Disclaimer: Don't throw it away, repair it and use it again.
Mr. Fixit
He tried to act casual when he got to the intake officer. They had to take him, age didn't matter those were the rules. They couldn't turn any volunteers away from EndBringer fights.
To her credit, or determent, the officer barely paused before asking him his cape name.
"I don't have one," he said honestly. "I just recently became a cape." That also explained his costume, black welding goggles, bandages wrapped around his face in a poor imitation of the invisible man, his dad's old fishing vest, a trench coat, and the hat from the halloween before when he'd gone as Indiana Jones. Basically what he could cobble together in a few minutes with what he could find in the garage.
"Powers?"
"My goggles can see through anything," he stated.
"We'll put you on search and rescue," the PRT officer stated. "Next!"
Greg walked over to the gathered capes and tried to look bored as they waited for their ride to arrive. Don't geek out, don't geek out, don't geek out, he repeated mentally. He was a cape now, sure his power wasn't the best, but he belonged here and no one could tell him different.
"Aren't you a little young to be fighting EndBringers?" a woman's voice asked dryly.
Greg's heart leapt, Lightning Lass, the best or at least hottest hero in the bay was talking to him! "It's everyone's duty to help out when there's an attack," he said, fighting to keep his voice even.
"You can help out without going," she said. "I don't know what your powers are, but one less cape isn't going to make much of a difference against the hero killer. Why not join the Wards and get some experience under your belt first? There's no need to go now, it's not too late to back out of this."
"I'm staying," he said stubbornly.
"No one will think less of you if you leave," she persisted. "I promise, I'll personally set anyone-" Her shoulders dropped when Strider arrived. "Too late. Just . . . just try to survive, okay?"
"You too," Greg said with an unseen smile.
"Everything inside the circle?" the transport cape asked. "In three . . . two . . . one . . ."
They arrived on a raised platform and several uniformed PRT officers immediately arrived to direct them to where they were supposed to go. "Off the platform!" one yelled. "The sooner it's clear the sooner more help can arrive!"
"What are you doing?" Lightning lass asked as they walked down the stairs.
"Search and rescue," he replied.
She visibly winced. "Don't force yourself to do more than you can."
"Alright," he said, having no intention of following her advice. The sooner he stopped, the less lives he could potentially save. He promised himself that he'd work till he dropped and then he'd get up and do it again, just like a hero was supposed to.
They separated at the base of the stairs, he went right towards the staging area for his group while she went left for hers.
They handed him an arm band the second he reported in. "What's this?" he asked.
"Communicator and a dosimeter," the PRT officer replied.
"What's a dosimeter?"
"Let's you know when you've had too much radiation."
"Oh." Greg put it on. "What now?"
The officer waved to a map of the town. "Either hitch a ride to sector two delta or start walking if you don't have a mover power of some sort. Then follow the directions of your arm band and do your best to save lives."
He ended up hitching a ride on an ambulance heading to stage at the two delta aid station and was able to get a rather comprehensive first aid kit from the doctors when he arrived.
"I don't have time to teach you much," the doctor had stated. "This is a tourniquet. Put it two inches above the joint and don't worry about them losing a limb. There's a good chance that we can save it and there's a better chance that they'll die if you don't use it. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am," he agreed nervously.
"This." The doctor pulled out a green vacuum pack. "Is hemostatic gauze. Use it on heavy bleeding. Slap this part over the place that's bleeding the most and then wrap and tie. You know how to tie a square knot?"
"Uh huh," he nodded.
"Good. This is hemostatic powder." She pulled out a packet that looked like ramen seasoning. "You need to protect it from the wind but it's good on head wounds and other places it's hard to get a dressing or a tourniquet. Groin for example." She pulled out a pair of shears. "Don't be afraid to cut off their costume. The job is to save their lives, everything else can be worked out later. You got a way to get them here? Mover power or super strength or something?"
"Not right now."
"Fine. Focus on finding them and giving them basic first aid," she ordered.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Shit." The air become oppressive. "It's starting. Try not to die."
The next few minutes were the worst, Greg would later remember, all he could do was stand and watch helplessly as an unstoppable juggernaut smashed a town and murdered uncountable numbers of people all while a handful of defenders threw themselves uselessly against it. It was the lowest point in his life, he'd never felt so helpless or useless as he did waiting for the order to go. All he could do, all any of them could do was watch silently as hero after hero died for nothing.
His and every other arm band in the vicinity chirped three times.
"That's us!" the doctor said loudly. "Go!"
Greg was off in a flash, running towards what had been a battlefield only moments before. "One hundred meters north, fifteen meters left," his armband stated. "Last known location of Fruit Salute."
He activated his goggles to scan the rubble. "Dead."
"Check for pulse."
"I can't get to him and his head is two feet away from his body," Greg said, fighting down bile.
"Seven meters forward, last known location of the Sacristan."
He found a body burned beyond recognition struggling to breath through lips that had been burned together. "You're gonna be alright. Alive and in need of immediate medical attention."
"Attempt to render aid," his armband instructed. "EMTs en route."
Listening to his power, Greg pulled a Swiss Army Knife out of one of the pockets of his fishing vest. "I'm sorry, this might hurt." He drew the blade and forced himself to make a V-shaped incision in the cape's throat in the location his power indicated while his other hand pulled a ball point pen out of another pocket. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chanted as he unscrewed the pen and dumped out the ink tube. "Please live," he begged as he jammed the tube into the hole he'd made in the cape's throat. The downed cape's breathing seemed to ease and his power told him that he'd down all he could, hopefully it was enough. "What's the location of the next person I need to check?"
"Fifteen meters to the right, last known location of the Toxic Snail," his armband said in a monotone.
The next few hours weren't so much a blur as a repetition. He'd follow directions to the last know location of a cape, do his best to locate them, and either conform that they were dead or do his best for them. It was like a series of snapshots strung together in random order rather than a film and he'd later struggle to remember what happened when. He continued until he collapsed from exhaustion and started work again the second he woke up.
Of the population that failed to evacuate, only fifty percent survived. Of the brave men and women that came to defend the city, one third would pay the ultimate price. Greg returned to Brockton Bay two days after he left it, he'd stayed until search and recovery efforts had been officially called off.
"Welcome home, hero," a voice said softly, the first thing he heard upon his arrival.
Greg stared dully at the masked woman in the wheelchair for several moments before his exhausted mind recognized her. "Lightning Lass. I'm glad you made it."
"Glad you made it too," she said. "Thanks."
"What?"
"You don't remember, do you?" she seemed amused. "You saved my life. I was bleeding out when you found me and put a tourniquet around my leg. Thank you."
Greg felt a rush of elation at the words. All the pain he'd suffered, the heartache, the trauma, in that moment it was all worth it. He'd saved a life, he'd made a difference. "Happy to be of service." So what if his powers weren't all that great, so what if they were useless at fighting crime, he'd saved someone! He'd made a difference. He, Veder the Loser, had for one day been a real hero.
"So after today you understand, right? EndBringer fights are no place for anyone your age. Maybe in a few years after you've got some experience, but not now. Right?"
"I learned that if I'd stayed here then you wouldn't have made it home," Greg said, still feeling lightheaded from the endorphin rush. "I'll be back the next time the sirens go off," he promised.
Then he stumbled.
"Are you alright?" Lightning Lass asked .
"Yeah just-ah" Greg paused for a jaw cracking yawn. "Just a bit tired-" his stomach growled audibly. "-and hungry too, I guess."
"Wait, when did you last eat?" Lightning lass asked.
"How long ago did we port out?" Greg asked.
"Two and a half days," she answered slowly.
"About three days then," he said with a shrug.
IIIIIIIIII
PHO: EndBringer Fights: Johannesburg: Trying to Identify a Cape
Page 01 of 16
Iron Mouse (Verified Cape) (Original Poster)
He wore a black long coat.
He had a green survival vest, you know one of the type with all the pockets on.
He had a brown fedora.
He had black goggles.
He didn't have a mask but he had, I think there were originally white bandages wrapped around his head but by the time I saw them they were dirty and splattered with blood.
He was carrying a first aid satchel.
Anyone know who this is or where he's from? He saved my life and I'd really like to thank him.
Flack Cannon (Verified Cape)
I know who you're talking about but I don't know his name or where he's from. He saved a lot of lives. Search and Rescue doesn't get the respect it deserves.
Flint Biscuit
What'd this guy do? What are you all talking about?
Dirty Sanchez (Unverified Cape)
This board is for the survivors and the veterans. Don't post if you're not one of the two. To answer the question, I don't think he has a name. He seemed pretty new.
Sport Witch
Hell of a debut. I left on the second day, he was still there.
Bielie (Verified Cape)
He was one of the last ones out. Was in the group Strider took to New York, Boston, and Brockton Bay. Listed as Unknown Parahuman in the official records.
Iron Mouse (Verified Cape) (Original Poster)
Thanks. I know he's not in Boston or New York so - anyone know anyone in Brockton Bay that might be able to get a hold of him?
IIIIIIIIII
The house was empty when he got back. Not surprising considering what his parents did and the fact that all hands were called for EndBringer fights even if they weren't deployed. Greg managed a bowl of cereal and a shower before collapsing into bed. He had about three months to prepare for the next one, hopefully he'd be able to find more discarded tinker tech to help out in that time.
School was thankfully canceled until the end of the week. Everyone always got a week off when a city got destroyed. Officially it was to help young minds deal with the trauma of the event, PHO said it was to let Wards age gang-members and independents participate without getting outed.
Speaking of PHO, he logged in and checked the status of his ban. Two more days before the Cowboy could make his triumphant return. For a brief moment he considered checking the thread dedicated to the Johannesburg before discarding it. Rules of the forum were that you couldn't post without being either a survivor or a veteran of the event and he wasn't either, just a guy that had shown up and done his best to help out so what was the point? Sure the Cowboy didn't have a problem with bending the rules on occasion, but only for a good cause which introducing on the grief of heroes and victims would not be. Mind made up, Greg shut down his computer and got dressed. Time to head to the junk yard.
IIIIIIIIII
Emily waited until the door was closed and locked and the white noise generator had been activated before she gestured for her investigators to speak.
"Do you want the long answer or the short answer, ma'am?"
"Give me the short one," she ordered. "Is he the unknown tinker?"
"We do not believe so, ma'am."
"Why not?" she demanded. "Initial report stated he matched the body type and he was seen scouring one of the monitored junk yards for broken electronics."
"Yes, ma'am," the left investigator agreed. "Subject was placed under surveillance. Subject returned to his residence and entered his garage with the retrieved items. Subject left the garage door open and repaired the retrieved items in plain view. Using binoculars, Officer Stevens, badge number 44567, was able to inventory the subject's tools and also was able to read the titles of several of the reference books on the subject's workbench. Consultation with both Armsmaster and outside experts confirms that the items used by the subject are consistent with the type used by non-tinkers to repair electronic devices."
"That had better not be all," Piggot stated flatly.
"Subject was then followed to a local pawn shop where he was witnessed selling the repaired items. Officer Jennings, badge number 445933 was able to arrange purchase of the items. Armsmaster confirms that they are not tinker tech though he did comment favorably on the subject's soldering skills. Items have been sent to outside experts for further evaluation. On day two subject was followed to monitored junk yard six four two-"
IIIIIIIIII
Greg wanted to jump for joy when he saw what appeared to be a battered Aperture Science Quantum Tunneling Device, AKA a Portal Gun under a pile of old Playboys. His joy turned to ashes when his powers informed him that there was nothing he could do to get the device to work. Greg's shoulders dropped. To top things off the Playboys were too water damaged to be of any use too. He was just about to discard the device when he remembered a post he'd seen on PHO.
Heart pounding, the boy pulled out one of the phone's he'd repaired the day before, the only one he'd activated and kept for himself and dialed the PRT hotline from memory.
"Um. I'm in the junkyard on fifth and pine and I think I found a piece of Leet's tech. I, uh, I think I read something about a reward on PHO?" he finished hopefully.
A car full of agents arrived less than two minutes later, they must have been on patrol nearby or something, he though happily to himself. "Over here!" Greg yelled, waving to get their attention.
"I'm Officer Jennings," the lead agent, a redhead with shoulder length hair and bazongas that not even her bullet proof vest could hide, introduced herself. "Let's see the item."
"Right there." He pointed to it with his foot.
"What makes you think it's tinker tech?" she asked professionally.
Greg shrugged. "It might be a model from a promotion or something, but felt heavy and I figured it was better to be safe than sorry with Leet in town."
The agent nodded. "You did the right thing. We'll have it examined by Armsmaster and a reward will be forthcoming if his examination shows your suspicions to be correct."
"Cool!" Greg couldn't contain his excitement at the thought of doing good AND getting paid for it.
"Why exactly are you here today?" she continued.
"Looking for old phones mostly," Greg replied cheerfully. "Radios and TVs too, but mostly phones."
"Why?"
"Because half the time they're not even broken and I can carry a lot more of them," he said. "Even if they are broken then I can fix them and sell them for up to twenty dollars each!" The boy was vibrating with excitement. "I made almost seventy dollars yesterday!"
"I see." She nodded. "If you like, we could give you a ride home and we would be happy to bring some of the larger items with us as a courtesy."
"That'd be great!" Greg said happily. "I found an old computer over here that I think I can cannibalize for parts to upgrade mine even if I can't fix it."
IIIIIIIIII
The director motioned for the investigator to conclude the report on the perspective tinker.
"Upon returning to the subject's residence, Subject offered Officer Jennings, badge number 44593 and Officer Stevens, badge number 44567 refreshments. Both officers accepted the offer in order to use that as an excuse to spend more time with the subject to further the investigation. Officer Jennings, badge number 44593 then asked subject if he would be willing to repair her phone and offered the sum of twenty dollars to do so. Subject agreed. Officer Jennings, badge number 44593 and Officer Stevens, badge number 44567 were able to observe and get recordings of subject repairing the phone provided by Officer Jennings, badge number 44593. Footage was submitted to Armsmaster and outside experts and the unanimous verdict was that no parahuman powers were observed. The repaired device has been submitted to an outside expert for review, the finding for which are not yet available. Preliminary findings are that subject is not a parahuman and that there is no reason to believe that subject is a parahuman."
Emily nodded. "I'm happy with that and I am prepared to cosign the findings. File it and forward the reports from outside to the file as they come in unless they disagree with the findings."
IIIIIIIIII
Greg drifted through school that day, mind filled with plans on how to prepare for the next EndBringer fight. More medical training, he decided. His powers helped, but maybe they'd be better if he understood more of the why and maybe if he got more practice with the how ahead of time?
He was leaving school when he saw Taylor's mom pull up, his powers whispering something worrying about the woman's car. What would a hero do? He asked himself. He couldn't just walk by, not anymore. Gathering his courage he tapped on the window to catch the woman's attention.
She put down her phone and rolled down the window, shooting him a look that conveyed that she was unimpressed by the interruption. "What?" she barked.
"Um . . . Mrs. Hebert," he began nervously.
A flash of annoyance passed over the woman's face before she covered it with a professional mask. "Yes, what is it," her tone softened a touch as the woman visibly forced herself to regain control.
"Uh, you need . . . your car needs a brake job."
"What?" Her head tilted in confusion.
"The pads are almost completely worn out," Greg said, mustering all his courage to do so. "That's what the squeaking means. Chances are the fluid needs to be changed too. Um . . . if they've been feeling spongy or not working good, that's why."
"Not working well," Taylor's mother corrected. She smiled. "Thank you, I'll have them checked."
"I wouldn't bother you normally, but it's a safety issue," he said, shrinking into himself. "Someone could get hurt or killed and I don't want that to happen. Not when it's such an easy fix."
"Neither do I," she agreed. "I promise that I'll get them looked at." This time sounding genuine.
"Okay, um, thanks."
"No, thank you." She focused on him for the first time. "What was your name?"
"Greg, I'm . . . uh, I'm one of Taylor's classmates. Don't . . . uh . . . bye." He fled.
He didn't stop running until he was two blocks away and then because he felt like his lungs were about to burst. It hadn't been like this in Johannesburg, sure he'd felt tired but he'd been able to push through it.
"I need to start exercising too," he muttered to himself. How many more people could he have saved if he'd been quicker? If he'd have been able to go longer? What if someone had been trapped under something that he couldn't move because he wasn't strong enough? Greg felt sick at the thought of not being able to save someone because he'd been too lazy to work out.
IIIIIIIIII
Danny walked into the house and immediately headed to the dining room table where his wife was grading papers to give her a kiss on the cheek.
"Well?" she asked.
"Kid was right," he said ruefully. "Fluid's bad and the pads are just about gone. It's a good thing he caught them before you had an accident."
"I'll be sure to thank him if I see him again," Annette murmured. "How much will it take to fix them?"
"Six pack of beer and an hour or two," Danny replied. "Kurt's on his way with the parts, the fluid, and a floor jack. I should have it knocked out before dark."
"Hmmm?"
"I'm trading Kurt the beer for the parts and fluid, jack's from the union."
"Where'd he get the parts?"
"More trading," Danny laughed. "Don't worry about the details. What you don't know, you can't testify to."
"We're married, I can't testify against you."
"But you can testify against Kurt," he said with a smirk. "Before I forget, Alan let me know about another issue we might have to deal with."
"What's that?"
"Remember how Emma got him and Zoe to agree to let her go to Winslow if Taylor failed to get into Arcadia?"
"What about it?" Annette asked. "We all knew Taylor was getting in so it was an easy promise to make."
"The girls have decided that Taylor is going to turn down Arcadia so they can go to Winslow together."
"The fuck they are!" Annette growled.
"That was my reaction and Alan's and Zoe's," Danny laughed. "Alan gave the heads up so Taylor wouldn't see it. He knows you don't like it when Taylor hears you raise your voice."
"We owe him a six pack for that too?"
"At least," Danny agreed.
"I'll talk to her," Annette stated.
"Not we?"
"You'll be fixing my brakes so I don't crash when she's in the car with me," Annette stated. "Think this can wait till after dinner?"
"It'll take at least that long for Taylor to work up the courage to bring it up," Danny laughed.
"Kids," Annette sighed. "They're lucky we love them or we'd never put up with half the things they get up to."
IIIIIIIIII
Greg's arms gave out after twenty push ups. It wasn't enough. He logged into his computer and did a search on how to do more push ups and immediately found hundred pushups dot com. That combined with couch to five kilometer and couch to marathon would be a good start, he decided. It'd suck, but he didn't have a choice, lives depended on him.
IIIIIIIIII
Annette's face was impassive as her daughter made her case on why she thought she should be permitted to attend the worst ranked high school in the state.
"No," she said simply after her daughter finished.
"But Uncle Alan and Aunt Zoe said that Emma could go to Winslow if I didn't get into Arcadia," Taylor whined.
"But you did, so no. You're not going to Winslow, neither of you are," Anne said firmly. "Do you want to go to school with Emma for the next four years or do you want what's best for her? Going to Winslow isn't good for anyone. There's a reason it's the lowest ranked school in town, the only people who go to it are the ones that don't have any other choice. You do and so does Emma so neither of you are going and that is final. Is that understood?"
"Yes, mom," Taylor agreed glumly.
"You too can still hang out after school and on weekends," Anne said gently. "Taylor, I love Emma like a daughter and because of that I don't want her anywhere near that horrible school. Do you understand? It speaks well of her that she's willing to go there to be with you and of you that you're willing to endure that place to be with her but it's not happening."
AN: Got the idea from one of Cherico's fics in which an un powered Greg Veder goes to EndBringer fights because he claimed to have powers on PHO and is afraid of being outed as a liar. I liked the idea.
Wasn't explicit but Greg's power is that he can fix things. Given the proper tools and parts, or even just the tools to make the parts, he can fix just about anything.
Scenes by Veive
Omake by Veive
"I learned that if I'd stayed here then you wouldn't have made it home," Greg said, still feeling lightheaded from the endorphin rush. "I'll be back the next time the sirens go off," he promised.Then he stumbled.
"Are you alright?" Lightning Lass asked.
"Yeah just-ah" Greg paused for a jaw cracking yawn. "Just a bit tired-" his stomach growled audibly. "-and hungry too, I guess."
"Wait, when did you last eat?" Lightning lass asked.
"How long ago did we port out?" Greg asked.
"Two and a half days." She answered slowly.
"Three and a half days then." Greg said with a shrug. "I've been going nonstop since I got powers."
End omake