astounding leap of logic, especially with the red herrings we've put in place."
Doctor Mother grimaced, rubbing tiredly at her temples. She was on her fifth cup of coffee; I had been forced to wake her up early for this. "The problem is compounded by his precognition immunity. The girl, you believe she's enough leverage?"
"It gains him nothing to expose me and everything to secure my cooperation," I said, "and without proof of his claims, we have the better position. While he can't be seen by esoteric means, mundane methods work just fine. He won't tell anyone."
"We could always just introduce him to the Slug," Harbinger suggested.
"Might be a little shortsighted," Eidolon mused. "If Contessa can't see him, and her modeling isn't working yet -" he glanced at her, then continued at her nod, "- it's in our best interests to wait and see. After all, if we botched an abduction attempt the consequences would be… dramatic."
There was a moment of silence. Presumably, everyone nearby was imagining a Brute 10 rampaging around the Cauldron base.
I could take him, I thought pensively. Probably. It would likely end up a stalemate.
"Subtlety, then," Harbringer said, steepling his fingers. "There's a certain issue Legend has been agitating over for years; why not cripple two birds with one stone?"
As he began to explain his plan, I couldn't help but note that this was most definitely a plan made by a villain. When everyone at the table - myself included - agreed with him afterwards, I couldn't suppress the shudder of existential loathing as the words left my mouth. It was almost physical, a sort of mental vertigo that told me I'd crossed an important line long ago.
Since when was this me?
I glanced at Contessa, but she was still looking at the frozen image on the screen. Normally, this was the point she'd weigh in to modify the plan, to smooth away the remaining doubts.
Looking around, I realized I was the only one doubting. Everyone else had fully committed.
How did I end up working with a group of villains?
Worse, why was I agreeing with them?
"Then we're agreed," Doctor Mother said strongly, redirecting everyone's attention. "We'll contact Legend; he has the most contacts with the Guild. This will be a joint op, using Contessa's abilities. This many steps removed from Joshua, her abilities should be working perfectly."
Contessa frowned, but nodded. "The path ahead is clear. It will be done with minimal public attention."
Eidolon's beeper went off. He sighed. "It seems duty calls; are we done for the day?"
"We'll meet again in three days to discuss the repatriation of the Slaughterhouse Nine," Doctor Mother said. "Harbinger, I want a progress report on Jack and Manton's movements and actions by tomorrow. Use Clairvoyant, but avoid distracting Contessa. With that, we are adjourned."
Author's Note
Short chapter, probably the shortest I've written, but it was this or nothing. .
The 'real' non-interlude chapter is being rewritten again, and this one got a rewrite too.
Oh well.
Probably going to have the next one out tomorrow.
Last edited: Jul 29, 2015
Origin 1.6
Authors Note Is it weird that I pay attention to the names attached to the likes?
I'm always looking to see if friends/fellow authors read my story…
Origin 1.6
May 16, 2006
There was a certain level of melancholy when you entered an empty house.
Paul, our neighbor and a friend of my fathers, had been coming by occasionally to keep up on the property, but it was clear he'd limited his interference to perimeter checks. There was a layer of dust on everything, though someone had thoughtfully draped linen sheets over the furniture.
With all the grubby white cloth, it resembled a house of budget deprived ghosts.
I grimaced and resumed putting away our mostly untouched Chinese feast. It was almost three in the morning, and Hannah and Riley had gone to bed a couple hours ago; to be fair, Hannah had been moving and cleaning all day without the benefit of super durability, and Riley - well, Riley was an actual eight year old.
"Suppose I'm just weird," I muttered, closing the fridge and walking outside.
The Daniels home was a family home. If I were forced to summarize it in a single word, that word would be 'quaint.' The Daniels, like most of the families around here, had been in the orchard business for the better part of a century. My father had grown up on the farm, tending to trees and hanging out with the unskilled labor. The moment he inherited, he promptly sold the surrounding orchard to one of the neighbors for a scandalously low price.
Much like me, my father hated peaches. He went from farmer to politician, turning name recognition and neighborly goodwill into votes.
I smiled nostalgically, staring out past the barn. The moon was only a waxing crescent, but the clouds were sparse tonight and light was plentiful. It was a good night to sit on the porch swing. Even before I possessed the durability to ignore the elements, I'd slept here on several occasions; most of the time I woke up in my bed, mysteriously tucked in during the night.
The screen door opened. Hannah walked out, still in her 'going out clothes.' Judging by how little luggage she'd brought, I suspected she didn't have very many spare outfits.
Without a word, she sat down next to me. For a few minutes, the only noise was the gentle creaking of the chain.
"So," Hannah said, crossing her arms against the pre-morning chill, "is it all working out the way you hoped?"
I shrugged, tangling one arm in the chain. "Mostly. I didn't really have a master plan."
"Hmph," she muttered, tousling my hair. "Could have fooled me."
I let her mess my hair up for a moment, then shrugged her hand off. "Still have a lot of things to do. Riley's going to need schooling, psychiatric evaluation, PRT power testing…"
She snorted. "Don't worry about that."
"How can I not?" I asked, surprised. "I'm the one who talked you into this, it's my responsibility."
"Responsibility, he says." Hannah laughed. "The moment she woke up, she latched on to you and wouldn't let go. In fact, she didn't let go; if you remember, and I know you do, she was right next to you until she went to bed, and you sat there with her until she dropped off."
"What's your point?"
"My point," she said, leveling a finger, "is that she has a legal guardian, and she doesn't need another one. I'll take care of the paperwork, the school, the PRT and the psychiatrists. You just focus on being her brother. I can tell you right now without asking her which she'd prefer to have, so leave the boring complications to me and make sure you're there with her like - like an older brother's supposed to be."
I stared at her. It was good advice, but it made me wonder - did Hannah have family?
I didn't ask.
See? Even I could show tact sometimes. My memories of family mostly had to do with parents, and it wasn't like I'd thought about it a lot before I triggered.
I was the youngest in a family of five, so unless you get an older sibling…?
There was a soft sound on the stairs, like socks sliding on old carpet.
"I know what I've gotten myself into," I told her quietly. "We'll be going to the same school. I'll keep her out of trouble."
She nodded, satisfied.
"Josh?"
We turned. Riley was standing behind the screen door, peering uncertainly out. Her eyes were bloodshot; the last few days hadn't been easy on anyone.
"Morning," I told her blandly.
"It's not morning yet," Hannah scolded, "and now that I think about it, both of you should be in bed."
I opened my mouth to protest on grounds of parahuman superiority, but closed it without speaking at the look she shot me.
Ah.
"I can't sleep," Riley admitted, eyes on the ground.
I stood and walked over to the door.
"Lot of that going around. Come on," I told Riley, grabbing her hand and leading her up the stairs. "I'll tuck you in."
The next day - well, in a few hours we started going through the house again. We weren't really unpacking, seeing as how Hannah had two suitcases of possessions and Riley had none, but there was a certain air of 'moving in.'
My room was alien to me now. Sports paraphernalia lined the walls, despite the fact that I'd never played sports; I suspected Dad wanted me to absorb athletic skill through osmosis. In one corner, a box of discarded toys sat sullenly, silently weirding me out with how realistic the action figures were.
I used to think dolls were pretty bad, but having Alexandria and Armsmaster giving you a stern glare while you try to sleep was a new level of creepy. I suppose it was a matter of perspective - younger me considered it comforting.
I dumped them in the recycling box without reservation and carried it outside. On my way back up the stairs, I heard Hannah curse and paused.
"Everything alright in there?" I asked, sticking my head in. Dad's office was, as always, a mess. For years, he'd moaned about his lack of a proper secretary, but Mom - his 'official' campaign manager - had put her foot down. Small town politics, as it turned out, didn't actually pay that well.
"Yeah," Hannah said, scowling at the stack of papers on the desk and nursing a bloody finger. "Just a paper cut."
"Ah, the dreaded paper cut," I said loftily, trying to provoke a smile. "Surely, there is no wound so grievous, so deadly. Truly, those papers have laid low many an experienced hero."
She grimaced at me, which counted as a smile. I dropped the attitude and walked in.
"Finished with your room?" She asked, running through another stack of papers.
"Mm. Just took the last box down. I figure I'll let Riley look through it later, see if she wants any of it." Poor girl got what I called the 'old folks room.' I knew now why she'd been unable to sleep there; all the family photos were decidedly unnerving, even when you knew who they were. If I wanted my bed back, I'd have to stick them in the attic. "How's this room going?"
"I believe I've found your birth certificate," she admitted, "but not much else. I did find a package addressed to your dad - Paul must have dropped it off a long time ago."
She handed it to me. Intrigued, I ran my hands over it. It was a long, rectangular box covered in brown wrapping paper. There was no address, just the words 'To Mr. Daniels' written in large print. Carefully, I ran one finger under the seam, letting the tape come off with a minimum of damage. The material underneath was a rich leather, embossed with a large R.
I felt my breath catch in my throat the moment I saw it.
"His briefcase?" Hannah asked, curious.
"Y-yeah," I stuttered briefly before getting myself under control. "His old one was damaged, and he sent it to be repaired."
"Lot of effort for a briefcase," Hannah murmured, looking at me oddly. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah," I said, breathing deeply. "I'm fine. It was… just a shock."
She hugged me. Normally I'm not a touchy-feeley kind of person, but neither was Miss Militia, so I put up with it. After all, I didn't want to hurt her feelings.
At least, that's the excuse I was going with.
"How are you doing?" She asked quietly, not talking about the briefcase.
"Not bad. Not so much sadness as nostalgia." I told her, quirking a grin. "It's actually kind of nice; I prefer to remember what happened in the house, rather than… how it ended."
We sat there a moment, listening to furtive movements upstairs. There was a loud crash, followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.
"Sometimes it sucks to have a good memory, huh?" Hannah said, squeezing me lightly before letting me go.
"Sometimes," I told her sadly, staring down at the briefcase. "Do you mind if I keep this?"
"Go ahead," she said without hesitation. "I'd better check on Riley, see what mayhem she's cooking up."
I nodded my thanks and brought it back to my room.
The latch was a combination lock. Five numbers, arranged in three groups. One number, then two, then two more. I tried my birthday, but it stayed stubbornly closed. I thought for a moment, then tried my other birthday.
Ratchet. Ratchet. Ratchet. Click.
The lid opened smoothly, the hinges perfectly constructed and well oiled.
I let out a deep breath, but the knot of tension in my chest refused to dissipate.
Inside, ten vials glittered with malicious promise.
Last edited: Jan 23, 2017
Interlude 2, Supplementary
lancelot said:
Will it be updating more often now?
Click to expand…
Click to shrink…
Maybe. Here's one of the documents they were reading. Writing the next chapter as I type.
Psychological Interview - Chief Director Eyes Only
Interview - Terrance Davidson, PRT (Suspended)
Doctor Miller: Mr. Davidson, I'm glad you were able to make it.
Davidson: Not like I had better things to do. You said you wanted to talk about the freak?
Doctor Miller: Mr. Davidson, please.
Davidson: Fine. You wanted to talk about Tyrant?
Doctor Miller: That's correct. Due to his, ah, noncompliance with interviews we are attempting to get a better picture by interviewing those that knew him. It says here you were one of the first on scene?
Davidson: Yup. Pulled up with the ambulance and Miss Militia. It was, um -
A brief pause.
Davidson: Still makes the gorge rise a little. There was twenty, thirty Teeth gangbangers, and the bodies, they- well - only a few of 'em were dead, but the rest, they -
Doctor Miller: I've seen photos of the scene, yes. What about the child?
Davidson: Kid was covered in blood - drenched in it, really. Wouldn't have thought there was a kid under there; medics couldn't clean him up without running water. And his eyes, they… well, he didn't really speak after they pulled him into the ambulance to check him out, but he had this thousand yard stare, you know? Creepy as fuck if you ask me.
Doctor Miller: Understandable, considering what he went through.
Davidson: Understandable? Maybe. 'Sept, I was part of the three man guard duty on the funeral. The Daniels had a lot of friends - they had everyone from high class politicos to union reps show up. Wasn't a dry eye in the house - sept for Tyrant. I've seen traumatized kids, I've seen victims - he wasn't acting like a victim. Not at all. Raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
Doctor Miller: You don't think you're being a little - uncharitable?
Davidson laughs.
Davidson: See, that's the other thing - people look at him like he's a normal six year old, they underestimate him, they coddle him like he doesn't know what he's doing. Then all of a sudden, he pulls off some crazy stunt and there's applause, like 'wow, look at the seven year old! He's gonna win the spelling bee for sure!' Everyone pegs him as a smart kid with powers, but let me tell you - kid geniuses want recognition, and Tyrant has never once asked someone to stop treating him like a child. He likes being underestimated.
Doctor Miller: So, you believe he's manipulating his image then?
Davidson: Damn right I do! Lot of coincidences when that kid's around. Don't think I don't know who planted and reported what was inside my locker; kid's had it in for me since day one.
Doctor Miller: Thank you for your time, Mr. Davidson. As agreed, your sentence will reflect your cooperation.
Interview: Miss Militia (Protectorate)
Doctor Miller: Thank you for coming, Miss Militia.
Miss Militia: I'd like to say it was my pleasure, but it was actually an order.
Doctor Miller: I apologize for the necessity; we are simply trying to do what is best for the child.
Miss Militia: I see. Ask your questions, then.
Doctor Miller: You were the first member of the Protectorate on scene, yes? Could you describe the child's mental state?
Miss Militia: Shell shocked. Barely knew I was there. Didn't have confirmation he was a parahuman until we tried to draw blood and the needle snapped off.
Doctor Miller: And afterwards, when the child psychologist left?
Miss Militia: I entered the room. This was a violation of regulations, but he'd been left alone for over half an hour; I was reprimanded, and accepted the punishment.
Doctor Miller: I understand. What pushed you to adopt the child?
Miss Militia: I've given it some thought, but I can't be totally certain. They were looking for a PRT figurehead family - basically a guardian to sign the consent forms whenever necessary. Looking at him was like looking into a mirror; I suppose I just thought it was for the best.
Doctor Miller: Like looking into a mirror? Can you further describe his state of mind?
Miss Militia: It's - well, kind of hard to say. When we put him in the ambulance, he'd obviously been crying; since then, I haven't ever seen him cry - not even when his birthday came around again.
Doctor Miller: I see. Do you believe Joshua is emotionally repressed?
Miss Militia shakes her head.
Miss Militia: No. I spent a lot of time with Alexandria, and they act very similarly; if they don't trust you, you won't see their real feelings. You just have to know him.
Doctor Miller: It's a curious phenomena put forth by leading theorists that similar power sets often form in psychologically similar people. Still, intelligence and introspection aside, how is Joshua with his peers?
Miss Militia: He's - like I said, he's very introspective. He doesn't initiate, he just kind of reacts. I think if no one approached him, he'd be perfectly fine with long periods of solitude. When he does talk, it's pretty normal. Larger vocabulary than others his age, of course, but normal.
Doctor Miller: Thank you. That's all I needed to know. As to the interview with Joshua himself -?
Miss Militia: Not happening. I'm his guardian; you can go through me, but you can't order him around until - unless he joins the Wards.
Doctor Miller: I see. Again, thank you for your time.
Interview: Miss Summers, Shining Heart Elementary
Doctor Miller: Thank you for coming in to the office, Miss Summers.
Miss Summers: It's no problem. I hadn't realized Josh was seeing a psychologist, but it makes sense in hindsight, the poor boy.
Doctor Miller: He's surprisingly well adjusted for someone who's been through so much. I just want to make sure everything's all right at school; you know how children can be. Are his grades good?
Miss Summers: Of course! I mean, Josh was always a good student, but he's been doing exceptionally well lately - I haven't seen such a dedicated reader for years, and his lowest grade was a ninety. He's gone from a low-B to straight A's.
Doctor Miller: That's good to hear. How is he with the other students?
Miss Summers: That's the weird part. If I had to describe him, Josh was a gregarious kid before - he had a lot of shallow friendships. I suspect he was emulating his father, God rest his soul. He was always talking, running, playing…
Doctor Miller: And now?
Miss Summers sighs.
Miss Summers: After his parents passed, he moved to the corner desk and stayed there. No one really pays attention to him anymore except for the Hebert girl, and I suspect her parents told her to keep an eye on him - Danny and David were such good friends, even after all that political unpleasantness. He's also - well, I hate to call him violent, but he's been in several fights that he did not instigate.
Doctor Miller: I see. Is there cause for alarm?
Miss Summers: No no, if I wasn't professionally obligated to punish both parties I'd applaud him on principle! He's got a real sense of heroism, always sticking up for the underdog; there's a lot of heart in that kid, even if he doesn't show it as much anymore.
Doctor Miller: Thank you, Miss Summers. That's a real help.
Miss Summers: Any time. When the Daniels died, the whole community felt it. He's got a lot of friends out there, even if he doesn't know it.
Doctor Frederich Miller, Final Notes
In my professional opinion, Joshua is showing several worrying psychological traits consistent with a developing avoidant personality disorder, such as a disregard for his own life (buoyed by his powers) and a lack of proper socialization. Due to the general uncertainty involving Thinker powers it is difficult to make an exact diagnosis, however I believe that the worries specifically expressed by the Chief Director are unfounded - I seriously doubt that he will, as they say in the barracks, 'go villain.' Negative opinions of Joshua are rare, and often display unverifiable paranoia. Just in case, I suggest a close watch be placed on his after school activities and visits with the Ward's resident psychologist be scheduled regularly as soon as we can convince or order him to go.
Last edited: Jan 23, 2017
Montage 2.1
I'm going to guess that most of you are tired of Josh being like, six, so Origin's over. Time skip of about two years - there was a lot of fluff I wanted to write in between, but it didn't advance the story so I resisted the urge. Expect a couple omakes later.
Montage 2.1
June 29th, 2007
For the record, I hate dancing and every event associated with dancing including proms, hoedowns and especially fancy balls, be they ever so charity driven.
I scowled at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. Irritatingly, plaque formed despite the indestructibility of the enamel; if I didn't keep up with the brushing, I'd end up with (otherwise perfectly intact) yellow teeth and gross breath. I finished, wiping my mouth with one hand and replacing the brush.
"This event's stupid," I called downstairs. "Besides, it's a kind of a hero thing and I won't be old enough to join the Wards for twelve days. There's no reason for me to be there."
Hannah walked upstairs, looking unusually formal in a long flowing dress. In one hand, she had a small tuxedo - the same one I'd worn to the funeral so many years ago. I wanted to buy a new one, but to be honest I couldn't justify the cost of a brand new outfit when one was already available.
"There will be people other than heroes there, and twelve days is basically nothing," Hannah said irritably, leaning against the wall so the weight was taken off her feet. I got the feeling she didn't wear heels often. "Also, it was your idea to donate, so really this whole thing is your own fault. Now, take this and put it on."
I rolled my eyes and threw a mock salute. "Yes Ma'am!"
She snorted and threw the tux at me. "Brat."
The moment she left I started to change, which was a trial in patience. I could move at extreme speed, but nothing taxed motor coordination like delicate materials. My strength was still increasing, though my durability had petered off (what does 'double' even do with complete invulnerability?) and I hadn't had the right opportunity to test my speed.
No flight yet either, though I'd discretely jumped off some high objects when Miss Militia was occupied. I took a deep breath, then dampened my ability. I hadn't told anyone I could do that yet; it was the sort of vulnerability that villains could cash in on.
The door burst open as I finished and in swept a pink blur, lunging with arms outstretched.
With one arm of my own I caught Riley and whirled her around, slipping my other arm smoothly into my jacket sleeve.
At first, being the older brother was weird, but I'd gotten used to Riley's quirks (barring the incident of the missing barn cat. Poor Texaco was never quite right afterwards.)
"Josh!" She exclaimed, laughing as I set her down. "Look! I have a princess dress!"
Good God, it was like a pink and frilly typhoon. Couldn't she have built some sort of horrifying organic monstrosity to wear instead? Maybe something with an extra head and lots of teeth?
"Cute," I told her, forcing a smile. "Are you ready to go?"
"Yup!" She said happily, doing another spin. "Miss Militia said to come get you, so hurry up!"
With that, she twirled her way down the stairs.
"She probably told you to knock first!" I called down after her, shaking my head.
I looked myself over once more and sighed.
I wouldn't call myself handsome. I had inherited my mother's bone structure and my father's tanned complexion, manifesting in a slightly Asiatic eyes and a narrow, sharp face. My dark hair was cut practically short - my invulnerability wore off after about an inch, and I preferred to keep it as close to that inch as possible.
Despite a few years of aging, I was still a ten year old in a tuxedo. At best I was cute, a little kid trying to be a grownup, an event prop to take pictures with like you would with someone in a novelty costume. I didn't mind being underestimated; it was the best part of my age, and I had no qualms about taking advantage of what I couldn't change.
Still, I was beginning to despise the sheer time it took humans to mature.
I grimaced and started downstairs, tugging (gently, gently!) at my tuxedo. It was a little tighter across the shoulders than I remembered, but that could easily have been shrinkage in the wash.
Hannah's car, like the house, had been upgraded in the last couple years. What was once a sporty two door with barely enough room to haul our meager belongings was now a more comfortable four door.
It may have been a little sporty.
It's really, really hard to have a lot of money without spending a little extra here and there.
As usual, I sat in the backseat with Riley. If I didn't, we'd end up arguing and one of us would spend the rest of the trip pestering the other and kicking their seat. Since I refused to sit in a booster seat and Riley wasn't going to suffer if I wasn't, Hannah didn't even bother installing it.
"Where did you get the dress - and the tiara?" I asked, staring at Riley's bejeweled head. Riley preened.
Hannah sighed, pulling out of the driveway. "A mall up in Boston. I let her choose."
I winced. Those were probably rhinestones - I mean, nobody would actually buy a ten year old a real piece of diamond jewelry, right? Not even Riley was that persuasively irritating.
I didn't ask - just in case.
It was a quick trip.
The Forsberg Gallery was one of the largest buildings in town, being over twenty stories tall and very distinctively designed to look like chunks had been taken out at random and filled with Christmas lights. It was a popular place among the unreasonably rich and powerful to host parties of all types.
Riley liked it I think. Hannah and I were probably just jaded.
The guard obviously knew Hannah on sight, though I didn't recognize him. I'd been more or less separate from hero work for the last couple years, and though I kept abreast of the current gossip Hannah refrained from discussing work at home.
The room set aside for the fundraiser was massive and well lit. We were on the top floor, and the ceiling was almost entirely glass.
For one inane moment, I imagined Taylor riding through them on a bone-plated monster, shouting a war cry and waving a can of pepper spray.
I snorted.
"Alright," Hannah said brusquely, giving the crowd a once-over. I was immediately reminded that were it not for us, she would likely be helping with security. "Just remember what we talked about. There are a lot of heroes here, but that's no reason to relax your guard. No powers, no tinker babble. We're here strictly as donators, and if anyone asks I work in real estate. I'm going to chat with Armsmaster for a minute. Our seats are over there at the guest of honor table, and Josh - make sure you and Riley get something to eat, then go ahead and sit till I get back, okay?"
I nodded. Riley barely noticed, still transfixed by colorful outfits and bright lights. I grabbed her hand and lead her off to the side, aiming for the classy buffet. Once I'd loaded up three plates, keeping them expertly balanced with one hand and leading Riley with the other, I made a break for our reserved seats.
The moment I sat down, I was immediately bored. The food was good, but it was amazing how extreme senses could ruin your appetite. The whole place reeked of a million varieties of perfume and cologne, giving everything I ate a distinct chemical taste. I could turn off my powers again, but it wasn't really worth it in this charged environment. I sighed, staring despondently at my Swedish meatballs, and did my best to 'lower' my sense of smell.
As always at this kind of fundraiser, the most interesting event was when the people arrived. Our table, more or less deserted on our end, began to fill up. On one side, we had the rich folks - the c rème de la crème of Brockton Bay's who's-who, the ones who donated to the PRT and miscellany hero teams. As I understood it, there was a fairly hefty tax exemption involved.
On the other side, capes.
"Wow," Riley breathed, looking ecstatic.
I blinked as someone sat down across the table. "Wait, are you Manpower?"
He grinned, turning to look at me. "Ah, a fan. Nice to meet you…?"
"Josh," I told him brightly. "This is my sister Riley, and Mom's not here yet. Her name's Hannah."
"Hannah, huh?" He gave me a thoughtful look. "I'll have to say hello. Are you enjoying the fundraiser?"
Riley nodded furiously. I opened my mouth to answer, but before I did a commotion near the entrance drew my attention. I turned to look with the rest of the table.
It was a suit of armor - a big suit of armor, nearly seven feet tall. Unlike most Tinker gear, this one was constructed out of what looked like premium materials, meaning it was high end indeed. The aesthetic was a sort of friendly, streamlined white with black mesh underneath to imply a humanoid figure, but I could tell there was no one in the suit - if there had been, it would have been functional only as very heavy armor.
PRT soldiers seemed to materialize from the woodwork, most of them using netguns. Opening fire with real weaponry would put countless civilians at risk, and worse, most of those people had lawyers.
"It's alright," Armsmaster interrupted, striding forward. "She's on the invite list. Hello, Dragon."
"Armsmaster," the synthetic voice echoed out from the suit, one hand extending to take his. "It's a pleasure to finally meet in person, so to speak."
"So to speak," Armsmaster said, a note of irony in his voice. The PRT troopers relaxed, lowering their weaponry. The normal flow of conversation resumed as though it had never been interrupted.
I suppose that being a politician in today's world of capes required a certain amount of nerve.
"She's that up and coming Tinker from the Guild," Manpower muttered in an aside voice, presumably for our benefit. "I'm surprised she managed to pry herself away from the workshop - she's supposed to be busy enough that no one sees her."
"It's not actually her," I told him. "Probably an unmanned drone."
He gave me a look I was familiar with, the it's-weird-that-you-know-this inspection. Whatever questions he had were postponed as the rest of his family finished socializing with their neighbors and moved to sit down.
As if marking them off on a clipboard, I began mentally moving down the Brigade's roster.
Manpower, check. Lady Photon, check. Flashbang and Brandish were easily recognizable, though Glory Girl wasn't in costume and was sitting to the side; I could only guess she hadn't triggered yet, or at least hadn't made her debut. Laserdream and Shielder were still wandering around the room talking to friends.
That made the last two sitting down Fleur and Lightstar.
I found that particular change far less disturbing than Panacea's utter absence. I'd have to look that up later - Marquis had definitely been defeated on schedule, but where did Amy go? I wanted to ask, but there were few ways to do so without being utterly tactless.
The room quieted gradually as the man I recognized as Mayor Christner stepped up onto the stage. Hannah sat down on Riley's other side as he waited for the whispers to subside.
"Now that we've all been wined, or at least sufficiently dined, I'd like to start off by thanking you all for coming." Christner swept the room with a charming smile. "I'm sure you're all very aware, this city wouldn't be where it is today without your generous contributions. Thanks to increased funding, I'm proud to say that crime in Brockton Bay has dropped an additional thirty five percent in the last year, which is the lowest its been in the last twenty!"
Polite applause; I couldn't bring myself to clap. If I'd been out there, the only criminal acts occurring would be tax fraud. As it was, it felt too much like tempting fate.
Soon, I promised myself.
"And on that note, allow me to introduce the woman of the hour, the vanquisher of Marquis and head of New Wave, Lady Photon!"
Never let it be said that Photon Mom lacked charisma. She stepped onto the stage, teeth flashing every time someone took a picture.
The experienced cape shook the mayor's hand, took the award, and began a short speech. I tuned her out disinterestedly, looking at Victoria instead.
She looked… glum. Sitting across from Riley, she couldn't have provided a better contrast if she tried. Riley was practically bouncing, still riding the dessert buffet sugar high, while Victoria had her head in her hands.
The youngest Dallon looked up, catching my eye. I waved. She reddened slightly and sunk down in her chair.
Strange; I was expecting her to be confident, outgoing, and brash; from what I could tell the future Glory Girl was the exact opposite. She honestly reminded me of Taylor in that moment - not the Taylor of the present, but the Taylor of the not-so-distant future.
It was still weird thinking about that. What would I even call that timeline - Earth Bet Squared?
"- and we couldn't have done it without the generous support of Brockton Bay's upstanding citizens," Photon Mom finished, more enthusiastic applause ringing out as she did. After a moment of basking, she ceded the floor.
The mayor stepped up again. "Thank you, Lady Photon. Our next award goes to a hero who, while previously unknown, is already working to save lives all over the globe. I would like everyone to give a warm welcome to the Guild's premier Tinker, Dragon!"
This time, I noticed that the most fervent applause came from the heroes. Even the troopers looked like they wanted to join in.
Hannah, seeing my confusion, leaned over. "I've heard she's providing Tinker support to the Protectorate and PRT at cost. She's never been seen without the suit and rarely ventures outside Canada. Still, some of the medical supplies she shipped over got used on the Mayor's son, so she's been gaining a certain amount of support in higher circles."
"Huh," I mused, considering her sleek, armored form. "You know, I actually wouldn't mind an action figure of her."
The increase in nonlethal combat potential from netguns to containment foam would be extreme. As it was, there weren't very many nonlethal options for stopping high level brutes.
Dragon accepted her award with grace, then retreated without a speech. Just for that, she was officially my favorite hero.
A few other people came up after that, and unfortunately there were two more unjustifiably boring speeches. Hannah got a plaque for her rather large donation. Armsmaster took his award on behalf of the Protectorate and posed for a picture, trying for happiness but only managing to look surly. After the speeches, there was a raffle containing several memorabilia artifacts ranging from cool to creepy.
God I loved being a parahuman.
Next time I donated to an organization I would check for fancy award balls - actually, scratch that, I just wouldn't let Riley get the mail. There was very little I could do to dissuade her when she saw (and opened!) the gold embossed envelope, especially after Hannah took her side. Apparently, I needed more socialization.
I sank a little lower in my seat. It was boring, but at least the speeches were over.
Then the music started.
"Oh, what fresh hell is this?" I moaned, considering ducking under the table.
Manpower snorted and stood, stretching in a way that made several opportunistic socialites swoon. "Don't be so dramatic, kid, it's just a dance."
I sighed. "I guess."
Most of the dancers were adults, which was nice; us kids got to sit on the sidelines until later.
Thus, before I could be conned into dancing, I fled.
I wasn't the only one; there was practically a support group for awkward teenagers congregating around the fringes of the room. To my immense surprise, Victoria Dallon was one of them.
"Not a party person?" I asked her.
She rolled her eyes. "Not a schmoozing person. Mom's got that handled."
I snorted. "Don't buy her press, huh?"
Victoria gave me a quick grin. "Exactly. People always assume that New Wave is some beacon of family stability, but we're people just like anyone else."
Getting started on the teenage angst a little early, huh? Then again, she was a few years older than I was.
"I'm going to guess-" I put one finger on my temple "-you didn't want to come."
She laughed and turned back to watch the dancers. "Thinker 12 for sure."
I grinned. "More of a seven, really."
Before she could respond, Riley caught up with me. I wasn't sure how she'd managed to spot me through the crowd of dissatisfied socialite children, but I wasn't ruling out some sort of X-Ray prosthetic.
"Josh!" Riley said, grabbing my arm. "You promised!"
"I don't like to dance!" I protested as she dragged me. "Just because you're having a princess moment-"
Things chose that exact moment to go to hell, providing clear cut proof that the devil answers selfish prayers.
Glass shattered and rained down from above. I activated my powers instantly, and moving myself and Riley away from the falling shards as the world slowed to nothing.
Time sped up again as people screamed. My wake had helped break up the heaviest concentrations of glass, but there was still a lot falling. Socialites went everywhere, ducking under tables, running from the hall and generally scattering like quail. A blurred object fell, hitting the marble floor with a heavy thump; in the chaos, the only one likely to have spotted it was me.
Women - and men - screamed. PRT troopers rushed everywhere, netguns at the ready and frantically barking into radio sets. Heroes were flying, glowing, and raising shields in their general vicinity. For a full minute, pandemonium reigned as security attempted to restore order.
Then Dragon raised one arm of her suit and let off a cannon blast.
People flinched away from the suit, covering their ears. Some measure of sanity returned as people picked themselves off the floor. The only sound was the moaning of the wounded and the crying of small children.
"ALL GUESTS, PLEASE PROCEED TO THE EXIT IN A CALM AND ORDERLY MANNER," Dragon's voice boomed from her speakers. "IF YOU ARE WOUNDED, DO NOT TOUCH THE INJURY. REMOVING THE SHARDS MAY WORSEN THE DAMAGE. PARAMEDICS ARE ON STANDBY IN THE LOBBY. PROCEED TO THE EXIT IN A CALM AND ORDERLY MANNER. ATTENDING HEROES, PLEASE COORDINATE MOVEMENTS WITH THE PRT."
Riley was shellshocked but otherwise untouched. I glanced up, meeting Hannah's eyes. She shook her head slightly, then pointed at the ground. Don't leave her sight; message acknowledged. PRT troopers, with less of a distraction, were already corralling guests. We'd been lucky - it didn't look like there'd been any major injuries.
Now that the ballroom floor had mostly cleared, I got a good look at the object. It was a bag - a standard black sports bag that I wouldn't give a second glance in any other setting. In this room, it immediately sent chills down my spine and thoughts of an early Bakuda racing through my head.
"Hannah!" I snapped, pointing. She turned, her eyes widening.
Not trusting human reaction speed, I lunged for it. The moment I picked it up, I knew something was wrong. The weight distribution was uneven, and things were shifting around - not something you'd want in an explosive you meant to carry and throw.
Suddenly, Hannah was there, Dragon hot on her heels.
"Not a bomb," I told her, frowning. There was a peculiar odor - a distinctive smell, one I recognized.
It was the unmistakable coppery scent of blood, mixed with the telltale stench of biological decay.
"You might want to call the medical examiner," I added.
Last edited: Sep 2, 2015
Montage 2.2
I'd like to avoid bloating the thread too much without an update, so while I was going to wait till the poll closed, have a quicker update!
Montage 2.2
"Who was it?"
Miss Militia, now in full costume, frowned at me. "You didn't know him. Beyond that, you're not involved. I'd like to keep it that way."
I gave her a level look. "Uh-huh. I, at your insistence, have kept out of hero matters for two years; I've focused on growing up, being a child, being a brother, whatever, but this time the crime came to us. What do you think the odds are that we'll run into problems from this because we didn't have the whole story?"
She sighed. "Higher than I'd like, but not higher than any other person in Brockton Bay. Listen, just-"
"Was it the Slaughterhouse Nine?" I interrupted. They'd returned from their cruise almost as soon as they left, to everyone's great disappointment.
Well, everyone in America had been disappointed. Across the Atlantic, I'm pretty sure they were pointing nukes in that general direction.
"What?" Miss Militia blinked. "Of course not. Last we heard they're still rampaging across Southern Nebraska."
"Then why keep me separate?" I demanded, very deliberately ignoring the skittering black blob moving furtively past her. "What kind of threat is out there that you don't trust me to handle?"
For a moment, she hesitated; then her expression firmed. "It's Protectorate business. It's not the Nine, they aren't coming after you specifically and you didn't know the victim, and that's all you need to know."
I scowled. "Fine. I'll be with Riley; she was pretty upset about the whole dancing thing."
The door swung shut behind me before she could voice her assent. Riley was camping in the lobby, looking exceedingly nervous.
"Did you get it?" I asked her. She glanced from side to side, then beckoned me behind a potted plant.
"Of course!" She pulled out what looked like an RC control unit from behind her back. "I had to run out to the car to get it, but it was pretty easy to smuggle it back in. That Dallon girl was freaking out - she got splatted when the bag fell."
"Splattered," I corrected absently. "And the camspider?"
I wanted to call them nopespiders, but Riley vetoed. Fully spread out, they were about the size of a hubcab, complete with dripping fangs and disturbingly fast movement. It didn't help that their eyes glowed red in complete darkness.
"Already in position," Riley said, grinning. "You make a great distraction by the way. Ha- ah, Miss Militia didn't even turn her head."
I snorted. "I still think it's weird that you brought it. What possible use could you have for a camspider at a ball?"
She shrugged. "You never know when you need to infiltrate a locked room - or when someone's wearing a prettier dress than you are, and you just really want to drop a spider on her head. Still, they were harder to smuggle in than I expected, so I left them behind."
I stared. "You scare me sometimes."
"Thanks!" Riley said, smiling brightly. "I also brought my surprise surgery kit, my experimental reanimation kit and my emergency medical supplies, but I didn't get a chance to use any of those."
"Let's-" I sighed, rubbing my temples. I didn't want to know the difference between the surgery and medical kit."Let's just move on. Are you almost there?"
She nodded, face screwed up in concentration as she fiddled with the controls. The black and white image jumped and shuddered from side to side as the camspider moved. The body was currently in a storage room awaiting transport to PRT headquarters; after they finished processing the VIPs, they'd move it to a secure morgue and we'd be out of luck.
The spider slipped into a vent, dexterous manipulators unscrewing the lid with ease. The next one was harder, but a minute spray of organic acid allowed it to slip through.
"If I find one of those in my room, I'm squashing it," I told her calmly.
"Don't be such a baby," Riley said, eyes glued to the screen. "The acid wouldn't even hurt you."
We were in - well, the spider was in. The body was laid out on a plastic sheet where they'd removed it from the bag. To call it a body wasn't totally accurate - it was several pieces of a body. Arms, legs, torso, head, each piece had been neatly severed and packed inexpertly into a bag before being slung through a glass window.
It was sort of messed up.
I grimaced, glad for my enhanced constitution; Riley just shrugged it off.
"Pan up around the shoulder please," I told her. As it came into view, I frowned. "See how the wounds are completely flat? What does that look like to you?"
"A very, very sharp sword," she said, frowning. "Probably a parahuman effect of some sort."
"Hn," I mused, rubbing my chin. "Go a little lower - on the outside of the upper right arm."
She nodded, maneuvering the spider.
"See that?" I pointed at the screen. "Can you roll the arm?"
"Maybe?" She hazarded. Long, hairy legs entered the viewpoint, pushing against the arm. It rolled easily, being fairly thin. "Looks like a tattoo? No, wait, that's a brand - looks like fangs?"
Blood splattered haphazardly on walls, already starting to dry. Bodies everywhere, some torn to pieces. Flashing red and blue lights.
"I know it," I told her quietly, hands clenching into fists. "Take a picture, then you can retreat with the spider."
She nodded. "So, a gang tattoo? E88? Haven't heard much out of them since Gesellschaft-"
"No, not E88," I told her grimly. "The Teeth. I guess New York got boring."
11 PM, July 2nd, 2007
Riley's Lab
"You can't keep doing this," Riley told me the moment she saw me.
It had been three days since I'd discovered the Teeth were in town. Miss Militia was out more often than not, so it was fairly easy to avoid detection when I returned from my late night (and entirely unauthorized) patrols.
Easy to avoid detection from her, anyways - Riley was an entirely different kettle of biologically modified fish. I expected her to be in bed, but clearly she was experimenting with stimulants again.
I shrugged, stepping inside the barn. Riley's workshop was out here; I'd vetoed the 'basement laboratory' idea on the basis of safety and strange olfactory emissions. "I told Hannah I was going to be training my liquid control. I have an excuse already embedded."
"That's not the point!" Riley said, leveling a finger. "You promised you weren't going to do any heroing!"
"I only have eight days until my birthday, and then I'm joining the Wards," I told her irritably. "Besides, I'm not letting the Teeth wander around my town without trying to stop them."
"You haven't gone after the E88," Riley said slowly. "What makes the Teeth so special?"
I grimaced, running my hand through my hair. No one gets under your skin like family. "You wouldn't-" No, she would understand - probably better than anyone else. "I don't want to talk about it. Now, that problem I asked you about earlier…?"
She scowled. "Changing the subject isn't going to help, and I'm still working on it - unless you changed your mind about the basic surgical option…?"
"No thanks," I told her dryly. "People would probably notice if I grew a foot overnight. It has to be something that speeds the process up while my ability is off."
"Hn," she wrinkled her nose, suddenly deep in thought. "I've been exploring hormonal and metabolic methods, but I haven't quite nailed down the side effects yet. If you could get me monkeys instead of mice…?"
"Yeah, like that wouldn't look weird if anyone found out. This isn't incredibly urgent, but it would solve a problem." Not appearing to grow older would make me very obviously a Cape of some type. I wasn't worried about myself being outed, but Riley or Hannah could be targeted by association.
She gave me a sly look. "It'd be a lot easier if we had someone capable of biological manipulation around."
I grimaced. "I'm working on it, but if she's healing people she's being very discrete, and hospital records aren't easy to access in the first place."
"She's probably not working out of a hospital if she's trying to be discrete," Riley pointed out.
"In that case, there aren't any records to find. There are no rumors of a new Marquis, no random plagues, and I seriously doubt she's joined a gang without anything being aired over the news. If she's even triggered at all, she has to be a rogue."
"More time travel references," she said, eyeing me.
"Can't explain," I told her tolerantly. Riley had been wheedling me for information ever since I'd first told her the first few pieces of meta knowledge and sicced her on the vials. "It would totally shatter your worldview. I'm not going to lie, but I can definitely say you're better off not knowing."
"Tch," she threw her hands up into the air dramatically. "Why do I even put up with you?"
I grinned and applied my knuckles to the top of her head,ruffling her hair in every direction. "Because you lurv me. Because I'm the bestest brother ever. Because-"
"Ack!" She wiggled desperately, pulling away. "Off, lunatic!"
"Ah, what a cruel fate, having such a bratty sister," I bemoaned, mockingly falling to my knees in despair.
Riley tried to glare as she patted her hair back down, but couldn't help but crack a grin. "Maybe you shouldn't be a hero; you could have a real career as a circus clown."
I snorted. "I doubt I'd have much peace living like that; the Protectorate would be after me day in and day out."
It was probably the wrong thing to say. The atmosphere, for a moment light and jovial, went back to being tense. Riley bit her lip, looking away.
"Don't worry," I told her, smiling crookedly. "You'll be fine, no matter what happens."
"I'm worried about you, blockhead," she huffed, picking up a beaker as if intending to throw it. After a moment, she set it back down. "We have a couple of experiments running; would you like to help me collect the data?"
I nodded, accepting the olive branch, and we got to work.
Working with a Tinker was different than I would have expected. At first, I was just a perfectly steady hand - sort of a living, breathing robotic assistant that she used when she really needed a new perspective. After a while, my duties spread to statistics and documentation, using my mental abilities to speed the banalities of recording the conclusions of the experiment.
Now, I was doing my best to perfectly mimic her procedures.
The first time I tried to make her blood oxygenation chemical, she scoffed. The temperature requirements during 'cooking' were surprisingly finicky, and the chemical proportions - and additive times - were also irritatingly precise.
The expression on her face when I finished was worth every hour I spent. I've never seen her that shocked, not even when I told her I'd seen the future.
It answered a question of mine - if someone with a perfect memory, exact muscle control and extreme reflexes duplicated a Tinker's movements exactly, could they duplicate the product?
The answer was yes - for simpler things. Still, even a simple success was enough to give me a minor Tinker rating, so I continued studying her experiments. I was actually very helpful, according to Riley; I'd helped design and program the electrical implants of the camspiders.
I still didn't know what I was doing most of the time. We didn't mention it to Miss Militia - she would be obligated to report it to the PRT, and it would inevitably cause problems.
Speaking of which-
"I thought I'd find you in here," Hannah spoke from the doorway. "Helping your sister with her projects?"
"Yup," I told her cheerfully. "The man eating rodent army is nearing completion. Soon, no villain will be safe."
From her expression, Hannah took the comment at face value for a couple of seconds. The way we started laughing was probably what tipped her off that we weren't quite serious.
"Funny," she said dryly, rubbing her face with one hand. Suddenly, I felt kind of bad about it; she looked exhausted. "I have some good news and bad news for you."
"Lay it on me," I said, carefully putting my soldering iron down.
"Good news, we've got the final version of your costume approved. It's on its way, and it will be here before you join the Wards. Bad news-" Hannah grimaced. "Bad news, we also finished polling the PR department's focus group. We have a list of names, and they wanted me to pick the ones you would like best. You're going to have to come in tomorrow."
I shrugged. "It's Summer vacation - I have nothing but time."
I underestimated the PR department.
I regret this.
The list wasn't long, per say, but considering every permutation and connotation was tiring in a very spiritual way.
"Let's go over the list once more, this time out loud." Madame Gertrude Bones had been working for the Pr department since 1993, and if I had to describe her in one word, it would be stubborn.
"Beginning with the very numerous A names," I said, straining to cover my irritation. "Achilles has negative connotations that do not quite fit the image I'm going for. Archimedes doesn't roll off the tongue, despite its similarities to Alexandria; Ajax makes me sound like a cleaning solution, like some sort of cape janitor; Anu is a god name - why is that even in here? - and Adamant… isn't terrible."
I skipped over Aegis; he may not have triggered yet, but I would always associate it with his Bet-A counterpart.
"The words 'damning with faint praise' come to mind," Bones said mildly. "Go on."
"Indomitable and Summit are probably the least bland, but if I had to pick another I'd go for Adamant," I admitted. "Typhon is a powerful name, but it's too villainous - much like Titan, only more so, and being called Titan while I'm this short would make me a joke. Prometheus and Rig are more suitable for a Tinker than a Brute and - did you filter these at all?"
"We tried, but Miss Militia convinced us to give you the full list - something about getting you in the right mindset. Bear in mind, if you suggest something terrible I will call you out on it. You may also change your pseudonym once you fully join the Protectorate - Ward names can be temporary depending on the strength of your power and reputation."
I rubbed the back of my neck, mulling it over. Finally, I sighed; I would just have to grow into whatever name they picked. "Top three remain unchanged - Indomitable, Adamant or Summit."
Bones nodded. "I would recommend Zenith; the others are rather generic brute names, and that's a bad thing with trademarking."
Zenith. Great. Maybe I could get a holographic projector hooked up to the back of my suit, or maybe I could convince Sundancer to provide a backdrop.
"I suppose Alexander is out of the question?" I asked whimsically.
She gave me a Look. "Yes."
"Worth a shot." I sighed.
"I will forward your preferences to the Director," Bone's said, gathering her materials.
One week till I was a Ward. Presumably, things would get easier; now, I just had the entrance interview to worry about.
Hannah had a surprise for me when I got home.
"Josh!" The surprise latched her arms around me the moment I stepped in the door.
"Hey Taylor," I choked out. My indestructibility was currently off, or I'd have tried to whirl her around like Riley. "How's your summer been?"
"Great!" She exclaimed, letting me go and dragging a redheaded girl over. "Dad was busy with Mr. Barnes, so Mr. Barnes brought Emma! Then Hannah called, and Mom said we could come over!"
"Emma, huh?" I eyed her for a moment before extending my hand. "I'm Joshua. It's nice to meet you."
Taylor's possible-future-betrayer shook my hand, nervousness betrayed by a slight tremor. She opened her mouth, perhaps to say something polite, but Riley chose that moment to burst into the room. I wasn't sure where she had been watching from; Hannah had forbidden any tinker tech inside the house.
"Hey!" She yelled, pointing accusingly. "Hands off my brother! That means you too redhead!"
I suppose it was fate that they wouldn't get along, I mused.
"He's not your brother!" Taylor retorted, mimicking Riley's pose. "You're adopted!"
Judging from Riley's expression, she was a hairs breadth from reaching for her surprise surgery kit. Riley hated Taylor's carefree attitude and pushy nature; Taylor hated Riley's occasional condescension and how she was instantly recognized as a genius at school.
I hope this doesn't end in acid spiders, a trigger incident and me buying a new house.
"Girls!" Hannah called from the living room. Everyone present, myself included, flinched. "Play nice!"
We were silent for a moment. Emma fidgeted, while Taylor and Riley settled for giving each other hostile looks.
"So," Taylor said eventually, voice even. "What are we going to do?"
Riley smiled, showing small but sharp teeth. "How about a board game?"
Scrabble was never meant to be this vicious, I thought numbly.
It may have been the look Riley gave me before we started, or it may have been my own desire to stay out of the fight, but somehow I was doing only slightly better than Emma.
"Excise," Riley hissed. "Double word score, thirty points."
Unwilling to lose, Taylor looked stubbornly over her letters. She was just barely trailing behind Riley, hanging on to her position through tenacity and luck despite Riley's greater vocabulary. Finally, her eyes lit up.
" Exited!" she said triumphantly, playing off Riley's word - to Riley's immense displeasure. "Double letter, double word! 30 points!"
This was getting ridiculous. My acid spider sense was once more tingling, and I didn't have to be Spiderman to realize that was a bad thing.
I carefully put down a single tile, making 'Excised', and stood. "I'm going to grab a snack."
Emma gave me a panicked look at being left alone, but I was unmoved; when Riley had that expression on her face, it was every man for himself.
Taylor's mother was in the kitchen. I carefully stepped past her, grabbing a yogurt out of the fridge.
"Hello Joshua," she said, giving me a warm smile. Immediately, I sensed I was being patronized. "I wanted to thank you for your gift - Hannah said it was your idea?"
Hearing the unspoken question, I shrugged. "Earpieces are much better for driving. Um, do you play Scrabble?"
She nodded, raising her eyebrows.
I let out a relieved breath. "Think you could take my place?"
Sic 'em, English lit professor.
Last edited: May 13, 2017
Montage 2.3
AN: It's Halloween, which means its time for costumes! Thank you all for your suggestions and opinions about the cape name.
I didn't really want to write this chapter. I ended up rewriting it, sleeping on it, then rewriting it two more times. It's been a while, though, and I finally just bit the bullet and posted what I had.
Montage 2.3
July 11th, 2007
"Will it expand at all?" I asked, flexing.
"Somewhat," Bones said, walking in a slow circle. "It's made with growth in mind, so if necessary it can be let out to match your height."
As a costume, it was a miracle of compromise.
The outfit I envisioned had been darkly medieval, all black steel and red outlined edges. Somehow, my detailed sketch failed to impress the Protectorate.
The new costume was intimidating in a different way. Careful, precisely arranged padding made me subtly larger, and the design was such that I even looked a little taller. The color scheme was white and gold, calling to mind both Scion and Alexandria with a rather long, elegant gilded cape. The mask was a simple domino with a near-invisible strap, molded in such a way as to avoid giving away the actual contours of my face.
"You don't think it's…" I hesitated, flaring the cape behind me with a short spin. "… Too much?"
That was a lot of serious connotations for someone of my rather short stature. It had looked cool on paper, but now that I was wearing it I felt incredibly self-conscious. Then again, I thought the whole cape industry was pretty stupid, so…
"I'm told there are very high hopes for you in the upper echelons," Bones said, face neutral as always. "The fabric has been reinforced to resist the wear and tear of high speeds, and it is technically bulletproof. However, it is notable that force will be transmitted through it almost perfectly, with deleterious consequences to anyone without a brute rating. It's called non-interference fabric."
"Tinker tech?" I asked, interested.
"Yes - the same type used for Alexandria's costume. I'm told the materials were shipped in from California." She pushed her glasses up with one hand. "I trust I don't need to tell you that this costume was very expensive."
"Huh." I pinched the fabric slightly. It didn't feel like an indestructible pseudo-material; I bet if I tried, I could probably rip it. The cape would probably be useful if someone started shooting at today's interview.
True to Riley's advice, I was keeping my ability off as much as possible in an attempt to normalize my aging. She'd provided me with a few 'booster shots' that would accelerate the onset of puberty, making the most of the time I spent without invulnerability, but now wasn't the time. I didn't expect someone to attack a Wards debut, but this was Boston, and I didn't know all the local villains the way I did Brockton.
Out here, a split seconds activation time could have deadly consequences for the people around me. I left the powers on.
"What should I expect from the interview?" I asked, settling my cape. Watching it move and flash gold was almost hypnotic.
"You aren't the only Ward being introduced today. There are two others, both of whom have just turned ten, and your birthdays were close enough that it was decided the three of you would share the same interview." Bones gave me a rather severe look. "While you may be the youngest, I am given to understand that you are the most mature; therefore, please keep in mind that you are representing the Protectorate."
Yikes; with a glare like that, she'd make a mean librarian. I nodded. "Right. And the questions?"
"You've seen the tapes of previous interviews? Basically that. They know not to blindside Wards; we'd boycott them if they did, and the 'live' feed actually has a ten second delay if we need to cause technical difficulties." She gave me one last critical look, then nodded and gestured. "You're ready."
I heard the people before I saw them.
Oh God, instant stage fright.
Easy now. I took a deep breath, then blew it out as I stepped past the curtain. From the other side - the female dressing room - the others walked nervously onto the set. I expected chairs, but instead we got a couch; was that a symbolic of solidarity, or was I reading too much into it?
I had to laugh; not ten minutes in and I was already paranoid. One of the girls gave me a suspicious look; the other tried to smile, but the way her foot was tapping told me all I needed to know about her mindset. A wave of sympathy washed over me for my fellow sister in suffering.
"Sovereign," I told the second one, extending a hand. "Nice costume."
"Diviner," she said, nervousness easing slightly. She was wearing a black wig, and a pretty good one - I could just barely tell she was blonde underneath, and I was cheating with super-senses. Her costume was an interesting blend of blues and greens, looking like fairly basic but well-tailored leather. I doubted it was bulletproof. "And thanks - yours is, uh, interesting?"
"Yeah," I grimaced. "I know. And, sorry, what was your name again?"
The first girl sighed when I turned to face her, obviously not wanting to socialize. Her costume was white and green, with a lot of weird swooping lines and occasional body armor panels. It was disorienting to watch her move, which I thought was an interesting hidden defense. "Vista."
"Really?" I asked, raising my eyebrows; she looked a surlier than I remembered her being described. "Going to guess - Shaker? We had a guy in the wards named Landscape who could change the environment with his artwork, so I imagine it's somewhat similar?"
"Yu p," Vista said, popping the P. "Spatial warping - I've had the Protectorate swarming around me for days testing how my power works, and I'm just a little irritated. Sovereign - I'm guessing probably some sort of Master power? Monarch-lite?"
I grimaced. "No, I'm mostly just a Brute - Alexandria without the flying. What about you Diviner?"
Diviner looked uncomfortable at being the center of attention. "I'm - I'm a Thinker. I can sense people from really long distances, and I can predict what they're doing."
"Sounds useful," I mused, rubbing my chin. "Especially on patrol - you could sense muggings before they happen."
"It's- it's usually not that precise at long range."
"Good to see you've all introduced yourselves!" A voice booming from beyond the stage startled us, making the space around Vista twist; I had to admire her instincts. "I'm Kay and we're on in ten, so let's go over the intro again. All three of you are going to be behind the screen to start with, then you'll pop out when they say your name, shake my hand, and then sit. Got it?"
"-and you're watching Kay Fabulous, your one stop Cape news source! I'm your host, Kay, and today we've got three extra special guests joining us this evening all the way from Brockton Bay!" With my enhanced senses, I could see him gesture despite being behind the divider. "Everyone give a warm welcome to the newest members of the Protectorate, Diviner, Vista, and Sovereign!"
The moment I stepped out in the light and noise, my posture straightened and I flashed the cameras a guileless smile.
The studio audience was small, but there were a lot of people behind those cameras. I noticed Miss Militia, Armsmaster and at least three PRT troopers lurking in the background, covering entrances. Everyone else just looked happy to be there, and they cheered when they saw us.
"That's right folks, it's that time of year again - Ward initiation!" Kay gestured broadly, indicating all three of us. One by one, we walked up and shook his hand, the music playing loudly. "How are you all doing today?"
"Fine."
"Excellent."
"Kind of hungry."
Everyone in the room gave me an odd look. I flashed the smile again, more embarrassed than happy. Kay laughed, a jovial, echoing noise.
Miss Militia slapped her face with one palm; Armsmaster just sighed.
What? I'm following my instincts.
"I know what you mean, we always film these things right before dinner. No worries Sovereign, there'll be time for roast beef and mashed potatoes later." Kay gestured at the couch, still beaming. "Please, take a seat."
We obeyed, though I had to abort and retry; my cape was more difficult to manage than I expected.
I hate omens.
"So," Kay began, steepling his fingers, "I was going to lead with a joke but since the ice is already broken, I think I'll lead with the first and most important question that people always ask - what makes you want to be a hero? Vista?"
"I suppose my family's responsible for me being a hero," Vista said after a moment of thought. I was probably the only one who noticed the slight frown on her face. "There's also the benefits - Ward's get good benefits."
"What else are you going to do with your powers?" Diviner deflected when Kay looked at her. "I mean, I just wanted to do some good."
All eyes turned to me.
Another thing to add to my List of Eternal Hatred, right below ballroom dancing - public speaking.
"Um," I blinked, mind racing. A half-truth pulled itself together. "I suppose it was Miss Militia. They actually wanted to call me Lil' Patriot for a while there, but I talked them down to Sovereign."
"It would have made the costume selection easy," Kay pointed out, smiling. "Can't go wrong with the Stars and Stripes."
"I suppose," I told him, smiling despite my inward grievance with the proposed costume.
The questions continued - favorite color, favorite music, favorite hero, and etcetera. The whole thing was less serious and far more banal than I expected; it honestly reminded me of a tabloid interview.
"And now we get to the other question that people always want answered," Kay continued, "after these messages!"
The music cut off.
"Phew," he said, sagging backwards in his chair. "Air conditioning must be on the fritz, it's gotta be at least seventy eight in here. Take a short break kids - crackers and cheese in the back room, bottles of water too if you need a drink."
"Sovereign!" Miss Militia called ominously from the audience, standing up.
"That sounds like a great idea!" I said quickly, making a swift retreat behind the curtain. "Be back in three!"
"So, let's get to the really fun part," Kay said, grinning. " Powers! Diviner?"
"I'm a Thinker," she said, trying to smile. "I can sense people and help coordinate other heroes. It's not very flashy, but it helps when multiple crimes are spread out over a large area."
"Interesting," Kay said, raising his eyebrows. "For those at home, 'Thinker' is the classification for parahumans with mental or sensory abilities. Can you tell me how many people are in the building right now?"
"Thirty two, including the parking lot," Diviner said, closing her eyes. "Also, your boss - at least, I think it's your boss - is upset about something, you might want to tread lightly."
Impressed murmuring from the peanut gallery.
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," the talk show host said wryly. "Vista?"
"I'm a Shaker," Vista said. "That means I can control my surroundings. My ability is to warp space - shrink distances, increase distances, loop distances, that sort of thing."
"Can you give us a demonstration?" Kay handed her a bottle of water and a glass.
Vista nodded, took it, then concentrated. After a moment, she put the glass to one side, then poured the bottle out on the other. The water splashed downwards, then, incredibly, did a rather disorienting twist and landed in the glass. When the glass filled, she kept pouring, keeping the water trapped in an infinite corkscrew.
The spectators ooh'd and aah'd as she directed it back into the bottle.
"Amazing," Kay said, clapping enthusiastically; Vista turned as the audience followed suit. "That's pretty versatile - there's no escaping from you, eh?"
"Nope," she declared proudly, handing the bottle back. Kay took an experimental sip, then shrugged and capped it off.
"I think Brockton Bay has a bright future ahead of it," Kay said diplomatically, turning to me. "So, Sovereign - I'd guess either minion control or an Alexandria package?"
"The second," I told him, grinning sheepishly. "I can't fly yet, but I'm pretty tough. Sorry, it's not that flashy."
"'Can't fly yet,' huh? Dreams for the future?"
I couldn't demonstrate my power without breaking something, so he obviously wanted to expand the personal section. "I feel like there's a trick to it that I just haven't picked up. I'll keep working at it - anything worth doing, well, you might as well fly while doing it right?"
It was a pretty weak joke to my ears, but Kay chuckled and an imaginary laugh track went off in my head. "So, what's the story behind the name? I heard it went through a lot of revision?"
I feigned a look of horror, eyes wide and staring out at the cameras. "You have no idea."
Every cape in the room smiled, with the exception of Armsmaster.
"On a serious note, I sort of grew up with the Wards." I admitted. "I got my powers pretty young, so even though I haven't been fighting crime I'm good at using them. Back then, though, you had a little kid who could bench press a tank and walk through walls in all the worst ways. The Wards at the time started calling me the Tiny Tyrant 'cause they had to put up with me, and Tyrant just kind of… stuck."
"Ahhh, I think I'm seeing how we got to Sovereign," Kay said, snapping his fingers.
"It was stubborn of me, but I was sort of used to it," I said, rubbing the back of my head. My hair was covered with a thin, darkening wig and it itched. "Of course, Tyrant sounded like the name of Alexandria's latest nemesis, so it had to go."
Laughter. Miss Militia shot me a Look; I was going off script. Any more and they might… well, I doubted they'd pull the plug, but I'd get chastised later.
"I for one like the new name," the talk show host said. "It's a - a miracle of compromise!"
I agreed; that's what the PRT is best at after all - compromise.
There were a few more questions, but the rest of the interview was mostly uneventful. I continued my 'polite but naïve' front the entire time, while my compatriots slowly warmed up to the whole process.
The fun part was over. Now came the boring pieces.
Bones chewed me out over 'interfering with my branding' afterwards, but I found it difficult to care. Miss Militia was waiting patiently outside the door; everyone else had already left.
"Did you have fun?" She asked, a smile in her voice.
"Not really," I admitted. "Kind of boring."
She chuckled. "We didn't have these when I started - the first time the public saw us was when we stopped a crime. It was a bit less effective for PR purposes. Come on - let's grab your sister and eat, then we can do something fun."
"We can't eat Riley!" I objected. "Who knows what kind of germs we'd ingest!"
Miss Militia rolled her eyes and slapped me on the back of the head. I rubbed the sore spot, eyes watering.
Worth it.
"Just try not to embarrass the entire Protectorate," she grumbled, holding the door open for me. I grinned at her impudently.
You can hope, I suppose.
Last edited: Jan 20, 2016
Montage 2.4
AN: Who's ready for a breather chapter?! Take an early update for being such awesome readers.
Montage 2.4
July 12th, 2007
Alone!
I woke up in a cold sweat.
Per Riley's instructions, I'd been sleeping with my power off to let my body grow more normally. My subconscious was taking the opportunity to send me some long-delayed nightmares about the Nine.
That was fine; I could handle that sort of nightmare. I stood, stretching and feeling the lingering soreness that Riley told me were growing pains. As customary, I recorded my height.
The lines on the door frame were a near solid black bar. No one ever accused Riley of not recording her data, and she'd stab me with one of her horse needles if I slacked off on the research. The process was incredibly stressful for a normal human constitution, but activating my abilities smoothed away the minor damage done in seconds.
On reflection it was odd that I healed at an accelerated rate but failed to age normally with my invulnerability on. It seemed to suggest a more 'conceptual' defense than anything logical, which was an obvious difference between my powers and a normal parahuman's.
I swapped pajamas for a coat and pants, then went to see the mad scientist.
She'd sulked for days about not being allowed to join the Wards, but Hannah and I were in agreement - no patrolling for Riley, and no PRT oversight. We were risking enough by registering her as 'Independent Tinker Pandora.' She accepted her situation eventually; if anyone realized her history as a member of the Nine, hers wouldn't be the only head on the chopping block.
Her lab had gone through an evolution over the years. While Riley may not have the sheer experience and the… organic resources… of the 'previous' Bonesaw, it wasn't like we were hurting for money. The expense account Hannah created for her was generous, though heavily reviewed.
It showed.
It no longer looked like a barn on the inside - at all. The less critical areas were lacquered wood while the rest were stainless steel, installed personally by her overly strong brother. The lab was kept meticulously clean at all times.
Or at least, it was usually clean.
"Riley?" I called, frowning. "Why does your lab look like a murder scene?"
"Shh!"
I turned, raising one eyebrow. "New question - why are you cowering in a corner with a net?"
She glanced around cautiously, then set the net down. "To be honest, the net part's kind of been useless."
I gave her a Look. " Why exactly?"
"Mostly-"
Poof!
A stack of books toppled and fell with a crash. I whirled -
Poof!
-to see an expanding cloud of black smoke.
"-because he can teleport," Riley finished, wilting slightly.
"He?" I asked warily, stepping into the corner. "He who?"
"Well," she bit her lip, "remember Mister Tawny?"
"My cat?" I stared at her. "The one you experimented on? The one you said ran away?"
"He did run away!" Riley objected. "He just came back! And, well, you know how you wanted me to figure out the vials-"
"You used a power vial on my cat?!"
"Only one! And we did need to test it! You'll be happy to know, injection seems to work fine!"
Something crashed to the ground upstairs, followed by a startled yowl.
I groaned, pressing my forehead against the wall. "You realize that those powers are the key to saving the world?! And that we only have ten?!"
"Hey!" She fired back, drawing herself up. "You asked for my help, and I say I needed an experiment!"
"Aren't experiments, you know, controlled?"
"Well," she admitted, looking miserable, "I really wasn't expecting him to expel the implant when he triggered."
Poof! Crack! Poof!
I sighed, running one hand down my face. "My first real cape fight was with the Nine, my second is going to be with a cat. Alright then, Pandora, how do we catch him?"
Riley positively glowed; for her, the cape name was still shiny and new. "Well, I have a tranquilizer, I just need a delivery mechanism. I implanted a remote, but he left it behind when he teleported off the table."
"So, basically, you want me to grab a syringe and stick it in a teleporting cat."
"Basically?"
"Great," I growled, striding over to the lab. "Which box?"
"There's a vial, labeled medetomidine hydrochloride. You want about half a milliliter."
Poof! Crash!
"… You might want to hurry."
"Yeah, I know," I muttered, filling the syringe and turning around. "Here, kitty, kitty."
Poof!
Tawny stared at me, tail lashing and hair standing on end. I kept the syringe behind my back, not wanting to spook the cat.
"Hey, Mr. Tawny," I said, smiling at him. He cringed away when I knelt down. "You remember me, right?"
"Mraow!" Tawny disappeared in a cloud of smoke just as I lunged.
I said something unpleasant.
"Hey!" Riley objected, scowling. "I'll tell Hannah you swore!"
"Don't even get me started on what we're telling Hannah!"
Clearly, this approach needed refinement. I considered for a moment.
"… Do we have any aerosolizing anesthetics?"
After many, many failed schemes - including one where I had to wait for the anesthesia to wear off on Riley - we finally resorted to drugging some food and waiting.
I felt like Wile E. Coyote trying to catch the roadrunner. If Yakkety Sax had blared from hidden speakers during the chase, I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised. Luckily, the cat stayed inside and seemed to calm down a bit when he realized he wasn't being ambushed.
Sucker.
Now, he was sleeping the sleep of the drugged and lying on an operating table. Riley had reattached the subcutaneous injector (with the assurance that this time, it would not fall out) and begun her experiments (after I extracted a few promises about what she was allowed to do to my pet.)
I was still a little irritated over losing a precious vial, but eventually I saw Riley's point of view - an animal trial just made sense. Starting with humans would be morally dubious, no matter how we approached it.
Mostly I was angry about getting stuck with the cleanup.
"At least we know they work?" Riley offered hesitantly.
While she was making sure our lab rat - lab cat? - wasn't a flight risk, I was busy picking things up before Hannah got back home. Whatever ability the cat had, it could telefrag like no one's business. There was broken glass, cat shaped prints in the floor, destroyed filing cabinets - it would take me hours to clean up.
I ran one hand down my face, resisting the urge to glare at her. Have to remember, she's my sister and I love her. Theoretically. Maybe. On the good days.
"A-and it did give the expected result. The vial was 'Dimensional Fracture' and the cat started teleporting, so… progress?"
It's way, way too early for this.
"I'm going to go find breakfast," I told her resolutely. I glanced at the clock, then sighed. "Make that lunch."
There really wasn't much to do around here but hero work and helping Riley tinker. We were isolated out here, pretty far from anything remotely interesting. The neighbor kids were a tight knit group, and generally avoided us. Taylor came by with Emma a couple times, but for the most part it was just me and Riley.
Hannah had left yesterday, heading for some conference in New York. Before she left, she'd insisted on cooking enough food for the two days she was gone. I'd tried to tell her I could do it, but she and Riley had shouted me down.
I blame gender stereotypes.
Spaghetti. A simple, yet refined dish. The perfect breakfast/lunch for a worn out junior hero. I pulled my steaming plate out of the microwave, then sat down in front of the TV to watch some cartoons.
Before the fork even reached my mouth, my Wards pager went off.
Hand trembling slightly, I set the plate aside and consulted it. General readiness alert - they wanted me to head to base.
"Alright," I let out a breath, activating my powers. "This should be quick."
The current Wards team was made up of just four people. There was Vista, Diviner, Cognit (whose attitude hadn't improved at being left behind by his fellows) and me. That was two Thinker's, a Shaker, and a Brute. We weren't exactly balanced - strong, yes, but not balanced.
The lack of new Wards could be blamed on the lack of gang activity. With the Empire diminished and basically no other parahuman gang in town, there was no need to transfer heroes in and there were altogether less triggers.
I suspected Cauldron had more or less pulled out of the area; with me here, the outcome of any societal experiment became way less predictable.
As usual, I was the last to arrive. Even with superspeed - which was pretty badass as mundane transportation - the fact was that I lived outside the city, while the others tended to linger around the tower in their off hours. According to Miss Militia Claire actually lived in her room there, while Missy and Cognit just preferred it to hanging out with their families.
I was starting to think that every parahuman had a screwed up home life.
"Sovereign," Cognit said, scowling. We were the only ones in full costume. "Good of you to join us - finally."
Missy snorted; Claire gave me a friendly wave.
"Traffic was bad," I told him, keeping my voice mild. "What's with the meeting?"
"Now that we're all present, I can start." Cognit tapped a button on his keyboard. "As you've all heard by now, Miss Militia and Armsmaster are attending a seminar in New York. As that accounts for over half the Protectorate's roster, there's a shortage of manpower. This presents a unique… opportunity."
Oh, this was going to be bad.
"What do you mean?" Vista asked, looking interested.
"I mean that with them gone, we can get some serious heroics done and make a real name for ourselves." Cognit said, smacking his fist into his palm. "Battery is, ah, preoccupied, so the only one here is Assault and he's already approved my teamwork exercise plan."
That was suspicious; Assault, in a position of authority over impressionable superpowered youths? Battery was technically in charge of the Protectorate right now, so any 'order' her boyfriend signed would be basically worthless. Still, if she was gone…
"What, exactly, are we patrolling for?" I spoke up. Despite my reservations, this could be a good excuse to hunt for the Teeth; apart from their dramatic debut, they'd been surprisingly cagey about showing themselves. "I doubt stopping an extra mugging or two will really build our reputation the way you're describing."
"I'm so glad you asked," Cognit said, grinning. He tapped a key; the monitor changed, displaying newspaper clippings. "Over the last two weeks, there have been over six murders in the warehouse districts. The victims were crushed by someone with Brute level strength. The Protectorate has investigated, but nothing has been discovered so far. I've put together a pattern analysis and a plan of action."
"These murders," I said, leaning forward. "Describe them."
He frowned at me. "The bodies were crushed. Limbs were dislocated, bones broken, heavy internal trauma. Pattern of injuries seems to suggest coiling was involved."
I could see his plan; it was pretty transparent. "So in other words, you're going to use me as bait for a big snake."
Cognit hesitated. "Well - yes. It's not like they can hurt you. Vista will provide quick transportation around the city and keep the squishable civvies away, while you walk in and apprehend the bad guy. Then, we just have to bring them in and presto - instant accolades!"
This was a terrible, terrible idea, and I was going to tell them so.
"I'm in," Vista said, looking determined. "Parahuman murderers shouldn't get to walk free."
Diviner hesitated, then nodded. "As long as I'm not on the front lines."
"You won't be," Cognit assured her. "You'll be with me, coordinating."
All eyes turned to me, faces expectant.
…
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Damn peer pressure; I'm in."
"So, when they said they would back us up, they basically meant we're going to walk all over while they bark orders from the radio room."
"Yup."
Vista sighed. "Why is he team leader again?"
"Oldest."
"At least Diviner seems pretty cool. Kinda shy, but in an adorable way."
"I'm surprised you two hit it off," I said, checking the lock on the warehouse door. Sealed, and none of the windows were broken. "Have to admit, I was expecting some clashes."
She shrugged, then ticked off a location on her map. As promised in the briefing, Cognit had given it to us with little red circles drawn around likely areas. Lots and lots of little red circles. Most of them were already checked off. "I dunno, she just has that little sister feel, you know? Let's move to the next hot spot."
Vista's face become a mask of concentration. Space began to warp and bend, which was incredibly strange to watch with enhanced senses. As one, we both stepped forward, and we were three blocks away.
"Believe me when I say, little sisters are a pain," I told her feelingly. "Diviner doesn't go through your things and make ludicrous messes; therefore, she's not little sister material."
She shrugged and started to walk. "You asked."
Claire wasn't that bad, I suppose, and neither was Missy, but to be perfectly honest it would have gone better if I were on my own. Unfortunately, any perceived brushoff from me would probably alienate Vista for the rest of time. She tried to hide it, but the self-esteem issues were almost palpable.
I never used to understand people this well. Was it the powers that were clueing me in, or was I just getting more mature? Not everything could be about powers, after all.
While I was thinking deep thoughts, Vista was stepping around the warehouse. "Hey!"
"What?" I asked, snapping out of my fugue.
"This door's been forced," she said, pointing. Indeed, the handle was hanging on by a thread; something had practically torn it out of the wood.
"Good catch," I told her, opening it slowly. The interior was pitch black, the light shining through the door cutting a long rectangular slice out of the gloom. "You should probably stay out here."
"What? No way." Vista scowled at me. "I've been traipsing around all day, there's no way I'm going back now."
"It'll be close quarters," I warned her. Vista of the Bet-A might be able to handle it, but this one didn't have the same reflexes or control. "Also, you won't be able to see. The electricity is off; it's been abandoned for years, like most of the buildings in this district. If there is a bad guy in there, chances are they can see in the dark, and your flashlight's just going to make you a big, shining target."
She worked it through for a minute, looking indecisively at the open door; the partially dismembered mannequin barely visible near the entrance was probably what made up her mind.
"Fine," she growled, stepping back. "But keep in contact."
I nodded, then stepped inside. The door closed behind me, leaving me in near total darkness.
Not that it mattered much. Using my senses in the dark was one of the first things I'd figured out.
This place had clearly been storage for some sort of clothing outlet at one point. The place was filled with mannequins of all shapes and sizes, some even standing with all their limbs attached.
"It's like, Toy-Satan's meat locker in here," I muttered.
"What? Say again?" Vista asked, the radio crackling. I paused, then switched it to 'toggle.'
"Nothing," I told her, releasing the button. Stupid Protectorate and their cutting edge radios.
It looked like a tornado had gone through right before me. Crates had been splintered, mannequins had been shattered, limbs were scattered everywhere - and it went in a straight line. Like any dumb teenager in a horror movie, I followed the path of inexplicable carnage.
It let me through all the way through the warehouse, then through another door (also torn apart) into an old office complex. From the cobwebs and peeling wallpaper, it was also abandoned.
"This is why they pay me the big bucks," I told the building solemnly. "'Cause I put up with stuff like this."
Something shifted in the back.
"Please… don't."
"Hello?" I called, stepping into an office. Someone had torn the desk to ribbons, and the contents of the filing cabinet had been scattered everywhere. The couch was tipped over; behind it, something moved furtively. I couldn't quite make it out.
"Please just - go away!"
I swallowed, then stepped forward. "Are you o-"
The shadows pounced.
I only had a couple seconds to react, which I spent by being very, very still. Tendrils of near-invisible black wrapped around my arms, my legs, my torso. Some of them tangled themselves in my cape; others just squeezed around my neck.
Lovely.
Luckily, I recognized her. This was Sveta, only before she picked the name. Not-Sveta, then.
"I'm sorry," she said, voice muffled. "I didn't mean to."
"Don't worry," I assured her, "I'm al-ghrk!"
Bad touch! Several tendrils had reached across my mouth and around the back of my head like an impromptu gag. I just barely resisted the urge to bite down. Grimacing at the taste reminiscent of latex and Lysol, I pried it off, letting it coil around my arm with its fellows. "I'm alright."
"I - I don't want to hurt anyone!"
The mental image I had of the Case 53 that would become Sveta had fallen far short of reality. I'd thought it would be something like a face with hair trailing behind, but there were definitely organs on the main 'stalk.' If you hung her upside down, she'd sort of look like a demonic jellyfish.
"I know," I soothed, meeting her terrified eyes with confidence. "Don't worry, I can hel- urk."
As I pried the tentacle loose once more, I couldn't help but lament what had become of my life.
It wasn't easy to get Sveta out and into Riley's lab. Vista was diverted by pinning the blame on squatters; for the rest of the day, we patrolled empty warehouses and abandoned buildings. I found no sign of the Teeth. When it came time for me to come home, I instead made a detour to pick up a clingy parasite. With her stuck to me like a ball of dark, malevolent silly string, I couriered her home as fast as I could.
"Is this where you live?" Not-Sveta asked, voice quiet. She kept her head behind me, under my cape.
"Yup," I told her, opening the outer door to Pandora's Box. "Just remember, concentrate on me and only me. Grip as hard as you can. Riley! I need your-" I paused. "Are you actually cleaning, or did you just pick up that broom when you heard the door open?"
"Cleaning, of course," Riley said, chuckling nervously. She turned around, then stared. "Um, I don't want to pry into your, uh, proclivities, but… what-?"
"Case 53," I told her irritably. Not-Sveta shifted, face peaking sheepishly out from under my cape. "She can't control her powers, and needs a safe place to stay while we talk."
"Ooh!" Riley brightened, practically jumping up and down. "We finally get to use the primary containment cell!"
"Containment cell?"
"Don't worry," I reassured Not-Sveta, patting a tentacle. It thrashed at me, then settled around my torso. "We'll be able to help you, we just need to research a couple things. While we do, we'll keep you in one of the containment units so no one gets hurt. Is that alright?"
Not-Sveta hesitated, then nodded.
"Excellent - I'll give you the one right next to Mr. Tawny!" Riley said happily, pressing a control. The wall opened slowly, revealing three featureless steel doors and a row of cages. Mr. Tawny was awake and pacing, collar beeping red every few seconds.
I stepped into the first door, then stopped.
Riley considered my predicament for a moment. "… How exactly are you going to pry her off you?"
"… Good question."
"Mraow?"
"… What's with the cat?"
After a few minutes of playing 'remove the tentacle' that ended up entirely futile, a few minutes of attempting to soothe Not-Sveta into latching onto a bar of metal, and finally a mild dose of carefully administered tranquilizers - plus a muscle relaxant - we got her into the cell.
At least we'd have a few hours to come up with a good story for the vials before she woke up.
I sat down with my bowl of spaghetti, now somewhat dry after being reheated twice, and patted the cushion next to me. Riley sat down with her bowl and began to eat. With an effort of will, I deactivated my powers, then raised a forkful of spaghetti.
The door opened.
"Riley! Joshua!" Hannah called, fiddling with her keys. "I'm home!"
"Mom!" Riley said, jumping up.
"Hey. Did you have a good time at the conference?"
Hannah swept Riley up into a hug. "Boring, for the most part. Got to meet Legend, which was pretty cool."
"Wow," Riley breathed. "I've always wanted to meet Legend! What was he like?"
"Cheerful as always." Hannah set Riley down, then walked into the kitchen. She stopped dead. "Joshua, I thought you were on dishes duty today."
"I-" - traded it to Riley for laundry duty - "will get right on that."
"What do you even do all day?" Hannah said, frowning. "I swear, I leave for a couple of days and nothing gets done. If you want to be treated more like an adult, you need to learn some responsibility."
Riley leaned away from me, paling slightly at the look on my face.
"Right," I said, gritting my teeth. Goosfraba, Joshua; goosfraba. "I'll - try to do better."
The microwave beeped. Hannah came back with a spaghetti plate of her own and a bucket of popcorn. She smiled at me. "That's all I ask. Now, if you finish quick, you can watch the movie I brought back with me."
I gave my sister a Look.
"I'll help him," Riley said quickly, standing up.
The movie was a stupid, unrealistic cape-flick, but that wasn't really the point - it was family bonding night, and we were supposed to spend those together. Strange; I hadn't expected to become so attached. The sense of unreality, the disconnection from the people around me, the semi-intrusive thoughts from my past life, they were fading as I got older.
It's strange; I'm not used to being happy and exhausted at the same time.
Riley feel asleep on me halfway through the film, obviously tired out from a day in the lab. I was in a similar situation, but I dare not close my eyes - if I did, Hannah would carry us both upstairs in a very childlike manner. I had my dignity to protect, even if Riley was drooling on my shoulder.
Then the pager went off. I recognized the strident tone of the emergency alert instantly. Hannah pressed the button, silencing it.
"Endbringer," she told me quietly. "They say Leviathan has been spotted near Anchorage."
Something froze inside. "You just got back."
"I know."
"You haven't even slept yet."
"Yeah. I know."
"Let me go - I can -"
"No!" Hannah voice was almost a snarl, her eyes fierce. Riley stirred against me, halfway awake.
"I'm a Ward now," I told her defiantly. "That means-"
"It means you need a permission slip from your guardian," she said, standing up and pulling her spare costume out from under the couch. "From me, and I say no. Stay here; take care of your sister. I'll be back soon."
"What's going on?" Riley asked sleepily, blinking and wiping her mouth.
"Sorry," Hannah apologized, kneeling down next to her. "I have to go, but I'll be home by the time you get up tomorrow. Be a good girl for your brother while I'm gone, okay?"
A flash of stark, primal terror appeared on Riley's face, then it was gone as fast as it came. "I-I will."
Hannah nodded, giving us one last look before heading out the door. Riley shoulders started to shake.
Not like this. I ran.
"Wait! Mom! Wait!" I called after her, heart in my mouth. She froze, car door open. "If you d-don't come back, I won't forgive you. I'll have Riley reanimate you just so I can lecture you. So, you have to come back, okay?"
Hannah stared at me, eyes wide and surprised.
"What?" I asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "She'll do it you know."
"You-you called… never mind," she said, wrapping her arms around me. "I'll come back; promise."
"You better," I told her, leaning into the hug. Hannah gave me one last, tremulous smile, then she got into her car and left.
I stepped back and watched her go.
I was so tired of watching people leave.
Riley was still sniffling into a pillow when I walked back in. I sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug.
"I - I don't want to be alone," she whimpered into my shoulder. It was easy to forget that I was the older sibling, if only in mind now. "Please don't go."
"I won't," I said quietly, rocking her gently. "I won't."
I turned my powers back on as Riley fell asleep.
I didn't want to dream tonight.
AN: Oh, wait, that wasn't the breather chapter, 2.3 was. My bad.
Last edited: Dec 7, 2015
Montage 2.5
It's finals week. Thus, instead of studying, I write.
Go, procrastination!
Montage 2.5
I love my sister, but her cold feet made me regret turning my power back on. Even though I was immune to detrimental environmental effects, I could still feel - with even greater precision - extremes of temperature, and the lumps of ice stuck to my ribs were definitely uncomfortable.
After Hannah left, neither of us wanted to leave the television. There was probably some sort of snide remark I could have made about kids and their TV, but I wasn't really in the mood; the news was reporting the latest on the Leviathan battle, and I felt justified in being a couch potato.
It wasn't like I could move even if I wanted to. Riley tried her best to stay awake, but she'd fallen asleep on my shoulder. If I moved, she'd start to cling even tighter, so I only had the one arm to operate the remote with. The Leviathan fight had just ended - Scion resolution, Endbringer-sized casualties, more to come.
Then silence. The full casualty list would be tallied later. Right now, Hannah could have been killed in action, and we wouldn't know.
The doorbell came almost as a relief. Riley sat up straight as if electrified, letting me go at last; I rubbed my arm, trying to get some feeling back into it. We both exchanged a look, then bolted for the door.
"It's about time you got-" I froze. "Armsmaster."
His armor had been damaged; I recognized his spare breastplate, which was slightly less streamlined. His armguards were covered in scratches and dusty in places, like he'd been thrown through a wall. "Joshua; Riley. You're needed at the hospital."
I kept my voice conversational, trying to suppress the omnipresent feeling of dread. "Is she… alive?"
"No critical injuries."
A lot of people say that Armsmaster has no personality, that he acts like a poorly programmed android. Those people don't see him during off hours. Armsmaster is a stone cold model of efficiency; Colin has a quiet sense of humor, mostly catering to stealth puns and ironic reversals. If you worked with him long enough, you'd get a better understanding of the man.
Right now, he was in full robot mode.
Only one thing to do. "Riley - full kit."
She nodded, numb terror replaced with determination. "I'll get it."
As I grabbed Sovereign's armor, I couldn't help but wonder when I started to think of it as a uniform.
It was a quiet night at the Emergency Room. Very few people went out of their way to fight Endbringers, and even fewer would go to a battle as far away as Anchorage.
The fact that even fewer of those Capes would return with survivable injuries, I ignored.
Hospitals were a special kind of hell for those with enhanced senses. Even with the low crime rate that occurred at the same time as an Endbringer battle, the place stank of death, sickness and antiseptics.
I hated the hospital; I spent way too much time here.
Miss Militia's room was on the third floor, guarded by two stern PRT troopers; they nodded to us as we went past. Her eyes focused on me and Riley with bleary intensity the moment we stepped in, though judging by the steady drip of morphine she wasn't entirely there with us.
She also had a very bulky cast on one arm.
"Just my collarbone," she croaked, then cleared her throat. "And a rib. Nothing to worry about; they'll let me come home tomorrow."
"I'll be the judge of that," Riley - no, Pandora said frostily, stepping forward with her ubiquitous bag of tools. Miss Militia paled slightly; we hadn't been joking about the reanimation thing. "How did this happen?"
"Tail end of a water echo," she grumbled, leaning back in her bed. "Tossed me into some guy's house. I'd feel bad, but the city will probably get evacuated anyways."
"I didn't actually hear if we won." Behind me, Pandora was unpacking nameless legions of instruments, each more fearsome than the last.
"You don't win Endbringer battles," Armsmaster muttered, standing up. "Scion came and drove him off, but the city might still be condemned. I'm going to check if Battery is out of surgery."
"Wait," Miss Militia said, eyes flickering to Pandora. "Are you sure you can't stay just a little-"
The door closed behind the Protectorate hero with a sense of finality. Miss Militia sagged.
"No escape," my sister said melodramatically, holding up what looked like a mutated auriscope; suffice to say, it was a little too large to fit in an ear.
As if on cue, the door opened again.
"Hey, Militia!" A man in armor stepped in, his silver and gold armor glinting wildly from the bright hospital lights. "Came to see how you were - am I interrupting something?"
"No, no, please come in," she said, relieved. Riley pouted, lowering her instruments.
"You must be the new rugrats I've heard so much-" he faltered as he met my eyes, "-about."
Miss Militia said something in response, but I wasn't paying attention. The hero's reaction was… interesting. His face had run the gamut between confusion, surprise, and apprehension before he finally pulled himself together.
Well, I say finally, but it was really pretty quick.
"I'm not a rugrat," Pandora protested loudly. "I hate that show!"
"Of course, of course," he said with a tolerant air, eyes flickering to Riley - then he stopped, turning a delicate shade of green. "I'm, uh, not feeling that well. This cafeteria food, they said it was to die for and I'm finally getting the joke. It's good to see you're alright, Militia."
He exited before Miss Militia could even respond.
I frowned after the fleeing hero. "Who was that?"
"That was Chevalier," Militia said, looking equally confused. "He's not normally like that. Chevalier was in the Wards with me, way back at the start of the program. It's weird - I don't know how he got down here, but he's normally stationed in Philadelphia."
My instincts were practically screaming at me now. "Pandora, you have things covered here?"
She blinked at me, then nodded. "Well, yeah, this is kind of my thing."
"I'm going to go find this dreaded cafeteria," I told her, smiling tightly. "Anything you want?"
"Ooh! See if they have any cocoa puffs, and one of those tiny cartons of chocolate milk!"
"You know those are terrible for you, and mostly sugar," Militia said in her best mom voice.
"Of course I do," my sister responded, turning her nose up. "I'm a doctor, I know all about that stuff. Besides, who is in the hospital with broken bones? Not me!"
"If you think cocoa puffs are the same as fighting Leviathan-"
"Be back in a few." I exited hastily before they could pull me into the brewing argument.
Chevalier hadn't gotten far enough to leave range of my senses, but it was a close thing. The elevator was already descending, so I took the stairs. When he got out, the hero looked around to make sure he wasn't followed, but the overly bright nature of his armor made him easy for me to track around corners.
The basement was mostly deserted. At this time of night, I expected most maintenance workers to be cleaning the more populated areas, making it a good spot for a clandestine meeting. Clearly, someone else had the same idea.
This whole situation stunk.
Who are you working for, Chevalier?
The hero glanced around one more time, then opened a nondescript door and stepped inside. The brief wash of light revealed -
Ah; Miss Alexandria, it's been far too long.
The door closed, cutting off my brief view. I strained my ears, trying to hear through the disrupting hum of machinery. It must be a laundry room; I recognized the sound of water in a spin cycle.
"Did it work?"
"Some-somewhat. I think I made him suspicious."
"Explain. What did you see?"
"From the boy?"
"Yes."
"It was - different. I didn't see it, it was more like a feeling, you know?"
"No, I don't. Describe this feeling."
"It's, it's kind of like going to the Chrysler Building and leaning against the wall. You look up, and you can only see a little, but you can feel it looming over you. All I could see was that it was big - bigger than any agent I've ever seen."
"Interesting - and disturbing."
"And the girl - oh god, the girl. Did you know how she trig-?"
The washing machine began to drain very loudly, dissolving the rest of the sentence into meaningless noise. Scowling, I tried to concentrate through it, but I lost a good thirty seconds of conversation. Once I learned how to fly, my next priority was definitely going to be training my senses.
"-agic, I know, but we can't let that stop us."
"Do - do you think it will help? With the model?"
"Maybe. The countermeasure-"
What the hell were they washing, a bag of quarters?!
"-erous, but we have no choice."
"What about - her?"
"I wouldn't worry."
"She's got a lot of influence over him, and you know her past. Are you sure it's safe to-?"
"Unlike Sovereign, she can be viewed with precognition, and we have leverage. The risk of contamination is… minimal. If you've done all you can here, you should say your goodbyes and head back to Philadelphia."
"Right. Right, I'll do that."
"And - Chevalier? Take some time off."
The door started to open. I was up the stairs in a flash, as fast as I could move without creating a concussive blast. The sudden breeze was hopefully dismissed as an air conditioning quirk, or a pressure change from an open door.
It wasn't totally unexpected that Cauldron was still keeping an eye on me. Precognition was one of their main strengths; without it, they had to resort to more inexact methods. I'd suspected Chevalier was one of theirs, but I hadn't been certain of the depth of his involvement.
Then again, he might not even know she was part of Cauldron. It was very possible that he was simply ordered by a superior to provide an assessment for Protectorate Thinkers. Supporting that theory was the conspicuous lack of Door use; if he had been a full Cauldron member, he'd have 'ported somewhere more secure, like another dimension.
Whatever; they could watch me as much as they wanted. Pandora's Box, as I'd started to call our tiny barn lab, was more or less surveillance proof. If we were really unlucky, Clairvoyant was watching us like a hawk, but there wasn't much I could do about that.
Yet.
The cafeteria lacked cocoa puffs. Still in full costume, I ran to the nearest store and endured several odd looks from awestruck civilians and a very surprised cashier.
When I got back, I caught my sister mid-monologue.
"-can fix this in one surgery!" She protested. "If you don't, it'll be weeks before the cast comes off!"
"I've already received the best care the Protectorate can provide," Miss Militia said levelly, though the image was somewhat ruined by the way she was hiding her injured arm.
"And you'll need further treatments to get back into fighting form," Pandora countered. "Dragon's Ossification Boosters are expensive, and they'll still take a long time compared to my treatment. It's like you want to stay-" she paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Say, are you being paid while you're hurt?"
"Half pay, but yes. With the gangs staying quiet, they shouldn't mind me being off duty for a couple weeks." There was a certain sparkle in her eyes that wasn't there before.
"… Do we get to go on vacation? As a doctor, I can say that fresh air and mild exercise are good for injuries."
"If it's not too strenuous. I'm going to have to stay overnight, but tomorrow…"
The two of them shared conspiratorial smiles.
I let the bowls hit the table with a loud clack. They jumped.
"Heroes calling in sick," I said, shaking my head disapprovingly. "How utterly banal."
"Are you saying no?" Pandora challenged, meeting my eyes fearlessly. It was hard to believe she was younger than I was sometimes.
"Nah," I grinned. "What kind of hero would I be if I let my injured mother go alone? I just want to bring Taylor."
"You'll have to ask her parents, but it's doable," Militia said. She glanced down at my groceries, then frowned. "… I must say, that's more cereal than I was expecting."
My sister blinked, looking down at the box and half-gallon carton of milk. "I don't think we're going to be able to eat all that, Sovereign."
"They didn't have any in the cafeteria." I considered it solemnly. "… Maybe Armsmaster will have some?"
Not-Sveta stared down at the bowl of cereal, tendrils twitching.
"Think about it as a test for your fine control," I told her cheerily.
One tendril reached down, then crushed the spoon into a warped pretzel. Another picked up the bowl, then flung it at her face.
Not-Sveta slumped, soggy cocoa puffs falling to the floor. Yamada, I was not.
Milk dripped quietly for a moment. One of Riley's lab cats - not Mr. Tawny, who was currently doped out of his mind - mewled in the background. She'd been going through them fast lately; presumably she was doing some sort of high-intensity neurological study.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, silently praying for an end to awkwardness everywhere. "And on that note, have you had a chance to look over that list of powers we gave you yet?"
She nodded, perking up a little, and tapped a number on the (slightly soggy) sheet. I pulled the relevant vial free from the case. "You, you said there's no way to predict the result, right? I could get any power, but it'll heal me?"
"Correct, to a point." I hoisted the vials onto the table where she could see the labels. "We know that they will replace your powers, but we don't know what with. What we do know is that your current powers will cease to maintain your form, which means Riley can perform surgical intervention in the eventuality that you aren't reverted to a fully human appearance."
Rather than explode with joy (like any reasonable person would do) Not-Sveta bit her lip, thinking silently for a minute. "We - haven't really talked about it, but… what do you want?"
"Several things; you'll have to be more specific."
"For the powers. From me." She thrashed, turning around roughly so she could face me squarely. "Why are you doing this?"
"Would you accept the answer 'because I'm a hero'?"
"No," she growled, "and stop screwing around. I want a serious answer - what are your goals? Why are you helping me?"
If she wanted the whole spiel, this was going to be tricky. I pulled a chair away from the table and sat. She waited patiently as I thought, eyes meeting mine unblinkingly. Riley continued to record data on the computer behind us, the regular tapping of the keyboard and the soft rustling of bored cats the only sound in the entire lab.
"Riley and I are different from most capes," I told her eventually. I didn't care if she knew our names; I suspected the point would be moot soon enough. "We're alike in that we both triggered very young, from the murders of our families. I was luckier than she was; my powers let me escape, let me tear my tormentors to shreds. I found a guardian. Hers - her powers made her a bigger target, something to be used and discarded. Eventually, she got away, and Riley found my guardian too."
I stood, filled with inexplicable energy, and started to pace. "However, I'm different, even from my sister. We aren't sure what happened with my ability, but it isn't a normal power. It doesn't follow the standard template for parahumans, this has been observed by the PRT, but not even Miss Militia knows that during the tests I lied by omission."
"Lied about what?" There was no judgement on her face, only curiosity and a measure of dread.
"My powers include strength, durability, speed, intelligence, superior senses, and enhanced cognition. They also make me immune to most Master and Stranger type abilities, and have a blanking effect on my personal future." I hesitated a moment, then took the plunge. "What they don't know is that at the moment of my trigger, I had a vision. All parahumans do, though most forget it. My vision was… more comprehensive. I couldn't forget it; my power doesn't let me forget anything."
I had a captivated audience; even Riley hadn't heard me talk about this openly. I could almost feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, her fingers paused above the keyboard.
"What did you see?" Not-Sveta asked, tentacles still.
"Monsters," I told her, kneeling down in front of the glass. "Heroes and villains fighting together; the end of the world. That's what my goal is; that's what I'm trying to stop. You want to know why we're helping you? I'm helping you not only because it's the right thing to do, but because I want you to help us."
"You could give these powers to anyone," Not-Sveta said after a pause. "Why me? Why not a trained soldier, or a renowned physicist, or some popular idol to drum up support? I don't have any skills, or any connections. All I have is-" she waved a tentacle feebly.
"We might recruit someone like that later," I said, straightening up again. "Right now, we're just setting up. According to my timeline, we have as much as a decade before the really bad stuff happens. Our bargain is this - we give you a vial, and we restore you to human form. In return, you help me save billions - no, trillions of lives."
"But - I'm just - what if I'm not strong enough?" Tendrils thrashed in agitation, sending the bowl flying against a wall. "What if you give me the power, and I screw it up? I don't even know who I am! What if-"
I could feel my power, the subtle influence in the back of my mind, pulsing like a golden star. Without it, there would be doubt, questions; with it, there was no lie in my voice, no deception in my demeanor.
You will be better than you were.
No time for hesitation.
I pressed the button on the outside of the cell. The glass slid upwards soundlessly. Tentacles lunged, then stopped right before they reached my face. Judging by the struggle on Sveta's face, the strain was immense; still, the tendrils quivered in midair, frozen by a supreme effort of will.
Potential.
"Whoever you are, you're strong," I told her quietly, meeting her disbelieving eyes as I held up her chosen vial. The word 'Quantum' had been written on the innocuous white label. "Above all else, believe that. Now, I ask you - do we have a deal?"
Author's Note: Had a devil of a time with that last scene. Sorry it's late, I've been somewhat sporadic with writing lately.
Last edited: May 14, 2017
Original Character Sheet: Wards
I did promise I'd post an OC character sheet at some point. Here's the first one.
PRT Personnel files: Wards
Maledict (Expired)
Maledict, also known as Sabrina Trellow, is a powerful Shaker ranked at 10 on the PRT scale. In layman's terms, her ability causes things to happen in such a way that a proposed outcome occurs. This could be likened to a burst of very bad luck when used in combat, though it does not always express itself obviously. It is theorized that her ability has a mildly precognitive aspect, as it operates without her knowledge of the precise effects, as well as a weak long range telekinetic effect.
Maledict first use of her powers - namely, she 'wished' for money - caused a massive pileup and an armored car to fly off a bridge, landing in her back yard with its door inexplicably broken open. There were approximately twelve casualties.
It has been noted that the vaguer her 'wish' the more drastic the effects will be and the longer it takes to build the energy required. As such, she is not allowed to use her abilities unless in mortal peril or at the written command of the regional director. She is technically a Ward Associate, not a Ward, and as such is not present at televised events. She is also not required to patrol. Further experimentation with her power is being conducted in controlled laboratory conditions.
(Emergency ROE - Tranquilize immediately. Avoid battles not sprung from ambush.)
(Addendum 1: Following the closure of the Wards Associate program, Maledict was reassigned to the Alaska branch.)
Landscape (Expired)
Landscape, or Jacob Smith, is an African American ward with an unusual Shaker ability, ranked at seven on the PRT scale. Landscape may manipulate an environment by first painting an accurate picture, then editing the picture as he likes. While he can paint organic figures into the picture, he cannot affect them directly; we believe this is a form of Manton limit.
It should be noted that paint is not the only medium he can work with. Landscape is fully capable of manipulating environments when drawing in materials such as salt; dust; sand; graphite; and most recently, blood.
Landscape was discovered during a construction scandal, where several buildings collapsed overnight. His father was arrested for Exploitation of a Parahuman in the second degree after Landscape was found locked in his room with various art supplies. Vigorous questioning revealed that Landscape's constructs are not permanent, lasting at most two months; fortunately, the remaining buildings were evacuated before they could disappear.
(Emergency ROE - standard Tinker strip protocol. Bind hands.)
(Addendum 1: Upon reaching age of majority, Landscape was transferred to the Miami Protectorate at his request.)
Cognit (Current Team Leader)
Cognit, or Matthew Johnson, is a Caucasian male of about fourteen years in age. He is rated at a Thinker 6 on the PRT scale. According to Cognit his ability lets him predict an opponent's moves, as well as directing him to their blind spots and weaknesses.
Cognit's older sibling died in a car crash with Cognit in the car; according to him, his powers showed up after the crash. Cognit sought out the PRT on his own initiative.
(Emergency ROE - Snipers.)
(Addendum 1: Cognit is said to be rude and abrasive by his team mates. Mandatory counseling prescribed after incident A23.)
(Addendum 2: Extra counseling sessions ceased by recommendation of the onsite therapist.)
(Addendum 3: Counseling restarted by order of Director Howard.)
(Addendum 3 Note: For chrissakes people, can we get a competent PRT therapist for once? It's obvious he was cheating the tests. As long as I'm director or until he's a member of the Protectorate, he'll be talking to a shrink until I'm satisfied he's not going to snap on us.)
Diviner
Diviner, or Claire Armstead, is a blonde Caucasian female. She is new to the Wards and is about ten years of age. Her ability is the extrasensory perception of emotions in a large area, though at extreme ranges she loses accuracy. Diviner is rated at Thinker 4, Master 1 due to her uncanny ability to read social cues to provoke emotional responses.
(Emergency ROE - Standard Anti-Thinker protocols.)
(Addendum 1: By order of CPS, Judge Ornsworth and the Chief Director, no one claiming to be a member Claire's family is to be allowed within fifty feet of Claire. Report any violations to the nearest Protectorate hero immediately.)
Sovereign
Sovereign, or Joshua Daniels, has black hair and pale skin, primarily Caucasian but with slight Asiatic facial features. Sovereign is small for his age (currently ten) but his Brute rating exceeds the Siberians and he should not be underestimated.
While Sovereign is reported to have an amiable demeanor towards the Protectorate in general, orders are to give him extreme leeway to avoid any action that could be perceived as antagonistic. Any official contact attempts should be made through his guardian, Miss Militia. Any complaints should be taken straight to the director.
Sovereign's official ratings are as follows: Brute 10, Mover 6, Thinker 3, Trump 2.
Trump Abilities (Required): Immunity to power suppressing effects. Immunity to precognition.
(Emergency ROE - Use of city missile defenses denied due to collateral damage without significant effect. Utilize available Mover, Master and Shaker abilities to lure him away from population centers, then stall for support.)
(Addendum 1: Sovereign is to be kept away from any active cases or battles involving the parahuman gang known as the Teeth, as per orders by Chief Director Costa Brown.)
(Addendum 2: As of July 8th, 2007, Sovereign is a member of the Brockton Bay Wards.)
(Note: Anyone calling him 'Tyrant' within earshot of a civvie will be subject to a disciplinary committee.)
(Note 2: Yes, his name is Sovereign. No, he doesn't have a secret Master ability that no one talks about. Quit spreading baseless rumors.)
Last edited: Jan 20, 2016
Montage 2.6
It's time for finals again, so you know what that means!
This chapter has a little bit of filler, but I felt they deserved a vacation.
The moment when no one notices your Kayfabe pun in chapter 2.3. Sad Day.
Montage 2.6
July 18th, 2007
On this most auspicious of mornings, I, Sovereign, strongest human being on the planet, was doing laundry and arguing with my mother.
"For the last time, you can't drive," Hannah said irritably. "What would that look like to the Heberts?"
It was somewhat telling that her first argument was based on appearances rather than legality.
"You have a week old broken collarbone," I protested. "It can't be any worse than that!"
"My driving is fine," Hannah said, waving my concerns away with her one good hand. "Now if you're done with your own stuff, go get your sister. If I know her, she's still tinkering in her lab and has totally forgotten to pack. Make sure you're both back within two hours. I've got to drop off some paperwork at HQ, I'll pick up Taylor on the way back, and then we're heading straight out."
It's official; we were all going to die in a fiery crash.
"Right, right," I muttered, slouching away. She wouldn't let me cook, either, which was more irritating. Instead, she and Riley had voted me down and purchased a small battalion's worth of TV dinners while Hannah was injured. I was getting rather tired of the many variations of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, though experimenting with hot sauce was producing viable results.
Riley was indeed still tinkering, but it was for a good cause. She handed me my daily growth syringe, which I took with surly grace before turning my powers back on and walking into the smallish operating theater.
Sveta - I'd finally suggested the name and she cautiously took to it - had been strapped to a table, and was currently at Riley's mercy. Normally this would be cause for alarm, but right now all that was happening was a large amount of cold metal being pressed to ticklish surfaces.
Tentacles writhed, but I'd separated them out this morning and bolted them down individually in three different places. She wasn't going anywhere.
"Hannah still distracted?" Riley asked, fingers not pausing as they tapped on the keyboard. Riley had been adamant about recording every step of the process - thus, the many leads attached to Sveta, and the giant camera observing from above.
"Yup. Gotta be done within two hours." I frowned at the empty cans on the desk. "Are all those energy drinks? How many have you had?"
"I'll sleep in the car," she said defensively. "Besides, there's no time for power naps! I want to run a full checkup after to see if everything's alright."
She acted like she had no ulterior motives, but I knew better.
I seriously, seriously doubted that my sister would have any luck deciphering the power formula, but I couldn't prove that without flat out saying 'it's basically magic.' Besides, it made sense to monitor her vitals. The EKG and miscellany Tinker instruments which she'd spent all night making was probably going overboard, but it wasn't really my specialty.
"Fine, but you'd better sleep later or I'll get Hannah to weigh in." I threatened. "Sveta? You doing okay?"
"Little cold," she admitted. "It's weird, having something metal stuck to me like that."
"That's because they're your organ analogs," Riley said cheerfully, turning away from the computer. "I imagine it'd be even weirder for us. Josh, what was the anticipated power?"
"I was thinking something that viewed branching or parallel realities." It was my hope that the vials shared my implied 'weakness' to Coil's power, which would make experimenting with them much easier. "Barring that, something precognitive would be nice. Quantum is very generic, though - she might just appear in two places at once."
Sveta's head lifted as far as it could. "By 'two places at once' you mean a two whole me's, right? Not two halves?"
"Of course," I assured her. "Powers don't hurt the person they attach to."
Unless you get them from shady vials.
… Woops; let's not mention that.
"Now or never," I said hastily. "We all ready?"
Sveta nodded, though she still looked terrified. I didn't blame her; she might not be able to remember it, but this is exactly how she got into this mess.
"One sec," Riley said, sticking another lead to Sveta's forehead. "Okay, done. Are you sure she just has to drink it? Shouldn't we, I don't know, inject it directly?"
"Pretty sure," I told her dryly. "The note that came with the case said 'Drink. Replaces powers.' I don't think it's a good idea to screw with the two instructions it has."
Riley made a face. "It's just so unscientific. Imagine the differences in the digestive system between a Case 53 and a human - some don't even have mouths!"
I paused. "Yeah, having no mouth would make things difficult. Still, I can't imagine the circulatory system would be all that similar between different Case 53's."
Sveta writhed a little on the table, trying to turn and face us. "If you're done, can we get this over with? I'm strapped to an operating table and you two are somehow making it worse."
"Sorry Sveta," we apologized simultaneously. Riley handed me the vial.
"You do the honors?"
I took it carefully, then held it over Sveta's mouth. Obligingly, she opened up.
"Down the hatch," I told her uneasily.
Hopefully, this wouldn't cause horrific super cancer.
There wasn't much liquid in the vial. She swallowed it in one go.
We waited one moment. Two.
The round, slightly clawed clock ticked quietly; it was the only sound.
Riley looked up from her computer. "Huh; I was expecting-"
On cue, Sveta convulsed, every tendril going completely rigid. It happened fast; one moment, there was nothing but inky blackness, and the next moment patches of skin were forming. Tendrils withered into dust. Her main stalk solidified into a recognizably human torso. The restraints exploded as fleshy limbs expanded inexorably outward.
The last thing to change was her face, the bone structure shifting and gaining subtle depth. To my surprise, the brand burned red for a moment, then faded into nonexistence.
Within ten seconds of starting, there was a human on the operating table.
"Success!" Riley cheered. "I got the whole thing! A few of the leads detached, but enough stayed on through the transformation to give really good data!"
She was pale, pretty, late adolescent, and very naked. Sveta shuddered one last time, doing interesting things to her -
Cheeks blazing red, I tossed a sheet over her. "I'll, uh, be packing. Your stuff, that is."
"What?" Riley asked, surprised. "I thought you wanted to help me with the tests?"
"Gotta get ready to go or Hannah will be suspicious," I told her quickly, stepping outside. "Tell me how it goes. She can use the cot and emergency supplies upstairs while we're gone. Just in case, show her how the phone works and give her my number, okay?"
With that, I beat a hasty retreat.
I had only one thought running through my head while I stuffed suitcases with clothes, one terrible, dreadful thought.
Oh God, not puberty again!
Three girls and one boy, plus a week of luggage for each, were not going to fit in Hannah's car.
Luckily, she had foreseen the need for a larger vehicle, and - despite the way I gravitated towards the jeeps - borrowed a black sedan from the PRT. I, of course, claimed the front seat by right of shotgun while Taylor and Riley shared the expansive second row.
I still wasn't sure why Riley was grumpy; Taylor was literally bouncing.
"I can't believe we're going to New York!" She practically squealed. "Emma's going to be so jealous, she had to go to Summer Camp instead!"
"Why didn't you go to Summer Camp?" Riley muttered sullenly.
Taylor shrugged. "Eh, I signed up, but when Hannah called I told Dad I wanted to go to New York. You think we'll see Legend?!"
"He's kind of hard to miss when he's flying around at night." I paused. "Do you think he still patrols?"
Hannah shook her head. "Probably not. He's called all over the country when he's needed."
"I can dream," Taylor said morosely, leaning her head against the cool glass of the window. "I've always wanted to meet a hero."
Riley snorted; I bounced a crumpled tissue off her forehead.
"I'm sure this will be a lot of fun," Hannah said, flashing us a smile.
Thus, the expedition began.
As we pulled out of the driveway, I really, really hoped that Riley gave Sveta the full safety speech. We didn't need her accidentally releasing the Kraken (hopefully a joke) or worse, Tawny (unfortunately not a joke .)
Perhaps it would be a good time to pray?
After three bathroom breaks, two fast food stops and a flat tire - during which I discretely lifted the back of the car for Hannah while Taylor explored the gas station - we reached New York.
I'd never been to New York, in either life, so I may have been a little… dazzled.
Then again, I'm pretty sure that any vacation spot is much improved when you throw enough money at it, and we had a lot of money to spare. Hannah was usually pretty stingy with it, but she'd obviously splurged on the room.
For one, we weren't in New York at all, we were in Montauk - as in, Montauk of the beach resorts.
Suddenly, I understood why Hannah insisted we all get new swim clothes. I'd never thought of New York as a beach location, so it came as something of a surprise.
There was only one problem.
"Dibs on a bed," I said immediately, setting my luggage down in the first room I came across.
"What?" Riley asked, surprised.
"Dibs!" Taylor said after the barest moment of hesitation. "I want a bed too!"
"Wait, how many beds are there?"
"Three," Hannah said cheerfully. "And one's mine."
"But then where will I sleep?" Riley looked horrified.
"Outside, with the bears and the wolves," Taylor told her heartlessly.
Hannah laughed, but I sensed it wasn't really a joke. "I get a room to myself since I'm older, and therefore larger; Josh gets a room to himself, since he's a boy. You two can share."
Riley and Taylor met each other's eyes. Sparks flew.
Oh, boy. I preemptively confiscated Riley's luggage and hid it behind the couch, in case she'd brought acid spiders. It's all fun and games till someone loses a face à la Arc of the Covenant.
"Josh, if you could go and grab dinner and the rest of the luggage from the car, that would be great." Hannah gave me a beatific smile, indicating her broken arm. "I'm liking this vacation already!"
"Fun, fun fun," I grumbled, stepping outside.
To my complete nonsurprise, I was woken up in the middle of the night by my door opening a crack. A dim ray of light reached across my face, lancing into my eyes.
"Josh?" My sister asked timidly. "Are you sleeping?"
"I was," I muttered, rolling over so the light wasn't blinding me. "Whatcha' need?"
"Taylor kicked me out of the bed," Riley admitted. "Literally - she keeps tossing and turning."
They're queen sized beds, how much does she writhe in her sleep?!
For a moment, I considered the mental image of Taylor, wrapped in blankets and sheets like some giant cocooned caterpillar, rolling around the mattress.
"You could always sleep on the couch," I suggested helpfully, crossing my fingers.
"It's weird here," she admitted. "Really, really quiet. I don't know if I can sleep."
I rolled back over, frowning at her. "It wasn't quiet back at the house?"
"I had a fan." She gave me a beseeching look. "You have a fan too."
Not the eyes. Can't handle the puppy-dog eyes.
… Now I was picturing Riley with actual implanted puppy eyes.
With that, I turned my power on, hoping to avoid the horrific nightmares to follow. My mind goes strange places when I'm tired.
"Yeah," I sighed, scooting over as far as I could go. "You can stay here. Just bring your own blankets."
With any luck, I could still get a couple hours in before it was time to go exploring.
"Josh?" Hannah asked, perplexed. "Why are you on the couch?"
"Got kicked out of my bed," I grumbled, pulling the blanket over my head. "Super-strength doesn't help against siblings."
"Ah," she said, packing a lot of meaning into the word. "Let me make some coffee."
It was still dark outside and the girls were asleep, so I took my coffee and sat on the swing. Despite the gradually lightening horizon, the stars shone cold and clear in the sky. Hannah stepped out a moment later and grinned.
"Even on vacation, all you do is sit out on the porch swing."
I shrugged. "Even less light pollution here than there is at home; it's kind of nice."
Hannah snorted, then handed me a cup of steaming coffee. We sipped at the caffeinated brew in companionable silence, hearing quiet thumps as the others dragged themselves out of bed.
"So," Hannah said, giving me a sly look. "Any particular reason you invited Taylor?"
If she thought I'd get flustered at that, she was sadly disappointed.
"Guilt, I suppose. Taylor has two 'real' friends that she sees regularly - Emma, and me. The thing is, with all the Wards stuff lately I haven't been hanging out with her much, so I thought it'd be fun." I paused. "That, and if I didn't provide a need for stealth Riley would have brought more… exotic inventions to tinker with."
She shuddered. "Yeah, that's a good point. It's a lot harder to stow a pack of hubcap spiders when you've got to avoid attention."
"Yup - now she only brought the one, and she's not likely to break it out of the case. So," I clasped my hands and rubbed them together enthusiastically, "what's on the agenda for our trip? Where are we going?"
"I rented this cabin out for a couple of nights. We'll visit the Hero memorial, do some swimming on the beach, then we're headed to New York for some sightseeing."
I narrowed my eyes at her. "When you say 'sightseeing' you don't mean the New York Protectorate headquarters, right?"
"Of course not," Hannah said, trying and failing to look both offended and innocent. "I mean, we might stop in the gift shop - you know, for Taylor - but we're on vacation!"
"Good, because it's supposed to be a period of rest and recuperation. And bonding. Also, we'd inevitably have to lie to Taylor, which I dislike on principle."
"Principle, huh," Hannah smirked; I didn't like the look on her face. "I'm going to see if the girls are ready, then we'll check out Camp Hero."
From what I heard, Camp Hero sounded kind of tacky. I took a sip of coffee, grimacing at the instant flavor.
Ah well; how bad could it be?
Tourism. Ugh.
"-and now we enter our world famous Hero exhibit. Please, stay behind the lines and don't touch the glass - wouldn't want to trip the anti-villain measures!"
There were a couple of laughs at our tour guide's weak joke, but I just snorted; like they'd ever have actual Tinker tech in a public museum. How stupid would you have to be?
"Now, as you probably know, Hero was widely considered the best tinker in the world, as well as our namesake. In this picture, taken at our own New York Protectorate branch, we can see him with Alexandria, Eidolon, and Legend."
Taylor flitted from display to display, eyes shining, getting as close as she could without crossing the innocuous blue lines on the floor. The rest of us were hanging around at the back of the group, trying to look like we were having fun.
No actual tinkers here. Nope, no capes at all.
The center display was the most interesting. Inside the glass was a complete set of replica Hero armor, the shining blue and gold a faithful representation of what the Tinker had been wearing when he met his end at the, quote, 'merciless hands of the Siberian.'
It may not have contained actual working technology, but I could almost feel the intensity of Riley's gaze. This was the Tinker that other Tinker's measured themselves against. If it could provide even a small clue, she'd study it for hours.
Not for the first time, I was reminded that Riley hadn't spent years under the tutelage of Mannequin and Jack Slash, perfecting her bloody craft one body - living or otherwise - at a time. She was still above average in terms of skill, but that was mainly a question of resources. If Bonesaw had a stable environment for a lab combined with decent funding, her potential would be second only to Dragon.
Though there weren't many who could compete with Dragon. If I had to guess, the staff of Camp Hero would be starting a Dragon section within a year, complete with unintentionally racist animatronic replicas.
"Next up is our Legend exhibit," our guide flashed us a guileless smile, opening a set of rainbow colored doors, "and I know some of you were looking forward to the scheduled speech, but I'm afraid he isn't able to be here today."
Groans; Taylor looked crushed. The inside of the next room was more of an amphitheater than an exhibit. As we watched, a video started to play.
"I know, I know, I wanted to see him too. Still, the man is a member of the Protectorate - he's probably off fighting villains and saving the world somewhere. As consolation, everyone with a ticket may use it to get 25% off at the gift shop or restaurant."
Hannah perked up slightly as the crowd moved forward. Even with the bounties and Riley's strict budget, she was always looking for corners to cut. "Anyone hungry?"
"I don't know," Taylor hedged, giving the displays a longing look. "Can't we stay for a minute or two?"
My stomach rumbled; I always seemed to be running on empty these days. "I could eat."
"Me too!" Riley piped up instantly, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the restaurant. "Come on!"
Taylor sputtered for a moment, then followed, looking like someone had shot her dog. Hannah's shoulders shook slightly, but she maintained a straight face.
It was an interesting restaurant - kind of like a buffet, but with the order reversed. Rather than pick up a variety of food from a long series of hot metal trays, we piled ingredients from refrigerated plastic boxes into bowls and brought them up to a series of grills to be cooked.
The grills were automated; I wasn't actually sure if it was Tinker made, or if it was a clever permutation of existing technology, but the mechanical precision of the flashing utensils was almost mesmerizing. Taylor and Riley ooh'd and aah'd appropriately as the robot flipped and separated food groups.
Hannah tapped me on the shoulder, smiling, and pointed. I followed her finger to a line of pictures on the wall. There were thirty or forty of them, but they all shared two common themes - they were all taken in front of the restaurant, and they were all populated by heroes.
I stepped closer, examining them carefully. At the very top, the founding fathers of the Protectorate posed mid-flight, a much newer looking park arrayed behind them. It must have been an old picture - Hero was alive, wearing his signature armor.
Considering the resolution, it was probably his camera.
"What is this?" I asked, checking to make sure Riley and Taylor were still occupied.
"Something of a tradition." She pointed, indicating one picture in particular. A much younger Miss Militia was standing next to several unfamiliar capes, though the hero hovering proudly above was easily recognizable. "That's the first generation of Wards. We all autographed the back after it was taken."
Even with the photographic evidence in front of my face, it was hard to believe that Alexandria could smile like that.
"Wow." There wasn't much I could say. This was different from the rest of the park - more of a shrine than an attraction. Hannah smiled, though there was something bittersweet about it.
It hit me, then, like I'd been bashed over the head with a spiked Clu-bat.
Most of those happy, smiling faces were dead.
Hannah looped one arm around my shoulders. "When you graduate into the Protectorate, maybe you'll be up there, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Maybe."
"Hey!" Taylor said, stepping over. "Food's ready. The machines shot it onto these plates, and - what are you looking at?"
Taylor blinked once, staring at the wall, then her eyes went round as hubcaps.
… Yeah, this was going to go on a while. Best grab my food before the inevitable explosion.
"-I mean, I can't believe she studied under Alexandria!" Taylor gushed, her plate mostly ignored.
Hannah had an amused, tolerant expression on her face. "She is pretty great, yeah."
I sunk a little lower in my seat.
"It's just, wow, Miss Militia was actually taught by a member of the Triumvirate!" Taylor took a bite, swallowed, and continued. "I just wish I could meet her, I'd ask all sorts of questions."
Riley's shoulders shook with suppressed mirth; Hannah swatted her with a napkin.
"Don't make fun of your friends hobbies," she admonished, though she was struggling to avoid a smile herself.
Happy to take a break from that conversation, I turned to my meal. The food here was pretty good, though it really needed… something .
There was a red bottle on the table labeled 'Fire Sauce.'
I considered the burning hazard symbol on the label for a moment, then squirted a generous dollop onto my beef and noodles.
The first bite was like concentrated hellfire on my tongue.
Heavenly.
Riley made a disgusted face. "I still don't understand how you can eat that."
"Heathen!" I declared, extending a finger across the table. "Thou shalt not blasphemy the glories of spicy food!"
"I still remember the one time we let you make dinner!" Riley swatted my hand aside, extending a finger of her own. "I'll blasphemy if I want to!"
"You'll back me up on this, right Taylor?" I turned to her beseechingly.
Taylor hesitated; Riley began to wave her arms like an air traffic controller. A smirk appeared on Taylor's face. "Of course! Dad and I love spicy food, though mom says we're mas - maso-"
She frowned, struggling to remember precisely what Anne said. Riley opened her mouth, perhaps happy to have a chance at correcting Taylor's vocabulary, but Hannah swatted her again.
"Anyways, Dad and I eat spicy things all the time." My sister scowled at her, but Taylor remained smug.
"Fine," Riley said, voice saccharine sweet. She picked up the bottle of fire sauce and extended it; Taylor began to sweat. "Try some, then."
"Well - I mean, I'm not really -"
"If you don't actually like spicy food, you don't have to." I told her, trying to give her a way out.
Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Her resolve firmed and, like a soldier storming the beaches of Normandy, she took the bottle and squirted it onto her meal of vegetables.
Everyone leaned forward, even Hannah. Taylor lifted the fork, slowly, steadily, and took a bite.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then beads of sweat appeared, and Taylor turned beet red.
"It's-" She swallowed convulsively, eyes watering. "It's g-good."
I beamed at her. "Finally, someone with taste buds. If you like that, I can always cook for you later?"
Taylor's eyes widened, giving Riley a beseeching look, but Riley was unsympathetic.
Taylor's shoulders slumped, staring down at her food. "… Alright."
Riley's smugness lasted until we reached the beach.
"I don't believe it," she moaned, sinking to her knees. "It's raining."
"It's only a light sprinkle," Taylor said, trying to be hopeful. "We could go swimming anyways?"
"No," Hannah said, frowning as she scratched at her cast irritably. "Too cold and windy, and the storm's just coming in. You'd get sick."
Dejected, Taylor trudged back to the vehicle and slurped the milkshake that Hannah bought her after dinner. Rather than join her, Riley sidled up to me.
"Say, think you could - you know, punch it?"
I stared at her. "Punch the storm?"
"Yeah - just blow it away!" Riley mimed throwing a punch, as if that was going to help me understand her thought processes. "Bam, zoom, into a neighboring county?"
"I - uh-" I turned to face the heavy clouds, considering. "Maybe?"
I activated my powers, feeling surety and clarity return.
It was actually quite possible; my arms didn't have much surface area, so I'd have to widen my grip with my field, but I'd been practicing just that in my flight training. If I punched hard enough with enough air to conduct it, I'd be able to make a nice, massive concussive blast.
Of course, I'd also blow out eardrums and break glass if I did it too close.
"Maybe if I jumped up really high above the ocean, then I could sort of Karate-kick it?" I mused, squinting out at the turbulent water. "You'd have to distract Taylor, and there'd be a sonic boom, but-"
This time, it was my turn to get thwacked by Hannah, though it was more of a dunce slap without a handy napkin.
"Don't even think about it," she said irritably, shaking her - mostly - uninjured hand. "We'll come back later."
We pouted, but obediently trudged back to the car.
That night turned out to be board game night. To my surprise, Hannah actually bested us at Scrabble, which was all sorts of unfair for someone who learned English as a second language.
Fortunately, I maintained my title as the Monopoly champion, and with Taylor present I managed to ignore Riley and Hannah's silent accusations of dice control.
The next few days, we did the tourist thing - we went to various museums, the Statue of Liberty, the New York Protectorate branch, the beach when it wasn't storming - but all too quickly it was time to pack up and go home.
On our drive back, Hannah got a text that made her go pale. At my interrogative look, she passed the phone to me silently. It was Armsmaster's number, his work phone. If he was calling while we were on vacation - a violation of policy - something had gone horribly wrong.
Home2 attacked. Claire missing. M/S P2. Return ASAP.
I flipped the phone closed and set it in a cupholder. "So, Mom, I've always wanted to see how fast these things could go."
Last edited: Feb 22, 2017
Montage 2.6I - Mini Interlude
Montage Mini-Interlude
As he stepped out of his car, Lieutenant Benjamin Gordon was happy.
Brockton Bay was finally turning itself around. With the destruction of the Teeth and the Marquis a few years prior, the only major criminal parahuman presence was the Empire, and they were laying low. When there were multiple gangs, it was easy to ignore the law. The last thing any Director wanted to do was unite the gangs against the Protectorate.
Now, even the non-parahuman criminals were stepping lightly. The murder rate was down, there hadn't been an armed robbery case in over two weeks - sadly a record - and he had been able to schedule some extra vacation time.
Yes, life was good for Benjamin Gordon.
Now if only he could stop referring to himself in the third person.
Humming quietly to himself, he swiped his card, opening the PRT's employee entrance. Someone brushed past him.
"Hey!" Gordon said, scowling. "You have to swipe in!"
The man turned, blinking. "Oh, Gordon, good to see you."
"Higgs, you sly old dog, were you testing me on security protocols again?" Benjamin asked, smiling. "You know piggybacking is against policy."
Truth be told, he thought it was pretty funny. Higgs had been working for the PRT for twenty years, and actually taught several new generations of PRT officers.
Rather than take offense, Higgs just smiled. "Yes, well, I have a package that needs to get to Armsmaster. I'm running a little late as it is - traffic was murder."
"Yeah, I know, just this morning I - a package?" Gordon blinked. Armsmaster got special shipments occasionally, but they usually came in armored cars. "From who?"
"A friend of mine. It's urgent that Armsmaster get it." Higgs tapped the button, calling the elevator.
Gordon frowned at him. The back of his neck began to itch; something was off here. "That's kind of odd, isn't it? Have you opened it?"
"Well, no, he asked me not to."
Alarm bells, slightly delayed, were definitely ringing now. "Higgs, let me see that real quick."
"Oh, no, I couldn't, he said not to let it leave my hands." Higgs clutched it tighter. "I think I'd better hurry - this has to get to Armsmaster. It's urgent."
Yeah, okay, that was enough. Gordon keyed his radio. "Lieutenant Gordon, code eighteen, entrance three. Repeat, entrance three, lock down the main elevator."
The elevator doors, just opening, began to slide shut. Higgs shoved his hand inside, but these weren't the standard civilian model - while they didn't keep closing, the doors refused to open further.
"No, you don't understand," Higgs said, a note of desperation in his voice as he pried at the door. "I have to bring this to Armsmaster!"
"Higgs, step away from the elevator!" Gordon ordered, raising his sidearm. To his shame, his hands were shaking. "Come on man, don't make me shoot you! If it's that important, we can give to him later, just as soon as you go through screening."
Ignoring the gun pointed at him, he continued trying to get the doors open. Gordon's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Come on, just put the package down-"
Then, Higgs' movement's stilled as his watch began to beep.
"Oh," he said, voice sad. "It's late; he'll be so upset."
With a final, quiet click, twenty five pounds of high explosives activated, ending the standoff with a blast that shook the building to its foundations.
AN: No, it's not Bakuda.
Last edited: Mar 22, 2016
Montage 2.7
Montage 2.7
To her immense displeasure - and Taylor's glee - we dropped Riley off first. The house was on the way, and I was privately relieved - I didn't want Sveta to be alone in the barn for longer than she had to be, and Riley couldn't come with us to the PRT anyways. While initially happy, Taylor grew quieter and quieter as the drive went on.
"Sorry about this," Hannah told her, smiling; it didn't lessen the anxiety in her eyes. "I meant for you to stay another night, but there's been a family emergency."
"A-alright," Taylor said, looking between the two of us. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes. I've already called your parents; they'll be home." There was a tone of finality in her voice that forbade further questioning.
Up ahead, distinctive red and blue lights flashed through the trees - a checkpoint. With my senses activated, I could see a pair of drones hovering silently just out of linear sight.
Interesting.
We stopped. After a moment, an officer shone a flashlight around the car while another took a picture of Hannah's proffered driver's license with a portable reader. After a moment, he nodded crisply and waved us through.
"What's going on?" Taylor asked, surprised.
"An Amber alert," Hannah said, frowning. "Nothing for you to be concerned about."
Au contraire. An Amber alert meant Claire was still in the city - or at least, they thought she was. Brockton Bay had some fairly unforgiving hills, and with enough manpower it would be theoretically simple to establish a perimeter.
In theory.
Claire and I weren't very close. She'd always been standoffish, almost shy, but I couldn't help but think that was partly my fault - I'd never made much of an effort at getting to know her. If something happened to Claire while I was out relaxing on a beach -
Hannah rested one hand on mine; I relaxed. Slightly.
Don't worry, her eyes said silently.
Resisting the urge to call her a hypocrite, I nodded, looking out the window.
We dropped Taylor off, changed - not in a phone booth, sadly - then immediately drove to the PRT headquarters.
The front gate was more destroyed than I remembered it being when I left, though it looked better than when the Nine attacked. The entryway was singed and blasted, but at least the fires were out.
The meeting was on the fourth floor. Since the elevators were out, Vista shuttled us up directly.
It seemed like every local hero in the Protectorate was there, with the exception of Cognit. The rest of the seats were made up of soldiers I didn't recognize. I frowned at Vista, who shrugged; she didn't know where our leader was either.
The quiet conversations hushed as Armsmaster stood, looking battered and tired in his soot stained armor.
"We don't have a lot of time, so I'll keep this brief." He twitched a finger; a wall screen activated, showing the service entrance. A middle aged man walked onscreen, joined a few seconds later by a PRT trooper. The camera zoomed in on the first man's face and froze. "Approximately eight hours ago decorated officer Jacob Higgs entered the PRT offices with an explosive device. When the door guard challenged him, it detonated."
Vista turned a little green as the picture shifted again, and she wasn't the only one - even Assault looked uneasy.
"Per protocol, the PRT building entered lockdown and personnel were called in. Once the situation stabilized, I took a squad and searched the Higgs home." Armsmaster grimaced. "Mary Higgs is dead, and Claire, their ward, is missing."
"Dear God," one of the soldiers breathed.
"With the cooperation of the Brockton Bay police department, we have closed off the main roads out of the city, but we need more manpower. You, the reinforcements from Miami and New York, are here to help keep order and relieve the main force." Armsmaster gazed out at them for a moment. "You'll receive assignments within the hour. Everyone not part of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, dismissed."
There was general chaos for a few minutes while uniformed bodies shuffled around, making for the exits. I took the time to think. The video seemed to indicate a Master influence, though blackmail or other mundane means weren't entirely impossible. It was hard to tell without sound. Still, my money was on a parahuman, which meant someone like Valefor or Regent.
God, I hope it wasn't Regent. Fighting him would just be weird.
"Everyone present should be aware of Claire's Ward status." Armsmaster scowled. "However, what you are not aware of is that Claire has family, and a very notable family at that."
The screen clicked, showing what looked like a driver's license photo. He had sharp, cold eyes, and black hair with a distinguished shock of gray at his temples. There was just one word under the picture - Vasil.
"Heartbreaker," Battery growled. My hands tried to tighten into fists, making my armrests squeak and shudder.
Armsmaster nodded. "Claire turned herself in to the Proctectorate in exchange for immunity and protection from her family. The Chief Director agreed, but limited the scope of her ability and rendered its capabilities top secret. Her true ability is empathic projection - not just sensing, as we've advertised, but broadcasting and manipulation."
When we met I suspected there was more to her ability, since all abilities had some sort of combat use, but that's obviously Cherish.
"What was Costa-Brown thinking?" For a second I thought I'd spoken aloud, but it was Vista, and she looked pissed. "They had a Master on our team and they didn't tell us? I mean, sure, turning over a new leaf, second chances, all that jazz, but they didn't tell us?"
What was she thinking? I could guess. Something cold and furious began to burn in my stomach.
"What the Director had in mind is above your paygrade," Armsmaster said reprovingly; Vista continued to glower. "You were in no danger - there are Master/Stranger tests performed after every counseling session to validate your mental state."
"She wasn't allowed to tell anyone," Miss Militia said, putting one hand on Vista's shoulder. "Don't hold her parents and our orders against her - it wasn't her fault."
The door opened; everyone whirled, Battery starting to glow, Miss Militia holding a shotgun.
"Sorry," Cognit said, hands in the air. "What did I miss?"
"And a round of paranoid testing for the slowpoke," I muttered. Vista's mouth twisted into an unwilling smile.
"Where were you?" Armsmaster asked, voice curt.
"I was up all last night and ended up sleeping on my phone," he defended rather lamely. "It won't happen again."
Armsmaster sighed. "Just to be safe, you're in for MS testing after this briefing."
Cognit grimaced, sitting next to Vista. "Great."
"So, just to be clear, the culprits are also Heartbreaker's children?" Assault asked.
Cognit leaned over to Vista. "So, what's going on? I heard that Claire was missing?"
"Yes," Armsmaster said stoically. "Whenever one of his children leaves without permission, Heartbreaker attempts to recover them by sending two man cells. He has both means and motive - that makes him suspect number one."
"But how do we know it was Heartbreaker?" Miss Militia asked. "There are other Masters that could pull this off - Valefor, for example. This could be an attack on you, and Diviner a side objective."
"Claire's one of Heartbreaker's children," Vista whispered.
"What?!" Cognit hissed, eyes glancing around furtively. "That's crazy!"
"It is technically possible that an unrelated Master was behind the suicide attack, but it seems unlikely in the extreme." Armsmaster said. "However, if you see Valefor lurking around, I recommend you bring him in - just in case."
I stared at him. That was… almost a joke. Maybe we should start the screenings early?
"It is my belief that the attack on me and the building was a diversion, meant to keep us out of the way while the abductor left with Claire." Armsmaster continued, grimacing. "Fortunately, the moment I saw the security tapes I issued an alert, and I believe they are still in the city."
"How can you tell?" I spoke up. All eyes turned to me. "Sorry, but it's a valid question - how do we know we shouldn't be looking for Heartbreaker right now?"
There were a couple of uneasy twitches, but Armsmaster was unflinching. "Over the last three hours, there has been a wave of violent petty crime - armed robbery, assault, and arson seem to be the favorites."
That connection was easy to draw.
"He's enlisting innocent people," I said, feeling sick. "He's trying to get us to send the police back, to break the blockade."
Armsmaster nodded. "Which means they're still in the city. As such, all Protectorate heroes and Wards are now scheduled for immediate deployment."
Howard stood, looking pale and ill. Every time I saw the man, his hair seemed a little grayer, his face more lined, as if the life was slowly being drained out of him. "I have received the necessary waivers from Costa-Brown. Overtime for everyone, I'm afraid."
"Like we were going to stay home anyways," Cognit said derisively. Vista and I high-fived him in turns.
"All of us are going to be out on patrol," Armsmaster said, fixing us with a glare, "but if you believe the Master is nearby, do not engage. Call for backup and retreat. Do you understand me?"
Somewhat predictably, all of us objected at once.
"You want us to just stand aside?" Vista asked, looking furious. "There's no way-"
"I'm just as much a hero as you are." Cognit crossed his arms. "You can't-"
"With all due respect, there's no way I'm running away. Claire could-"
"Enough!" Armsmaster roared. All of us flinched. "I am not putting Wards in the line of fire on this one. We have one Ward missing already, and one of our own men was used as a highly effective suicide bomber. If he could do that much, think about how dangerous one of you could be! If you see the Master, you will stay out of his way and that's an order."
Vista subsided, though she still looked rebellious. Cognit just scowled.
Me… well, I felt guilty. The only one who knew I was immune to Master effects was Riley, and not just because it would be hard to explain. Even if I went with 'I have a feeling I'm immune,' that would mean people would know, and I liked having that ace in the hole.
After all, it had apparently saved me once already.
"I want to hear your response," Armsmaster said, standing in front of us. "And it had better be 'yes sir' or you can stay here."
"Yes sir," we chorused back.
"Problem." I lifted a hand; he glowered at me. "How are we supposed to stay out of his way if we don't know what he looks like?"
He stared at me for a moment, then sighed. The screen changed again, showing a large blank space. "As a favor, Dragon ran facial recognition on several airports and border crossings. Now, Heartbreaker's children traditionally stay out of the limelight, but the ones he sends out have generally been seen in public before."
Five pictures appeared with names underneath; I made sure to memorize them.
"Take a good look, and make sure to stay out of their way. Each one has a variant of Heartbreaker's power, and each is a second generation cape." Armsmaster gave us a level look. "Stay out of their way, keep out of sight, and their individual powers won't matter. Dismissed, Wards."
We trooped out of the meeting hall like - well, like a group of surly teenagers.
"I can't believe we're getting shoved aside again," Vista grumbled.
Cognit raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you thought we were serious about that?"
I grinned at him. "I thought I saw you crossing your fingers."
"Wait, we're disobeying orders?" Vista asked, shocked.
I stared at her. "Yes."
" Cool," she said, eyes gleaming.
Three house fires, two bank robberies and an orphan up an elm tree later, her eyes weren't quite as bright.
"I'm exhausted," Vista groaned, leaning against the brick wall. I'd done as much of the heavy lifting as could be delegated, but Vista and Cognit were invaluable aids to rapid reaction forces, and it was taking its toll.
"How many people has this guy controlled?" Cognit demanded, scowling. He was holding up better than Vista, he was holding himself rather oddly. "We've been trooping all over the city!"
It also meant this wasn't Regent, who needed time and effort to create minions. Small favors.
"Going to guess either a vocal or optical element to his powers," I mused, rubbing my chin. "Something quick and relatively easy to pass off as normal in public."
"I still think its bull-" Cognit glanced at Vista, "-crap that he can even find this many people. It's like, 1 AM - what's he doing knocking on doors?!"
Vista scowled at him. "I'm not a child. You curse in front of him all the time, and he's the same age as I am!"
I ignored her with practiced ease. "You wrote down each person's information, right?"
Cognit nodded. "Of course."
"Think you could get me the others - the ones we didn't take personally? I have an idea."
"Maybe. Armsmaster will have it, so it'll be tough but doable." Cognit said. "What idea-"
A loud siren interrupted our strategizing as a sports car sped past, followed by a lone police car. Vista sighed, and began to warp space.
Neat - that fit my list.
Four car chases, three house fires, two bank robberies and a -
"What are you humming?" Cognit asked, frowning at me.
"… Nothing."
Cognit and Vista retired to bed, but I didn't need to sleep, so I continued through the night. Though the induced crime stopped after a few hours, regular crime was catching on that the cops weren't exactly on their A-game.
Super hearing and super speed served me in good stead here. My Superman impression needed flight to really be effective, but as long as I avoided the sound barrier -
"Sovereign!" My radio crackled to life with Hannah's voice.
"Sovereign here," I said, stepping away from the prone form of a would-be mugger. I made an apologetic 'shoo' gesture to the victim; he nodded his thanks and fled.
"Accident on the ferry. School bus driver went berserk."
"School's supposed to be out!" I hissed, surroundings already blurring as I snapped into an impromptu parabolic flight.
"It's a Youth Group trip. They're trying to evacuate them out the back, but the bus is at an angle." Even with enhanced hearing, I could barely hear her over the sound of the wind. "Reinforcements are coming, but you're closest - hurry!"
"Don't have to tell me twice!" I yelled, leaping off a roof. There was sort of an art form to this type of movement, a matter of timing that helped preserve your forward momentum. There were actually classes on it at the Rig - Brute Parkour 101.
It was easier when I got to the water. Without any visual obstructions or fragile buildings to run into (or run by too fast) my movement tripled.
The ferry - which I helped get running damn it - was one of those larger ones that cars drove onboard, to be let off at the other side of the Bay. It wasn't big enough to have two decks, but it had cost a pretty penny anyways. Since it swung around the Rig, it was pretty popular among cape tourists on a budget, especially if they were just passing through town.
I saw the problem immediately. Really, it would have been hard to overlook the distinctive yellow-orange color of a school bus hanging over the side of a boat.
The bus had gone over the railing and tipped before being wedged, luckily keeping the still surging back tires off the ferry. If the words 'precarious' had a picture definition, it would have that bus as a centerpiece. I could hear cries and shouts from within whenever it shifted, so there were still people inside. One of the bystanders was desperately trying to get his truck around the other cars, possibly to hook up a tow cable, but against mass and leverage like that there was little he could do.
Enter Sovereign.
I leapt once more, and this time I stuck the landing. The bus took the tiny tremor that caused as a good sign to give way, but I wasn't having any of that. I grabbed the end and stopped it from moving.
Then, I ran into a problem.
See, it didn't matter that eight tons were pulling one way and a hundred and fifty pounds were pulling the other - my powers laughed at that. The thing was, there was only so much space to revolve the thing - if I pulled straight backwards, I was liable to ruin the ferry, and since I helped fund the thing I was a little leery of that.
I pondered for a moment, moving the thing experimentally, then let out a frustrated growl and put my other hand underneath the chassis. Steel crunched as I dug my fingers in, creating an impromptu gripping point. Right hand goes down, left hand goes up-
The nose of the bus rose smoothly, impossibly into the air, suspended by its bumper and my precarious handhold. There were loud gasps from the peanut gallery followed by distinctive shutter sounds, but I ignored them in favor of taking a few careful steps back, swinging the bus around slowly to avoid distressing the passengers - or squashing the cars. I'm pretty sure that would be bad.
Before I sat it down, I shattered the back axle, preventing the still spinning tires from digging their way into my nice, shiny ferry deck.
The back door was warped shut, so I punched my hand through the steel frame and pulled it off.
"Please disembark in an orderly fashion," I growled.
Bedraggled preteens stared out at me for a moment, then stampeded past, clamoring excitedly. The last off was the teacher, who was older but still looked like she'd been run through a washing machine. Understandable - the front end of the bus had gone into the water.
"Bless you, bless you child," she beamed at me, enfolding me in an incredibly awkward hug. "You're doing Scion's work."
I stared at her, then the bus.
Yup - First Church of Scion. Goody.
"Just my job," I told her politely, trying to ignore the camera flashes. "The driver - is he still in there?"
She nodded vigorously. "Larry, yes. We couldn't pry him away from the wheel - he was like an animal, scratching and biting!"
I sighed and stepped forward into the bus. "I'll handle it. Larry? Are you in here?"
Incoherent mumbling - lots of 'won't' and 'promised.'
"I need a vacation," I lamented, stepping forward. " Another vacation. Larry?"
Larry the bus driver was still pressing the pedal down, hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, knuckles straining against whitened skin. The engine was roaring futilely, but he didn't seem to notice. His manic eyes seemed to flit around at random.
All humor fled.
"Alright then Larry," I said, stepping forward. "Let's get you out of that chair, huh?"
"You!" he yelled, voice high with fright. "You've come to take me away, just like he said!"
"Who?" I asked, voice level. "Who told you that, Larry?"
"The man - the man on the phone. He said they were coming for me, that they were going to take me away." His eyes danced from side to side, looking for unseen assailants. "I won't let them take me - I won't!"
" Larry," I said, putting my hands on either side of his face. His eyes locked on mine. " No one is coming for you."
"But - but the man-" he protested, gesturing to the phone at his feet. It was dark - probably shorted out from getting dunked in bay water.
" The man was lying."
"He - he wouldn't."
" He would."
"But - but then I-" Some shred of sanity returned to his eyes. "Oh God, what did I do?"
"There you go," I told him, smiling. "You were mastered, Larry - you had no choice, and you broke out of it. I mean, if you were really trying, you would have gone right over the side, right?"
"I- I would have?"
"Yup." A little white lie wouldn't hurt here. "You've got some strong willpower, Larry. Still, if you'll get off the bus, the PRT are coming and they'll want to debrief you."
Larry nodded quickly, all but falling over himself to leave. After he was gone, I knelt down on the wet floor and picked up the forgotten phone.
"So," I mused, staring at the blank screen, "what secrets do you hold?"
AN: There might be a couple errors. I didn't proofread this one as many times as I usually do. 3 AM - bedtime Q_Q
Last edited: May 14, 2017
Montage 2.8
AN: This chapter fought me for a while. Sorry for the delay.
Montage 2.8
"You what?" Cognit hissed, glancing over at Armsmaster to see if he was paying attention.
"I gave it to Dragon." I said. "It wasn't like we could have done anything with it on our own."
"Damn it Sovereign, there's no way we're getting ahead of the investigation now," Cognit groaned, leaning away from me.
"Don't be so melodramatic. It was information they needed and data that we couldn't use."
"Couldn't you just use your massive geek brain and-?" Cognit gestured vaguely, as though typing on a keyboard; I stared at him.
Initially, I'd wondered how someone with predictive manipulation could be so consistently offensive, but I quickly intuited the truth - Cognit just didn't care. In layman's terms, he was a complete ass.
In the center of the room, Armsmaster cleared his throat; side conversations dwindled.
"I'll get straight to the point since we don't have much time. The drafts of troops have been in place for almost 36 hours, meaning we have twelve more to find Diviner before they have to pull out."
"They're just going to leave?" Vista said, shocked. The people around her looked similarly surprised.
"Yes." Armsmaster said bluntly. "Two days is sufficient for local villains to begin taking advantage of the PRT's absence. Once the PRT troops pull back, the commissioner will be unable to maintain the blockade without compromising the city. If we haven't found Diviner before that, it's over."
There was silence in the break room.
Dragon's face appeared on a monitor. "I may have some good news."
"Let's hear it." Armsmaster said, turning his chair.
"After Sovereign's recovery of a cell phone presumably connected to the Master, I began correlating the home, cell, and business numbers of the previous victims and discovered a link." Images appeared - pages, covered in numbers and addresses. Yellow pages. Red circles appeared, sequential dates filling in next to them.
It only took me a second to make the connection. They were different pages, but the time stamps were descending with the entries, so-
"They're going through the phone book?" Cognit asked, incredulous. "Talk about an old school method."
"Something like that, yes," Dragon said, images disappearing. "Initially, we assumed it was random, but I now believe the Master is choosing targets from a list-"
"Hold up a second," Assault interrupted, raising a hand. "If they're choosing from a phone book, how did Larry what's-his-face get hit? They don't record cell numbers, right?"
When she replied, Dragon's voice had a slight edge to it. "I believe they have been moving through a different medium. The last six victims were all school related, though from different districts; likely, they have access to a registry of some sort."
"They're in a school, or something like it." I murmured, mind racing. "Schools are all out for the summer - they would be the only ones there."
Armsmaster nodded. "We can't assume it's a school, but it's still the best lead we have. Assault, Battery, we're modifying our patrols. Miss Militia, if the graft has set and the doctor gives you the all-clear, you can join us; otherwise, man the radio. Wards, stay clear and continue suppressing local crime - is that clear?"
Cognit opened his mouth to object, but I stomped on his foot.
Hard.
He whimpered, eyes watering, and sunk lower in his seat.
"Yes sir," we chorused back with various states of enthusiasm.
Armsmaster eyed us for a moment, then snorted. "Dismissed."
The three of us stood as one and made for the door. Behind us, Armsmaster started to speak again.
"As for hero reinforcements, Director Costa-Brown will only authorize-"
The door closed, cutting him off.
"So," Cognit said, rubbing his foot gingerly. "I'm assuming you have a plan?"
I grinned. "Boy, do I."
We split up, as usual. Vista and Cognit went one way, while I went the other.
Despite the wave of chaos sweeping through the city, it was largely quiet. After Marquis's gang dissolved and the Teeth had been thrown out of the Bay, there was a new status quo - don't mess with the Protectorate. Most villainy was done secretively, at night and behind closed doors. The only real threat was the Empire, and even they had the sense to stay quiet when the PRT was patrolling in force.
Like now, for example.
They won't have to stay quiet for much longer, I thought grimly. If we didn't find this Master and recover Claire soon, we never would.
"Anything?" I asked, casually playing catch with a pebble.
" Nothing yet," Cognit's voice crackled from my earpiece, sounding strangely mechanical; I could barely tell that it was him.
"Militia's not going to broadcast when they do find something," Vista said. " She knows we're listening, and MS protocol in this situation is pretty tight."
The mere thought of a phone propagating Master effect had sent the PRT into full paranoia mode. Every Hero and squaddie's earpiece had been set for full audio transcription, which meant that my teammates' voices were fully synthetic. It didn't stop ambient noise, but no Master was going to compromise the entire Protectorate ENE with a single transmitter.
The tone copying was pretty good, but there was a high pitched whine with each sentence that hurt my ears.
I made a noncommittal noise, eyeing a nearby alleyway. There was a man lurking there, peaking out from behind the wall occasionally - shabby clothes, squinty eyes, and he had one hand in his jacket pocket.
Suspicious. I caught the pebble one last time, reared back my arm, and threw it. It bounced off his forehead, making him swear and stagger backwards. He looked up, searching for his aggressor; when he found me, I drew two fingers across my throat.
Eyes bulging, the would-be mugger sprinted off into the night.
"Patience," I told Vista, picking up a new rock to play catch with. "Just gotta have patience."
" I got it!" Cognit's voice crackled out over the radio, making me pause mid-beating. " Two PRT squads have been dispatched to 1100 Axle Way, but their locators ping them elsewhere. Armsmaster's GPS is with them, and he brought Assault and Battery!"
"Gotta be them," I dropped the thug to the ground. He whimpered, scooting backwards, his two friends lying in an unconscious pile behind him. Robbing a convenience store while the city's like this, how shameful - and stereotypical. "Behave for the nice man. If I have to come back here, I'm going to try my hand at skipping you across the bay, okay?"
The thug nodded fearfully. I reached down, grabbed the one gun that wasn't twisted into modern art, and handed it to the shocked clerk.
"I've got an emergency. Think you can handle this till the police drop by?"
The clerk, a thirty-something man who'd been quivering like a bowl of jelly the whole time, nodded with a fierce look on his face. "I-I won't let you down sir!"
"Good. Just keep the gun on them and if you have to shoot, aim for center mass." I stepped through the broken store window and tapped the communicator button again. "I'm on my way. You two keep monitoring - this might be a feint."
"A feint?" Vista said. " You think they're testing us?"
"They can be tricky like that," I lied. "Let me check it out first."
This plan was stupid.
As it turned out, the mystery location was Immaculata. I'd never actually seen it in person, though I spotted a faded brochure on Dad's desk at one point.
In the daylight, the brickwork would practically glow in the sunlight, the concrete white and pristine, the trees green and inviting. It would have looked - well, immaculate. A haven for the city's wealthy heirs. It practically rained down class from the fountain outside.
At night, the whole place creeped me out a little.
There were PRT vans parked outside. The lights were off, and the insides were empty and silent.
"It's quiet," I said aloud. " Too quiet. Cognit, anything from the radio?"
" Negative - they're probably using short range squad communications. Should we move out? Vista and I-"
"Let me check it out a bit more - I'll tell you what I find."
Like hell I was bringing along more targets for the enemy Master.
There was a moment of worrying silence from the other end. " Right."
Alrighty then; I cracked my knuckles and stepped forward.
Time to earn my salary - and possibly lose my job.
The door was locked, but it didn't take much to shove open. The hallways were dark, but I could see light under one of the doors. With a quick burst of movement, I turned the handle and tapped it with my shoe, catapulting it forward to find -
-an empty office. One of the filing cabinets was open, papers stacked neatly on the counter next to it, and a computer was displaying an employee register.
Bingo. I unplugged it, then glanced around. Now… where are the Protectorate forces?
Abruptly, the lights died, plunging me into sudden darkness. I tensed, ready to defend myself, but nothing happened.
What I wouldn't give for a motion tracker.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on my ears. Out of all my enhanced senses, this was the one I reached for the least. The halls and classrooms of Immaculata were quiet and still, but I could hear movement in the gym - low murmurs, and shoes squeaking on floors.
" You think he's still out there?"
Assault's voice?
"Has to be. He's never been the type to give up."
Definitely Battery speaking.
Good enough for me. I moved out and through the halls, navigating towards the sound.
It was dark without the electricity on. The only lighting came from PRT headlamps and Battery's costume, which was softly glowing.
The gym was three rooms down, and it was… fairly average. Basketball hoops hung from either side, with dark lines lacquered onto the floor. Retracted fold out bleachers covered one wall, with a long stage curving out from the other. Assault and Battery were sitting there, feat dangling listlessly off the side.
My fellow superheroes looked up when I entered, wariness morphing to surprise.
"Sovereign!" Battery exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to help," I said. "Figured with all those empty vans outside, something was going on. Where's Armsmaster?"
"He turned his comms off," Assault said, glancing around. "We haven't heard from him; I think he's been compromised."
I raised an eyebrow. "That so? Then why aren't you out looking for him?"
The pair of them tilted their heads in eerie synchronicity. "Because it's not safe to leave."
"You're heroes," I pointed out logically. "You do unsafe things all the time."
"I-" Battery said, blinking. "Maybe you're right?"
"I guess-" Assault began, only to get cut off.
"A-a-and cut!" The man that stepped out from behind the curtain was unassuming with brown hair and fair skin. Even his costume, a clergy outfit with a domino mask, looked drab next to the rank-and-file PRT soldiers. "He ain't buying it, kids. That's alright - we're all friends here, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt, or arrested."
It didn't feel like anything. I was expecting some sort of goofy, morphine-like cloud to descend that I'd have to shake off, or maybe a wave of emotion to crash over me.
Instead, I felt… nothing.
"Of course," I said, everyone present repeating the phrase.
"Like a moth to the flame." He laughed, jumping down off the stage. "Was a little bit worried there when the lights turned off. Your buddy Armsmaster, he's a clever dude - moment the intercom started blasting sound, everyone else just stopped, but not Armsmaster."
Ah; that would be how he compromised the earbuds. Even if they filtered out everything, there was still vibrations being transmitted through the skull. Enough sound would go right past them, and if he had time to prepare…
"Sealed helmet with its own tinkertech filters," I agreed. "Tricky to get around."
"Guess so. 'Course, all his friends came in fat, dumb and happy, trusting - what, PRT trash made by the lowest bidder? You aren't even wearing a pair."
"Fat and dumb? Sort of insulting, don't you think?"
"Don't worry about it," the villain said, waving me off. "Everyone but the new guy, you'd very much like to stand over in the corner and be silent. You're… Sovereign, right? A Ward?"
"Yes. I'm looking for my friend, Diviner."
"Oh, she's not here. In fact, don't worry about her for now." He eyed me. "Would you consider yourself a close friend?"
Not here? Damn; guess that would be too simple. I needed to talk to her alone, if only to confirm a few things before I took her back. Time to improvise.
"We're pretty close." I lied with a pang of remorse; I hadn't paid as much attention to Claire as I should have.
"Good, good, then I guess this little excursion paid off. Was worried no one would take the bait until the vans pulled up outside."
"So it was a trap after all."
He clapped sarcastically. "Only took you ten minutes to figure out. Kudos."
I stopped my eye from twitching only with maximal effort. "It occurs to me, I don't actually know your name."
"Hn. Guess you're right. I'm Deacon, and you, my friend Sovereign, are going to be my bestest bud." Deacon draped one arm around my shoulders; to my dismay, he was wearing an unpleasant amount of aftershave. I tried to breathe lightly, then resigned myself to not breathing at all. "Once we leave, that persistent bastard's going to be waiting to ambush. Your job is to knock him out; after, I need you to help me, ah, convince Claire of something, then you can go."
"Oh, good."
"Everyone else, stick around!" He called out. "Nothing's wrong, and you don't need to go anywhere!"
With that, he marched me out, arm still around my shoulder.
This plan was officially one of the worst I'd ever made.
Montage 2.9
Note: It's come to my attention that I'm just really, really slow.
Montage 2.9
July 22nd, 2007
We didn't get far before Armsmaster tried to put his halberd through Deacon's head.
He chose his ambush site well-not immediately outside like I'd been expecting, but right beyond the vans before we got into the parking lot. It was a perfect strike, as lethal as it comes, using Armsmaster's full leverage and reach to bring the slashing edge crashing down on the oblivious Master's skull.
It would have been game over for Deacon if I hadn't caught it. People say that skill makes up for strength and speed in a fight, and it's true-to a point. At a certain level of physical power, no amount of skill can compensate.
His lips parted slightly in sudden horror as he met my eyes. I winked and raised a hand.
"Sorry, boss," I told him, flicking him in the forehead. Armsmaster flew backwards, flipping vertically like some kind of heroic windmill until he hit a fence.
He stayed down. I had mixed feelings about this.
"Nice!" Deacon cheered as though his favorite team had finally scored a goal. "I was planning on just sending you back after, but you and I, I bet we can go far."
"Protectorate probably won't like that," I told him mildly. "Good way to catch a bullet."
Deacon considered for a moment as he fished out his keys, then shrugged. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Lose the tracker- we don't want them following us."
I raised an eyebrow. "Tracker?"
"Your phone, for one. It would be a bad idea to keep that with you."
"Right, right." I pulled out the phone and tossed it to the side. It skittered close to Armsmaster.
"And the backup."
I gave him a guileless look. "Backup?"
"You don't even get a second-?" Deacon rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Come on-we've got places to be."
It was a nice car. I wasn't quite sure what brand it was, not having much experience or interest in that sort of thing, but it was new, red and sleek. To me, that meant "nice car." As a more useful fact, it told me that Deacon cared more about appearances than laying low.
Deacon opened the door, then gave me a look. "You bug me while I'm driving, you ride in the trunk. Got it?"
"Got it."
Dissecting the villain psychologically wasn't difficult. He was Heartbroken, which meant his emotional range was heavily stunted early in development. The most telling evidence was the costume, the frayed, dirty outfit that marked him as Catholic. He wore it as a sign of irony, of defilement, and respected it not at all. He had some special hatred for that religion in particular; a trauma of some sort.
I didn't care that much. I wasn't going to be pulling him apart mentally.
Still, he was almost completely confident in his ability. He must have practiced quite a bit.
The car went downtown, then into the Docks. We passed PRT vans twice, but I didn't react in the slightest. After the second one went by without comment from me, I could feel Deacon relax and pay more attention to the road.
Maybe he wasn't that confident. It occurred to me that we were taking a rather roundabout way to anywhere-was he testing me?
Finally, we pulled up in front of a dilapidated office. Out front, an old sign read " Best Autotest: In Business for thirty years."
He took me right to his base.
Dare I say it?
Confidence, born of ignorance.
"Home sweet home," Deacon drawled. "Get out. Wouldn't want to keep your teammate waiting."
I guess he was confident-or pressed for time. I and the rest of the Protectorate knew that the blockade couldn't last much longer, but Deacon didn't. He had to be feeling the pressure.
"Of course not," I agreed, stepping calmly out of the car. "Why bring me here, anyway?"
"Two reasons; one, I know you want to help me bust out of the blockade. We're doing that tonight, so we have to get going." He gave the building an irritated look. "Second, my sister's being a bit obstinate about going back. She just doesn't understand how important family is, you know?"
"Shocking."
"Yup. My abilities don't work well on her. They're long ranged, but they're not that resilient, see? Her powers screw with mine. She can tell when I'm lying."
The Master power was coming into focus now. It was like someone told you, "The sky is blue." You obviously know the sky is blue, so you don't question it. However, based on the quick degradation of the triggers, if the Mastered victim looked up and saw a green sky, the false belief would quickly erode.
I raised an eyebrow. "You, lying?"
" Not that I do, of course." Deacon smirked. "So, what I want you to do is march in there and convince her to go home, without turning my minions suicidal or homicidal. The battle of mind control is getting irritating. I'm going to stick you both in the same room, then you'll talk. Remember- you hate her and everything is her fault."
Quick usages, too. No appreciable delay. Perhaps a word limit, or one forced by English syntax. It was also worthwhile to note that he only ever used one command at a time. Some sort of limitation on the power?
"Of course I do." I growled, not having to fake anger. "If she hadn't come, none of this would be happening."
"Atta boy. Come on."
The garage was full of parts that had either been left there when the place was abandoned or gathered from around the city. I glanced around casually, looking for demolition charges, but couldn't find any.
"I hope you have enough explosives left to get you out of the city."
"Nah. Quality bombs are a pain in the ass to get ahold of." He grinned at me. "I got you for that now."
"What about a distraction? Anyone ready to set more fires? We might need it."
"A couple. Bombs are hard, but molotovs are easy to make. After what happened, I figure a couple of fires at the HQ will draw some attention." He frowned. " You really want us to escape as soon as possible."
"Of course," I agreed. "Best thing for everyone."
Deacon considered me for a moment, then shrugged and opened a door.
Behind it was Claire, and I was lucky no one was looking because pure murder flashed across my face for a brief second.
She'd been tied to a chair, but she was almost deathly still. The only things that moved were her eyes, which darted fearfully from me to Deacon. From the puffiness around them, she'd been crying. Her left cheek was swollen and purple, and my unfailingly exact vision told me that the outline matched Deacon.
It took me a few nanoseconds to register the other occupants in the room. Three thugs of various backgrounds were standing guard with a motley assortment of guns, but even they were completely still. The last member of the room was short and obviously a parahuman in his dark-gray suit and domino mask. He turned and his eyes glowed a dangerous red.
Every muscle in my body tried to lock up as a wave of terror swept over me; I let them. It was like being a mouse staring down a cobra. There was the sense of danger, of fear, knowing that any moment you would die, but that if you moved you would only hasten your demise. Worse, I felt my power shiver slightly.
Master-Trump, then. Visual-based paralysis and power suppression, probably through some sort of nervous system control.
"Easy there, Basilisk. He's safe." Deacon glanced at me. "He doesn't talk much. Bit shy."
Basilisk turned to continue staring at Claire, and the feeling receded slowly. From the fast-food wrappers littering the floor, he'd been sitting there for quite a while.
"Meet my brother. He's here to make sure nothing goes wrong." He smirked, ruffling Claire's hair with one hand. "Now, I'm told you two are friends, Claire. Well, acquaintances. You've been so adamant about staying, I wanted to see why."
She was crying again. My hands tightened into fists, thankfully concealed by my pockets.
"Sadly, when I asked him he was very angry. He and the rest of the Protectorate know who you are now, you see. They know, and they blame you for this whole thing."
Her mouth twitched, and her throat made a subtle sort of gasp. Deacon gave Basilisk a subtle nod and the red glow dimmed.
"L-lying."
"Oh? Am I?" He bared his teeth. "You know when I'm using my power, right? You wouldn't lie, right Sovereign?"
"I wouldn't lie," I agreed; Claire's face fell.
It was a pretty simple trick, all things considered.
But then, Claire was only ten years old. It was already impressive that she was holding on against Deacon's ability. With Basilisk literally inspiring mortal terror for hours on end, it would be spectacularly hard to think. When Deacon forced me to tell the "truth" as I knew it, spotting the deception would require a rather twisty jump of logic.
Obviously, the older Master had done this before. In the worst case scenario, he would simply have me knock her out.
"Good. Now, tell her exactly what the PRT does to Masters like us. Tell her your true feelings on the subject, and what the Protectorate will do once her identity gets out."
Weird.
I expected to be nervous in some way, but all I felt was… anticipation.
"I think she's my friend."
Hope blossomed on Claire's face, desperate and faint.
He blinked. Once. Twice. Confusion spread across his face. "But, it's her fault, remember?"
"Not really. I blame you. I blame Basilisk. Most of all, I blame Heartbreaker."
Comprehension at last-I was not a dog on a leash. " You can't hurt me."
I smiled, somewhat maliciously. "Can't I?"
His eyes widened, and he inhaled. " Kill -"
Neither I nor Claire would ever know what he was about to say because I crossed the intervening space between us in less than a second and slapped him hard enough to pulverize his left cheek and utterly shatter his jaw. Despite everything, his left hand reached for his pocket, but I preemptively ripped open his jeans and snatched his phone with the speed of a striking viper.
Deacon was officially out of the oratory business and into the "moaning pile of pain" enterprise.
You couldn't really call it a fight. It was over the moment I was in arms reach. Brute fights were like that.
"If you don't have anything nice to say," I told him, " shut the hell up."
Basilisk's eyes flared to full power, but I walked through the effect like it was nothing. My first instinct was to rip out his eyes, but I decided that was perhaps too extreme. I settled for punching him in the face, shattering his knee with a kick, and throwing him out the window.
Deacon was still gurgling something incomprehensible, still trying to use his hypnosis, so I shattered his knee for good measure and tossed him into a wall. He screamed once more then slumped down, battered into unconsciousness. There was a long length of steel cable sitting nearby, so I picked it up and tied him to a shelf. By now, the thugs were coming out of it. I wasn't sure what sort of commands they were under-only that Deacon wasn't sure they'd hold, and set Basilisk on them just in case-so I tied them too.
Claire stared at me with wide eyes, paralysis wearing off quickly. It must have been something to watch, considering my speed was creating a wake of detritus with each movement. "W-wh-"
"One second," I told her gently, stepping out into the street to bind Basilisk as well. He was just starting to drag himself off when I caught up to him and put my boot into his back. Thankfully, he was still on the sidewalk; if he'd been hit by a car in my custody, there would have been endless paperwork.
After a moment's consideration, I pushed him into a corner and pulled a plastic bag over his head. "Now think about what you've done."
Basilisk didn't make a sound, other than exhaling harshly whenever his broken limb was jostled. Creepy.
Claire was where I left her; I stepped over Deacon's moaning body and snapped the wire keeping her attached to the chair.
"That guy has messed-up notions of family," I said. I knelt down and rolled up her sleeves. "You're bleeding. Here, hold still."
"Why?" Claire asked, eyes feverishly bright and fixed on mine. "You know what-who-I am. You know what I've done."
"I don't know anything about you," I told her quietly. "I know who your family is. I know what they've done. I haven't been a good friend to you. In fact, I avoided you. Your ability to sense emotions made me uncomfortable, and for that, I'm sorry."
She shifted slightly. "You… you still don't know…"
"That you were hiding your real powers?" Claire looked shocked. "I guessed the moment I met you. All powers have an offensive focus if you look hard enough, and a pure empathic power is way below the power curve. Much like Alexandria packages, there's always a secondary effect. Maybe if you'd been able to fly, or shoot emotions like lasers."
My teammate nodded, and you didn't have to be an empath to sense the guilt. For a moment, I silently bandaged her arms and legs. When I finished, I sat down next to her. "Like I said, I've been a bad friend and teammate. I'd like to give you a chance to tell your side of the story before I activate my panic button."
Claire glanced at Deacon, still sprawled and bound in the corner, then nodded again. "Okay. I can… yes. I'll tell you. It doesn't matter much now, anyway. I just… don't really know where to start."
"Start with escaping Heartbreaker," I prompted. "Why did you leave?"
"I had a friend. He… we normally don't stay in one place for very long, but we were there for three weeks. I don't know why; Fath-Heartbreaker seemed to think it was safe." Claire shuddered. "While we were there, I snuck out. Charlie was occupied and I was bored, so I just left. There was a nice forest between the houses and I…"
"Felt a mind?" I suggested.
"Yes. Ben." She trembled again, as though about to cry, so I shifted closer and put my hand on hers. Claire gave me a tiny smile. "We were friends. I'd never had a friend before. He told me what he did for fun, and we did things, and went for ice cream, but then-then he found out."
"Heartbreaker?"
"No, Charlie." The word was almost a hiss. "He found me, and he told Father. It would have been fine, he said, if I used my abilities on them, if I was just using them, but he could feel that I had entanglements. He-he made me-" Claire swallowed convulsively. Deacon, I noticed, was awake and watching with gleaming eyes. Claire gave him a hate-filled glare, then continued. "After, we had to leave. We always left after a murder. A couple days later, she showed up."
"Who?"
"I don't know her name. I couldn't manipulate her emotions, and I didn't feel her until she was right behind me." Claire's voice took on an edge of fear. "There was something wrong with her. Flat. She told me that she'd take me away if I wanted. That I could be a good person, free, and make more friends. I just had to do something for her in return, and she'd teleport me away-here."
She went silent and wouldn't meet my eyes.
"What did she ask you to do?" No answer. "Claire?"
She shuddered again, and gave me a beseeching look. "You-she wanted you."
My blood went cold.
Claire continued on, almost rambling now. "At first, she wanted to know if you could be controlled. I tried, but your emotions, it's like they're set in concrete. I was afraid to push because you weren't supposed to notice. When I told her, she didn't get upset, she just wanted reports. She had me fill out things, weird questionnaires like how you felt during patrol, or when you were fighting, or your 'emotional state' when talking to your family. I just had to answer questions, and I thought I was safe, but-" She stared at me, waiting for some sort of reaction, but I just closed my eyes and thought.
So that was it.
Cauldron- fucking Cauldron.
I opened my eyes; Claire flinched away from me, feeling the fury radiating from me.
"I'm not angry with you," I reassured her. "You did the best you could."
"But-"
I shook my head. "Not your fault. Believe me, I know the woman you were talking about. There was literally nothing you could have done. Her ability is worse than any Master's, stronger than Heartbreaker or-in some ways-the Simurgh. If she wanted you, you were hers."
"Then-" Caution and relief warred in her expression. Claire stood and walked over to the window. "It was a power?"
"Very powerful precognition. She put you on a path, and you followed it."
Claire thought for a moment. "Why didn't she do that to you, then? Oh!"
"I'm immune to that sort of manipulation, yes-just like I'm immune to Master effects." I paused. "Not that I advertised the fact until now."
"Sorry," Claire said, ashamed. "I didn't-I mean-"
"It was always going to come out sooner or later." I stood, frowning. "I'm going to call the PRT."
"Right," Claire said, expression dimming. "I-I guess you have to."
"Be hard to arrest them without it," I agreed, pulling the heel of my boot to the side and pressing a button. It flashed red once, then green. I moved the heel back and nodded. "Done."
"They're never going to stop coming after me."
"They will. I'll hunt down every last one of them if necessary."
She shook her head. "Father… they can't go back without me. Father would… hurt them. Deacon especially, since he's older."
"I think you may be fundamentally unclear on the concept of imprisonment."
Claire gave me a quiet, sad smile, then a thought seemed to occur to her. "Maybe. Where's Basilisk?"
"Bound and bagged up front."
Her eyes widened. "You do know he has flexible joints, right?"
I blinked. "Um. No, I didn't."
"He can slip out of handcuffs."
"… One second."
To my complete surprise, Basilisk was still there. Considering nothing else had gone completely right today, I had expected a chase. As it was, I frowned at him and pulled off the bag. This was the first chance I had to get a good look at my enemy, and he was uncomfortably young-fifteen or sixteen, maybe.
He looked at me, eyes gray and lifeless.
"Why didn't you run?" I asked, curious.
Basilisk glanced down at his broken leg, then his bound hands.
"You could have slipped those off. Crawled for it. Maybe could have bummed a ride if you got the mask off."
The teen tilted his head, giving me a puzzled look. After a moment, he shook his head.
"You're saying you can't wriggle out of steel wires." I paused. "You don't have flexible joints, do you."
He shook his head again; I sighed and stepped back inside.
Claire stood there, one of the discarded pistols now against Deacon's head. Deacon's terrified eyes were fixed on hers; he tried to gurgle something, but she pressed the pistol harder and he quit.
Stupid of me. She was a child; the emotional depth came mostly from her powers. I should have expected this.
"Claire."
"He deserves it," she said fiercely. "He deserves it, all the things he's done, the people he's killed, he deserves to die."
"I realize that," I told her quietly, stepping closer. Her finger tightened on the trigger, and I stopped. It was possible for me to move fast enough to "save" him, but the recoil on my surroundings would be… extreme. "He does deserve to die, but you can't do it."
"Why not?!" Claire said. "I-I heard them, all the people he killed, the crimes he made them commit! He did it right in front of me, and he said they were my fault!"
"But they weren't." I stepped a little closer, ignoring the gun. "I don't care about Deacon, Claire, but if you pull that trigger, I won't be able to help you. They do know who your parents are. Right now, you're a girl who's in a bad situation; if you murder him in cold blood while he's bound and crippled, it will be you in a jail cell."
"He's a monster," she said quietly. "The things he did-the things we've done-we're all monsters. We shouldn't get to run away."
"You aren't a monster." I took another step and put one hand on the barrel of the gun. "You're a hero, no matter where you came from, and you're my teammate. You didn't want to manipulate me when you joined the Protectorate, you just wanted to live a better life."
She was wavering now. You could see it in the gun, odd as it sounds. "I ran away. I made him kill himself, and then I ran away."
"You had no chance against your family. Do you really think Ben holds you accountable?" She flinched; after a long moment, there was the tiniest of head shakes. "You aren't a monster, Claire, or you wouldn't care. Don't let him make you one. Don't let them take this from you too."
I could crush the gun if I had to. It wouldn't take much effort, and the forensics would be muddled enough that it wouldn't come down on Claire. It would be Deacon's word against mine… if I lied.
Of course, if Claire pulled the trigger, would she be worth lying for?
The moment stretched out. Deacon stared at his sister, a strange mix of emotions on his face.
The barrel lowered, and I plucked the gun from her unresisting hands.
"You're right," she said quietly. "I won't let them ruin everything. Not again."
Deacon had a moment to look relieved, then Claire balled her hand up into a fist and punched him in his broken jaw. The parahuman let out a high pitched squeal, then his eyes rolled up in his head.
I frowned at her; she gave me a guilty look. "Sorry."
"Don't be. Just keep in mind that our goal is to keep you around, okay?"
"Right," she said, flushing. "How-how far are the PRT?"
"Not too far. They're probably homing in on us now. Might even be listening in if the tracker's advanced enough." A thought struck me. "Though, if they suspect the Master's still in play, they wouldn't be able to. Maybe if they called Dragon?"
"The Canadian Tinker?"
"Yup. No Master effects can-I mean, she's probably worked out a countermeasure by now."
"Really? It's only been a couple of days."
"She's the best Tinker in the world, now that Hero's gone. A day would be plenty of time."
After that, things were quiet for a few minutes. I brought Basilisk in with his half-brother, keeping each where I could see them.
Then the PRT arrived, and the world was suddenly flashing lights and black-visor-clad troopers. Above us, more heroes were flying; on the street, a few others were taking cover. Everyone had a helmet on.
"Well," I said, blinking. "Thank goodness no one overreacted."
Claire gave me an alarmed look.
I patted her on the back. "Trust me."
The moment I stepped out, foam sprayers were pointed in my direction, along with less-identifiable things. Some hands lit up with lightning; others turned gold, or shot sparks.
After two steps, I crossed my arms and waited. One of the heroes moved forward with suave confidence.
"You must be Sovereign."
"Yup."
Interesting-there was a slight delay, then the helmet translated my words into text on his HUD. Reading them backward was irritating, but possible.
"Immune to masters?"
I grinned at him. "That didn't take long."
The hero grimaced. "If you weren't, you'd be doing a dance and breaking out in song right now."
"… What?"
He shrugged. "Easiest way we thought of to stop you."
"Huh." I blinked. "Sounds useful."
"Made a riot turn into a really off-key musical once. You really haven't heard of me? Sondheim?"
"Nope. Got a couple other Masters in there, though-might want to foam them. One can control you with his voice, while the other can paralyze you with his eyes and has some sort of Trump effect to go with it."
"Which you're also immune to," he pointed out dryly. "How will we tell them apart?"
"The vocal Master's jaw is in a million pieces. The sight-based Trump has a bag over his head."
Sondheim nodded. Without prompting, several troopers came forward; obviously, they shared communications. Claire stepped closer to me as they passed.
"From what I'm hearing, they might need medical attention before we arrest them."
"Probably. Where's Alexandria?"
"Couldn't make it. Probably out saving the world."
"Of course she is." More like she didn't want to test her Brute rating. "Her Master immunity could be useful."
"I myself am immune to emotional manipulating." Sondheim gave Claire a sidelong look. "Slides right off. Most people here have the same to some extent."
Claire stiffened; I put one arm around her and squeezed lightly.
"It's been a long day," I said. "Mind if we wrap this up? Get the MS period over with?"
"I imagine Claire can." Sondheim smirked as more text appeared on his visor. "You, however-Miss Militia's waiting to debrief you personally."
"Oh." I winced. "Joy."
It was not joy.
It was the opposite of joy.
Vista slapped me the moment I stepped onto the Rig, then warped off into the distance. Cognit just gave me an angry look and walked away, obviously not wanting to risk his fist on my face.
Miss Militia was the calmest. I was expecting some sort of speech from her, but the look she gave me was more disappointed than worried or angry. Now that she had all the facts in front of her, she had a pretty good idea of what I was thinking.
A normal scolding I could have brushed off. If she called me reckless or irresponsible, I would have shrugged and pointed out my many immunities. Disobeying orders was also hard to prove in this situation.
Instead, Hannah just told me that I made my team worry, and that they'd seriously considered setting off the Endbringer alarms. Only Costa-Brown's quick intervention had prevented a possible evacuation. The Director was now "Not Speaking To Me" in all capital letters, according to the unofficial email.
Ironically, the person I was least looking forward to talking to took it the best. Armsmaster was strangely chill about his short career as a Protectorate projectile, and even complimented me on a "well-done ruse."
All in all, the rush at finally putting a stop to a fairly frustrating enemy had long worn off by the time Costa-Brown stepped into the interrogation room.
"So." She set her briefcase down, then steepled her fingers. "You must be feeling pretty proud."
"If you'd led with that like, half an hour ago, maybe."
"I was on a plane to China, you know. We were going to negotiate with the Yangban over Endbringer battles in the Middle East. Now, that's gone, because someone told me that the most powerful Brute in the world was captured by a Master." She glowered at me. "Do you even know how much damage you could have caused?"
"Yes-zero. It was a no-lose situation. The moment I saw him was the moment he was in custody. I am, as suspected, completely immune to Master effects."
"What if you were wrong?"
"I wasn't." I smiled at her, somewhat unpleasantly. "Are you going to ask me how I knew? In fact, yes, let's talk about Claire." If you want to play hard ball, let's play hard ball.
I was lucky that Costa-Brown didn't have heat vision; I wasn't sure my suit was rated for high temperatures. "Your teammate's background is not in question here. We are talking about your irresponsibility." But it could be in question if you continue to ignore regulation.
"I'd like to speak with you-alone." I flicked my eyes to the camera in the room's corner, then toward her briefcase. This conversation should not be recorded.
She stared at me for a moment, then nodded. The red light went off and the camera quit panning.
"Say what you need to say." It might have been the smug, arrogant superiority on her expression, or it might have been residual anger from Claire's story, but I was done with this cloak and dagger bullshit.
Whatever she was expecting from me, it wasn't for me to grab her by the lapels and slam her against the wall.
"Put me down immediately," she bit off, but I ignored her.
"You planted a Heartbroken on my team." I all but snarled. It didn't occur to me until later that the term wasn't in current parlance, but I didn't care. "Not only did you try to turn me into a mind-controlled slave, you also had her spy on me after!"
"These allegations-"
"They're not allegations, Alexandria and I'm not a damn court. You and I both know what happened here, and if you try to justify manipulating a ten-year-old girl into betraying and mind-raping her friends I will asphyxiate you and punt you into the mantle."
Something ugly glittered in her eyes then. "What are you talking about?" So you do know.
"Of course I knew; it's not that hard to spot." I let her fall dismissively, then set the table back upright and sat down. "I'm guessing your powers stop your aging. Mine do something similar, though at a slower rate; for you, I suspect you've been relying on makeup and body doubles."
"That's a lot of assumptions to make in one sentence."
"Okay then." I raised an eyebrow. "Bleed."
She stilled. Behind her eyes, a war for control was going on. Alexandria knew very well that she couldn't fight me head on, and now, she was at a disadvantage on all the other fronts. Being a Triumvirate-level parahuman at the top of the PRT was enough of a bombshell that it almost didn't matter about what she'd done to Claire.
Plans and contingencies flashed through her eyes for a moment, before something like resignation entered.
"What do you want?" she asked finally.
"Exemption for Claire. Now that she's outed to so many heroes, there's going to be hell to pay. Make sure none of it falls on her."
She scowled. "That will be difficult."
I snorted. "No it won't. I know what resources you have access to. Bring in the Youth Guard if you need to."
"… Fine. As a matter that involves a Ward's identity, we may be able to keep things silent among the Protectorate."
"No 'may' about it. Get your Thinkers on it; you don't get to just ruin her life and then walk away."
Her grip tightened on the table at the oblique reference to Contessa. "Are there… any other conditions?"
"Yes. You can cancel the counseling sessions that just magically appeared on my schedule."
"Those are mandated by-"
"Mandated, yes, but curiously, I don't remember going to any." My smile was in no way friendly. "Almost like someone wanted to keep my Master/Stranger profile light before this happened, and now that their spy's flipped on them, they want more information to help build a few profiles of their own."
Alexandria's teeth were grinding now. "If you think you can just dictate-"
"I can dictate. In fact, I am dictating, because I find it disturbing to be on the same side as someone who, by proxy, approves of the Vasil way of life. Who thinks that they and their little tree-house club of horrors can do whatever they'd like for 'the greater good' and it will all work out in the end, and too bad for all those people who got shit on along the way." I stabbed a finger at her, the chair exploding away from me. " I am not an unruly piece on your chessboard. You don't get to sit there and be pissed off about how I've upset your system when you've betrayed everything it ever stood for!"
Both of us were standing now. Alexandria's hands were clenched into fists; if she took a swing at me, I would oblige her.
After a long moment, the tension in the air loosened.
"I agree to your terms," she said, voice arctic cold. "I will not forget this."
"We're supposed to be on the same side," I told her, feeling suddenly tired. I opened the door, then paused. "Your coat's crooked. You might want to fix that before you leave."
It was a long run home.
Last edited: May 14, 2017
PRT Report: Corporal L
Official Incident Report, Page 13:
In the course of a patrol, Sovereign discovered an abandoned PRT vehicle. He investigated and was ambushed by Deacon, a child of Nico Vasil (See: Deacon Dossier, Pg 6.) Discovering his immunity to Deacon's power (See: Deacon Dossier, Pg 6.), Sovereign faux-assaulted Armsmaster, who was uninjured, and was brought by Deacon to the location of kidnapped Ward Claire Armstrong. Sovereign then incapacitated Deacon and his accomplices (See: Basilisk Dossier, Page 7) and informed the PRT of his location. Armsmaster has declined to press charges for the assault.
Two men with IED's were arrested outside the PRT headquarters per Sovereign's information. Both were confined until their conditioning wore off (twelve hours.) Deacon's ability appears to decay based on either range or number of targets.
Basilisk and Deacon have been incarcerated and fitted with a blindfold and muzzle, respectively. Clemency has been requested for Basilisk who is under eighteen, though it is unlikely to be granted due to the political climate generated by the incident. Deacon is expected to be imprisoned for the rest of his natural life.
Standard incident clean up procedures will be amended by the following directives:
1. Security has been increased on Claire Armstrong by order of Director Costa-Brown.
2. Master-Stranger tests reduced in scope by order of Director Costa-Brown.
3. Mandatory counseling waived for Sovereign by order of Director Costa-Brown.
4. Sovereign will be disciplined for an infraction of orders by one month's suspension and transfer to radio duties.
Last edited: Jan 6, 2017
Montage End/Nemesis Preview
My sisters lab was, as always, a curious mix of orderly counters and chaotic shelving.
"So. Did it turn out how you planned it?"
I considered Riley for a moment, then chose not to answer. "Sveta seems happy."
The girl in question was currently passed out on a table, screwdriver in hand and a delirious smile on her face. In front of her was some sort of converted wristwatch.
Riley snorted. "Of course she is. She has hands and a Tinker specialty."
"Mm. There were a lot of possibilities with the quantum vial, but that was probably the best one." The stool I was sitting on was old, and it creaked alarmingly whenever I moved. "You think she'll help us?"
"Of course she will, Sveta knows literally no one else, but you didn't answer my question." Riley narrowed her eyes at me. "How. Did. It. Go?"
"It went… alright. It could definitely have been worse. We need to add a few more contingencies to the portfolio, but-" I paused, remembering the confrontation with Alexandria. There was something off, something about when I was threatening her. Alexandria was easily six feet, whereas I was just an inch over five, and yet…
Realization struck; I'd been meeting her eyes the entire time.
I pulled my legs in and concentrated on that moment, feeling the furious clarity from earlier wash over me. A discarded candy wrapper skittered across the floor, like a fan had turned its way. A book Riley had left open - A Treatise on Simple Invertebrates - went completely flat, pages crushed against the binding.
The stool shuddered, then slowly floated six inches into the air.
I smiled. "You know, I think it went exactly how I wanted it to go."
END:MONTAGE LOAD:NEMESIS
Author's Note
--
Let the next arc begin. I'm going to do something new, starting now, where I put out an aspect of the CYOA build one at a time. These are going to be extras, and you may read or ignore them at your leisure. They won't come out every chapter, but they'll be there on occasion.
I have this story fully plotted out, but I rarely have time to just sit down and write.
Alexandria Powerset
The Powers: Alexandria
The Alexandria powerset picture is of Superman, and it's well deserved. In fact, it often exceeds Superman in power. There are five main effects, which can be activated either by toggling them mentally or by concentrating, depending on the ability.
Endurance
First and foremost, the Alexandria power renders its user completely invulnerable to damage, no matter the nature of the power. That means no magic, no telefragging, no asphyxiation, and so on and so forth. Sovereign is not quite immune to everything, but his powers are somewhat alive and will actively adapt to prevent future damage from the same source. This invulnerability extends to his mind, negating stress and mental effects on the body. Sleep is basically recreation only.
Strength
Second, the Alexandria ability renders strength 'near-limitless.' Practically, this means that in a battle of physical forces he will come out ahead almost every time. Tactile telekinesis is provided with the strength, allowing him to extend his grip surface over the entirety of an object. With practice, more esoteric and physics-divorcing powers can be utilized, such as mitigating the resulting shockwave when moving at high speeds.
Senses
Third, his hearing and sight allow him to see and hear even when it should otherwise be impossible. This ability hasn't fully developed yet, but at the moment he can perceive changes in light in a 360 degree radius and hear through obstructions much more efficiently than should be possible.
Mind
Fourth, Sovereign's mind is greatly enhanced. His memory is absolutely perfect, meaning he will never, ever forget a single moment of his life since triggering. His decision making and learning capability can only be described as 'superhuman.'
Mobility
Fifth and finally, Sovereign can fly. The ability hasn't been explored much, but it will develop - at the very least - to hypersonic levels with enough practice. He may also run at extreme speeds, with catastrophic effects on the environment.
These abilities, if accurately represented and measured, could be presented as follows - Brute (), Mover 9, Thinker 7, Striker 4. The PRT system doesn't actually work that way, and his current rating is lower (since they can't really measure Brute past a certain point except against other high level Brutes) but if we were to try fitting the fully powered Alexandria into something the locals understood, that is what it would look like. In terms of engagement plans based on powers, the portfolio would read DON'T.
Last edited: Feb 22, 2017
