It was harrowing to see how significant the effect of what I saw as a fairly minor alteration actually was to Weld. I had probably underestimated just how badly his sense had been diminished by his condition. He was taking in deep breaths of the seawater infused vapor of the maelstrom pocket while running his hands over the benches, pillars, and ground.

Whatever sense of urgency had been driving him earlier was completely forgotten. Going from nothing to even a hint of sensation was clearly an experience commanding all of his attention, at least much more significantly than the unstable situation brewing on the surface.

"Could..." He spoke for the first time since he'd begun exploring his new senses. He let a handful of silt flow between his fingers before continuing. "Could you do this for other Case 53s? Can you help them?"

The weight of that question hit me, made even worse by the hope in Weld's voice. I could plainly see what this meant to him. I wanted to give him assurance that I could help, but the truth was more disappointing.

"I don't know." I took a breath before continuing. "My experience with this kind of thing isn't that extensive. This isn't a blanket cure, every application needs to be specialized. Sometimes there's nothing I can do no matter how much I'd want to." I remembered Taylor's corona pollentia in the aftermath of Bakuda's bomb. The mechanics of that tiny section of brain completely stumping what was probably otherwise the most powerful restorative technology on the planet.

Weld nodded slowly. "But there's a chance, right?"

"A chance." I agreed. "I won't know until I'm able to examine them. Even then, some of these exotic effects are hard to understand. I won't be able to fix them until..."

I shut my mouth. Weld was exceedingly personable. Personable to the point where I had almost revealed a detail of how my power worked. I needed more connections to the Magitech constellation if I was going to have a hope of figuring this out, but I had no idea when that would happen. And there was no way of honestly explaining that without getting into the mechanics of my power. Weld may have offered some assurance of discretion, but he was still a Protectorate cape. I wasn't banking on anything that happened here staying a secret after he got back.

Weld was looking at me expectantly. I swallowed and continued. "Until I have a better understanding of the effects in play." It was close enough to the truth without revealing additional details. He seemed to accept it, though his disappointment was clear.

The metal Ward let out a breath and sank onto one of the benches. He ran a hand slowly over the surface of the seat and the carved patterns on the sides. He raised a hand and took a long look at it. I noticed a slight shifting on one of his fingers.

"I... I think it feels a little easier to shift my hands now. There's not as much delay, more detail, that kind of thing."

I considered the augmentations and nodded. "You have more nerves, or what passes for nerves in your body, close to the surface now. Your body is seriously atypical, but the nervous system analog still controls things. You should have better surface control along with the tactile sensitivity."

Weld's head popped up when I said 'surface control'. He searched around the area and found the scraps of metal that had been cast off when I healed him. I watched in silence as he approached one of the smaller pieces and reached towards it like it might bite him.

With a lightning fast movement Weld poked the chunk of sea iron and pulled pack his hand, a look of amazement on his face.

"It didn't attach. It was still going to, I could feel it, but it wasn't instant like before." He poked the chunk of metal again, then again, sending it sliding along the ocean floor away from him.

"I can't speak to the exact effect, not right now, but my guess is that part of what was an autonomous response has some level of input from you. I can't say how much without some controlled tests and a baseline of how it functioned before."

"It's fine. This, this is huge. You have no idea. Just the chance, a fraction of a second to stop it, my God."

The intensity of his reaction was getting a bit unnerving. This had gone from what passed as a friendly chat to something a lot more significant very quickly. Still, I knew the response wouldn't be this strong if he hadn't been living with some serious problems that he apparently worked very hard to keep to himself. I wasn't going to pretend I knew what he had gone through, but I was familiar with that particular coping strategy well enough.

So what would I have wanted to hear at that point in my life?

"Weld?" He looked up at me. I hefted the chunk of metal flesh he had provided earlier. "As far as I'm concerned, you're paid up for full treatment. I don't know when or if I'm going to be able to manage anything more, but when I figure something you're covered." I paused. "Assuming the PRT ever allows me near one of their capes again."

I tried to put a humorous spin on my last statement, but Weld's face turned ashen at the idea. "I want you to know," He spoke clearly and slowly. "Whatever you need, whatever it will take to make that happen, for me or any other Case 53, I'll do whatever I can to help you."

I took in his stern expression, his serious tone, his borderline treasonous proclamation, and let out a sigh. "You know, that is really not going to help with any of the master concerns that are floating around."

There was a brief moment where Weld seemed to recognize just how serious things had gotten. I could almost see his previous statement playing through his head. We exchanged an awkward glance, then Weld snorted.

That broke the floodgates and let out a fit of laughter from both of us. It wasn't even funny, just some kind of instinctive stress relief response to the sheer magnitude of the situation, the insanity of the location, and the intensity of our conversation.

It went on longer than it had any right to and slowly petered out to a series of small chuckles. One of those situations where by the time the laughter dies you couldn't remember what was funny about the situation to begin with. As it dropped off Weld took a deep breath and made a valiant attempt to turn things serious again.

"So, you really think you might be able to help the other Case 53s?"

I shrugged. "Maybe? I won't know until I see then, and like I said, everyone will likely be its own challenge. I don't know how long it will take me or if I can even manage it at all."

"But a chance?" I gave a non-committal nod. Weld let out a breath. "A chance. That's more than we had before."

It struck me how quickly he shifted from talking about the Case 53s like they were a separate group to talking about them as a member of them. As far as I knew there was no connection between them beyond shared circumstances, but maybe that was a stronger link than I anticipated.

My passenger hadn't had much to say about the Case 53s. That was probably because I hadn't dug too deeply into the subject. When I was still learning how to interpret the emotional reactions my passenger used to communicate I reviewed various cape phenomena to get a baseline. There was really nothing special about the Case 53s, at least in the context of a broad threat assessment. The best I'd managed to discern was that the theories that they were the result of some kind of cape virus making normal powers go crazy were absolute crap.

Weld shook his head before continuing. "You know, I've probably seen more Case 53s than anyone outside of the PRT research division."

"Right. Aren't you their spokesman or something?"

"Really more of a popular face. Make people comfortable with the concept, at least more so than a lot of the others." He paused before continuing. "Some Case 53s out there, they can't live anything like a normal life. Much worse than what I have to deal with. Anything you can do for them will mean the world." He flexed his hand slowly.

"I understand."

He gave me a knowing nod. "Right. I mean, for most of us just getting to the point where we can be out in public would be an achievement. That's a bigger priority than figuring out what happened or where we came from."

My passenger screamed at me so loudly I nearly fell off the bench. The reaction shocked Weld, but it had nothing on what I was going through. Whatever this was, it was bad. The full on, hands off kind of bad that made it dangerous to even look at. Very, very few things had gotten this kind of response from my passenger, and given how restrained he had been since my melt down after the bank robbery it was harrowing to feel this kind of intensity.

"Apeiron? Apeiron, are you alright?"

"No." I grunted.

Weld moved in with concern. "You aren't alright? What's..."

"No. No, it's my thinker power." Weld stopped moving and I took a breath to steady myself. He watched me carefully before speaking again.

"I heard about that from the stuff with Panacea. You get hunches or feelings, right?"

"Sort of. It's complicated, and not perfectly accurate, but the strong reactions are generally on point."

"There's another Case 53 back in the Boston Wards, Hunch. He has something similar. I don't think it's as comprehensive." He gave me a hard look. "That was about the Case 53s? Where we came from?"

I considered how to approach this before diving in. "Yes. It's, it's bad. And dangerous. Seriously dangerous. The type of dangerous I don't even like talking about."

Weld grimaced. "How bad do you mean? Like what kind of level are we talking about here?"

I grit my teeth before pushing forward. Honesty was the only way to convey the depth of this situation, and there was only one word that would accurately express the danger involved.

"Simurgh."

Weld's face shifted from despair to full panic.

"It's not her." I quickly clarified.

"How…" He sputtered out, then tried again. "You don't just throw around that kind of accusation. How do you know? And how do you know it's not an Endbringer?"

And this was getting into a more detailed look at my power than I wanted to share. Unfortunately, I had to share it. Sending Weld out half informed would be like lighting an active bomb. Maybe it would be whatever this Case 53 threat was, or maybe that winged bitch would take interest, but something would come down on me if I didn't sort this out.

"My power can tell the difference. I know this isn't an Endbringer thing. It's something else, and nearly as bad, at least on the same scale."

"You're saying that you can predict, actually predict the Endbringers?"

I shook my head vigorously. "No, no I can get some hints about them, personal warnings, danger levels, that kind of thing. Not where or when. I don't think my power can predict that, and even if it could I can't read it clearly enough to piece together the information."

Weld sank onto his bench. "This is just…" He looked up. "You're sure about this?"

I nodded slowly. "I have put a lot of analysis into the Simurgh, to stay off her radar."

Weld was bright enough to put the pieces together. I watched his expression as everything fell into place. "Mannequin?"

I gave one small nod.

"I guess every tinker is concerned about that, and if they're strong enough to be a target…" He didn't finish the sentence, instead seemingly trying to find something to say. "So you had to cancel your space program?"

He said it with a sly grin, but when I didn't react Weld's mouth slowly fell open.

"Seriously?"

"Not while she's up there." I let out a sigh. "Look, I know you made a little glib joke about forgetting stuff and not sharing everything, but this I'm serious about. Please do not say anything about this. I have no idea how well my strategies are working. If anything disrupts them I don't want to think about what would happen."

"Uh, right. Of course."

He was clearly struggling with the weight of the revelation. I almost felt bad about how much a relief it was to talk with someone else about this. This was the primary driver for my obsessive caution, more than any concerns about exposure or being press ganged by some crime lord. The Simurgh was a giant roadblock sitting at the end of any path I wanted to take. I was constantly burdened with knowledge that no matter how much I wanted to keep my head down we would cross paths sooner or later, and I would have to put my half-baked precog blocking tactics to the ultimate test.

Weld gave me a nervous look. "You were okay telling me all of that?"

I took a second to shuffle through my passenger's reactions and shrugged. "What I got from my power suggested you probably wouldn't back down from that point unless I laid everything out."

"And it's that important to back down on this?"

"At least for now? This power isn't perfect, but generally it's on point for the important stuff."

"Right." He sighed. "You get anything else on me?"

"Not that much really. Generally positive reactions and a sense of reliability." I looked out at the swirling black water. "Also that leaving you down here would be a really bad thing."

Weld followed my gaze and nodded. "Yeah, I'll have to extend my gratitude for that." He pushed himself up. "I guess we should get back then?"

I smiled. "I suppose. Shame, this has been the longest I've been able to talk to a hero without getting assaulted or ending up on a black list."

Weld seemed to consider something. "Look, I know this is a long shot, but I have to at least try to make the offer. Is there any way you'd be willing to meet with the Protectorate?"

I shook my head. "Not with that mandate in place. I don't trust I'll be able to walk out of any meeting they set." Weld tried to say something. "Regardless of any assurances made. My power isn't putting a lot of faith in them being held."

"It's really that bad on the director?"

I shrugged. "It was bad, then that report made it to her and she reacted the way a lot of people would when their mental competence was questioned. Then there was all the master crap." I scowled as I spoke. "I'm pretty sure any chance of making good with the local PRT is a lost cause at this point."

"What…" Weld drew out the word and I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

Wait, was that racist? I mean it's not like a metallic humanoid would actually cognate based on clockwork. Integrated optical or transdimensional processors would be the standard in place of human meat thinking.

Ok, quarter, jar, etcetera, etcetera.

"What if it wasn't the local PRT?"

Weld's question drew me out of my chain of thought.

"What do you mean?"

"Director Armstrong is head of the Boston PRT, and my guardian. When we get to the surface I should be able to reach him. That way you can at least talk with someone in the PRT who isn't tied up in all this Brockton Bay… stuff."

The last word was clearly a placeholder for a stronger term, likely evidence of years of PR training. This was someone who could endure more than anyone would reasonably be expected to without resorting to profanity. It was actually pretty impressive.

As I considered his offer I felt the Magitech constellation swing by once again without a connection. The infuriating lack of links to that set of abilities was starting to become a serious detriment to me. Weld must have picked up on the reaction.

"Something wrong? Thinker power?"

I shook my head. "No, that was something else. With Director Armstrong I'm not getting much, but what's there is pretty positive. A lot better than Director Piggot, but you know, low bar."

Weld made a non-committal nod and I remembered that I was essentially bashing his current boss. It would probably be best not to put him in any more of a conflict of interest than he already was.

I stood up from the bench and straightened my coat. "Right, let's get out of here."

"You said you had five ways you could do that?" He asked expectantly.

I nodded as I pulled up my omni-tool. I had been concerned I would find him seriously incapacitated and be unable to restore him. Most of the technologies I had prepared had been for that eventuality, and had uncertainty around how Weld would react to magnetism or extreme temperatures, with a final method relying on more alchemical transmutation than I was comfortable revealing outside an emergency. Fortunately, there was the first and most reliable fallback.

"Most of those options were emergency measures in case something went wrong during the recovery. Since you're mobile I can fall back on my initial and most reliable option."

"And what's that?"

I navigated to my omni-tool's fabricator. "This incredibly innovative technology, totally disruptive and just pioneered in the last forty thousand years." I began the fabrication process. "It's called rope."

Weld stared blankly at the coil of tightly woven cord that materialized from my omni-tool's reserves of industrial plastics.

"Seriously?"

I shrugged. "It doesn't overcomplicate things. I don't have to mess around with experimental technology, and it would be strong enough to hold you even if you were solid osmium." The benefit of being able to properly prepare for this mission meant I had a wide array of useful fabrication patterns available in my omni-tool's memory, not just standard items or things I rush designed in the field.

Weld took the thick cord and gave it some experimental tugs. He nodded, but kept rolling the material between his thumb and forefinger as he replied.

"So that will be able to pull me out?" He gestured to the motoroid, with Fleet lifting its head in response.

"It should be able to. Between that and some hydrokinetic action this should be fairly trivial."

That shifted Weld's attention back to the cutlass, then up to the swirling dome. I think that was the first time the full scale of what was being done by the weapon actually hit him. He swallowed, then turned back to me.

"Right. Let's get started."

I did insist on properly tying Weld off. I didn't doubt his strength, but I wasn't going through the trouble of tracking him down and fishing him out if his grip slipped. I would say it was a crude climber's harness, but it seemed even in this I couldn't make something crude. It was an immaculate climber's harness, with enough freedom for Weld to exert some control over the tow rope rather than end up dragged along like a sack of potatoes.

I had entered my armor and secured the rope. At Weld's signal I grasped the hilt of the cutlass and slowly reduced the mass field. The swirling water around us slowed, then poured in, flooding our tiny pocket. My drones, not intended for aquatic operation, slowly winked out one by one leaving only empty eggshell thin spheres of carbide. As the warm light of the drones faded I triggered my armor's headlights, casting the seabed in harsh white light.

Weld wrapped a hand around the tow rope and gave me a thumbs up with his other hand. I nodded in return, then engaged my armor's turbines while swinging the cutlass upwards.

An incredible amount of thrust combined with the hydrokinetic power of my blade created a surge the likes of which I'd never experienced. My armor shot forward, then slowed as the rope caught tight. I shifted power to the turbines and focused on managing the flow of water. The Natural Alchemy potion gave me a slightly better sense of it, even when separated from the ocean by my armor. With all my might I focused the ocean into a stream behind Weld, dragging the boy towards the surface.

The first part of our journey was basically a vertical ascent. Neither one of us had to worry about decompression effects at the moment, so my goal was simply to break the surface. That was a serious task, as we were in the deepest part of the bay bordering the open ocean.

Silty water streamed by us as we shot straight up until the silvery plane of the water's surface came into view. It seemed there was barely a heartbeat between the first glimpse of the water's edge and the sensation of launching free of the ocean and into the open air.

While I was confident I could haul Weld underwater, managing VTOL flight with several hundred pounds of unbalanced metal was another matter. As soon as I broke the surface I cut thrust and let my arc take me back into the ocean. Without the turbulence of my jets or the silty water I could clearly see Weld as he trailed behind me, following my path on pure momentum.

His expression as he launched from the water was somewhere between exhilarated and terrified. That became significantly more terrified as he hit the water and began to sink again.

Before he could pull me off balance I shifted my blade to generate a strong upward current beneath him and engaged my turbines again, powering towards the coast south of us.

What Weld managed while towed behind my low flying motoroid and buoyed up by the strength of a hydrokinetic weapon wasn't exactly waterskiing, but was likely the closest to the concept he had ever or would ever manage. There was some instability at first, but once he found his feet, so to speak, he was having the time of his life.

I was focused on keeping variables stable during the trip when I felt the Celestial Forge make a new connection to the Quality constellation. It was a power called Do One Thing At A Time. To use it I had to do one thing at a time.

It was a serious power for reducing time and improving quality. Simply put, as long as I was only focused on doing a single task it doubles my skill and efficiency. So time taken is halved and the quality is doubled. Considering the increases I already had to crafting quality and speed that was incredible, but there was a much more significant aspect of the power.

Unlike every other power that was limited to specific types of tasks this applied to absolutely everything I could do. Try to learn something? Takes half as long and learn twice as well. Conducting an experiment? Time is halved and quality of the results doubled. In a fight and making an attack? As long as I'm not splitting focus the attack is twice as fast and twice as skilled.

It was an absolutely incredible and comprehensive power, both on its own and for how it stacked with every other ability I had. I would have wanted to consider it further, but we were rapidly approaching the coast.

Heading south from the mouth of the bay took you to the Beaches, an area of the city east of downtown and one I'd had almost nothing to do with in my time here. Calling them beaches was a bit generous, seeing that even the best beach present was a steep rocky affair. Compared to the Boardwalk it wasn't exactly prime tourist real estate. Basically anything past the south ferry stop was barely considered by most residents.

The Beaches definitely had their own character apart from the rest of the city. They were insulated from the gang conflicts of the rest of the city and didn't have that slow economic deterioration that was iconic of the Docks. If anything they were iconic for not having anything to be iconic about. A jumbled mess of poor civic planning, residential and commercial areas laid out like a camouflage pattern, and repeated ventures that were set to define the area before fizzling out.

In fact, the entire area kind of fizzled out as you got further from downtown. I'm not sure exactly where the city limits stood, but the urban nature slowly diminished until you were in one of the multiple suburbs that ringed the city, though without the clear natural barriers a place like Captain's Hill benefited from. At least there you were sure what was in and out of Brockton Bay Proper.

None of that was really relevant as my low flying motoroid towed a Case 53 Ward onto one of the smoother beaches that ringed the area, bringing him in with a hydrokinetic assisted storm surge that crashed around him when he found his footing and deposited what looked like half of the seaweed in the bay onto his head and shoulders.

"That." He panted, pulling the mats of Kelp away from him. "Was awesome. I never thought I'd get to do something like that."

I triggered my armor and stepped out onto the beach. "No problem." Weld trudged through and up the modest amount of pebbly sand, following me to an abandoned set of picnic tables in a small rest area. I checked around us, but the place was deserted. Late Sunday night after a city wide attack wasn't the best occasion for a beach party, though there were probably some people from the college dense enough to give it a go.

"Are you ready for the call, or do you need a minute?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm ready." He glanced up and down the beach. "If there's a payphone I can dial in through that."

I pulled up my omni-tool again. "Cell phone work?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course that thing has a phone feature." Under his breath he might have muttered "Right next to the rope app." He looked up at me again. "I mean, if you're alright using your own line for this. I'm not going to give you away, but they trace everything that comes into a PRT office."

"Don't worry." I began entering commands to Survey and directing the emulation. Already the effects of my latest power were demonstrating themselves. "I'm running the copy of the SIM from a disposable cell phone. I can afford to burn this number after the call. Towers can trace to this area, but if this call ends up with Director Armstrong calling in the cavalry then it's a lost cause anyway."

Weld shook his head. "It won't come to that."

"I wish I could share your optimism. Clearly you haven't been in Brockton long enough to be cured of that."

He gave me a wry smile, then looked at what must have seemed a jumbled display to the eyes of a layman. "So how do I use this thing?"

I entered a few more commands, then a standard telephone keypad appeared floating as part of the holographic display. The omni-tool's upgrades had extended the range of holography and mass fields to more than just the immediate area around my arm, which was a godsend for this kind of application.

Weld reached out and poked the keypad, apparently surprised at the resistance it presented. With a glance to me he started keying in a number with a Boston area code. That led to an automated switchboard, then a tree of command options that Weld navigated without listening to the full message. Eventually he was being prompted for longer and longer chains of codes, all of which I was sure would be changed as soon as he was back in PRT hands. If he had to memorize this many numbers again I legitimately felt sorry for him.

Finally a ring sounded through the improvised phone audio which was rapidly answered by the tired voice of an older man.

"Weld? Is that you? Please confirm situation?" It was an odd mix of what must have been official procedure delivered with a very personal amount of concern.

"I'm here, Director. Condition green Charlie sapphire." There was a sigh of relief audible through the line.

"Thank God. I've had words with your local director over how this was handled. I swear, if I wasn't putting out fires here I would have been down there immediately."

"Thank you, Sir." There was a personal touch to their exchange that made me feel intrusive. It was clear that Armstrong's status as Weld's guardian was taken more seriously than what would have been strictly required by his position. "I was safely recovered by Apeiron." Weld carefully pronounced my name as he spoke.

There was a period of silence from the open line. "Apeiron? Are you alright?"

The concern in the director's voice made my stomach twist. Weld shot me a confused glance before replying. "I'm fine. He is here with me at the moment. He wanted to talk to a PRT official from outside the city."

"Good evening Director. I'm glad to be able to speak with you."

"Yes." The man's response was guarded. "To confirm, is this the extent of your demands for the recovery of our Ward?"

"Director Armstrong, I offered to put Apeiron in contact with you after he expressed concerns regarding amicable contact with the local office. No demands were made pertaining to my recovery."

The man cleared his throat and I had a sense that I was about to enter into another conversation that would be analyzed to high heaven. "Apeiron, can you confirm that there are no demands or obligations attached to your actions?"

I glanced at Weld before replying. "I hold no obligation to the PRT or Protectorate for my actions tonight. At request I will terminate this call and depart leaving Weld free to be recovered or return under his own power. And if we could step back from the legal speak, I would prefer to continue this conversation without turning it into a sparring match."

There was a pause before he replied. "Uh, yes, I suppose so. I hope you understand, after the events of the previous night, there is an understandable amount of concern being mandated."

I did not like the way that sounded. Not at all. "That would be the conflict with ABB forces at the north storage facility and my following actions?" I really should not have come into this without at least reviewing the broadcast. Well, this wouldn't be the first time avoidance base procrastination had come around to bite me in the ass.

"That is correct. Displayed abilities and allegations made following the events mandate certain protocols."

"Apeiron mentioned there was extensive property damage during the confrontation?"

Weld was clearly even more in the dark than I was, and the earnestness in his tone was heart wrenching. Apparently Armstrong felt the same way, based on the delayed response.

"Yes. Yes Weld, there was extensive property damage." Armstrong began speaking more slowly. "That is a point of concern going forward. I will make sure you are fully briefed later." There was a pause and what may have been a sigh before he began speaking. "Apeiron, to clarify, you have no demands. This is voluntary communication with a PRT representative without obligation or any legal expectations, correct?"

"To restate, I was hoping to be able to talk with a representative who was not under the assumption that I was attempting to undermine the entire organization. If that is unwelcome I would be happy to depart."

"That won't be necessary." A good deal of the formality had departed from his tone as he replied. "So, to clarify, do you have any terms for the content of this discussion?"

I glanced at Weld who shrugged. "I'm not going to answer any questions about my abilities or give any details about the Undersiders. Other than that I'm willing to address some of the PRT's obvious concerns about my actions."

"Let me formally state that at this point, to the best of my knowledge, the PRT is not planning any specific actions against Lady Khepri or the other Undersiders."

I nodded slowly. "That's good." I wasn't sure why he singled out Taylor specifically, but it was both a relief and more than I asked for.

"Then I suppose the best course of action would be to inquire about your intentions in Brockton Bay."

I took a breath before answering. "My intentions are the same as I explained to Panacea. I intend to stop Bakuda. Given the apparent force multiplier present in the ABB's new thinker that is currently my primary priority. In fact, if you could provide any information regarding their identity..."

"Unfortunately, that would be against current department policy." There was a weariness to his voice. "Additionally, and in confidence, that information has not been provided to regional directors at this point. Primary concerns in most departments is addressing the aftereffects of the blackout." I grit my teeth at the news, but fortunately he continued. "I can confirm that a press release is being planned that will likely contain that information, and it should be publically available within thirty six hours."

Well, that was better than nothing.

"I'd also like to state that I have no master powers and have not mastered anyone. I know that probably won't mean much, but given the state of accusations against me I wanted to weigh in."

"I appreciate that. Rest assured, those accusations are being evaluated at the highest level. I cannot promise swift resolution given the resource requirements of the current situation, but I assure you there are those in the PRT looking at things with a highly critical eye."

"I appreciate that." Which I sort of did. A lack of swift resolution did nothing for the currently injured that Panacea could have saved or I could have healed if these nonsense charges hadn't stuck. The Crafting constellation passed by without connection as I was once again cursing the way the current situation had unfolded.

"If you are willing, I would like to inquire as to your animosity to Director Piggot and any possibility of reaching a resolution for the duration of the current situation."

"Director, that is very close to a question concerning the capacity of my thinker power."

"I acknowledge that. Still, given the current situation, I hoped you would be able to at least provide a firm comment."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Do I dance around this, or just rip off the band-aid? I couldn't do much worse than an accusation of insanity, and trying to backpedal now would just put me in a weak position. This was approaching the 'fuck it' threshold both in level of frustration and the amount of time it was costing me. I steeled myself and dove in.

"I do not believe it will be possible to work with Director Piggot."

"I see. Is there any way you would be willing to consider working with her, even for the duration of the current crisis?"

I sighed. "Director, it isn't a question of whether I'm willing. I don't believe it will be possible."

There was a pause on the line. "Could you possibly clarify that for me?"

"Simply put, I had serious concerns regarding being able to work with Director Piggot prior to my meeting with Panacea. During that encounter I made an admittedly serious accusation, but clarified the potential inaccuracy of it. The response to that accusation was extreme, and while I acknowledge it was based on all of my actions and not that charge specifically the effects are clear. Based on those actions I am more inclined to listen to those warnings provided by my thinker power."

"I understand. Is there any way you would be willing to reconsider?"

I clenched and unclenched my fist. "Director, every action towards me has, intentionally or not, made it more difficult for me to function in the cape community, resolve misunderstandings, or just offer, much less provide, support. If I was completely cynical I would say it was intended to strengthen Director Piggot's bargaining position in the event I needed to approach the PRT for concessions, leniency, or clemency. I'm not going to bargain from a position of weakness with the person who put me there."

"Outside of the context of the Brockton Bay Protectorate and PRT, would you be willing to engage other branches of the organizations on more favorable terms?"

I noticed a signal from Survey. Well, it was good while it lasted. Probably wasn't even Armstrong's decision, but I still wasn't waiting around to see where this would go.

"Well, I am a mercenary cape, so there's always the possibility if you're willing to pay." I didn't even attempt to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "I'm going to have to end this call. It was nice speaking with you Director. I can honestly say that. You can pick up Weld at the South Point Beach, just off Dutton Avenue."

"Are you sure..." He stopped, likely knowing the reason for this. "Of course. Thank you for recovering Weld, and for taking the time to address some of our concerns."

"You're welcome Director. Goodbye."

I terminated the connections and moved towards my motoroid. Weld was giving me a questioning look.

"They traced the call. Probably policy, but I don't want to get mixed up with local heroes, not right now."

The Ward nodded. "I understand." He let out a breath. "Look, I'm sorry that didn't go better."

I shrugged. "It went well enough, though I'm sure that will only last until it gets picked over by Protectorate thinkers all over again."

Weld nodded grimly. "I wish I could say otherwise, but they like to keep the think tank busy. Hunch is trying to get certified for that kind of work, and even the introductory stuff he handles is a massive workload."

"At this point I'll be happy if I can try to counter Bakuda without the Triumvirate coming after me."

"Let's hope." He paused. "Look, it would probably help if there was a way to reach you, at least give them a chance of resolving things before they get out of hand."

I nodded. "Made a PHO account before this started. Haven't checked it since then, but you can reach me through there."

Weld froze. "You made a PHO account with your cape name before you announced it?"

"Yeah?"

"And you said that stuff you did was broadcast by Uber and Leet?"

"Yeah?" The penny dropped. "My inbox is going to be a mess, isn't it?"

"That's probably the best you can hope for." He shook his head. "Forums and social media get kind of crazy about capes."

I grimaced. "To be honest, I've kind of been avoiding dealing with that kind of stuff."

Weld looked out over the bay. "Well, you won't hear me complain about the order you picked, but you should try to deal with that before it gets away from you."

I nodded. "Right. Weren't you a meme or something?"

He let out a breath. "Don't remind me. People ask me to do the face every time I do press events. It gets old real fast."

"I doubt I've got anything that bad, but thanks for the advice."

"No, thank you." He extended a hand and I shook it. His grip was a bit strong and I wondered if he was going to be overly tactile for a while. "I was serious about what I said. I've got your back, and anything that can help the other Case 53s, let me know and I'm there."

His expression was completely serious. I really hoped it would't come down to a choice between Protectorate loyalty and helping me. That was the kind of thing that would spawn master accusations I'd never be able to escape.

Instead I nodded back, broke the handshake and climbed into my motoroid. With a final wave I launched into a high arc, then dove into the bay.

Escaping underwater was really just about throwing off any observers. I didn't doubt that the Protectorate would be on site soon. The chances that Weld's recovery would be publically attributed to me were slim. I doubt they would go as far as fabrication, but leaving out how he got out of the bay was entirely possible and seemed to be in character for the current administration.

I… I would need to spend a good deal of time picking over likely fallout from this. For example, the Protectorate knew I had aquatic technology. Not really an impediment to me, but a paranoid director or Protectorate Leader might decide they need to waste resources securing their floating oil rig from oceanic incursions, which would of course draw resources away from whatever the ABB was planning next.

Still, there was only so much stupid that would be laid at my feet before it became obvious what the source was. I had made an attempt at peaceful contact, and Weld had a way to reach me. If that wasn't enough to get them to pump the brakes on the 'Blame Apeiron' train then I was going to have to start checking for outside influences.

I triggered my potion reservoir and downed another invisibility potion. Once the effect settled I broke the surface and wheeled towards the docks.

Instead of heading home I circled around towards the north docks. This area had the worst coverage in terms of the residual blackout. It hadn't taken as much damage, but that was mostly because there wasn't much to destroy. Instead it sat at the lowest priority in terms of restoration. In this part of the city squatters probably outnumbered residents, and they operated without power anyway. It made the perfect location for an isolated workshop access.

Starting high enough with minimal turbine use to arrest velocity meant I could drop down to street level without sounding like a jetliner taking off. There was still some noise, but this was the kind of place that didn't reward curious people. The odds of anyone investigating were minimal.

I landed in the entryway of an abandoned shipping center. The position was isolated from the road by two gates and a stone wall and there was an abundance of shutter doors compatible with my Garage adaptor. I transformed the motoroid and drove it into the workshop. Salt water wasn't an issue for me, either inside or out it wouldn't cause any corrosion. Still, I decided to clean it.

Of course, I used my powers. An artificially inflicted dent that was quickly fixed triggered Stylish Mechanic, totally cleaning the entire machine. It was such a mundane abuse of power, and I absolutely loved it.

I looked over at the actual reason for coming here. My Ford Pinto sat in one of the Garage bays, waiting to be driven. Thanks to the facilities of the Garage and the hacking capabilities of my computer core the car was completely legal and registered, largely thanks to the security holes in the… in the computer systems that civilians used. Ha, dodged a quarter there.

I couldn't just rush out at that moment. Partially that was because I was in a seawater soaked costume, and partially because Garment was waiting for me with the phone she had used to contact Flechette. Though she indicated that she wasn't going to show it to me until I dealt with the seawater soaked costume problem.

That actually led to me closing the Garage, finding an isolated interior door to access my workshop entry way, securing that with my incredibly out of date bar lock, then dealing with problems one at a time.

As far as Garment was concerned the costume took precedence. At least she met me with a bathrobe and was open to the idea of 'maintenance to activate cleaning powers'. That was followed by a blitz shower, so at least I didn't smell like bay water anymore, and the discovery that yes, Garment does have perfect knowledge of my measurements and had apparently amused herself during confinement to the workshop by either letting out or replacing my entire wardrobe. After that came the delivery of Weld's tissue sample to the Laboratorium, and the triggering of a theological dispute between the cyber skulls over whether it was alien biology, xeno-tech, or some ancient human invention. The electronic buzzing between the skulls got fairly heated before I found the 'analysis pending' categorization, and everyone seemed willing to accept that. Once everything was packed away or under scanning Garment finally shared her message history with me.

Garment had done a decent job through one word replies, though the significant gap from the first message announcing herself and when she'd been able to follow up after our life fiber training had seemingly caused some stress. There was a back and forth about exchanging the dress, with a mention that other protectorate heroes wanted to 'meet' her. I could guess the reason for that.

Interestingly, without prompting Garment had suggested the boxing gym as a meeting place. It was well received, there was just the question of timing. Ten in the morning the following day had been suggested, and Garment apparently understood my sleep preferences well enough to want confirmation.

"Thank you Garment, but today was a special case. I don't plan on sleeping until noon every day."

She seemed somewhat skeptical.

"I said plan. It might still happen, I might want it to happen, but not tomorrow. You can let them know the time works."

Garment made a pleased gesture and started slowly typing on her phone. Fortunately Survey was present in a diminished form to help her with that.

Actually, that reminded me. I had hours of machine learning I needed to upload, as well as new parameters to input. Plus, my coding skill had just doubled as long as I held off from multitasking. At my level, doubling of skill was no joke. This could actually break new ground, even by the standards of my Master Builder power.

As I was moving towards the neural interface I felt the Celestial Forge make a connection to the Vehicles constellation. This was another version of my Valuable Memories power, only this time it's presence in the Vehicles constellation actually made sense. This time instead of the nature of how memories functioned and the technology to manipulate them it gave me the understanding of how to build giant robots.

Yeah, I don't understand the connection either.

When I said giant robots I was serious. Like, forty meters without a problem. They wouldn't exactly be agile, but against anything less than an Endbringer or one of Bakuda's special projects they would be pretty much unstoppable. And that was assuming I limited their construction to what I learned from this power. Combining it with my other technologies was a whole nother beast.

It occurred to me that for just about any other tinker getting a power like this would have been a cruel joke. Hell, if this happened to me a week ago I probably would have cursed it to high heaven. Thousands of tons of materials for a single project, all precisely constructed and aligned. The logistics would cripple any other tinker. For me it was just a question of where I was going to put it.

Setting aside the construction of robots that could pass as civic architecture, I made my way to the computer interface that I was regrettably obligated to admit was a throne. The combination of diamond as the base material and excessive style work meant trying to explain it away as anything else would just seem desperate. Instead I sat onto my ostentatious 'throne' and got to work.

My awareness expanded through the limited network of the workshop. Reaching out I could tell Fleet and Survey had nearly hit the development limits of the previous computer core. The transfer to the optical system would happen in two more iterations. I examined their development, correcting the occasional computational dead end or feedback loop, a process made so much easier by my One Thing At A Time power.

With that taken care of I began a transfer for the motoroid and drone records to update the A.I.s resources. Also, I merged in the continued development from Garment's assistant A.I. that had been running on both her phone and laptop. It wasn't the most computationally intense existence, but had more experience modeling and emulating behavior among all the versions of Survey.

Finally I set a task outline for Survey with instructions to compile reactions from the previous night. At the very least I wanted a complete copy of Uber and Leet's broadcast, but I could trust Survey to collect if not analyze media and forum reactions and at least do some basic categorization of the information. That stuff would be hard enough for me to slog through without having to do the legwork as well.

Finally, I pulled my awareness back to the central core and worked to ready it for the transfer of Survey and Fleet's main optimization routines. It was an easy enough process, but when I took a closer look at the structure of the neural landscape something stood out.

No, that wasn't right. The problem was something didn't stand out. Something was missing. There was a mental component that had been present earlier in the day that was now absent. It was hard to see, basically trying to shape something by the hole it left. Without my improved programming ability and the help of Survey I probably never could have managed it. When I realized what it was the answer terrified me.

The missing component was the life fibers.

Life fibers were a neurological organism. They interfaced with their hosts through either their blood or peripheral nervous systems. I understood how they could chemically and even genetically alter their hosts through contact. I hadn't anticipated the mental aspect.

The peripheral nervous system gave the life fibers a direct route to the brains of their hosts. They were built for near perfect mental influence. The only reason this wasn't a dire situation was a combination of the serious immaturity of my sample of fibers and the effects of the neural interface itself.

The fibers I had were young, rudimentary, and isolated. They didn't have the massive core fiber necessary to direct them intelligently. With my nanite training program they were ridiculously well fed, so their effect on my brain had been limited to encouraging the same behavior that resulted in more of that. It probably could have overwhelmed me if not for the combination of Garment and the restorative effect of my nanites. On the scale of what they were capable of it was not catastrophic, though still definitely concerning.

The real savior was the neural interface. The life fibers had been connected to my brain when I had interfaced with the core. They may have an instinctual understanding of how to compromise a living brain, but that did not extend to an optical computational mental structure functioning in the method of a developed A.I. without equivalent comparisons to the original neural structure.

When the life fibers had been connected to me during my workouts they had been bold, aggressive, and hungry. Basically, they had been everything they were designed to be. When they were in the computational environment they had been the complete opposite. It was a cold unfamiliar mental space with no connection to anything they understood. The neural structure of the fibers had practically folded in on themselves, hiding in my mental shadow rather than trying to overwhelm it.

As concerning as the discovery was, it was also fascinating. The exposure to the computational throne had accelerated higher level cognitive processes, but ones that were atypical for life fibers to exhibit. Life fibers were designed to evolve, mostly to consume and conquer their hosts. These had found themselves in an environment where that wasn't possible, connected to something they could barely understand and relied on for protection from the unknown.

I had promised myself that I would look after any intelligences I brought into this world, and the life fibers counted. They were expressing complex thoughts earlier than they should have, but they were still there. I needed to make managing them a priority. With this, the possibility that they could exist as more than mindless parasite or crafting fodder was a real possibility. I would have to make sure to pursue it carefully.

I disconnected from the interface, practically sagging under the weight of my discovery. It wasn't just the presence of a new intelligence to look after. It was the fact that I had yet another project piled on top of everything else. At this rate I would desperately need more than two clones just to stay ahead of the workload.

I lowered myself down the stairs to find Garment proudly presenting the confirmation of the Gym meeting. Right, that was another thing. I had meant to check in at the gym. Now that was more of a necessity. I needed to come up with a plausible reason to be present with Garment at a time when the arrival of multiple Protectorate heroes would draw everyone in the neighborhood.

And that reminded me of another problem, though thankfully Garment was more understanding of this one.

"No, that design is too flashy. It has to conceal my build while still being close to what I wore before, otherwise people will get suspicious."

Garment made an understanding gesture and began a new sketch. Between the two of us we could design just about anything. Concealing my new build was a minor challenge, with most of the difficulty being convincing Garment this didn't need to be excessively fashion forward.

Garment handled the construction to save me from having to hide or explain my assorted style powers, though Decadence was immensely helpful in ensuring the cut made my body shape look almost unchanged. It was a bulkier outfit than I was used to, but still within the bounds of believability. After a quick change I sealed the main door, accessed my Garage, and then was pulling out of the shipping center in an incredibly well preserved and well performing Ford Pinto.

Garment still hated that car.

I hadn't actually done much driving in Brockton Bay. My motorcycle was my first experience with having my own motor transport, and riding was a very different beast, particularly with an assist A.I. helping things along. My decision to keep the Pinto as mundane as possible meant I was handling things old school.

At least my perfect blueprint memory meant the street layout would never be a challenge. GPS was for people without mental superpowers.

Driving through, it seemed little of the damage from the previous night had been addressed. That probably was mostly due to the location. Nobody really cared about this area of the docks and someone taking the effort to board up a looted liquor store was the most that could be asked of them.

Signs of restoration, as well as patches of powered street lights, became more common as I got away from the north end of the docks. It was still run down, but in a typical urban blight way, not a bombed out war zone way. This part of the Docks had more residential areas, and that tended to bring a more significant sense of protectiveness than the ruined factories and abandoned warehouses of the further regions.

As things steadily improved during the drive towards my apartment I held out hope for full restoration of power. Regrettably that was not the case. The street was as dark as it had been earlier in the evening with the gym serving as its familiar island of illumination.

As I approached I could see it was still active, just not the huddled, packed shelter it had been the previous night. People were freely coming and going through the entrance without the picket of boxers serving to enforce the boundary. The crowd was still leaning towards people from the neighborhood, so it wasn't exactly back to business as usual, but it was nice to see the gym helping out without being a desperate refuge.

I was easily able to find a space in the small parking area, the benefit of most people living within walking distance, and made my way through the main entrance. The atmosphere inside was a lot more jovial than it had been during my last visit. You still had the artificial divide between the boxing area and the social area. I looked around, but didn't spot Mrs. Gartenberg enforcing the division. I would say that I could be overlooking a woman that size, but from what I had seen she had a tendency to make her presence felt if not exactly seen. If she was in the building you could probably tell she was in the building.

I didn't make it far before I was spotted and called over, this time by an excited wave from Casey. The tattooed man called over the crowd and gestured emphatically, drawing me into Doug's domain.

"Joe! Great to see you. Doug's been trying to get a hold of you."

"Hey Casey. Why's that? Something wrong?" I doubted it from the way the man was grinning his crooked smile almost from ear to ear.

"Oh, nothing like that. Just had something to ask you. Also some big news about the gym."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

He scoffed. "No thanks. Doug would hang me out to dry if I didn't let him break the news. He's been telling everyone all night. Hold up, I'll go get him."

Casey vanished into one of the back rooms leaving me to take in the scenery. There were still the sets of tables, scattered chairs, giant coffee makers, and trays of food. This time it was a definite community potluck atmosphere. There were still little edges of grimness in some of the people, but nothing like the sense of the world balancing on a razor's edge that had filled the place the previous night.

While I was taking in the sight I felt another connection from the Celestial Forge. It was a new connection to the Resources and Durability constellation. The power was called Super Scientific Solution and when the details of the power entered my mind I immediately began to fear the actions of my next batch of duplicates.

There were two aspects to this power. The less concerning one was a research booster, halving the time to gather data, compose research, or test a theory. Useful, but completely divorced from the other part of the ability.

Simply put, this power may have provided the most advanced technology I had ever seen or heard of. It was incredibly sophisticated to the point of basically being full on Clarktech. Just two factors stopped it from being overwhelmingly powerful. First, it was completely blackboxed, to the point where I doubted I could ever decipher the principles for application to other fields. Second, it was limited to very, very specific applications.

With this power I could build any magical super technology, as long as it was for the purpose of addressing household problems and inconveniences.

I wasn't kidding about the 'super technology' part. Just about anything was on the table. Advanced robotics, teleporters, mater transmutation, even temporal suspension. What's more, it was easy to build. Everything could basically be assembled out of mundane, off the shelf equipment. No theoretical metals or nano assembly required. A trip to Radio Shack could rig up an oven that could fill in as a Star Trek replicator, or a refrigerator that isolated its contents from the time stream.

I was right to be concerned about this. My duplicates were barely predictable with their current set of abilities. The power to throw together Clarktech housewares on a moment's notice was going to turn my workshop into a funhouse.

I didn't have time to worry about that at the moment on account of Doug and Casey hurrying towards me from the edge of the crowd. I put the concerns out of my mind and moved to meet them.

"Joe!" Doug's voice boomed over the din of the crowd causing some of those in his way to flinch back, and those who recognized his voice to clear a path out of self-preservation. Doug wasn't one to be deterred and he could still move like a freight train when he wanted to.

When they got closer I noticed that Casey was holding a large Tupperware container with an amount of care normally reserved for newborn babies or live bombs. Whatever he intended he was overshadowed by Doug's boisterous presence.

"My God, been a hell of a day. You won't believe what's happening. Seriously, when…"

Casey loudly cleared his throat, briefly drowning out Doug. Normally this would be a borderline suicidal action, but Casey carefully angled the Tupperware into Doug's field of view and the big man quickly collected himself.

"Oh, right. First things first. Mrs. Gartenberg made you something as thanks for helping out with the generator last night. That really made a difference. Calmed everyone down when it stopped cutting out, don't know what would have happened if we lost it. So from all of us…" Casey shot him a look. "…but primarily Mrs. Gartenberg, she wanted you to have this."

Casey handed me the Tupperware and I pried the lid open under their expectant gazes. Inside were neat rows of some kind of rolled pastry with a fruit topping. At my confused expression Doug broke in.

"Blintzes."

"The good blintzes. Seriously, she normally only makes these on holidays." Casey enthusiastically offered.

"Wow. Thank you. This is really nice." I picked up one of the rolled pastries and felt the heft of it's filling. Some kind of cream or cheese. Doug and Casey were watching me closely, though Casey was a lot less subtle about it than Doug.

"Uh, would you two like one?"

"Well okay I mean if you insist who am I to say no when Mrs. Gartenberg works so hurd om thum." The end of Casey's rapid fire speech was muffled as the pastry disappeared into his mouth. Doug accepted one with a good deal more dignity and bit into his at the same time as me.

It really was an excellent pastry. I had no idea how it compared by the standards of blintzes, but it was definitely delicious. Still, that thought reminded me of the massive volume of food I had consumed during training and the barely concealed results.

I shifted my attention to the rest of the gym where some of the regulars were beginning to circle like vultures. I glanced between Doug and Casey, who was shamelessly licking his fingers.

"There's too many here for me, maybe some of the other guys would like one? I mean, everyone helped out."

"Great idea. I'll take care of that for you, give you and Doug a chance to talk." The container disappeared from my hands, followed quickly by Casey as he vanished into the crowd, his presence only visible by the movement of the regulars as they shifted focus to their new target.

Doug just shook his head. "You'd never know it from the look of him, but Casey has a serious sweet tooth. We'll have words if he doesn't have at least one left for you afterwards."

I nodded, then looked at Doug. "Hey, would it be incredibly cynical of me to assume there might be some other favor someone might want from me and the lovely pastries are a way to open dialogue?"

He scoffed. "No more cynical than anyone in this city. Okay, Drew Rogers? Mrs. Gartenberg's neighbor's sister's friend's… okay, I don't know the connection. Place he worked is shut down, wrecked the other night. Has something else lined up, but needs a truck. Don't ask me where Mrs. Gartenberg managed to find one, but the thing's barely functional. Think you can take a look at it? If you can get a couple of weeks out of it Drew can probably get it fixed up proper, or find something else. Otherwise he's pretty much out of luck."

I nodded slowly. This was getting a bit risky in terms of potential exposure, but it also provided an opportunity. I could probably keep at least one more repair plausible.

"I should be able to. No promises, but if he could bring it by tomorrow morning I could take a look at it?"

Doug looked relieved. "That would be great. Actually, I wanted to ask you about that."

"Oh? Casey said you had big news."

He grinned wide. "Huge. Get this. Tomorrow Garment's coming to the gym."

"Seriously?" Doug was clearly too excited to find any flaws in my acting.

"Absolutely. And get this, she's meeting the Protectorate here. They're sending Miss Militia and Dauntless along with the Ward girls from last night."

"Seriously? That's incredible." It really was. I was surprised they could pull two major heroes away from the streets at the moment. They must have been really desperate for either positive press or a recruitment pitch. Actually, would the press be here?

"The press is going to be here, big time, probably along with half the neighborhood. I'm asking anyone who can spare the time to stop by, help manage things. I know, with your job…"

"Don't worry about it. I can make it, and I'll look at the truck as well." A thought occurred to me, and if I was doing a favor, actually a double favor since he asked me to do what I was going to request anyway, so it was a good time to ask. "Actually, my car's parked outside. I don't have a space at my apartment, and if tomorrow's that busy I wouldn't want to fight the parking lot…"

"That Pinto right? Just leave it overnight. No one will mess with it here. Least we can do."

"Thanks." I turned to see Casey return with a significantly depleted container of blintzes.

"Damn guys are like piranhas. Managed to save you the last one."

"Thanks Casey." I grabbed the final pastry and took a bite while looking over the crowd. It was later in the evening, so things were clearly thinning out, but I was guessing this was still a comforting space for people without power or who were from less safe parts of the Docks. I finished the blintz and nodded to both of them. "I've got to go. Please thank Mrs. Gartenberg for me. Those were wonderful."

He nodded back. "I'm sure she'll be happy to hear it."

"Look after yourself out there. See you tomorrow."

"Later Doug."

I picked my way back through the crowd towards the exit and into the night air. It wasn't a bad outcome. I had gotten access to Garment's proper cape debut, secured a temporary parking spot, and even gotten some thank you desserts. As I made my way back to my apartment I considered my next action. As much as I wanted to just go to sleep, potentially with some duplicates managing any last minute tasks, I needed to get a look at the public response to my own cape debut.

I hated the idea. Honestly, I had managed to hold things together by just not thinking about the broadcast. Actually having to watch it, to see what people were saying about it, it was just gut wrenching. This was like a fear of public speaking taken to an insane level. I just wanted to curl up and ignore it.

Unfortunately that just wasn't an option. I'd already blundered through one discussion without full understanding of what I was dealing with. I needed to get on top of this, no matter how much I hated it.

The knowledge that as soon as I opened my workshop I would have to dig through Survey's media reports found me looking for any excuse to draw things out. I sorted through my apartment for any remaining food or bathroom items that might be worth transferring to my workshop apartment. I actually checked my civilian phone, saw Doug's numerous messages and a single text from Dr. Campbell confirming our session for next week.

It was a nice way of him to check if I was still alive, and I really should have responded sooner. I'd have to program my civilian SIM into my omni-tool to manage things better. I replied to the text with a quick confirmation that I was fine and ready for the next session.

To be honest a week seemed like a lifetime away. I wanted to ask for an earlier appointment, but at the same time I didn't want to risk something happening while I was at therapy. Again.

I shook off those thoughts, then got the pickle jar and dropped in the quarters I had missed. It was filling up faster than I was comfortable with, but at least I was starting to catch myself. That was progress, right?

Finally, with nothing else to distract me I slid my key into the closet door and opened the portal to my workshop entryway.

My costume was still displayed, as polished and pristine as I had left it. I shrugged out of my moderately bulky coat and hung it next to the costume. It had done an excellent job of hiding my new build without even a hint of recognition from anyone at the gym. I stretched my arms behind me and tried to work up the courage to finally tackle the horrors that were online reactions.

As a welcome distraction Garment entered from the main workshop carrying a few sheets of sketches. She froze as soon as she saw me.

"Hi Garment." Instead of her usual reaction she made an agitated gesture.

"What?" I looked around, but couldn't figure out what was upsetting her. I watched as she slid around to block the exit door, then made a strange lunging twisting gesture that I had never seen and couldn't place.

"Garment, what's wrong? Do you need me to get your laptop?" She waved off awkwardly with one hand, then twisted further her other hand. I had no idea what…

"Fuck! Fine, fine, I give. Get the fuck off me! Jesus fucking Christ!"

Suddenly a familiar figure was in my entryway. She was wearing denim shorts, green fishnets, a strapless top, and way too much jewelry. The outfit I had never seen before, but I instantly recognized the tall, barely teenage girl with a purple streak in her hair, a furious expression on her face, and one ear being held by Garment in a vice like grip.

Aisha Laborn was in my workshop.

Addendum Rory

Rory slumped into the PRT headquarters and pulled his helmet off sweat streaked hair. It felt weird being back here just a few months after graduating from the Wards, but with the Rig both wrecked and unstable the entire Protectorate would be working out of the PRT building until repairs could be completed.

That would have been a more daunting prospect if 'the entire Protectorate' had been on active duty. Just the loss of three members seemed to diminish the team to a shadow of its former self. That was probably because of Armsmaster. The team leader had enough presence for ten heroes and things felt lopsided without him.

It was his ruminations of the missing members that made it such a shock to see who was running the console.

"Velocity?"

The red clad cape turned and waved to him. The bulky cast around his right leg was incredibly eye catching, particularly with the brace holding it in place. He didn't know the exact details, but the words 'Spiral Fractures' never had a good association.

"Hey Triumph."

"Why aren't you in bed?"

Robin brushed him off. "What's that going to do for me? Hospital's next door, someone needs to run console, and can't sleep with the new meds, so hey, perfect opportunity."

"Right, you actually cleared for this, or just running off again?" Rory immediately regretted his words, but the older cape didn't seem to care.

"I'll have you know I got a doctor's sign off and everything. Not good to be totally confined." He turned more serious and looked at the board. "Not with everything going on."

Rory sighed and moved to sit in the second console chair. "Any news?"

"You mean ABB, or in general?"

"Either? Hopefully something good?"

Robin took a breath, then blurred briefly as he took on his breaker form and skimmed through the data presented. "No ABB cape action. Even unpowered members are laying low. Still problems with some of the looters and rioters from last night."

Rory nodded. "Believe me, I know." He rotated a shoulder where his healing factor was still working through a blunt impact from his last patrol.

"Empire's chomping at the bit looking for payback. Assaults are up in their territory, probably trying to look tough after last night. Merchants are back to their usual tricks, so they're either taking things in stride or don't care. Other than that everything is petty crime and bar fights."

No mention of the Undersiders, and he didn't really expect there to be. That team was slippery before they became notorious. It still wasn't clear how Bakuda had managed to lure them into that trap, but it wasn't likely to be something they'd fall for again.

"It's building to something." He grumbled. "I can feel it. I'm pretty sure everyone can."

"Nobody expects this is over, but we need every second of peace we can get, even if that's being used to build up to something else."

Rory hated to admit it but he needed to concede the point. They were in no state to handle things right now. Maybe, just maybe, if they were at full strength with New Wave behind them they could have countered this, or struck back properly. Instead they were in a holding action hoping for a miracle, or a neighboring city to bounce back and bail them out.

Though after what happened with Weld that city probably wouldn't be Boston.

"Hey, some of your old team is still on shift. You want to swing down and say hello?"

Rory's stomach flipped at Robin's suggestion. The speedster had never been a Ward, so he had only the vaguest understanding of the team dynamic. A few months ago Rory had been their leader. They had been people he'd spent every day with for years. Then he was out to the Protectorate and handing things over to Aegis.

He had been so focused on making a place for himself on the new team he hadn't even checked in with his friends. Not until the bank robbery, and at that point did it make a difference?

When he left the team Carlos had asked him for some leadership advice. He had nothing prepared, instead packaging some half remembered speech from an old baseball coach about digging deep and never giving up.

Never giving up wasn't supposed to mean blindly charging an unknown cape when your entire team had been incapacitated. The fight had been shocking when Rory finally saw it, but that moment was something else. It left him feeling hollow. One cape. One unknown was all it took to tear everything down.

Finally seeing Apeiron in action hadn't made him feel any better.

"Anything on our new tinker?"

Robin just shook his head. "Usual stuff, media reports, online gossip. Would be bog standard if they hadn't built a love story around it."

The mover pulled up one of the clips from the broadcast and Rory shook his head. "I don't think that's what's going on." At Velocity's prompting he leaned in. "Okay, he definitely cares about her, no question. Massive concern for her safety that you don't see to any of the other Undersiders."

"Plus the equipment, plus the declarations…"

"All context. Look, there's no actual affection there, just concern. He's checking on her, not looking at her. There's a big difference."

"I'm guessing you were something of a lady's man back in high school?" Rory snorted, but let Robin continue. "I guess I can see what you're saying, but that stuff doesn't always come through. You have two people in full face masks. The public is playing fill in the blanks, and it looks like you're in the minority opinion."

Rory sighed but conceded the point. "You heard anything about the others? Inside track from the hospital?"

"Well, Ethan will be released for home rest soon. He was bragging about having Battery wait on him."

"Which she won't."

"Or course not." He smirked, then turned serious. "Colin woke up for a bit. Not much, but a good sign."

Rory sighed and found his eyes drifting to Robin's cast. "Is there any word on when Amy will be released?"

The question just seemed to bring the injured cape down. "Nothing firm. They're trying to bring in more resources to expedite the case, but so is every other city. No word on if, when, or how."

Rory sighed. "What's your opinion on all this? Actually a Tattletale plot? Apeiron puppetry? March pulling strings?"

Robin scoffed. "I doubt it's March. I've seen her record from New York. Petty stuff. Obviously has some good synergy going, but not city wide scale."

"Dennis did a good job against her." He never would have expected it, but Clockblocker had stepped up in a major way.

"No question." Robin agreed. "And the brass knows it."

Ah, the double edged sword of success. Clockblocker was one of the Protectorate's success stories in this disaster, and they would never forget it. Dennis's days of being the goofball in the background were dead and buried. That's the Protectorate. The reward for good work is always more work.

Of course there was the less favorable outcome of the Wards from that night. "Any word on Weld's recovery?"

Robin just shook his head. "No way to get things organized today. The director's scrambling to get a launch at first light, but the odds aren't good. No knowing how long he'll be stuck down there."

Which was terrible for him, bad for the Protectorate, and would be a nightmare for Colin as soon as he was well enough to deal with the aftermath. From the way the Youth Guard rep was behaving, If he hadn't been in intensive care she probably would have put him there herself.

Maybe with luck he could blame things on that concussion. There had been a lot of bombs in his lab.

"How is the director handling things?"

Robin gave him a flat look. "About as well as usual."

"That bad?"

"I don't think she's properly slept since the bank. She might be as tough as they come, but everyone had limits. We don't get some good news soon and I don't want to think about what's going to happen."

"You banking on that pitch tomorrow?"

"That fabric cape?" Rory nodded. "Maybe? Even if she doesn't sign up just having some friendly interaction in the press will help."

"Let's hope so, because we need a miracle right now."

Robin rested a hand on his cast. "You don't have to tell me." He paused and looked up at the console.

"What?" Rory asked.

"Priority call from Boston."

"Huh. I wonder what they want."

Jumpchain abilities this chapter

Do One Thing At A Time (Dinotopia) 300:

When you focus yourself on doing a single task, your skill and efficiency doubles. Material requirements are unaffected, but time taken is halved and quality is doubled.

Valuable Memories:the construction of Megadei (Big O) 300:

You have knowledge related to any particular concept-the construction of Megadei, the nature of memories, Bigs, or the creation of chimeras. Paradigm will have a vested interest in you, and will protect you and provide you with funds if you work for them.

Simple Scientific Solution (Tenchi Muyo) 100:

Science solves everything, even the little household problems. You can create supertech improvements to common tools and appliances, up to and including automobiles or similar works of engineering.

Create dishwashers that can clean dishes in an instant, self heating plumbing or forcefield windowpanes that act as air conditioners.

Well established methodologies and an instinctive grasp of same allow you to draw conclusions or produce results incredibly fast. You halve the time it takes to gather data, compose research on some subject, or devise a test to prove/disprove something handy for when you have to figure out an enemy fortresses's one weakness.