dr doc

by thejarl7166

dr doc

2. A Utopian Dream

A Utopian Dream

Ok, here is the rewrite of the crossover I posted recently between Worm and Stellaris. I've tried to take the critique I received into account. If you read this version and still have problems, don't hesitate to tell me what's wrong. Really. I'm badly dyslexic if I lost my temper when people pointe out grammatical errors I would have melted by now ;)

Taylor awakens with the ethics and tech trees of every possible Stellaris civilisation in her mind.

Stellaris for those who don't know is a game about taking a civilisation from a single world to a galaxy-spanning superpower. Whether you do that as a Star Trek-style federation of friendship, or as a Star wars style galactic empire is up to you. And thanks to the most recent expansion it even comes with Death stars!

Question. Do I need to know a thing about Stellaris?

No, if there's anything you need to know about Stellaris I will tell you, I mean it has a wiki, so if you're curious and I 've failed to explain something you can always do a google search but that shouldn't be necessary.

Question. Is not Stellaris a game about galactic civilisations, won't Taylor be massively overpowered?

No, not really. First Stellaris takes place over about two to three centuries, so Taylors going to have her work cut out for her to reach the top tier stuff. Secondly, even if she does then so what? She's in a world with Endbringers and tinkers. She needs all the help she can get as far as I'm concerned.

Room 17 floor 20, long-term care. Those words mean anything to you? No? Well to me it's the room where half my family has been living for the last year and a half. Apart from the fact that she's a little thinner and doesn't have her glasses on, Mom's remarkably unchanged. Since the day of the accident.

All three of us were walking down the Beachfront. Dad had gotten off work early, and mom was on holiday between semesters. Dad always used to tease her about it, saying that she spent more time on holiday than working. She would huff and say that "The joy of the written word is lost on some people." Then dad would laugh and kiss her as an apology and I, being a little kid, would make a gagging noise at the sight and we would all laugh. We had just finished that particular routine when someone screamed. We all turned... and then we saw it.

A car, a beat-up old Toyota had mounted the pavement, knocking people out of the way left and right. In my nightmares the drivers face changes. Sometimes it's a young black man; sometimes it's a snarling demon with glowing eyes. Occasionally it's even more terrifying and I wake up shaking and shivering. It was Mom that saved me. She pushed me out of the way with all her strength. The car missed me, missed Dad and clipped her. As I was lying on the floor a bruise on my forehead, I remember looking up just in time to see the back of Mom's skull smash into the pavement.

Sometimes when people are moving boxes around, and they put them down just right, I would remember that "clunking" sound she made. I'd go into a little space in my mind and would be unreachable for anything from half an hour to an hour. It's one of the reasons Dad insisted I go to the psychologist once a week. Even with our debts piling up.

The doctors tried everything. New Wave's Panacea tried everything. She told us she could heal most physical damage, but brains were beyond her and there was nothing more she could do to help my mom. That it was up to her if she woke up or not. I nearly exploded in rage. My mom was the best mom, and there was no way she wouldn't wake up from some little bump on the head.

It was a good thing that I was so tired out from crying by that point that I couldn't muster the energy to do anything except curl up into Dad's arms… I can't imagine New Wave would have responded well to a little 13-year-old girl attacking one of their members in a blind grief-induced rage.

There was an inquest into the whole thing of course. Two other people had been seriously injured, although because their wounds were not brain damage Panacea was able to save both of them. I try not to be bitter knowing Mom would disapprove, but hey I'm still just a teenager. I'm allowed to be unreasonable.

It turns out that the driver was high on a combination of Heroin and Cocaine. This was back in the days when the Merchants were building up their power base in the city. Since that day I've despised the Merchants more than any of the other gangs in the city. I even had my only fist fight with a couple of members at the school. They made the mistake of offering me some "stuff" during lunch break at Winslow. This was just after the bullying had started and I was scared and angry and wanted to do something. I would have been suspended there and then but the idiots had brought some of the stuff into school with them. The teachers gave them a suspension and me a caution. I gave him a black eye.

I reached across from where I was sitting and straightened the flowers I had put by Mom's bedside. A mix of blues and yellow. I could not for the life of me remember what type they were. I had just bought them in the hospital gift shop because it was the sort of thing dad had always done when he took me to visit Mom.

I checked my watch. 2pm - almost time to go. I got up and stretched but then hesitated and looked down at Mom's still form. I knew the sensible thing to do would be to leave then and there. It wasn't as though Mom would know I was here and what I was planning was dangerous enough as is.

All logical points. Instead of leaving I sat back down and pulled my chair as close as I could to Mom and leaned down to her face.

"I… I want you to know why I'm doing this. I know you always hated the idea of Capes taking the law into their own hands. Hated the idea of them depriving people of their civil rights. You always got so angry when it came up on the news and would start lecturing Dad and me on things like peoples' rights and all this other English lecturer stuff. You would get so passionate that you were almost shouting. Then Dad would kiss you on the lips, and I would snuggle up to your side, and you would sigh and say that you were going to make political activists of us one day if it was the last thing you did."

I smiled slightly, aware of the irony.

"You know, I think you're right. People shouldn't do things just because they have power over others. But I also think that if you can do something good, you should. Because if you don't the world won't get any better."

I could feel the tears coming as I swallowed and continued.

"Dad sold his wedding ring the other week. The money from the health insurance is going to be cut off soon, and then we'll have to pay to keep you here. Dad is selling everything nonessential and stockpiling the money. As for me… I'm doing something else. You wouldn't approve I know but, well if you're ever in a situation to tell me that to my face, then I did something right. Don't worry Mom, your Little Owl is on the case." I made a few of the little twittering noises Mom had taught me once when I had a toothache and she wanted to distract me from the pain. The lesson had stuck, and for years it had been our little joke between us. Made all the funnier, at least to me, by the fact Dad couldn't do it.

I reached out to squeeze her hand one last time and left, signing out at the reception and headed to my next destination.

Even in my short half an hour walk to the internet café, I saw plenty of signs of urban decay. Maybe it was a side effect of whatever the hell had happened to me in my triggering. Maybe it was the fact that I had decided to stop being a victim finally and was going to start taking a proactive stance but things that I had always taken for granted began to stand out to me.

The way people kept to themselves and huddled in small groups, the fact that every shop I could see had big signs saying no money was kept in the register overnight. And the big sign over every cash machine I passed warning that numerous tinker tech security features (real or not) were installed to protect the money inside. Most of all, however, it was the gang markings. The signs from the gangs that they and not the government had control of these streets.

Gang markings reading "KISER for president!" accompanied with a crude drawing of a hanging black man with swastikas painted over his eyes. Merchant markings that made my blood boil offering "GOOD STUFF AT GOOD PRICES!" staining the sides of buildings with crumbling paint. I didn't remember it being this bad as a little kid, but maybe Mom and Dad had just kept me distracted from it, not wanting their little daughter to get disheartened.

I sidestepped a gaggle of Asian kids who were walking down the street towards me. They didn't look like ABB members, but then again, the truly dangerous gang members never did. One of them even wolf whistled at me. That pretty much convinced me they were Merchant members instead. Only someone who was high would think I warranted that kind of attention.

I was just about to go around the corner when I heard the yelling start. The Asian kids had nearly collided with a pack of white kids, judging by their hairstyles they were Empire members, or at least Empire wannabes.

It was almost like watching a nature documentary about tribal monkeys. First came the yells, then growing from that the actual worded insults. Thrown back and forth until finally came the displays of force. One of the Empire kids started to flex his muscles, and another kept on slamming his right fist into the palm of his left-hand vigorously.

The Asians responded. A couple of the bigger ones forced their way to the front and also started flexing their muscles while the smaller members moved to the flanks. A couple of them even started sifting through the trash in the gutter for rocks or something to throw.

There were more of the Asian kids, but my guess about them being Merchants and not ABB was right it would seem. A couple of them were sweating nervously and swayed on their feet despite the January chill. High no doubt. Something had to give. One of the Nazis seemed to make up his mind. He reached into his pocket and produced a shiv. It was a small thing, but it was enough to decisively tip the scales in the Nazi's favour. With a real weapon on their side, they could win this.

The advantage on their side, the Nazi's charged. The Asians formed up as best they could, waiting for the shock of impact.

CRACK! The pavement between them ruptured.

Despite living in the Bay all my life, I'd seen relatively little of the area's many heroic capes. At least if you didn't count TV and special events like meet and greets. I had always hoped it was because most of the villainous capes tended to operate in more affluent parts of town where there were greater pickings to be had and that heroes just followed them, leaving the cops to deal with the unpowered members of the gangs when they did crop up. The alternate idea, that the heroes merely didn't care had cropped up in my mind a fair few times but now wasn't the time for crackpot theory.

Even if I had never seen her face to face before I recognised Glory Girl. She had landed right between both sides, her hands on her hips and a disapproving look on her face. Like a babysitter that left you alone for five minutes and found you eating all the ice cream. Except, you know, one that could bench press a car.

"And what's all this then?" she asked pulling a genuinely awful impression of a British policeman.

No one said anything. No one moved. Maybe it had something to do with young people realizing how close they had come to possibly lethal violence and all the consequences that came with that. Maybe it was to do with the fact that her landing had broken the concrete beneath her when she had made her arrival.

A few more moments passed and then she sighed and said. "Really? Shiv in hand," she gestured to the Nazis, "Rocks in hand," she gestured to the Asian kids, "And now you're going to pretend that nothing was going on." A few more moments ticked by and then she sighed. "And I thought I was a bad liar."

She took a step towards the Nazi with a shiv when something else happened.

A shifting mass of blades, hooks and knives landed between her and the Nazis.

Screams started and an exodus of all but the most committed (and in my view terminally stupid) Cape watchers began at once. Because standing in the middle of the street was Hookwolf.

"Siding with subhuman drug addicts? I expected better of you Fraulein!" exclaimed Hookwolf. The scraping sound of blades on the concrete below really putting my teeth on edge, though it was difficult to make out all the sounds clearly while I was sprinting away as fast as I could.

Hey! Don't judge me. Parahuman or not there was no way I was getting between a fight involving a human blender and super-girl with no appreciation of collateral damage if I could avoid it.

If my panicked flight from the scene of the fight left my calves burning and drew more looks from people around me the further away I got, then at least I made up for lost time.

The internet café was rundown and grimy, but it had one redeeming feature that most of the others, not to mention the family PC didn't. The owner did not give the faintest of shits about what you were doing on their machines. Provided the police didn't end up coming to their door you were in the good, as a bonus he didn't care what a school age girl was doing here at 2:30 on a Monday. I wasn't due back at Winslow for another two weeks, but most people would have at least challenged me on it and the fewer questions I was asked about what I did in my free time, the better.

I powered up my usual machine (the darkest corner with the best view) and started up the browser. Time to see how my portfolio was doing. But first…

I closed my eyes, leaned back and flipped a mental switch.

In the Darkness before me, eight symbols glowing a bright green popped to life.

They were eight ideas, eight ethics, eight ideologies or focuses to centre my thoughts on.

As I glanced at each one in turn, they seemed to glow, and a voice spoke to me.

A pair of crossed swords, The Militarist. "The enemy stands before you, Taylor! Strike and let the stars themselves tremble at the sight of your strength!" the voice was harsh and imperialistic, like some ancient conqueror of olden days.

A Pentagon with a single dot in the middle, The Xenophobe. "The machinations of others have always brought pain to our family. Leave them behind, let them stew in the muck of their creation." This one was sneering and dismissive, as though all other things in existence were somehow beneath their contempt.

A balanced set of scales, The Egalitarian. "All united, all equal, all free. That is the only way, Taylor." That voice hit particularly hard because it sounded like my mother.

A figure in a meditative pose, The Spiritualist. "There is more to life than just the material Taylor. Look beyond the sky, beyond even the stars to the great beyond…" The voice was croaking and old but carried a sense of nobility to it.

An image of the world encased in a firm but reassuring hand, The Authoritarian. "The blind masses must be lead on the correct path, by the strong and wise like you, Taylor." That was the one that scared me the most. Not just because of what it said but because of the voice that said it. It was a dead ringer for Kaiser. Needless to say, I wanted as little as possible to do with it.

An interconnected web, The Xenophile. "No man is an island. To cut ourselves off from them is like removing a limb, Taylor. Only together can we weather the storm."

The peace symbol, The Pacifist. "Why destroy when you can create?" Weirdly that one was in the voice of my old woodworking teacher from lower school.

And finally, the one I was now focusing on. A set of interwoven gears, The Materialist. "Science and industry have conquered the ground and the air, and one day they shall take us to the stars." A cool machine voice ringing out in my mind.

I kept focusing on the gears and the ethics they represented. Slowly, so slowly that it seemed to be almost impossible to tell the difference between each step, it started to expand both physically and mentally. I could feel it slowly taking over my mind. The chaotic mess of thoughts, fears, and emotions that normally run rampant in the human mind slowly receding and being replaced with logic, order, and rational thinking.

At times like this, when all my worries seemed so, so pointless and petty, I honestly wondered if I should just give in all the way and let this feeling last forever. It seemed so tempting at times but something always seemed to hold me back.

I opened my eyes. Taylor Hebert mild-mannered school girl was gone. In her place was Taylor Hebert business tycoon in the making!

I'd spent most of the morning reading the economics parts of Dad's newspaper. Dad had been working from home today (he'd claimed there was nothing to sign at work but I suspected it was due to him still feeling protective over me), and he'd made a joke about me turning into a little business woman on him. I had smiled and made a show of switching to the cartoon section. When he wasn't looking, however, I turned back to the economics section. Now that information and every piece of economics-related data I could recall was neatly ordering itself in the forefront of my brain.

I cracked my knuckles and set to work.

Once upon a time, before Capes had stalked the land, the stockbrokers had insisted that America was the best country in the world because in this country whatever advantages or disadvantages your station at birth gave you, if you had talent then you could make it big. On Wall Street you could earn money beyond the dreams of avarice, and if you didn't have the expertise, you failed. Unless of course you got bailed out by the government - Mom's rants had included a variety of topics. Then had come Capes. Thinkers, tinkers and precogs. And they took one look at the stock market and ate the lunches of the so-called experts.

It was a golden age of entrepreneurship, the skilled using their skills to make a living. Of course, the libertarian bankers of old hated it. Using the last of their political influence, they managed to get laws passed that effectively barred capes from dealing with finances. Any portfolio of more than three thousand dollars was required to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it did not in any way belong to a Cape.

Of course, no Capes were consulted on how to write the law. If any had been, I might not have been able to do what I was about to do.

Over the last month, I had built up a hundred separate portfolios under a hundred different names. None with more than 500 dollars to their name. For an average human the mental strain of managing all these accounts, let alone investing each one well would have been all but impossible. For a cape on the other hand... it was child's play. Back when the laws were being written it would have been easy to ask a cape if this law would have worked and any cape could have told the lawmakers and bankers who made the laws I was now skirting how easy many would find it to subvert. My guess, however, is that many of the capes at the time were not feeling particularly charitable to the people who just tried to bankrupt them and kept silent.

Some of my stocks I left alone, some I made massive profits on and a few I deliberately lost money on. Even though the latter made the Materialist ethic in my head scream and shouted and bring on a migraine. A handful of times I made genuine mistakes, but the intuition granted by the ethos of the grinding gears allowed me to make a healthy profit overall. Any time one of my holdings neared the dangerous $3000 limit I would liquidate it and start up another.

Two hours passed, and I was a least 50,000 dollars richer than I was before. That was impressive if you didn't know how much well-machined components cost, the state of the Hebert household finances, and the cost of keeping a catatonic woman alive in an American hospital. Still, it was time well spent, and I had other things I had to do tonight.

I cleared my browser history (another advantage of the slapdash nature of this café was that there was no chance of there being any other record of the transactions) and made my way home.

"Hey Taylor, how was your visit? Sorry I couldn't make it, but work..." Dad's voice trailed off with a hapless sort of half shrug.

I smiled anyway and hugged him. When I was in the locker, I realised just how far our relationship and come apart. Before the stench and my wounds had finally overwhelmed me and I passed out, I had really thought I was going to die. In my final moments, I had the horrifying thought that maybe Dad wouldn't care enough to come to my funeral. Stupid I know but cut me some slack I was suffering dehydration at the time.

When I woke up in the hospital and heard Dad's ranting and raving at the people who had done this to me my doubts had faded away. Still, I had tried to improve things. Little things like helping around the house or cooking breakfast sometimes. It was gradual, but I could feel our relationship slowly getting closer and closer to what it was like when Mom was still around.

"Oh, how was work?" he added as an afterthought turning back to the stove. It was his night to cook which was why I had picked up a sandwich on the way here. Sorry Dad, I love you to bits but your food…

"Fine, can't complain. The Café was quiet today. Not that Mister Winston minded. I think he keeps the business for tax reasons and nothing else. But it's good money sitting behind a reception desk." I said putting $50 into the family cash draw. I had told Dad ages ago that I was working part-time at the internet café and he seemed to believe me. It didn't allow me to launder anywhere near as much money as I needed to in the long term, but it helped me explain how I was never short on petty cash. Plus, dad could use some of the money for other things. Though very sweetly he never took any money when I was around.

Soon the meal was ready. Thankfully not one of dad's bad ones, pasta with tomato sauce. We sat together for dinner in front of the TV as the evening news played. Apparently, Glory Girls fight with Hookwolf had ended inconclusively with both parties withdrawing. Dad made some comment about the dockworkers association possibly getting a contract to fix up the damage to the pavement, and I nodded along. Even though the limited lingering effects of my adoption of Materialism ethics had told me that odds were it would go to one of the more respectable companies. Like Fortress Construction.

After that, the next news story was the unexplained loss of a massive oil tanker off the coast of the Persian Gulf. Dad probably thought my wince was because of lost lives. It was in part but also because I had invested about a hundred dollars into the company that ran that line of freighters. And the lingering effects of my adoption of Materialism caused me to have to resist the urge to draw up a spreadsheet to handle the losses. The two experts they had on were arguing over the cause. One argued the possibility of unexploded munitions from the region's numerous conflicts or metal fatigue on the ageing ship. Maybe the company that ran it was too cheap to run it properly.

The other of course blamed Leviathan.

Thus, a shouting match started between them as the reporter in the studio tried in vain to restore some level of order.

"If a rowing boat sinks you blame Leviathan!" snapped one.

"It is well documented that the rate of ships lost at sea has dramatically increased sin-" countered the other only to be shouted down.

"We can't abandon years of maritime investigation techniques just because you're jumping at shadows!"

"That shadow can destroy cities!"

The sparring match continued for 5 minutes getting more and more heated. "Gentlemen," Interrupted the reporter who had apparently gotten tired of trying to get a word in edgeways and instead had muted both. "Thank you both for your time. Unfortunately, we have to move on to the next segment of our programming."

Dad checked his watch and sighed. "Sorry, Kiddo if I don't leave now I won't make it to the meeting on time, you sure your gonna be alright in the house by yourself?"

Dad had some meeting with a bunch of city officials about crime rates in the docks. It was going to be tedious stuff apparently and was expected to drag on until nearly midnight. It was perfect for my plans.

I smiled and said. "It's OK, do you mind not waking me up when you come back though?"

"Hum? Oh sure, now where did I put my-"

I pointed. "Your car keys are in your shoe dad."

"Thanks honey. Well stay safe, Bye!" He said as he slipped on his jacket and closed the door. A minute later I heard the rumble of our old car. I checked my wristwatch.

I would give it half an hour and then make my move. That was plenty of time for dad to remember he forgot something and come back if he was going to. For now, I sat back and watched some drivel of a sitcom.

/

Back when Leviathan first reared his lizard-like head on the world stage, the world's shipping companies panicked. People didn't understand the way Endbringers worked back then. They thought that the Endbringers were going to go on an all-out offensive and no Cape or military force could hope to stop Leviathan in the sea; there was a genuine belief that soon the world's oceans would become completely unnavigable. There was a rush to sell off all their assets as quickly as they could. Ships, crew, maintenance facilities and of course cargo containers. Thousands of them ended up piling up in coastal cities around the world waiting for a use. The Bay was no exception.

Now, of course, we know that Leviathan was mostly uninterested in shipping. Only attacking it randomly and in small numbers. Most of the big things, the ships mostly, could be brought back from the breakers by sheepish CEOs who badgered the politicians to assist their buyback with government money.

Nowadays there was still a bit of merchant traffic, although of course there had been some changes. Any package you paid to be transported over the ocean needed "Leviathan" insurance massively increasing the cost to the point most people couldn't afford it anymore. This had led to a boom in manufacturing jobs in nearly every country, as people couldn't get cheap foreign goods.

The crews also changed, almost all were from the 3rd world countries, and every year the rate of ships lost was high enough that the idea of sailing for pleasure out of sight of the coastline was considered practically insane. Even the Navy rarely sailed from port and fisherman had become a much more respected job as in the eyes of most people they were the ones who came closest to the Endbringers in their day to day lives. Even if the ones who saw it never came home again.

But what to do about the containers? Most had just been offloaded as soon as the ship carrying them had reached port. In the case of the Bay that meant somewhere around a thousand of the brightly coloured cuboids had ended up on the side of the bay just sitting there, rusting away. When the shipping industry realized it wasn't going to completely implode no one had made much of an attempt to rescue the stranded containers. Given that the government was offering to subsidise the manufacture of a new high-pressure waterproof container so that a ship sunk by Leviathan could have its cargo salvaged. As though any diver could be persuaded to try and salvage cargo from one of his kills.

It was in truth a government bailout of the American steel industry which was almost at death's door after half a century of stagnation. It was probably the right thing to do. As disrupted as the USA's economy is it would have been a lot worse if our domestic manufacturing industry hadn't made a resurgence. Nowadays the USA supplies most of north and south America with manufactured goods. Something the Nazis love to crow about whenever they can.

Mom's explosive reaction to the whole thing had been one of the few times I was scared in our house. The news had come just at the same time as her English department at the local university was being massively downsized because the endowment for the arts was being cut back. My mother was sure the two things were related, and she was probably right.

In the years since some of the containers had been sold for scrap or removed by the government. But most have since been repurposed as cheap storage. It was technically illegal as the land was owned by the government. But they've got bigger problems to deal with and so if you have the money and the time you can have a relatively secure space to store property, whether it's yours or not is something that most of the entrepreneurial owners of the half a hundred little businesses don't care to ask.

My storage space was four containers stacked adjacent to each other in a rectangle. With the walls between them cut out. The only security was a padlock on the door and only lighting a couple of halogen lamps but it's mine. Within these walls, there are no secrets or lies. Just Taylor Hebert. Cape extraordinaire!

I realised I done a little pose when I thought that and was almost pathetically grateful I had remembered to shut the door first.

My workbench was pushed up against one side. The other was taken up by equipment racks, mostly empty and the other two sides of the "room" were empty. One because I had nothing to put there and the other because I didn't have anything to put there yet. That would soon change because tonight I was going out for the first time in my hopefully short (not in that way) Cape career.

/

As far as I could tell my powerset was purely that of a Tinker/Thinker. I had designs in my head, but some of them were incredibly blurry. Focusing on some combinations of the eight ideas I talked about earlier, the ethos helped me to visualise some of the design and then it stayed there in my mind. Forever as far as I could tell.

I had created my equipment by combining the focuses on the Pacifist and Materialist ethos. As cool as ruling the city in a massive spider tank firing lasers and dark matter bolts would be it simply wasn't practical. I didn't have the resources to do it, and I didn't need the law on my back. Instead, I had used the skill with machinery and materials that Materialism gave me and combined it with a desire to cause as little destruction as possible from Pacifism.

My costume consisted of a dark coloured top and trousers into which I had woven Kevlar body armor. I had had to hit up half a dozen different military surplus stores before biting the bullet and visiting one that everyone knew supplied the Empire. I had won the owner over by letting the Xenophobic ethos come to the front and by giving a fiery speech about how there were "people" in my street, and I wanted to get my parents something to protect themselves with. When he asked why I was doing the shopping, I told him that my dad's boss was black and that he might fire him he was seen shopping here. That seemed to win the old racist over.

A thousand dollars and one discarded blond wig later I was the proud owner of 4 sets of military body armor. It was a right pain tailoring it myself, but the Materialist ethos proved invaluable by giving me a good idea of how to work the unfamiliar materiel. I wouldn't rate the costume against rifle fire, but it would do in a pinch.

The rest of my gear was a strange mix of high and low tech.

My rifle was a simple steel tube down which crudely machined metal darts were propelled by an equally crude coil gun arrangement. By crude, I mean that the barrel was wrapped in wires connecting to a bulky battery pack. They were just regular batteries bought over the counter. I had designs in my head for more powerful batteries but no way to machine them. The darts themselves, however, were coated in a concoction that had come to me when I had tried to think up a powerful but non-lethal sedative... the name "slave pacifier" had worryingly been supplied my power when I had designed it.

Next was a mechanical winch that was propelled by compressed air. That wasn't impressive. What was impressive was the suction cup-like head that if fed electrical power could generate a stream of gravitons with an attraction to whatever surface it was in contact with; strong enough that I could, with a little luck, climb with it.

The 3rd piece of gear I had made myself was a chameleon cloak. It was right in front of me piled against the wall, but you wouldn't know it just by looking. It blurred the image of things next to it. Not enough to be invisible but enough so that in the dimly lit workshop I had managed to lose it once or twice. Something I intend to keep a secret to myself for the rest of my life. Blundering around for your camouflage cloak is not a fun way to spend an evening.

Finally, I had a combat knife taken from the same store that sold me the armour. It was utterly mundane and not at all special, but it would be useful I hoped.

Outside darkness was starting to fall, and I started gearing up. Going through a mental checklist as I did so. Costume on; rifle slung over my shoulder. Spare darts in my pocket (with a cap over the point. Don't want to prick myself a 3rd time), blade at my side and cloak over my shoulder. Blurring my image quite nicely in the dimly lit gloom. I locked my containers door and set out.

My plan was simple. To have a hope of building the machines in my mind. The ones that could stand a reasonable chance of fixing whatever was wrong with mum I needed money. Huge quantities of it. I could game the stock market for a while, but I wasn't a fool. Someone would notice the activity coming from a seedy internet café at some point, and even if they didn't the money I was digging up there was nowhere near enough. So, I had decided that I had a few options. Join one of the gangs? No Mom would leap from her hospital bed to throttle me, and she would be right. The PRT? I don't intend this to be a permanent life. I want to fix Mom, pay off our debts and then get out of the game and I doubt the PRT would let me. Besides if they learned of some of the ideas in my head? Things like slave furnaces or mind stapling techniques? Birdcage for sure.

So what option was left, if you don't want to be a hero or a villain how do you make money? Simple, you become a rogue and rob people who no one likes. And there's only one group I can think of in this city that no one likes and that I might be able to take on. The Merchants. It's poetic really, their drug dealing put Mom in hospital and now their money would fix her.

Determination swelling in me I set off into the gloom.

Last edited: Nov 8, 2018

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yanzak

Feb 28, 2018

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yanzak

Mar 6, 2018

#78

185 Newland avenue was not a particularly impressive sight. It had once been a simple storage depot for a Chinese company to store their products after they were unloaded, before they were shipped out all over the US. Then Leviathan had come and the import business dried up to the point the company that owned the warehouse folded almost overnight.

The building had been seized for unpaid debts and been put up for auction. In one of their rare moments of sanity, the Merchants had realized that it would simply be easier to buy the building at the cheap asking price. With that done they didn't risk the possibility of police arriving to deal with "squatters" and have them discover a minor drug production and distribution hub.

I'd found out about the place from overhearing a couple of Merchants talking at school about a month before The Locker. The vague location at least. A few walks in the general area had helped narrow it down, and now I knew exactly where it was.

If I was lucky, I could fill the 20 plastic zip bags I was carrying with cash from the operation and be home in a couple of hours. If there was no money, then I did have the other option. The City offered a buyback program for drugs. The idea being people who wanted to go clean were more likely to do so if they had an incentive to do it, asides from the whole living longer side effect of giving up heroin. The exchange rate was poor to ensure that the suppliers couldn't turn a profit by giving up their own product. However, I had the advantage in that case.

The drugs the program was meant to be used with were assumed to be ones that had already been cut with other substances. Meaning that they had low purity and so the state didn't have to pay that much money. But if someone were to raid a warehouse where the pure drugs were cut with other substances, then they could acquire, relatively speaking a huge amount of narcotics to sell to the city. It wouldn't be the best option. Even with 100% purity the money received would probably be less than I could get with the first option. And it would expose me to the PRT, but needs must.

It had started to rain soon after I arrived at my spot on the warehouse opposite my target. Between the rain, the moonless night and the chameleon cloak I was wearing it would be very hard for professional guards to spot me. And the four Merchants standing guard were anything but. Only one of them was armed with a gun, a battered old machine pistol. The rest had knives and clubs. All of them seemed to be more worried about keeping dry rather than doing their job.

I fixed my sights on the most isolated guard. He was huddled against the corner wall of the warehouse taking advantage of the slight overhang of the roof. Still, he shivered occasionally when the wind direction changed and the rain came in diagonally instead of vertically, drenching his thin shirt and jumper. I will freely admit that I am a poor shot with a rifle. I finished my gear two weeks ago, but it took me half a month of training to get to the point where I could shoot at a target I had set up against the far wall of my workshop and hit it consistently.

I took a slight breath and fired. The sound of his body slumping to the ground was lost to the rain and the thunder. Next came the guard with the gun. He was probably the most important member of the group. Judging by his weapon and the fact that he was wearing a proper waterproof jacket. The bright red of its material making him an easy target. I fired again. He crumpled, I had a moment of panic when the gun in his hand smashed into the ground. In my mind, I could see the poorly maintained thing firing and ruining my plans, but I was lucky as nothing happened.

The remaining two "guards" were huddled together at the secondary entrance to the warehouse, I think they were trying to light a joint or something. The first one crumpled to the floor a dart in his neck. His partner was momentarily shocked into inaction, and then my fourth dart hit him.

I let out a breath that I didn't know I had been holding. Part of me was amazed that it had all gone so well, the other part of me was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I attached the gravitic clamp of my climbing gear to the roof and flipped the switch on my mechanical winch. A crude assembly of batteries started supplying power to the gravity clamp. Not wanting to end up an unpleasant stain on the floor I gave the clamp a couple of tugs, but it seemed secure.

I clambered over the side of the building and made my way down the side of the building as quick as I could. When I reached the ground, I flipped the switch again, and the circuit broke. The gravity clamp lost power and I reeled it in. Then I turned and made my way across the street.

There were two ways into the warehouse from what I could see. The huge main doors that were large enough for a tank to drive through and a small door set into the side of the warehouse wall presumably for staff use. The main doors were out, even if I could get them open. No small feat and considering how large they were, there would be no way anyone would miss me opening them. Side door it was then.

When I tried the door, I found it locked. Fortunately, neglect and the passage of time had left the door frame so rotten that half a minute of pushing with my shoulder managed to force the door open and I entered an office of sorts. It was lit by a flickering halogen lamp on the wall opposite me, casting its light over the rubbish-strewn floor. Judging by the smell, it was being used as a urinal of sorts by the Merchants assigned on guard duty. I made a mental note to clean my costume after tonight was done.

I was just about to move through the only other door in the room when something caught my eye. Hanging on the wall was a cracked and faded floor plan of the building. I scanned it and noticed something. The building had a second floor, a small one but it was there nonetheless. It had probably served as the overseer's office back when this place was run by honest merchants instead of the drug-crazed kind.

I made a mental note to search the office first if I could. It was the logical place to store the money and pure drugs of the operations. Unfortunately, that was because there was only one way to get there. A long winding staircase set against the wall below the office. I would be hopelessly exposed to anyone on the ground floor as a made my way up. It was a difficult situation, but I couldn't really justify going back empty-handed.

I opened the door slowly, my rifle held in one hand. It opened onto the main space of the warehouse. In contrast to the room I had just left the light of the big roof-mounted halogen panels was almost blinding. I'm not sure what I expected to find. A team of highly skilled chemists wearing hazmat suits working with surgical skill with a small forest of glass beakers, pipettes and Bunsen burners perhaps? Given what I knew of the Merchants I should have known better.

Instead, I found what looked like the after-effects of an explosion in an Ikea furniture showroom mixed with the world's most haphazard garage. Tables and chairs were scattered around the place with no rhyme or reason. Between the furniture were piles of boxes, metal constructs, and heaps of paper. A couple of large shapes, probably more boxes were hidden in one corner under a tarp. It was honestly so far from what I expected that it took my surprised mind a handful of moments to realize that there were people in some of the chairs.

I whipped my rifle up and aimed before the realization hit me. None of them was moving. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that I could see their chests moving, I would have mistaken their sunken faces and pale skin tone for corpses. Then it hit me. They were out cold on drugs. The realization that these cretins had made my job so much easier by sampling their product before the customers almost made me want to laugh. I realized these people must have been the important members of the "guard" detail for this place. The poor rain drenched guards outside had been those too low on the totem pole to be allowed to stay inside and have some chemical fun.

I looked over at the tables, keeping my distance of course. I couldn't see more than a few hypodermic needles and a couple of small piles of powder. Not enough. Not enough to risk waking up the druggies by getting too close to them. I turned and glanced up at the second-floor office. It was set into the wall with the blinds down over the window.

Making my way gingerly over to the staircase, every footstep I took seemed to sound like a drumbeat in my mind but the Merchants were so out of it that none of them noticed. I climbed the staircase as slowly as I possibly could and soon I was leaning against the wall of the office. I took a few deep breaths and tried the door. It was locked. I put my shoulder against it, and unlike the last door I tried this with it didn't budge.

Bingo, I could only think of one reason this door was maintained while the others hadn't been. I tried to force the door again by putting all my weight behind my push. Nothing happened. Not that I would ever admit it but for the first time in my life I envied Sophia. With her athletic build, I was sure she could have forced the door. Instead, I would have to demonstrate my intellectual superiority to that bitch by using a tool.

In my head, I had any number of designs that would allow me to cut through an obstruction, ranging from vibration knives for cutting through a tank's armour to larger things that I'm pretty sure were meant to allow for mining a planet's molten core. However, the deteriorating state of the Hebert family finances and my imminent return to Winslow had forced my hand before I could build any of them. Instead, I had been forced to improvise.

I held the gravity clamp near to the lock but not touching it. I'd tried this a few times in the workshop, and it was difficult but possible. The trick was to angle the beam of gravitons so that they were gripping the tumblers of the lock and then to gently lift the grav clamp up, lifting the tumblers from the lock cylinder. Finally, I used my knife rotate the cylinder itself. It took a few attempts, but finally, I was rewarded with the click of the lock opening. I stepped inside.

There was a large wooden desk set against the far wall and a pair of filing cabinets on either side of a large window set into the wall overlooking the street below. First, I checked the cabinets. One contained nothing but cobwebs. The other contained a collection of small paper-wrapped packages. I stored them in my plastic zip bags and then moved to check the desk. Each drawer I open revealed either more of the paper wrapped packages or wads of cash. There was no time to open the packages or count the money, so I merely bagged them all and moved on. Then I opened the final and largest draw.

I had a moment to take in the wads of money. More than everything I had seen before combined. My eyes also noticed the small metal barrel protruding out from the roof of the draw I had just opened.

Then I was on my back, my chest screaming in pain and my ears ringing.

It was my body armour that saved me, robbing the bullet of enough energy so that it didn't do more than bruise my ribs. Even so taking a 45 ACP cartridge to your ribs hurts like hell. The pain was the least of my problems though. Even in my slightly shocked state, I couldn't miss the shouting coming from downstairs. I should have left there and then. Shot out the lights, plunged the building into darkness and left. I already had a small fortune in money and drugs.

I was stupid. I admit that now. I wish I could blame some part of my powers for what I did but the truth is I was just a teenage girl out of her depth and I made the wrong choice.

It took me twenty seconds to shovel as much money as I could into my bags. In my frenzy, I dropped one load on the floor and didn't have enough time to pick it up. I was sprinting towards the door when a Merchant stumbled in clutching a lead pipe in his hands. He saw me and lunged forward his eyes wide and bloodshot, the pipe above his head ready to smash my skull in.

Fear gripped me and, at that moment, as my life flashed before my eyes a set of crossed swords flashed across my mind and Militarism took over. Acting on instinct, I whirled on my heel with the grace of a ballerina, drew my knife and plunged it into the side of his neck. I still remember his eyes, the confusion in them as his legs crumpled under him and he slid off my blade. His body hit the floor, and as quickly as the crossed swords had come, they were gone. Taylor Hebert, stone cold and calculating killer was gone, replaced by a scared girl with blood on her cheap black cotton mask. I dropped the knife. I almost puked. Then the urge to escape kicked in and I was sprinting out the office and down the stairs as fast as I could go.

I was running so fast that I nearly collided with a woman with blonde hair and motor oil-stained clothing coming up the stars. She had a gun in her hand and a hypodermic needle still sticking out of her arm. Again, the crossed swords of Militarism flashed across my mind. We both fired. She missed. I didn't. She had jerked her head away just at the last moment, so the shot didn't punch straight through her eye and into her brain. Instead, it merely skimmed the surface of her right eye reducing it to a pulp.

She let out a scratch of pain and fell backwards clutching her eye. I heard one of the merchants yell out "SHIT SQUEALER'S HURT!" And that was when things went from bad to worse. Over the course of her life, Squealer had injected, inhaled and ingested a truly astonishing variety of drugs. Some of them mundane, some of them tinker tech. Some of the latter were still in her system when they encountered the sedative the dart had been carrying. They did not go well together.

She let out a truly inhuman screech and lunged at me like some feral predator. I kicked her in the face and as she fell backwards she collided with another merchant who had been fiddling with the safety catch of his Uzi. As the pair of them fell backwards his finger tightened on the trigger and a burst of fire smashed one of the roof lamps.

Other merchants were gathering around the base of the stairs, some trying to help Squealer and the downed merchant, some trying to climb over them to get at me with their clubs and knives.

Too many. God why haven't I reloaded before moving into the building! I turned and fled up the stairs to the office.

I shot out the window in the office with the last two darts in my gun and smashed what little glass remained with a pair of frantic kicks. By the time I had attached the Gravity clamp to the windowsill and threw myself out into the night, the first merchant had just entered the office and was lunging for me with his butterfly knife.

I sprinted away from the warehouse frantically wheeling in my climbing winch as a Merchant took up position in the broken window, and seemingly unable to see me clearly because of the darkness and my Chameleon cloak resorted to spraying the entire magazine of his Uzi into the street in frustration.

I'd just made it to the end of the street when the big wooden doors of the warehouse burst open, and a mechanical Frankenstein's monster launched itself after me. I was still wearing my Chameleon cloak, so Squealer must have had tinker tech sensors installed, or she was simply so enraged that she was firing at random and got lucky.

The mechanical monstrosity she was piloting was the length of two monster trucks and had a cannon mounted on the roof.

The monster truck tank thing fired.

Fortunately, her aim was off. Having only a single eye will do that to you, the shell hit the street twenty meters from me. Even at that range though I was blown back into the front of a building by the force of the blast.

The world went white.

When I opened my eyes, Squealer was gone. So was a building twenty meters from me that Squealer had clearly driven through. A more pressing concern was the fact that my Cloak had caught fire.

By the time I had ripped it off my shoulders and threw it to ground my ears had stopped ringing and I could hear gunfire in the distance and the wail of police sirens.

I tried to stand up and ended up nearly falling flat on my face. It took me a couple of attempts, but finally, I was able to use my rifle as a crutch. Everything ached. My left wrist was particularly bad. I looked at it and saw that a shard of metal had embedded itself into the metal of my climbing equipment. If it hadn't been there, then it would have ripped my left hand off. With a kind of morbid detachment, I unbuckled my climbing gear and let it drop to the floor. I gave my left hand a few tentative flexes. Nothing seemed broken.

Slowly I started to hobble my way home. The streets in this part of town were empty. The windows shut, the blinds drawn and the lights off. The fighting seemed to be moving towards the business district, and no one wanted to attract any attention to their part of town. As I stumbled on I wondered who was fighting who? How powerful was Squealers machine? Was Dad safe?

I had just reached the front door of our house when full realization of tonight's events hit me. Fleeing from a tank with nothing but a homemade rifle. The heat of the explosion. The ringing in my ears when I triggered the trap back in the office. The Merchant I had…

Oh god, I killed him! I'd killed him stone cold and with no hesitation. My legs failed me, and I fell against my front door. I started to curl up into a ball and threw up all over myself. I began shaking uncontrollably. As my eyes closed, I thought I heard something.

"-lor?"

I woke up in bed dressed in my pyjamas. Everything ached. I spent a few moments just lying in bed looking up at the ceiling. Trying to remember something, something important. Then I remembered. I tried to jump out of bed but got tangled in my duvet and ended up crumpled on the floor. I was just starting to untangle myself when the door flew open and dad rushed in.

He was carrying a tray with a bread and butter sandwich and a mug of tea. He set it down and helped me get untangled from my bedding. He didn't look me in the eye. Not once.

When he had helped me up, he sat me down on the bed and sat down next to me. He didn't say anything. Not for a long time. Finally, he asked a question.

"How long have you been working for the Empire?"

"What?" Not the best response but it was the only one I could think of.

Dad took a few deep breaths and then turned his head and looked me straight in the eye.

"Taylor, I'm not stupid. No part-time job pays as well as yours. You said you were going to stay at home while I went to the meeting. Then while I'm at the meeting, we get the news that an Empire Cape tried to kill one of the Merchant Capes and she's now running amok in the business district. I phoned home, and you didn't answer. I rushed back home, and I find you missing. Your window was open. I tried to phone the police, but all the lines were jammed. Then when I'm about to go out into the middle of a war, I find you against the door burned and battered with bags of money and drugs on you."

"Da-" I began but his temper was flaring, and he cut me off.

"Do you think I've never been tempted? After that stupid black bastard nearly killed your mother, I got plenty of offers from the empire. They wanted more influence in the Union. All I had to do was sell out to them. But that's not what tipped you over the edge, was it? It was the locker, wasn't it? That girl Sophia, she's black, isn't she? That's when you triggered, and that's when the Empire recruited you. I know you've suffered because of different races. But you can't let that poison your life. Think what your mot-"

It was only then that I realized what he was getting at.

Yes, I had suffered at the hands of people who weren't white. Yes, I had sometimes sat down at the tables near where the skinheads sat during lunch to keep Sophia away from me, (not that she hadn't made up for lost time later) but working for the Empire? Never. It would be like spitting on Moms memory. Looking back, I now feel quite bad at how angry I felt at that moment. It wasn't Dads fault that he had come to this conclusion. He had just looked at the signs and come to an understandable if incorrect conclusion. I think it was the comment about Mom's expectations for me that pushed me over the edge. As though I wasn't doing all this for her. Risking my life to try and fix our family. A horrible thought crossed my mind. What if I managed to fix Mom but lost Dad in the process. I couldn't stand that thought.

"I'm not a fucking Nazi!" I shouted wrapping my arms around him as the tears came. Dad seemed to hesitate and then slowly, gently wrapped his arms around me. He rested his head on my shoulder and said soothingly.

"I understand Taylor; you made a mistake that's all. We can fix this. I'll phone the PRT when the situation calms down. They'll think of something to fi-"

I jerked my head up, my face was covered in tears, and my nose had started to run. I probably looked as far from the image of a hardened Nazi cape as its possible to be. Dad's face lined with worry and framed by stubble looked down at me reassuringly.

I feel guilty about what I did next. But I couldn't think of a better option, and I was so scared of losing him forever. I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I embraced Spirituality. I opened my eyes and looked up at Dad. The words came so easily, so simply. Like I was borne to do it.

"Dad." I began taking his hands in mine. "I'm not a Nazi. I'm a rogue. An independent Cape. I went out last night to steal money from the Merchants. I… I thought that if I could get enough money, then we could save Mom. I… I know about your wedding ring. I know you sold it last week to try and raise money. Please, just let me explain what I've been doing. And then if you really think it's right, then call the PRT and have me locked up."

That last part caused Dad to start he opened his mouth, but I cut him off.

"Please, please just let me talk first."

So, I talked. I told Dad about how in the days after the locker I had strange dreams. Dreams that had become more and more vivid as the time went on. Until one day I remember looking up at the TV hanging on the wall opposite my bed in the hospital. The image was flickering. I realized I knew just knew how to build a better one. I had blinked in surprise, and that was the first time I saw the ethics, floating away in the darkness behind my eyelids. After that the designs had kept coming, to the point where I had to actually try and block them out.

I explained how each of the ethics affected me and then I revealed my stock market speculations. Dad's eyes widened at a that one. I could tell he wasn't quite ready to believe me. But I thought he was starting to hope I was telling the truth, and that would have to do.

I told him about my workshop down by the shore in the cargo containers. And then I reached the final piece of information. What I could do for Mom. I told him about the designs in my head. The Cellular Rejuvenation Field Generators I could build. The Nanobot Injectors and a half a dozen other designs off the top of my head that could fix Mom's brain damage.

"You could do that?" He asked, and I could see the hope in his eyes.

"Not yet. These things, they're so complex. I need resources. Time, money, power, and machinery." I made a few vague hand gestures, trying to convey the complexity of automated production facilities, molecular forges, and cold fusion power generators small enough to fit in a backpack. "I have plans drawn up in my workshop. If we go now, I can show you what I've got planned." I looked up at him hopefully.

Dad shook his head. "Not now. It's still pretty crazy out there." He must have seen the confusion on my face because he sighed and left my room. A few moments later he came back in with a newspaper.

The headline made me spit-take my tea.

Assassination attempt on Merchant leadership!

In a daring assassination attempt, last night an as yet unidentified Cape attempted to assassinate the Merchant Cape known as Squealer. Details of the fight which followed are few, but it is known that Squealer was badly wounded in one eye. After killing the attacking cape using a tinker tech tank, Merchant forces ran rampant in the business district for two hours before being driven back.

The affiliation the would-be assassin is unknown, but unconfirmed reports suggest that a knife with the phrase, "blood and honour" was found at the site of the incident leading to speculation that Empire 88 was responsible. Read more on page two-four.

The rest of the front page was taken with a picture of Squealer's tank midway through ploughing its way into the ground floor of the Medhall building. Hookwolf was partially in frame clawing away at the armoured driver's compartment. There were numerous bullet marks and gouges on the armoured skin. Several of the machine gun turrets jutting from its hull had also been ripped out. I was genuinely amazed at the durability of the thing. Considering it was cobbled together by scrap and spare parts at least.

"Goddamn it," I said lying back in bed. I had bought that knife from the same military surplus store as I had my body armour. It had been an impulse buy, an afterthought. I should have known that there was something up when the owner had congratulated me on my choice.

"Did anyone die?" I asked looking up at the ceiling.

"The papers don't know yet."

I felt so tired suddenly. I couldn't muster the energy to tell dad that I had killed at least one of those Merchants. I closed my eyes and was asleep before my second breath.

Not altogether sure how well this chapter works but I would welcome any feedback.

Last edited: Aug 8, 2018

454

yanzak

Mar 6, 2018

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Threadmarks beta?

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yanzak

Mar 7, 2018

#92

people seem to like this enough for me to continue it. I was wondering if anyone would be willing to offer their services as a beta?

70

yanzak

Mar 7, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 3

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yanzak

Mar 16, 2018

#112

Danny Hebert checked his daughter was asleep and then went to his kitchen and poured himself three fingers of whisky. In days gone by Annette would have chided him for the amount. Then she would have shared the glass with him, smiling slyly all the while before curling up next to him and falling asleep. His wife had been a wonderful woman, but she never could handle her drink.

How had it come to this? It seemed like only yesterday that he had carried Annette over the threshold. Now his wife was three weeks away from being tossed out onto the street because despite working a 50-hour week he couldn't afford to keep her in hospital. His sweet little daughter was curled up in bed having spent the night dodging bullets and stealing from drug dealers at best, at worst she had become an assassin for a gang of white supremacist thugs.

He knew what he should do. He should phone the PRT hotline right now and report everything. Stressing at all times his daughter's upstanding character and pointing out the many circumstances that had forced her into this course of actions. That would be the logical and responsible thing to do.

On the other hand...

He glanced over at the pile of money and drugs stacked on his kitchen table. Half a million dollars in cash… to say nothing of the resale value of the drugs themselves. All his life he had played by the rules. He had never let the gangs gain influence in the union. He had never allowed the union to become like the gangs, using force or the threat of force to extort money from people. And his reward?

He looked around the kitchen with its old and worn appliances. He thought of his car held together by little more than rust and that damned cracked front step that he had never had the time to fix. His hand tightened around his glass in anger

When the medical insurance stopped paying for Annette's medical care, it would cost close to five thousand dollars a day to keep her in hospital. The pile of money in front of him would pay for a hundred days of care. A hundred days. Annette would never forgive him for allowing Taylor to get involved with Capes even if it kept her alive for a thousand years, never mind a hundred days. But Annette wasn't here now, and without the money from Taylor's criminal activities she might never have a chance to recover.

The PRT would probably offer to help with that. It would be such a polite offer as well. The PRT would offer to take care of the family's debts in exchange for Taylor's service in the Wards. Everyone knew the PRT was outnumbered both in the city and the country as a whole by the villains. The chance to recruit a tinker like Taylor would be too good to pass up. After a few years, she would graduate to the big leagues. Out would go the PR session with the public and in would come clashes with villains and rogues who would be out to kill or maim his little girl. And all the time the prospect of the PRT pulling funding for her mother's medical care would hang over her head, keeping her there.

Even if Taylor built some machine that did fix her mother the PRT would never let their claws out of her. She was too valuable. They would hold her criminal actions of the previous night and her speculations on the market over her like a sword of Damocles, keeping her in service with threats.

Whereas if they followed Taylor's hair-brained scheme of robbing criminals and committing fraud to allow her to build a machine to fix her mother in secret, then there would be a definite endpoint to Taylor's Cape career. And if things went right and Annette didn't kill him for letting his daughter get involved in this life to begin with, things would return to normal.

It was a truly sad state of affairs where having your daughter become a criminal cape could actually increase her quality of life. He took a final swig of whisky and closed his eyes, letting the stress of the previous night wash over him and lull him into a sense of security. Whatever happened would happen later, for now, he was so tired. He leaned forward across the table and fell asleep.

The meeting in Director Piggot's office was an unpleasant one. They almost always were, but this one was shaping up to be one for the record books. Armsmaster and Miss Militia were both sitting on the most uncomfortable chairs Piggot had been able to find. They waited for her to read through the latest damage estimates from Squealer's rampage a couple of times and then, finally she looked up, almost as though she didn't know they were there.

"91." Piggott said leaning back in her chair. "91 people hurt so badly that without Panacea they would have died. You may be entrusted to know that she is now lying in an intensive care ward suffering from extreme mental and physical exhaustion. New Wave has formally lodged a legal complaint against us and the city administration for... what was it, ah yes "negligence and gross exploitation of a minor." Property damage is estimated at 50 million. Contractors are already getting into a bidding war with each other over the rights to further drain the city's coffers when it comes to rebuilding. What happened, no spin no guesses. Leave that to the papers. All I want to know is why a gang that has spent the last half a decade surviving by being beneath contempt suddenly goes on the rampage?"

Armsmaster produced a small disk from one of his armor's compartments and held it in the palm of his hands. Three images popped into existence.

A small metal dart lodged in the throat of a Merchant member. A singed bit of clothing. And a winch that had clearly seen better times.

"May I?" asked Armsmaster.

Piggot gestured for him to go on.

"The dart you see is what I believe to be the cause of Squealer's rampage. The dart itself is nothing special. Cheap steel which could be from one a hundred different firms in the city and a million worldwide. I am cross-referencing its composition with every known supplier in the Americas, but it will take time. There are three things of note, however. First is the crudeness of the darts manufacturing. No two darts are the same. The geometric differences are far beyond the standard deviation you would expect from an industrially produced product. This makes me think whoever our mysterious Cape is they do not have the contacts or the funds to have the darts machined professionally and instead are forced to do it by hand." Armsmaster almost seemed slightly distressed at the prospect of a fellow Cape having to use such crude techniques.

"Secondly is how the darts were delivered. I found no trace of gunpowder nor any traces of compressed nitrogen, oxygen or carbon dioxide gas being used, though this is harder to be certain of. Still, this matches with the statements of the merchants recovered from the warehouse. They all say that there was no indication they were under attack right up until the moment they were struck. Though I can't rule out the darts being propelled by some other kind of system, perhaps projected telekinetically or thrown by a brute of impressive dexterity I would say this is fairly strong evidence of our Cape being a Tinker of some kind. Possibly using an electromagnetic weapon of some kind to propel the darts, especially considering..."

Armsmaster manipulated the image, and the picture of the dart zoomed in. A series of chemical formulas popped to life. "The dart was coated in an extremely powerful sedative of some kind. I was able to synthesize a similar compound in my labs. Either our Cape is a chemistry Tinker or just very good at chemistry. I'm putting in a request to interview the chemistry teachers in all the city's schools and universities with my lie detector software, but for now, I have no idea who produced this. I'm also recommending that we put this compound into production for our PRT troopers."

Piggot raised an eyebrow at that. Armsmaster recognizing the other Tinkers skills was one thing. Him suggesting that an independent tinker could produce a better design than the Protectorate Tinkers and by extension, himself as well was something that very rarely happened. "Why?" she asked her mood becoming less black and more curious.

"Because it's better than anything I can build." A trace of irritation was notable in his voice. "Normally the problem with sedatives is you have to get the dosage right. Too little and you just make the target sleepy. Too much and you kill them. This solves the problem with an ingenious and insidious system. Instead of binding to your nervous system directly when introduced to your body it triggers a series of nerve impulse that temporarily forces parts of your brain to shut down. As for how it does this and why it works on multiple different species of animals I have no idea. But the fact remains that we potentially have a sedative which could, in theory, sedate anyone with a brain and a functional nervous system."

"So how exactly did this cause Squealer to go insane like she did? The report said that five of the darts were used during the incident. If 20% of the time a sedative drives you into a murderous rage it doesn't seem like a particularly good one."

"I have a couple of theories on that. The first is simply that Squealer was shot in the eye, at least according to the rants she launched into over her machines speakers. It's possible that the sedative doesn't work if your body's in pain or if your mind is flooding your body with adrenaline. My main theory, however? I tested some of my synthesized compounds on several drugs we have in stock here. When it came into contact with tinker tech compound X-39/D also known as "Rainbow Dust" it reacted vigorously. My synthesized compound is not identical to the one Squealer was hit with, but I would guess a similar occurance. Squealer had some drug in her system that reacted with it, badly."

"So we have a sedative that might be the next step forwards in non-lethal takedowns, or it might turn people into raging kill crazy maniacs if they happened to indulge in a little drug use? Perfect." Said Piggot closing her eyes for a moment as the pain from her ruined kidneys was overshadowed by a rising headache.

"The other two items discovered are less impressive individually but still help us build a picture our unknown Cape. The clothing is a camouflage cloak of some kind that bends light around the user. It's not that impressive by itself. If you had someone wear this in a brightly lit room, they would stand out like a sore thumb. On a dark rooftop at night however, I imagine you could easily blend into the background. The climbing gear is a simple mechanical winch but what's interesting is the clamp it ends in. When you feed electricity through it, it generates a stream of gravitons that would support a person's weight. I'm trying to reverse engineer both items. I don't expect to be able to do so fully, this is tinker tech we're talking about, but when I reach an impasse, I should be able to get a clearer picture of what our unknown Capes specialization is."

"Now that you've given me the technical specifics of what happened I want your tactical opinion of the night's events. Miss Militia?"

"Yes, ma'am. Approximately 45 hours ago our unknown Cape attacked a Merchant owned warehouse."

Piggot's mouth twitched slightly at that fact. The Mayor had already been on to her about the fact that a gang as supposedly badly organized as the Merchants owned property in the city. Apparently, his political opponents were tearing him apart over that. The fact that the sale of the property had been made of by representatives of the city's civilian government and not the PRT didn't seem to matter to him.

"Based on interviews with the captured Merchant members - the ones Squealer didn't run over when she left the building at least - it seems that the unknown Cape covertly sedated all of the guards and then broke into the building." Miss Militia paused and cast a glance over at Piggot.

Piggot sighed and said "Whatever you have to say, say it. My mood can't get much worse at this point, and I would rather hear something from people I can at least trust than some eager news reporter I have to resist the urge to throttle."

Miss Militia nodded. "Thank you, Director. I was going to say that these were reasonably good tactics from our unknown Cape. They probably used their climbing gear to get into an overwatch position of the Merchants building and then managed to knock out four admittedly inattentive guards without any of them noticing. That takes a certain amount of intelligence and patience to pull off."

Piggot nodded thoughtfully. Unfortunately, that was her opinion as well. Give her a stupid opponent any day.

"What happened next is a bit unclear. We know that Squealer was shot in the left eye. A Merchant member we have tentatively identified as Jonsen Gab was stabbed to death with a knife and the warehouse's store of drugs and most of its money was cleaned out. The unknown Cape managed to escape the warehouse persuade by Squealer. A fight of some kind happened, and we don't know what happened to the Cape.

"According to Armsmaster's analysis of the sight, it's a coin toss between them being atomized by Squealer's tank and them managing to slip away in the confusion. Whatever happened Squealer must have believed that she killed them because then she set out to seemingly cause as much damage as possible. Using some kind of Tinker tech system, she managed to hijack the local radio and TV stations and spent the rest of the night screaming bloody murder. Finally, she was driven off but the Protectorate couldn't pursue due to the need to conduct search and rescue operations."

And wasn't the media having a field day with that one, thought Piggot. Never mind the fact that without the search and rescue the death toll would have been catastrophic. Not for the first time Piggot wished that the restrictions on Wards deployment weren't so strict. If she had been able to deploy the Wards they could have handled the rescuing people whilst the Protectorate members chased down Squealer. But no that would make things too easy. That obnoxious bitch Betsy Dovell from the Youth Guard had actually had the nerve to try and ring her while she was coordinating the response to the initial attack, reminding her that this was a potentially lethal situation and that the Wards were to stay at headquarters.

"Which brings us to motive." stated Piggot, drumming her fingers on the table.

"I think we can rule out assassination." said Armsmaster. "Anyone who can synthesis this sedative could make a poison. We can also tentatively rule out this Cape being involved with other gangs. From what we've seen they were the only non Merchant involved. Tinkers are far too valuable to risk losing by not supporting them, and the fact money and drugs were taken suggests that our Cape might have done this for resources."

"It could be a new gang trying to move into the city." suggested Miss Militia.

"Possible." conceded Armsmaster with a nod of his head.

"Let's assume that they're an independent for now," said Piggott leaning back in her chair. "It will make negotiating with this person easier when we find them if we haven't declared them to be a flat-out criminal. Which reminds me, why am I reading in the papers that this Cape is a member of the Empire?"

"The knife that killed Gab was left at the scene of the crime. The blade itself is nothing special, standard US army surplus would be my guess, but the handle is different. It seems to be a K98, the standard bayonet of the German army in world war 2. The words "Blood and Honor" were inscribed on it but badly faded. I was only able to identify them because my suits aiming assist software identified them for me.

"As for how the newspaper heard of it I have no idea. There were dozens of people around the scene of the crime at that point. Anyone of them could have overheard Miss Militia and myself talking. Then there's the chance that someone saw the report I filed and made an anonymous tip to the papers."

"Well, however it happened we're going to have to deny it. If this was some independent Cape, we don't want them to feel trapped. If they feel that they've already been condemned, then they might join up with the gangs. And the last thing we need is the Empire armed with Tinker tech weapons."

"I'm preparing a press conference. Brief your teammates and prepare for a lot of questions, dismissed."

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Topic: Attacks on merchants! Assassination attempts, bombings and bodies in the street. (Title has been edited)

In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay

Single_xenomorph (Original Poster)

Posted on January 3rd, 2011:

So for those of you who are fortunate enough to have soundproof windows installed in your home, you might not have noticed but last night the world decided to explode. One moment I'm tucking my kids into bed and then the skyline lights up. Gunfire, rockets petrol bombs and to top it off Squealer drives right past my house in one of her insane contraptions and crushes my FUCKING CAR! Anyone know what's going on?

EDIT: Apparently someone on the news is saying the Merchants are going on the warpath. Bang up job PRT, nice job keeping us safe!

► the_omnisier (Unverified Cape)

Word just came in from a couple of people. Trusted sources both that the attacks were started by an assassination attempt on Squealer. Nearly lost an eye to some kind of funky tinker tech rifle.

EDIT: Apparently someone else got killed, no word if it's our unknown Cape or not.

EDIT: oh and surprise surprise now it's in a nice neighborhood the Protectorate shows up. Nice to know your priorities are right. Parasites. Poster received a warning for this post, the PRT risk their lives to try and maintain order please be civil.

► giraffes_are_hartless_creatures.

Who lead the attack on Squealer? Empire, ABB, New Wave?

► MUSH (Verified Cape) (Merchants)

Deleted by moderator.

Poster received a temp ban for this comment. We will not tolerate calls to violence on this site.

► Mister_flufy.

Uses the forum to post a bounty and gets a temp ban and not a permanent one. Christ capes get all the benefits.

► Lord_of_the roaches

Wow, squealer just rammed through the bottom floor of some skyscraper. The Medhall building I think. Looks likes the empire capes are going nuts, and I think New Wave just joined the party.

► Spot_the_leathal_kitten

All hail our lady of perpetual collateral damage. Just saw her throw a fire hydrant at squealers tank/fortress of doom/ scrapheap. It deflected off a forcefield and smashed back into Lady Photon. Someone's going to have a stern family lecture later.

► Only_in_the_bay

So um not sure if this should go somewhere else but apparently Lung was chasing the Undersiders and managed to get himself almost run over by squealers latest mechanical abortion. Now he's chasing her around the city half transformed and is calling in every single ABB member he can to help.

So now we have Nazi's, dragons, druggies, and heroes fighting in the middle of the business district. Only in this bloody city.

► The_Whisperers_in_the_Void

The assassination attempt was carried out by an empire aligned Cape. You can see an inscription on the blade they used to kill one of the Merchants. User has received a warning for this post. Please do not speculate about things like this; people could suffer because of it.

► The_Eater_of_Worlds

User has received a ban. We do not tolerate giving advice on how to kill people.

End Page 1 of 1

I blinked my eyes open. My head was throbbing, and my mouth was dry. The events of the last night flashed through my mind, and I had to force myself to sit up and not just lie back down and fall asleep. No matter how much I wanted it to be the case things would not just magically get better because I desperately wanted them to.

I stood up, my legs threatening to buckle under me. Half a dozen designs for muscle enhancements decided to flash before my mind offering to turn me into anything from an Amazonian goddess to a gender-swapped version of the HULK. I blinked the images away. My power had an irritating habit of suggesting a piece of technology when I had absolutely no chance of doing anything about it.

"Apologies Executor, this advisory unit will attempt to limit its suggestions until you are in a suitable location."

I blinked a couple of times. Then I slowly turned a full 360 degrees. My room was still empty.

"Hello?" I asked quietly.

"Greetings Executor Taylor! This Robotic advisory unit has been designed by the finest minds of the Commonwealth of man to guide our species to the stars!"

Oh good, I was hearing voices now.

Not too happy with how this chapter came out. it's mostly a connective chapter explaining whats happening in the city. next chapter should start the ball rolling faster.

Last edited: Sep 11, 2018

464

yanzak

Mar 16, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 4

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yanzak

Jul 4, 2018

#184

I clasped the coffee mug with my wind-chilled fingers, letting its heat flow through them to the rest of my body. The beachfront Café was mostly deserted. Apart from myself, the only other customers were a young black teenager and what I assumed was his blonde-haired girlfriend. They were bent over their table whispering to each other, their coffees and untouched cakes in front of them.

The lack of customers was partially because of the air of apprehension that hung over the city in the week since Squealer's attack, and partially because the weather outside was truly foul. A fine rain was falling over the city which combined with an icy wind blowing in from the Atlantic meant that today was a day to curl up on the sofa with a nice book in hand.

Unless you were like me, and staying home meant having to endure the awkwardness that had sprung up between you and your father since he discovered you were a Cape. In a single stroke, it seemed I had managed to undo all the work I had put into fixing our relationship since the locker.

I sighed to myself and took another gulp of coffee. Truth is I despise the stuff, but I'd been having trouble sleeping recently. I considered myself lucky nowadays if I got five hours of sleep uninterrupted by visions at best and nightmares at worst. Given what I was planning today I needed to be as awake as possible. I knocked back the last of the disgusting stuff and looked around for a member of staff.

I caught the eye of one and raised my empty mug, "Could I have another, one milk and one sugar please?" I asked with a smile on my face. As the waiter collected my empty mug, I looked out over the bay to where the Protectorate RIG was floating.

"Executor, may this advisory unit ask a question?"

I resisted the urge to sigh out loud. On top of everything else I also had to deal with this as well.

In the week since the thing in my head had made itself known it had never failed to be polite and supportive. It was just that its view on the world was ever so slightly… different from mine.

"Go ahead, Adviser." I thought resignedly.

"The foul Xeno life forms known as "Endbringers" continue to pollute the precious soil of the homeworld, yet from what I have seen of your memories the cities of our glorious homeworld are virtually defenseless! Why aren't they fortified to resist an attack? Such a dereliction of duty on behalf of our leaders is unacceptable!"

I shook my head. The idea of fortifying cities was as old as the Endbringers themselves. The problem was that it just wasn't practical. You couldn't use conventional weapons to fight an Endbringer. I was just old enough to remember the catastrophic losses that the Chinese had suffered when Leviathan had appeared for the sixth time and attacked Shanghai in 1999.

The Chinese government had deployed three Infantry divisions and two tank brigades as well as scrambling every single aircraft they had in rage.

Mom and Dad had pulled me away from the TV when they realized what I was watching, but I had seen enough. Helicopters swatted from the sky like flies. Tanks, firing their guns again and again at a target that seemed to play with them by always being just out of the line of fire. Whole battalions of Infantry swept away by tidal waves like ants washed away by a high-pressure fire hose.

The city had become a slaughter pen for the Chinese military. In the end, half the forces committed to the battle were lost, and the city was still all but destroyed.

Given how woefully ineffective conventional defenses were that left you with Tinker tech as the only other option. And if anything, it was even less practical. Leaving aside the fact that you would have to find a Tinker whose designs could provide a building with protection - no small feat in itself - you then had the problem that Tinker tech was well… Tinker tech. It had to receive regular maintenance by its creator, or it simply stopped working. Meaning if the luckless Tinker who built your defenses happened to die then all your defenses would start to break down and there would be nothing you could do about it.

"Incorrect."

"What?" I said out loud surprised enough to forget to not keep the conversation in my own head.

"Your coffee miss." Repeated the waiter gesturing to the drink that he had just placed in front of me a confused look on his face.

Cursing myself for zoning out so much I smiled and thanked him. When he was gone, I asked.

"What do you mean incorrect?"

"Your assumption that there is no practical defence against the Endbringers. Based on my accesses to our technology databanks there are several options available. Observe."

Suddenly my view of the Café was replaced with a bird's eye view of the Bay. Before my eyes buildings were replaced and landscapes restructured. The small seawall that separated the beach from the city was transformed to a wall of black metal of some kind that reached a hundred meters into the sky. Its surface was studded gun batteries, missile launchers and shield nodes. Behind the wall, houses were replaced by hardened bunkers with elaborate underground living spaces. Huge anti-aircraft batteries sat on top of them, the barrels of their laser cannons jutting skywards like the bones of some incomprehensibly vast beast.

Further inland massive artillery pieces with calibers in excess of a thousand millimeters were set into mountain-sized casements. In orbit, satellite mounted plasma cannons dotted the heavens. Below them, vast automated airborne battleships flew like giant predatory birds.

And at the centre of the city sat a…

'Sweet god is that an anti-matter bomb!?' If a warhead that big detonated… I felt my blood run cold and forced the images from my mind.

"Advisor," I asked hesitantly. "Why is there a 200-megaton bomb in the middle of a city THAT YOU ARE TRYING TO DEFEND?"

"Simple Executor. Standard Commonwealth of Man doctrine is that if a defensive position is overrun then the last defending troops should attempt to draw in as many enemy forces as possible. When this is achieved the position's "dead man switch" is activated to eliminate the attacking force. If the city is lost then surely killing an Endbringer is an acceptable trade, correct?"

I reached across and picked up the new cup of coffee. Ignoring the near scalding heat, I downed it in its entirety.

"Leaving aside the fact that no one would tolerate living in a city with a bomb that big under their feet I still don't understand how this would work. All that Tinker tech wou…"

"But none of this is "Tinker Tech" all designs shown are constructible with the resources of the "United States of America" and the technology stored in your organic data banks."

That threw me for a loop. There was no way machines that complex weren't Tinker tech. Surely some part of their construction had to be… I blinked away the thoughts of schematics and blueprints as I felt the pressure building up behind my eyes like it always did when I thought about the truly big designs stored in my head. Whatever the case was I had other priorities.

"Oh. So, I just have to become supreme leader of the country and then convince everybody to let me pour our resources into building bombs under their feet. Wonderful."

"Precisely Executor. Would you like me to schedule weekly, monthly or annual progress reports on the progress of the project, 'become supreme leader of the country and then convince everybody to let me pour our resources into building bombs under their feet.'?"

"Are… are you joking?" I thought at last.

"This unit was not designed to provide entertainment Executor."

"You surprise me." I sighed. "If it will stop you pestering me then put me down for Annual reports."

"Noted."

I checked my watch. Two hours until I had agreed to meet with Dad. The weather didn't show any signs of improving. I signalled for another cup and asked for the bill. I also made a mental note never to let the Advisor in my head learn of the existence of Warhammer 40K. I got the feeling if the two combined their lack of restraint some massively overkill singularity would form.

"Advisor I have a question. About the first night when I went out as a Cape."

"Yes?"

"Were you… online when I was doing that?"

"Partially."

I drummed my fingers on the table wondering if I should ask the next question.

"You have a query about your performance on the night of the resource raid. You are wondering if I somehow took control of your body when you killed the Merchant designated Tango five in the after-action reports of the battle. Your fears are quite baseless. I can only control motor functions with your express permission and even had you given it at the time I would not have been able due to being only partially online. The kill was entirely due to your actions. An excellent example of quick thinking in combat."

"Oh." I thought as a heavyweight seemed to settle on my shoulders.

"Executor are you alright I am detecting emotional fluc…"

"I'm fine. Could you just stay out of my thoughts for a few hours?"

"Of course."

I suppose deep down I always knew the answer, that's why I waited a week to ask. Now my worst fears were confirmed. I was sure my nightmares would only get worse thanks to the news. I had held out some hope that the death wasn't my fault but now…

I could rationalize it however I wanted. He was a ganger, a member of an organization that had ruined thousands of lives at least. He was scum… but I had killed him.

I looked at my hands. Call me crazy, but I half expected to see them covered in blood. I felt bile rise in my throat, but I forced it down. What was done was done. If I stopped now, then a man would still be dead, and Mom would still be lying in hospital.

"The road to hell is pathed with good intentions. You taught me that saying Mom. I doubt you would appreciate the irony, but I'll walk that path if I have to." I murmured under my breath as I reached into my wallet and paid the bill.

Outside the weather was just as bad as I remembered. I decided to take a longer route home, so I wasn't walking face first into the rain.

I'd expected to find the beachfront walkway almost deserted but about five minutes after I left the Café I started to notice people gathering ahead of me. A couple of kids ran past me and one bumped into me. As we untangled ourselves, I asked. "What's going on?"

"NEW WAVE! THEY'RE DOING A SHOW." Screamed the kid in excitement before running on with his exasperated parents hurrying after him. As they passed me the father gave me an apologetic smile.

"Kids and Capes, you know."

I smiled and continued on my way. It wasn't the first time the city's Heroes had put on a performance for the public since Squealers rampage. Partially to calm people down and partly to stop people from accusing them of inaction. Though for New wave to be performing in weather like this someone in the Mayor's office must have organized a rather large "donation" to New waves public contribution web page.

A minute later I was making my way through a crowd of a couple of hundred people all gathered around a wooden stage. Above the stage, the flying members of the group were putting on a Cape air show, whilst on the ground, the other members were displaying their powers. Even as I made my way past I saw Fleur attach glowing flowers of light to a number of household objects. Then she detonated the flowers with a theatrical flick of her wrist and after the light from the detonation cleared the objects were shown to be flowing in the air warped and twisted into a dozen different shapes.

There was applause from the assembled crowd. I didn't pay much attention, to be honest. It's not that I dislike New Wave. Even Panacea's inability to heal Mom just produced a sense of sadness and not anger. It was just that before I became a Cape I didn't have much interest in the whole scene. Now I was Cape myself I had no intention of getting on the wrong side of the city's heroes, so I didn't see the point in wasting time on them.

Finally, I managed to get through the crowd and head home, passing several work crews labouring despite the weather to fix roads and buildings damaged during the fighting. I also saw government workers painting over gang tags and other graffiti. The Mayor's message to the gangs was clear. "You went too far this time. We are in control, not you." It was a sentiment I wholeheartedly endorsed but I wasn't naive enough to think that it would last.

The government was doing this because they needed to reassure people that they were in charge. When the public started to calm down the government would start to relax, and the gangs would creep back into the public eye. Still, I would enjoy the sight of the city's buildings free of gang signs as long as it lasted.

Dad opened the door to my shipping container laboratory with barely a murmur. One of my first investments had been a can of oil for the hinges. The first time the door to your secret laboratory opens with an ominous groaning sound it's impressive, after that it starts to get annoying. We stepped inside and I started turning the halogen lamps on whilst Dad pulled the door shut behind us.

I didn't say anything as Dad walked around the workshop looking at the various machine components, pieces of chemistry glassware and the piles of notes in waterproof plastic folders. The drive over had been tense, as had most of our interactions since he discovered I was a Cape. The walk from the public carpark half a mile away had been even tenser. With every step we took closer to the Lab I kept expecting a PRT strike team to materialize and place me under arrest. It seemed my fears about Dad turning me in really were unfounded. Still, it wasn't until the door shut that I managed to start to relax slightly.

Eventually, Dad stopped look around and turned to me. "Impressive Taylor. You definitely got your organization skills from your old man. Could use a vacuum cleaner though." A strained smile was playing across his face.

I gave a nervous laugh and made my way over to him.

"You try keeping this place clean. I gave up after the first week. The seals that connect the containers are leaky and there's a small gap when the door shuts that lets the insects in."

Even though I knew he was trying to break the ice, I still felt a twin spike of exasperation and amusement. The lab wasn't that clean but honestly was the collection of cobwebs in the corner the most important thing to him right now? I realized I was tapping my right foot in annoyance.

So did Dad. He smiled sadly, "Like mother like daughter."

"Yeah," I said looking down.

Dad clapped his hands trying to dispel the mood. He pointed to a couple of folding chairs set up against the wall. "Lets get comfortable, shall we?"

An awkward silence sprung up between the two of us after we set the chairs up. Neither of us wanting to make the first move. Finally, Dad couldn't take the silence anymore and started talking.

"So, we have half a million in cash. A pile of stolen drugs and your stocks, which are worth…?"

"Assuming the market doesn't crash about a hundred thousand. Although it might be hard to get access to all of those funds at once. They're spread over 126 different portfolios. If I liquidate all of them at once someone's bound to notice."

"So in theory, we have between $600,000 and $500,000. Is that enough?" Dad asked with a look of hope in his eyes.

I shook my head and saw that hope die. "Nowhere near enough. It's the complexity of the machines that are the problem. The most primitive designs I have are at least a couple of centuries ahead of the best technology we have. I need to build up the infrastructure of a 23rd-century civilization. I have to…"

My voice trailed off as I realized the true immensity of the work ahead of me. My vision dimmed, and in my minds-eye, the path seemed to stretch on forever. I think I might have started to shake slightly. Then I felt Dads arms embracing me and the weight of his head against mine. "It's OK Kiddo, it's OK. We'll get through this I promise."

Eventually, we broke apart and I gave him a smile., took a deep breath and continued.

"You remember how when you first discovered I was a Cape I said I was a Tinker?" Dad nodded. "I'm beginning to doubt that I am, at least not for the stuff I need to heal Mom. I think I might just be a Thinker."

Dad looked confused. "I looked some of this stuff up online. I thought only Tinkers could build that Sci-fi nonsense?"

"The Vice Executors "Inciteful" comments have been recorded for the record." Supplied the Advisor and call me crazy but I swear I heard a judge's gavel sound somewhere in the distance.

"No. No there's a difference. It's like…" I made empty hand gestures in front of me for a few moments and then sighed. I had been trying to avoid using my ethics in conversations with Dad, it felt too manipulative and too much like a crutch to lean on but sometimes there was no other option.

The grinding cog wheels of Materialism spun to life, and I walked over and picked up one of the schematics.

"This is the difference between Tinker tech and my designs," I said pointing to the schematic for the gravity suction clamp I had used on my first night as a Cape. "If my theory is correct and I really am not a Tinker then I could give this design to anyone else on the planet and as long as they followed the instructions they could build this correctly. If I gave this to a scientist I could explain how it works, I could explain how the magnets here and here create an interfering magnetic field that causes the dense tungsten here to have its gravitic potential amplified."

I took a deep breath as my thoughts confined to order themselves along a worldview that focused on the material world and its reality. Somehow, I knew the next part was going to hurt.

"Tinker tech, on the other hand, is, is…. Wrong." The word surprised me but at the same time felt right somehow. "A Tinker tech version of this Grav clamp might be a couple of metal dishes taped together with a battery glued to the end!" A slight simplification but now that I was truly thinking about the sheer wrongness of Tinkertech, the inability of even my own scientific knowledge to explain the principles behind it and its inability to be replicated was almost nauseating to me.

Dad was a good enough parent to see the oncoming rant and clapped his hands to dispel the mood. "Ok, I think I understand. You know how to build this stuff, but you've not got some special ability to help build it. If you wanted to make a drug to fix Annette, you couldn't just throw some household supplies in your chemistry set." He gestured to the selection of glassware occupying a single folding table. "If you wanted to do that you would need a lab like Medhall has right?"

I nodded.

"Taylor, where did this certainty you weren't a Tinker come from? A week ago, you were pretty convinced."

"I guess I just didn't give it enough thought until now, then I was talking with Advisor and…" I realized my mistake too late. Dads face had darkened, and I swear there was a slight twitch in his right eye.

Dad had not taken to the existence of Advisor well. At the absolute best he seemed to view him as a kind of extremely persistent stray dog that he couldn't get rid of. That was partially my fault I guess considering how I had introduced him.

"I don't understand Taylor, you're a Cape, and you've got a voice in your head.!" Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, mercifully cleared of drugs and stolen money, a mug in front of him that contained what I was prepared to bet was the world's strongest Irish coffee.

I wilted slightly under his outburst. Why couldn't it have been easy?

"Executor perhaps I could explain the situation to your subordinate, with your permission?" In hindsight the word "subordinate" should have warned me, instead, I merely nodded my head.

"Greetings Vice executor! As the chief administrative construct of the Commonwealth of man in this theatre of operations, I welcome you into the command structure of the planetary government! We will need to schedule a series of meetings to discuss the apparent absence of fortifications around the planetary capital, and the lack of a domestic arms industry in the "Hebert household." Such deficiencies must be addressed Vice Executor, remember an entrenched home is a safe home." The last sentence was in a singsong tone, like a teacher lightly chastising an unmotivated student. The voice had been mine, but the words definitely hadn't been.

A moment of silence stretched out between us.

"Taylor…" began Dad as his hands started to reach across the table towards the phone. Presumably considering if he should call the PRT and start screaming about how his daughter was under the mind control of some unknown Master.

I felt a migraine start to. This was going to take some smoothing over….

"I wish you would try and get along with him better Dad."

"Taylor! He took over your voice, announced that I was now your second in command and a member of a planetary government!"

"An appointment that we may have to reconsider on the next annual performance review." Mused Advisor.

"It wanted me to build a gunsmith's in the base-, you know what never mind. Let's just move on, before he starts drawing up plans to fortify the country against Endbringers." Dad sighed leaning back in his chair and massage his face. Mercifully it covered up his eyes, so he didn't see the look of alarm that flashed across my face.

"Moving on," I said clapping my hands. "To make the equipment to heal Mom I need money. A lot of it. The stock market is only a short-term option. At best no one's noticed me yet, at worst they're already drawing up charges. As for robbing the Merchants, well I lost half my gear on my first night and the city's on a knife-edge so I don't think that's a valid option."

Dad nodded. "Not to mention the fact you nearly died Taylor."

I coughed awkwardly into my hand. Did he have to bring that up?

"I have had one idea. What do you think of…."

A week later, the first day of schools being open since Squealers rampage.

All good things must end, however, and eventually, it was time for the schools, closed since Squealers rampage, to reopen, and for me to return to Winslow.

It was funny you know.

Once the thought of returning to Winslow might have filled me with dread on the best of days. In the immediate aftermath of the Locker, it would probably be enough to reduce me to hysterics. Now though? Something about having stared down the barrel of a Tinker tech tank with nothing but a non-lethal dart gun made the prospect of today's inevitable bullying seem almost irrelevant.

I spent most of the first half of the day daydreaming. Emma and her friends had limited themselves to catty insults and loudly whispering whenever I was around. I hoped it was because they felt the locker had been too far, but it was probably just a case of not wanting to cause a spark in the powder keg that the school had become.

At lunchtime, you could feel the tension in the lunchroom as the various gangs gathered in groups. The un-affiliated students tried to huddle in a corner and make themselves hard to notice. Instead of the usual near cacophony of a couple hundred students, there was just a dull background murmuring.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by what happened next. One of the Merchant members, a pale kid with greasy hair plastered across his face was moving over to get a drink from one of the vending machines when he fell after tripping over his own feet. One kid, a big burly guy who wasn't on the football team purely because everyone knew he was an Empire recruiter laughed. His friends joined in.

Then the insults came, and the Merchants shouted them back. It took less than sixty seconds for the first piece of food to be thrown. Most food fights end with ruined clothes and laughing students - this wasn't going to be a typical food fight. I was one of the first students to make it through the fire escape as behind me the room erupted into chaos. Gang members were charging at each other while anyone sane was fleeing as far as they could.

I would later learn that two students were hospitalized for minor injuries and Sophia Hess was suspended for two days for using a dinner tray to smack an Empire member around the head. Apparently, ours was the only school to have a fight on the first day of students returning. Go Winslow! Let's see some of that school spirit they always drone on about at sports days.

When I stopped running, I was on the 3rd floor and had stopped to catch my breath. I couldn't help but realize how out of shape I was. I thought wistfully of the Gene mods in my head, the designs that would enable me to easily qualify somewhere on the Brute scale.

"HEY BITCH!"

I jerked my head up in surprise. Not at the insult itself although it was blunter than the ones I normally received in school. My surprise was because the voice was male. Emma, Madison, and Sophia all had male suitors but they almost never got involved in the actual bullying. A pale-faced Merchant with beads of sweat dripping down his face was standing at the end of the corridor.

"You Hebert?" The kid asked.

"Yes," I said.

"My Dad was Jonsen Gab."

A moment passed, as though he seemed to expect me to react in some way.

Gab, why did that name… Oh god.

I'd heard that name on the news reports about the cause of Squealer's rampage. I realized why I recognized his tear-stained face. Not because I had seen it on him before, but because I had seen it on his father's when I put a knife through his throat.

Was he here to claim revenge? How did he know I was a Cape? Who had he told?

Seemingly enraged by my visible lack of response he took a step forward fishing for something in his right trouser pocket.

"Your fucking Dad threw him out of the Dockworkers union, just for making a little scratch on the side. The Merchants offered him a job so we wouldn't lose our house. Now he's dead, that fucking Cape killed him!" He began to run forward, his right-hand emerging from the pocket with a switchblade now clearly visible.

Do you want to know the funny thing? If he had been a member of the Empire or the ABB, you know gangs that are flat out worse than petty drug dealers, he probably would have gotten off lighter. But he was a Merchant. And I think by now you're familiar with my views on the Merchants.

I could have used Pacifism and Spiritualism to calm him down. I could have tried Authoritarianism to merely browbeat him into submission. I could have run.

Instead, I felt the surge of adrenaline as Militarism slotted itself into place, and my mind rang with the sound of clashing steel.

I was an out of shape teenager armed with a bookbag at my feet. He had a knife, and the kind of determination I knew all too well. The type that comes from anger and grief being mixed together.

He never stood a chance.

I spun on my heel, letting his own momentum carry his knife swing past me.

I kicked the back of his right knee out from under him.

He had just enough time to realize he was lying on his back gazing up at the grimy ceiling when my left foot smashed his lower jaw into his upper jaw. There was a crunch sound that just sounded so good, and the fight was over.

The whole fight had maybe taken five seconds tops.

"Executor are you unharmed? I suggest we summon local law enforcement at once."

"No. I'm going home. I've had enough of this shithole for one day." I replied.

It wasn't hard to leave; the front gates were already open, and a steady trickle of students was leaving through them. Clearly deciding to risk whatever disciplinary action the school might take then risk more time in Winslow.

I half expected to find police officers at my door, or to hear the phone ring and a voice on the other end to tell me that I was expelled, but nothing happened. Not that day or on any other. At the time I guessed that the kid had just decided to cut his losses.

Max Anders CEO of Medhall rose from his desk at precisely 9:30 on Saturday the 20th of January as his secretary opened the oak door to his office.

"Mister Hebert welcome to Medhall. And this must be your daughter Taylor correct? Wonderful, wonderful. Please have a seat. We have a lot to talk about."

He waited until the Heberts had sat themselves down and then sat down himself. Looking them over as he did so.

He knew the Hebert family of course, both in his public and private life. Danny was a major player in the dockworkers union. Which whilst declining in influence was still important enough to result in the two of them being introduced at official meetings every now and then. As for his life as Kaiser, the Empire had been trying to gain influence in the workers union for a couple of years. It would allow them access to a fresh source of recruits and the option of expanding into the docks, opening a new flank on the ABB. Those attempts had been unsuccessful, from what he had heard from informants largely because of the opposition from men like Danny and the other old guard of the leadership.

That might start changing soon enough he thought glancing at the daughter.

Clearly wearing her school clothes. About Theo's age, although irritatingly enough noticeably skinnier than the boy. Looking around the room with wide eyes. Clearly impressed by what she saw.

'Possible use as leverage?' He mused turning back to her father.

"First off I must apologize to you for the state of the ground floors. This unpleasantness with the Merchants has left such scars on the building. I imagine you thought we were a building company and not a pharmaceutical one, walking through all those workmen."

The Heberts laughed politely at the opening joke. In truth, the work to fix the damage to the lobby was almost finished. It would be back to normal as soon as the last of the floor polishing was done and the damned insurance company stopped haggling over the value of the artwork that had been damaged. However, the implication that it had been even more impressive at one point in time would hopefully serve to drive home the power and wealth of Medhall, and himself by extension.

"Secondly I must apologize for the delay in arranging this meeting. When my secretary informed me that her nephew at the dockworkers union whose baldness has resisted all attempts from us to treat was now sporting a full head of hair thanks to a family remedy offered by a friend. I was… skeptical. And for that, I apologize."

"It's quite alright." Danny replied.

"I must say your grandmother was quite an exceptional woman. To have discovered this little… what did she call it again?"

"Restorative tonic for scalped heads," supplied Danny.

"Yes. Well, we might have to change the name, but it is still an impressive achievement. Especially with the technology they had back then. And your daughter just happened to find this recipe when you were doing some cleaning?" Both Heberts nodded.

He smiled and reached into one of his drawers producing a wad of papers.

"I'm happy to say that we were able to follow the recipe and reproduce the original tonic. The original recipe you supplied produces many minor impurities, but we have been able to isolate the active chemical that causes the hair regrowth. This paperwork is the contract we would like to offer you for the official recipe and an exclusivity agreement for the next 20 years. In exchange, we are willing to offer you a considerable amount of money. You are of course welcome to take it home with you and to hire a lawyer to make sure we are not taking advantage of you."

Unspoken was the fact that by being able to replicate the drug in the lab they had proven it was not Tinker tech and so the possibility of one of them being a Cape was massively reduced. It was just a shame the original recipe had fallen to pieces not long after being rediscovered. It would have made a beautiful collector's piece. But alas such was life.

"Thank you, Mr Anders."

After the Heberts had left he reclined in his chair. The accounting division and the sales division were already having spasms of joy at the prospect of a new miracle anti-baldness drug with a nearly 100% success rate. And that was before the R and D division had started running tests on the regenerative property of the active ingredient on other damaged human body cells. Some of the reports he had been getting were very interesting. He could already imagine the military's reaction.

There was no need for the Heberts to know that particular piece of news. With a little luck, they might be able to claim any derivative products as Medhall inventions.

Last edited: Sep 11, 2018

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yanzak

Jul 4, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 5

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yanzak

Sep 9, 2018

#276

Robert Moreland gently ran a hand through his girlfriend's hair, as she leant against his shoulder and the TV droned on. It was some program about the real life of a singer who he had never heard of, but who was apparently the next big thing.

Normally Nicky would have watched a show like this at her house, aware that her boyfriend had only a passing interest in celebrities of any sort. But this had been the first day since Squealers rampage that her father had felt safe letting her visit him. Judging by the way she had thrown her arms around him when he opened the door she had missed him quite a bit. He had smiled sheepishly and hugged her back while his mother and father stood in the kitchen doorway with sappy looks on their faces.

"So what did you think?" she asked.

Robert blinked in surprise at the sudden question and glanced at the TV, a list of credits was scrolling past.

"Oh, um it was very…" He trailed off helplessly completely unable to remember a thing about the program. He could feel his face heating up as his cheeks turned red.

"Aw, you look so cute when you're embarrassed." She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She pulled away and offered him a cheeky grin. "Do you want to…" Whatever she had been about to say was cut off when her phone's alarm started blaring. Sighing she pulled out her phone and called her alarm. "All good things come to an end. I promised Dad I would be home before dark."

As they made their way to the front door, Robert asked, "do you want me to walk you home? I know its calmed down since Squealer's rampage, but this is The Bay."

Nicky slipped her shoes on, opened the door and stepped outside. She turned back to him, her dark skin contrasting with the brilliant evening sun spilling in from the east. "Well look at you, mister gallant knight. Offering to walk your lady home."

Robert held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, hey. Just trying to do the right thing."

"Seriously it's fine. I got here ok, and I'll get home ok." Looking over his shoulder, she called out. "Goodbye Mr and Miss's Moreland. Thanks for letting me stay over."

"It's our pleasure dear, have a safe trip home," called out his mother from the kitchen.

With a final hug and a kiss - on the mouth this time - Nicky shut the door and headed home.

It was only when the sound of her footfalls on the gravel driveway had faded away did the smile vanish from his face, to be replaced with a scowl. He made his way to the kitchen. His mother was waiting for him. Wordlessly she pointed to a set of fresh clothes. He changed and put the old set into the wasshing machine.

"How long do I have to keep this farce up for?" He asked, getting a can of Coca-cola from the fridge.

"I don't like having that mongrel in our house any more than you do," replied his mother, as she started bustling around the kitchen preparing dinner. "Just remember it's for a good cause. Her uncle is an advisor to the Mayor. If we gain leverage on him, then we gain influence on the Mayor."

"I know that it just… Just doesn't feel right. It feels like I'm betraying grandfather's memory."

"He'd understand, son," said his father, as he entered the kitchen. He looked at his wife and smiled. "I'm afraid that we'll have to eat later. I just got a message from the boss. He wants to meet me." He turned to Robert, "and he wants to meet you as well."

The evening after our meeting with Medhall found me hunched over the kitchen table with their contract spread out before me. On the whole, it was pretty generous. Medhall was offering five million dollars up front, alongside a 1% share of the profits for the first five years followed by a 0.1% share for the next 15 years. Considering how profitable the drug was going to be that was a considerable amount of money.

Of course, it was nothing compared to how much Medhall would make, both off this drug and the other medicines they would almost certainly invent thanks to the new avenues of research it opened up.

Dad was going to take it to a lawyer tomorrow. I was sure that I understood the contract correctly, and Dad was no stranger to legal loopholes having overseen so many employment contracts, but it would seem strange if we decided on such an important course of action without seeking professional help.

With that out of the way, I could focus on something more important, helping Mom. I pulled my new laptop towards me. We had bought it on the way home. It was a top of the line model. Only a Tinker tech laptop had better processing power. A good thing too considering what I was going to use it for.

Initially, my plans to heal Mom had revolved around me handcrafting the medical equipment I would need. However, I was beginning to realise that that just wasn't practical. My initial pieces of equipment had taken the best part of six week's to assemble, and they had all been incredibly crude. Considering the complexity of all my medical designs, it might take years to build just one of them. And that was assuming that I actually built the thing correctly in the first place. Just because I knew what do didn't mean that I couldn't make mistakes. My first attempt at a sedative had produced a product with a boiling point so low that it had evaporated almost instantly. It was a good thing that the sedative was impossible to overdose on or I might very well have been killed. If something similar happened to Mom when I was operating on her, I'd never have been able to forgive my self.

In short, I needed a way to manufacture medical equipment quickly and to a professional standard. Fortunately, I had just such a method in mind.

The Mark 4 Talos Material Recycler and Fabrication unit, or at least my ramshackle version.

I had multiple manufacturing designs in my head, ranging in uses from quality of life improvements like the "Omni-Tool," a watch-like device that went on the wrist of your right arm and served as a mashup between a laptop, micro 3D printer and a repair tool.

On the other end of the spectrum were industrial designs, mount Everest sized buildings called Resource replicators, which using Vacuum energy from Zero point reactors produced solid matter from pure energy.

The Mark 4 occupied a position somewhere in the middle. I didn't have the full context for my designs, but…

When humans first arrived on the world of Unity, they discovered a world teeming with life and overflowing with dangers. In spite of being equipped with the finest technology that humanity possessed when they left the Sol system, the attrition rate from predators, fungal infection and famine caused by the unexpected toxicity of the majority of plant life soon became catastrophic.

Within five years the 250,000 colonists had been reduced to a mere 50,000. Aside from the devastating effect this had on morale, it also raised the very real possibility of technological regression, as those with the necessary skills were killed off before they had the chance to pass on their knowledge to the next generation.

The solution was the Talo's series of recyclers and fabrication units. These heavily modified 3D printers would store the entirety of the colonies technical knowledge. Allowing even the most technically illiterate colonist, or as time passed their children, to produce modern equipment without necessarily understanding its internal functions.

For the next 30 years, maintenance of the heavily fortified colonial settlements became a highly ritualised affair. Whilst the countries of old Terra had embraced religious festivals as a uniting force, the monthly maintenance of a settlements perimeter gun turrets soon became a form of secular holiday. A celebration of continual survival. Whilst this did lead to a disturbing amount of technological illiteracy amongst the populace, it also allowed the colonies to survive and gradually build up its population.

It was due to this invention that the colony survived long enough to launch the Campaigns of pacification in 2178…

I blinked the images away as the voice in my ear died down. I reached up and massaged my temple as I felt the beginnings of a migraine. Sometimes when I was thinking about designs, I got episodes like this. Images would flash in front of my eyes, and I would hear voices in my ear. If I focused too much on a design. After a few seconds passed the pain started to fade away from needles to a dull throbbing ache. Mercifully it seemed to be happening less as time went on. For the first week in hospital, I had been taking a lot of painkillers. Either I was just becoming more adjusted to my powers, or I was merely getting luckier.

In theory, I could have used the simpler Mark's 1-3 to build the equipment I needed. The problem was that the recycling capabilities of those models were only capable of breaking down items into their component elements to be used in fabrication. The Mark 4, on the other hand, broke all recycled items into just four distinct categories. Minerals, synthetics, organic and "exotic." I had… I had no idea what the last one meant. Whenever I tried to think about it too much, I would get another migraine. I was beginning to think that my brain just didn't have the processing power to make sense of some of my designs. Maybe after I fixed Mom, I would look into the possibilities of some of the gene mods that affected the brain. After Mom was back with us of course.

Regardless of the mysterious category, the Mark 4 was not much more complicated to build and being able to recycle normal everyday items instead of having to deal with the raw elements was a significant advantage. I wanted to handle as little of some of the more reactive ones like Florine as possible.

Which brought me back to the laptop. The Computer Assisted Design program, CAD for short, had just finished downloading. First, I was going to have to recreate the design of the Mark 4 in the CAD and then would come the tricky part. Some of the Mark 4's components were built from polymers and composite materials that simply weren't invented yet. That would mean I'd have to slowly replace parts with locally available ones and keep checking to see if the machine wasn't about to fall apart.

I know it sounds strange. Building an incredibly advanced machine because you don't trust yourself to make less advanced machines yourself. But if I got this right, I would be able to produce tools and equipment centuries ahead of what was domestically available. Even if the machine exploded after its first couple of uses the tools I made would be enough to justify the effort.

Materialism swung into place in my mind and I started my work.

"-lor?"

"Executor, I believe your subordinate is attempting to attract your attention."

My head jerked up. The sun was just starting to sink behind the houses opposite ours. Dad was leaning against the kitchen's old and worn counter with a wistful smile on his face.

"Like mother like daughter. I never could get through to her when she was working on something either."

I gave him a weak grin back. It hurt when he mentioned Mom, but I knew it helped him cope with the stress of the situation, so I didn't make a fuss. It would be slightly hypocritical considering how much of that stress I had caused him with my Cape career.

"How's it coming?" he asked pouring himself a mug of tea and one for me as well.

Once what I was attempting would have simply been impossible. My power didn't let me warp the laws of physics like so many Tinkers could. However, whilst the introduction of Capes to society hadn't lead to people driving hover cars and taking holidays to the moon like some people had predicted before the limitations of Tinker tech had become known, there had been changes. There were changes. Plenty of Capes, mostly the Thinkers, had opened up new avenues of research, in the form of modern manufacturing and design techniques. Whilst the resulting advancements hadn't trickled down to everyday life, mostly due to the economic chaos caused by Endbringer and villain attacks the business world was another matter. In one of the few moments when I paid attention to Mr Gladly, I had heard him mention that Capes had jumped technology at least two decades.

"I think it's about done," I said as I lent back in my chair. The mechanical monstrosity on screen resembled my original design in the same way as Squealers tank could be compared to a main battle tank. Intended to serve a similar function but infinitely cruder looking. "At its heart are three customized 3D printers, the laptop," I tapped it, "acts as the machines' primary operating system. And finally these parts," I tapped a pair of extremely powerful magnets located in the recycling chamber, "will be set up to draw away different materials from recycled items based on their mass and their atomic charge."

There was more to it than that of course. But I didn't have a sheat stack of paper thick enough to stop a bullet to write out the full list of formulas being used.

Dad looked over my shoulder to check out the design. After a few moments, he looked up at me and asked, "looks good so far, how much do you think it will cost?"

"About a one and a half million dollars."

Dad gave an impressed whistle. "Steep but you get what you pay for I suppose," he said, grinning.

"You know," he began stroking his chin thoughtfully, "your mother's going to be quite surprised when she finds out how rich we are now."

I grinned back at him.

A thought seemed to strike him, and his smile faded a little. "Taylor, I don't want you going to your lab for a while."

"Why?" I asked genuinely confused.

"Max Anders is not his father, he's far more business savvy. Even if he doesn't think you're a Cape, he'll definitely hire private investigators to find out about us. Just to make sure that we're not related to one of the gangs. If he made a deal with someone with connections to the Merchants or god help him the Empire the papers would crucify him. At least until we sign the contract with Medhall, I don't want you to do anything that might give us away."

I grimaced slightly but said nothing. Like all pieces of good parenting, it managed to both be irritatingly restrictive and perfectly understandable. There wasn't much at the lab anymore, a few diagrams scrawled on paper and some chemistry glassware, not worth potentially outing myself as a Cape to collect. It was just that I felt a sense of sentimentality towards the place.

Still, there were other more pressing issues.

"Dad this thing is quite large, about three meters long and four high. Do you have any idea where we could build it? In private?"

Dad nodded. "Years ago, the union tried to restore the ferry. They took out a lease on a couple of warehouses to store parts, then the project fell through because the mayor changed his mind about subsidising the work. Thing is that the union still has the lease on those buildings for the next five years. No one ever goes there these days."

I nodded, that seemed ideal. Now the only problem left was…

"Now all we have to do is get the parts to make this without the PRT noticing."

I shot him a grin. "That's the best part. Look." With a tap of the keyboard, an itemised list popped up. Next to the vast majority of them was the name of a hardware store. "Most of these parts are either sold over the counter, or I can make them with tools that are. With a little luck, no one at the PRT will even notice us buying them."

Dad nodded thoughtfully. "Ok, I can see how that would work. Even better I know how we could hide it from the PRT. The Union offers some technical training for its members. It's just basic knowledge on how to work with tools and machinery but it helps them get job offers. I'm one of the people who sign off on the order forms for the training equipment. It shouldn't be hard to slip the stuff you need in with the rest. To be honest, people pay the Union so little attention I doubt anyone will bother to double check if anyone does then I can make up something about wanting people to have more tools to familiarise themselves with."

"Great. I'll print this list out from your office."

"Taylor… there's one thing I want to talk about."

"Hum?"

"It's about your schooling. I don't want you to go to Winslow any more. I'm going to see if I can get you transferred to Arcadia."

He held up a hand to stall my response. "I know that the only thing you care about is helping your mother, but I won't allow you to be tormented Monday to Friday while the school does nothing. You almost died in the locker Taylor. I can't take the risk. When the money comes from Medhall I'll donate some to Arcadia, it's an old trick used by parents to get their children into a school."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he just shook his head. "Not this time Taylor. Not this time." He checked his watch. "I'll get dinner started."

In the end, it took a month for Medhall to satisfy itself that we weren't criminals and sign the contract. At a stroke, our debts were wiped out, and Dad even bought a new car. At our request, Medhall had kept our name out of the papers. As soon as that was done Dad had started ordering the equipment we needed. Maybe we were being overly cautious by hiding the components we needed amongst the ones used for training purposes, but neither of us wanted to wake up with PRT troopers at the door.

A fortnight later and the work on the Mark 4 was going well. Nothing had exploded or caught fire, although I did notice Dad had stocked the warehouse with a collection of fire extinguishers, just in case. The only real downside was that despite Dad's best efforts I was still attending Winslow. There just wasn't any space at Arcadia. I tried to play down the bullying but when he didn't know I was watching I could see the way his hands balled into fists whenever he noticed drink stains on my books or I had to buy a new pencil case because the old one had mysteriously disappeared. Ironically he had found some common ground with Advisor. I had to repeatedly explain that I couldn't just declare martial law and have Emma and her friends shot. As tempting as the option was.

I had about reached the limit of what I could do with the tools I had. The next shipment of parts was due in a week. With nothing else to do, I had decided I might as well spend some of the money I'd helped earn. So, I went to the mall. It was a strange feeling, walking past shops, knowing that I could buy whatever I wanted after so long of the family just scraping by.

I had just entered a clothes shop. There was the sound of kids laughing, on the other side of the cloaths rack I could hear someone called Vicky talking to someone called Amy. They were arguing about what was too risqué and what wasn't, I was just beginning to wonder if they were the Vicky and Amy of New wave when it started.

First came the heat. Then came the noise. And finally then came the pain. My world went black.

"Executor! Executor! You must move! You must move now!"

With Advisor's voice ringing in my ears, I blinked my eyes open. I was lying on my back, on a pile of clothes that I had been thrown into. I could taste blood in my mouth, and the vision in my left eye was blurry. The shop's sprinkler system had came on and was in the process of soaking me. I could hear screaming in the distance, but it sounded distorted. Like I was under water. I set myself up with an effort that left me feeling exhausted and beheld a scene of devastation.

Emerald green flames that just screamed tinker tech, dancing merrily despite the best efforts of the sprinklers were consuming the inside of the store. What wasn't burning was smashed, like it had taken a blow from a giant's club. I tried to take a step towards the exit when there was another explosion, from outside the store this time, and a blast wave of pressure picked me up and slammed me backwards. This time there was no clothes rack to cushion my fall, and I spent a minute or so blinking away the white flashing lights in my eyes. If it wasn't for Advisor screaming in my ear, I might have passed out.

Ironically, being nearly incapacitated was what saved me, as it meant that I was a less obvious target when a dozen men stepped through the cordon of green fire that was blocking the exit to the store as though it wasn't there.

They all wore the same clothing. Navy blue pinstriped suits and matching trousers. Apart from the orange bandana tied around the lower half of their face they might have passed for bankers or high-level corporate employers from any of a hundred businesses in the city.

Well that, and the large rifles they carried in their hands. They were sleek modern looking things with red strips running along certain parts of the weapon. And no magazine well. Now, why did my slightly shell-shocked mind think that was worth noticing?...

"Advisor, those weapons!"

Call me a bit slow if you want, but it was only when Advisor spoke up that I realised what was so significant about the weapons.

I recognised them. Helios pattern las rifles, firing in the red wavelength of the electromagnetic spectrum. Weapons that as far as I knew should only exist in my mind. How could they be here? I had never drawn up schematics for them, never told anyone about them. They were weapons from the year 2200. How could they b-.

One of the men said something to the rest. His voice came out in a distorted static buzz, scrambled by some kind of voice modulator to prevent people from understanding him. The man he was talking to must have had some kind of voice unscrambler because he nodded and reached into a pocket of his suit.

A small round metal ball was brought out and without ceremony tossed into the store. Instead of falling to the floor it hovered about two meters from the ground. A vertical line of blue light burst to life on the far wall and then started panning to the right. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as it passed over me. I was sure it was going to alert the men to my survival. Instead, it merely continued on its 360 scan. A moment later, however, when the beam passed to my right, it stopped moving. The men seemed to stiffen, and their weapons came up to aim at the part of the store where the smoke was thickest.

Half of the men advanced cautiously whilst the rest took up a position in the doorway aiming outwards to the rest of the mall. A moment before they reached the edge of the smoke a brightly coloured dart shot out colliding with and bowling over one of them.

"You bastards! You bastards! You bastards!" screamed Glory Girl as she smashed her fist into the man's chest again and again and again. Either the explosion weakened her drastically or the suits the men wore packed some serious tinker tech. It was only on the fourth blow that there came the sickening crack of a collapsing ribcage.

Glory girl was so lost in her own little word that she didn't notice the remaining five men bring their weapons to bear. A fusillade of las bolts slammed into her. She let out a screech of rage and backhanded the nearest man, sending him flying in my direction. He landed almost next to me with a neck at an angle that told me he was dead. Three of the remaining men continued to pour fire onto her while the fourth man reached into an interior coat pocket and produced what looked to me like a baseball bat. With the press of a button, its smooth surface rippled as jagged edges folded out.

Just as Glory girl disarmed another with a kick that smashed his weapon causing it to detonate in his hands, the man with the bat swung at her head. It connected with a "clunk" sound and a crackling of electricity. She collapsed screaming and jerking.

Another burst of distorted voice rang out from the man with the baton. Two of the surviving men nodded and moved into the dense smoke. A moment later they emerged, dragging with them an unconscious Panacea. Her face was bloody, and there was a horrific looking gash on her left cheek through which you could see her teeth.

The men unceremoniously dumped her next to her teammate. One of them knelt down next to them, and his right arm was engulfed in a holographic projection. He panned his arm over Panacea as biometrics popped to life in front of him. Then he repeated the process with Glory girl.

Again, I felt a jolt of shock. I recognised what he was using. An Omni-Tool! Another device that only I should know how to build. As the man was standing up, he glanced in my direction. Our eyes locked. I lunged for the Helios las rifle of the man with the broken neck as the crossed swords of Militarism slotted itself into place.

The first to die was the man with the batton. The three las bolts that smashed into his face caused the fluid in his eyes and brain to flash boil, the bone of his skull absorbed so much heat so quickly that it blasted itself apart. The other three men died the same way. Riddled with las bolts that vaporised fist size holes in their chest. One of them fell backwards his fingers tightening on the trigger as he jerked spasmodically. One of the men standing guard outside the store was struck in the back of the skull by his comrade's stray las bolt, he slumped like a puppet with its strings cut.

In the time it took for the others to realise what was happening and to turn around to face the threat I managed to down two more of them. Then the notoriously low charge capacity of the Helios made itself known as the power cell died. I stared up into the barrels of three laser rifles.

Before they could fire, however, Glory girl seemed to regain conciseness. She hurled herself at them. I doubt she even knew I was there, but she did put herself between my would-be killers and me. Her fighting this time was even more brutal. A throat collapsing punch here, a skull-shattering headbutt there. When it was over, she was speckled with blood.

After a moment of heavy breathing she seemed to compose herself slightly she turned back to her fellow New wave member. Quickly she picked her up. I could hear her muttering, "It'll be ok." Over and over again.

She took off with her cradled in her arms and moved towards the exit.

"Hey! What about me? What's going on? Take me too!"

Either she didn't hear me or just didn't care. A moment later she flew out of the exit. Leaving me alone in a scene of carnage. Aside from the men with guns, there were other dead in the shop. Either the fire's had gotten them, or the blast wave of the bombs had thrown them with such force that they had been killed on impact.

Gingerly I made my way toward the exit. I poked my head outside the door and beheld what looked like a war zone. At least two other shops on the ground floor had apparently been the victim of bombs. A few meters from the store I was in was a mall security guard who had been riddled by las fire. Fleeing and panicking shoppers were running in different directions. In the distance, I could hear the wailing of police sirens, the crack of gunfire and the even higher pitched crack of las weapons. I was about to leave the shop when a thought hit me.

I doubled back and found the body of the man who had used the Omni-Tool. I wanted to make sure if it really was based on the same tech as my designs. It took a few moments for me to find it, but finally I did. Like I suspected it was a small watch-like machine located on the right-hand wrist. Just like my design. Even the release mechanism was the same. I popped it off the body and slipped it into my pocket.

By this point, the abuse my body had suffered was starting to take its toll. My vision kept swimming in and out of focus, and there was a roaring in my ears. I took a few steps outside the store and then my knees collapsed out from under me, and I passed out.

When I came to I had a moment of panic. For a moment I was lying in my hospital bed having only just been removed from the locker. My breathing spiked and I jerked up from my bed. Pain erupted in my right hand as I tore out the intravenous needle inserted into it. The pain helped jerk me back to reality. I was lying down but, on a bedroll, not on a hospital bed. The ceiling was white true, but it was made of canvas not tiles. It took a few moments for my breathing to stabilise. When it did, I looked around.

There were three others in the tent with me. They were wrapped in bandages, and the stink of antiseptic's filled the air, just not quite enough to completely cover the smell of burned flesh that hung in the air. I gingerly stood up on shaking legs. None of the others in my tent noticed, lost in their own little pain medicated world. I knew the feeling all too well. As I opened the tent flap, I realised that the Omni-Tool was still in my pocket. Whoever had taken me to the tent hadn't had the time or inclination to check my pockets. Then again why would they? I wasn't wearing the same suits as the… whatever the hell those men were. They probably thought I was just another civilian.

When I stepped out of the tent, I emerged into a scene of barely contained chaos. PRT troopers were escorting in medical personnel carrying wounded shoppers, while at the same time trying to keep a growing crowd of reporters and civilians at bay. The troopers were resorting to using the butts of their rifles in some cases, but the frothing sea of humanity kept crowding closer. Reporters shouted questions that were lost in the noise and family members tried to get into the casualty clearing stations to try and find their relatives.

I couldn't see anyone in charge of the whole operation. There was no sign of the Protectorate or even the Wards, though given that when the wind blew in from the direction of the mall, I could still hear weapons fire suggested they had more important things to do.

I didn't try to leave. There was no point. Unless I started attacking people, I wouldn't be able to get through the press of people surrounding us. I walked over to a harassed looking women in a nurse's uniform. "Um, sorry to be a bother. I… I just woke up in one of the tents. What's going on?"

She glanced up at me and then turned back to the forms she was filling out. "The PRT and Police will be taking statements. You need to stay here until that's finished and until we've made sure that your ok. If Panacea can be bothered to show up." She muttered the last part bitterly.

"Panaceas not coming. She was hurt in the attack."

"Fuck. You're sure it was her?"

"Considering how Glory girl acted, yes."

"Damn it. Alright, I have to find the chief medical officer. Go back to your tent. If you want to you can try and call your family from over there." She gestured over towards a table were a flustered looking policeman was trying to organise a queue of people who all wanted to use his phone to contact relatives.

I joined the queue and after half an hour of listening to essentially the same conversation's take place between a survivor and their relative on the other end of the phone got to have my own version.

"Taylor! Thank god you're ok. Listen I'm coming down to the mall. Taylor, whatever you hear about the hospital don't worry. It didn't affect your mother. Understand that Taylor your mother is fine." I turned around. In the distance, I could just make out the gleaming white structure of Brockton bay general hospital. I could see the smoke billowing out from the lower levels. Wordlessly I handed the phone to the next in line and walked back to my tent. I was asleep before I hit the bedroll.

By the time the PRT got round to taking statements, the situation had calmed down. A healer from Boston had been flown in to fix up Panacea and the two of them had started working their way through the backlog of casualties.

When the trooper lead me into the tent to give a statement, Dad had just arrived. He sat next to me on an uncomfortable folding chair, holding my hand as a trooper confirmed my name, age and date of birth. Then came the questions.

I lied through my teeth. Changing the name of the store I had been in and saying that I had been knocked out by the first explosion. Whoever these people were they were dangerous. They had no problem placing bombs in a hospital and a busy shopping mall. The last thing I needed was them finding out through some leak in the PRT that I had killed some of their men.

I was going to have nightmares over those deaths. The merchant in the warehouse had been a spur of the moment impulse, but this had been different. It had been calculated and premeditated. Hell, half the men I killed I had shot in the back when they were facing away from me.

"They would have killed you in a moment if they had realised you were there. Your standard bears no shame Executor." Comforted Advisor softly.

After a few questions, we were allowed to leave. The reporters pressed us for information, but the look on dad's face kept them from getting too close. Neither of us said anything until we were safely home and away from prying eyes.

When he closed the front door to our house, he asked softly, "what happened?"

"Couldn't fool you could I?" I said with a sad smile.

So I told him everything. I saw his face darken for a moment when I mentioned Glory girl leaving me. I took out the Omni-Tool and showed it to him. Clipping it on to my wrist and activating the hologram interface. I showed him its micro fabricator by breaking down a piece of cutlery into Omni-gel and fabricating a small pocket watch.

"How'd they build this. Capes don't trigger with the same abilities as others, do they?"

"It's never been recorded," I said leaning against the kitchen counter. Activating the Omni-Tool and sifting through the interface with all the skill expected of someone who knew what every option meant in spite of never having seen one of these things before in their life. No tracking software seemed to be installed, no signal was detectable on the electromagnetic spectrum. I had designs in my head for transmitters that were undetectable on the mere electromagnetic spectrum but none of them could fit in an Omni-Tool, could they?

I deactivated the tool and started massaging my temples. In spite of sleeping a couple of hours in the tent I felt so bone weary.

"Do you think I should tell the PRT?" I asked.

"No. if we do that they'll think you were involved with the attacks. It's not just the Bay Taylor. This happened all over the eastern seaboard. Right now the government's probably panicking. If you show up with the same technology as the attackers at the very least they'll put you in protective custody. At worst they'll arrest you."

"Should we try and get Mom moved to a new hospital?"

Dad shook his head. "There's nowhere nearby that can treat her as well as she is here. The governor's already announced that he's calling up the national guard to guard key locations. The best we can do is finish your machine and keep our heads down."

"Well, this ought to help at least," I said activating the Omni-Tool as the setting sun shone through the kitchen windows, and in half a dozen places across the country smartly dressed men with Helios las rifles fought to the death against PRT and Protectorate forces.

Last edited: May 24, 2019

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yanzak

Sep 9, 2018

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Threadmarks chapter 6

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yanzak

Nov 9, 2018

#356

I spent the first few days after the attacks in the basement with my new Omni-Tool. Ideally, I would have been at my workshop in the warehouse, but the city was currently being swarmed by national guard troopers, police and PRT agents. All I needed was one person to wonder what a teenage girl was doing in an old and nearly disused warehouse and my secret would be out. Ordinarily, that would have left me kicking my heels with nothing to do, growing more and more frustrated at not being able to do anything productive. Now, however, things were different.

I don't think it would have been possible for me to overstate how much of an impact the Omni-Tool had on my timetable. The closest example I can give is this. Imagine that you gave someone living in the Renaissance a set of textbooks from a modern university library. Even if they understood all of what they read they still wouldn't be able to capitalize on the knowledge properly because the tools they had to work with were just too primitive. Now imagine that you also give that person access to a fully stocked workshop. Think about how many options you just gave that person.

The Omni-Tool combined a small matter deconstructor with a 3D printer and a computing system that was standard issue for the twenty-second century. Which meant that on earth, with the exception of Tinker Tech computers It was one of the most powerful machines available. Irritatingly it couldn't produce the relatively complex biomechanical compounds I needed to help Mom, but it could still be immensely useful. Ever since I had started building my designs I had struggled with one fundamental problem. That many of the components I needed were made from alloys, composites and ceramics that were centuries away from being invented.

The Omni-Tool could produce all of them, in small amounts to be sure but it was still far better than what I had been working with up until now.

Whilst I spent hours working away, breaking down junk items that Dad brought me and turning them into useful components for the Talos Mark Four I had time to wonder about the attacks.

A total of 390 men and women had been involved. They had been armed with Helios las rifles, electrical shock batons and had worn business suits that had been shown to be remarkably durable. Sifting through my designs I decided they were probably VIP protection clothing with some form of kinetic energy redistribution fibres. It would explain how it had taken so many punches from Glory Girl for one of them to go down. Not one of them had been taken, prisoner. In at least one case one of them had used some kind of suicide needle when it looked like they were about to be captured.

No one had claimed responsibility and the list of targets attacked had been so varied that they seemed to have nothing in common with each other. Other than that, the only information I had had was what I had been able to gain from the Omni-Tool.

Most of its three-terabyte hard drive was empty. The only files I had been able to find was the scan data of Glory Girl and Panacea. I'd asked Advisor if the data had reminded him of anything.

"Aside from the cranial object, identified in local terminology as "Corona Pollentia" the two individuals appear to be perfectly normal baseline humans. I feel I should add that the Pollentia bears a passing resemblance to the psi crystals that sometimes form in the bodies of members of the Psi Corps. Although any psionic operative who allowed such a large crystal to form without purging would run the risk of accidental discharge, something neither of these individuals seems to suffer from. In fact based on local records, neither of them seems to possess any psionic powers at all."

I didn't think it was unreasonable to assume that at least some of the other attacks had been launched to try and get data like this. The fighting at the Bays general hospital had started when a group of men had been questioned by a guard as to what they were doing in the coma ward. Who knew how many scans they had performed before they were caught. The explosions at the mall had occurred seconds after the first shots were fired. My theory was that it had been an attempt to divert attention away from the group at the hospital.

That led to the next worrying thought. The data hadn't been processed or analysed in any real way. That suggested to me that they planned to do that later. It was possible that they had thought they could fight their way out through any Protectorate or law enforcement response but somehow, I doubted it. The Bay was the home of Armsmaster and numerous other high-profile Protectorate Capes. They had to have known their chances of slipping away would be slim. Realistically they would have planed on transmitting the information to a secure location. And that led to the most worrying thought of all.

Omni-Tools, at least these models don't have a very long transmission range and I hadn't seen any kind of amplifier on any of the men at the mall. In a city, with buildings to attenuate the signal you would be lucky to be able to transmit further than ten kilometres. Which meant that they had a base somewhere in the city. I had no idea how big it might be. It could have been a single room in an apartment building or it could have been an elaborate underground base. There was just no way of knowing. And no way to predict their next move.

"The situation is unfortunate Executor. However, we must focus on the task at hand. There is nothing we gain by jumping at shadows. Take heart. The Talos will soon be finished and with that our industrial capacity massively increased. After that our enemies shall tremble at the sight of our war machine." I nodded absentmindedly and started feeding more plastics into the Omni's matter recycler.

/

Three weeks later Dad and I were standing outside the front of the Brockton Bay General Hospital at a checkpoint manned by national guardsmen. We had to submit to a pat-down search and after that were passed through a series of body scanners and metal detectors. I also had to empty out my pockets and put my phone and Casio watch through a separate scanner. After that, we were directed to a waiting area, where we were to stay until a security guard and a nurse was available to escort us to Mom's room.

Almost an hour later an exhausted-looking nurse and a security guard with half his face wrapped in bandages arrived, and we were led into the hospital itself. Even two weeks after the attacks I could still see the signs of fighting. The large receptionist's desk that faced the entrance had been reduced to kindling. The wall behind it resembled a Lunar landscape with the number of bullets that had struck it. There were scorch marks on the ceiling, probably caused by a dying mans fingers tightening around the trigger of a Helios las rifle as he fell. The stink of wet paint and cement, as well as the faint undertone of soot, was strong enough to overcome the usual smell of disinfectant that hangs around most hospitals. As we started climbing the stairs, I noticed a faint chalk outline of a body slumped against a nearby wall. I wondered if it was one of the attackers or just someone who had been visiting the hospital at the wrong time.

When we arrived at Mom's room the nurse and guard waited outside to give us some privacy, but with the door open so they could check in on us every now and then.

Dad and I sat down on a pair of folding chairs next to Mom's bed and exchanged a look. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and just as we had planned, started talking to Mom's still body about recent events. Whilst he was doing that I took off my watch. Using my fingernails, I pried off a small disk of thin plastic from its backplate. Then I removed another small disk of translucent material. I checked that we weren't being watched at that moment and as quietly as I could, pressed the second disk against the skin of Mom's arm. Within thirty seconds the Heal Patch had completely disappeared. I looked up at Dad and gave a faint nod. To keep up appearances Dad kept talking for a few more minutes before saying goodbye.

I felt light headed as we were being escorted back to reception. It was finally over. After two weeks of producing components in our basement, and a full week spent installing everything and running tests, it was finally over. Even now the nanites that the Heal Patch had contained were swimming through her veins. Over the next few weeks, they would break down her bodies fat reserves to use as raw materials and use them to construct the Grey Matter needed. They wouldn't stop there however, it would be safe to say that when she finally did wake up she would be healthier than ever before in her life. I could have used a Quick Heal Patch, but that would have healed her so quickly she might have woken up when we were still in the room. As much of a fairy tale as it might have sounded like to have a comatose woman wake up to see her daughter and husband by her bedside, it would strike some people as suspicious. It was better for everyone if Mom's condition just seemed to improve naturally over time.

As we were escorted back to the reception we passed a floor that had been set aside for victims of the attacks. Through an open door, I saw a woman hunched over a bed weeping. A man who I assumed to be her husband was sitting next to her, a look on his face that reminded me of Dad in the days after Mom was first hospitalised. On the bed in front of him was a girl. She couldn't have been more than eight years old. The way she was just lying there with her eyes closed and her body almost completely still part form the rise and fall of her chest reminded me of Mom. Brain damage. I realised that I had been standing still and hurried after Dad.

/

When we got home Dad insisted on a celebration. He popped open a bottle of champaign he had bought and offered me a glass. "Our little secret." He said winking at me with a smile on his face. "When you see her again don't tell Annette. She'd string me up if she knew I let you drink." We ordered takeaway from a Chinese restaurant that we both liked and spent a few hours talking about what the future might hold. Whether we should move out of the Bay with our newfound money. Whether Dad would retire from the Union or not. How we could hide the fact I was a Cape from Mom.

A few hours later, when the buzz of the alcohol had started to subside, I made my way down to my workshop in the basement.

I should have been relaxing. After months of work and nearly being killed a couple of times, I had achieved what I had set out to do. I should have felt completely satisfied. But I kept seeing that little girl, lying in bed with her distraught parents by her side. She had done nothing, nothing to deserve what had happened to her. She could have had a good life ahead of her, full of happiness and success. Instead, a group of callous madmen had decided that their goals, whatever they were justified hurting and even killing innocent people.

I knew what I should do. I should have walked away from the whole thing there and then. Mom was going to be with us soon and we had enough money to last us the rest of our lives. I should have just walked away. Instead, I fired up my Omni-Tool. "Advisor. I need your help."

/

After I made my decision to try and confront the men who had attacked the mall I spent the last week when the schools were closed using the Talos to increase my resources.

If I was going to do anything about the people who had attacked the mall then I would need something more powerful than an improvised dart gun and a knife. Fortunately, I had an almost unlimited number of options, and thanks to the newly completed Talos Mark Four the ability to produce them.

The Atlas Military Exoskeleton was a series of arm and leg pistons that could almost quadruple a human's strength. Fitted into its shoulders were a pair of modular equipment slots, that could store anything from sensor equipment to short-range guided missiles. Mounted onto its back was a small fusion generator which provided power to the fully enclosing helmet with its heads-up display and targeting assistance software, and the small magnetic field generator that served as a form of shield for the user. I had more advanced designs but this was the most sophisticated one I could build quickly.

Of course, an advanced suit of armour was useless without weapons. Irritatingly I couldn't use the Helios las rifle despite it being simple to manufacture and maintain. That weapon had been firmly tied to the people who had perpetrated the attacks. Instead, I had settled on the L49 Gravitic Mass Driver. It was a bullpup rifle made almost entirely out of plastics that fired three millimetre darts. They were accelerated down the barrel by a much more sophisticated version of graviton generation than I had used in my initial climbing equipment. Three millimetre darts don't sound that dangerous but, they were fired at a velocity of two thousand meters per second and usually contained plasma explosives. Because of its graviton acceleration method, it could achieve a truly staggering rate of fire, ranging from six to twelve hundred rounds a minute. Complementing the rifle was a seven-inch monomolecular edge bayonet.

I hadn't stopped there. I had also upgraded both my Omni-Tool and laptop to the point where there were almost unrecognisable performance wise to what they had been before.

Another issue I faced was that I was massively outnumbered by whoever was behind the attacks. I could only do one thing at a time. Time, I spent upgrading the Talos to be able to produce more advanced equipment could not be spent searching for the attackers and vice versa. Short of being able to split myself into multiple bodies I would have to do the next best thing. The trio of robotic workers I had constructed were crude things. Even then it had taken a full eleven hours, with Advisor granted control of my hand movements to code them properly. My hope was that I could leave the task of improving the Talos to them while I tried to find out some information on the people who had attacked the mall.

As well as granting me my ethics and designs, triggering had also granted me fragmented pieces of information about the place where my designs had come from. The Commonwealth of Man was a militaristic and xenophobic society. Those attitudes had been born out of necessity. The world they had developed on had been so hostile that its flora and fauna were closer to an enemy military than indigenous life. Decades of seeing their fellow humans being slaughtered by Hex-pumas and Lictors had disabused them of any notion if inherent human superiority. As such, they had no qualms about modifying their own bodies to give themselves an advantage.

I didn't have access to the more advanced genetic modification techniques with my level of infrastructure, but I could still make some improvements. At the end of my numerous minor tweaks, I was about twice as strong as a person my age and size should have been. My muscles had also been stimulated to develop to a point where under my clothes I would look like someone who spent a lot of time at the gym. My reaction time was a full three times faster, the rate at which wounds healed was increased fivefold and my eyesight was now sharper than most fighter pilots.

I had been interested by the information about awakening psionic potential, but the equipment needed to do that was simply too advanced for my current tools to produce.

After finishing up the last of my lab work and double checking the instructions I had given to my three robotic workers I made my way home. With all that done I faced a daunting obstacle. Telling Dad that I wasn't going to stop being a Cape. At least until whoever had attacked the mall was identified and dealt with.

/

"Dad. I need to talk to you about something." I said after we had finished dinner that night.

"About how you want to track down the people who attacked the mall?"

"Yes about, wait, what!"

"Taylor. I'm your father. I know how you think. And I know how your mother thought. There's no way either of you would have just stood aside and let those maniacs do whatever they wanted."

"Oh. Um so."

"Yes. You can try and find out who they were."

I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off.

"On the condition that you let me come with you and help you." He saw the look on my face and shook his head. "That's non-negotiable Taylor. If you won't let me come with you. Or if you don't tell me things that you find out I will call the PRT and turn you in. I will not let you do this alone."

I looked him in the eye. Part of me, the part that wanted to keep him safe was tempted to call his bluff. But I got the feeling that he was serious. And I would be lying to myself if I didn't admit that the thought of having someone I could rely on was so tempting.

I let out a sigh. Half relief and half exhaustion.

"Ok, Dad. We do this together."

/

I know this chapter is shorter than the others but I felt that this was a natural endpoint.

The image that inspired the exoskeleton is found here.

matgyro/art/Military-Exoskeleton-Suit-Concept-410089936

the rifle she built is basically the L49 rifle from Honer Harington. Link to the wiki below.

L49 Pulse Rifle

/

Last edited: Nov 12, 2018

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yanzak

Nov 9, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 7

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yanzak

Nov 15, 2018

#403

Thomas Calvert tried to ignore the unpleasant stinging sensation that occurred whenever Panacea connected a bundle of newly created nerves in his legs to the rest of his body's central nervous system. This was his third session with the Bay's most famous healer and hopefully the last. He had been bedbound long enough. While he trusted his subordinates to keep his operations running in his absence he had grown too used to being in total control of his life.

Panacea stepped backwards, a couple of beads of sweat noticeable on her face. Unlike most of the time, his smile of thanks was genuine. Not for the first time he considered how powerful the girl was and how much of an asset she would be for his organisation. And not for the first time he quashed those thoughts. Panacea was a useful known factor in the Bay. Her removal would lead to chaos and chaos, whilst useful was fiendishly difficult to control. Just look at the situation following the attacks.

Whilst the newspapers and the PRT tried to paint a picture of a city standing together and rebuilding, he had been keeping apprised of the situation in the city's criminal underside via coded conversations with Elizabeth whenever his wife had visited him. If the actions of the unknown Tinker a few weeks ago in their raid on a Merchant warehouse had delivered the equivalent of a strong kick to the face of a glass mirror, then the actions of these new attackers could be compared to a sledgehammer. The delicate balance of unofficial arrangements, power dynamics and skirmishes between members that usually kept the city in balance had been destroyed.

The Empire was busy stockpiling arms and ammunition with his informants also telling him that they were negotiating with their backers in Europe to acquire new Capes. The ABB had acquired a new tinker who seemed to specialise in explosives and was in the process of fortifying the areas that they controlled with a series of remotely detonated mines. Even the Merchants, usually the most disorganised of the Bay's big three were getting in on the act. They were stepping up recruitment and stockpiling Tinker Tech drugs brought in from out of state.

For all the calming platitudes issued by the Mayor and the PRT director the fact remained that under the surface the city was a jigsaw of armed camps, just waiting for some idiot do to the wrong thing. And nature was bountiful where idiots are concerned.

Of course, he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit to having an alternative reason for wanting to deal with whoever was responsible for the attacks, namely the fact that they had taken his god damned legs. It wasn't just the pain that irritated him, nor the fact that as he lay there bleeding out, he had come close to death than at any time since he stopped being a Trooper. It was the fact that as far as he could tell whoever was behind the attacks hadn't even intended to kill him. His death in his first reality had occurred when an oncoming driver had been talking on his phone, trying to reach someone involved in the attack at the mall and had lost control of his car. Thomas had died crushed in his tangled mess of a car. Of course, he had made sure that the event had in fact been an accident, instructing his organisation to track down the licence plate of the car that had hit him and make sure it's owner had no connections to criminal activity. They hadn't. It had been pure bad luck. Especially so since it meant the only reality he had left was the one where flying shrapnel from an exploding bomb had taken both his legs off below the knees. If it wasn't for their intense heat partially cauterising the wound, he might have bled to death before Elizabeth managed to get a couple of tourniquets in place.

The hospital staff insisted on him remaining for another 24 hours so they could make sure there was no lingering damage. Thomas merely thanked them while internally sighing. 24 hours and then he could set to work again. The Bay was his city, and he would be damned if he let it slip through his fingers.

/

Unsurprisingly, given that Dad and I didn't have much experience in the fields of espionage and guerrilla warfare, Advisor did most of the actual planning. In the end, he came up with a three-point plan.

First, we would identify whoever was behind the attacks; then we would build up a clear picture of their resources and capabilities and finally either take them out ourselves or as Dad was inclined to do, leak the information to the PRT and let them do the actual fighting. I was perfectly ok with the second option, staring down the barrels of Helios las rifles was an experience I only wished to have once thank you very much.

To complete the first step we were going to need information. A lot of information. There were three ways we were going to gather it. First, we would use a small floating drone called a Gremlin to install a data tap on the cell tower located in the hills outside of town. Second, we'd please gravitic sensors around town. These would show any activity, underground or on the surface. Finally high-resolution signal detectors would be deployed throughout the city, just in case the people we were looking for were communicating using non-civilian systems.

Before we did any of that, I was going to need to improve my production facilities. As it was it would take almost a full month to produce all of the components and assemble them. If I spent a couple of days, or more accurately had the Marvins spent a couple of days upgrading the Talos we could do it in less than a day.

Whilst the Marvins were following their instructions I had to keep up the illusion that I was a normal teenage girl. That meant going to school when it reopened a couple of days after we visited Mom. Which brought me to where I was right now.

"God she's such a skinny freak." Whispered one of Emma's friends loud enough so that I could hear it. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. As usual Emma and Madison were surrounded by their little court of sycophants, all competing for their attention. Sophia was there as well but she hadn't said anything yet, she just stood there looking at me.

I adjusted my bulging backpack's straps. After the locker, I had gotten into the habit of keeping all of the things I needed for the school day on me at all times. Ignoring the comments about how my stay in the locker had if anything improved my looks, I set off for my next class. Which, joy of joys, was Mr Gladly's world issues.

I sat down in my usual seat in his class, the chair in the back right-hand corner of the room and tried to pay attention. As ever Gladly tried to present the air of the friendly cool teacher, opening with a couple of jokes about celebrities that went straight over my head. I had never been that interested in pop culture and that had been before I had become a Cape.

After that, he started with the topic for today, which unsurprisingly was the effects of the attacks on society. I tried to pay attention I really did. But after about ten minutes I felt my eyes growing heavy.

"And if miss Hebert would like to contribute please." Gladly's mention of my name jolted me back to full alertness. He was standing in front of the whiteboard with an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. Typical of the man. The popular kids could mess about all day long as far as he was concerned. But when the class pariah wasn't paying attention suddenly he was a strict teacher. I was about to open my mouth to admit that I hadn't been paying attention and to apologize when Advisor spoke to me.

"An increase in security precautions may lead to abuse of powers and the suppression of civil rights. A nation must not sacrifice its ideals for the illusion of security. Some principles are worth taking a stand for."

I blinked slightly and decided that as I had nothing to loss echoed his words.

Gladly looked surprised and more than a little embarrassed at my quick response when he obviously thought he had caught me out. He offered me half-hearted praise for my thoughtful answer and then turned back to the rest of the class. As he did so I heard Emma sneering about me being a teacher's pet. I idly played with my pencil and wondered if with my newfound reflexes and strength I would be able to throw it at her eye hard enough to break the cornea.

"I'm surprised advisor. Didn't think you would be warning against authoritarianism, thought the whole idea of the Commonwealth of Man was a strong hand to guide people."

"I am offended, Executor. The Commonwealth is militaristic and wary of outsiders, but all its citizens are equal in the eyes of the law. It must be. In a hostile galaxy, the only sustainable societal model is a meritocracy, lest the pearls sink to the bottom and the swine rise to the top." Advisors surprisingly thoughtful answer gave me something to think about as the lesson dragged on.

Mercifully all dull things must end, and eventually, the bell rang for lunch. I made a point to hurry out of the room before Emma, distracted with gossiping with her friends could take up an ambush position outside. When I reached the cafeteria, I picked up my food from the catering staff and sat down at a table that Emma and her friends usually avoided because of how close it was to the Merchant aligned students.

Usually, there were only a couple of others at the table, the bottom of the social hierarchy, just like me. So imagine my surprise when a quiet attractive boy with blond hair and sky blue eyes sat down opposite me. A black girl sat down at his side. They both offered me smiles, which I was pretty sure were genuine.

"Hi. I'm Robert. This is Nicky. Mind if we sit here?"

"Um, no go ahead," I replied.

"I heard your answer in Gladys class. You were so cool, so serious sounding. I wish I could come up with answers like that." Gushed Nicky whilst Robert started on his lunch. That pretty much set the tone for lunch. Nicky chatted away in a friendly, bubbly way whilst Robert, who I learned was her boyfriend offered the occasional comment or quip. I didn't say much either, just nodding along and occasionally offering a comment of my own. At first, I thought that the pair of them were involved with Emma but after a few minutes of pleasant conversation I started to consider that they really were just classmates who I hadn't talked to before. I won't lie, it was, nice. Nice to have a normal conversation with kids my age. By the time afternoon lessons were about to begin we had all traded phone numbers.

I had an hour of English class followed by two hours of maths. They were both almost ridiculously easy. In English class, I just gave Advisor control of my arms and had him write out the essay we had been tasked to write. In maths I did the same thing, having him work out the answers and jot them down using my arms. When the school day had ended and I had handed in my exercise book to be marked I joined the crowd of students leaving through the main entrance.

I caught up with Nicky and Robert. Nicky's house was in the opposite direction I needed to go in so she left after a few minutes of talking. Robert on the other hand apparently lived quite close to me and so we chatted as we walked home. Once again it was, nice, to be able to have a normal conversation with someone my age. Robert told me that he wanted to study English language at university and maybe go on to be an author or a public speaker when he was an adult. The way he talked about the importance of rhetoric and literature made me smile slightly. I got the feeling that Mom would have liked him and that was a pretty big mark in his favour as far as I was concerned.

Eventually, we had to split up and I continued on my way alone. In spite of the usual insults and occasional shove by my bullies, today had been surprisingly fun.

/

Robert left the Hebert girl behind him as he turned the corner. Today had been a productive day. He blessed his foresight for investigating her family. Because of that, he had learned that her mother had been an English lecturer at university and so he had gambled on her daughter not falling far from the tree. Of course, he would have to take it slow, he didn't need Nicky to get suspicious of why he was spending time with another girl and he didn't want to scare her off. There would be no problem with taking his time. Apparently, her father had tried to get her transferred to Arcadia but members of the board of governors whose loyalty lay with the Empire were working to block the transfer. He would have months at least to convert her to the cause. And when he did that, he would have proven his worth. Humming a German marching tune to himself he made his way home.

/

Over the next few days, our preparations gathered momentum. Six Gremlins were produced, and the data tap placed in the cell tower, its civilian grade systems being no match for the Gremlin's integrated electronic warfare suit. As you can imagine, it being the only cell tower serving a mid-sized city the data load was immense. In the end, I decided to construct a stripped down Marvin and have it monitor the constant stream of information, looking for keywords and unusual activity. By itself it was nearly useless, our unknown enemy wouldn't be stupid enough to be sending plain text messages about their activities, but if we could get a rough fix on their location then we could trace phone calls from that area and see if they were talking in code to people in other parts of the country.

Finally, on the fifth day everything was ready. The sensors and signal detectors were built and the Gremlins fully powered up and ready to transport them around the city. As night fell Dad and I both made our way to the workshop and suited up. Neither of us planned to take part in any fighting tonight but there was always the chance that our enemy, (god I needed to find out their name,) might have detected what we were doing, and it as better to be prepared for the worst-case scenario. It's an odd feeling, standing in a warehouse with a rifle at your shoulder, wearing a military exoskeleton with your Dad.

An hour after sunset, we began.

The six Gremlins each used their magnetic clamps to attach two sensors and set off. As they left the warehouse they activated their active camouflage generators and vanished from the visible light spectrum. Over the next hour, Dad and I fidgeted impatiently as they returned for more and more sensors. Finally two hours after it had begun the last equipment had been delivered. I looked at Dad and he nodded. I activated my Omni-Tool and sent the powerup command.

On the HUD of our helmets, the map of the city started to come to life. For a few seconds it was a chaotic mess of gravitic signatures and every wavelength of the electromagnetic spectrum being displayed at once, then as I used eye movements to cancel out data streams the picture started to become less chaotic. The level of detail was truly staggering. I could see everything. Men and women walking down the street, their position revealed by their small gravitic signature. The weapons of police officers as they patrolled in their cars. Hell, I could even see the rodents in the city's sewers. And below the sewers was…

"Good god." Said Dad in a shocked voice.

I nodded my head mutely. Below the sewers, just on the edge of the sensors range was an honest to god underground base. Just from what we could see it seemed to sprawl over half a dozen kilometres. Based on the moving gravitic signatures there seemed to be at least a couple of hundred people down there.

"Advisor." I prompted.

"Analysing. As well as the underground base there are three points of note. An apartment building on 7th avenue whose interior our sensors can't seem to penetrate. A rooftop approximately a kilometre from said building which seems to be emitting radio waves on a frequency that is usually reserved for military channels, and an 18-wheeler entering city limits. Its interior also appears to be shielded from scanning."

"Why would you proof an apartment from scanning but not an underground base?"

"Theoretical. Perhaps the two facilities belong to different factions?"

"How many shadowy organisations do you think there are in the Bay?"

"If you include us, three based on observable data."

I turned and explained the situation to dad, highlighting the location of the apartment and truck on his own HUD.

"What do we do?" I asked Dad.

He thought for a moment and then said. "Call the PRT. If we give them an anonymous tip about the 18-wheeler they'll investigate. With a little luck, they might find all the evidence they need, and we don't have to get involved."

In the end, we used the data tap on the cell tower, with our message relayed through a Gremlin. The set up should be impossible to trace back to us. The helmet for the Atlas didn't have voice modulation features, an oversite now I came to think about it but it didn't matter. Advisor did the talking.

"Hello, PRT tip line how may I help you?"

"There is a large cargo transporter entering the city along route 17. It is currently five miles from the Preston and Sons garage. I believe it is carrying cargo for the organisation that attacked the general hospital and the mall. There is also an apartment building at the north end of 7th avenue that is being used as a staging post. Finally, an underground base is located approximately a hundred meters below street level at the following coordinates…" The Gremlin's voice was monotone and obviously fake. After it had finished repeating the message we had ordered it to say it cut the connection to the cell tower.

For the next few minutes, we waited. Dad fiddled with the settings on his Omni-Tool whilst I taped out an increasingly frustrated rhythm with my foot, which when you're wearing an Atlas exoskeleton does a lot more to the floor than leave scuff marks on it. After what seemed like an unforgivably long time the PRT started to respond.

On our maps of the Bay, a couple of police cars started moving towards the location of the truck whilst at the protectorate rig, on the edge of my sensor range I could see a pair of helicopters were being brought out of hangers. I could also make out the gravitic signature of a small vehicle, a motorbike most likely cutting its way through traffic.

"Alert! Activity in the underground base."

Advisors warning drew my attention back to the base beneath our feet. Sure enough, the base's occupants were reacting. Hundreds of people were rushing to what looked like armouries and underground vehicle deposit. Systematically parts of the base were evacuated of occupants and then the sensor readings went crazy for a moment.

"Detonation in the underground base. It appears that the facility is being scuttled, possibly to prevent it from falling into enemy hands, that is to say, PRT hands."

"How did they know?" asked Dad giving me a worried look.

"Because someone tipped them off," I said and Dad nodded. That was worrying. Whether the underground base belonged to the people we were after or some other criminal organisation it still meant that the PRT was infiltrated to the point that within minutes of information being received it was in the hands of the base's operators.

"Should we do anything else?" I asked Dad. He shook his head.

"Just keep monitoring the situation. We'll contact the PRT if necessary."

I watched on the HUD as the traffic on the roads leading into the city slowed to a halt. Good, even if the PRT didn't trust me, and given that I was just some random voice on a phone they would be fools to do so, they were still taking precautions. I also noticed that the roads surrounding the apartment building were being steadily cleared of traffic. That just left the base.

"It's odd." Said, Dad. When he saw my questioning look, he continued. "The base started evacuating and destroying itself within minutes of our warning. But the apartment and truck don't seem to be reacting. I know we can't see inside them but you'd expect the people inside to do, something if they got advanced warning, right?"

"It would appear the possibility that the apartment building is operated by a different group to the underground base is growing Executor." I might have been mistaken but I swear there was a note of satisfaction in Advisors' voice.

"It appears the occupants of the base are evacuating using a number of tunnels that lead to the city surface. The closest tunnel is located approximately a kilometre from this location. An intercept is possible. Do you wish to engage?"

/

So I figured I would leave it there. Otherwise, I would have to write the whole of the upcoming encounter and I want to try and get into the habit of releasing chapters more regularly, instead of taking so long that people keep thinking the storeys dead and then posting a chapter.

Very rough Eta for the next chapter might be in a couple of weeks. I think that's realistic given how much my course is ramping up.

I'm sure you already guessed it but the Gremlins are basically the same ones as in XCOM 2

Last edited: Nov 15, 2018

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yanzak

Nov 15, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 8

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yanzak

Nov 26, 2018

#472

From our rooftop perch, the adjacent warehouses' outside was indistinguishable from any of a dozen others in this part of the city. Its walls were cheap and rusting sheet metal and its windows, those few which were not boarded up were so filthy that it was almost impossible to see inside. All in all, it blended in perfectly with the general air of urban decay that had been affecting the Bay for the last couple of decades or so.

The only unique feature was that the floor in the middle of the warehouse could lower itself into the tunnel beneath forming a ramp. Even as the apprehension grew in me, I couldn't help but be impressed. The resources you would need to install a tunnel entrance like this was staggering, the resources you would need to build an underground base were mindblowing. By tipping off the PRT I had probably destroyed millions of dollars and years of work. Whoever operated the base was going to be out for my blood when this was over, assuming we didn't deal with them now.

"T-Executor, what are we doing here?" Asked Dad catching himself in time, we had agreed on code names when we were in costume, you never knew who could be listening.

"Marshall, aren't you a little curious? These people had an underground base, an honest to god underground base right under our feet. It must have been down there for years, maybe longer than I've been alive. I just want to find out what's going on."

"You don't have to be here, the PRT can handle it. I can handle it."

I shook my head whilst looking at the map display, the trio of metal signatures, probably vans or trucks of some kind were still making their way to the surface, we had a little time.

"You said it yourself; the PRT has to be infiltrated, there's no other way these people could react as quickly as they did. As for you doing this by yourself, that's not happening. We either do this together or not at all. I won't have Mom wake up only to have to explain that I sent you out on your own and you got hurt."

"B- "

I interrupted him. "They're nearly here. Switch to LCS." Dad sighed but my heads-up display showed he had switched to his Atlas's laser communication system. There was always the chance that the vehicles that were approaching ground level had the equipment to detect radio waves. LCS, on the other hand, should be impossible to detect unless you were directly in the path of the light pulses that were used to transmit the information.

"So, what are we going to do?"

"Use the Gremlins to get video evidence. If there's too many of them or I think they're a danger we leave. You ok with that?"

"Fine." He replied before checking his L49 rifle was loaded and ready to fire. In spite of the confidence in my voice, I was getting worried. Of the twelve, 98 round magazines each of us was carrying only three were loaded with non-lethal synapse rounds. If they hit someone, they would produce a combined effect of a taser and the sedative that I had used in my first rifle. After they were used up, we would be using 3mm darts with plasma cores. The effect of them on anything other than Brutes would be, severe to say the least. I should've probably produced more nonlethal rounds, but I kept getting flashbacks to my first night out as a Cape, running for my life with Squealer's tank chasing me down like a mechanical hound, completely immune to any of my weapons. I would never let that happen again. We also had the Gremlins, they had the ability to deliver an electrical shock strong enough to knock out most people, but their chassis' were quite fragile, in the face of gunfire they would disintegrate in seconds.

"Can you hear that?"

I nodded. The Atlas's sensor suite was picking up a faint rumbling sound, on our HUDs the floor of the warehouse was lowering to form a ramp. I called up the camera displays of the Gremlins inside the warehouse.

My graviton sensors had been correct. A trio of nondescript white vans was making their way up the newly lowered ramp to the surface. I switched one of the Gremlins over to thermal imaging and combined the data stream with a graviton analysis of the vehicles. The first two vans to ascend the ramp each contained a driver and a passenger riding shotgun. In the back of the van were the thermal signatures of half a dozen more passengers, according to the dense gravitic signatures in their hands they were armed with rifles of some kind. It was the third van that really drew my attention.

Unlike the passengers of the other two vans who were more or less the same size and build the occupants of the last van came in a variety of sizes and shapes. One was nearly the same size as full-grown man whilst the others were noticeably shorter and thinner, It was the largest thermal signature that drew my attention.

"Christ! Look at the size of that one, what the hell is it?" Transmitted Dad over the LCS.

"A lion, a wolf? A dog…" I replied the pieces falling into place.

"Dad I think the Undersiders are inside the last van."

"Undersiders?"

"New gang, only carried out minor crimes, robberies mostly. This doesn't make sense, they can't have been operating that base, there's no way they have the resources."

"So? They probably just work for whoever does."

"The Undersiders are supposed to be independent, that's why the PRT hasn't bothered to hunt them down, they're just not worth the effort. If they're working for someone else, then that changes."

"Alright Executor. We've got the footage; can we go now?"

I was about to answer when there was a crack from inside the warehouse and one of the Gremlins ceased transmitting.

"How the hell did they do that? Its active camouflage was online!"

"We need to go now!" Snapped Dad moving over the rooftop toward me with his rifle aimed at the front entrance of the warehouse.

"Just give me a second." I snapped back, frantically tapping a command into my Omni-Tool whilst the cogwheels of Materialism spun in my mind. Four of the five surviving Gremlins left the warehouse by the quickest way possible, smashing through windows or using their inbuilt Omni-Tools to burn through the cheap sheet metal walls. The last remaining intact Gremlin launched itself at the wreckage of the one that had been shot. When the two collided, it followed its new instructions and overloaded its power core.

The blast was loud enough that it could be heard even inside the helmets of our exoskeletons. The effect on unprotected eardrums in the enclosed space of the warehouse must have been agonising. With the last evidence that could possibly be traced to us destroyed, I joined Dad. We didn't try and climb down from our rooftop perch. Instead, we sprinted towards the edge of the roof and lept. Our genetically enhanced legs combined with the legs of our exoskeletons effortlessly propelling us to the next rooftop along.

Instinct told me to head to the lab, but common sense screamed that that was the worst thing to do. The last thing we needed was the Undersiders and whoever they were working for following us to our base of operations.

"Did we lose them?" Asked Dad when we finally stopped running and took up positions in an alley, standing back to back, our rifles pointing down its length.

"Nothing on gravitics, setting up a search pattern with the Gremlins."

We spent the next couple of minutes in silence as the Gremlins spread out in a standard search pattern. I was surprised to find how calm I felt. Yes, my heart rate was slightly elevated as was Dad's but considering that we had sprinted the best part of five kilometres I felt remarkably fresh, the bio-mods were proving their worth.

Finally, the Gremlins finished their patrol and I lowered my rifle.

"Looks like we're clear. No pursuers. The vans from the warehouse are splitting up, I'll mark their destinations when they arrive. I've also recorded the Undersiders gravitic signatures. with a little luck, we'll be able to find them anywhere in the city."

"What happened? How did they find the Gremlins? You showed their active camouflage off to me when you built them. They're almost invisible to the human eye, hell I nearly walked into one before you turned it off."

"No idea," I replied honestly. "Not all of the Undersiders powers are known. Could be that one of them is a Tinker or a Thinker, or just has very, very sharp senses. That doesn't matter right now. We need to get back to the lab, leak the information to the PRT in the morning and get some sleep. I don't know about you, but I've had enough excitement for one day."

Dad nodded. Of course, nothing is ever that simple. No sooner had Dad and I lept up the two stories to the roof of the building then I heard Advisor speak up.

"Executor. I have been monitoring traffic patterns and deployment of government forces. I believe a situation is developing."

I leant against the wall of the alley and took a deep breath. "What kind of situation?"

/

By the time Dad and I were a kilometre away from Route 17 it was blindingly obvious what the situation was. From our position on top of a small hill that overlooked the roadway, we could take in the full scope of destruction that we, that I, had helped cause. The 18-wheeler lay stretched across the lanes going into the city, its cargo container torn to ribbons by gunfire. Behind it was a couple of police cruisers that my exoskeletons battle damage assessor suggested had been riddled with las bolts. In front of the wreck of the truck was a barricade of police cruisers and PRT armoured response vans. Police and PRT troopers sheltered behind them exchanging fire with what looked like a platoon of men and women armed with las rifles who had taken up positions behind wrecked vehicles and in craters that had been blasted into the road's surface. A couple of them were using Omni-Tools to flash fabricate riot shields in front of them, allowing them to line up shots without worrying about being shot.

Even at a cursory glance, it was clear who was winning. One side was shooting bullets and trying to throw grenades of containment foam whilst the other side was blasting away with las rifles, igniting fuel in cars and boiling away flesh from those that they hit. Even worse, lurking behind the front line was a trio of lumbering, vaguely humanoid suits of armour at least twice as tall as a man. Their left arm ended in a normal looking hand whilst the right housed some kind of arm cannon.

"Advisor, what are those?"

"Intriguing. They appear to be United Nations of Earth Ground Forces Liberator-class Battlesuits. This is the first time we have encountered non-Commonwealth technology. They are outdated but to even be able to produce machines of that calibre…"

"We'll deal with that later. For now, with the gear we have can we take them out?"

"Yes. Those suits were designed a full decade before the rifle you and the Sub Executor are equipped with. Concentrated fire to the joints or weapons mounts should prove sufficient."

"Good," I looked over at Dad. "Ready?"

"You do-,"

"They're dying down there." I gestured to the battle raging on the roadway. "Because of a tip I gave them. I don't have to do this you're right, but I want to."

For a moment Dad and I traded looks, our exoskeletons partially illuminated by burning vehicles. "Alright. What's the Plan?"

"Take care of the normal infantry first with non-lethal munitions. Then switch over to plasma core rounds and focus our fire on the Battlesuits. Take two of the Gremlins. I'm going to try and get behind them. When I do, I'll signal you. Then we open fire."

It didn't take me long to move behind the enemy. Every second that passed was another chance for one of the police officers or PRT troopers to get killed in a fight that I had helped start. A couple of stray bullets whipped past worryingly close to me. I set myself up behind an abandoned car a hundred meters from the battlefront and rested my rifle on its bonnet. I took a deep breath and then sent a tight beam LCS transmission to the hill were Dad was set up.

With the four remaining Gremlins circling the battlefield to provide targeting data, Dad and I opened fire.

For the next minute, Dad and I slowly and methodically picked individual enemies with single, low-velocity shots, the sound of our shots lost in the cacophony of gunfire, las blasts and burning fuel. Men and women twitched and then slumped against whatever piece of debris they had been using as cover. For a minute I thought we might have been able to take out every one of them who wasn't inside one of the lumbering battlesuits without the others noticing. Naturally, almost as soon as I thought that a blue las bolt vaporised a chunk of road next to my left foot. With the crossed swords of Militarism shining in my mind, I put two shots into the face of the woman who had shot at me. One slammed into her throat whilst the other shattered her front teeth, sending a wavefront of enamel fragments and metal shards into the back of her mouth. Even as her eyes rolled back, and in the back of my mind I realised that I had again used excessive force without hesitation I was already springing to a new position because the Battlesuits that had until now been holding back were moving to engage.

One of them swung its body to the right and unloaded its stubby right arm cannon at the hill Dad was on. Rapid pulses of coherent light atomised craters in the earth of the hill and ignited the grass for meters in all directions.

"DAD!"

"I'm fine, worry about yourself!"

He was right. The other two were lumbering towards me. One smashed a car out of the way with its normal digited hand and the other snapped off a couple of shots. One missed but the other clipped the protective umbrella of my shield. Alarms screamed in my helmet as its integrity dropped to dangerous levels, another hit like that would punch straight through.

I tore the current magazine out and slammed one of those loaded with lethal munitions into the magazine housing. Ducking another las cannon blast, I set my rifle to its maximum fire rate and opened fire. 20, 3mm plasma cored darts a second smashed into the thick armour plating of the lead Battlesuit. A cloud of superheated water vapour, dust particles and armour fragments ballooned out, obscuring the Battlesuit from view. For just a moment I was convinced that it was destroyed. Then both Battlesuits came thundering out of the cloud of debris firing wieldy.

Instinctively I kicked off from the surface of the road had enough to smash the road's surface as a second later the ground where I had been standing was atomised by multiple las cannons shots.

By the time I landed, I'd already swapped out my empty magazine for a fresh one. Sprinting to stay out of the suit's guns I opened fire again whilst directing my two Gremlins to join in the attack. As the two small drones flittered around the back of the second Battlesuit, the light of their Omni-Tools flashing as they tried to burn through its armour plating, and its pilot flailed at them with its oversized fist, I emptied another magazine. This time, instead of focusing on the heavily armoured chest plate I targeted the las cannon that was built into the right arm.

Something catastrophic happened to the power cell. I was at least twenty meters away but the blastwave was big enough to pick me up and hurled me, Atlas exoskeleton and all back a good ten meters. I slammed into the bodywork of an abandoned car had enough that for a second the world went white. When I came to alarms were blaring, my shield generator was damaged and had been auto jettisoned in case of an explosion. My bio-monitor informed me in an infuriatingly calm voice that I had three cracked ribs, without my recent bio-augmentations giving me more muscles to absorb some of the impact my ribs might have just broken and punctured my lungs then and there.

"TAYLOR!"

"I'm fine I'm…" My voice trailed off as I got a clear look at the damage I had caused.

Where the Battlesuit had been standing was a crater three meters deep. Surrounding it was a sea of flame. The fuel tanks of cars were cooking off in the heat, adding to the destruction. Even as I watched a car blasted itself apart, burning fragments of its engine aching into the sky and falling amongst the police officers huddling behind what cover they could find.

"Interesting, total power plant containment failure, it would appear that the Liberators we are facing are the model of 2215 and not the 2240 refit, perhaps our opponents industrial base is not as developed as we though…"

"PRIORITIES!"

One of my Gremlins exploded as the pilot of the other Battlesuit I had been facing smashed it out of the air with his armoured fist. The blast did nothing more than scorching its slate grey armour. It swung its arm cannon up to take a shot only to rock back as my remaining Gremlin, acting on its limited programming to protect its designated commander, placed itself in front of the cannon's muzzle just as it fired. When the smoke and dust cleared the suit was still standing but its arm cannon was a sparking, smoking ruin. I swung my rifle up and pulled the trigger, only for the trigger to click uselessly. Something, some vital component had been damaged when I had been blasted through the air and slammed onto the ground.

The Battlesuit clenched its hand into a fist and started lumbering towards me. Trying to swallow down the fear I felt rising I fished my bayonet out of its scabbard and slotted it into its place under the barrel.

I looked over at the Battlesuit Dad was fighting, it was flailing at his two Gremlins as they harassed it, whilst Dad blasted away with his rifle from his position on the hill. He was trying, but even with the targeting assistance software of the Atlas he just didn't have my Cape given skill with the weapon and it was showing by the number of missed shots and glancing hits. It looked like it was up to me then.

As the Battlesuit closed the distance I closed my eyes and focused on the crossed swords of Militarism. Usually, when I embraced an Ethos, I just thought about it until it came to the fore of my mind, always stopping after I hit an accompanying mental wall. This time, however, I kept focusing on it, even as I felt the vibrations of the charging Battlesuit.

It's hard to explain what happened next. One moment I was standing there, the next I felt that mental wall shatter. My eyes snapped open as a feeling of calmness settled over me and time seemed to slow to a crawl. I ducked under the suit's clumsy punch and lunged, using the rifle like a spear.

The seven-inch monomolecular bayonet stabbed up at the joint where the left arm met the rest of the body. It pierced through the joint and when the suits momentum carried it past me and the blade slid it out came away slick with fluid, blood or lubricant I couldn't be sure. Whilst its pilot was trying to overcome his momentum and turn around I sidestepped behind it and stabbed again, this time at the grid-shaped heatsink on its back that vented the energy from the main cannon. The grid shredded under the impact and the suit visibly spasmed as safety systems kicked in to try and limit heat generation. Whilst the pilot was still reeling I hacked at the back of his machines legs. The pilot stumbled and three tons of metal, plastic and ceramics smashed into the road's surface in a tangle of limbs.

I lept after it, putting all my weight behind the blade as I landed on top of the machine. It sunk down to the hilt and the machine spasmed, both its arms flailing up at me. I dodged out of the way and stabbed down again and again and again.

"STOP!" Something hit me from the side and I landed in a tangle of limbs. I snarled and lunged up with my rifle only to jerk away at the last moment when I realised who had hit me. Dad was standing between me and the torn remains of the Battlesuit. His Atlas exoskeleton was burned and blackened and his rifle was in even worse shape than mine with its bayonet snapped off at the hilt.

Behind him, I could see the Battlesuit he had been fighting. The blue armoured form of Armsmaster was dancing around it lashing out with his halberd whilst its pilot displayed more skill than either of its fellows by managing to stay out of his reach whilst snapping shots off whenever he got the opportunity.

I tried to use the LCS but it was destroyed. "We should hel-,"

"We don't want to be here when this is over. We need to go, NOW!"

I looked over the devastation of the motorway and felt a wave of tiredness threatened to swamp me. I nodded.

Fortunately, the gravitic sensors were still working, so as police and PRT forces moved to close in and form a perimeter around the area Dad and I were able, barely to slip the net. We slept in the warehouse that night, both too exhausted by the night's events to even change out of our exoskeletons. Dad just laid out a foam mat and we both collapsed into exhaustion next to each other.

/

Don't really know what else to say, enjoy.

Last edited: Mar 17, 2019

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yanzak

Nov 26, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 9

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yanzak

Mar 15, 2019

#511

By the time Dad and I woke up from our exhaustion induced sleep on the floor of my workshop, it was midday. I could have slept even longer, but something kept on shaking me. With what felt like superhuman effort I forced my eyes open. "Alright, alright I'm up." One of the Marvins was standing over me. When it saw I was awake, it gave me a double thumbs up, turned on its heel and walked over to the Talos Mark Four fabricator, where its fellows were inserting raw material into the disassembly chamber. I stood up and stretched, aching all over. Partly because of the abuse my body had taken last night, mostly because I hadn't taken off my Atlas Exoskeleton before collapsing onto the foam mat that Dad had laid out for us.

He was still asleep on the floor. I couldn't blame him. Last night had been his first Cape fight and unlike me, he didn't have powers or even some of the gene mods I'd installed to ease the strain. Now that I thought about it that was an oversight on my part. Given the resources of the people we were fighting against every advantage was useful.

Set against one wall was a folding table with an electric kettle and a microwave. Like everything else in the workshop, they were powered by a Fusion Reactor that used Protium, the most common isotope of Hydrogen. As long as we had access to water, we could electrolize it to form hydrogen gas which could then serve as fuel.

While the kettle boiled, I activated my Omni-Tool and began to search the internet for news about last night. It was worse than I feared. The PRT had raided the apartment building on 7th avenue, only to walk into a lethal crossfire that had turned the atrium into a killing field. When its defenders were forced to retreat, having finally run out of ammunition, they'd pulled back to the upper floors and detonated an air-fuel bomb. The resulting firestorm had killed a dozen PRT troopers, wounded Miss Militia and nearly killed Battery. Two adjacent buildings had caught fire and it'd only been because of frantic efforts by the Fire Department that more buildings hadn't been destroyed. The battle on the motorway had left thirty police officers and PRT Troopers dead and two dozen more wounded. There was no mention of Dad or I assisting the PRT, which I was grateful for. The last thing I needed was some over-eager journalist to paint a target on my back. Unsurprisingly the massive underground base below the city wasn't mentioned at all. The PRT had enough problems convincing people they were keeping on top of things without revealing that they had allowed some unknown faction to construct a sprawling base beneath the city's streets.

The first mug of coffee didn't do much to wake me up, so I walked over to the Talos. I'd entered a few useful designs into its database since I'd built it. A couple of minutes later I was taking a couple of what looked like a hypodermic syringe of the fabrication hopper. I jabbed the Stimpack into my left leg and depressed the plunger. Almost immediately I could feel the aches and pains starting to fade away. I'd have to be careful not to make using them a habit, they killed pain instantly but took time to fix physical damage. If I wasn't careful, I might open up a wound without even realising it. After that, I spent a full hour downloading data from my helmet's camera and downloaded it to my Omni-Tool. "Hey, Kiddo. You alright?"

I glanced up. Dad was standing behind me, he had a noticeable limp in his left leg but other than that didn't look like he was in too bad a shape, then again, he hadn't been standing near a Battlesuit when its reactor exploded. I offered him a smile and held out another Stimpack. For a moment it looked like Dad was going to argue but then he just shrugged and used it.

Dad sent a couple of moments rapidly blinking and then gave a sigh of relief. He moved up next to me and looked over my shoulder at my Omni-Tool. "So, what's happening in the Bay?" I told him what I'd learned. "Makes sense, they probably don't want to mention us and force us to do something drastic. If they try and contact us at all it'll be by back channels."

I nodded. "I've got an account on PHO and one of the Marvins is monitoring the site 24/7. It'll send a message to my Omni-Tool if it detects anything important."

Dad nodded, then a serious look crossed his face. "Taylor, I want to talk about, about this." He gestured around the lab.

Well, I'd known it would happen eventually. I shut off my Omni-Tool and looked up at him. "Ok."

"Taylor this is getting dangerous. Last night the PRT and Police lost more Troopers and Officers than in the last two years. My Exoskeleton's helmet was constantly giving me threat assessments on those Battlesuits we fought. Those things could kill tanks! If they'd hit us directly those Laser Cannons would've cut us in half!"

"So, you're saying we should just give up, let them do whatever the hell they want?"

He sighed and sat down on a chair next to me. "Of course not. God, you really are your mother's daughter." He gave me a weak grin. "It's just, just that the more we learn about these people, the more dangerous they seem." He held up a finger. "1st they almost blow you up at the Mall. Fine, we had no way of knowing what was going to happen, but they did nearly kill you." He held up another two fingers. "Then they burn down one of their own safe houses to stop it being captured and start a firefight on the motorway leading into town so intense that the road's going to take a month to repair."

"Well, at least the Union might be able to get some contracts out of this." I joked feebly.

"Taylor," began Dad in his weary, I'm not joking about this, voice.

Behind my eyes, Spirituality and Xenophilia slotted into place. "Ok Dad you're right, they are dangerous. Thing is, they're not going away. Say Mom wakes up tomorrow. As soon as she does, we leave The Bay and move somewhere else. Will that make us any safer? When they attacked the Mall, they attacked dozens of other places as well. Who's to say the next time they do that we won't get caught up in the fighting again?"

Dad sighed and slumped back into his chair. "I know when you're using your powers Taylor, you were never this confident before." The Ethics faded away and I glanced down guiltily at my feet, unable to look him in the eye. "Problem is, I don't think you're wrong." Another sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit that always annoyed Mom. "How long do we have until Annette wakes up?"

"Two weeks, if I don't do anything to speed up the process."

"Ok. We can work with that. Give me something stronger than that syringe and we'll go over data. Maybe Advisor can offer some useful for once."

"The Vice-Executor's insightful comment has been noted for the record. Though it could be useful to have another mind to assess the theoretical situation, until a qualified intelligence staff has been assembled, of course."

I realised I'd spaced out for a moment, like I sometimes did when Advisor was giving his feedback. Dad was looking at me questioningly. "He says that'll be fine."

Dad offered a sardonic grin. "No, he didn't."

"No," I admitted. "He didn't."

We got to work. First, we had to look over our remaining equipment. Regrettably, that did not take long. We had set out with two Atlas exoskeletons, half a dozen Gremlins, one Omni-Tool and rifles literally centuries more advanced than their modern-day equivalents. We'd returned with two broken rifles, (minus one bayonet,) both exoskeletons damaged to the point of barely being operational and a third of our Gremlins. I couldn't help but notice the irony. I'd started the night's activities worried that I'd brought too much in the way of lethal firepower only to find myself completely outclassed by our still unknown enemy. Granted, I'd expected to be doing nothing more than a photo shoot of whoever was evacuating the underground base, but the fact remained that Dad and I had nearly died. Clearly, things had to change.

First, we had to rebuild. While Dad looked over the recorded data for something I'd missed, I set to work. Most of our gear was so battered that it was easier to just disassemble them using the Talos and build new equipment from scratch. First, I produced another Omni-Tool. In retrospect, it had been stupidity on my part not to give Dad such a useful tool. Certainly, our enemy seemed to think so, given how many of their infantry on the motorway seemed to have been equipped with one. After that came components to upgrade the Talos again. The equipment we'd used last night had been more or less the most advanced the current configuration of the Talos could produce. Given how outclassed we'd been it was clear I needed to think bigger.

"There's something I don't understand." Commented Dad from in front of the laptop.

I glanced up at him. "Yes?"

"Those lasers they're using. The beams they're shooting are blue. I'm sure I saw on the news that the people who attacked the Hospital and Mall used red lasers."

I nodded. "Advisor said something about their equipment. Apparently, their mechs were designed by something called the United Nations of Earth, makes sense they'd use different rifles…" I trailed off as a realised what I was saying. Put it down to stupidity if you want, personally I blame exhaustion, but it was only then that the strangeness of the enemy's equipment obvious to me.

"Advisor, did we ever get a good look at the rifles they were using?"

"I believe time stamp 3:17 is what you are looking for Executor."

I used my Omni-Tool to pull up footage from my helmet camera and checked the suggested time stamp. Sure enough we had footage of the women who I had shot in the mouth and the rifle in her hands.

"It looks familiar," I commented.

"Of course, Executor. It seems to be an Edison Mark One. The design was reverse engineered from captured Commonwealth Luminus Patten las rifles. It is noticeably more energy efficient and powerful than the Helios rifles used by those who attacked the Mall."

"Could I build something like this?"

"It would be possible. The designs stored in your biological databanks are Commonwealth in origins, but the theory behind the weapons is easy enough for someone of your capabilities to grasp, and I could supply advice based on Commonwealth observations of the weapon. However, I cannot imagine why you would want to. Commonwealth laser technology has always been more advanced than that of Earth."

"That's not the point. If we assume someone triggered with similar powers to mine then they should only have access to a single nation's technologies, right?"

"Correct."

"Then why was the group that attacked the mall armed with Helios rifles, a Commonwealth design, while the attackers on the roadway were all armed with UN designs?"

"Based on your previous deductive skills Executor, I believe you already suspect the answer."

The problem was I did. One group out there with access to the same destructive technologies as me was worrying. Two was downright terrifying. Of course, I couldn't prove anything. Maybe whoever had triggered had access to multiple designs from different civilisations unlike me, but somehow, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I doubted it.

I'd assumed the 18-wheeler had been en route to reinforce the group that'd attacked the mall. Now I had to consider the possibility they had been on route to do something else. The question, of course, was what that was?

My Omni-Tool flashed an alert. It'd detected a spike in activity on news networks. I pulled up the alert and was greeted to a flustered looking female reporter in a helicopter with the banner headline, "Emergency in LA!"

"If you're just joining us there is a major incident occurring in downtown Los Angeles. Two groups of Tinker tech armed individuals are exchanging gunfire in and around a residential skyscraper. The fighting began half an hour ago when…"

Her voice droned on as I stared transfixed at the news feed. It showed a mid-sized skyscraper with a large car park outside its main entrance. Easily a company of suit-wearing individuals, all armed with Helios las rifles were defending the entrance, under attack by a dozen of the Battlesuits we had fought on the motorway and dozens more infantry. Even from a hovering news chopper, it was clear the fighting was staggeringly brutal. I saw a Battlesuit cut a man in half with a blast from its las cannon only to be taken apart by hundreds of las bolts concentrated into its chest, fired from those who had taken up positions in the windows of the skyscraper. The attackers retaliated by bathing the bottom two floors with flamethrowers mounted under the left hand of every other Battlesuit. Defenders toppled out of windows thrashing and screaming, like human torches.

Some kind of antigravity propelled field gun was moved into position in the parking lot at the skyscraper's front entrance. A dancing umbrella of emerald energy shields flickered around it, protecting its crew from the blizzard of las bolts that burst around them. A moment later it fired and a blast so bright temporarily blinded the feed from the news chopper. When it cleared the front of the skyscraper was almost unrecognisable. A car-sized hole had been blasted in its third floor while the floors above and below were reduced to molten slag, gently dripping down the side of the building.

The defenders were momentarily stunned into inaction by the brutality of the attack, a dozen attackers sprang from whatever cover they had taken up position behind and surged forwards. They sprinted forwards, bayonets fixed on the end of rifles and in a couple of cases with Omniblades projected from their Omni-Tools. A handful of las bolts fell amongst them and a woman wearing a red hoody went down with one of her knees vapourised, but the others reached the main entrance and surged inside.

Suddenly the news feed cut off and the words, "technical difficulties, please standby."

I looked over at Dad who had been watching the footage over my shoulder. "Christ!" he muttered, summing up my opinion quite well.

"They weren't coming to reinforce the people who attacked the mall," I said, the pieces falling into place. "They were coming here to attack them themselves." I murmured to myself.

"It would seem likely." Supplied Advisor.

/

Sophia Hess lay on the couch, trying and failing to suppress the urge to break something out of frustration. It was bad enough she had been out of town during the attacks by the tinker tech armed organisation at the mall, but not only were the Wards bared from getting involved in the investigation into that group out of safety concerns, but they had also been placed under virtual house arrest, meaning she couldn't spend her time doing something productive like hunting the prey in this miserable city. It might not have been particularly challenging but cracking the skulls of Empire members or rolling Merchants for their drug money never stopped being entertaining. Instead, she was stuck here with a bunch of kids she couldn't stand, thinking of Prey. One particular Prey in particular.

Taylor Herbert was a source of great frustration for Sophia Hess. On the surface, she was a weak, timid girl who lacked the force of will to stand up for herself against the worlds Predators, against people like her. Occasionally, however, something else would show itself. She'd been suspended once for beating up a Merchant drug dealer for daring to offer her some product. Then there was the business with Edward Gab. Most people would go to pieces in the face of a switchblade. Taylor, on the other hand, had taken him apart in seconds. She still got shivers remembering the brutality of her kick to his jaw. Then, of course, she had to disappoint Sophia by walking away and leaving the job half done. Naturally, she had taken care of the rest. She waited until Edward woke up and explained to him what would happen if he was stupid enough to go to the authorities about the incident. So far his self-preservation instincts hadn't failed him, and he had kept his mouth shut.

Her mind wandered back to Taylor, It wasn't like she had much else to do. Since the first attack on the bay, the Wards had been on permanent lockdown by orders of the Director herself. For the first couple of days, she had been able to cope, training endlessly with her crossbows and her shadow state. Now, however, the waiting was getting unbearable. The company wasn't helping much. She lay on the couch while her fellow teammates chatted amongst themselves about recent events in the Bay.

Sighing she got up and made her way to Kid Win's workshop. She usually couldn't stand the guy, but she hoped he might have something useful.

He looked up when he heard the door open and tilted his head slightly. "Shadow Stalker?" He asked, genuinely surprised.

"Hi. I was wondering if you had anything on the people who attacked the Bay?"

"You heard what the director said. We're not to get involved, its too dangerous."

A moment passed with Shadow Stalker crossing her arms across her chest and looking straight at him. "Alright fine. Just don't tell the boss alright." He tapped out a command to one of his computers and images filled the main display screen.

"I managed to hack one of the Trooper's data pads and got these. Schematics of the laser rifles captured at the Mall, hospital and motorway."

"Anything special about them?"

"No."

Shadow Stalker grunted in irritation. "Well, you're a bi-"

"And that's the interesting thing." Interrupted Kid Win, a note of irritation in his voice. "I had a go at building one of these myself, it's a useful tactic to see what a Tinker's specialisation is. If the device doesn't work, then you just need to know what capability is missing and then extrapolate from there what a component would have to be able to do to make the machine work."

Sophia staid silent. She had never been one for advanced technology. A sharpened crossbow bolt was enough for her.

"Thing is, the thing is that when I tried to make a copy of the rifle used in the Mall attack, I was able to replicate it completely. Ok, there's a chance that it's meant to have some hidden ability that they didn't use at the Mall, but I think it's unlikely."

"So this is reproducible Tinker Tech?" Responded Stalker, a note of excitement in her voice.

"Maybe."

"Who else knows?"

"I'm sure Armsmaster will have figured it out and told the Director."

"Anything else?"

"Well, there is…"

/

Danny Herbert threw himself into the trench a second before a line of autocannon fire that would have cut him in half stitched across the battlefield. The trench wasn't abandoned. There were half a dozen soldiers wearing the blue and black of the United Nations of Earth Marine Command. His las rifle snapped up and he slammed a shot through the visor of the nearest. The body slumped against the earth wall of the trench with smoke pouring out from the gaping hole in his forehead.

The others responded. One was carrying a flamethrower that would have been suicide to use at this range, but the other four opened fire. His exoskeleton housed a back mounted shield generator that gave him precious seconds before Marines tore him to pieces. Two more las bolts spat from his weapon and a pair dropped. Then a red las bolt hit his rifle and turned it into slag. Ignoring the pain in his hands Danny kicked off towards the enemy, using the speed boost from his exoskeletons legs, he collided with the nearest enemy. A punch caved in the women's skull while her squadmates tried to line up a shot.

Danny spun around, ripped the Las Pistol from his equipment webbing and killed another. The remain marines opened fire on full auto, shredding the bodies of their dead comrades and obliterating Danny's legs. He tumbled to the floor cursing all the way. Above him, one of the Marines looked down at him and fired.

The world went black and for a moment Danny felt a rising tide of panic. Then he remembered that he was just in the Neural Interface Training Pod that Taylor had built for him so he could work on his skill with weapons. He'd been almost useless in the battle at the motorway while his daughter had fought two Battlesuits and almost died for it. He wasn't going to let that happen again.

/To my surprise, the schools were open when Monday came around. Given how ferocious the fighting over the weekend had been I was sure we would at least get a couple of days off for things to calm down, but apparently, it was not to be. I'd considered skipping school to work on my equipment, but Dad had put his foot down. Officially because he didn't want me to do anything that might draw attention. Unofficially I was sure it was because he didn't want me to get a reputation as a truant that might hurt my chances of getting into Arcadia. It wasn't a massive blow. By this point, I had a dozen Marvins up and running and they were perfectly capable of following my orders.

School itself was what I expected, mind-numbing boredom mixed with occasional flashes of irritation as the trio or some of their sycophants tried something. I couldn't even muster the effort to respond. After staring down the barrels of las rifles and battlesuits, a few spitballs or a shove in the corridors were nothing by comparison. The one bright spot was that I met up with Nicky and Robert at lunchtime. From her, I found out why the schools were open. Her father was an old drinking buddy of the mayor from his college days. From him, she had been told the full story.

The state's gubernatorial elections were soon, and the current incumbent was getting torn to pieces in the debates by her opponent, decried as weak and ineffective. In return, she was now putting the pressure on every government official below her to restore at least a semblance of normality to the state. The mayor, in particular, had been under a lot of pressure, with some not so subtle hints that if he ever wanted to hold higher political office then he had to get his act together and calm people down. Showing potential voters that their children were still getting a quality education was one way of doing that.

I was surprised that Nicky's father was a friend of the mayor, given that she attended a dump like Winslow. I considered asking but decided against it. I was pretty sure we were becoming what a normal person would consider friends but I didn't want to push my luck.

The three of us spent the rest of the lunch break sitting in the cafeteria doing what teenagers do. We talked about our favourite (in my case least disliked) teachers, complained about the excessive workload we'd been assigned to make up for the days the schools had been closed and of course, discussed the recent attacks in the Bay and the rest of the country. Nicky lamented that her dad was so worried for her safety he was now going to pick her up from school by car, meaning she couldn't walk home with Robert. "Good, more time with him for me." I joked, then froze. For a moment I was sure I'd just done something incredibly stupid, then Nicky laughed and gave me a light punch on the arm.

"Oh, stop it you. You could do much better than him."

"Hey!" complained Robert with a smile on his face.

It was, nice, to be able to do something like this again. Emma and her cronies were keeping their distance, sitting at a table at the other end of the cafeteria, which I was prepared to bet had as much to do with the political connections of Nicky's family as it did Roberts athletic build. Thanks to a couple of the gene mods I'd installed, my eyesight was good enough to lip read across the room, so I could tell they hadn't given up on insulting me just yet.

Eventually, break ended and we trudged back to class. To my surprise instead of Math with Mr Jackson, we found a pair of PRT Troopers standing by the teacher's desk. My heart rate spiked, and for a moment I was sure the PRT had tracked me down and were coming to arrest me. I thought of the Omni-Tool disguised as a digital watch on my left arm. I could take both of the troopers with its flash fabricated Omni-Blade but their backup that was surely waiting in the wings might be a different matter. Visions of me being swarmed by dozens of Troopers flashed through my mind. Then Sophia clipped me with her shoulder as she walked past and I snapped back to reality. This wasn't an arrest, it couldn't be. If you planned to take a Cape into custody and you knew their civilian identity you would be mad to do so in a school. Far safer to strike when they weren't surrounded by dozens of children. I made my way to my seat. I was so rattled that I didn't even notice the spilled coke until it was too late. I ignored it, focusing my eyes on the Troopers.

Mr Jackson cleared his throat. "Class, these gentlemen are from the PRT and they are here to talk to you about a very important issue. Please show them the same respect you do your teachers." I assumed he meant the respect the teachers at Winslow wanted to be shown and not what they actually received unless he had a grudge against the PRT.

"Thank you." Said the taller of the pair. "Hello, kids. It's no secret that the Bays been hit hard over the last few weeks. Now, the PRT is working tirelessly to protect you and your families but we can't do it alone. If any of you have information, even if you don't know its validate, we urge you to use the PRT tip line to report it. Your anonymity will be protected I assure you."

A couple of awkward moments passed before the shorter of the pair clapped his hands to dispel the tension. "Now with that out of the way, onto the fun stuff. We have permission from your principle and our superiors to demonstrate some of our equipment and tactics. So, if you will all follow us to the gymnasium we can get started."

There was a scraping of chairs and we filed out of the room after the Troopers. I fell in with Nicky and Robert. As we made our way to the gymnasium, we linked up with other classes being led by Troopers. I forced myself to remain calm. This was nothing more than a show the flag operation, a way for the PRT to look good in front of students, and by extension their families. Although given how many gang members attended Winslow, they were fighting a losing battle in our case.

/

When the day ended Nicky's Dad picked her up at the school gates as he'd insisted. He offered me and Robert a lift in his Mercedes, but our houses were in the other direction to his and we declined. Nicky gave Robert a quick peck on the cheek before getting in. As she set off north, we set off south. On the way, we chatted. He was impressed by the PRT's demonstrations a lot more than me. Don't get me wrong, the Troopers were incredibly brave and skilled. It was just that I'd seen the battle on the motorway. I'd seen how hopelessly outclassed they could be compared to those they fought. Why the government didn't just bite the bullet and arm them like the military was beyond me.

"Taylor, can I ask you something?"

"Hm, err yes." Smooth Taylor really smooth.

"Nicky and I were going to see that new comedy, Monty Python and the Endbringers on Saturday. Want to come?"

I looked at him surprised. "That sounds like you're going a date, wouldn't I be intruding?"

"It's ok. I already checked with Nicky and she's fine with the idea. Although fair warning I think she intends to drag us out clothes shopping after the movie itself, so, you know, accept at your own risk."

I laughed. "I think I'm free that day and a little shopping seems like a fair exchange for seeing a movie with friends."

"A little she says! Oh, how naive you are." He joked.

Eventually, our paths diverged and I said goodbye to him. Five minutes later I was using my set of keys to unlock our front door. Taped to the back of it was a note from dad.

"Taylor, sorry about being out but the Mayor has called an emergency meeting to discuss city infrastructure and I have to go as the union's representative. There's not much in the fridge so get take out if you want. Love Dad."

In the end, I just used the leftovers in the fridge. Dad was a terrible cook, so I had more experience than most girls my age when it came to preparing meals. After that was done, I flopped down on the couch and tried to get some sleep.

/

Over the next three days, I fell into a routine. I would endure Winslow, walk home with Robert and then check on the Marvins in the lab to make sure nothing was going wrong. So far nothing had. The Talos had almost doubled in size already and was still growing as new components were fabricated and installed.

Meanwhile, I used my free time after school to look over all the information I could find on both the men who'd attacked the mall and the ones who'd attacked the skyscraper in LA. Unfortunately, that was proving difficult. The PRT was keeping very tight control of information, probably because they didn't want the attackers, whoever that turned out to be, knowing how much the PRT knew.

I'd just finished looking over another article online that was 5% facts and 95% speculation when I heard the doorbell ring. I looked up surprised. Dad wasn't due back for another hour. Nervously I stood up and made my way to the front door. I primed my Omni-Tool to flash forge an Omni-Blade at a single command. Like most houses in the Bay, our front door had a small peephole, in a city with as many gangs as this one it paid to be able to see who was at your door without opening it.

I put my eye to the peephole and gasped in surprise. As quick as I could I unlocked the door and opened it. What looked like half of New Wave was standing in front of our home, in a light drizzle that was starting to soak their costumes. "Can I help you?" I asked.

Fleur spoke first. "Hello Taylor, may I call your Taylor?" I nodded, still rattled by the presence of so many Capes. "We're here because we would like to talk with you about the events in the mall during the attacks. May we come in?"

I nodded mutely and stood aside as what felt like a lead weight settled in my stomach. After they had taken their shoes and boots off, I led them to the living room. With six Capes in the room, it was crowded almost to the point of claustrophobia. Glory girl stood flanked by her parents while Panacea sat between Lightstar and Fleur on the rooms another couch.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Any moment they were going to place me under arrest. I considered trying to fight my way out but knew it was hopeless, I'd never be able to take them all down before they overwhelmed me. Better to be taken into custody having surrendered peacefully rather than having potential killed well-known heroes.

Brandish spoke first. "Miss Hebert, on behalf of New Wave we would like to offer both our thanks for your actions and ask you forgive some of our members for theirs." While saying that she cast a glare at her daughter, who shifted uncomfortably, nothing at all like the confident poster girl of New Wave that most people knew. "It is utterly unacceptable for a hero to ignore those in need, especially when they had done as much to help that hero as you'd done." Glory Girl shifted nervously again.

"I never mentioned what happened in the store in the PRT debriefing. How did you find out?" I asked, looking at the floor, unable to meet any of their eyes.

"One of the store's security cameras was still operational. It saw everything. The PRT passed the footage onto us a couple of days ago." I twitched slightly, having to restrain myself from running from the room there and then. Something that simple was going to be what got me captured? Of all the ways my Cape career could end that seemed one of the most undignified.

Fleur spoke, softly and gently, like Mom. "I know it must be very difficult for you Taylor. To have had to kill at such a young age. But you're not in any trouble, no jury would find you guilty. The PRT has also assured us that they will not press charges either."

I looked up genuinely shocked. "Really?"

"Yes, Taylor. On a personal note, I'm very grateful for what you did. If you hadn't then my daughter might have died." She squeezed Panacea's hand for a moment.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't take you with us." Said Glory Girl in a quiet voice. "It's just that when I saw Amy hurt like that, bleeding all over and her clothes fused to her skin I, I just…" Her voice cracked and trailed off.

For a few moments, an awkward silence fell in over the room before I shut my eyes. Xenophilia slotted itself into place. "It's ok." I saw Glory Girl open her mouth to speak but I cut her off with a raised hand. "It's ok, really. I know what it's like to nearly lose a loved one. You were scared for Panacea, disorientated by the bombs, shot dozens of times and electrocuted. It's perfectly reasonable that you might not have been thinking completely clearly." I looked straight into her eyes. "It's fine."

"Well, that's a very noble stance to take." Commented Brandish, a note of respect in her voice. "However, I still think we owe you something considering what you did and suffered through. Is there anything you need help with?"

I opened my mouth to say no, then I caught myself. "Actually, there is something. I go to Winslow and I want to transfer, because, you know, Winslow. Thing is Arcadia keeps saying they're too full. Could you, maybe see if you could put a good word in for me with the staff at Arcadia? It would mean a lot."

Fleur gave me a mischievous smile. "That'll be easy enough. I sit on the board of governors. A good word in a few ears should do the trick."

A few minutes later New Wave left. The rain outside was getting more intense and an icy wind was blasting in from the Atlantic. I offered to make them tea or coffee to warm themselves up but they declined. "We've got patrols to get to." Said Flashbang slipping his boots on.

"Ah, the glory of being a Cape" Commented Lightstar as he opened the door and took a gust of wind to the face.

Panacea was the last one out the door. She turned to face me and offered me a genuine smile. "Thanks for that, for forgiving Victoria. She's been beating herself up over leaving you behind for weeks." Then she turned and walked out into the darkness of the night before I could respond.

/

On Saturday I met up with Nicky and Robert at the beachfront at 11 o'clock. We had an hour till the film started so Nicky suggested that we visit one of the beachfront cafés. I noticed that it was the same one I had spent time in on the day when I took Dad to my first lab. I looked around as we entered and noticed that the blond-haired girl and her black boyfriend who I'd seen the last time were both presents. Maybe it was their hangout or something. They were huddled in a corner with their drinks untouched and talking heatedly with each other. The girl glanced up at me, and for a moment our eyes met. I turned away embarrassed.

The three of us sat at a window-side table and ordered drinks and toasted sandwiches. As usual, Nicky did most of the talking, chattering away about pop stars who I'd never heard of and celebrity breakups of couples I hadn't known were together in the first place. Robert and I supplied our own commentary every now and then. I found some of the stress I'd been feeling fading away. Nicky's bubbly, optimistic nature was infectious, and soon I was joining the conversation more often.

Our drinks arrived, and I took a sip of milky tea. "Hey Taylor, what's that?" Asked Nicky pointing at my right hand.

"Hum? Oh, that. Belonged to my grandmother" I lied, stretching my arm across the table so she could see the ring around my middle finger. It looked like silver with a small garnet set into its centre. A pattern of etchings stretched around the surface, giving the impression of feathers.

"That is so cool! Is it real silver?"

I shook my head. "Pure silver is too soft. It's Sterling Silver, an alloy of copper and silver. It's not worth much, but it's something she left me, so I like it." Nicky spent a couple more minutes cooing over the design before getting back to her drink and foods.

I ran my right thumb over the base of the "ring." It was, in fact, a Digi-Weapon. In this case, a miniaturised blue laser set into the rings jewel. The little weapon's recharge rate was painfully slow, meaning it was almost useless after the first ten shots stored in its internal capacitors were fired. But they were ten shots that no one expected. Each one capable of blasting an unarmoured human apart. Combined with the Omni-Tool hidden inside the watch on my left arm and the shield generator I'd sown into my shirt any would-be attacker would find me far more dangerous than I appeared.

After we finished eating, we paid the bill and set off for the cinema.

/

100 minutes later we emerged from the cinema to be greeted with overcast skies. The movie had been good, though I'd noticed that for every moment they spent watching the screen Nicky and Robert spent two cuddling together. I didn't mind, it was just nice to experience something normal for once. "Ok," began Nicky clapping her hands together with the usual undiminished enthusiasm. "It's shopping time. Taylor, we have got to get you some new threads, you can't have a ring that nice and wear clothes that baggy." Behind her, I could see Robert draw a finger across his throat in an exaggerated act.

We set off towards the clothes shops, Nicky leading us.

/

Three hours later we were making our way home, laden down with shopping bags. Nicky had spent a lot of the time trying to convince me to try on some tighter fitting clothes. I'd protested, officially because I didn't like the style, in reality, because it would be much harder to hide the muscles, I'd acquired from gene moding. Failure to do so might lead to people asking questions and that was something I didn't need.

Eventually, Nicky split off from our group, and Robert and I set off together. We were about a quarter of an hour away from the point where we'd need to split up when it happened. From behind us, I heard the screaming of tires. Robert and I turned to see a battered red Toyota Pickup Truck screaming down the street towards us. My gene moded eyes could make out a figure leaning out of the passenger window and the glint of light on the machine pistol held in his hands.

Acting on instinct, I raised my right arm and aimed my Digi-weapon. One shot to the engine would be all I needed to cook off its fuel tank. After that, I could work out what to do with Robert. A moment before I was going to fire, he tackled me. "GET DOWN!"

We landed in a crumpled heap and mercifully I didn't accidentally fire the Digi-weapon and kill him. A moment later the car sped past us, and the rattle of automatic weapons fire drowned out everything else. A line of bullets slashed out from the car at chest height, pockmarking the wall of the building nearest to us. I heard the cries of "Dragon! Dragon!" from its passengers. Then the car was gone, disappearing around a corner.

"Taylor! Taylor! Are you alright?"

"I'm ok, I'm ok," I said standing up.

"Fucking ABB," muttered Robert as he moved to pick up the bags we'd dropped in the confusion.

"What the hell were they playing at?" I asked. The ABB couldn't know that I was a Cape, I'd had no dealings with them. So why the hell had they just tried to kill me with a drive-by.

"I'm going to walk you home Taylor." Said Robert, in a tone that suggested he wasn't willing to compromise. For a moment I considered arguing, considered telling him that I was fine and that I was more worried about him. Then common sense kicked in. A normal girl my age wouldn't take being shot at well and I didn't want to come across as anything other than a normal girl. We made it home without incident, and I gave Robert a hug when he was about to set off home. He hugged me back and promised to text when he got home safe.

/

Robert Moreland didn't go home as he had told Taylor. Instead, he made his way to one of the old warehouses owned by shell corporations of Empire Eighty-Eight. He walked down a side ally until he came to a modern keypad set into the wall next to a door. He taped in the code, 1290 and heard the door unlock. He went through and emerged into a hive of activity. Dozens of Empire members were moving around, unpacking crates of weapons and munitions smuggled into the city by Medhall's transportation branch. Half a dozen Technicals, civilian pickup trucks with machine guns and recoilless rifles bolted to the back sat in the middle. Off to one side was a Toyota Pickup Truck. He made his way over towards it.

There was a single figure hunched over the machines steering wheel. It looked up as he approached, revealing a woman with skin so pale it was almost snow white. "You, your Moreland's boy, aren't you?" The voice was accented and aristocratic, German or Swiss he guessed.

"Yes, I was one of the two people you launched a drive-by on."

"And how did you find my performance?"

"Amazing. It was really just you in the car, no one actually shooting?"

"Correct."

"And the Illusions you make, they last for how long?"

"Depends, in that particular case, about, oh I'd say two hours."

Robert gave a sadistic grin and offered the Cape a salute. He could feel the excitement building inside him. Things were starting to accelerate. With the new Capes from their European allies, the Empire was undoubtedly the strongest force in the city. Now with a Cape who could produce illusions so realistic it was almost impossible to tell what was real and what wasn't, it would be child's play to turn the authorities and the ABB against each other, after they had battered themselves bloody on each other the Empire would emerge from the shadows and claim what was theirs.

Even better his inspired decision to involve Taylor in the first series of tests of the illusion Cape's power would have planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. No doubt she was only just coming to terms with how close she had come to being "killed" before he had "saved" her. It wouldn't be hard to play on those fears and after that, well, Taylor was a smart girl, no doubt she would pick the right side when the time came.

Last edited: Apr 6, 2019

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yanzak

Mar 16, 2019

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Threadmarks chapter 11

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yanzak

Mar 21, 2019

#601

"Hello Taylor. It's been a while." Doctor Angela Ziegler's voice was gentle and motherly, matching the smile on her face, but I was certain her choice of words carried a subtle reproach. It was fair enough. Before my first activity as a Cape, I'd seen her once a week at Dads insistence. We'd talk about Mom, about the bullying, about everything you were expected to. In the chaos of everything that had happened following my raid on the Merchant warehouse, I'd missed all our scheduled appointments. In all honesty, I was kind of surprised she'd accepted Dad's request to keep me on as a patient. I liked to think it was because her personality matched her angelic looks, certainly, It would've been easy enough to find new clients in this city, but maybe she just didn't want to go to the trouble of doing so.

"Hi, Doctor Ziegler." I said as I made my way over to the couch.

"Now Taylor, we've talked about this." She chastised, with a smile so earlier similar to Mom's I had to look away. It's strange I'd never noticed that before. Maybe it was my Gene Mod enhanced perception, maybe just part of being a cape in general, either way, it was unsettling.

"Sorry, Angela." The Psychologist nodded and looked down at her old-fashioned notepad and pen.

"So, how have you been Taylor?"

"Um…" I mentally blanked. It was the sheer normality of the situation. After everything I'd seen and done, I just didn't know how to even begin. Bullying seemed so inconsequential when I'd traded shots with lumbering Battlesuits when I'd killed and nearly been killed. Mom's hospitalisation meant so little now when she was going to be with us in a few weeks time. And how exactly was I supposed to raise the subject of hunting what seemed to be two different amoral organisations with my technology? Then a thought occurred to me. "I suppose Dad told you about the drive by?"

She nodded. "He did. It was one of the reasons I wanted to see you again. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but if you're willing, I think it is important."

It made sense. Dad had reacted to the news of the drive by as well as you'd expect a loving parent to, checking that I was unhurt and then cursing the ABB as the scum of the earth. The thing was, I wasn't that affected. Yes, I'd been shot at, but I'd been more worried about Robert than me. I'd been armed with a Digi-Weapon and wearing clothing reinforced with a small shield generator explicitly designed to defeat assassination attempts. He'd had nothing. I'd assured Dad that I was fine and not to worry.

That night I'd woken up screaming. I didn't remember the nightmare with perfect clarity. I just knew that it had to do with that red Toyota from the drive by and the one that had caused Mom's accident.

Dad had held me tight while I screamed my throat raw and cried my eyes out. Thank God I hadn't been wearing the Digi-Weapon or I might have triggered it without thinking and blown a hole in the house. I'd slept in Dad's bed that night, and every night since.

Advisor had supplied an unending list of sedatives that could be fabricated to give me a dreamless sleep. I'd refused. It struck me as too much of a Merchant thing to do. Dad had understood while Advisor had complained. Eh, I'm a teenager, I'm allowed to be unreasonable. Advisor had eventually realised I wasn't going to budge on the issue and had then suggested memory modification. I had designs for Engram Engravers that had been designed to impart skills and knowledge to military personnel, to give decades of training in hours, it would be child's play to remove the offending memories. Again, I'd refused. It sounded stupid, but I felt that if I took that route, I would be giving in somehow, admitting weakness.

I'd wondered if they could be used to treat Simurgh victims and Advisor had promised to remind me at an appropriate time, so maybe some good would come of this whole episode. It was something to look forward to at least, in that vague and hazy future when Mom was with us again, and I was no longer risking death as a Cape.

"Taylor?" Doctor Ziegler's voice broke me out of my thoughts.

"If you do-,"

"It's fine. We can talk about it." She looked unhappy for a moment, so I twisted my face into what I hoped was a genuine looking smile and insisted again. "Really, let's talk." I could have used my Ethics to control the conversation better than any politician. But I'd promised Dad not to. It couldn't be healthy to use my Ethics as a crutch for everyday conversation, and she was a professional. If anyone in this city could monitor my mental health and spotting worrying patterns, (other than Advisor's voice in my head, and yes, I know that didn't sound promising,), it was her.

So, we talked. I went over the events of the drive-by, omitting the fact that I'd been a second away from blasting the car with my Digi-Weapon of course. I told her about the nightmares, about how they kept merging with my memories of the hit and run that had hospitalised Mom. I vented about my irritation at the way the PRT never seemed to make any progress against the gangs in the city. Already I had seen buildings that'd been scrubbed clean of graffiti in the aftermath of Squealers rampage being marked again. In the days following the drive by the ABB and the Merchants had been involved in a number of escalating skirmishes. Come Monday, Winslow had been a tinder box. The presence of PRT troopers, ostensibly there to "answer questions" about their demonstration last week were all that'd stopped the gang members from starting a brawl in the corridors. I considered telling her about the events at the mall but decided against it. The PRT and New Wave already knew. Every new person brought in on the secret increased the chance of word of what'd happened getting back to the attackers and painting a target on my back.

When I was finished, I lay back on the couch and just waited. I glanced at the clock on the wall and was surprised to realise I'd been talking, ok, ranting, for half an hour. Ziegler nodded, made a few notes on her pad and then looked at me.

"Well Taylor, it sounds like you've had a lot on your mind. While I'm very sorry to hear about what happened to you, I'm also delighted to hear about your new friends. This Robert sounds like a fine young gentleman, trying to protect you like that. I trust he is ok?"

I nodded. I'd talked with him by phone a couple of times over the weekend. He'd been angry, as you'd expect, but had mostly asked about me. I'd lied through my teeth about how I was handling things. He had enough to worry about. Nicky had found out about the drive by and had spent the whole weekend at his place babying him. Judging by his facial expressions at school on Monday, he'd found the experience almost as draining as the brush with death. Not that I'd escaped Nicky's concern either. I'd spent most of Monday weathering her, enthusiastic concern. When she'd collided with me outside Winslow, talking a mile a minute and checking me over for wounds, despite me telling her I was fine over the phone, I'd initially thought my bullies were getting physical again. For the rest of the day, Robert and I had endured her questioning and hugging with as much patience as we could muster.

Ziegler chuckled as I explained. "Ah, I remember a few friends like that. Cherish them, Taylor, they will be with you through the darkest of days. I must say you seem much more willing to discuss your feelings than you used to be."

I nodded. It was true enough. In the weeks following Emma's betrayal I'd withdrawn into myself and fallen into a downward emotional spiral that Ziegler had spent weeks trying to reverse. During the weeks immediately following becoming a Cape, I was able to distract myself with work, but it was only when Nicky and Robert had come into my life that I'd started to return to a healthy mindset. I'd always been on the introvert side of the spectrum, and I doubted that would ever change, but I was making progress, coming out of the protective shell Emma had forced me into.

Ziegler glanced at her wristwatch. "It looks like we're almost out of time. If there's anything else you'd like to cover we can do it now, if not I think we can end the session here." I nodded and agreed to meet next Wednesday as usual.

/

Given the sensitivity of the information and equipment that it housed, very few had seen the inside of Armsmaster's laboratory. People being what they were, a huge number of theories about its nature had been proposed over the years. None did it justice. The laboratory's construction was entirely modular, formed by dozens of interconnecting and collapsible segments. When not in use, they were folded down and slotted into the ceiling and walls, like cards in a deck.

In its current configuration, a dozen Tinker Tech supercomputers hummed in the background. Armsmaster was the only one physically present, but he was not alone. His armour's Augmented Reality Display was projecting the hunched and bestial form of a Dragon war suit. Both were staring intently at a display screen. On it was a mathematical formula of staggering complexity that was in the process of being solved. Perhaps this time…

The screen flashed crimson and a cascade of error messages began to flash, both on the screen itself and the HUD of his armour. Beneath his helmet, Armsmaster's face contorted with frustration. "That was the last viable iteration. The attacks have just created too much chaos. It's going to take months to write a new Endbringer Prediction Algorithm," commented Dragon. Unspoken was the fact that the timeline required the Endbringers to launch attacks on cities to generate the raw data that would form the bedrock of a new equation. Almost a year of work wasted.

With a neural command, he dismissed the supercomputers and called up half a dozen new laboratory segments. As the lab rearranged itself around him, he turned to face Dragon. "I wonder if whoever launched the attacks knew what they were doing. Knew they were making it harder for us to predict the Endbringer's attacks?"

Dragon's war suit shrugged, a surprisingly human gesture for such a draconic form. "It's possible, but I hope not. The algorithm's existence was only known to 53 people. For knowledge of its existence to have reached a 3rd party suggests a serious data leak."

A few moments of silence passed as the lab restructured itself. "Speaking of the attacks, how's the investigation into that going?" Behind his helmet's faceplate, Armsmaster's lips twitched in what passed for a smile. She could have asked him to upload the data straight to her base in Canada, but unlike most people, she made an effort to talk with him like a normal person, one of many reasons he valued their relationship.

"Slowly." Admitted Armsmaster. Every time we think we've got a clear picture of the situation things change." As he spoke, new images began to appear on the display screen. "At first we're just dealing with a new Tinker who accidentally caused the Merchants to go on a rampage. Then we suffer dozens of simultaneous attacks across the country. To make it worse, a few days later we receive an anonymous tip-off. As a result of that, a safe house is turned into an inferno, an underground base is discovered, and we lose more troopers and police officers during a firefight on the motorway than in the last few years. In that engagement, two unknown Capes get involved, seemingly to assist the PRT. However, they both withdraw when I arrive. Now there's this incident in LA, and we're now dealing with multiple unknown groups. It's, it's too much, too chaotic." He added the final sentence in a bitter murmur.

Dragon's warsuite nodded sympathetically and placed a virtual hand on his shoulder. "It's ok. Just tell me what your gut tells you."

He nodded. "I have a theory, nothing more than that. I think the Cape who caused Squealer's rampage used to belong to the group that attacked the mall and the hospital. For some reason, they went rogue and had to build their infrastructure from scratch. It explains the crudeness of their initial equipment, they didn't have the tools to make anything better. They were probably the ones who gave us the tip off too."

"And the two Capes who got involved in the fight on the motorway?"

"I'm guessing that one is our mystery Tinker, the other, no idea. Fellow deserter, hired help, maybe even the result of a Master power. Certainly, one of them was a lot less effective than the other."

"So, if we find the Tinker…."

"We find our enemy."

/

I stared at the coin, the meditating symbol of Spirituality at the front of my mind. There were beads of sweat dripping down my face and my left eye had developed a twitch.

The workshop was quiet. Dad was in the Neural Interface Training Pod that I'd built him, testing out the new skills that the Engram Engravers had given him. Other than him, the only other activity was the Marvins as they walked around, continuing the never-ending cycle of fabricating components for the Talos, installing them and using the newly improved capabilities to fabricate even more sophisticated components.

I, meanwhile, was having a staring contest with a coin and loosing.

"Executor," began Advisor, wearily, because he doubtless remembered what had happened the last time he interrupted me when I was trying this. "This technique sometimes takes years to yield results. Perhaps we could…"

"This is happening, so be helpful or shut up." I snapped and immediately regretted it. It wasn't his fault that I was struggling.

Ever since I'd become a Cape there had been one area of Commonwealth tech that had fascinated me. Psionics. They were not, as Advisor had made very, very clear to me, magic. It was a perfectly natural phenonium that just happened to be so complex my relatively unmodified mind couldn't begin to grasp the mathematical principles behind it. Humanity was not a naturally Psionic species. In the latter centuries of its development, the Commonwealth had developed techniques to forcibly awaken the capability by the use of a rare aerosol called Zro. Sadly, Zro didn't entirely follow the laws of physics, at least as my mind was able to understand it. Meaning it would be a while before I could upgrade the Talos to be able to produce it.

That in mind, I was forced to use some of the earlier, and far less efficient techniques developed by the Commonwealth. Around my neck was a crude Psi-Amp, cold and inert for now. My skull was pounding from hours in the Engram Engraver, and a cocktail of drugs that would have put a merchant to shame was swimming through my system. All of that, and I was still just staring at a coin, trying to get the dammed thing to move. I don't know why embracing Spirituality seemed like the right thing to do, but on some level, I was sure it was the right thing to do.

I'd been at it for the last three hours and had nothing to show for it. I sighed, I'd really not wanted to have to do this again, given how much it warped my thought process the last time. I closed my eyes and focused on the symbol that represented Spirituality. As usual, I came up against what felt like a mental wall. Like I had during the battle on the motorway, I focused on breaking through that wall. It shattered like a broken mirror.

I opened my eyes and stared in wonder as the real world fell away into darkness. Suddenly, I was floating in a chaotic storm of blue and purple clouds. "Advisor, what is this place?" No reply. I began to panic. The sheer lifelessness and isolation of the place was overwhelming. I could imagine getting lost here, being trapped here, unable to return to the real world. Then it happened. A bolt of lightning arced through one of the clouds in front of me. I gasped. Backlit by the flash, and with its details obscured by the clouds was, was something. There was nothing to compare it against but somehow, I knew that it was incomprehensibly vast.

It noticed me.

/

"-lor. Taylor!" Dad's voice was loud, almost hysterical. My eyes felt like they had been glued shut and it took much longer than it should have to open them. Dad was standing above me, a look of fear on his face. I realised that I'd gone from sitting on my chair to lying down on the warehouse's floor.

"I'm fine Dad, I'm fine." I tried to say, but my mouth didn't seem to be working properly, and they came out slurred. I tried to push myself into a sitting position, only to recoil when they came into contact with something cold and wet. I thought for a second the roof had sprung a leak, or that I'd wet myself. I looked at what it was and gasped. Surrounding the chair I'd been sitting in was a ring of frost, already melting. I looked down at my hands and saw they were covered in frost too. My head was spinning and there was a ringing in my ears. "What, what happened.?" I asked, trying hard to resist the urge to throw up.

"What happened, what happened!" yelled Dad. "Taylor, what do you mean what happened? I finished my training session, open the pod and found you thrashing around on the floor, screaming and shouting about monsters in the stars, with that frost forming every time you skin touched the floor."

I stared up at him, uncomprehendingly. The more I thought about it, the harder it was to remember what I'd seen, what had happened in that strange place with the billowing clouds. "I, don't…" I began.

"Advisor. What happened?"

"This unit can only offer its apologies Executor. As far as my data banks are concerned you never left this warehouse. Please, what do you remember?"

I told him, out loud so Dad could hear as well.

"Fascinating. It would appear you actually managed to breach the Shroud. The walls between the material and Immaterial must be exceptionally thin at the moment."

"What! You knew this was going to happen?"

"Not at all Executor. Unlocking Psionics in a human requires drawing a small amount of Psi energy from the Shroud to kickstart a human's abilities. To breach the Shroud, to enter that realm in mind if not in body, without the use of thousands of Psionics is, unheard of."

"I think, I think there was something in them with me," I said, shuddering at the fading memories.

"Possibly. Some of the more primitive civilizations of the galaxy believed the Shroud to be inhabited by gods and devils."

He must have noticed the effect those words had on me because he carried on hurriedly. "Such beliefs are of course untrue. Any such phenomena encountered are merely concentrations of Psi energy that the ignorant project intelligence onto." I thought about the thing I had seen in the clouds. I hoped he was right, for all our sakes.

"While this ordeal may have been stressful Executor, the fact remains this has been a successful day."

"Wha-," I began.

"The Psi-Amp. Look at it."

I'd completely forgotten about it. I held it up in front of my face. What had been an inert rectangle of metal was now glowing an electric blue. I looked over at the coin, still sitting on the warehouse floor. Gingerly I reached my right arm out towards it. I could feel it, like a new muscle had just grown instantaneously inside me. I took a deep breath and then pulled.

It flew across the room and slammed into my palm hard enough to draw blood. Despite the pain, I could feel a smile begin to stretch across my face.

/

Flash alert to all commands. Standby to receive and execute orders.

Shroud breach detected in administrative area D-7, Brockton Bay area. Breach rated Gamma plus. 8th and 13th rapid reaction cadre are rerouted to area D-7. Orders are to locate and capture the source of the activity. Use of lethal force is authorised if capture is impossible.

For the defence of Earth and all her people.

/

I just had my wisdom teeth removed and am on some strong painkillers, but I want to keep to my schedule so there's this. As usual, tell me what you think.

Last edited: Apr 3, 2019

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yanzak

Mar 21, 2019

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Threadmarks chapter 12

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yanzak

Apr 9, 2019

#686

I spent the rest of the day trying to get a handle on my new powers. My time in the Engram Engraver might have given me all the information I needed, but that was only half the battle. According to Advisor, a skilled Psionic should be capable of using their powers reflexively, whether it was turning aside weapons fire telekinetically, refracting light rays to become invisible, or warping Spacetime to move faster than any human should be able to, all could be performed as quickly and effortlessly as blinking in a bright light.

I was nowhere near that level yet. Whether I was flinging a coin across the warehouse floor or lifting a freshly fabricated one-ton bar of Tungsten, I needed to spend a few seconds focusing on what I wanted to do before anything would happen. In training, it was not a problem, but by this point in my Cape career, I had been in enough life or death fights, (and wasn't that a depressing thought) to know how important those few seconds could be.

Advisor assured me that it was perfectly normal, that I'd already shown promise by awakening my Psionic potential in just a single session. A few weeks of practice, a more sophisticated Psi-Amp and possibly an infusion of Zro, (if we ever got the Talos to the point where it could make the dammed stuff) and I would be comparable to a Commonwealth Psi Trooper. Given what they were supposed to be capable of, I was fine with that outcome.

I'd wanted to practice through the night, keeping myself awake at school tomorrow with a combat stimulant. Sadly, Dad had put his foot down. He'd insisted that I'd done enough for today and that I had to get some sleep, not on the roll out mats we stored in the warehouse, but in a proper bed. I'd considered arguing but decided against it. I could tell Dad was more rattled by my Shroud induced panic attack than he was letting on, and he didn't deserve any more stress. So, I tidied up, checked the Marvin's building instructions for the night and went home.

/

"Taylor, you look, awful." Said Nicky, with an uncharacteristically serious voice.

I looked at her across the cafeteria table and offered a weak grin. "Didn't get much sleep last night," I supplied. In fact, I hadn't gotten any. I'd spent eight hours lying in bed, eyes shut, trying and failing to relax. Partially it was the burning desire to keep practising with my new powers, like I'd warmed up a muscle for a race and was now being forced sit still. Mostly, it was something, else. Advisor had assured me that there was no such thing as a "Shroud Entity," that whatever I'd seen was just a figment of my imagination. Still, I couldn't get the image of its cloud obscured form out of my head, couldn't shake the feeling that it had noticed me.

I'd spent most of the night griping the metal of the Psi-Amp like a talisman. When It was time to get up, I realised I'd been gripping hard enough to leave bruises on my skin. I'd considered using what little makeup I had to hide them from Dad, not wanting to worry him, but then an idea had hit me. It had taken a full five minutes of concentration and had left my head spinning, but the bruises had faded away, replaced by smooth skin, I'd even removed a couple of spots without intending to. I'd have to be careful about that. I was already struggling to hide my Gene Modded muscles under baggy clothes. I was at the age were people expected my body to change, but there were limits.

"Is it about the d…" Began Nicky, only to trail off when she saw the look Robert was giving her.

An awkward silence fell over our table. My Gene Modded ears picked up laughter from the table where Emma and her sycophants were sitting. I glanced over at them. Madison gave me a sickeningly sweet smile while Emma turned her head away dismissively. Sophia met my gaze for a moment and then shook her head, like she was disappointed with what she saw. I felt a spike of anger. With my wrist mounted Omni-Tool, ring mounted Digi-Weapon and the Psi-Amp that I was wearing under my shirt. I could kill them in a dozen different ways. Yet there they were, dismissing me like I was nothing. I started tracing the metal of the ring with my thumb, feeling the pattern of feather etchings. It would be so easy.

"Taylor?"

"Uh?" I replied, banishing the thoughts. Killing in self-defence or to protect someone was one thing. Resorting to murder over something as petty as bullying was quite another, no matter how tempting.

Nicky glanced over at the bully's table and then started speaking, slowly and carefully. I could tell she had rehearsed what she was going to say. "Have you considered transferring schools? I'm not saying I want you to go!" she added hastily. "It's just that if they aren't going to stop and the staff aren't doing anything…" She trailed off, unsure what to say. I nodded. Unspoken was the fact that if the incident with the locker hadn't gotten Principle Blackwell to do her job, then there was no chance she'd get involved with the more mundane bullying.

I shrugged. "Dad tried to get me transferred to Arcadia a while ago." Then I realised that I hadn't told them this before and it might seem like I was trying to get away from them. "I didn't tell you because the waiting list is so long, it'll take years for me to get a spot at this rate," I added hastily.

Her face brightened. "That's perfect! You're smart, I'm sure you'll do great there. It'll be a shame we won't see you in school, but we could still meet up afterwards and at the weekends."

An idea seemed to hit Nicky and she clapped her hands in excitement. "I know, my Dad friends with Mayor, want me to ask him if he can't get you moved up to the top of the waiting list?" Not for the first time I wondered what she was doing in a dump like Winslow given her family's connections.

I smiled. "Sure, that would be great Nicky, thanks." There was no point in telling her that Fleur was already trying to do that. It would inevitably lead to questions about why she was doing it, and that was a conversation I didn't want to have.

"Awesome! Of course, my help doesn't come cheap. This weekend you and I are going shopping for some clothes, and I'm getting you something sexy if it kills me."

I gave an exaggerated sigh and nodded, a grin breaking over my face. "A hard bargain but alright."

"Great. And Robert can carry the bags for us." He grimaced, and I theatrically mouthed sorry at him. Nicky sighed and muttered something under her breath about ungrateful friends who would be wearing potato sacks if we had our way. A few minutes later the bell rang, and afternoon lessons began.

/

With our Active Camouflage systems online, Dad and I were all but invisible as we made our way over the Bay's rooftops. It was only the occasional flicker as moonlight was refracted around us that betrayed our presence. We weren't alone. Following on our heels and hidden by their own Active Camouflage, was a full platoon of freshly assembled Specters. Militarised versions of the Marvins that I'd left in the warehouse. Not that you could tell that just by looking. They were so covered in ammunition, weapons and ancillary equipment that it was almost impossible to get a clear look at their chassis.

It was a lot of firepower to bring along on a mission that might turn out to be nothing more than reconnaissance, but I was sick and tired of finding myself outnumbered and outgunned. With the Talos so heavily upgraded, I'd finally been able to do something about it.

The Exoskeletons Dad and I were wearing were the final iteration of the Atlas military Exoskeleton, which had been the mainstay of the Commonwealth's infantry for half a century. Like earlier versions, it had two shoulder equipment slots. In our case, one housed the Active Camouflage projector, the other a telescoping antitank Las Cannon.

The main difference was that the articulated pistons in the arms and legs now served as bones for synthetic muscles, boosting the user to ten times their normal strength, I'd actually had to install limiters so that Dad and I didn't snap our relatively normal bodies like twigs. Thanks to that, it could support a larger power generator, stronger shields, thicker armour and a small anti-gravity generator that helped offset the added weight. In my case, there was also a trio of Psi-Amps set into its internal structure.

Dad and I came to the edge of a roof and kicked off. We seemed to fly as the anti-gravity generator built into our Exoskeletons fought against the pull of the Earth. When we'd crossed the street, we reversed the generator's output and were pulled down to the roof's surface. Behind us, the Specters did the same.

I checked the map of the city and nodded. "There it is." I transmitted to Dad with the Laster Communication System, LCS for short. He crouched down next to me on the roof, with the Specters taking up position behind us.

Gang activity had already been on the rise, as the shock of the attacks faded, and the status quo returned. However, over the last couple of days, things had escalated. It started with Merchant drug dealers being mugged at night with no witnesses. Some Merchants got it into their heads that the ABB was responsible and had started to spray over their gang tags wherever they could be found. The Merchants had lost the inevitable street brawl and lost it badly. Normally it would have ended there, the Merchants licking their wounds and the ABB fortifying their territory. Except that later that night, some Merchant who was even crazier than the rest had performed a drive-by shooting. They'd targeted a bar that was a known ABB hang out. No one had been hurt but the damage was done. Now an almost perfect storm of gang activity was developing, with every reprisal serving to fuel another.

On the surface, it was just business as usual in the Bay. I knew better. It had been easy enough to find the car from the drive by. All I had to do was check the data logs of my sensors in the area and track its Gravitic signature through the city. After that, however, things had gotten, complicated. That car had been driven by ABB members. The one that had shot at the bar had been driven by Merchants and was an entirely different model according to witnesses. According to my sensors, both were, in fact, the same car. Whether it was by using Tinker Tech or a Cape with Stranger powers, someone, somewhere, was trying to start a gang war. The question was, who?

Dad, Advisor and I had drawn up a list of the most likely candidates. The Empire was the strongest faction in the bay, with a large roster of Capes that could be supplemented by Capes from Neo-Nazi groups in Europe and America. A lot of its members were former military, made redundant by the sidelining of the armed forces by the PRT. Add to that a solid base of popular support caused by tensions over refugees from Endbringer attacks and you had a powerful combination. The only reason they hadn't taken over the Bay's criminal underbelly was that whenever they tried the other factions in the Bay had all united against them. If they got the Merchants and ABB to destroy each other, possibly with help from the PRT, they would be free to brush aside the remaining opposition at will.

Then there was Coil. Given how long he had been active in the Bay there was surprisingly little known about him. Supposedly, he held no territory and only operated a small number of safe houses throughout the city that housed his mercenaries. Direct confrontation wasn't his style, so inciting a gang war wasn't totally out of character. The thing was, he had to be smart enough to know the Empire would try to fill the resulting power vacuum. Unless he had some master plan to eliminate them in a single stroke, he would find himself in the same situation as before, lurking in the shadows while a larger organisation ran the city's organised crime. Of course, there was always the chance that the underground base had belonged to him. If that was the case, then his true capabilities were so different from what they were supposed to be, that it would be almost impossible to predict his actions.

Finally, there was the chance that either of the Tinker Tech armed organisations was behind it. Either to test out their equipment or just to alter the situation in the Bay to their liking.

Frankly, if it was just ABB and Merchants who were in danger, then I wouldn't have gotten involved. I despised the Merchants for Mom's injury, and I had no love for the ABB, especially considering it was an open secret that they made a lot of money trafficking girls my age. The thing was, the gang members weren't the only ones in danger. There had already been a couple of cases of people getting caught in the crossfire, either mistaken for gang members and attacked or hit by stray bricks and bottles. Thankfully no one innocent had died yet, though how long that would last was hard to say.

That in mind, it hadn't been hard to convince Dad to go along with my plan. To be honest, I think he was almost as eager as me to do something. For years he'd watched the city gradually decay around him and been unable to do anything. Now, even if it was in a small way, he had the power to do something about it, and he seized it with both hands.

So here we were, father and daughter, armed to the teeth and searching for whoever was destabilising our city. I'd considered just passing the information I had on to the PRT and letting them deal with it. Unfortunately, there was one glaring problem with that. The only explanation we'd come up with for why the underground base had been evacuated so soon after my tip-off, was that that the PRT had a major leak somewhere. Until we knew who we could trust, it would be too risky to more information along.

Our target was across the street from us. A large warehouse at the southern end of The Docks, belonging to United General Distribution, according to the sign above the entrance. Unlike the one I had raided on my first outing as a Cape, it was well maintained and clearly still in use. Yes, it had metal shutters over the windows, but that was the price of doing business in the Bay. They were free of rust, and soft light was spilling out from their gaps. The street lights around its entrance were all working, and my visors zoom function showed that both the main double doors and the side door were freshly painted.

"What now Executor?" Transmitted Dad using the LCS.

With a blink command, I pulled up the data feed from my gravitic sensor grid. "Movement inside, a lot of it, some relatively dense objects inside as well. Vehicles maybe?"

"We shouldn't do anything until we've seen inside. There's still a chance they're innocent."

I nodded. Personally, I doubted it. As well as the obvious camera above the main doors, my HUD had highlighted three dozen more on the surrounding buildings. That struck me as excessive for a place that had nothing to hide. Fortunately, no alarm had been sounded, so our Active Stealth seemed to be working, for now at least.

Some of the Specters had Gremlins clamped to their backs. Using my Omni-Tool, I ordered one of the small floating drones to detach and ascend until it had a clear view of the warehouse's roof. It was gently sloped with two large skylights, one on either side. Both were covered by large metal shutters, with only thin strips of light shining through. Using its Omni-Tool, the Gremlin cut a small hole through one of the shutters. With its camera feed linked to our HUDs, we got our first view of the building's interior.

The first thing I noticed was the contrast between this warehouse and the one I'd raided on Newland Avenue. The interior of the latter had been a chaotic mess, with no rhyme or reason for its layout. In contrast, this warehouse was a hive of purposeful activity.

In one corner I saw men and women straining as they unloaded wooden crates from a trio of black vans. Set against the far wall was a collection of folding tables. Laid out on them were dozens of firearms, many undergoing disassembly and maintenance. My HUD analysed the footage and compared it with a database of contemporary weaponry. It identified pistols, shotguns, assault rifles and even a trio of M79 "Thumper" single shot grenade launchers. Weapons that fired 40mm shells that could contain anything from smoke to high explosives.

That wasn't the only firepower on display. In another corner was a collection of pickup trucks that'd been converted into Technicals by adding heavy weapons to their cargo area. I recognized the red Toyota from the drive-by, which now sported an M2 Browning machine gun and plates of armour that had been riveted to its bodywork.

There was no doubt who these people were. If the uniform colour of their skin didn't give it away, some of the tattoos on display did. It was a sobering realisation. I'd spent most of my life aware that the Empire was the strongest gang in The Bay, that it had resources and connections that the others could only dream of, but there was a world of difference between knowing that and seeing it in action. A part of me couldn't help but be impressed. First, they'd tricked their rivals into a mutually destructive gang war. Now, with almost military efficiency, they were stockpiling their own resources. When the dust settled, either due to mutual destruction or because of PRT intervention, the Empire would be in an unassailable position.

"Tay-Executor. What now?"

I turned to look at him. "Neutralize the threat."

Of course, it wasn't that simple. As much as I disliked the Empire, both for their current actions and their ideology in general, we couldn't just slaughter everyone in the warehouse. We wanted to calm things down in The Bay, and a hundred fresh corpses would have the opposite effect. If we reduced the place to a smouldering ruin, it would be impossible to search it for information. Still, it wasn't as though we hadn't come prepared for this type of situation.

Four of the Specters had been equipped for Electronic Warfare, they split off and set up their signal jammers on the surrounding rooftops. Another two set up Holo-Field generators. Devices that would project a false image of the area around the warehouse and hopefully stop anyone else in the city from noticing us.

The rest of us moved into position. A section of eight Specters lined up outside a side entrance, unnoticed by the camera above their heads. Dad and I, as well as the other two sections jumped to the roof of the warehouse, landing with cat-like grace. We took up positions at the two skylights. Most of the Specters swapped out the magazines of their L49 rifles for non-lethal sedative rounds, but not all of them. Two Specters in each section carried Tri-barrels, squad support variants of the L49 that due to their staggering rate of fire, were fed ammunition via a belt linked to an ammunition hopper on the Specters back. These Specters aimed down, at the point the Gremlin's camera feed showed the main fuse box was. The Specter in each section that was armed with a Plasma Thrower would have to hold back. A couple of shots from those and we'd be at risk of burning the whole block down.

I glanced at the countdown on my HUD and tried to control my breathing. My mouth had gone dry and I desperately wanted to remove my helmet and take a drink from the canteen in my equipment webbing. Time seemed to be slowing down around me, every sound and site becoming sharper and more pronounced.

"Do not fear Executor. We are prepared, they are not. Victory comes to the deserving."

0:00

A volley of shots from the Tri-barrels smashed through the metal of the roof like it was made of paper and blasted the main fuse box apart, plunging the warehouse into darkness. Simultaneously the section at ground level kicked in the door and swept into the building, firing as they advanced. On the roof, Specters punched through the shutters protecting the skylights and dropped dozens of Synapse Grenades into the warehouse.

There was chaos inside. Men and women were knocked off their feet by sedative rounds, landing in crumpled heaps. Synapse Grenades detonated, causing dozens to fall like puppets with their strings cut. People collided, thought they'd found the enemy and started attacking each other. I watched as one man pistol-whipped the man standing next to him, aim at his crumpled form to finish him, only to be tackled by another. There was shooting, crazy wild shooting. Someone, somewhere, started screaming in agony. Another ran straight into a Specter and unloaded the magazine of his Uzi into it at point blank range, only for the 9mm rounds to deflect off its armour, in one case striking a nearby Empire member in the shoulder. With mechanical precision, the Specter clenched its left hand into a fist and drove it into the man's stomach hard enough to lift him off the ground. As he landed in a crumpled heap, it fired two shots at his body and moved on to find a new target.

The Specters on the roof aimed down through the holes they had torn in the skylights and poured fire down into the warehouse. The rate the Empire members were falling at was staggering. For a moment I actually thought we were going to pull this whole thing off without any complications. Of course, nothing is ever that simple.

One of the mechanics that had been servicing the Technicals managed to haul himself up behind the machine gun mounted on the Toyota. With the chaos in the warehouse, it was impossible to aim, and he didn't even try. He just wrenched the cocking handle back and opened fire.

My HUD had been displaying the video feed from the Specters inside the warehouse. Which meant I got a full view of the horror that happened next. Three people were cut in half by the stream of tracers, their waist's disappearing into a bloody red mist. Others lost limbs and crumpled to the floor, screaming in agony. One of the Specters went down, its armour unable to cope with a stream of what I suspected was .50 armour piercing rounds. Then dozens of shots, including some from Dad and I, slammed into him and hurled him backwards.

Silence fell over the warehouse, broke only by the clinking of shell casings and the moans of the wounded. The entire fight had lasted maybe 60 seconds.

"Jesus." Muttered Dad.

"Come on, we don't have much time. The jammers will have stopped them from getting a warning out, but the Holo-fields don't do anything for sound, someone might have heard the M2."

Dad and I kicked out the shutters and the skylights below them and jumped inside the warehouse, the rest of the Specters following us.

"A section, threatthe wounded. B and C sections tear this place apart. Search for anything and everything that might contain intelligence."

I was half tempted to leave the Nazis to suffer, especially considering that their side had caused all of the life-threatening injuries. However, I couldn't do that, partly because I considered myself to be a fundamentally decent person, partially because it would make life harder in the long run if I got a reputation as a killer.

"Quite right Executor. Based on my analysis of current social customs, developing a reputation as someone who values human life, even that of degenerates like these, will make it easier when you decide to introduce yourself to the world at large and begin forming your government. An astute decision."

"Yes, of course, that's why I'm doing it," I muttered under my breath as I picked my way over the body-strewn floor towards what looked like a laptop set up on one of the tables.

As I walked, I pulled up my Omni-Tool. For now, there was no sign that we'd been noticed. No spike in activity at the cellphone tower, no change in police patrol routes and no activity at the RIG. That was good, but we needed to get this over with fas-,

From behind me came the sound of crumpling metal and the crack of gunfire. I spun around, only to stare open-mouthed as a Specter flew through the air above me, landing in a crumpled heap against a wall.

Dad and I were both so shocked by what had happened we were frozen in place. The Specters, on the other hand, didn't have that problem. As one they swung their rifles up and opened fire. Their target was a young man who looked only a couple of years older than me. Dressed in a dark blue shirt and pants there was very little noticeable about him. Except for the fact that as the first of the Specters aimed, he kicked off, hard enough to crack the ground underneath him and lunged at the nearest Specter. It lashed out with a punch that could have caved in a human skull, only for him to flow like water around it and with a trio of blows snap the machines head to the side.

As he did so I saw the marks on his skin where the sedative rounds had hit him.

"Bloody hell, he's a Cape! He's a Cape, switch to lethal ordinance!"

As one, those Specters with L49's began to swap their magazines, while those armed with Tri-barrels swung their weapons up. He dropped to the floor, his limbs bending in ways no human should be capable of and began to scuttle across the floor, like some hideous four-legged spider. The Specters aimed, then paused, unable to fire without risking hitting the unconscious bodies on the floor.

For a moment our eyes locked and then he sprang at me. Time seemed to slow around me as the crossed swords of Militarism slotted itself into place. My HUD painted a reticle on him as I raised my rifle and unloaded a full clip of 3mm plasma cored rounds at him. To my horror, a crackling sphere of energy burst to life around him, a personal energy shield that effortlessly absorbed the shots. I tried to bring my shoulder mounted Las-Cannon to bear but it was too late. He landed in front of me and kicked out.

I sidestepped and managed to dodge his kick that cracked the concrete beneath us, only for him to deliver a punch to my chest that hurled me into the wall hard enough to trigger my energy shielding. I blinked away tears of pain in my eyes, only to see him baring down on me. Even as I watched, blades of metal burst out from his forearms, with wicked serrated edges and ending in vicious stabbing points. Shots from the Specters and Dad were whipping in from the side, but he was hellishly fast and the shield stopped the few that hit him. Dad and Advisor were both shouting something, but I couldn't make it out.

I locked eyes with him, I saw the smile on his face as he lunged forwards, ready to skewer me. Then he froze in place, like a paused video. A faint blue tinge could be seen around his form, the same colour as the crackling and dancing energy in the palm of my right hand, as Spirituality shone in my mind. This was nothing like my earlier experiments. I felt like I was burning alive, like molten metal was being poured over my skin. Even knowing that it was the only thing keeping me alive, it just hurt so much, that I was tempted just to give in and let it happen.

Fortunately, I didn't need to do it for long. A blast from Dad's Las-cannon smashed into the shield, causing it to flare unbearably bright. A moment later, thousands of gravity accelerated darts hammered into it. For a moment it looked like it might just hold. Then something catastrophic happened and the world went white.

By the time my sight returned; Dad was standing over me, shaking me gently.

"Taylor, Taylor, are you ok?"

My mouth was dry, so I signed to him using Commonwealth military sign language.

Fine, fine.

I stood up on shaky legs and looked at my attacker, or what was left of him.

"Advisor, what am I looking at?"

The lower half of the man was just gone. That wasn't what drew my attention. Spilling out from his chest cavity was a viscous white liquid and organs that defiantly weren't made from flesh and blood.

"Fascinating, a United Nations Combat Synthetic. Based on its capabilities I would have to say that it is a model from the 25th century at the very earliest."

I jerked back as the man let out a moan and gave a cough, bringing up more of the white liquid. He turned his head until he was looking straight at me and despite the pain he was in, twisted his face into a sneer of contempt.

"Commonwealth scum. Even here we can't escape your barbarism."

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to sound as gentle as I could.

"I've got nothing to say to your kind." He closed his eyes and forced a smile on his face. "For the defence of Earth and all her people."

Dad and I leapt back in shock as something buried in his chest ignited and a moment later his body was wreathed in dancing blue flames. He kept smiling. I'll always remember that he kept smiling even as the flames consumed him.

When that was over, I turned to look at Dad. We didn't say anything, and couldn't see each other's faces, but I was sure we were both thinking the same things.

What now?

/

"Commonwealth scum." I murmured to myself, clasping the steaming mug of hot chocolate, letting the smell wash over me.

Dad looked up at me from the equipment rack he was placing his gear on. A frown on his face.

"Taylor, don't let it get to you. These people are insane. You're no…" He trailed off as I shook my head.

"He called me Commonwealth scum. Not Cape scum, not murderer, Commonwealth scum. He thought I was from the Commonwealth. And his last words, for the defence of Earth and all her people. That's the oath UNE soldiers take when they join up."

I sighed and set down the mug on the floor. "I don't think we're dealing with Capes." I looked Dad in the eye. "I think it's the real thing."

Last edited: May 26, 2019

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yanzak

Apr 9, 2019

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Threadmarks chapter 13

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yanzak

Apr 14, 2019

#723

Thomas Calvert grimaced at the taste as he swallowed the stimulant. A few weeks ago, it would have been unthinkable that he, a Cape capable of maintaining two simultaneous timelines, would struggle with his workload to the point where he needed help staying awake. Then again, a few weeks ago, his powerbase had been secure, and everything had been going according to plan.

Now, for the first time in years, the future was in doubt. His underground base of operations, the product of half a decade of financial and material investment had been abandoned and intentionally destroyed. It had been the right choice, the only one really. If the PRT had captured the place intact, then it would've been too much to hope for that they wouldn't find something to link him to the villain known as Coil.

However, the timing, so soon after the anonymous tip-off that had alerted the PRT to the base's existence, had all but confirmed that PRT ENE had been compromised. So now, not only was he overseeing the establishment of new safehouses, the replacement of equipment that had been too heavy to be quickly removed from the underground base before its destruction, and the search for the source of the tipoff that had alerted the PRT in the first place, he also had to deal with an internal investigation.

For now, his luck had held. Only a handful of his people had been caught and none of them had known who they'd been working for, only that they had been paid to install unauthorized software into various computer systems. With a little luck that would be enough to satisfy the investigators. If not, then he still had dozens more who could be sacrificed to divert attention. Even if he had to give up every source in the PRT he would still be able to recover.

However, if it looked like he might be exposed, then he would have to take drastic action. In an effort to save face, the PRT had hidden the existence of the underground base. If necessary, he could leak that information to the public. The resulting media circus would allow him to either cover his tracks, or if necessary, drop off the radar. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

He shook his head and looked down at the contract. On the surface, it merely covered a renovation of one of his company's newly acquired properties. To someone who knew what code to use, it was an employment offer for the group known as The Travelers, freelance villains with a reputation for getting results, and most importantly, no existing loyalties to any of the other factions in The Bay. The price they were asking for was excessive and would eat into his bank accounts that were already struggling with the cost of rebuilding, but with recent events, he needed a force multiplier. The Undersiders alone simply weren't enough.

The door to his office opened and his wife Elizabeth entered. He gave a genuine smile that she returned. "How's it coming dear?"

"Slowly." He sighed, reaching up and massaging his temple. "Contracts, payments, planning for the future, all of it gets so tedious sometimes."

She walked behind him and started to massage the tension out of his shoulders. He let out a sigh of relief, as for a moment the stress seemed to just melt away. "Is there anything I could do, to, speed things up?" she asked, leaning in and whispering in his ear.

Thomas didn't need to look at her to know there would be bloodlust dancing in her eyes. He shook his head. "Nothing worthy of your talents my dear. Don't worry, I'm sure something will come up soon enough."

Elizabeth sighed and made to leave, calling back to him as she reached the door. "I'm going to bed, don't keep me waiting too long," she said, with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

A few minutes later Coil gave up on the night's paperwork and followed after her.

/

Other than the fact it didn't appear on any blueprint of the Medhall building, the conference room seemed perfectly normal. A large oak table dominated it with a projector set into its centre. Despite the fact it could easily seat thirty people, one was present. Max Anders.

Those who knew him, both in his civilian life as CEO of Medhall and as the villain Kaiser would be surprised by his casual appearance. No suit or tie, just a white shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves unbuttoned. A decanter in front of him and a glass of red wine in his hand.

He took a sip and checked his watch. Sure-enough the projector came to life precisely at 5:00 PM. Despite looking like a civilian grade model, it was, in fact, Tinker Tech, a gift from an ideological supporter in Florida. Utterly untraceable and with lifelike resolution.

"Max, it's been too long." The voice was jovial, and Max knew it was genuine.

He raised his glass in salute to the projected image of a blond-haired man a few years his junior. "Richard, it's good to see you again. How's Michel?"

"Driving his mother to distraction, I swear, as soon as the little tykes take that first step it's like they're trying to make up for lost time. He'll be running marathons at this rate."

Max chuckled under his breath. "Give Jess my best, will you?"

"Of course." Richard raised a glass of his own. The two old friends both drained their respective glasses. "Raise 'um and sink 'um and let's have another." Commented Richard, the old saying they had come up with when they were both students getting plastered in bars with fake ID's.

The Image of Richard set the glass down and his face turned serious. "So, what's the situation?"

"One of our warehouses got hit a couple of days ago." There was a computer interface set in front of each chair, with a handful of taps he transmitted the information to Richard in Europe. "Three dead, half a dozen maimed, one missing and the rest unconscious."

His old friend was silent for a while as he looked the information over. "No claim of responsibility?"

Max shook his head. "None. Whoever did it called the police to pick up our people. Some of our sympathisers in the force managed to get us the transcripts of their interrogations. Half seemed to have been taken out instantly. The rest only have vague memories of a sudden blackout, gunfire pouring in from all sides, their attackers shrugging off direct hits like they were nothing."

"Police and not PRT, interesting…" mused Richard, then an expression of surprise crossed his face. "The weapons."

Max nodded. "Not stolen or left for the authorities, but intentionally destroyed. Barrels snapped, firing pins ripped out and gas pistons crushed."

"It's a message, a message to you, to us." Commented Richard.

Max nodded. "That's our assessment too. It rules out any of The Bay's normal gangs. None of them would pass up the opportunity to get their hands on weapons like those."

"The unknown Tinker Tech factions?"

Max shook his head. "None of them ever showed any aversion to killing. If it had been either of them, I doubt the building would be intact, let alone any of our people inside."

"Terrific, a third faction." Richard moved to take another drink and then seemed to think better of it. "So, how does this affect your plans for The Bay?"

Max's face twisted in annoyance. "Badly. The PRT are many things, but they aren't stupid. It looks like they've figured out what we were doing and already got messages to the ABB and Merchants. Both sides are scaling back their activities. They're still a few scuffles in the streets but nothing like we were hoping for."

Richard sighed. "A shame my friend. Your plan had such promise. Get the subhuman and race traitors to kill each other, poetic really. But somehow I doubt that you called me to hear my condolences."

"You know me too well old friend. I want to request more support from Gesellschaft and to see if you can't persuade the Aryan Nation to help us as well."

"Max," began Richard warily, "we've already given you a lot. Half a dozen Capes, military-grade weapons and a company's worth of former soldiers, some of which are now sitting in a jail cell. I'm not blaming you," he added quickly. "Sometimes things like this happen. I think It's best just to cut our losses in this case."

Max shook his head. "We still have a chance. The ABB and Merchants might not have bled themselves white, but they still hurt each other. Then there's this." He transmitted another file.

Richard had been halfway through taking a sip when he saw the file's contents and almost spat his drink out in surprise.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Friends in the PRT. Apparently, the base has been down there for years, starting in one of the incomplete Endbringer shelters. Given the tech they found there, my money is on it being Coil's base of operations."

And wasn't that an unpleasant thought. It seemed that like everyone else Max had underestimated Coil's resources, a mistake he didn't intend to make again.

Richard nodded in understanding. "The ABB and Merchants are licking their wounds and Coil has lost his base of operations. Your main opposition would be New Wave, The Protectorate and whoever attacked your people."

Max nodded. "We're not going to get another chance like this. We might not be able to take over the whole of The Bay, but we could still massively increase our territory, but only if we act fast and with overwhelming strength."

"It's risky Max."

Max shrugged. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

A smile crossed Richard's face, then it vanished. "Well, you always were one for the big picture. But we're not a charity Max. What can you offer us?"

Max nodded and sent another file.

"What's this?"

"Medhall's R and D department just had a breakthrough on one of their projects. It's a cure for Diabetes. Causes the Pancreas to start producing insulin in the required amounts. Its success rate is almost 100%. We were going to seek FDA approval for human trials next month but I assure you, it works perfectly. I'm willing to give everything, production method, pattern rights and a thousand dosages for trial."

Richard spent a few moments looking over the information and then nodded. "That would make whoever sold it very rich." A smile spread across his face. "I'll have to check with the higher ups, but that sounds acceptable to me."

The two spent a few more minutes talking before the meeting ended. After that Max made his way to his office. As he looked out over the city, illuminated in the afternoon sun. He was taking a gamble and he knew it. He might lose everything. But he could feel the excitement building in him as well. Maybe it was better this way. No more skulking in the shadows, using proxies or street fights. It had been too long since his last proper fight, since he'd been able to cut loose and demonstrate his raw power to the world, even if it was as another persona. He drank one last glass and gazed out over his city.

/

The three families that made up New Wave lived Downtown in a gated community. It was near the border of Empire and ABB territory, but neither gang was stupid enough to try anything in the area. Naturally, with the protection they offered, the house prices in the area were some of the highest in The Bay. Being home to the rich and powerful of the city it was heavily patrolled by the police and its own neighbourhood watch. Additionally, the approaches were covered by dozens of high-quality cameras that saw in multiple wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum.

None of which caused any problems for the Gremlin as it flew over the rooftops. If anyone looked up, the most they might have seen in the night's sky was a momentary distortion, gone as soon as it had appeared.

The Pelham house was the largest and also the closest. According to thermal imaging, it seemed as though all of New Wave was present. At least it would make things simpler.

"Executor, are you sure you want to do this?"

I looked over at Dad, standing next to me in the warehouse and also viewing the Gremlin's sensor feed on his helmets' HUD.

"They have to know. There could be hundreds of those synths out there. The authorities are struggling enough as it is. If we don't warn them, then things are only going to get worse. We know the PRT is compromised so it's too risky to tell them directly. Hopefully, New Wave will know who to trust. I understand that you're nervous, but that's why we're doing this by proxy. if everything goes to hell, we just have the Gremlin self-destruct and think up a new plan."

Dad just nodded.

Well, here goes nothing.

It felt strange, having the little drone use its Omni-Tool to press the doorbell. For a moment I wondered if they had heard me, then the door opened. Glory Girl stood in front of the drone; her eyes wide with surprise. Then she turned and called over her shoulder. "Mom, can you come here?"

A couple of minutes later the drone was hovering in the middle of the Pelham dining room. There was tension in the air, but no one had actually done anything overtly hostile which I took as an encouraging sign.

"So," began Lady Photon, crossing her arms in a way that made me even more jealous than normal of her assets. "Who are you an what do you want?"

I took a deep breath and activated the hololithic projector I'd installed on the Gremlin earlier today.

A one to one image of myself, in full Atlas battle plate, appeared. I activated a voice synthesiser and started to speak.

"Hello, New Wave. My name is Executor. I have valuable information and no one else I can tru-,"

"That is so cool!" Exclaimed Shielder as he took a step forward, only for Manpower's arm to fly out, grab him by the shoulder and pull him back.

"Um," for a moment I lost my train of thought before composing myself.

With Xenophile burning in my mind I pressed on. "I have information about one of the Tinker Tech organisations."

"What information?" asked Flashbang.

"At least one and possibly both of theorganizationsm are deploying Synthetic life forms to infiltrate powerful organizations. Their capabilities are…"

For the next five minutes, New Wave stood transfixed as I walked them through the situation in the Empire warehouse and what it meant. Some of them recoiled when the video of the half-destroyed Synth played, but I noticed that Brandish had narrowed her eyes instead. I suddenly felt very glad I hadn't come in person. When the Synth self-immolated even she was shocked.

"Jesus," muttered Flashbang.

Lady Photon looked at my projection. "If you knew all this, why come to us and not the PRT?"

"I have reason to believe that the PRT, or at least some parts of it has been compromised." That drew a round of awkward muttering and worried glances by the adults in the room.

"How did you get this information?" Asked Brandish, whose stares intensity had if anything increased.

A moment of awkward silence passed. Then I shook my head.

"You want us to trust you but yo-," began Brandish, only to stop when Flashbang placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Assuming for a moment that you are telling the truth. What exactly do you want us to do with this information?"

"You know the PRT better than I do. You know who is trustworthy. Give the information to them." At my command, a USB stick detached from the drone and landed gently on the carpeted floor. "Everything they need to know is on that."

"And if we need to contact you?" asked Fleur.

"I've created an account on PHO, it's called, Executor. Private message me there if you want to talk."

A few minutes later the little drone was on its way home.

/

"Well. That went as well as we could hope." Commented Dad as he started to strip out of his armour. "Think they'll pass the message along?"

"I can't see why they wouldn't. They seemed as shocked as we were."

Dad grunted slightly as he lifted the Exo-skeleton up on to an equipment rack with gene modded muscles. "You know we're going to have to come up with some kind of back story, right? That won't be the last time someone asks you how you know all of this stuff."

I nodded.

Something seemed to be troubling Dad, he kept looking at me and then glancing away.

"Dad, are you alright?"

"Taylor, I want to be able to use Psionics."

That caught me off guard. "Really? You didn't seem too happy with them when I unlocked them."

He nodded. "I wasn't, but they were what saved your life in the warehouse. We need every edge we can get."

I nodded. "Well, at least it should be easier this time."

A few minutes later Dad and I were sitting on the floor, our eyes closed and with my hands holding his head. Spirituality shone in my mind as I followed Advisor's instructions and started to funnel small quantities of psi energy into Dad slowly. Half an hour later I heard Dad give a gasp of surprise and my eyes snapped open. Sure enough, the Psi-amp dangling around his neck was glowing blue, though I noticed it was a lot dimmer than when it had first happened to me.

I lay down on the floor and gave a sigh of relief, Dad offered me a towel and I used it to wipe away the beads of sweat that covered my face.

After a few moments of panting, I pulled my self up. "So, do you want to start practising now?"

Dad shook his head. "later, get some rest for now." I gave him a grateful smile and lay back on the floor, closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

/

Attention all Commonwealth forces. Partial interception of enemy communications reveals large scale redeployment of forces to the eastern seaboard of the "United States of America." believed to be in response to the Shroud breach detected in Brockton Bay.

159th Regimental Combat Team is ordered to execute search and destroy operations in the Bay, the capture of the source of the Shroud breach is secondary, repeat, secondary importance.

Per ardua ad astra.

Last edited: Apr 15, 2019

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yanzak

Apr 14, 2019

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Threadmarks chapter 14

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yanzak

May 24, 2019

#799

"Late night?" asked Nicky with a smile, as I tried and ultimately failed to stifle a yawn.

I nodded. "Got to sleep around four. Lots of homework to do." I felt only slightly guilty at deceiving her. Both statements were true if she put them together and came to the wrong conclusion, then it wasn't my fault.

I had been up late, but I'd been putting my problem-solving skills to far better use than completing the pile of homework that Winslow, in a frankly Sisyphean attempt to provide its students with a quality education, had been giving us to make up for cancelled classes. Most students weren't bothering to hand it in, and the ones who did usually put minimal effort into it. Not that I was one to judge, given that all my work had been done by the Marvins while I focused on more important matters.

Of course, that had caused the Trio and their hangers-on to declare that I was some pathetic teacher's pet who spent all her time around books because I had no friends. I'd ignored them. Anything else would just have been a waste of time and effort. If anything, they seemed to take my indifference as a challenge to come up with more painful insults, though none of them had done anything physical since the locker. A small part of me hoped it was because they recognized it had been a step too far, but I knew it was far more likely that word had gotten out that Nicky's father was a friend of the mayor. Nobody wanted the kind of attention that attacking one of his daughter's friends might bring.

It was pouring with rain that day, so like every student who wasn't desperate for a cigarette, the three of us stayed in the cafeteria after finishing what the school insisted on calling food. We fell into our usual routine. Nicky chatted away with seemingly limitless energy while the two of us chipped in now and then. I was grateful Robert was with me, because it helped distract Nicky while I focused on more important work.

Over the past few days, Dad and I had been working flat out, kept functioning mostly by fabricated stimulants. At best we had a week until Mom woke up and when that happened, our ability to operate without suspicion would be limited. In Dad's case, that meant spending hours on end trying to get control of his newly developed Psionics. In mine, it meant coming up with the most efficient upgrade plan for the Marvins, increasing the capabilities of my surveillance network and limited self-augmentation. The Commonwealth and UNE forces on Earth Bet were numerous, well equipped and ruthless in their own way. I needed anything that might give me the edge in combat.

First had come the medical nanites, more advanced versions of the ones I'd used on mom and for my first gene mods. The first time I'd installed gene mods I'd been able to move around and function just fine as they were changing my body. Yes, it'd felt strange at times but nothing serious. This time the modifications I was making were drastic enough that I sedated myself as they got to work. When I woke up, I was glad I'd started on a Friday afternoon because it gave me a couple of days to get used to my new body. It took me a dozen attempts before I could hold a pen without crushing it. With increased muscle density, hardened bones and synapse to name just a few modifications, my power classification now stood at something like Brute three thinker two. I might not be punching out Glory Girl anytime soon, but anyone other than a Cape trying to brawl with me was in for a shock.

Dad didn't object to my gene modding, but it could tell what came next bothered him. Frankly, I didn't enjoy it much either, but what choice did I have? The small Psi amp that the second dose of nanites assembled in my skull wasn't worth much in a fight, but it meant that even if I was disarmed, I'd still have a fallback weapon.

I'd considered installing some of my cybernetic designs, but with the quality of nanites I currently had access to it would take a week for even the most minor augmentations. Well, at least if I didn't want my psionic abilities to interfere with the augmentation's Mind Interface Unit and potentially fry my Central Nervous System.

As Nicky and Robert talked, Advisor and I held a briefing session in the privacy of my head. I'd quickly looked over the data from my sensor network and news sites at breakfast, and although I didn't have time to memorize it in a conventional sense, I had a workaround. All I had to do was look at the page for a few seconds and Advisor would commit it to memory for me. Then we could go over it at school. It would have been simpler to upload the data to my phone, but I didn't want to risk someone stealing it and handing it over to the PRT when they saw what was on it.

As Advisor was briefing me on the latest round of brushfire wars between cape warlords in Africa, I looked around the room again. I saw one of the jocks, a white kid with bulging muscles a few tables away who seemed to be checking out Sophia. He glanced at me, realized I knew he'd been staring and quickly averted his eyes. Well, there was no accounting for taste it seemed.

I turned back to our conversation. "Robert, are you ok?" I asked. I'd thought he looked under the weather when I first saw him, and now, he was massaging his temples with his eyes closed.

"Fine, fine. Things are getting a bit hectic at Dad's job. Something about sup-."

My phone started to ring. I began to apologize and fished it out of my pocket. Only to pause mid-sentence, eyes wide and with the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Every phone in the cafeteria was ringing. Every. Single. One.

There was a moment of stunned inactivity as four hundred students tried to process what was happening. Then a flurry of activity. Some started crying. Some sprinted for the doors. Most, like me, simply pulled our phones out and stared at the message. There was only one reason for an all phones message like this. Sure enough, the words were there for all to see.

Endbringer activity detected.

Marshfield, Massachusetts.

Stand by for further updates.

I looked up from my phone. Robert was trying to seem calm and controlled, an effort hampered by the fact he was groping empty air a good six inches from his drink. Nicky kept looking at her phone, as though if she stared long enough the world would rearrange itself into something less nightmarish.

Marshfield was a city about 50 miles south of The Bay. It was about two thirds larger and critically hadn't relied on maritime trade for its economy. So, while the Bay had fallen into a seemingly irreversible depression after Leviathan first appeared, it had prospered, as companies and wealthy families from The Bay moved out of the area. It did have gangs of course, but they were small with only a couple of capes to call upon nothing like the Empire or ABB. Honestly, most people in The Bay would admit to at least a little jealousy when it came to Marshfield.

Until today

"Which one do you think it is?" asked Nicky, her voice unusually quiet.

Robert and I exchanged glances. "They don't attack twice in a row. Simurgh hit Madrid two months ago, so it's either Behemoth or Leviathan." Answered Robert.

"Marshfield's on the coast. That means Leviathan." I saw Nicky flinch. All Endbringers were the stuff of nightmares. But Brockton was a coastal city, so the second Endbringer held a unique fear to us. Even with him attacking 50 miles away, it was a coin toss as to whether or not the beachfront would be in for damage from waves caused by his Hydrokinesis brewing up a storm.

I opened my mouth to speak but the voice of Principle Blackwell came over the announcement speakers.

"Attention. Leviathan is attacking Marshfield. The governor has declared martial law and enacted Endbringer disaster relief protocols. All roadways are to be cleared of traffic and reserved for PRT and emergency service use. Your parents won't be able to pick you up and there is a risk of storm surges along the bayfront. As Winslow is built on high ground, you're safer here than almost anywhere else. Please remain calm and await further instructions."

A nervous murmuring started up. I saw a couple of kids slip out, but most decided to stay. The knowledge it was Leviathan attacking lent an ominous air to the torrential rain outside, and most chose the solace offered by their friends and classmates. A handful of students had family in Marshfield and made increasingly frantic attempts to get through to them using their phones. One girl managed to, only to burst into hysterics as her conversation was cut off at the other end. The teachers moved amongst the students, giving what comfort they could. Mister Gladly in particular made a point to comfort the hysterical girl with what seemed like genuine tenderness.

For a moment, I felt a spike of anger that he was trying to help her when he'd never lifted a finger to help me with the bullying. Then I looked away, ashamed. Helping some of your students was at least better than helping none of them.

My mind raced. I knew what I should've done. I should've slipped away, either without anyone noticing or using the fact I lived near Winslow as an excuse. After that, go to the workshop. I didn't have transport, an oversight on my part now I thought about it, but an Atlas exoskeleton combined with gene modes would let me cover a lot of ground. I could bring the Spectres. Even if I arrived too late to fight, I could still assist in search and rescue. That's what I should have done.

Instead, I sat there, as the conversations trailed off, and a tense silence fell over the hall. I had excuses. It was 50 miles. I would arrive too late to fight and reveal my presence to both the Commonwealth and UNE forces operating on Earth Bet, potentially getting me killed before I could build up my resources to the point where I could oppose them, and stop innocent people from suffering in their battles. But they weren't the reasons I did nothing.

The truth was, I was terrified.

We were so close to having Mom back with us. Just a few more days at most, and we could go back to the same happy family that I had wanted for so long. I didn't want to die before I talked to her again. And I knew I would die. This was an Endbringer for god's sake! I knew how dangerous a fight could be. How quickly you could lose control and find yourself seconds from death. And that was just against humans with weapons comparable to mine. Against that monster? I would need to build designs centuries more advanced than the ones I was using to stand a chance of killing Leviathan.

My phone rang, and I looked down at a message from Dad. It was short and to the point.

Stay where you are.

There is nothing you can do.

Think of your mother.

Stay where you are.

As I read the message, Advisor spoke, sounding unusually gentle.

"The Vice-executor is correct. The belief that you should act is admirable. However, the wise soldier does not throw their life away for the sake of pride alone. Preserve your strength. The time will come."

Before I could respond, an excited chatter broke out amongst the students. A helicopter for one of Marshfield's news stations had been in the middle of a traffic report when the alert sirens had sounded. Instead of withdrawing, as they had been ordered to do so by an increasingly enraged air traffic controller, they had stayed in the area. Now they were providing a live stream of the attack. With a sense of morbid curiosity, I pulled up the video stream.

Because Marshfield wasn't a port city, it hadn't been built at sea level. Instead, it was nestled among a trio of hills five miles inland. I'd hoped it might have mitigated the damage of the attack.

It hadn't.

"Mine god." Murmured Robert as he looked at his own phone. "So many…"

A cold weight settled into my stomach as I looked over the images. For a moment, I thought I was seeing cars and debris being swept away as the river that flowed through Marshfield burst its banks. Then the helicopter's camera zoomed in. I heard people vomiting behind me. It wasn't debris. It was people. Thousands of people, some still thrashing against the current, some unmoving.

I checked the banner headline.

Leviathan is attacking Marshfield. Swam up the river without detection, sirens did not sound!

"The sirens…" began Nicky, before trailing off. Her hands were shaking.

I slumped back in my chair, a feeling of helplessness washing over me. There was no point in even trying. No one was going to survive this. No warning, no time to gather Capes and get the civilians to the shelters. This wasn't going to be a good day or a bad day. This was going to be like the first times the Endbringers had attacked. A slaughter.

A handful of Capes were fighting, but it was clear they stood no chance. Most had probably been killed before they could even change into their costumes, and Marshfield didn't have any heavy hitters like Lung or Kaiser. People who might be able to slow down Leviathan. The camera focused on a handful of people trapped on the roof of a shopping centre. Some of them were frantically waving at the helicopter, begging it to come down and pick them up, while others just stared out at the destruction of their city, too shell shocked to move.

Leviathan saw them. With deliberate slowness it moved towards them, ignoring the stream of gunfire from a Cape on another rooftop who didn't seem to need to reload. Some people ran back inside the building. Some leapt off the side, hoping the flooded streets would be safer. Most just stayed. A fireball struck Leviathan in the face. One of the people on the roof was a Cape, fighting in full view of a camera with no costume, no attempt to hide his face, just a person trying to survive.

A cheer went up as the young black man threw three more fireballs at the Endbringer, throwing up a cloud of debris and smoke that obscured it from view. For a moment, just a moment I felt a spark of hope, despite everything I knew about Endbringers that maybe, just maybe…

A scaled hand reached out of the cloud of smoke and with contemptuous ease, crushed the life out of the Cape, in front of his horrified family and friends. With a sweep of his arms, Leviathan summoned a tidal wave that blasted the building apart down to its foundations. A groan went up around the cafeteria at the unfairness of it all.

Leviathan paused as though it was basking in the destruction it had caused. The handful of Capes who were still alive seemed to have lost their nerve, and there was no sign of PRT responders. It looked up at the news chopper, as though considering it for its next target.

The camera feed went white.

For a few seconds, the footage was a blur as the frantic pilot tried to regain control of their aircraft as it was buffeted by winds that stressed its design to its absolute limit.

When the footage came back into focus, I felt my stomach lurch. Stretching out for hundreds of meters from the point Leviathan had been standing was a blasted hellscape. The ground had been heated to glass, buildings, even sodden by the constant rain Leviathan brought had caught fire and been reduced to twisted heaps of molten metal.

I didn't join in the shocked reactions of the rest of my classmates. Instead, my eyes narrowed. I recognized that kind of damage. I was looking at the blast site of a Turbo-laser Destructor. Which meant…

The cameraman yelled out in fear, as Leviathan, just starting to pick itself up from the molten centre of the crater, was struck again and again by dozens of blasts, slashing in from above. Each one left a column of ionized air and superheated water vapour that lead straight to its source. The cameraman leaned out of his seat and angled the camera upwards. Even with the torrential rain, the rotor blades in the way and the continuing bombardment, I could just make out the pair of aircraft. The image resolution was terrible, and they were at least two kilometres above the helicopter. But I knew what they were.

Thunderhawk gunships, configured for a fire support role. Their cargo bays swapped out for larger power generators and munitions stores. The iconic Commonwealth atmospheric assault craft and the MI-24 Hind of the 24th century. And if there was two of them, then that meant…

Four more Thunderhawks sped in from the north, running in low to the ground, their pilots maneuvering around hills and trees with an ease that spoke of an MIU link between man and machine, weapon pods flashing. Hundreds of plasma missiles streamed from their flanks and dozens of Death Seekers bunker busters launched from wing mounts. Large bore quad linked assault cannons opened fire, hurling thousands of gravitons accelerated rounds that slammed into Leviathan like a metal hurricane, each one containing a charge of plasma or nanites. Only their dorsal mounted Turbo-laser Destructors, identical to the ones used by the fire support variant but powered by smaller generators, held their fire. If they had been used at such a low angle of attack, then their beams would have cut through the city and obliterated what little was left.

With earth-shattering impact, the gunships deployed their landing struts and slammed onto the ground on the hills around the city. Assault ramps dropped, and an armoured tide of soldiers swept down the ramp. I saw hundreds of infantrymen wearing Atlas exoskeletons, many handling anti-gravity gun platforms. Behind them came dozens of Battlesuits, lumbering down the ramp and triggering their thrusters as soon as they were clear. Within ten seconds the troopers were clear, and the Thunderhawks lifted themselves into the air, weapons still firing.

All this time the Turbo-laser Destructors had continued their bombardment. Leviathan had tried to escape the bombardment, but you can't outrun light. Dozens of impacts had hammered him into the ground, and as the other four Thunderhawks rose high enough to bring their primary weapons to bare without endangering the city, the hit rate had only increased. The crater was now hundreds of meters deep, and molten earth was now pooling around Leviathan's ankles. For a moment, it seemed we were about to see the death of an Endbringer.

Then a solid wall of water burst from the ground beneath his feet. For a moment, just a moment, he was protected from the bombardment. When a hurricane of Turbo-laser Destructor fire blasted his shield apart, he was already halfway to the overflowing river that ran through the city. If he reached that the battle would be over, submerged in water Leviathan could move so fast that it resembled teleportation. He would escape, and there would be nothing the Commonwealth forces could do to stop it.

He was just meters from the river when coordinated strikes from the Thunderhawks evaporated the river for a kilometre in either direction. As constant Turbo-laser Destructor strikes evaporated the river's water, a hurricane of fire from the ground forces on the surrounding hills slammed into Leviathan and pushed him back. Las beams, plasma bolts, graviton beams. Enough firepower to obliterate a division swept over him. It wasn't just mundane weapons either.

I heard people gasp as Psi Lances, spears of unreality channelled by psionic troopers smashed into him, gouging meters deep wounds into his skin. In ten seconds, he took more damage than in the last three attacks combined.

Leviathan thrashed and twisted, trying to escape the barrage that tore into him. He slashed his arms at the troopers firing at him. An echo of water, shaped like his arm, hurtled towards them. Even after travelling three kilometres, it still had enough force to turn Men to pink mist and sweep Battlesuits backwards by the force of impact.

Leviathan froze in place, his form gripped by the tell-tale blue tinge of a Psi Stasis filed, identical to the one that had saved my life in the raid of the Empire warehouse. My mind reeled at the strain it must have been putting on the Commonwealth Psi Troopers. Stopping one person was hard. An Endbringer? That was a whole other level.

Already I could see the horrific strain it was putting on them. The camera caught the flash of light as a pair of Psi Troopers combusted, their Psi Amps overloading and consuming them in uncontrolled Psi energy. One of the anti-grav weapons teams was too close, and streams of azure and purple fire enveloped them before they could get clear.

Other Psi troopers succumbed, either collapsing as their minds were overwhelmed and the safeties of their Psi Amps activated in time or being consumed by their runaway powers if they didn't. They had seconds at most until enough troopers were lost that Leviathan would be able to break free.

Seconds were all they needed.

Every weapon was brought to bear on the trapped Endbringer. So many impacts and detonations occurred that the camera feed cut out for a moment. When it returned, the battlefield was obscured by billowing clouds of smoke and debris. You could have heard a pin drop in the cafeteria. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the time an Endbringer died. Then a gust of wind blew in, and a groan rose from hundreds of students and staff.

Leviathan was still alive. He was wounded to be sure. Great chunks had been blasted away from his body and his left hand been smashed into a stump. More damage than I could ever remember an Endbringer suffering.

But he was still alive.

My mind reeled. Every weapon I had seen was one I had the blueprints for. I knew how much firepower had been unleashed in every salvo. For anything to be alive after that… Everyone knew Endbringers were in a league of their own. But this? This was insanity. This was hopeless.

"No Executor, it is not. Knowledge is power, and these, rebels, have given us much to think upon. With it, we can assess the capabilities of the Endbringers and prepare our counterstroke. Take heart; there is still hope."

Before I could respond the situation changed again. A seventh Thunderhawk screamed towards Leviathan, but instead of executing a gun run it opened its assault ramp and executed a textbook anti-grav drop.

30 figures leapt from the gunship. I recognized them at once. The distinctive wing assembly on their back that contained thrusters and graviton generators in a single package left no doubt. Pretorians, the elite grav-drop infantry of the Commonwealth during its first two centuries of stellar expansion.

This didn't make any sense. Pretorians were an elite formation, but I'd just seen Leviathan shrug off the attacks of a reinforced company, supported by half a dozen gunships. Even if every Pretorian was an alpha class psionic they wouldn't be enough. So, what were they thinking, throwing them into a hopeless battle?

A moment later I had my answer.

" Just how many Capes do they have?!" yelled Greg Veder, speaking for everyone in the room as the Pretorians sprang into action.

Instead of circling the battlefield, harassing the enemy and striking at targets of opportunity, like they normally would have, the Pretorians had gunned in hard, trying to close the distance as fast as possible. With less than a hundred meters between them and their target, they had unleashed a bewildering variety of powers.

Flames leapt from one man's palm, coiling around Leviathan like a snake and melting parts of its skin so it flowed like candle wax. Another split into half a dozen clones which each split into another half a dozen. The one-person platoon preceded to throw themselves at Leviathan, latching onto its arms and legs, only to blast themselves apart like biological limpet mines. A Pretorian was cut in half by a slash of Leviathans tail, only for one of their squad mates to gesture at their corpse. Time seemed to rewind, giving us the spectacle of a man's torso rising back into the air and spontaneously regrow his legs.

This didn't make sense. The Commonwealth had access to psionics, I knew what psionics were capable of. Maybe half the powers on display could be replicated by a psionic individual and many of them, like the time manipulation should have rendered a person mentally drained and unable to keep fighting. Instead, the Pretorians didn't seem to flag or falter in the slightest. And there was nothing else about them that didn't make sense, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"That not right!" cried Greg, who usually in his life became the centre of attention.

For a moment he seemed to shrink in on himself as dozens of people looked at him questioningly, but to my surprise, he swallowed and kept talking. "Those powers, I recognize half of them. That snake is Fire Cobra; the clones are Now You See Me and the time thing is Mad Hatter. But, but they're dead, they were killed in the attacks I saw it on the news, and they were never this powerful."

"Could they be Capes with similar powers?" asked Mister Gladly, his eyes shining with the interest of a fellow Cape fanboy.

"No, I'm telling you, it's the same power, just stronger. Look! Look! The one who just reflected Leviathans attack back at him, that's Payback's power, but she was killed in the fighting in LA, the cameras recorded it all."

He kept going, spouting the names of capes I had barely heard off.

In my head, the pieces fell into place. The seemingly random nature of the attacks. The scanning device they had used in the mall that detected Glory Girl and Panacea. The scans of their brains. I tried to take a drink, but my hands were shaking so much that I knocked it over. Everything had been for the goal of gathering data on parahumans. Data that had been used to create artificial capes, capes with improved powers on the original.

It made sense for them to have targeted Panacea. If they got her scan data and managed to churn out copies, then they'd have the world's best healer at their disposal. And Glory Girl? Everyone knew she was Alexandria 2.0. An army of people with her powers and Commonwealth tech was a terrifying idea.

Then another thought hit me, and I gasped out in shock, thankfully no one seemed to notice.

If they had been scanning for Capes, why hadn't they found me?

"A matter we must investigate when possible." Supplied advisor.

I looked over at Nicky and Robert to see how they were handling the situation. She was crying and leaning into his shoulder. Robert looked uneasy but was trying to comfort her. That wasn't what drew my attention. Behind her, I could see the same boy who'd been checking out Sophia. It was the look on his face that rang alarm bells.

Unlike everyone else in the room, he didn't look shocked or worried about the situation. Instead, he seemed almost bored. Like he'd expected this to happen. Not looking away, I reached out to him psionically. In-depth mind reading was often lethal and far beyond my capabilities. Instead, I simply tried to brush against his surface thoughts, to try and see if I was going crazy or if my suspicion was correct.

I hit a wall; the impenetrable barrier of a mind protected by a Psi Shield. The mental feedback hit me like a car. My jaw snapped shut with a force that would have shattered my teeth if not for one of my civilian grade gene mods. The world seemed to spin for a moment, but I had just enough presence of mind to look down at my phone. When the world had come back into focus, and I risked looking up I saw the boy looking from side to side, his left hand balled into a fist.

So, my guess had been right. The Commonwealth had at least one operative at Winslow. It was a fair bet they were looking for a Cape to study. The question was, were they here for me, or someone else. Someone else…

I looked over at Sophia. It was a good thing the psionic feedback had left me exhausted, or I might have attacked her there and then.

Another round of gasps went up from the audience, and I looked down at my phone.

One of the Thunderhawks was plummeting to earth, its hull was torn open and streaming flames from its flanks. Floating down towards the battlefield was its killer. The Simurgh had joined the battle. Another gunship tried to engage her, but with effortless ease she seemed to glide out of the way of its weapons fire, always staying just a moment ahead of the craft's targeting software. With a lazy wave of her hand, she sent a blast of telekinetically compressed air that slammed into the machine. Its cockpit assembly crumpled like a car crash, and the machine spun out of control. She resumed her descent onto the battlefield, dancing around the hundreds of shots aimed at her. As she passed the altitude of the news chopper she seemed to look straight into the lenses of the camera.

The feed cut off.

/

"Run it by me again Taylor."

I nodded at dad and pulled up the data from my Omni-tool. "This is the scan of Glory Girl and Panacea. That there is the Corona Pollentia. As far as we know, that's what makes you a Cape."

I pulled up another set of scan data.

"And this is my scan." I highlighted a small area.

"It looks different."

I nodded. "I've had the Marvins go over everything available on the Corona Pollentia. That's not a Corona Pollentia. Advisor went over the entire database and found a couple of possibilities. He thinks it might be a modified, Command and Control implant."

"So, you're not a cape?"

I nodded.

"How, how did you miss this?" He asked, not unreasonable under the circumstances.

I leaned back in my chair and popped another painkiller for my stress-induced headache.

"I knew I had something there, I found it in the first scans I took before installing gene mods. But I just assumed…" I trailed off. I felt so dammed tired.

"It's not your fault Kiddo. You thought you were a cape, it made sense to think it was a Corona Pollentia."

I looked up at him and gave him a weak smile. He grinned back and pulled me into a hug. It was a couple of minutes before he let go.

"So, how did it get there. Did someone do something to you." His hands were clenched into fists. One of them was gripping the armrest of my seat. I don't think dad noticed when it crumpled and deformed in his hand.

"Advisor said there's no sign of surgery or an invasive procedure. He thinks it might be nanites, like the ones we used on Mom. All I'd need to do was touch something and it would enter my system. After that, it would use my body mass as raw material to assemble the implant."

"It would explain why all of its capabilities were not available initially. I remember coming online gradually over several days. It was only in your bedroom after the warehouse raid that I was functioning enough to communicate with you."

A scowl crossed Dad's face. "And he didn't tell you this?"

Instead of replying, I gave Advisor control of my voice.

"I would never keep information from the Executor. My purpose is to serve and advise. After coming online, I was granted access to local knowledge. My existence due to a Corona Pollentia made perfect sense at the time. For my failure to assess the situation correctly, I will submit to disciplinary action if it is deemed necessary."

Dad sighed and shook his head. "I liked you better when you were being unreasonable." He ran his fingers through his hair. A habit Mom had always chastised him for when she'd been with us.

"So, you're not a Cape, but you can act like one. We don't know for certain how that happened. We've got a Commonwealth agent at your school, and one of your worst bullies might be a Cape. Commonwealth and UNE forces seem content to fight a private war throughout the country with no regard for civilian lives, and at least the former can produce artificial Capes. Finally, for the first time in history, two Endbringers took part in an attack. Did I miss anything?"

I offered him an exhausted grin. "Just one thing." I held up my Omni-tool for him to see the message.

"New Wave. They want to meet."

/

Well, here we are. We finally know at least part of what the Commonwealth was doing. The attacks weren't just to acquire cape data but that was one of the main reasons.

So, a couple of points.

I might get some flack for Taylor not sprinting off to join the fighting, but I think I gave a decent explanation of why. In cannon Worm Taylor only has a father left, she's not got as much to live for and is more willing to take risks in combat. Case in point is her willingly fighting Lung on her first day as a Cape.

Most people simply wouldn't consider that, she did. In this AU however, she doesn't have the same mindset. She has a reason to stay back, and if she did get involved, she probably would have died for nothing.

Taylor not realising she's not a cape for a while might throw some people, but I have my reasons and the explanation of why they didn't know made sense, at least to me.

As for the fight against Leviathan, he took a lot of damage, but anyone who reads Worm will know how tough they are. Psi attacks worked well on them because they don't obey the laws of physics so it's quiet damaging.

As for why they would bother using artificial Capes, well as we saw the reality warping powers of Capes, especially if enhanced can do a lot of damage and be very versatile. As for the end result of the battle, well two Endbringers, you can guess, but I might include a POV chapter from another character.

/

I also went back and edited the chapter that introduces Robert. He still has to put on fresh clothes when Nicky leaves, but I cut the alcohol rub down. In hindsight that was a bit much. .

Last edited: Jun 12, 2019

219

yanzak

May 24, 2019

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Threadmarks Chapter 15

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yanzak

Jun 19, 2019

#922

At first glance, there was nothing significant about the personal message. It had been sent from the account Bay4LifeM8 and seemed to be nothing more than questions about the best Cape spotting locations in the Bay. It was only the fact that I had created that account myself, and I'd included the login details on the USB stick I had given New Wave, that told me who'd sent it. With that in mind and after applying the cypher that the USB stick had also contained, the message became far more significant.

PRT needs to meet with you immediately to discuss recent events.

Electronic communications may be compromised. Sensitive information should not be transmitted over the net.

Stark's park, midnight.

New Wave and one Protectorate Cape will be in attendance. Bring as much support as you want.

"You do realise this could be a trap, right?" asked Dad, who was running through an exercise that was meant to improve his psionic control, telekinetically lifting a coin up into the air and setting it down on its edge. I had tactfully not mentioned that the exercise was one for psionically gifted children. Even so, beads of sweat were rolling down his face. Maybe it was the command implant in my skull, or the age difference, but Dad was finding psionics much harder to come to grips with than I had.

"It could be." I agreed, leaning back into my chair. "After that display of power by the Commonwealth, I imagine they're desperate for information. Our warning about the UNE's Synths shows we're involved somehow. Even if they know the troops at Marshfield were from the Commonwealth, it still makes sense to try asking us what we know, given how the two groups are connected."

Dad nodded. "Unfortunately, the most logical explanation for how you know what you do is that you used to belong to either the UNE or Commonwealth."

I sighed. "Which means some of the PRT and New Wave might want to bring me in for questioning. Luring me out to a park at midnight, where there are no civilians to get caught in the crossfire makes sense."

"So, we don't go?"

I shook my head. "We don't have a choice. The Commonwealth deployed half a dozen gunships, a company of soldiers and a platoon of artificial Capes. We don't know how strong the UNE is, but given they're willing to fight the Commonwealth head-on; they at least think they can win. I just don't think we can fight people with resources like that by ourselves."

Dad sighed and pocketed the coin.

"Fine, but you don't need to go. You used a voice synthesiser to talk to New Wave, so I can i-,"

"Not happening," I said, putting my foot down. "If I can't go off and do things by myself because you're afraid I'll get myself killed, then you can't do the same thing. I'm not having Mom wake up only to be told her husbands in the Birdcage."

Dad opened his mouth to argue, saw the look in my eyes and sighed. "Like mother, like daughter." He said, a weary smile on his face. "Fine, but we need to come up with a plan. There's no point taking unnecessary risks."

/

Stark's park was in one of the nicer parts of town, meaning that at midnight on a school day, it was refreshingly free of junkies and gang members. That made it all the easier for the cloaked Gremlin, orbiting 300 meters above the park, to find what it was looking for.

"Well, there they are," Transmitted Dad over the LCS.

Sure enough, thermal imaging showed a small cluster of people in the middle of the park. Switching to the visible light spectrum showed that it was the entirety of New Wave and standing slightly apart from the group, Armsmaster. On my HUD I pulled up the readings from the Gravitic Sensors that covered this part of the Bay. Next to that, I pulled up a time lapsed display from the same sensors. I watched as the shifting signatures of parents and their children drained out of the park and, an hour ago, were replaced by less than a dozen new ones. The last to arrive must have been Armsmaster on his bike, given it weighed as much as any three of the others. Without thinking, I added name tags to their gravitic signatures. My sensor grid covered the whole city, so as long as they didn't leave its bounds, I would be able to track their signature and know where they were at all times. I had no plans to fight the Bay's heroes, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Dad and I were sitting in the Workshop, fully kitted out in Atlas exoskeletons. With us was a full platoon of Spectres. Another platoon's worth was spread out on the rooftops that surrounded the park, all of them hopefully hidden from sight by active camouflage systems. With luck, they wouldn't be needed.

"I've got nothing else on my gravitic sensors, or the passive sensors of the Gremlins and Spectres. The only way I can get a clearer picture is if I switch their sensors to active search, but that'll be impossible for someone like Armsmaster to miss."

"Is it possible that there's something we're not seeing?"

"Unlikely, but possible, some of my more advanced designs that use higher dimension mathematics could do it, I suppose you might be able to use artificial gravity to cancel out your gravitic signature. Psionics can affect how you see the world, so can Capes, but New Wave and Armsmaster shouldn't be capable of doing either."

I spent a few moments chewing my lip as I thought, a habit Mom had always disliked.

"I just don't think this is a trap. If it was, wouldn't they've set a limit on the number of people we could bring? And wouldn't New Wave leave its younger members behind if there was going to be a fight?"

"Executor, I urge you not to underestimate them due to their age. I have studied the paramilitary organisation "New Wave" and I am impressed by their capabilities. Their older members brought the agitator Marquis to justice and since then their roster has only increased in size and capabilities. The low-level skirmishing with criminal elements in the years since has proven the capabilities of their younger members as well. I would advise against hand to hand combat with Glory Girl until your armour has been upgraded by at least a generation."

My mouth twitched into a smile. "I'll keep that in mind." As for Armsmaster, anyone who could walk away from two Endbringer attacks with nothing more than scratches on his armour demanded respect.

"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," I muttered, sending a command via my HUD.

Initially, after we'd agreed that neither of us would be meeting with the authorities directly, Dad and I had planned on the same method as last time, a single Germline outfitted with a holographic projector. However, Advisor had given his input, and we'd decided to go with his plan instead.

Advisor's reasoning had made sense. By seeming to attend the meeting physically we would not only build trust with the authorities, but if it did turn out to be a trap, then we'd get the authorities to tip their hand early and only lose a handful of easily replicable machines.

Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

The Spectre we'd selected to serve as our proxy had undergone so many modifications that it was almost a complete rebuild. As well as changing its outline with the addition of remodelled limbs, new armour plates and bundles of synthetic muscles, we'd also installed a Body Language Simulation Algorithm originally intended for Protocol Droids. The end result was that our Spectre could now, (hopefully) pass for the person New Wave had seen projected into their living room wearing an Atlas exoskeleton.

It'd been moving through the city for the last hour and a half, obscured from sight by Active Camouflage. Now I'd sent the signal (relayed to the city's main cell-phone tower and then to the orbiting Gremlin so no one could trace it back to us) it was approaching the park from the side opposite the Workshop. That last part probably wasn't necessary, its stealth systems were the best I'd build so far and it also had a Cameleoline cloak, but it would be stupid for us to go through all of this effort, only for the Commonwealth, UNE or PRT to follow it back to us.

Following its instructions, the Spectre deactivated its Active Camouflage projectors a moment before it emerged from an alley near the park. Even with its Cameleoline cloak, the effects were immediate. Armsmaster turned to New Wave, and a moment later a ripple of activity went through the group. For a moment, I was sure they were about to spring into action. But as the seconds passed, it became clear he was just alerting them to our presence.

"It would seem we need to revise our assessment of Armsmaster's sensor equipment. A Cameleoline cloak of that quality should have provided more protection from visual scanning, intriguing." Commented Advisor.

As the Spectre closed the distance, a thought struck me.

"Advisor, are you really ok with this, with us fighting the Commonwealth?"

"Of course Executor, you are my superior in this theatre of operations. I will support you in all possible ways and comply with all instructions. I may offer alternative suggestions if the situation warrants it, but I will never challenge your authority. The Commonwealth forces on Earth are rebels who must be brought to heel before The True Work can begin."

A moment passed and then I smiled under my helmet.

"Thanks, Advisor. That means a lot."

On my HUD, I watched through the eyes of the Spectre as it approached the Capes. It stopped a dozen meters from them and, following its Body Language Simulation Algorithm, waved a greeting.

"Armsmaster, New Wave, thank you for this meeting."

/

With exceptional self-control, Colin Wallis kept himself from twitching as the sound of slurping filled his ears. "Tattletale, pay attention!" he snapped over his private communications circuit.

"Jeez will you calm downs Armsey? Honestly, all that pent up stress can't be healthy, have you considered yoga?" the infuriatingly peppy voice of Tattletale responded. He could just picture the Cheshire cat grin on her face.

"Information. Now."

"Urg, fine." There was a sound that he was somehow sure was her sliding her legs off a desk and sitting up straight in her chair.

"Alright, what have we got here? Well, their appearance matches what New Wave told us, some very impressive stealth systems, that cape is just for show, the main system is something else, some kind of light refracting field? Hum, not much else to add, just that it's not Executor."

"Explain," he ordered as the approaching figure waved at him and the other Capes, his fingers tensing around his halberd in anticipation of a trap.

"Executor has sent a proxy in her place, some kind of robot."

With a series of neural commands, he fed more power to his armour's sensors. Even if the cape wasn't the proxy's primary method of concealment, it was still playing hell with his sensors. Very few wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum were being emitted and his radar signals were being scattered to hell. When he had more time, he would compare those readings with his analysis of thematerial recovered from the Merchant warehouse on Newland Avenue. At first glance it seemed his theory about Executor's origins were correct, the two materials appeared to derivatives of each other.

"Is this a trap, does she plan on cooperating?"

"Not a trap. She honestly wants to help the authorities by giving information. It's just that she's afraid of being out in the open. My guess is that it's a toss-up between worrying you'll arrest her and the tinker tech organisations will find her and try to kill her."

"We would do everything we could to keep her safe." He responded, as the proxy reached up and detached its camouflage cape, revealing the armoured figure of the proxy for all the world to see.

"And we both know you wouldn't be out here if the PRT had its act together." Responded Tattletale, her tone serious for once.

His armour's threat assessment algorithm automatically performed a scan, the noticeable lack of the shoulder mounted telescoping cannon New Wave had told him to expect suggested Tattletale was right, Executor hadn't come for a fight.

"Armsmaster, New Wave, thank you for this meeting."

The voice was obviously synthesised but other than that it told him nothing he didn't already know. If it wasn't for Tattletale's input he wouldn't have even known he was talking to a machine, the subtle shifts in posture and movement from simulated breathing was enough to fool his own Emotional Analysis Algorithms. Though given the information Executor had provided in the past, perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Executor, I've been chosen as your liaison with the PRT. New Wave has agreed to be present as a sign of trust as you reached out to them in the first place. Do you wish them to leave?" he said, choosing to play along with the deception of the proxy, for now.

"Uh? Oh yes, I mean no, please have them stay, it's easier for everyone if they hear this first hand."

"Wow. I think she's almost at your level of social skills." Commented Tattletale drily. He ignored her commentary but made a mental note of the quality of Executor's coding. The machine she had sent as a proxy was excellent at simulating body language.

"I'd like to bring you up to speed on the situation."

"Of course."

"Following the arrival of The Simurgh, the tinker tech armed forces were driven off with heavy casualties. "Marshfield has been devastated and will probably be declared quarantined in the immediate future."

"Can't say I'm surprised. A Commonwealth battlegroup is one thing, two Endbringers are quite another." The proxy seemed to shrink in on itself, shoulders slumping as though in defeat. Then a thought seemed to strike. "Civilian casualties?"

"The city centre was totally destroyed and the only survivors were people in the suburbs. They're being housed in tents for now but the plan is to move them to prefabricated housing in Brockton Bay. Some 40,000 dead and 20,000 displaced." The sound of withdrawn breath came over the proxy's speakers.

"Wait, I thought its population was 80,000?"

"The second Endbringer was The Simurgh." He pointed out. A moment's silence passed awkwardly between the assembled Capes.

"I should warn you; in Marshfield, the gangs weren't as entrenched as they are here. Most of them held no territory in the city itself. That means they're probably as strong now as they ever were. Some of them might end up joining the Bay's gangs."

"That's, that's, the Oath of the Fourteen Words and the Quartermasters, right?" asked the proxy after a moment's hesitation.

He nodded. "We believe the former was already planning on joining with the Empire before the attack. The latter may have lost their upper leadership in the attack, but it's a fair bet they'll join with the Merchants eventually. Everything we know about their member's powers is already listed on PHO and the PRT's online resources."

"Well, forewarned is forearmed I suppose. Thank you. More Nazis and drug pushers, I don't know how much more this city can take?" the last sentence was delivered almost at a whisper, and Colin was prepared to bet it hadn't been intended for their ears.

"That's everything we think you need to know that isn't already public knowledge. If it's alright with you, I'd like to move on the main reason for this meeting."

A nod.

"Thanks to the information you provided New Wave, a thorough sweep of government agencies is taking place. Several "Synths" have been identified, although none were captured alive. Either escaping or destroying themselves via self-immolation when escape became impossible."

For a moment he was sure Executor was going to ask for a list, but the proxy merely nodded.

"We need to know what happened to the people who were replaced."

"In all honesty, they're either dead or if their important enough, being held prisoner for interrogation and ransom. I'm afraid I don't know any more than that."

Behind him, the younger members of New Wave shifted uncomfortable, while the adults seemed mostly unfazed. They'd been operating in The Bay for years and had seen pretty much everything humans could do to each other.

"She's telling the truth. She knows about the theoretical side of how Synths are used but wasn't involved with their deployment. Their existence came as much of a shock to her as it did to us." advised Tattletale.

"What about the gangs? We know they're being infiltrated."

"We have to assume it's still continuing. It's harder to get information on their situation of course, we've decided not to tell them about the situation. The Bay will be tense enough with refugees moving into the city. If the Gangs are jumping at every shadow and lashing out things will only get worse."

"And you don't want them getting their hands on that kind of tech, right?" Again the Cheshire cat smile filled his imagination.

"Fair enough," replied the proxy. "At least it's gangers and not decent people being replaced."

"Her distaste for the gangs is genuine, wow, she really hates the Merchants, wonder why?"

From behind him, Brandish spoke up.

"Executor, your information was incredibly useful, but we need more. People are suffering, innocent people, if you have anything else you can tell us you need t-," she trailed off as the proxy reached down to its left leg. A small compartment in the armour slid open, and a black rectangle was produced.

"The people you're fighting are two organisations that are ideologically opposed to each other. They're called the Commonwealth of Man and the United Nations of Earth."

A holographic projector built into the proxy's right hand activated and displayed two images, a modified flag of the United Nations and a stylised eagle.

"I don't know where they're from or what their end goals are."

"Lie. She knows, or thinks she does but doesn't think you'll believe her."

"But I can offer you something. This," the proxy held up the black rectangle. "Is a hundred Terabyte hard drive, it contains something called an Uplift Technical Package, schematics, doctrines, information on both the Commonwealth and UNE."

"She's not lying, Jesus…" For once, Tattletale seemed at a loss for words.

Slowly, so as not to startle anyone, he walked over and took the storage drive.

"I know you'll want to test everything before you release it to the general public, but, could you maybe look at the medical tech? It could help a lot of people."

"Is that how you got involved with the Commonwealth?" the question from Brandish was unexpected, but the effect on the proxy was pronounced.

First, there was a flinch followed by an awkward moment of silence before the proxy answered. "Yes. One of my parents was injured; there was nothing anyone could do. Commonwealth medical technology was my best bet. But! But I didn't know what was going to happen. I didn't know about the attacks or the UNE or any of the Synths. As soon as I realised what was happening I started to make plans, I just managed to put that together tonight." The proxy gestured at the hard drive.

Brandish stepped up next to him, and a moment later, so did Fleur.

"She's not lying, but she's not telling you the whole truth, because, because she doesn't think you'll believe her."

"Executor," began Brandish, sounding far gentler than she usually did when their paths crossed. "How old were you when the Commonwealth recruited you?"

"15." The proxy's voice sounded so quiet and frail in the night.

Brandish balled her hands into fists.

"Thank you for the information. I promise you, whatever risks you took to get this information, it will save lives. I'm a lawyer by training, it doesn't matter if you don't have money, I can help you. If you didn't know what the Commonwealth was planning, then I'm sure we can work out a good deal." She reached into her pocket and produced a business card. "That website was set up by Dragon. I guarantee it won't be traced back to you."

For a moment the proxy hesitated, then, hesitantly, it reached out and took the card.

"So the Iron Maiden has a heart," commented Tattletale, a surprising hint of bitterness in her voice.

"Thank you. I'll keep it in mind." If Brandish was disappointed by not receiving immediate acceptance, she didn't show it, merely offering a reassuring smile at the proxy.

"Executor, my daughter was targeted in the attack at the mall. Is she still in danger?" asked Fleur.

"Yes. I'm sure you've realised, but the attackers were in part to get scan data of their Corona Pollentia to make artificial Capes. Given her powers, they'll probably keep trying. You should probably also do something about the Wards. PHO says they all go to Arcadia, if that's true it should make it easier to keep them safe. If it's not then maybe you should see about having them and any other Capes move school, or you could have them some of the designs on that hard drive to disguise them."

"Does, does the Commonwealth know anything about what happened during the attack at the mall?" asked Fleur, sounding uncharacteristically serious.

The proxy looked straight at her before replying. "I don't think they do."

"They might not, but she does."

"Look over the information and contact me on the same PHO around using the same code if you want another meeting. And before you get your hopes up, I don't know how the Commonwealth made those artificial Capes. But if they can then the UNE probably can as well. Likewise, the Commonwealth can probably deploy Synths."

"She's considering telling you something else. She suspects someone she knows in her civilian life is working for the Commonwealth."

"Thank you for this meeting, it means a lot." With that the proxy reattached its cloak and made to leave, slipping away into the darkness of the night.

"I'm surprised you didn't make more fuss about her coming with us," commented Flashbang as he walked up next to his wife.

She merely sighed and gave Armsmaster a knowing look. "I've seen kids like her before. They want to do the right thing, but they're scared of drawing attention from the people they're running from. If you push too hard, they bolt, and at best it takes months to get them out from wherever they're hiding. At worst, the people they're running from find them first." A pained look crossed her face after the last sentence, and it only vanished when her husband put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I think she's telling the truth. She wanted to help a family member and got in over her head. If your hunch is right and she's the one who tipped you off about Coil's base, it makes sense she can't bring herself to trust the authorities. No offence."

Colin just shrugged it off. "Give it time; she'll come around."

"Do you need me for anything else?"

"No." thankfully, "The PRT is grateful for your assistance and will be in touch to discuss payment for services."

/

So there you have it. Took a while and I'm not too sure about the quality, but if I didn't publish this then I'd never get around to it.

Taylor giving the authorities some of her techs is a risk but a calculated one. There's just a limit on how much one person can do by themselves.

All told I don't know about this story by itself.

I like a lot of aspects of it, Advisor, having elements of Stellaris slipping into Worm but I'm not sure about how I put it all together.

I don't know, continue or rewrite, what do you think?

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yanzak

Jun 19, 2019

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Threadmarks Rewrite

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yanzak

Jul 1, 2019

#986

So I've posted the first chapter for a rewrite under the link below, I think it should be better than the original, enough to justify the time and effort, maybe give it a look if you're interested.

Through Hardship to the Stars. (Stellaris Worm Crossover) Thinker/ Tinker Taylor.

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