Arrival 1.3
Once I had felt the power in this body, I knew I could not just sit idle while people needed help. I had no memory of the sort of person I had been before this, but I could only hope that I had been a good man. Going forward I would try to be a good hero. Perhaps with Sanctuary or perhaps on some other path. But as I had been given this power, I would use it for the betterment of those without power of their own.
Soon after Mr. Gabriel left the orderlies unhooked me fully and led me to another hospital room. I was left untethered and was able to go to the toilet, where I found a mirror and looked at myself closely for the first time. Black hair cut short. Red skin and pupils. A tall, muscular body. With several seconds of concentration I was able to change everything about my body except my skin color. Even my eyes for some reason. Three forms felt most comfortable – my original form with no hair and sporting a tall fin and pointed ears; my new male body, which seemed to be based on Browbeat's; and a shorter female form of a fit, black teen with long, straight hair.
I experimented with my looks for over an hour, finally settling on a male form, Tall and densely muscled, though not as much so as Browbeat, with short black hair, somewhat straighter than it had been, and dark brown eyes. I made the muscles and bones denser than normal and enhanced the reflexes even more than the mystery blood had made them.
After a few minutes experimenting I was able to set this form as a default which I was able to revert to in a matter of seconds from any other form.
Returning to the bed, I played with my telekinesis, discovering the limited range. I could affect only what I was touching, basically producing a field that surrounded my body and let me manipulate it in a way that increased my already boosted strength. I was able to cause the cable of the call button to squirm like a snake as long as I was touching it. When I was in my limited version of Shadow Stalker's dark form my mass and therefore weight was greatly reduced, allowing me to hover around the room.
A "flying brick" is the term that came to mind. Not sure where from. Adding my limited shape shifting and flaming hands to the powerset gave me some versatility. A few costumed characters came to mind, though none seemed to match what I had seen in the Earth Bet overview. I wondered if there were capes in my home world, or just similar characters from fiction. I could picture posters and comic books with heroic figures in colorful costumes battling with dastardly villains.
Interestingly most of my memories showed the media printed in Arabic. I could read it easily. Like capes in this world the heroes in these comics often had secret identities. One whom he could most easily recall was named Azim Amari, better known as Sentinel. I could not discern why his hero name was in English. He was a flying brick who could shoot energy beams. He wore a skintight blue costume with black and gold highlights. On his chest was a black diamond with four golden circles. Supposedly it was the symbol of peace for his people.
Taking his names and costume somehow felt right. I sent myself to sleep and dreamt of Sentinel's heroic adventures.
I was woken by a pounding on the door.
"What?" I yelled, still a little groggy.
A young black man in a suit of futuristic powered armor entered the room. He was not wearing a helmet, just a domino mask baring his narrow triangular face, close shorn hair, and big ears. "Wow! You are red!"
I just stared at him wordlessly. I was too sleepy to deal with this shit.
"Crap! I mean … Hey! I'm Chariot. I'm supposed to take you to the DFac for breakfast then the training room. You up for that?"
"Certainly. Give me a minute to wash up," I replied. "I could definitely use some coffee."
It wasn't until we were settled into the cafeteria with a full plate and a mug of dark black coffee half-drunk that I realized I could probably have woken myself up with my power rather than needing the caffeine infusion.
I gazed around the room blearily, noticing it was mostly empty. There were a half dozen men and women in a variety of civilian clothes, mostly a mixture of jeans with polo shirts and khakis with button downs. But there were seats for at least two dozen people or more in the large room. I wondered briefly what these people did. Were they part of Sanctuary or Helping Hands?
Eventually I noticed the kid next to me staring unabashedly as he gobbled down some sort of toasted pastry squares.
"What did you say your name was again?" I asked the armored teen.
"Chariot. I'm a tinker. Gonna be making gear for the team."
"Shouldn't you be in school?" I remarked.
"Bro, it's Saturday!" he protested. "Besides, I've got work study most weekdays so I'm here anyway. Which is good because while this may not be the Wards, Youth Guard is sure to stick their noses in once we go live. You're lucky you're over eighteen. You are, aren't you?"
I looked at him for a minute. He reminded me of a puppy in a mud puddle. Well-meaning but causing a mess without even realizing it. "I don't know. I assume so. But it may not matter, at least to you. I've not agreed to join the team. Not really been asked yet as a matter of fact."
"That's just Mister G. I've not been here long, but I get the impression he likes to take his time and think things over. Get it? He's a thinker. Anyway. You're the first combat-oriented cape in here. Or that's what Beaker was saying."
"Who is Beaker? And why is he talking about me?" I was not sure I wanted people talking about my powers. I thought it unlikely I would be able to maintain any sort of secret identity given I couldn't change my skin color. But I still valued my privacy.
"Beaks is one of the power guys. A cape geek that runs power testing. You're supposed to be working with him after breakfast." It occurred to me that motormouth might fall under a transportation tinker's powerset.
"That still doesn't explain why he was talking about me to you," I pointed out.
"Well, he wasn't. Not really. But I was in the next room and the doors were both open and … you know what I mean." Suddenly Chariot only had eyes for his soda can.
"I see. You shouldn't eavesdrop. Nor should you believe all that you overhear."
"Yeah, whatever. You done eating?"
"I have not yet begun to eat," I said. Once I put a bite of eggs in my mouth a ravenous hunger grew in my belly, noticeably different from the blood craving yesterday. A quick check showed that my biokinesis tapped into my caloric reserves. Doing all the experimentation yesterday had drained me. My body, or perhaps my power, was letting me know I needed sustenance.
Returning to the food line three times, I devoured enough eggs, bread, and fruit for at least three people. By my third run, several people were watching me. One was even taking notes.
Chariot seemed to be basking in the reflected attention.
Once I had finally satiated my uncanny hunger, I allowed Chariot to lead me to the training room. I quickly changed into a workout suit covered in sensors before entering the room itself.
It was a large space that seemed to be split into a traditional exercise area with treadmills, bikes, and weights; a mat covered area used for groundwork and close quarters combat; a reinforced shooting gallery; and an area with machines I could not identify. I thought the morning might yet prove interesting.
"There you are!" exclaimed a tall willowing woman with long dark hair and a proud roman nose called out, waving for us to come to her.
"I'm Dr. Grace. I'll be working with you to test your powers this morning, if that's alright."
Realizing Beaker was a slur rather than her actual name I frowned at my teen companion. While prominent, her nose lent an air of sophistication to her otherwise unremarkable face. At least unremarkable until she smiled. The intelligence, anticipation, and sheer joy shining on her face made her noticeably more attractive. I found myself looking forward to working with her.
"Nice to meet you. I'd appreciate any guidance or insights you might share with me." I offered a slight bow. She smiled and Chariot giggled.
"Jeeze man, you talk like you're in an English book. Austen or Dickens or some shit,"
"Language maketh the man, Chariot," Dr. Grace scolded.
"Sorry," the young man replied, hangdog.
"Anyway," the woman straightened her lab coat and retrieved a small tablet from her large pocket. "Shall we begin?"
"Certainly. What's first?" I replied.
"Let's begin with the basics – strength testing. It is fairly simple. You just go over to those machines and find your limits." She pointed to the weight machines.
"I imagine that the individual plates weigh more than ten or twenty kilos each," I said as I approached three machines."
"That one has the ten- and twenty-five-pound plates. Giving options from fifty to five hundred pounds," she pointed to the machine on the left. "The one in the middle ranges from five hundred to two thousand pounds. And the one on the right goes from one to five tons. That's as high as these sorts of equipment can go. The PRT is said to have machines that can produce significantly more weight, but there are tinkers and gravity manipulation involved. Not that the special plates we use on the high-end machine weren't developed by a materials tinker. But that's different."
"Pounds? Hmmm?" I mused.
"Not what you're used to?"
"I've heard of the measures. Once used in some parts of Western Europe I think. But I have no memories of personally using any measures. Metric just feels more comfortable."
I started on the easy machine and quickly maxed it out. I moved to the middle machine and started moving toward its upper limit.
Dr. Grace continued to talk with me as she noted down my progress. "Not to encourage our little scamp, but your English is slightly accented and your usage isn't quite idiomatic, at least not for Brockton Bay. Do you know if English is your native tongue?"
"I really don't. I have no memories of speaking to anyone. I did recall some popular media written in Arabic."
"Do you speak Arabic? Or read it?" she asked.
"Both, I think," I replied first in English then in Arabic.
"Any others?"
I thought for a moment, almost feeling around in the unlit recesses of my mind. "Hebrew," I replied slowly. "And French."
"Interesting," she said. "I'm no anthropologist, but it sounds like you may be from an area similar to, or at least influenced, by our Middle East. I think those are four of the most common languages over there."
I shrugged while continuing to lift. I found that I could manipulate my body to increase my lift capacity, but realized I was approaching the limit to what I could do with just muscle and body modifications. I reached just under a ton before I had to start using my telekinesis.
That got me onto the third machine. Lifting with TK was much easier. I quickly maxed out the machine at five tons without feeling like I had reached my own limit.
"Well, that's great for you," Dr. Grace said with a frown. "But useless for our research. Maybe we can get access to the PRT sometime to see what your real limit is."
I didn't know whether to apologize or feel proud. Lifting five tons? I decided to be proud. "What's next?"
"Ah? The treadmill for ground speed, then room laps for flight speed, then … damage resistance!"
The sudden fervor in her final choice caused me more than a little trepidation.
We continued the testing until lunch. I won't say there were not some worrying moments, especially when she brought out the sub-machine gun. But all in all it was not a bad morning.
Chariot, who had not hung about more beyond the first strength test, eventually came back to escort me to lunch.
"I see what she means by combat-oriented," he said once we had settled at a table. "Strong, tough, fire and flight. You're a regular Glory Boy."
"How do you know all that? You left after the weightlifting."
"Cameras everywhere, bro," he smirked. "I don't have to be there to see what's going on."
"I wonder what the Privacy Police would have to say about that," I retorted.
"The who?"
"Privacy Police," I replied then repeated the more common Arabic name.
He just looked at me dumbly.
"Not a thing here?" I ventured.
"I don't think so," he confirmed.
"Ah."
We spent the rest of the meal discussing how a transport tinker could support a flying brick. Ending with his claim, "I am this close to cracking teleportation. This close."
"I wish you luck in that. I can see how it would be useful on many levels," I offered.
"No shit," he agreed.
"Chariot!" barked Dr. Grace who had come up behind the teen.
"Damn woman!" He jerked half out of his seat before collapsing back down with his hand clutching his chest. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that. This armor ain't just for show, you feel me?"
"Hmm…" she offered then turned to me. "Mr. Gabriel has a few new samples. I would like to observe as you try both topical and internal applications. Are you amenable?"
I felt my heart skip a beat at the thought of more blood. I knew I was going to have to find a way to control this craving. I would not turn into a vampire. I would never let myself become that kind of danger to the innocent.
"Very well," I eventually agreed.