August 27, 2010

"So how fares our newest Ward?"

"His character seems in line with our initial meeting." Armsmaster reported. "Triumph finds him to be polite and cooperative, albeit not very expressive. No conflicts with the other Wards." He paused. "Well, Clockblocker was rather sore about having his power countered, but I don't believe either of them took it personally."

The corner of Emily's mouth twitched. That would have been cathartic to witness first-hand. "Good." It sounded like Blank would mesh far better with the group than Shadow Stalker, though that was one hell of a low bar. If he could stay quiet and obedient that would be very nice, but she doubted it. Almost every Ward came to chafe at the PRT's restrictions to some degree, as if having powers transformed them into gluttons for self-endangerment. Really, even if they no longer cared for their own safety, they could consider the amount of paperwork their deaths would cause her. "Now, since you're both here, I assume his power report is ready?"

Under usual circumstances, power testing a new Ward wouldn't take nearly two whole days, but the irritating thing about this kind of Trump was that you needed other capes as guinea pigs. Given everyone's disparate schedules, it had taken some time to get every Protectorate member over to PRT HQ for a testing session. Assault and Battery had been the last to finish up earlier this afternoon, finally freeing up Blank for other introductory tasks.

Namely, meeting with the Image department. Poor kid.

Armsmaster gestured at the Indian woman who'd accompanied him to the Director's office. "It is." Dr. Neha Reddy, PhD pushed a stapled stack of papers across Emily's desk. "We've completed the full battery of physical and cognitive exams. Blank is healthy, discounting the injuries from his trigger event. His Corona and Gemma are functioning normally." The front page showed a brain scan with a bright spot in the middle. That sure was a Corona and Gemma, all right. Some scientists insisted you could guess the powers from a MRI alone, but Emily was no para-neurologist. "Cognitive scores above average, and his psych eval showed moderate schizoid tendencies, but all within human variance. I can confidently say he only has his Trump/Shaker nullification power."

"The effect manifests within a 200cm radius field around his Corona—designated the 'null field' in my report." On the second page was a diagram of a three-dimensional shape, cylindrical at the bottom and hemispherical at the top. "Remarkably consistent range across testing, though I can't speak to potential Sechen range fluctuations." That was curious. Almost every Shaker power Emily had seen was fuzzy at the outer limits, a little longer or a little shorter depending on the day, the weather, the cape's mental state, or the zodiac sign for all she knew. "Since Blank is 180cm tall, it entirely covers his body at all times. It can't be turned off, and remains active even when he's unconscious—"

Emily raised a slightly perturbed eyebrow. "How did you—?"

"A simple Tinkertech transmitter, configured to constantly ping my phone." Armsmaster cut in. "Child's play to build. I had Blank take it home yesterday and keep it on his person; it didn't transmit all night."

"And he raised no objections to this?"

Armsmaster seemed genuinely befuddled. "Why would he? It was for testing."

"Right." Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. She really hoped she wasn't going to get a complaint about her Protectorate leader making underage boys wear monitoring devices to bed. "Well, seeing as the test is done, be sure he hands it back in. Continue your report, Doctor."

"Yes ma'am. Now, his power is simple in concept—it negates parahuman powers and effects—but there are some nuances with how it defines 'negation' and 'effect'. Nonetheless, I've formulated a set of rules it seems to conform to. Rule One: any parahumans in the null field are unable to use their powers. There's plenty of precedent for that, most notably Hatchet Face."

"Rule Two: any pure power constructs are, for lack of a better word, banished." Reddy placed a small Tinkertech projector on the desk, which began playing a holographic video of the testing chamber. "We observed this first with Triumph and Gallant, and later with Miss Militia..."

Hannah noticed how the boy's lips thinned for a fraction of a second when she entered the room, before his face returned to its blank, perfectly composed state. "Miss Militia? It's good to meet you." A less astute woman would have missed it entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion what that was about. Her costume was rather overt in its patriotism, after all. She'd never apologize for that, but she also couldn't deny that not every refugee had been treated so well, or felt so warmly towards the country as herself.

"Likewise. I'm glad to have you here, Blank." Still, she stepped forward to greet him with a smile. It wasn't her place to pry, and surely the fact that he'd chosen to join America's heroes showed he believed, if only a little. She noted the greenish-black energy of her power vanishing as she shook his hand, and felt a strange heaviness around her eyelids.

Her mind only recognized the sensation after a few seconds of intense recollection. For the first time in twenty-five years, Hannah was sleepy. She pulled away as quickly as she could without coming across as rude. What did it say about her, that she was so unnerved by having a basic human function restored? "Well, shall we proceed with the test?" she said with artificial cheer.

Receiving agreement, she shaped her power into a weapon she rarely used: a colorful plastic rifle that shot foam darts. Hannah carefully aimed and fired at a spot adjacent to his arm, only for the dart to disappear. No sound, no flash of light, it was simply gone. She de-materialized her construct, then unslung the real Nerf rifle from her back. It was identical in appearance, weight, ammo, and texture to the one her power had created. Picking it up from the toy store had made her mildly self-conscious.

She pulled the trigger, and a dart stuck itself firmly to Blank's jacket. For all she'd been expecting that, it didn't make it any less irritating.

"...could be useful in distinguishing between real objects and power-generated duplicates." The next clip showed Miss Militia firing a rocket launcher, which was a significant escalation. Blank didn't even flinch before his field vanished the projectile. Honestly, it was kind of disturbing how quickly new capes internalized their powers. "We didn't detect any sort of heat signature that would indicate molecular-level disintegration. By all appearances that rocket merely ceased to exist. Possibly a displacement effect at work."

"Rule Three: any normal object under a power effect has the effect removed. This included all PRT-approved Tinkertech we tested." The video changed to show Blank wearing a poncho while Armsmaster hosed him down with a containment foam sprayer. Except the foam completely failed to foam, instead dripping to the floor in streams of yellow-white liquid. Emily grimaced at the sight. She'd hoped confoam would be an exception, given that it was actually mass-producible. Then again, the foam factories in Austin were wholly reliant on Dragon's maintenance, and no one else seemed capable of producing a working batch, so this was sadly predictable. Thank god the PRT had managed to recruit the boy, because he'd be a real pain to arrest. Even the Birdcage would probably implode under his presence—wait, what was she thinking, an ordinary prison would work just fine. Meanwhile, the video Armsmaster collected Blank's poncho and walked away, only for the foam to belatedly puff up. The Protectorate leader flailed his now-trapped arms, while the Wards' muffled laughter was audible in the background.

The real Armsmaster was decidedly unamused. "You had to put that clip in, didn't you."

"Of course. It was by far the most demonstrative example." Reddy's tone didn't reveal so much as a hint of humor. Damn, that woman was good. "As a corollary, while this permanently dispels some effects—Clockblocker's freeze, Vista's warping, Battery's charge—others are restored upon exiting the null field. This includes Tinkertech, as well as..."

Shawn was afraid.

Never had his chosen moniker felt more ironic. Dauntless? What a joke. People looked up to him as Brockton Bay's rising star, a future peer to the Triumvirate. If only they could see him now, petrified to approach a teenage boy with a broken arm. His power had sometimes frustrated him with how slow it was to build up, inching forward in miniscule increments day after day. Yet he'd never had cause to believe it would go anywhere but forward, until now.

Both Armsmaster and the new Ward were looking at him as he dithered in the doorway. He knew he must look ridiculous. "Dauntless." Armsmaster folded his arms and tapped his foot in exaggerated fashion. Though the visible part of his face was as stern as ever, Shawn had a feeling the Tinker took schadenfreude in his discomfort. "We're wasting time here."

"...yes sir." Shawn fumbled for his designated test item, a humble sheet of printer paper. He poured his excess charge into it, until the paper began glowing white with the telltale sign of his power. This supercharged state normally lasted a few minutes, until tapering off to a more modest permanent boost. Keeping a wary eye on Blank the whole time, he made his way down the stairs of the test chamber. Armsmaster remained standing at the bottom with his hand out, forcing Shawn to descend the entire length. Dick. He handed the item to Armsmaster, who then delivered it over the final stretch.

The glow died. Blank casually tore the paper in half. The sound seemed loud as a thunderclap in the silent room, and Shawn balled his fists. Was it that easy? He wasn't so arrogant as to think himself invincible, not in a world with Endbringers. Death was an ever-present specter in his line of work. Still, it was one thing to fall in the line of duty, your strength failing you. It was far crueler for years of work, all your hopes and dreams to be reset to zero in a blink.

"Take it."

He looked up. Armsmaster was back, holding out the torn halves as though to taunt him. Shawn's mouth twisted under his helmet. "I don't think—"

"Take it." Armsmaster insisted. He reached out reluctantly, only to gasp when his armored fingers brushed the paper. He recognized the faint, familiar spark of his own power within. And indeed, when tested the two half-sheets proved resistant to further damage—not much, holding the toughness of thin leather, but it was unmistakably there. Somehow, his permanent charge was still working. Shawn had to restrain himself from blubbering in relief. "Care to test the rest of your gear?" Armsmaster said drily.

"I..." Shawn said raggedly. "I would prefer not to."

Armsmaster's lips curled into what might have been a sneer. "Understood. Dismissed." he said curtly.

Shawn power-walked up the stairs, and didn't stop until he was out of the PRT building.

"...the distinction seems to be that some effects are merely applied to an object, while others are imbued as an intrinsic property. I've designated those as sub-rules 3A and 3B respectively. I'm sure some powers will fall in the gray area, unfortunately."

"Rule Four—I presume you've heard of parasensory theory?" Emily nodded. This was the scientific hypothesis that mental powers functioned via sixth and higher senses, only detectable by their users. For example, Gallant could see your emotions in the same way a normal person could see the color of your shirt. Or disorient you by injecting foreign emotions to your brain, as a flashbang would do the same using light and sound. "Well, Blank being immune to Gallant's Thinker power is a point in favor. It's consistent with the null field blocking parasensory data from exiting, and presumably entering as well. If true, he could be axiomatically immune to Mastering."

Emily's eyes widened. That sounded like the sort of power she'd want to have. If she wanted powers, that was. Considering how many mind-altering villains there were, she'd hypothetically give a lot for the ironclad guarantee her thoughts and feelings would only ever be her own (as opposed to real life, where she'd given up her kidneys in exchange for bupkis). Armsmaster was scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Given Rule 3A, he should be able to clear Master influence as well, no? Up to and including—"

"We are not replacing M/S protocols with a 16-year-old boy." Emily interrupted. As for what she suspected Armsmaster had been about to say, she didn't even want to touch. Even if he'd proven immune to all powers thus far, she wasn't about to pit a newbie Ward against the fucking Simurgh.

"You must admit it'd be a lot faster—"

"Maybe in an emergency." Emily allowed. "But we're getting off topic. Continue."

"There's definitely a Rule Five, but it proved...difficult to pin down." Reddy admitted. "I think it's best if I show you first..."

Everyone was being weird, in Ethan's debatably humble opinion. From the hushed way Dauntless and even Miss Militia spoke of their mysterious new Ward, it was like they were speaking of a sentient minefield. He was only a kid—one with a vaguely ominous power, admittedly—and it wasn't like he had a villainous rap sheet either. So, personally, he thought the caution was uncalled for. Even if said Ward's personality left a bit to be desired. "Geez. You're a serious one, huh?"

Blank shrugged. "So I've been told."

"Well, take it from a real hero. In this job you've gotta lighten up when you can." Ethan said blithely. "You're too young to be acting like Armsy Jr. already."

Not even a chuckle. Damn, tough crowd. Usually the kids responded better to him. If Armsy was the stern patriarch of the Wards program, then Ethan liked to think of himself as a cool uncle. Nicole (aka Battery, aka his lovely wife) groaned. "Stop ragging on the Ward, Assault."

"What's wrong with Armsmaster?" Blank asked, genuinely confused.

"Consider your reply carefully." Armsmaster threatened over the intercom.

"Nothing at all, ha!" Ethan backpedaled with a cheeky grin. "Our beloved glorious leader is the very model of a modern major hero! A halberd-artisan extraordinaire! A paragon of manly virtue! A tireless puncher of bad guys! Why, his every living moment is so devoted to heroics he doesn't even go to the bathroom!"

"That part is untrue." Armsmaster said. "Though now that you mention it, Dragon could probably help me build an implant for that—"

"Holy shit, for real? I was joking!"

"Okay," Blank said, sotto voce. "I see what you mean."

Ethan winked. "Knew you were a smart one." He clapped his hands, moving back into position. "Alright, let's get this show on the road! Battery-up!"

Nicole scoffed at the lame pun before slamming a charged-up blow into his back. With a normal person, most of that kinetic energy would have been absorbed by their body, resulting in an awful lot of broken bones. But thanks to his power, Ethan was able to redirect 100% of the energy to propelling himself forward. Wind rippled his hair as he flew at the Ward. "Yeeha—" he cheered. Then, abruptly, he found himself deposited ass-first on the floor. Huh? "Oh my God!" Nicole exclaimed. Her head poked into his field of view. Even Blank was leaning over him, looking concerned. "Assault! Are you all right?"

"Of course! Didn't feel a thing!" Wait, that was weird. By all rights he should have felt a thing. That had been a pretty sudden stop—and he might have let himself go a teensy bit faster than the test plan called for—but there hadn't been any sensation of g-forces. He was moving one moment, still the next, and that was that. "Oh. Hey, that was actually pretty fun! Can we go again?"

"No, Assault."

"...even played back at the highest frame rate, there was no discernable interval of deceleration, likely indicating a momentum cancelling effect. At first glance, however, this seemed irreconcilable with other observations." A brief clip played of Aegis crashing to the ground (oof, that looked painful), followed by another of Velocity and Blank talking to each other. Emily had no clue what they were saying, and the auto-subtitles weren't much help either.

VELOCITY: 你好。你是中國人嗎？

BLANK: 哦？是啊。你普通話發音還挺標準，在哪兒學得？

"Skip this part." she ordered. Watching Velocity's impromptu cultural exchange didn't seem the best use of her time. The video fast-forwarded to a point where the speedster hero was moving around in, well, fast-forward. He crossed the circle marking the null-field boundary, and all of a sudden he was walking at a leisurely stroll. "As you can see, Aegis and Velocity were able to enter the field, unlike Assault." Reddy pointed out. "My best guess is that they were actively using their power at the time, whereas Assault was only using the momentum of his. In other words—the field repels objects in motion due to parahuman powers." Hm. That closed a lot of potential loopholes she'd thought of, like, say, Rune telekinetically throwing a rock from a distance. However— "We tried having Assault attack from above, too. He ended up rolling down the side of the sphere." Never mind.

"Interesting." Emily mused. She even half-meant it. This had been more like a physics class from a bizarre alternate universe than the hand-wavy guesswork power testing often resulted in. But as PRT Director, this wasn't her primary concern. "And the threat assessment?"

"Well, the obvious comparison is Hatchet Face, but that would be wrong. Their powers are nothing alike." The scientist's tone was laced with scorn for anyone who'd dare draw such an intellectually lazy parallel. "Hatchet Face's power, we presume, temporarily deactivates the Corona and Gemma. Blank's does that and a thousand other things. You could say he manifests a counter-power for any power that enters his range."

"Is it truly that impressive?" Armsmaster said doubtfully. "You make him sound like the anti-Eidolon."

"Honestly, that's not a bad analogy. I was thinking more along the lines of Sleeper."

That obviously threw Armsmaster for a loop. "What."

"Explain." Emily hissed, not any better off herself. Her fingers had begun gripping her desk's edge very hard. 'Sleeper' and 'anti-Eidolon' were high on the list of things a PRT Director never ever wanted to hear about a cape in their city. Were the Russian S-Class threat in fact hanging out in the basement of PRT HQ, not a single living soul or intact brick would remain of Brockton Bay.

"A constantly-active Shaker power producing a wide variety of reality-altering effects. Does that sound familiar?" Reddy asked rhetorically. Emily grudging admired her ability to keep a clinical tone in the face of...whatever this was. "The difference is the range, and the fact ours warps reality into something we consider 'normal', is all."

"In conclusion, I recommend a rating of Trump/Shaker 0."

"Zero?!" Armsmaster erupted. "If this is a joke, it's not funny—"

Emily burst out laughing.

Not the bitter chuckling she sometimes indulged in, but a genuinely spontaneous eruption of mirth. God, she couldn't even remember the last time. PRT Director was an occupation which provided precious little opportunity for happiness, and yet today she could neither help it nor explain precisely why. She was dimly aware of Armsmaster shouting something about Master/Stranger protocols. "No, no, she's perfectly right." she managed to say. The rush of euphoria had ebbed away after a couple seconds, but she still had a stupid grin plastered to her face. The others were staring at her as if she'd sprouted wings. A flying Piggot—imagine that. "The rating system measures the threat to unpowered people."

"And to them, he poses no threat at all."

"Blank, hm? It's not the sort of name I'd usually go for, but we can make it work, yes. I mean, we could call you something like 'Equalizer' or 'Counterspell', but it's too flashy. It's not you. You seem more, how to put it—well, the Indians have a word for it. So what's unique about the cape scene over there is, they don't just have heroes and villains, but also Garama and Thanda..."

I'd only known Glenn Chambers for about a minute, and I could already tell he really liked hearing himself talk. My mind was still processing how slovenly the man looked, despite being in charge of heroic image for an entire country. That hairstyle was unsightly enough over a video call that I had no wish to experience it in person. Given that the Protectorate and Wards I'd met were, to my eye, fairly well-dressed, I wasn't willing to ascribe it to mere incompetence. Maybe it was a case of the cobbler's children having no shoes and all that.

"Garama capes are bright. Outgoing. Good at dealing with media and the public. Think someone like Legend. You, though, you strike me as very much a Thanda. Quiet, understated, working behind the scenes. You don't send Thanda out to shake hands and kiss babies and act relatable. It's asking for bad PR; people can tell if you're faking it."

Okay, was he trying to insult me there? It took a modest effort to keep my expression composed. Chambers might have sensed it because his tone turned conciliatory. "It's not a criticism, don't get me wrong. Not every cape's got the personality for that. Alexandria and Eidolon would be Thanda too, and I don't need to tell you how important they are. People want to believe capes are human, sure, but they want to believe you're more than human too, that you can solve problems the rest of us can't."

I felt a twinge of...something, at that. That was eerily close to how I'd thought of capes, in a more cynical way. Whether heroes or villains, they were the helmsmen of this world, with we mortals mere passengers and playthings. The strongest of them—Scion, the Yàngbǎn, Lung, even the Triumvirate—were, in my imagination, more forces of nature than anything human. Yet the ones I'd met over the last few days seemed like people, no less and no more. Was that a matter of lesser strength and higher heroic intent, or was everything mere mirage? Maybe no one was at the wheel, and the ones that appeared to be were only bumbling in the dark. There was a sobering thought. "So in that context, Blank actually works quite well." Chambers rambled on. "Makes you come across as a man of mystery, a cipher, a tabula rasa to project their hopes upon. As for costume, hm, warm colors wouldn't fit the theme. White's too much like Clockblocker, and all-black tends to come off as villainous—"

"What about PRT troopers?" I asked.

Chambers exhaled through his nose. "Don't get me started. If I've told Costa-Brown a hundred times...no, blue for you, or light gray. No ornamentation, distracts from the clean look. At most a simple emblem—null symbol?" Over the call, there came the faint sound of him scribbling furiously on something I couldn't see. "Piggot mentioned your Tinkertech problem, so we'll stick with Kevlar, chain mesh, and ceramic. Standard PRT materials. And full-body covering, unless..." he looked up. "Unless you want to expose part of your face? Send a message?"

I frowned. What message was worth getting shot in the head to send? "What message?" I said, sanitizing my thoughts for public consumption.

"Ah, well, you know, you're a trailblazer of sorts." Chambers sounded uncertain for the first time. "Brockton Bay's first Asian hero in...a while."

This time I couldn't entirely suppress a flare of annoyance. If the PRT expected me to take responsibility for fixing race relations in the city, they had another thing coming. Especially if that meant sticking a target on myself. Lung would most certainly not take kindly to an Asian cape outside his control, if the fate of the last one was any guide. Some kid last year, with a name (Susanoo, for crying out loud) far too grandiose for his powers (minor Brute package). He'd left a few battered gang members here and a few taunting notes there, giving the general impression of a plucky independent underdog.

He'd lasted two weeks. Lung hadn't even bothered to handle matters himself, leaving it to Oni Lee. I hadn't witnessed the aftermath, thank heavens, but per rumor língchí was a decent description of the state of his corpse. Like hell I was risking that, just to send a message that...what, even? That if you lucked into getting powers you could join the Wards? "A full mask is fine." I said, rather more sharply than intended.

Chambers didn't bat an eye. "Of course. Merely an idle thought." He fell briefly silent, making a show of jotting down more notes. "Well, Blank, it's been a productive conversation. Always a pleasure when that happens, if I say so myself. I'll have my people start work on the prototypes..."

79 follows? Where the flipping heck are you people coming from? Not that I'll complain, of course.

tl;dr: Blank's power gives people headaches. There aren't a lot of always-on Shaker powers; the first two I thought of were Ash Beast and Sleeper (headcanon is "large scale reality-warping eldritch bullshit field: nice Brute rating you've got, be a shame if the strong nuclear force just stopped working"), which probably makes the scientists a little nervous. Makes the capes nervous too, for obvious reasons. Of course, to a normal his power sounds (and genuinely is) pretty harmless, which is the sort of inversion I imagine a jaded, cape-hating hardass like Piggot would find funny.

...what am I saying, Piggot laughing probably puts this right in the running for Most Unrealistic Worm Fic.

To forestall any comments, schizoid and schizophrenic are different things.

I've seen a few fics use 'Sam' for Battery's real name, but as far as I can tell that's purely fanon, so 'Nicole' for a change. Hopefully not too on-the-nose.

I'm not sure if Glenn Chambers meets with every recruit or only those with, hm, sensitive histories. Given the size of the Protectorate/Wards (sixty-odd branches, roughly a dozen members each if BB is any guide) he should be able to manage a VC with each new member. Probably takes down high-level notes, then his underlings actually set up the Figma/CAD/whatever.

(edit: changed the null-field from a sphere to a cylinder + hemisphere. Possibly nitpicky but I realized the original concept wouldn't give the ground-level AoE I was envisioning)