Charm Learning Shard (Worm/Exalted) (COMPLETED)

[Daniel Snuts]

Spoiler: Aegis-o-vision

"Alright, listen up," I tell the assembled Wards. "Yesterday Vista encountered a new parahuman affiliated with the Empire 88. There have been rumors about a new recruit circulating - apparently she goes by 'Low Key' - but this is the first solid info we have. Vista, why don't you tell us what you observed?"

Vista - Missy - stands up and clears her throat. "Alright. I was proceeding down Acker street when I spotted Rune in the distance. She did not move to engage, but dropped off another parahuman and hung back to observe. Said parahuman did approach me, but stopped several yards away and made no hostile moves. She then initiated a conversation."

"Where was Shadow Stalker during this?" I ask, already suspecting what answer I'm going to get.

Missy glances at Sophia. "Shadow Stalker was scouting ahead at the time. Seeing that the parahuman was not hostile she remained at a distance, ready to intervene but not wishing to provoke a fight unnecessarily."

This is obviously a big, steaming heap of bullshit. I would be able to tell even without Dean giving the game away (it's not that his poker face is bad, it's that he only ever wears it when he's trying to hide something).

Scouting ahead? Sophia, not attacking an Empire cape on sight? She clearly ran off on her own again and never even saw Low Key. And Missy is covering for her. They don't even like each other, but you simply don't tattle on a colleague.

I can't even complain, really. I did my fair share of covering before leadership was thrust upon me.

"Console? Can you confirm this sequence of events?" I ask Chris.

Both Missy and Sophia are giving Chris some rather unsubtle glares. "Uh, yeah? That's what happened." I repress a sigh. As console it was his job to keep Sophia on task, and send it up the chain if she refused orders. He was no doubt caught up in some Tinker project or other and completely forgot about his duties. Again.

At least that's an honest fuckup. Unlike Dennis, who deliberately lets Sophia have her way in a misguided attempt to get into her good graces (and/or pants).

"Alright, moving on. Can you summarize your conversation?"

"She, ah, stated that we had no reason for conflict. She admitted to being part of Empire 88, but appeared to consider herself a 'fellow crime fighter'."

"What, like the crime of being black?" Sophia asks sarcastically.

"She claimed to not have committed any hate crimes," Missy says.

"Bullshit."

"We cannot prove otherwise," I interject. "There are no outstanding warrants for Low Key."

"That just means she hasn't gotten caught yet," Sophia insists. "Of course the nazi bitch has done something."

"That's as may be, but we can't arrest people on a charge of 'you've probably done something'. Please continue, Vista. What happened then?"

"I, uh... Since she was a potential future threat but not currently hostile, I challenged her to a friendly contest in order to gather information about her powers."

Spoiler: Vista-o-vision

Yeah, that's the ticket. I'm a professional. I most certainly did not get caught up in the moment. There was no childlike glee.

"That would be the 'spacewarp footrace' that has been making the rounds on the internet all day," Dennis helpfully points out.

Missy blushes slightly. "Uh, yeah."

"I can't believe how much footage there is," he continues. "How much of your patrol did that take up?"

Her blush deepens. "...essentially all of it."

"Console can confirm," Chris says cheerfully.

I make a cutting gesture, indicating that they should stop their teasing. "Please describe her powers."

"She's a Master. Not the scary kind. She has this giant wolf that she rides. I'm not sure how she does it-"

At that phrasing, all eyes in the room turn towards Dennis. "What?" he asks. "You're clearly already thinking 'Dennis is going to say 'doggy style'' - which means it wouldn't be funny if I did." He waves at Missy. "Please, keep telling us about Ilsa, she-wolf of the SS."

I groan and massage my temples. "Dennis..."

"I don't get it," Chris says. "Was that a joke?"

"It was," Dean confirms. "...I don't get it either."

"No, see, the joke is that Carlos clearly got it," Dennis explains, "which tells us amazing things about his taste in movies. Whatever you do, don't google it at work." He leans back in his seat and gives me the smuggest goddamn smirk.

"Are trying to get console duty?" I ask.

"Fucking seriously?" Sophia exclaims. She has her phone out, and is looking at it with a mixture of shock and disgust. "A porno set in the holocaust?"

"I just told you not to google it at work," Dennis says. "Seriously, it would have been so much funnier if everyone found out on their own and came back tomorrow not wanting to be the first to bring it up."

"I didn't watch it," I say defensively, "I just heard about it."

"Uh-huh, yeah, we definitely believe you," Dennis says.

"You realize that you knowing about it is equally damning, right?"

"Yeah, well, only one of us has any dignity to lose."

"Ain't that the truth," Sophia says.

"Two weeks of console duty for inappropriate behavior," I decide.

"I accept your just and unbiased judgement, o fearless leader."

"Should'a just gone with the doggy style joke," Chris tells him.

"Worth it."

I sigh, and gesture for Missy to continue.

"Uh, right. As I was saying, I'm not sure how she does it, but she never once had any trouble directing the wolf. I'd be tempted to say a direct mental link, like it was part of her body. Except she congratulated and petted the wolf when she won a race. Why would you pet something that's part of yourself?"

"Oh god," Dennis says, "right across the plate. I'm already out, someone else lay bat to it."

"We'll explain when you're older, squirt," Sophia says with a less than good-natured smirk.

"Three weeks of console duty," I say. "Each."

Sophia turns to Dennis. "You owe me, Clock."

"Still worth it."

"Your thoughts on threat rating?" I ask Missy over their banter, trying to keep things on track.

"Master 4, sub-rating Brute 4, Thinker 2, Mover 2," she answers crisply. She's obviously thought about it in advance. Sophia scoffs, probably because it's higher than her own rating. I'm inclined to side with Missy, and not just to get this trainwreck of a meeting over with. One thing confuses me, though.

"Thinker 2?" I ask.

"I was able to obtain confirmation that the wolf has superhuman senses."

Spoiler: Vista-o-vision, last night

"How do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Dodging my power! Warps that gentle are practically invisible!"

"I don't know if you've heard, but wolf senses are considerably more acute than human ones."

---

"Sir?" Missy approaches me and stands at attention. "Requesting permission to approach Low Key with the goal of recruiting her into the Wards."

I try not to smile. I know she hates being seen as cute, but boy are her attempts at military bearing backfiring on her in that regard. At least she doesn't try to salute me, I would definitely crack up if she did.

"Permission denied." If Low Key had been hostile, if Vista had been attacked while Shadow Stalker was missing and console was goofing off, that would have been all our asses. I'm not going let her wander into that situation on purpose.

"Please?" She completely abandons her military bearing as she leans forward and deploys puppy dog eyes. "I believe her, you know? About being innocent, I mean. She should be one of us. We have to get her out of there before the Empire makes her do something awful!"

"So you were planning to what, wander around Empire territory looking for her? You can try to message her on PHO or something, but you are not to approach her, understood?"

"But-"

"Permission denied, soldier."

"Sir!" She snaps back to attention, then turns on her heel and marches off.

"I have some hot info you may be interested in," you (that is, Quicksilver) tell Faultline.

"Oh?"

"There's a-" crap, what's the PC term for monster cape again? "-a Case 63?"

"You mean Case 53?" She gestures towards Gregor.

"Right, a Case 53 in town that you don't know about."

"A potential recruit?"

"No. Not a chance."

"Then I don't see why I should-"

"I will pay for this information," Gregor interrupts. "You may take the cost of this session out of my next paycheck," he tells Faultline, who shrugs in response. His money, his business.

"Gallant," you say.

"Of the Wards?" Faultline asks, her disbelief evident in her voice. "What does he look like underneath the armor?"

It's your turn to shrug. You of course know that he looks perfectly human in street clothes. But while you may personally be a giant walking violation of the unwritten rules, you're not about to share the love.

"How do you know?" Faultline asks. "If you are able to convey it in English, that is," she adds archly.

"They're color coded for my convenience," you say with a smile. "You, me, every other parahuman I've seen, our powers all have the same color. And texture. Except it's not really texture texture-" Faultline motions you to get on with it. "Right. Everyone except Gregor, Newter and Gallant. Those three are different in both color and texture. But they're the same as each other. As far as I can tell, there are only two kinds of parahuman."

"What's your sample size?" Faultline asks.

"Uh, twenty-ish? Twenty five? Less than thirty, at any rate." There were a lot more capes than that in Ottawa, but you weren't really paying attention then. Were some of them off-color? Almost certainly. You don't remember.

Not that you could tell Faultline about that, regardless. Quicksilver never went to Ottawa. But speaking of Ottawa, another thought occurs to you.

"If it helps, I'm almost certain that it's a case of a non-standard power causing non-standard biology, not the other way around. I mean, most people probably think that, but I'm the expert saying they're right."

"I was not born a snail?" Gregor asks, clearly confused as to why you'd feel the need to specify something like that.

"Well, yeah. Not many snail people around. But I meant you weren't born with some congenital brain issue that messed up your trigger event." Dragon has a regular power, after all, and she's a robot. Hard to get more non-standard biology than that.

---

When Kid Win's power burns itself into your soul you literally fall out of your chair in surprise (you were admittedly tipping said chair back dangerously to get a better viewing angle, since you're sitting in the same row today). That's ridiculous! That can't have been more than - you do some mental math as you pick yourself back up - eight-ish hours of study time? There's no way you should be able to get it right that quickly.

Maybe if you had been sleeping at night like a sane person, you wouldn't have been too groggy to notice how unreasonably well it was going. You could have spared yourself a bit of pain and a lot of embarrassment.

You're not sure how useful it will be, really. You already have Dragon's Tinker power, which was like ten times as hard to learn. Even if difficulty doesn't map directly to power level, there must surely be some correlation, right?

You'll take it, though. You've lost count of how many times you've been stabbed in pursuit of Cricket's power, you'll happily accept a bruised tailbone in exchange for a mostly redundant Tinker boost.

You surreptitiously activate the power to see if it gives you any neat ideas. If Kid Win can think Tinker-thoughts in class, so can you.

Well, now you know exactly how the mechanical pencil in your hand works. That's neat, you guess. You never paid enough attention to pencils before to notice that you didn't really know how they worked. Now you're pretty sure you could build a pencil factory on your own. No ideas for building a pencil-cannon or a graphite laser or anything, though.

You slip your hand into your pocket and touch your cellphone. Wow, cellphones are complicated. Radio frequencies, voice compression algorithms and chemicals for etching circuit boards march across your brain. And you finally figured out how to make it stop suggesting that you upload every picture you take to social media!

Wait, social media? You fall out of your chair again as a tide of internet-related technical knowledge washes over your brain like a tsunami. Clearly, mental discipline is required when using this... industry and forge wisdom... around connected devices.

Still no tinkertech ideas, though. All his power did was to make you even more of a Tinker 0. Looks like it's still orichalcum or bust, if you want to go beyond the bounds of conventional science (you stifle an inappropriate giggle when you realize that you did in fact bring your bust beyond the bounds of conventional science, didn't you?).

Seriously, though. You really should decide what to make with your orichalcum. It doesn't do any good just lying around un-forged. The problem is that you don't have the time to forge anything right now, much less use the result in some clever new scheme.

The day passes without any further surprises. You catch a brief nap after school, then it's off to enact your old clever scheme, that of getting stabbed by Cricket a lot.

Or not, as it turns out. Cricket has finally gotten fed up with your complete inability to learn martial arts even on pain of large amounts of pain, and passes you back to Hookwolf. Oh goody, broken bones incoming.

And once you finally get Cricket's power working you're still not done here, because Othala is next. Your schemes are so clever.

---

Turns out that your (highly publicized - your classmates have been talking about it all week) encounter with Vista counts as a cape fight, as least as far as getting paid by the Empire is concerned. You did technically keep a cape from a hostile faction out of their territory. If you squint a bit you could even spin it as a taxing battle that lasted for hours.

Maybe next time you'll challenge Clockblocker to a dance-off.

"For, uh, dedicated service to the Empire," the bartender says.

Well, if you get paid, Fenrir gets paid. That's the rule you settled on. You find whatsisname, the delivery guy. Eric, right! "Please have another sheep ready on Monday," you tell him.

The other patrons are also talking about your exploits, you realize: "Who knew that Vista's secret weakness was her bedtime?" "I can't believe Low Key solved a problem without violence." "I know, right? Do you think she's been Mastered?"

"You shouldn't talk about Low Key like that," Rune calls from the doorway. She pauses for a beat. "She might beat you up."

===

Spoiler: Updated status

Taylor: All-encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

If you have no idea what Industry and Forge Wisdom does, I don't blame you. It's from that least beloved of splats, the Mountain Folk ('Mary Sue Dwarves', for you non-exalted fans).

It calls on their connection to Autochton ('Elder God of Technology') to give a modest dice bonus to all interactions with mechanical and/or magical objects. In the Wormverse, that probably shakes out as a side-channel to Dragon's shard or something.

I wanted an appropriately weak charm for Kid Win (it will make artifact crafting roughly twice as fast going forward - compare to Dragon's charm that shook out to an 8000x multiplier), that would nevertheless have appropriate fluff for also letting Taylor maintain regular tinkertech (though she doesn't know that part yet).

 

[Daniel Snuts]

"Now that you're internet famous, you really should get set up with a PHO account," Rune tells you once you're underway.

"What for?" You understand that many people your age live what's practically an entire second life online, but you can not fit any more extracurriculars into your schedule right now.

"What for?" Rune exclaims in disbelief. "To troll your enemies! To see them driven nuts before you, and hear the lamentations of the moderators!"

"Eh. You stole my best material already."

"I did? Oh right, the NASA stuff. I completely forgot to use that." She pauses to consider this, then continues on with even more enthusiasm. "Now you have to get online, so you can drop that line on someone!"

Rune will not be dissuaded. She goes so far as to make let you borrow her phone to register right away, and takes a selfie of the both of you posing with Fenrir to get you 'verified cape' status. She then guides you every step of the way through the 'shitposting' process.

"Here, use this thread. It's perfect!"

Spoiler: PH-O-vision

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♦ Private message from modmail:

modmail: You received a 3 day suspension for your post in the thread: Boards > Places > America > Brockton Bay > Uber and Leet escape custody! Again!

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♦Topic: Uber and Leet escape custody! Again!
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay

Uber (Original Poster) (Verified Cape)
Posted on March 9, 2011:

Why hello there, fans of the show! I'm happy to inform you that everyone's favorite dynamic duo will soon be streaming again after our unscheduled break (followed by an unscheduled breakout, haha!). Without revealing too much, let me just say that Leet has something special planned to celebrate our newfound freedom. You don't want to miss it!

I'm a bit disappointed that I had to make this thread myself, though. Why, last time we escaped we arrived back at the lair to find a thread chronicling our exploits already up.

You have to be on your toes to keep up with the likes of us, loyal viewers!

- Love and kisses, Uber

(Showing Page 7 of 7)

► rrqn
Replied on March 10, 2011:
It's a shame they couldn't stream the escape, I bet it was awesome.

► Clovis66
Replied on March 11, 2011:
@rrqn
inorite?

► Cuddly Octopus
Replied on March 11, 2011:
What do they make those cells out of, swiss cheese?

► Low Key (Verified Cape) (Temp-banned)
Replied on March 11, 2011:
At least NASA got to the moon eventually.

► rrqn
Replied on March 11, 2011:
@Low Key
Who are you? Are you a new cape?

► Clockblocker (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied on March 11, 2011:
That note was you? Fite me IRL!

► Low Key (Verified Cape) (Temp-banned)
Replied on March 11, 2011:
@Clockblocker
I probably will end up doing that at some point, yes.

-User received a suspension for this post. Reason: Threats of violence are against the board rules.

► road_to_hell
Replied on March 11, 2011:
@rrqn
That's the wolf girl from the videos. You know, Vista's buddy.
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 5, 6, 7

"Nice even-handed moderation," you comment mildly as you hand the phone back to Rune.

Rune reads through what transpired, then throws her head back and shouts to the heavens. "Two posts! Witness me, gods! She got banned after two posts! She truly is my son." She mimes wiping away a tear.

---

At one point during the patrol you notice that you've picked up a tail. Since Rune doesn't notice, and you recognize who it is, you don't say anything. Once you've parted ways for the evening you direct Fenrir into an alley, and wait.

"Good evening, colleague," you greet Vista as she rounds the corner. Rather than her usual colorful outfit, she's dressed in street clothes, with the hood of her jacket pulled up and - you squint in the evening gloom - a domino mask? So, she's incognito. Like there were any other parahumans her size in the city.

"Hey." She doesn't bother to object to the form of address this time around. "Wanna hang out?"

"Yeah, sure. One sec. Can you keep a secret?"

"What?"

"Well, I'm going to call home. I'd appreciate if your bosses didn't get a time and place to trace the call from."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"'Kay." You get out your phone and dial home. Trusting a hero? Well, it's Vista. And while young does not necessarily mean innocent, you're pretty sure Armsmaster would have provided her with a tinkertech wire if she was going to fuck you in that particular way. And sorcerer's sight shows that she's clean.

Spoiler: Vista-o-vision

Maybe it's a bit rude, but I stick close enough to listen in on the call. It's not that I don't trust her (it's not!), I just want to know more about her.

"Hey, it's your favorite daughter. Just calling to tell you to go to bed."
...
"No, it's not another party. I'm going to hang out with my friend Vanessa for a while."
...
"I know it's late. She works part-time too, this is the only time we can hang out."
...
"It's fine. She lives in Empire territory. Name one safer place for a pair of white girls to be out after dark."
...
"Fine, if it gets too late I'll stay over at her place. Just go to bed, okay?"
...
"I'm trying to make sure my terrible life choices only affects one of us."
...
"Love you too."

"'Vanessa?'" she asks.

You shrug. "It sounds a bit like 'Vista', helps me keep my lies straight. Feel free to refer to me as Louise, or Kayden or whatever, if you need to."

"Uh, we - I mean, the Wards - already have a name for you." Wait, is she blushing?

"Do tell."

"It's... Ilsa." Yes, definitely blushing.

"Oh, a German name," you say, your voice flat. "How clever."

"Wasn't my idea," Vista defends herself.

"Whatever, you can use that too. Or wait, as a Ward you're already out to your parents, aren't you? But seeing as you're incognito right now..."

"They won't care," Vista says with a certain heat. "If I'm out of the house that just means they don't have to feel guilty for screaming at each other in front of the kid."

"Sorry."

"It must be nice, having parents that care about you," she mutters, half to herself.

"Don't assume the plural," you tell her.

"What? Oh."

"Sooo..." you say into the awkward silence. "You wanted to hang out. With less publicity than last time, I assume."

"Yeah. Here, let me just..." Vista compresses the space between the ground and the rooftops enough to easily hop up. "Ta-da!" she calls, her voice echoing strangely as the sound reaches you both the long and the short way.

"Neat," you tell her as Fenrir jumps after. Yeah, if she hadn't stuck to the roads when you raced, you'd have been completely helpless.

Rooftop rides with Vista is even better than with Rune. Rune can only provide elevator service when the rooftops don't match up properly. Vista tells the concept of distance to go fuck itself without even breaking stride.

"Why are you with the Empire?" Vista asks after a while. So it's not just your company she's here for. Or should you say, she's trying to acquire your company on a more permanent basis?

"I can only do as my conscience directs," you say. You're bullshitting, but with all the unfair advantages you have you're pretty sure you can talk rings around the young hero.

"If you had a conscience, you'd be a hero!"

"Really? The worst villain may call himself a hero, for being seen as a hero is desirable. But a nazi? There is no more hated existence in all the world. Only a man of utmost conviction, with a brave and honest heart, who holds his principles above all else, would dare to stand up and proclaim himself such. To be true to himself, though he be reviled by all others."

"Nazis are evil!"

"At least they own up to their shit!" you snap at her. Then you take a deep breath, and continue more calmly.

"Look, a nazi is all 'Me am hate faggots. Me go punch faggot now.'" You make your voice as deep as it will go and do your best caveman impression. None of the nazis you've met talk like that. One of them tried to engage you in a conversation about why a disgust reaction towards male homosexuality is natural and healthy, evolved for good reasons, and should not be suppressed. But it makes Vista giggle despite herself.

"Now a hero, a hero will tell you all about truth, justice and the American way, then stab you in the back and piss on your corpse. And then the government will cover it up!" Ok, Taylor, relax. You may not be bullshitting as much as you thought you were, but that's no reason to go flying off the handle.

"We're not like that!"

"Oh? Well, you're very young. I'm prepared to believe that the others are keeping their dirty laundry away from you, for the same reason people tell their kids that Santa Claus is real." Holy shit is that pissing her off. You are of course abusing your knowledge of her soul's price in order to get a reaction. "They find deluded innocence to be aesthetically pleasing. So if you tell me that you personally have never covered up the wrongdoing of a fellow hero, I'll believe you."

Ha, that sudden shift from bristling to abashed. Got her!

"Like, say, your buddy Shadow Stalker the other night. You of course reported her, and she was punished for going MIA, or AWOL or whatever you call it."

Vista says nothing. Yeah, you happen to know Sophia personally, she doesn't do shit she doesn't know she can get away with. Well, except that time when she apparently straight up murdered a guy, and was punished by becoming a government-sponsored hero.

"Nor has she ever, I dunno, kept kicking a perp who was already down or something. And maybe you half-heartedly told her off and she ignored you or maybe you didn't, but it never even occurred to you to report her for police brutality."

"How do you know these things?" Vista demands.

"Im guessing," you admit. "Funny how I guessed right on the first try. Isn't it, hero?"

Vista sets her jaw and does not respond. Ok, that felt really good, but you shouldn't scare off the powerful parahuman who is sneaking out after hours to have her power studied by you.

"Wanna talk about something else?" you ask.

Vista remains silent for a while, concentrating on her space bending. You do the same. But the next time you stop for a breather she speaks up again.

"Can I pet him?" she asks. "Uh, assuming he isn't part of you. I wasn't asking to, you know..."

Wow, that's adorable. She's hiding her attempt to gather information about your powers behind genuine awkwardness.

"Go ahead," you tell her. You dismount and back off a bit as she approaches, because you know what comes next. Indeed, Vista has barely started stroking his fur when Fenrir flops over on his back. He's a good boy, but you're not completely confident that he'd remember about having a rider when there's belly rubs on the line.

Vista takes a step back at the sudden movement, but quickly gets the message and starts enthusiastically providing said belly rubs. There's just something about a happy dog, isn't there?

You wait until she's really gotten into it, then let out a lewd moan. Vista pulls her hands back as if they were burned, her cheeks bright red.

"Just fucking with you," you say. "Metaphorically!" you hasten to add, because that last statement could be considered ambiguous. "We don't actually share senses. Pet him some more."

Vista just glares at you, her hands on her hips. She makes no moves to resume. Aw, is she confused about what's really going on with your power? Such a shame.

Fenrir is looking at you with an extremely hurt expression. Was your joke really worth it, at the cost of his belly rubs? Was it really?

"Awww." You kneel down by his side and hug him. "I'm sorry. I'll give you extra belly rubs later tonight, when we're alone." You try to for a salacious wink in Vista's direction, but between the poor lighting and the full-face mask you suspect that much of the effect is lost. "If you know what I mean," you add instead.

"You're horrible," Vista says.

"Come on, admit that it was funny."

She admits nothing of the sort. Her lips do quirk up a bit, though.

It was funny. Also, judicious teasing will create an association in her mind between you and her peers in the Wards, and make her subconsciously seek your respect.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

In Young Adult literature, teenage parahumans who operate without their parents' knowledge always end up going out in costume in the early hours of the morning. Somehow they are able to function this way, with only token mentions of 'I was tired in school the next day'.

The Empire does not do things that way. They believe in cultivating a future for bright young (white) people, and make sure that their patrol schedules are compatible with receiving an education. Preferably from home-schooling, since they have strong opinions about the amount of jewish propaganda in the standard curriculum - but that's not where you were going with this.

It's true that between school, homework, training with Hookwolf, patrolling with Rune and studying with Faultline you have very little free time right now. But that's okay - if you had any free time, you'd try to fill it up with more cape bullshit anyway.

The point you're trying to make is that your trashy pandering fiction lied to you, it's perfectly possible for a girl in your situation to get proper amounts of sleep.

But you only bring this whole thing up in order to let it serve as an ironic counterpoint, because this last week you haven't been getting any sleep at all.

Ever since you got a line on Lung you've been spending every spare moment in ABB territory, sniffing out his habits and circumstances. And as previously discussed, your spare moments mostly consist of those normal, sane people use for sleeping. Thankfully gang members are a fairly nocturnal species.

Your academic performance may have taken a bit of a hit from the way you slept through most your classes, but who cares? It's not as if your grades matter, because there is no possible scenario where you don't grow up to become a cape full-time. You were functional enough to stay awake during the few classes you shared with Kid Win, so it's not like you missed anything important.

Anyway, your oriental studies have been bearing fruit. You have a plan for acquiring Lungs' power, and after you parted ways with Vista last night the last piece fell into place.

Which is why you've got a prostitute chained up in your basement.

Ha! Just kidding, of course you don't have a prostitute chained up in your basement. It's not your basement, just a basement to which you have access. No way you're keeping her at home, what if your dad found out? If there's one more hilarious misunderstanding about your sexuality, you'll fucking snap and do something regrettable. Also he'd call the police.

Besides, she's technically not a prostitute. Lung doesn't share his girls, so she's more of a concubine. Except they also manage his household, so they are more like his common-law wives? Eh, whatever.

Her name is Nguyen Thi Kim Phuong, but you can't seem to pronounce 'Nguyen' to her satisfaction no matter how you try, so you call her Kim. Or in the privacy of your own head, Template.

You've spent all night and morning shifting your appearance to match hers, while also interrogating her on the details of her job. The eyes are the hardest part, hers are so red and puffy that have to more or less guess how they are supposed to look.

In other news, you've finally figured out how to use shapeshifting to purposefully modify your voice. Not to the point where you can imitate a given voice on command, but after an extended session of trial and error you managed to zero in on something that sounds almost exactly like your template.

It's not like you picked this girl at random, you were very careful in your selection. You see, it turns that out unlike in the Empire, where the occasional cry of "potato nigger!" hides a fundamental spirit of respect and cooperation, underneath the dragon's decree of brotherhood the various subtypes of asian genuinely fucking hate each other.

Yes, you've discovered an example of honest-to-god white supremacy: Whites are better than anyone else at not being racist. You wish you could share this observation with the rank and file, you bet it'd get a chuckle or two. But you can't exactly tell people about what you're doing right now.

Template is the only Vietnamese girl in the harem, which means that a) people have to use English if they want to communicate with her, and b) none of the other girls want to talk to her anyway, because they're all huge racists. You figure that this will give you the best chance of avoiding discovery.

No, you're not going to fuck the dragon. There are thirteen girls in the harem, even with draconic stamina there's no way he's making full use of them all every day. Template admitted that she's not very popular - as you suspected, given she doesn't even get to live in the building - and only gets utilized once a month or so. She went on at length about how this is definitely because a clique of Japanese girls are conspiring against her, rather than any failing on her part. You don't particularly care about the drama, but the confirmation of ethnic tensions in the harem is good news for you.

You'll just play the odds and hope to get his power before you're called on to spread your legs. Worst case scenario you'll jump out a window, land on a wolf and deal with the diplomatic fallout as it comes.

---

The ABB members outside the building let you pass without comment, so that's one hurdle down. The people lounging against the wall by the elevator do the same. Two down.

Lung's residence is on the second floor. It is the second floor. You're not sure exactly what makes this location desirable - it is fairly central as far as ABB territory goes, you suppose - but instead of finding a larger place elsewhere, Lung elected to knock out some walls and combine several apartments into one. It's not like the building inspector is going to dare speak up.

Once inside you're greeted by an incredibly beautiful Japanese lady.

"Ugly girl, you late!" she greets you. "Go clean!" Three down. And so begins your adventure as the Cinderella of strumpets.

Kim really isn't popular. You get to clean the bathrooms, do the laundry, dust and vacuum unoccupied rooms. You're trusted to peel vegetables, but not to cook. Just as well, it's not like you know any Vietnamese recipes.

You don't mind doing menial work while you build a new power. The only problem is that your duties are clearly meant to keep you away from Lung, lest he favor you over some other girl. You solve this by regularly interrupting what you're supposed to be doing and walking over to sneak a peek at the dragon. You swear you saw him subtly flex his muscles in response to the attention, once. If you've got it, flaunt it, right?

The other girls catch you doing it, of course, but there's nothing they can do about it in front of Lung. They wait until they are free, then they corner you out of his sight and slap you, pinch you and call you names. You should know your place. Which is in the trash, because you are trash. How could the master ever make such a mistake as to hire on someone as stupid and ugly as you?

You make sure to squeeze out a few tears to keep them mollified.

Lung probably isn't completely unaware of what's going on, because he makes a point of going to bed alone that night. This causes quite a stir in the harem - it's unusual for him to do so, and dragon nookie is a much sought-after commodity. They (correctly, most likely) decide to blame you. It's half an hour before they let you go. You try not to smile where they can see you. It's almost adorable, the way they think they know how to make someone miserable.

On your way home you stop by the basement to feed and water Template, and change her bucket. She's been an excellent partner in this endeavor, things were exactly as she said. Not that you doubted her - you had a heartfelt conversation earlier about the odds of anyone finding her before she died of dehydration, should Lung discover your deception and kill you.

Things get a bit more exciting the next morning, when Lung summons you for a private audience. Did he notice something? Or did he decide to make a further point by granting the unpopular girl a morning quickie?

You really hope not. The power is coming along much faster than expected, you'd hate to give up now. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad? You could - no, bad Taylor! You'd blow your cover in an instant. Even if your complete lack of sexual skills didn't give you away, your hymen definitely would.

You kowtow before him, carefully not glancing at the window you're going to jump out of.

"You wanted to see me, great dragon lord?" Yes, that is how he prefers to be addressed by his girls. Anyone else you'd mock for such an affectation, but he kind of is. If nothing else, the fact that no one has dared to make this preference public speaks to the truth of the statement.

"Em Kim Phuong," he says sternly. "Aiko tells me that you have been using."

Oh thank god, it's just bullshit harem drama. Hell, for all you know Kim has been using, and you just saved her life (Aiko is the girl whose soul price is to bear Lung a son, though you're not sure whether it's for romantic or economic reasons).

"Lies and vile slander, great dragon lord," you declare firmly.

Unlike your dad, Lung does make you pee in a cup. Of course he has people on call qualified to handle that stuff.

The medical technician (chemist?) speaks to Lung in rapid Japanese, but you make out the word 'Newter' in there. Crap. They do check for orphans.

Lung asks something in response, and the tech gives a quick nod and a "hai!". Lung dismisses him. Hopefully he asked "is she otherwise clean?", not "are you set up to get rid of a body?".

"When I give an order, I expect it to be followed to the letter," Lung says. He manages to make his displeasure quite clear without raising his voice.

On the one hand, Newter's stuff is widely recognized as harmless, so rationally it shouldn't be worse than having a beer or something. On the other hand, Newter does that weird platonic harem thing with his all-female customer base. You probably wouldn't approve of your girlfriend going there either, were you in Lung's shoes.

At least he sounds more like he's going to have you fired and less like he's going to have you shot. You may not need to jump out the window.

You kowtow some more. "I grovel for your forgiveness, great dragon lord," you say even as you exult in glorious alone time with his power. It might be the last time you have the opportunity.

Not everything would be lost even if he did fire you - you could always make it a long term project, hang out in your homeless persona and catch a single whiff of power as he walks past each day. But that would take... you don't even know. Months? You want dragon powers now.

In the end he decides forgive you, but not without punishment. Your punishment is great. By which you mean 'amazing', not 'onerous'. He makes you sit off to the side in an extremely uncomfortable position, forbidden to move the entire day. It's an asian thing, you guess. The other girls are happy because you're being publicly shamed, and you're happy because you're sitting in the same room as Lung. Everyone's happy. Well, Lung isn't too happy, despite your best efforts to look repentant.

Much like Cricket, he's also so laconic that you never did manage to get a soul price. Not that you need one, now.

At least you've figured out why his power is always on: If he actively tries to become a dragon even when he can't, he stores up 'dragon-ness' that will let him transform faster once he's actually in danger. Not being an idiot, he tries to become a dragon all the time. Though his tank is fairly empty at the moment, after his little jaunt into Empire territory a week and a half ago. It fills up with dragon-ness exceedingly slowly.

---

And just like that, it's over. Dragon powers get. In two days. You're almost disappointed that you didn't get to use the carefully planned rotating series of excuses and feigned illness that would let you ditch your other responsibilities and keep being Kim all week.

Lung orders you to remain in place overnight, to further contemplate the error of your ways. And if you needed to stick around any longer, you totally would! Instead, as soon as you're sure he's asleep you jump out the window and land on a wolf. Stings a bit, but you've had far worse. No one saw you drop, so you dismiss Fenrir again and calmly walk out of there. No need to cause an international incident.

As you make your way over to free the real Kim, you again wish you could tell the guys at the bar about your experience. "Did you know that Lung is just a big teddy bear at heart? I pissed him off and walked out of there on two unbroken legs! Oh and he makes his hookers call him 'great dragon lord.'" Maybe you'll tell Lisa instead?

"Thanks for your help," you tell Kim as you unshackle her. No, you don't feel bad. She choose this life when she hitched her fortunes to those of a supervillain. She's quite lucky to get away with a bit of light bondage. You even give her a hundred dollars for her trouble, in mixed small denominations.

"I suggest you leave town," you continue. "Maybe Lung will believe your tale about the Changer who kidnapped you, spied on him and ran off with his petty cash-" Kim's eyes widen as she realizes where money you just gave her came from. "-but I wouldn't bet my life on it if I were you."

With a wink, you shift your face back towards the one you wore when you caught her. "But since I'm not anymore, that's up to you. Toodles!" She flees.

Alright, that's everything dealt with. Now, let's take your new acquisition for a ride. Dragon powers, activate!

...activate?

Huh, nothing's happening. Reminds you of the first time you did this, with Lisa's power. You had hoped you had outgrown these kinds of problems.

So, some sort of criteria for activation?

You try making yourself angry, on the theory that rage dragon powers only work when you're angry. Nothing happens.

You try making yourself afraid, on the theory that threat-scaling powers only work when you feel threatened. Nothing happens. Yeah, ok, you didn't really expect that to work.

You decide to deal with your power issues tomorrow. Get some actual sleep on a school night, for once.

===

Spoiler: Updated status

Charms:
Taylor: All-encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: ???

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

Now what charm is that, and what is preventing it from working?

 

[Daniel Snuts]

With Kid Win's power in hand, and adequate amounts of sleep, you have no excuse not to focus fully on your classes any more. So you do. This is a truthful statement, as long as 'your classes' is understood to be a euphemism for 'stalking Glory Girl'. You don't share any actual classes with her (she is two years older than you, after all), so you can only catch her during lunch.

A long-term project, in other words, since you can only manage a few hours of observation per week at best. But it's not like she's going to stop Mastering everyone around her any time soon, god bless her stupid bitch face. You wish other capes were more like her.

You wish Clockblocker would just go around freezing things in time all day long. People should constantly trip and severely hurt themselves, so that Panacea gets more exercise. Gallant should not be Glory Girl's boyfriend, holy shit run away! Goddamn emotion-sensing bastard is the greatest threat to your secret identity so far. Fenrir does his best to warn you of his approach, but can't always manage to do so without getting spotted. And he absolutely must not get spotted.

But when life gives you lemons, right? You duck into a bathroom and try to use the genuine fear you just felt in an attempt to activate Lung's power again.

Nope, it's still not cooperating. Well, you've got a plan to address that. You call your fixer for all things parahuman-related.

"What did you do this time?" Lisa answers the phone. You're not sure whether she Thinker'd that, or if she's just assuming that you wouldn't call her unless you've done something.

"Do you have a friend you don't particularly like?" you ask.

"That's an odd question, coming from you."

Yeah, okay, that's fair. "I mean, more than one."

---

Is that Sven and Alex at the bar? You suppose you're a bit early (Lisa's playdate isn't until tomorrow), they must not have gone out yet.

"Remember what our uncle said," Sven is saying, "'Having once understood the working of the colossal system for poisoning the popular mind, only a fool could blame the victims of it.'" Alex is nodding in agreement.

"I didn't know you were related?" you say, coming up behind them

Oh, you just said something hilarious. You didn't think so, but judging by the way everyone is laughing at you...

Sven manages to get ahold of himself long enough to explain(?) "Our uncle in the comfy chair." He can't see your baffled expression due to the mask, but apparently your body language alone is funny enough to crack him up again.

Comfy... chair? Comfy- oh for fucks sake!

"Uncle Adolf," you say, realizing. "Seriously, the kampf-y chair? How are you not killing yourself for that pun?"

"You bling gleat shame to the famiry," Alex agrees. "You must commit sudoku!"

Turns out that the shitty gossip rag lying around has a sudoku on page 13. Someone procures a pencil, and peer pressure is applied.

"I hate sudoku," Sven protests.

"Sirence!" Alex shouts.

You convey your appreciation of their humor by ostentatiously turning away with a sniff, doing your best to indicate how far beneath you their plebeian antics are. Call it a Rune impression. At least one member of the audience gets it.

"Any trouble with the other gangs?" you ask the bartender.

"Not particularly, why?"

"It's a funny joke, but naw, we're not doing that." You're vaguely aware of Sven still resisting the peer pressure.

"Come on!" "Bet you can't do it, huh?" "Yeah, you stupid or something?"

You shrug. "Lung went after us a while back." Also you're not 100% certain that no one spotted Fenrir last night. The street was clear when you jumped, but you didn't exactly peer in every window to make sure.

"Oh, that. Turns out one of his lieutenants got in a drunken brawl with a white guy, and lost."

"Yes, I'm stupid. Just a big dumb-dumb who can't sudoku."

"Dude, it's easy. Here, let me show you..."

"One of ours?"

"Eh." He makes a weighing gesture. "A citizen, but a civilian. I figure Lung was just making a point, saving face and all that."

"So it's over with?"

"Yeah. If he was really pissed about it, he'd have come at us again already."

"There, I filled it out! Happy?"

"You just jotted down random numbers! Gimme that!"

---

A cry for help splits the air, and Rune instantly changes course to respond. You feel a jolt of excitement - you have been so busy scheming and plotting that you haven't done any vigilantism, despite having your power for several months now. Immediately followed by guilt - there's a person in trouble here, you shouldn't feel excited about that.

The source of the cry comes into view down a quiet side street: A young woman, being held at knifepoint by a pair of youths. One of them is rummaging through a purse that you doubt is his property. The robbers are facing away from you, and haven't yet noticed their doom hurtling towards them.

You shoulders slump as you realize what's going to happen next: Rune will take them down in the blink of an eye, and your first time will be disappointingly brief. Wait, that came out wrong. You mean, of course it's good that she'll be saved quickly.

Contrary to your expectations, and almost as if she was reading your mind, Rune instead slows down and brings you down to street level.

"Show me what you've got," she says.

She doesn't need to tell you twice. Fenrir also gets what's going on, and jumps off the rock without prompting from you.

"Remember, leave them able to limp away," you tell him. Softly, because they still haven't noticed your approach, and you're of a mind to give them a bit of a surprise. Their victim has spotted you, but they don't notice that her wide-eyed shock isn't directed at them anymore.

Then one of them rips her shirt open and shoves her to the ground. Turns out it's that kind of robbery.

"Never mind what I just said!" you announce loudly. Both assholes turn around at that, just in time to get a face full of apex predator. Fenrir's jaws close around the shirt-ripper, who is lifted off his feet and carried along, while his friend is merely knocked over and trampled. It should keep his mind off things until Fenrir manages to turn around for another pass, at least.

"Don't kill him," you say. Fenrir has standing orders not to do that, but your instruction is more in the spirit of the exception proving the rule: Anything else is fair game. "Do get him to shut up," you add. You forgot to mention how he's been screaming and cursing ever since Fenrir picked him up, it's sort of annoying.
Fenrir gently shakes the guy back and forth - gently compared to what he could be doing if he didn't care about keeping him alive. It takes a couple of tries, but the asshole gets the idea and shuts up before the teeth can dig in too badly.

The other robber hasn't gotten up by the time you make it back to him, but the occasional groan tells you that he's still alive. Aside from that, he's commendably quiet. You slide off Fenrir's back and crouch down by his side.

"Do you understand why what you were doing was a bad idea?" you ask rhetorically.

"Fuck y-oof!" Anticipating your wishes, Fenrir places one paw on the guy's chest and gently squeezes the air out of his lungs. Again, gently compared to placing his full weight on that leg.

You don't think that's enough to get your point across, though. Also, there's this displeasing asymmetry where Fenrir's trampling only broke one of his arms. That's an awful lot of unbroken limbs for an aspiring rapist to have, isn't it? If you get the leverage right, and place your knee just so... yes! It's surprisingly satisfying to feel the bones snap. You sort of understand where Hookwolf is coming from now.

"Nice work, rookie," Rune says from behind you as you stand back up. "I especially like the way your wolf is posing with his trophies."

Huh. You suppose it does look like that, with one crook in his mouth and one pinned beneath his feet.

You're distracted from answering by the victim latching on to you. She's crying, and babbling. The general message seems to be 'thank you' and 'I was so scared', repeated over and over again. You just sort of stand there and let her hug you. You have no idea how to deal with this. She has nothing that you want.

---

Vista is a lot easier to deal with, you know exactly where you stand with her: You're friends. Friendship is what happens when people have the ability to destroy each other, but elect not to. No? Your best friend is someone with whom you share your deepest secrets and innermost fears. And then you trust them not to use that to destroy you.

Ahem.

You're reasonably good friends with Vista. She, obviously, is sneaking out alone after hours to fraternize with the enemy. You're under less strict discipline, but you did tell her your patrol schedule to allow her to do this more easily. Even disregarding the potential hero ambush that's setting you up for, Kaiser would be less than amused to find out that you shared such details with a Ward.

Never mind Kaiser, every crook in the city would want a piece of you should this get out. To Vista, you're a pair of parahumans socializing through power use. To you, you're manipulating her into using her power a lot so you can study it. But to everyone else, you're basically putting her through boot camp. She's going to be a holy terror on the streets after this.

She's currently got Fenrir trapped in a maze of twisted space. His objective is to escape, and it's not going very well for him. His so-called 'wolf senses' let him see everything that's going on, but that's only half the battle.

Some of the twists and turns she has put up have even you confused. And as much as you love Fenrir, you have to admit that Lisa was right: He's just not all that bright. It's not that you wouldn't punch anyone who actually said the words 'room temperature IQ'... but they'd probably be right, if it was a warm room.

"Try going left," you tell him. "Is left a good direction?" You can't really give more constructive advice without letting on that you have wolf senses/sorcerer's sight too.

"It's just performance anxiety," you tell Vista. "Separation anxiety? He'd do much better if we were together."

"I know. That's why we're doing this. What if you got separated in a fight?"

Not to brag, but you're pretty goddamn smug about how you're putting Vista through boot camp by making her believe that she's putting you though boot camp.

You're currently hanging out on top of the Medhall building, the tallest building in the city. As long as you're able to get up there - easy, when you can bend space - and you're not interested in causing property damage, it's even better than the boat graveyard for privacy. Not even patrolling parahumans go this high. Earlier you caught a glimpse of New Wave flying by below. None of them even bothered to look up as they passed.

The location also serves as a diplomatic fiction papering over the armed truce that lies beneath your friendship like a pea beneath a mattress. The fact that it's fairly close to Empire territory and away from the PRT HQ lets you have peace of mind, and the fact that it is a fiction, and that you'd be completely boned if she decided to leave you up here does the same for Vista.

Yep, completely boned. The roof access door is far too sturdy for Fenrir to break down, and it's not as if industry and forge wisdom told you exactly how the lock worked when you checked the handle or anything. Nor would it help you turn the metal decorations on your costume into an improvised lockpick.

On reflection, calling it 'Tinker 0' might have been underselling it a bit. More like 'Thinker 3'.

===

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

It was only later that I realized that Industry and Forge Wisdom (Kid Win's granted charm) doesn't just apply to crafting rolls, but to all non-combat rolls interacting with technology. Which means that Taylor didn't just get a minor crafting bonus, she also effectively has Larceny 4 when picking a lock, Drive 4 in a car, etc.

I elected to keep it. Kid Win's charm initially appearing weak, but becoming powerful once you know how to use it properly? That's an even better fit.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Lisa is waiting for you at the coffee shop, along with her friend. Her friend is... wow. You don't really care for the effeminate prettyboy look, but even so you have to admit that he's incredibly beautiful. That dark curly hair, those full lips, that pensive expression...

You take a seat at their table, trying to act like you didn't just think those things. "Hey."

The boy grins at you, instantly transforming him from 'sensitive artist' to 'lovable rogue'. "Hi. I'm Alec."

"Taylor." You don't hesitate to introduce yourself truthfully. Alec is a parahuman (his power, currently inactive). Presumably Regent. He's got skin in the identity game, and two other Undersiders already know your name. "I hope you weren't waiting too long. I came as soon as class let out."

"You go to school?" Alec asks. He sounds genuinely surprised.

You have good reasons for that, but you don't feel the need to share that much about yourself and your powers. "You don't?" you say instead. "Can you even be a proper delinquent without a bike shed to furtively smoke behind?"

Alec rolls his eyes. "Yeah, nothing says 'rebel' like being addicted to the products of a multi-national corporation." He isn't looking at you as he says it. Lisa stops making love to her conspicuously branded coffee long enough to give him the finger.

"Lisa tells me that you need a man," Alec continues.

"I need more than just a man. I need a maverick, a rebel with a devil-may-care attitude, a bad boy who isn't bound by the rules of society. I need you, Alec. Fight me."

Alec was grinning along with you until you got to the last part, at which point he raises a single eyebrow. "That wasn't the verb I was expecting at the end there," he says.

"I want a friendly, but serious fight," you explain.

Alec shrugs. "Okay, I guess. Always happy to beat up a little girl. Wait, you're not secretly a karate master or something, are you?"

"Don't worry, I suck at martial arts. I lose against Hookwolf every time."

Alec remains unflappable, merely raising the other eyebrow. "If you fight Hookwolf on the regular, why do you need me?" You get the impression that he doesn't believe you about Hookwolf.

"Friendly, but serious," you stress.

"Yeah, okay."

"Shall we make the prize a thou-" Huh. You're in a place where you don't particularly care about losing a thousand dollars. "Five thousand dollars?"

"What?"

"It's not serious if losing doesn't hurt."

"Eh. How about if I win, you're mine to do with as I please for a night?"

A small part of you can't help being incredibly flattered that someone as beautiful as Alec would consider a night with you worth anywhere near five thousand dollars. Yes, even after taking into account that he's almost certainly fucking with you.

A more cynical part tries to figure out why he would feel that way about your decidedly unappealing true form - what manner of disgusting kinks does he have, to drive off all other women? You suspect that you really wouldn't want to find out the hard w- oh!

"Deal!" you say. This guy is a genius. Now that's how you make things serious, unlike your fumbling attempts with mere currency.

"But what if I win?" you ask. "And don't say that you'll be mine for a night."

"I'll be yours for- aw."

"Seven nights," you say. "And you must do exactly as I say."

"Seriously? What manner of disgusting kinks do you have, that you can't just hook up at a club?"

"You'll find out when I beat your ass." Boy is he going to be disappointed.

"I could tell you," Lisa says. "I could, but I won't."

Alec ignores her with the ease of long practice. "Seven nights versus one?"

"Does that seem unfair to you?" you ask.

"And they say we live in a patriarchy," Alec says, which you take as acquiescence.

"Let's go, then. Lisa, finish your multi-national rebel beverage."

As you stand up, you deftly extract a soul price.

Alec wants to have slave puppets again, without revealing his true identity.

You think you may have figured out his disgusting kink. Just a hunch.

Lisa leads you to an abandoned industrial property - it's not like there's a shortage of such, but her power lets her find one without any loitering addicts on the first try.

"You do your stuff," she says disinterestedly. You guess she's already figured out who's going to win. You deliberately didn't look her way, to keep things in suspense.

"What rules?" Alec asks.

"Rules are for losers. Guard your junk!" You punctuate your words by throwing the first punch.

You had hoped to take him by surprise, but his power activates almost instantly and your arm twitches to the side. Your fist goes flying past his ear, and the momentum sends you stumbling into him. He takes the opportunity to drive a knee into your gut.

Oof, right in the Brute rating. Heh. Fair's fair, he gets to use powers, you get to use powers.

You shove him away before he can do anything else, and he goes for a body blow. Even you can tell that his form is terrible. You might even have been able to block it, if you didn't lose control of your arm again. Instead, the cheating bastard punches you right in the tit. Joke's on him, there's currently nothing there. Okay, no, it still stings. You should have worn your padded training clothes.

It quickly becomes obvious that while you're evenly matched in strength, you're a (slightly) better fighter, and you have the reach advantage. If he didn't keep spamming his power it would be over relatively quickly. But with you only able to use three limbs at a time - and which three shifting all the time - it's surprisingly even.

You keep not turning into a dragon, despite being in a genuine fight with genuine stakes.

Then Alec changes tactics and gives you an intense stomach cramp. You weren't ready for that, and he's able to use the distraction to land a beautiful hit right in the kisser.

"Any particular reason you're fucking around instead of turning me into a slave puppet?" you ask, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Alec groans. "I need fewer Thinkers in my life."

You're both a bit battered, but at this rate it's going be a while before anything is decided. Lisa seems to have wandered off at some point, you note. The entertainment factor is clearly lacking.

"Let's get a bit more serious," you say, and charge him.

He twitches your right leg as you're about to put your weight on it, but you're expecting it and use your left leg to launch yourself forward as you fall. Your head hits him in the stomach, and you go down together.

He gets the better end of it, twitching your arm back and catching it as you fall. You end up with him mostly on top, with your arm in a submission hold. Good. You start really hammering on Lung's power.

It's still not cooperating. What the hell is wrong with it? Your virtue and/or free will is on the line here, there could not possibly be a more appropriate time to turn into a dragon!

"Give up?" Alec asks.

"Never!" You violently throw yourself to the side, in the direction the submission hold was intended to prevent. Alec clearly isn't ready for it, as his grip breaks just after your arm does. You ignore the pain and resume attacking, down another limb. At least you've trained for this part.

Things quickly devolve into a panting, swearing mess of rolling around on the floor. Calling it 'wrestling' would be far too generous. It's taking a while, but you're pretty sure you're losing. Alec wastes no time in taking advantage of your broken arm, and manages to send you reeling back in pain every time you go for the nuts.

You admire Alec for giving you exactly what you wanted almost as much as you hate Lung for his shitty broken power. That still! Won't! Work!

You're the first to resort to hair-pulling. Alec counters by trying to gouge your eyes out. He's a bit careless, though, and you manage to catch his little finger between your teeth. You bite down with all your might.

"Fuck!" Alec yells as he pulls his hand away minus one finger.

"He'll agree to a draw as long as you don't swallow that," Lisa announces, having returned at some point while you were busy. She's carrying a shopping bag, you guess getting groceries was more interesting than sticking around to watch your trainwreck of a fight.

"What she said," Alec agrees, surprisingly calm given what just happened. He lets go of you.

Lisa holds out her hand in front of your face. "Now spit."

You spit.

Lisa retrieves a bottle of water from her bag and rinses off the severed digit. Next she takes out a plastic bag full of ice water that she just happened to have prepared, and drops it inside. She smirks at you when she catches you looking, and tosses you a roll of bandages.

You didn't actually pay any attention during your first aid classes. Neither did Alec, by the looks of it. With two functional hands between the two of you, you haphazardly wrap things around other things until the bleeding has at least slowed a bit.

"I like your style," Alec says. "We should hang out again some time." He sounds remarkably cheerful, like he hasn't noticed how he's pale and swaying on his feet.

You hear a vehicle pull up outside. "Ambulance's here," Lisa announces.

"Let's," you tell Alec. "We can bond over how much we hate stupid show-off Thinkers."

"Let's go, Alec." Lisa puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait, I have to get her number first!" Alec gropes for his right pocket with his left hand, with little success. Lisa starts pushing him towards the exit. "You're cockblocking me something fierce here, Lisa! What kind of friend are you?"

"I'll give you her number," Lisa says, still pushing. "After they sew your finger back on."

Alec manages a quick "later!" as he's hustled out the door. You settle down to sulk for a bit.

You genuinely panicked for a bit back there, yet didn't grow a single scale. What the hell is blocking your dragon powers? Also, you're mildly peeved at the way Lisa completely ignored your broken arm. Yes, she knows you'll get it regenerated later tonight, but still. Hmph. She could at least have stuck around to help you get changed.

---

Your phone rings while you're on your way to Hookwolf's dojo (don't call it that to his face). An unknown number, but you have a faint suspicion.

"Alec?"

"Hey babe. Guess how many drugs I'm on right now?"

"All of them?" you hazard.

"Yes! But hardly any of the fun ones. It's all antibiotics!"

"I'm sorry?" It seems like the right thing to say, considering that it's all your fault.

"You should have heard the doc cursing when we told him you bit it off. To hear him tell it I would have been better off dipping it in a toilet than in someone's mouth."

"Huh. I guess 'lick your wounds' is a shit saying, then."

"That's what I said!" He's laughing, and you can't help but to join in. You've never met anyone so happy to be sent to the hospital. Presumably he got at least some of the fun drugs.

"He wasn't amused," Alec adds once you've quieted down, which sets you off again. "No really, he explained how animals have much cleaner spit than people, so licking your wounds is fine if you're a dog."

"Oh. For the record though, I'm unusually disease-resistant for a human."

"That's good, right?"

"Could be. I'm not sure how it works. Maybe I've already killed all the bad bacteria in my mouth. Then again, maybe I'm breeding an extra nasty super-resistant flesh-eating plague in there without noticing. If your hand turns black and has to be chopped off you know who to blame."

"I wouldn't blame you for that," he says softly. The sudden sincerity in his voice gives you a strange feeling. You've known each other for less than a day, most of which was spent trying to wreck each other. Is he- "It is my wanking hand, though," he continues more cheerfully. "You'd have to take over those duties at least." Never mind!

"I have things to do," you tell him, amusement and annoyance mixing in your voice. "Talk to you later."

"Bye."

You put the phone away. That wasn't you making excuses to end the conversation, you did just arrive at the dojo (DCITTHF).

You give Hookwolf a nod as you march past him on your way to Othala.

To your surprise he stops you, reaching out to grab your good shoulder.

"What happened?" he asks. Huh, he does care. Though you're not sure if it's concern for your wellbeing that motivates him, or (as has been suggested by the rank and file) jealousy over someone else breaking your bones.

"My civilian identity got in a fight."

"And lost," he says flatly.

"The other guy left in an ambulance. I'd call it more of a draw."

"Hm. Get healed, then show me what you did."

"You'll be disappointed. Guy didn't know how to fight at all."

"At least you know enough to recognize that." With a gentle push, he sends you on your way to Othala.

"Jonesing that hard for Hookwolf-brand TLC..." one of the unpowered mooks mutters as you walk past him. You have absolutely no idea what he just said, but you give him the finger just to be sure.

The rest of the evening goes exactly how you'd expect. Hookwolf is indeed disappointed, and shows it in the usual way. You get the impression that he doesn't believe you about the ambulance.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

"It's not a mental block," you tell Faultline at the end of another session.

"Hm? Oh. So you can't help me?"

"Afraid not. The inorganic limitation is built in to the power. Structural."

"What about a second trigger?"

"Wait, second triggers are real?" It's not that you had any concrete theories as to the nature of powers - you're quite happy to just call it magic, confident that you'll be less wrong than the average parahuman researcher. Still, her casual mention of what you had assumed to be a conspiracy theory throws you for a loop.

"Of course. How do you not know this?"

You shrug. "The site I read about second triggers on also claimed the moon landings were fake."

"Even a madman may claim that the sky is blue. That does not make it green." She tilts her head to the side as she looks at you. "Narwhal is probably the most well known second trigger. It's right there in her PHO wiki entry, if I'm not mistaken."

"Well excuse me for not reading the entire wiki."

"Nor any scientific literature, it would seem. Anyway, would it work? I suppose not in my case, since I'd see it coming. But theoretically?"

"Maybe? I don't know. I haven't even seen a first trigger in person."

"Nor will you."

"Excuse me?" You take half a step back and start raising your arms into a defensive posture. You didn't expect her be so angry about her lack of prospects that she'd shoot the messenger, but-

Faultline heaves a deep sigh. "A trigger event knocks out all nearby parahumans for half a minute or so, right as it happens. Don't you know anything?"

You relax your stance, and pout fetchingly. "I'm an engineer, not an academic."

"Yet you can't engineer me a better power."

"Sorry."

"I feel a bit silly now, having spent so much effort chasing something that would never happen." She gestures towards her xylophone contraption. "Assuming, of course, that I take your word for any of it."

"Let's assume that," you say a bit sharply. What is it with people and vain hope anyway? "Because I have no reason to lie. We are not enemies, it would not harm me should you gain power. If greed drove me to deceive, I'd be selling you snake oil. Quashing your hopes pays me nothing."

"That's fair. We're done here then?"

"What? No! We're maybe halfway done. I have to, uh... English. Bad analogy time?"

"Go ahead."

"Your power is a television. I've figured out that it doesn't get cable, and that's what you're interested in. But I haven't traced the circuits and figured out how it converts an electrical signal into moving pictures, and that's what I'm interested in."

"I see why you'd call yourself an engineer. Same time next week, then?"

"I've managed to free up my weekends going forward, too." With Lung done, you could stand to slow down and focus a bit more - just because Lisa suggested it doesn't automatically make it a bad idea. But thinking about Lisa reminds you of something else she said. "Then again, I've heard that you villains value your free time..?"

Faultline snorts. "Who told you that?" So she accepts the villain label, but objects to being seen as lazy?

"Client confidentiality." You don't want to link Quicksilver to Tattletale, not when Taylor spends so much time hanging out with Lisa. The fewer ties between your various identities, the better.

"I shall just have to imagine that it's someone I don't like, and I'll see you on Saturday. Same price as before. A deal's a deal, even if I'm unsatisfied with the results."

You quite enjoy the shenanigans that has been your life lately, you won't deny that. But honest and straightforward deals between professionals have their own charm, and you appreciate Faultline for letting you experience that too.

---

"I don't want to be a stick in the mud..." dad says as he picks you up, a safe distance from the Palanquin.

"But," you helpfully supply.

"But you've been out past midnight more often than not this past week. Don't you think that's a bit excessive?"

Really? You review the last several days. Last Wednesday, Faultline. Friday, post-patrol hijinks with Vista. Saturday and Sunday, Lung. Monday, Vista again, and back to Faultline today. How about that? Six out of the last eight days have been packed full of parahuman goodness. You can't help to grin at how well everything has been going.

"I have, haven't I?"

"You don't have to look quite so satisfied about it. You need to save some energy for school, too."

"Are you worried about my grades? Because I'm not the least bit worried about my grades."

"That's doesn't sound nearly as reassuring as you think it does, kiddo." Aw, he caught on to the hidden meaning for once. Everything would be so much simpler if you could just explain how grades are useless to your chosen career. But that wouldn't exactly make him worry less.

You pause to consider. You probably could cut down a bit, if it would appease dad. Vista is almost done. You'd peg her at two Kid Wins worth of difficulty, same as Lung. One more meeting should do it. Why yes, you're measuring powers in Kid Wins now. Or is 'Kids Win' the proper plural? 'kW' for short, an excellent unit for measuring power.

"And now she looks even more smug about something," dad comments to some unseen observer. "I should be worried, shouldn't I?"

"Oh, fine. Wednesdays only? And this Friday, I already promised Vanessa we'd hang out then." The weekend won't be an issue. Without any need to duck and weave and deceive with Faultline, you can just get in a solid block of power study and be back in time for dinner.

"Why Wednesdays?"

"Dog shelter Monday and Friday, self defense classes Tuesday and Thursday, remember? I have nothing to do on Wednesdays."

"It's fine to just take a day off and relax every now and then, you know."

"Don't wanna."

He chuckles at that. "Whatever makes you happy."

---

PHO agrees with Faultline, as you discover the next morning during computer class. There is a short paragraph in Narwhal's entry, mentioning that she did in fact have a second trigger event, that made her powers stronger. The word 'second' is not part of a link, and the rest of the phrase merely takes you to the regular entry for trigger events, which you already know has no further information about second triggers.

You turn back to Narwhal's entry and spend some time staring at the picture. Not for the reason that you imagine most other people do, ie the fact that she's naked. You are neither aroused nor outraged. You are in awe. Her 'costume' consist of a skin-tight layer of tiny scales, each scale a single forcefield created and controlled by her power. Skintight except for her forehead, where they form a long thin horn like that of her namesake. But the thing that leaves you staring in awe is the specific way that her second trigger made her stronger: It removed her Manton limitations.

The Manton effect is what keeps parahumans from killing themselves with their own powers, and what lets cape fights last longer than 2 milliseconds. It's the little understood phenomenon that makes pyrokinetics fireproof, and also makes it so that they can only conjure fire in the open air and not, say, the air inside your lungs. Telekinetics can't apply force directly to your heart or arteries or whatever. Faultline can't create fissures in living tissue, Panacea can't heal herself and holy shit you just realized that Panacea can hurt people too but doesn't tell anyone because why would you need to be protected from your own healing powers?

...Anyway, Manton limitations generally respect personal boundaries to a baffling degree. 'A person' isn't really a thing, physics-wise. Humans are made up of zillions of individual cells and bazillions of atoms, how exactly do the powers determine what is and isn't kosher to affect? Almost everyone seem to go for the 'mental block' theory, that it piggybacks the wielder's conception of what constitutes a person. But you just saw from Faultline that this isn't the case at all. The power itself recognizes aliveness and/or personhood, somehow. No matter how that happens, it means that important parts of your understanding of the fundamental nature of reality is wrong, and you don't even know which ones.

But you're not here to have an existential crisis. You're too busy freaking out about Narwhal. Her whole thing is that she doesn't have that kind of limit. She can create forcefields wherever she wants within a certain distance of herself - if they happen to bisect someone she doesn't approve of when they appear, that's fine. And she uses them for clothes. It's not just the brazen display of power, the horn would be enough for that, it's the control. She has hundreds of forcefields constantly touching her skin, every one of them capable of slicing through human flesh like it isn't even there. She has them when she walks, when she runs, when she fights Endbringers.

Most people probably don't notice, thinking of it as just an exotic bodysuit. Thinking that the forcefields automatically rest against her skin, somehow. But you can tell. You spent some considerable time recently studying the physics of the human mammary, and those puppies are clearly receiving support. It's armor, stiff armor that she is personally controlling to move with her body at all times, that could maim or kill her in an instant should she make a mistake.

Even though you personally consider Dragon to be the runner-up for the 'Most likely to wipe out all human life' title (behind the Simurgh but ahead of Behemoth and Leviathan), you may have to award 'Scariest Canadian' to Narwhal, on sheer panache.

Spoiler: Arcadia-rumor-mill-o-vision

"You know Taylor? The Winslow girl who doesn't talk to anyone? I heard she was caught looking at naked pictures in computer class. Pictures of girls.

Oops. Maybe you got a bit too distracted, staring at Narwhal. Oh well. That's Glory Girl's day made, at least. Santa Claus spreading a bit of joy in the world.

Not that your own day is all bad. You get assigned a group project with Kid Win in English class, which lets you interact with him enough to extract a soul price. Spoilers, it's really sad.

Kid Win wants to know his Tinker specialty.

How the hell does he not know that? You know it, of course. You know everything worth knowing about his power. As soon as you figure out which of your identities most needs a shitty Tinker minion, he's yours.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Wasn't it just yesterday that you were contemplating how well everything was going? Shouldn't you have learned not to jinx yourself like that by now? Those are rhetorical questions, btw.

"Get the hell out," Hookwolf tells you.

"What?"

"You're not welcome here. This place is for people who want to learn."

"I'm learning!"

He doesn't even deign to respond to that. He just stares at you. You stare back, full of defiance and indignation. Having the truth on your side really helps you pull it off. Just because you're not learning martial arts doesn't mean you aren't studying your pants off in here.

Unfortunately Hookwolf has figured out that the winning move here is not to play. Rather than argue further, he strikes you. It's a casual, half-hearted affair, more a slap than a punch. If you had paid any attention whatsoever to his lessons you could probably have avoided it easily. But you didn't, so you don't. Just before it hits, his arms splits open to reveal whirling blades.

They hit you high in the chest and gouge uneven furrows towards your left shoulder. Motherfucker! Does he have any idea how long it will take to repair your costume?

"Stop!" he barks at Othala, who was hurrying over to assist you. "Your healing is for fighters only."

"You can't do this to me!" you scream declare firmly.

"I own this place!"

"Kaiser - your boss - told me to go here until I knew how to fight."

"Fine. You know who decides that? Me. Congratulations, you just graduated. You know how to fight."

"That's a lie and you know it!"

"Get. Out."

Rather than initiate another staring contest, and risk further damage to your costume, you pull out your phone and call ops. "Low Key here. Me and Hookwolf need to see Kaiser."

"Why you little-"

---

Kaiser, having heard the testimony of both parties, leans forward in his chair and steeples his fingers.

"Self defense training is a right as well as a duty," he declares. "If her worst crime is being a slow learner, you have no call to refuse her."

Hookwolf grumbles under his breath, but inclines his head.

"And for god's sake, get Othala to fix that!" He gestures at your shoulder. You stopped bleeding as soon as was remotely plausible, but it still looks pretty grisly. "She goes on patrol tomorrow!"

"Thank you, sir." You really weren't looking forward to trying to hide that from your dad. Not to mention trying to shapeshift around it, should you be kept away from Othala over the weekend.

Hookwolf grumbles some more. Ah, sweet vindication. You have nothing to fear, when justice is on your side. Even if you did waste most of the evening waiting for Kaiser to deign to hear your case.

...though it occurs to you that if you had tried to get justice against a corrupt official in the regular court system, it would have taken months. Not to mention tens of thousands of dollars in attorney fees. Yes, you know that democracy is the only good system of government, you've been taught that your entire life. But this kind of... micro-empire? Autocratic sub-city state? It has its points.

Wait. If you've been taught your whole life that the government you live under is the only acceptable way to run things, doesn't that mean you've been indoctrinated? You're pretty sure that's the definition.

---

You meet up with Vista as planned the next day. Then things go off script before you can even finish greeting each other: Aegis comes flying around the corner, in costume, bearing down on you at full speed.

"Vista!" he calls out.

"Crap, it's the fun police!" you say. "Quick, hop on!"

Vista obeys without thinking, and Fenrir takes off. With him and Vista on the same side, it's not even a contest. It takes less than a minute for them to leave Aegis hopelessly far behind.

"I shouldn't have done that," Vista says afterwards, biting her lip. "I'm in for it now."

You rest a hand on her shoulder in quiet solidarity. Yes, you did deliberately push her to act without thinking, and she did regret it afterwards. You're still quite pleased that she, in that unthinking moment, chose you over her boss.

"Did you know he was tailing you?" you ask.

"No. Yes. I don't know." She takes a deep breath. "I saw him around a couple of times."

Really? Damn. You didn't notice at all. You've gotten sloppy, relaxing too much around her. This is why you don't trust people!

"He didn't approach then. I though he was just being overprotective as usual. Why do it now?"

When she puts it like that, you do in fact have a suspicion as to what may have changed since the last time you met. "I probably have paper on me now," you admit.

"What?" Vista flinches back, throwing your hand off. "What did you do?"

"I prevented a rape. And punished the offenders. Due to an unfortunate skin color mismatch, that's a hate crime."

"Oh." Obeying your subtle gesture, Fenrir nuzzles her comfortingly. Maintaining physical contact, so that she can't use her powers effectively should she turn hostile. She absently pats him in return, clearly at a loss as to what to do next.

"You still want to hang out tonight?" you prompt her. It would suck to lose access to her now, when you're so close to understanding her power.

She shrugs listlessly. "I guess. I already burned that bridge."

You take a step forward and place your hand on her shoulder again. "I'm sorry," you lie.

She looks up at you. "Tell me about it?"

You do, casually spilling details that Kaiser really would rather that you didn't share.

"Rune is a bitch," Vista observes when the subject turns to your patrol partner.

"She is," you agree. "The secret is to have her inside the friendship tent, pissing out."

She snorts, some of her good humor returning. "I'll take your word for it."

---

You're out even longer than usual. Vista is reluctant to part ways, knowing that her scheme to save you from the Empire has failed, and that the next time you meet it will be as enemies. You do nothing to mitigate the somber mood, at least not until her power is secure. Once that's accomplished, you give her a hug and wish her luck in apprehending a subset of villains that does not include you or your personal friends. She smiles a bit at that, at least.

Phew, she's finally gone. It's really hard, acting properly downcast when you're practically bubbling over with glee. When people talk about the most powerful capes in the city, they say 'Lung, Labyrinth, Vista(, future-Dauntless)'. Of those, you now have two down, one in the kitty. Never mind that the dumb dragon doesn't work properly. You'll figure it out one of these days.

You try not to visibly bounce with eagerness as dad drives you home. You do feel a bit bad about how little sleep he's been getting. Everyone would be happier if he was a slightly worse parent and just let you run around unsupervised at all hours. You shake your head. 'I wish my dad was more neglectful' goes on the list of things you never expected to think before you got your powers, along with 'losing a thousand dollars wouldn't particularly hurt' and 'Lung is a big pussycat'.

You rush down the stairs to your room. Time to test your power! Let's try... shortening the distance between the bed and the nightstand? You mentally reach out-

With a flash of light, your alarm clock goes flying across the room as if shot from a cannon. It passes through the dematerialized Fenrir and shatters agains the wall.

That power... mutated a bit more than you expected. Less battlefield control, more direct weapon? Let's-

"Taylor? Are you okay? What happened?" Your dad comes rushing down the stairs.

Oh. Of course he heard that. "Just an accident."

He looks at the plastic fragments scattered across the floor. "An accident?"

"Yes. I accidentally threw my alarm clock at the wall as hard as I could."

"Um. So. About you getting enough sleep..."

You roll your eyes. "Yes, dad. You're right about everything. I'll buy a new one tomorrow. Later today."

"You know you can tell me anything, right? If there's anything bothering you..."

"Yes dad. Go to bed dad." He does, thankfully.

Okay. Interruption dealt with, let's try this again. Carefully, very carefully, try to move one of the fragments ever so slightly.

A tendril of white light appears, coming out from the center of your chest and stretching to the piece of plastic on the floor. Said piece rises to hover a few feet off the ground, leaving a trail of ripples in the air as it moves - no, not the air. It leaves a trail of ripples in space itself.

Huh. It's still a warping power, that's for sure. A bit obvious who's doing it, though - Vista doesn't get the glowing tether pointing back to herself when she warps space. You bring the fragment up to your face for a closer look. Wait, you did what? Oh. You swish it back and forth in the air for a bit. Now that you know what you're doing, you can move things with your mind as easily as with your hands.

You mentally reach out for another fragment, and another mind-hand appears to pick it up. Neat. A third hand grabs a third piece without issue, but when you try for a fourth the first mind-hand flickers and disappears, dropping its burden. That's fine. Three extra hands are plenty.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, mind-hands turn out to be considerably more dextrous than regular hands. Speed of thought, and all that. No inefficient nerves or muscles involved. Your three hands can easily juggle six objects - probably more, but you don't want to cause any more accidents tonight. You just enjoy the sight of glowing tendrils weaving around each other to catch and throw various knick-knacks.

You're not sure how long your 'mind-arms' are, beyond 'longer than the entire width of your basement'. A trip to the boat graveyard is in order, for further research. All in all, an excellent Shaker power.

The tendrils aren't bright enough to cast shadows in a lit room, but with the lights off they provide enough light to read by, if only just. A book-holding hand that never tires, that comes with its own night light? Sorry sorcerer's sight, you might have a new favorite power.

You get ready for bed, using your mind-hands to get undressed and put on your PJs. There is no awkwardness, reflexes and familiar motions translating cleanly to your new appendages. But when you try to use them to deposit your clothes across the room, they bump into Fenrir. Fenrir, who hasn't materialized yet.

Your mind-hands can pet immaterial doggies! Best. Power. Ever.

===

Spoiler: Updated status

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: ???
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Remembering what happened last night, you stop by the library before heading to the Palanquin. They have old newspapers, don't they? They do. There it is, in the Tuesday edition of the Brockton Herald: 'Two men severely injured in nazi hate crime.' Your good deed for the day.

A quick skim of the article reveals that it's pretty much exactly what you'd been led to expect. 'Minding their own business', 'unprovoked', 'vile', etc. 'Savage and remorseless beast', and you can't even tell whether it's referring to Low Key or Fenrir.

You check the name of the author: 'K. Sandstrom'. Not a jewish name. Then you blush fiercely, even though no one will ever know you had that thought. You didn't start to believe nazi propaganda for a moment there! You were just, uh, disproving their claims. Yeah.

"Do you keep older newspapers around?" you ask a librarian. "Like, months old? Um, I'm doing a school project on Empire 88 hate crimes, I wanted to find articles about it."

The librarian, a nice old lady in her sixties, is only too eager to help.

"It's terrible what they do," she says as she leads you into a back room, where you find stacks and stacks of old newspapers. You start going through them looking for articles similar to yours, and she sticks around to assist.

"The older ones are all on microfilm," she says. "I can show you how to use the reader."

That's really cool, says the part of your brain that associates microfilm with espionage thrillers. It's wrong. Microfilm is not cool, it's tedious and fiddly. You think you'll be fine with the physical copies.

A certain pattern emerges as you read: The victims are disproportionately young men. And not to be overly sexist, but if you're looking for violent criminals (who don't have superpowers) you're definitely looking for young men.

You also see addresses mentioned you recognize as being inside Empire territory. You've patrolled those streets, you know for a fact that innocent people don't wander in there by accident. There seems to be a bit of crying wolf going on here, even when they're not crying about your wolf in particular.

Then you come across the story of an 8 year old black girl being killed in a drive-by. "Oh." Yeah, no. There's no justifying that one.

The librarian looks over at your exclamation. "I remember that. Terrible business. They caught the one who did it, thank god." She finds the 'shooting suspect apprehended' headline and shows you. There's a picture of the suspect.

"That's not a nazi," you say. Not unless he tried to escape the police by swimming through a vat of shoe polish.

"No?" That's all she says. She seems surprised that you'd think it was. You point out the earlier article, which calls it a 'white supremacist shooting', and mentions eyewitnesses.

"They must have been mistaken," she says. "You shouldn't use that one."

You think you're done here.

On your way out you stop by a library computer and enter a couple of names from the articles into an online police database. Most of them are indeed known violent criminals.

Turns you can't trust the nazi propaganda or the anti-nazi propaganda. What a world. If you can put your faith in neither the Fourth Estate nor the Fifth Column, what's left? Maybe you should make a mind-hands identity and join the Merchants? Oh wait, Merchant propaganda is "drugs are good, you should take lots of drugs" (there's also a fair chance Skidmark would insist on your cape name being 'Handjob').

---

"Your voice is different," Faultline remarks when you greet her.

"The old one wasn't working out. I'm trying to find a balance between sounding like my civilian self and straining my throat." What's actually happening is that you're using your new insights in shapeshifting to modify Quicksilver's voice - you sound less like yourself than you used to, and you're straining your throat less.

"I've never bothered."

"Well, your mask does muffle it a bit. I don't think I'd recognize it on the street." You tap your lips with a finger. "Some of us make sacrifices in the name of fashion."

Faultline snorts, and uses her power to split a piece of paper in two. The social pleasantries part of the meeting is over.

She's considerably less enthusiastic about using her power, now that there's no prize to look forward to. You have to clear your throat meaningfully when she goes too long without using it.

"Sorry." To her credit, she does not slip up again. A true professional.

---

After you leave the Palanquin, but before you can change out of Quicksilver, you run into Armsmaster. To everyone else, his armor is a tasteful dark blue with red highlights. To your sorcerer's sight, it's lit up like the world's gaudiest Christmas tree. He reminds you of nothing so much as a discount Panacea: Hundreds of individual pieces of tinker-tech are crammed together, each twinkling away in its own special way.

Unlike with Panacea though, you can actually make out what each piece does. Or you could, if he'd just stand there for a few hours and let you work your way through them all. Since it's not out of the question that you'll end up fighting/fleeing from him in another identity, you prioritize scanning for cameras and weapon systems.

"Identify yourself," he barks. He's doing a terrible job of pretending that he wasn't lying in wait for you, in your opinion. The odds of his patrol just happening to intersect your path are miniscule.

"Quicksilver, Thinker extraordinaire," you proclaim grandly, giving him a curtsey. "At your service."

One particular Christmas ornament in his helmet flashes, and his mouth sets in a frown. You know, that looked sort of similar to Lisa's power... Lie detector? This conversation just got a lot more interesting. Luckily you're very good at not lying.

"Ah, a man who prefers precision in all things," you say with a smile. "Allow me to amend my previous statement: While not currently at your service, I could potentially become so for the right price." You wonder if that's what set it off, or whether you don't properly identify as Quicksilver? But what else would you call yourself? You don't even have a cape name for your real powerset.

Well, not one you've ever stated out loud. If you could go back and do it over again, you'd be tempted to introduce yourself as 'Santa Claus' just to see what would happen.

"A mercenary," Armsmaster states disapprovingly.

"If you wish to name it such."

"Faultline's Crew?"

"Independent. Faultline is merely a client of mine. Never fear," you add as he opens his mouth to speak again, "the services provided are both legal and ethical."

Armsmaster relaxes a bit when that last statement doesn't ping his lie detector.

"I must urge you to consider joining the Protectorate," he says instead. "Independent Thinkers are particularly vulnerable, and villain groups will not balk at threats or blackmail - or even outright kidnapping - in order to recruit you."

Your smile vanishes. Armsmaster, aka Shadow Stalker's boss, has the gall to tell you that villains make people join them against their will?

"I do not believe further conversation would be productive," you say.

"As you wish. Please do not hesitate to contact the Protectorate should you require assistance in the future." Assistance with no strings attached whatsoever, you're sure.

As he turns to leave, you mentally reach out...

Armsmaster wants to be acknowledged as one of the five greatest heroes in the world.

Huh. Not 'the greatest' or 'one of the greatest'. Five is a very specific number, you wonder what his thought process was for arriving at it.

Well, there's an obvious way for a smug Thinker to find out: "Oh, one last thing," you call out.

Armsmaster turns back to you. "Yes?

"Who's on fourth?"

"What?"

"What's on third," you correct him. Alas, he just glares at you rather than continuing the skit. No sense of humor either. Though his aggrieved expression is kind of funny.

"Indulge a Thinker her little games," you continue before he can flounce off in a huff. "I only meant to ask, when you take your rightful place as fifth, who is the fourth greatest hero in the world? The first three are easy enough to guess..."

"...Dragon," Armsmaster admits after a few moments. "No matter what I do, I could never become more than the second greatest Tinker."

Spoiler: Dragon-reviewing-helmet-footage-o-vision

<3

"Alas, poor Dauntless," you say, holding up a hand in front of you as if addressing a skull. "I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite potential, cut down in his prime. Such an unfortunate accident, with no witnesses-"

Spoiler: Dragon-reviewing-helmet-footage-o-vision

D:

"I don't appreciate what you're insinuating," Armsmaster growls.

"Where be your arclance now? Your boots? Your shield? Your enchanted panoply that was promised to one day rival Eidolon himself?"

"Goodbye, Quicksilver."

"Prithee, Horatio..." You trail off as he stalks away. Seriously, fuck that guy.

---

There was an interesting flyer at the library that you didn't have time to act on yesterday: Protectorate tours just started up for the season. Come see the technological marvel that is the Rig! Meet real live heroes! It's entirely worthless from a power acquisition standpoint, of course, just a brief peek. But that's not what you're after.

You keep sorcerer's sight off for most of the tour, to prevent any incriminating gawking. You don't know that Armsmaster has rigged the place with eye motion tracking cameras to detect suspiciously interested visitors, but you avoid making any hypothetical hidden tinkertech gun emplacements stand out in your vision just in case.

Only half the local Protectorate is present for the meet & greet portion of the tour: Triumph, Dauntless, Assault and Battery. Even so you hit a double jackpot when you turn sorcerer's sight back on: Not one, but two secret monster capes.

"It's a bit distasteful, don't you think?" you remark to a fellow tourist, loud enough for the heroes to overhear. You picked an old lady shape for this excursion, plausibly hard of hearing, just for this moment.

"How so?" he asks.

"'Come buy tickets to look at the weird people'? They used to call that a freak show."

Neither of the Case 53s react at all. If they're hiding mutations, they're not self-conscious about it. Dauntless twitches a bit, but he's a regular cape. Whatever his issues are, they're unrelated.

---

"Battery. Triumph," you tell Gregor. Easiest two thousand bucks you ever made (minus the price of the tour).

"I'm noticing a pattern," Faultline remarks.

"Yeah. The sample size is small, but they're three for three on heroes. I'm not saying that the government has a black site where they create artificial parahumans and memory-wipe the mutated failures, but... You know what moon landing guy had to say about conspiracy theories?"

"Enlighten me."

"He claimed that most conspiracy theories are intentionally promoted by the CIA, so that when the outlandish shit the government does get up to - like the fake moon landing - inevitably leaks, it's lost in the noise and no one believes it."

"Hm. While I obviously disagree with the particulars, I don't entirely discount that he might have had a point," Faultline admits.

"Thank you for your assistance," Gregor says.

"Thank you for paying my bills."

"I had an interesting offer after you left last night," Faultline tells you once Gregor has left.

"Oh?"

"Ten thousand dollars if I would reveal your powers, and the nature of our business together."

You can't help but smirk. You guess you spooked Armsmaster pretty badly, revealing his deepest desires (and the obvious conclusions drawn therefrom) like that. "Interesting. Fifty-fifty split?"

"You'd go along with it?" Faultline says, sounding surprised. "I only meant to warn you that you've caught someone's interest."

"Sure, why not?" you say with a shrug. "Appearing as 'troubleshooting Thinker/Trump' in the PRT database is practically free advertising." You suspect Armsmaster won't mention the part where you might be a 'motivation' Thinker as well - he'd have to document how he found out.

"The PRT? Paying for information like that isn't their MO."

"I know who it is. He's fairly well off, and at least slightly corrupt." You recall Not Armsmaster's letter offering to buy orichalcum under the table. "He might feel threatened enough to pay out of pocket, if he can't hide it in the budget somewhere. Maybe a little of column A, a little of column B."

"What did you do?"

"Just a bit of Thinking out loud."

"Terrible habit, that."

"I've yet to meet a Thinker who could resist."

"Isn't that the truth?" she sighs. "I'll set it up, and add another 5k to your tab."

 

[Daniel Snuts]

You arrive at the bar to find an unwelcome surprise: You're no longer partnered with Rune. Instead you've been assigned to guard... one of Hookwolf's fighting pits.

"That motherfucker!" you exclaim, and proceed to explain to the bartender (and anyone else within earshot, which at the volume you're using is everyone in the room) exactly who you're referring to, and how you became convinced that he doesn't settle for flowers on Mother's Day.

"So let me get this straight," he says. "You're claiming that Hookwolf is getting revenge on you by scheming?"

"Yes!" You know how stupid it sounds without context, but your relationship with Hookwolf is a special case, alright? "Let's see how he likes being dragged in front of Kaiser again."

"Don't. Here, I'll show you."

He leads you through the 'staff only' door, into the operations center, and shows you the whiteboard with patrol schedules for the week. He walks you through the logic, showing how they are short-handed, and can't defend the fighting pits properly. Shows you the reports: The fighting pits are being attacked.

"It's still bullshit," you say sullenly. "He's doing it deliberately."

"Perhaps. But it's legal bullshit. He has the authority, he has a valid pretext. If you go to Kaiser with this, he will rule against you."

You grumble under your breath. The ops people look unsympathetic.

"Look, lady, you lost. Suck it up and move on."

---

As the parahuman on duty you're offered a ringside seat, but you find that dog-fighting isn't really to your taste. You elect to stand guard outside instead, with Fenrir invisibly patrolling around the building. You occasionally join him for a lap or two out of sheer boredom. You have to find a way to get out of this and back with Rune, this is unbearable.

What, are you supposed to be horrified at the treatment of the poor little doggies inside? Please. You eat meat. You don't labor under the illusion that animals are people. Except Fenrir of course, who magically turned into a person when you adopted him. That's not some touchy-feely 'my dog is special' bullshit. You literally used magic to transform his nature.

The average pig is probably both smarter and nicer than the dogs in that pit, yet most people who get conspicuously upset at dog fighting won't turn down a sausage any more than you will.

"Animal cruelty laws ensured that the pig that turned into this sausage lived a happy life!" they'd say. No they didn't. The discussion at the bar the other day revolved around the millions of illegal aliens working in near-slavery conditions in the agricultural sector. Big Ag clearly considers laws to be something that happens to other people.

(though one guy disputed the 'near-slavery' description on the basis that slavery wasn't nearly as bad as people have been led to believe, because of course he did)

For that matter, it's well known that Hookwolf used to participate in underground bloodsports himself, before he joined the Empire. He's not even breaking the golden rule with regard to these mutts. Hell, your entire career in the Empire is based on making a dog fight for you. Pretending to be upset at dog-fighting would require levels of hypocrisy that shouldn't even be possible.

You are, however, reaching levels of boredom that shouldn't be possible. Bored, bored, b- suddenly not bored! Let no one say you're not earning your keep, because you spotted the incoming trouble way before either of the unpowered enforcers sharing your post.

"Quick, give me your jacket," you tell one of them.

"What?"

"Your jacket. Now. Cape reasons."

He looks to his partner, who shrugs in response.

"Now, dammit!"

He finally obeys. You put it on. Drawing the hood up and turning away from the enforcers, you slip you mask off. One benefit of a half-assed costume like yours is that you can just cover up the chest piece and remove the mask and bam, instant civilian.

You hide the mask beneath the jacket and hurry around the corner, where the van you spotted just parked. Even if you hadn't recognized the vehicle, the glow coming from the driver is instantly recognizable. You lean up against the driver's side door before they have a chance to open it, and knock on the darkened window.

The window is rolled down, and the scowling face of Rachel Lindt greets you.

"Taylor? The fuck you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same." Her power is active, and you see pulses of 'empower canine' going into the back of the van. "You're using your power to cheat at dog fighting?"

"No! I'm gonna knock this place over! Fuck up every dog-hurting piece of shit in there!"

Oh. "You should leave," you say. "There's a cape in there right now."

"I can take them."

"You probably can," you admit. She has two dogs back there, from the way her power is acting. Fenrir could maybe win if they don't have time to grow to full size, but you don't trust him to murder his old roommates decisively enough, even at your orders. "But your dogs might get hurt in the fighting. And if you don't win fast enough, some asshole might start killing the fighting dogs out of spite."

She growls at that, and moves to shove the door open. You hold up a hand to stop her.

"Look, I've been scoping the place out too. If you come back-" you rack your brains, trying to remember the schedule you were shown earlier today - "tomorrow, between two and four, there won't be any capes."

She hesitates, and you press on. "It's the best way to keep the dogs safe. Isn't that what you want?"

"...fine. But if you fuck me on this-"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. Bubbles is doing fine, by the way. If you were wondering."

She gives you a curt nod, and drives off without another word. Crisis averted. Opportunity gained. You put your mask back on and return to your post.

"What was that all about?" the guy asks as you give him back his jacket.

"Cape business."

He rolls his eyes at that, but doesn't pry further.

This is your big chance, of course. Hookwolf's soul price is right there for the taking. Just call him up and tell him to lie in ambush here tomorrow afternoon, and you'll have an Empire lieutenant for a minion.

All you have to do is betray Rachel to her death.

It would be so nice, to finally have a way to make him show off his power. To end this stupid drama between you, that's cutting into your time with Rune. You want to be able to turn into a giant monster made of chainsaws so bad you can taste it, especially since turning into a dragon didn't work out.

...You can't do it. You just can't. When you set out to gather soul prices, you wanted to be Morally Ambiguous Santa Claus. There's no moral ambiguity to be had here. You'll have to solve the Hookwolf situation the other way.

---

Rachel pulled off her raid successfully, judging from the way Hookwolf treats you the next day. He doesn't even pretend to teach you how to fight, he just beats you unconscious over and over again. If your injuries render you unable to stand up without also knocking you out, he kicks you in the head until that is no longer the case. While you're being regenerated by Othala he paces back and forth, swearing up a storm.

It's not that he suspects you of colluding with Rachel - you're still alive - it's just that he has no reason not to take his anger out on you. You accept it silently, because it is your fault. You could have given him the thing he most wanted in all the world, and instead chose to fuck him over. You deserve this.

You learn that Othala's power isn't quite perfect, because the world keeps wobbling alarmingly even after it's over and you've been patched up the final time. But you don't mind so much: You spent the most of the night lying on the ground waiting to heal, and without any lessons to distract you you were finally able to figure out Cricket's power.

You experimentally activate it on your way home, and your somewhat unsteady walk turns into an alert crouch as you slip into a martial arts form. There's no one around, but you feel unusually alert and prepared to block incoming attacks. You know kung fu? It's not echolocation, but some part of the danger sense component appears to have carried over intact.

Still, it's uncanny. Your version of the power took the form of martial arts. Is it really a coincidence that you learned it at a dojo (fuck Hookwolf, you're calling it that)? Or can you influence the outcome in some way, and have been doing so subconsciously all along?

You realize that you recognize the stance you're using: It's mantis style. That you learned from someone named Cricket. Your brain is definitely plotting behind your back.

Maybe this one is an outlier, caused by your mildly concussed state? Yes, let's go with that. That way you can pretend that you don't know exactly why Lisa's power was made weaker in exchange for a Master component, and Rachel's power gave you an invisible friend.

You could go on. Cliff's power gave up physical power for improved shapeshifting just when you needed a new identity, Dragon's let you finish the armor in time to get home, Vista... You know what? Never mind the denial, you're willing to accept a whole bunch of unpleasant truths about yourself if it means your intangible-dog-petting power was on purpose. You duck into an alley and spend a couple of minutes petting your intangible dog, heedless of the risk of discovery as glowing mind-hands provide belly rubs to nothing at all.

Could you ask for a better partner, a better friend? No, you could not. Okay, if you were really picky you could perhaps ask for a friend who didn't lick his privates in full view of anyone with sorcerer's sight quite so often, but you don't really begrudge him that. It must be lonely, being the only member of your species in the world.

Hang on, if you're really doing all this on a subconscious level, does that mean that deep down, you don't actually want to become a dragon? Because fuck your brain if so.

Fuck your brain anyway. It's not as if Rachel is useful to you, or anything but a detriment to society as a whole. But nooooo, you still chose her over getting freaking Hookwolf as a minion, because apparently human life has intrinsic value. Ugh. You suck so much.

Danny picks up on your grouchy mood when you get home. "Who peed in your cheerios?" he asks - the flippant words hiding genuine concern, because dads gonna dad.

"Got called in to the dog shelter," you say absently. "Big uproar, someone left a door open and a bunch of dogs escaped." For all that you were giving your brain shit earlier, you're pretty amazed at its ability to come up with this load of bull on the spot, after having been beaten on all night. Though if you were in top form you might have wanted to go with a less complicated non-lie about taking a bad fall during self-defense class, you belatedly realize.

More subconscious bullshit, no doubt. A desire for your father to be aware, and supportive. God, you hate introspection. You hope your Brute rating is enough to shake this off with a good night's sleep. "Got a proper chewing out too, for all that I wasn't even there when it happened," you continue. "You know how it is."

"Shit flows downhill," the life-long union man observes sagely.

"Yeah. Gonna crash now."

===

Spoiler: Updated status

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: ???
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

Supernatural Martial Arts, or SMA for short, are special charms that any type of exalt can learn, as long as they have the appropriate level of enlightenment (terrestrial, celestial or sidereal)*​.

SMA being what they are, Taylor could theoretically use this foundation to gain enlightenment of the Bulb of the Perfected Lotus, intuit and re-create the rest of Mantis Style without a teacher or parahuman template, and become a true SMA practitioner. She would then be able to create any number of new celestial styles without ever needing to reference another parahuman.

All she needs is a nice calm dojo somewhere where she can meditate and practice for a couple of years without distractions, so it's going to happen real soon now.

*​Every terrestrial exalt who has ever attempted sidereal enlightenment has had their soul spontaneously explode. But at least one sidereal master insists that it's theoretically possible, and keeps trying to teach them.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

You're going to need another look at the schedule. Even if you could remember the whole thing, it will have changed as capes are shifted around to protect the remaining assets.

Throwing another tantrum would be far too suspicious, if it would even work. No, you should never enter the ops center again. "Who, me? I don't even know the details you're accusing me of having leaked."

You have Fenrir dematerialize a stack of notebooks and some pens. He can just walk right through the walls to get a look at the relevant whiteboards. He can't read, but he should be able to just copy things down symbol by meaningless symbol.

The day passes uneventfully, except that Lisa texts you demanding to meet up. She probably looked sideways at Rachel and wants to complain at you about some aspect of your plan. Fine, whatever. You'll indulge her tomorrow. Today is Wednesday, and Wednesdays are Faultline-days.

---

There's another person in the Faultline's office when you arrive. A young boy, wearing the white domino of the incognito parahuman. You look him over appraisingly, pretending that you don't already know who he is.

"You were right," Faultline tells you. "The PRT database was free advertising. This is your first new client." She doesn't perform further introductions, testing you - or more likely, trusting in your abilities and letting you show off.

"Kid Win, I presume. Quicksilver, at your service."

"H-how did you know?" he sputters.

"Please. A handsome young man with a brain full of Tinker ideas? Who else could it be?"

"I could have been Gallant!"

What? Oh right, Gallant does pretend to be a Tinker, with that fancy armor of his. Always Be Sandbagging, the first rule of capedom. You had forgotten all about that little detail, it's been so long since you learned the truth.

"If I believed that, you'd be well advised to turn around and leave rather than retain my services. I have seen Gallant in action."

"Oh."

Hang on, it just occurred to you that only Tinkers can maintain tinkertech, and that 'Tinker-hours' is thus one of the most valuable commodities on the planet. Gallant must be paying through the nose to keep that suit running. That silver spoon sure is tasty, huh?

"So, what can I do for you?" Like you didn't already know that too.

"I, uh..." He blushes beneath his mask. "I haven't been able to figure out my Tinker specialty. Uh, all Tinkers have-"

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. "Yes, yes. That should be easy enough. Invent me something."

"What?"

"A laser gun? A better mouse trap? Figure out how to build it. I'll watch."

"Uh, okay. May I?" He gestures towards the desk. Faultline provides him with paper and pencil.

You watch him sketch for ten minutes or so, which is how long you can be bothered to keep up the charade.

"Got it."

"What?" "Excuse me?" Faultline and Kid Win are equally surprised.

"I figured out your specialty. You can stop now."

"Oh." Kid Win looks back and forth between you and his half-finished blueprint several times before finally deciding to focus on you. "Uh, how much do you charge? I have a couple of hundred saved up..."

"I offered her fourteen thousand dollars for her assistance," Faultline interjects. That's mostly true. A few caveats here and there.

"Oh." His shoulders slump. "I could... build you something?"

"And maintain it?" Faultline demands. Her objection is invalid: You're a Tinker. In fact you are, among other things, this Tinker. There is no way you couldn't maintain something he built. You don't mention this, of course. Even if you didn't have an identity to protect, Faultline is having too much fun playing 'bad cop' for you to step in and ruin it for her.

"Maybe? Uh, what if I build you something and promise to maintain it for a year?"

"I want the PRT parahuman database," you say. He stares at you, speechless. "You can scrub the personal details, I'm not looking to break the rules. I just want cape names, locations, ratings, power analysis."

"I don't have access to that! I mean, I do, but only to read. Not to copy! Also I wouldn't do that. That's classified information!"

The order of his objections is quite telling. You give him a fond smile, and lean down to whisper in his ear, a single word.

"Modularity."

Watching his face as he figures out what you just said is a treat, even with the mask. Confusion, shock, joy. And finally resignation, as he realizes what he now owes you. Sorcerer's sight shows the Loyalty settling into place, sealing the deal. Oh, Loyalty can be resisted, you've seen it happen. Were he a truly virtuous man, it would not corrupt him. But this is a hero you're talking about.

"Come back when you have the goods," you tell him. He flees.

"I expected you to want to study him," Faultline says.

"Please. A Tinker power so weak it couldn't even communicate its own specialty to the host brain? I'd much rather have a list of more interesting targets."

"Did you really figure it so quickly? It took you several days with me."

You shrug. "The specialty is the single most salient aspect of a Tinker power. You asked whether it was possible for your television to get cable. He asked me what color the plastic was." This is all true. It is! Sure you already knew his specialty, and it took you something closer to an hour to figure it out initially. That's still incredibly quick by power standards.

"So, Gallant isn't a Tinker?" Faultline asks after a moment of contemplation.

You tap a finger to your lips, considering. "I should probably charge you for that answer?"

"I did just let you use my office for a business meeting."

"Touché. He's a Blaster in a fancy suit."

"Must be pretty expensive to keep up the charade. Unless the suit isn't real tinkertech either?"

"Couldn't tell you." It isn't so much that you're sandbagging your ability to spot tinkertech, as the fact that you've never actually seen Gallant in action. The reported capabilities sure point towards it being tinkertech, but you wouldn't want to accidentally deceive.

---

Having Fenrir take notes didn't work out too well, you reflect as you page through a semitransparent notebook with a mind-hand. You can't read any of it. It was a good effort, you assure him. He's a good dog. You're not upset. But his handwriting suffers too much from, you know, not having hands. And being illiterate, he has no idea what characteristics are most important to preserve for any given letter.

The way everything is soaked with immaterial drool and sticking together doesn't exactly help. Several pages were completely obliterated when he accidentally bit through the pen and doused them in ink. You're pretty sure he lost his place a couple of times and skipped or repeated certain sections as well. Oh, he bit through more than one pen.

You'll figure this out tomorrow. "Come to bed," you tell Fenrir. He materializes, leaving the immaterial ink that was coating his face behind. It splashes to the floor, leaving an invisible stain. You should probably do something about that. It could give you away... if another cape capable of seeing into the spirit realm showed up in town... and decided to break into your basement for no reason.

Whatever, it's hardly more incriminating than being followed around by a giant wolf, and it's not as if you're going to stop doing that. You are, you realize, making the same tradeoff analysis as every gangbanger with an unlicensed firearm in his waistband: The safety provided by this form of 'concealed carry' is well worth the minuscule risk of being hassled by law enforcement.

---

Your next idea for turning Dog Burglar into a spy turns out much better. Before going to school you tinker up a simple cellphone holder, with a handle to let him grasp it in his mouth and a lever that presses the camera button whenever he bites down. He's done by lunchtime, materializing in an unoccupied bathroom to hand you a phone full of pictures of maps and whiteboards. And various other things he found interesting on the way, like buildings and trees and fire hydrants and random patches of pavement and the sky. Good thing your phone is an expensive model with plenty of memory.

You completely blow off your responsibilities (to stalk Glory Girl at every opportunity) and instead shower him with praise and belly rubs. He has to dematerialize again when someone else enters the bathroom, but little things like that don't stop you anymore, and you resume as soon as they're gone. With mind hands!

---

Waiting for Lisa at the cafe after school, you while away the time texting with Alec.

> Hey. Can you do me a favor?

< not if i have to get up from the couch

< is the favor dick pics? because then yes

> Yes

< wait, srsly?

> I'm meeting with Lisa, you know she's going to do her mind reading act. I'm going to booby trap my brain with your junk.

< does that even work?

> We'll find out, won't we?

< yes!

< sec, getting hard

< [DSC000023.JPG]

Spoiler: Brian-o-vision

"What the hell, Alec!?"

"You know how it is. One of my many admirers had a sexual emergency and desperately needed to see my dick."

"I didn't need to see that! Go to your room, or the bathroom or something!"

"Eh, effort."

Oh, there's Lisa. You take one last look at the payload before putting your phone away.

"Hey."

"Hey." She looks at your smug expression with narrowed eyes, and lets her power loose.

It's not working. She can tell that you want her to figure something out, but there's not enough to go on. You hold up your hands, your palms a certain distance apart.

"Goddammit, Taylor!" That did it. Your smug smirk grows into a full-fledged shit-eating grin as a bunch of ancillary details cascade into her brain. "Why!?"

You just shrug as a particularly juicy detail causes her to flinch. Now you both know exactly how sad Alec would have been if he'd lost that hand.

"You don't even have anything you want to hide from me!"

"Not this time. But if I instill good habits early..."

"Fuck you."

"You're the one who wanted this meeting. For no reason. Everything's fine. Tell Rachel Friday between noon and 2 pm, at the corner of 12th and Brassmaker street."

Lisa gives you the stinkeye and tries to look beyond the elephant in the room (alright, calling it an elephant may be flattering Alec a bit too much). Still getting abused by Hookwolf. Still doesn't consider it a problem. Thinks she deserves it. Doesn't consider it worth hiding. You roll your eyes at her. Smug. Got a new power recently.

"Don't strain yourself. Cricket taught me kung fu, but not the way she thinks."

"Are you going to stop-"

"Othala."

She sighs. You'd think she was your mom or something. Damn, now you've gone and made yourself sad, thinking about your mom. Great job, Lisa. Way to ruin the mood.

---

She was wrong, anyway. You're not getting abused by Hookwolf anymore. Apparently. He barely even looks at you, instead handing you off to an unpowered instructor. It's probably meant to be an insult - as a cape you're technically entitled to the attention of other capes - but you don't mind. You cheerfully settle in for a new era of still not learning what you're supposed to learn, but staring at Othala instead.

From overheard snatches of conversation you gather that the new policy came about because Othala threw a giant fit over your treatment last time and threatened to walk out. You make sure to thank her the next time you hobble over for regeneration.

You also gather that being assigned as your instructor is now a punishment for poor performance. That's definitely an insult, but again you don't mind. You could drop into mantis form at any time and wow everyone with your sudden improvement. You know, if you wanted to completely blow your cover - no one here is even teaching mantis style. As it is, you're not even tempted. The retarded girl you play here is just another role, like the closeted stalker you play during school hours.

Unlike certain other people you could name, you can enjoy the feeling of knowing something other people don't without having to walk over and rub it in their face.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

This morning you received a message informing you that you were assigned to special duties tonight, and given a time and a place. You sulk your way there expecting more dickery from Hookwolf, but are pleasantly surprised to find Rune waiting for you. It must be really special, if it can make Rune arrive on time.

Your enthusiasm wanes somewhat when she explains that your special assignment is helping fellow Empire cape Alabaster, who went and got himself arrested again. Damn. For all that the Empire is ostensibly a villain group, you've managed to be on their payroll for a good two months now without once doing anything immoral. Until today.

You try to tell yourself that Alabaster would be freed with our without your help. He would! (Parahuman) membership in the Empire comes with get-broken-out-of-jail-free insurance. If you didn't step up, another cape would take your place. Even beyond that (according to Lisa), to a certain extent the system doesn't even want to lock up parahuman criminals.

It still feels wrong. But - you brighten up as a new thought occurs - if you could be part of the Empire while keeping your conscience clean, who is to say that Alabaster isn't the same? In which case his arrest would be unjust, and the act of freeing him, just.

It's even somewhat likely. It's not like you're trying to explain away Hookwolf's body count or anything here, it's Alabaster you're talking about. What could he even do? He has the worst power in the entire world: Immortality.

Not in the 'eternal youth' sense, though for all you know he might have that too. In the 'literally can't die' sense. No matter what happens to him, 4 seconds later he snaps back to perfect health.

Yeah, sure, that sounds good. But it really, really isn't. That's his only power. No strength, no durability, no farting knockout gas. His role in a fight is to run up to people with actual combat powers and distract them by getting repeatedly splattered across the pavement.

Everyone knows he's immortal too, so they don't hold back. He gets to suffer horrific injuries and painful death over and over again, every four seconds for however long the fight lasts. And if, like in his most recent fight, they decide to instead hold him down and slap some cuffs on him, there's nothing he can do about that either.

It would be an amazing power for a Trump like you, except for one crucial detail: He's a monster cape. The whitest supremacist. Not caucasian white or even albino white, but, well, alabaster white. Like a living marble sculpture. You would have sought him out above all others otherwise. It's not (just) vanity holding you back, either. You thought about it carefully, and concluded that 'not being immediately recognizable' would currently improve your functional life expectancy more than 'immortality'.

"Go time," Rune says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Spoiler: Clockblocker-o-vision

"You realize this is a trap, right?" I ask.

"Yeah, duh? That's literally the mission," Shadow Stalker says, her voice dripping with scorn.

"No, I mean for us," I explain. "Do you really think it's a coincidence that we got pulled off console duty early for this? This is part of our punishment. They're setting us up for a beating."

"Not seeing a downside here. I get to shoot a nazi. You get to whine like a little bitch. The bosses get to pretend they're trying. Everybody wins."

She puts her crossbow down on the bench, then punches Alabaster in the face. She can't get much of a windup within the confines of the truck, but it still snaps his head back into the wall.

"Isn't that right, bitch? Any day you get to hurt a nazi is a good day."

One of the PRT troopers clears his throat.

"I did nothing." She holds up her hands. Alabaster's split lip disappears. "See, no marks."

"Are you not ashamed to be a part of this system?" Alabaster asks the trooper. "You should be."

Sophia hits him again.

Rune sends a car floating out into the street, blocking the path of the prisoner transport. She could have just smashed the two vehicles together (Alabaster would have been fine), but instead she politely gives the driver plenty of time to brake. A most civilized jailbreak.

The instant the transport comes to a stop, all four tires explode. Stormtiger floats down from a nearby rooftop.

Then things stop going according to plan as Shadow Stalker phases through the side of the van and takes a shot at Stormtiger. Their exchange is inconclusive - a sharp gust of wind sends her crossbow bolt off course, and his answering wind blades pass through her shadow form harmlessly.

You've already kicked Fenrir into motion by the time Rune shouts for you to assist him. You don't know that Low Key could actually hurt Sophia any more than Stormtiger could, but you're damn well going to try.

Say what you will of the PRT, but their discipline and training is beyond reproach. The trooper in the passenger seat has already scrambled out of the vehicle, dragging a containment foam projector with him. Without pausing to strap it on, he sends a stream of foam your way. Rune sends the car flying up to block it.

The driver also gets out, but as he's only toting a shotgun, you ignore him. Fenrir lets out a whuff when the beanbag round hits him in the chest, but doesn't break stride.

Meanwhile, the rear doors of the transport have opened and two more foam-wielding PRT troopers have entered the fray, as well as Clockblocker of the Wards. Great, another parahuman you're ill equipped to fight.

Stormtiger is falling back, but giving good account of himself. Foam, by its very nature, is a lot easier to blow around than crossbow bolts, and one trooper is already taken out of action, stuck fast by his own foam.

Clockblocker is also facing a terrible matchup - he can only use his time stop on solid matter - and is sent flying by a blast of air.

Still, with four against one, something has to give. Stormtiger is forced to throw himself prone to avoid the next shot from Shadow Stalker, leaving him in a terrible position. He sees you coming up behind her, and rather than risk hitting you with an attack passing through her, he takes out the second PRT trooper the same way as the first.

Without distractions, and with a stationary target, Shadow Stalker easily nails him with her next bolt. Stormtiger's last act before the tranquilizer takes hold is to send a sphere of compressed air into the back of the transport.

The entire transport jumps, the boom echoing off the nearby buildings as the laws of physics reassert themselves and the compressed air explodes. A shower of milk comes flying out of the transport. Milk and... wet white chunks? Oh. Ew. That's one way to separate Alabaster from his restraints. Poor guy.

Some cue or instinct warns Shadow Stalker of your approach. She spins to face you, but it's too late. You're already on her. Fenrir bites down on her crossbow hand as she turns. She turns into shadow before his teeth can close around her wrist, and instead of knocking her over he runs straight through her without slowing.

Then she screams. You send Fenrir into a spinning, skidding halt and end up looking back the way you came. Shadow Stalker is clutching a stump where her hand should be. Copious amounts of blood is spurting into the street.

That's- you saw her turn into shadow. Which means... Fenrir can't affect the physical world while he's intangible, but apparently the reverse is not entirely true. Magic teeth.

You don't see a severed hand lying around anywhere, which means that it must still be in Fenrir's mouth. Now, you could tell him to spit it out, keep this jailbreak civilized. You could.

"Spit," you say. Fenrir obeys. The hand lands on the pavement with a wet smack, the crossbow with a clatter. "Crossbows aren't food," you tell him. You stare into Sophia's eyes as Fenrir gobbles up her hand again, crunches the bones between his teeth, swallows. He then takes one step forward unprompted by you, crushing the delicate mechanisms of her tinkertech crossbow beneath a paw. Best dog.

Sophia is swaying on her feet, barely keeping upright. Blood loss. You know the feeling. Then Clockblocker is there, freezing his colleague in time with a touch. Damn, you forgot all about him. Looks like Stormtiger didn't manage to take him out of the fight completely.

This is bad. This is extremely bad. While essentially helpless against Stormtiger, the Shaker/Blaster, Clockblocker the Striker has an excellent matchup against you, the Brute. One touch and it's all over. And you can't attack without touching him. Ok, fine, you could. You're a Shaker too, as of one week ago. Low Key can't. And the mounds of containment foam are preventing you from going around him, at least if you want to get back to the fight and help Rune. He basically has you cornered.

You whisper instructions to Fenrir as Clockblocker approaches. His face is completely hidden by the opaque visor on his helmet, but from his gait you can tell that he's completely confident.

You slip off Fenrir and take up mantis form.

"Are you seriously trying to kung-fu me?" Clockblocker asks.

You don't respond. Fenrir circles around to the right, flanking. Yes, you are trying to kung-fu him. You, the Thinker/Trump, had a front row seat to him freezing Shadow Stalker.

Fenrir lunges. Clockblocker flails his left arm out in response, brushing it against Fenrir's chin. His power pulses, and the wolf freezes in place. Your leg is already moving.

There's a short interval after he activates his power, less than a second, before it settles back into its dormant state. You're choosing, with more optimism than evidence, to interpret that as a cooldown period during which it can't be used again. It's in that brief window that your foot impacts his crotch. Crunch!

Kick delivered, you throw yourself backwards, falling over in your haste to get yourself out of contact with the hero. There is no discontinuity. You roll and scramble to your feet with no interruptions to your personal timeline.

Clockblocker is down, clutching his privates. There's, uh, there's blood seeping into the white fabric of his costume. Um. Shouldn't he be wearing a protective cup?

That must have been what the crunching sound was. You may have underestimated the power of mantis form.

You don't have time to worry about that now, the other half of the fight is still happening. Rune's car is out of commission, anchored to the ground by a small mountain of containment foam. You can see the boot of the last foam trooper sticking out of said mountain, so you'll call it a tie. Rune herself is on her hands and knees, puking into her mask. Some sort of nonlethal takedown, though you can't tell if it was gas or a beanbag round to the guts.

Alabaster is wrestling with the final trooper, the driver. It's not going very well. If Alabaster was capable of sustaining permanent injuries, the driver would have won long ago. As it is, it's a bit of a stalemate. To be resolved by whoever receives reinforcements first. You walk up behind them and politely rest your knife against the driver's throat. "Desist, please," you say. He desists. "Alabaster, cuff him."

That taken care of, you turn to your other conscious compatriot. "Rune! We need evac!"

She turns her head your way. "Wolf?" she manages between heaves.

"Clockblocked."

"Shit."

You pull her to her feet, and half support, half drag her over to the prisoner transport. You help Alabaster drag the unconscious Stormtiger inside while Rune shakily traces her runes on the side.

"What about the wolf?" Alabaster asks.

"He'll disappear as soon as the time stop wears off. Don't worry about it."

"A bit rougher than usual," Alabaster remarks as he settles down on a bench. You glance his way. Even his pupils are white, and barely show up against the rest of his eyes. How does he even see, if his retinas reflect light like that? Even weirder, despite being a mutant, his power is the same color as those of regular capes. "The rescue," he clarifies.

"Be nice, it was my first time." If anyone asks that was excellent deadpan delivery, and not you not noticing what you were saying in time to make a deliberate joke of it.

"Really?"

"For a proper cape fight with multiple people on each side? Yeah."

"Hm. You did well enough." He pointedly pokes Stormtiger with his foot. A bit unfair, you feel. You could not have pulled it off without him thinning the field for you.

The transport lifts into the air and start flying towards Empire territory.

Alabaster wants to secure the survival of his people and a future for white children. Another dud.

Wait, now that you think about it, stealing PRT property like this may not be the best move. They can probably track it. Indeed they can, industry and forge wisdom helpfully informs you. Dammit. Why must you be the brains of this operation?

(Probably because you're three different kinds of Thinker)

"Rune!" you shout into the driver's compartment. "Land and let me get up front."

"What?" she asks when you get in the passenger seat.

"Wolf senses. Tracking device."

You go to work on the plastic shell of the instrument panel with your knife. Rune is too busy flying the thing and not throwing up to help, but you have it open soon enough. You let your power guide you to the right wire, and rip it out. Really? A single tracking device, easily reached and disabled without special tools? Lisa is right, they really do want people to escape custody.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

You raise an eyebrow behind your mask when you catch sight of Kid Win. He's managed to burn through a good two thirds of his Loyalty since you last saw him. Which means that he's a much better man than you thought. And also that he dedicated considerable effort to betraying you.

He refuses to meet your eyes as he hands you a thumb drive. You give him an ever so slightly patronizing smirk and leave him to fidget while you check out the goods. You procured a crappy old laptop specifically for this purpose - it's not as if Faultline would let enemy tinkertech anywhere near her own computer.

You verify that the size of the database is roughly correct, and call up a couple of random profiles to check. And you do mean random. You do not do the kind of cheeky bullshit where you just so happen to check a specific pair of entries under L and S. Not where Kid Win or Faultline could conceivably notice.

(What did the word 'kinetic' ever do to the PRT, that they'd torture it to the point of calling some guy named 'Flying Brick' a 'laterculukinetic'?)

"That all seems to be in order," you say, flipping the laptop around towards Kid Win. "Now if you could input the secret code that will make it not delete itself an hour from now, that would go a long way towards you not getting murdered in your sleep." He twitches, and glances towards Faultline.

"If I were to find out that you acted in bad faith, I would blacklist you from further business at my establishment," Faultline says calmly. "Whether Quicksilver takes further measures to punish contract violations is out of my hands."

"It would be a terrible shame to die before you can even cash out your college fund," you note. "Could you really bear to shuffle off this mortal coil with that juicy government teat unsuckled?"

Some subset of those arguments must have convinced him, because he stiffly walks over to the proffered laptop and enters a long string of letters and numbers. His Loyalty does not fray any further, so it was probably the correct code.

"It was two hours actually," he mutters, as if that would soften the blow of your victory.

"Thanks," you say. "Don't worry about the part where it tracks everything I do and reports it back to you, I physically disabled the network card. This hunk of junk will never connect to the internet again." You used his own power to figure out how to do it, too.

"Sorry." He doesn't exactly sound sincere, but resignation is the first step on the road to submission. You'll take it.

You offer him a beaming smile. "Now, what did you do that I didn't anticipate?"

He hesitates for several seconds, but his resistance crumbles in the face of your increasingly predatory smile. "It, uh, it modifies the screen refresh interval to emit a recognizable radio signal that could be used to triangulate your location."

"Only turn it on inside a faraday cage, got it. Anything else?"

He shakes his head. The Loyalty remains stable.

"An excellent piece of modular malware," you say, patting his shoulder. "Something you could only dream of making a week ago?"

He nods glumly.

"Quite the bargain, no?"

When Gregor shows up to escort the young hero out, you signal that you want to talk to him afterwards. Gotta keep those costs down.

You idly wonder why Faultline has Gregor of all people on doorman duty. Even with her somewhat creepy gas mask outfit, Spitfire cuts a much less unsettling figure. Maybe that's the point - Faultline is deliberately exposing her visitors to Gregor to unsettle them and gain an advantage in negotiations.

Then again, Gregor is a pretty friendly guy. He may have volunteered just to get a chance to talk to people who won't run away. Maybe Spitfire is an introvert, and insisted on a 'no public interaction' clause in her contract. You don't know these people well enough to say.

You haven't come to any firm conclusions by the time Gregor comes back, and it seems a bit rude to just come out and ask. You put the matter out of your mind and turn to address him.

"Here's a weird thing that may or may not be worth money to you: Alabaster, the guy from the headlines? Not a Case 53."

Gregor, as much as you can make out an expression on translucent flesh over a grinning skull, looks thoughtful.

"So," Faultline says, "whatever 'color' you're seeing, it's not purely the result - or cause - of physical mutations."

"I guess." You shrug. "I've frankly stopped trying to come up with theories at this point."

---

"I get it now," you tell Faultline at the end of your session.

"Beg pardon?"

"Your power. I understand how it does what it does. We're done."

"Ah. But you can't explain it in English, of course."

"No."

"And you still see no way to improve it."

"No."

She drums her fingers against her desk. "And now you want to study Labyrinth."

"Yes."

She is silent for a long time. "Would you have killed him?" she finally asks.

"The kid? Nah." That's probably the truth. On the other hand, you kind of have a thing about being betrayed. You're not entirely prepared to answer for your hypothetical behavior here. "Just needed to scare him straight."

"...I'll talk to her," Faultline finally decides. "Come back tomorrow and I'll have your answer."

---

With a power as destructive as Faultline's to test, you swing by the boat graveyard on your way home. It's not really on the way, but whatever. You're not murdering any more alarm clocks where your dad can tease you about it.

Instead you walk up to an innocent brick wall and cruelly activate your new power against it with a light tap of the finger. There's a brief flicker of feedback in your brain, but the wall remains fine. Hm. You frown at the wall and try again, holding your entire hand against it this time.

Ah. A sense of 'wall' gradually impinges on your mind - or possibly soul. To command it, you must understand its essence - and you do. It's not as if it's hard, it's a regular pattern of bricks, set in uniform mortar. Once you've fully internalized the structure of a roughly Taylor-sized patch of wall, you give it the only command your power allows: Be not.

The mortar crumbles to dust, and the bricks are sent flying into the building by an unseen force. You blink in surprise as they land stacked in a neat cube, with a similarly neat heap of mortar dust next to it. Huh. That's not how Faultline does it.

Just inside your new doorway you spot an old wooden pallet. New test subject acquired. Squat down and touch it. Comprehend its nature. Unmake it. As expected, it flies apart into a stack of wooden boards, a stack of wooden blocks, and a small pile of nails.

It's a remarkably... Tinker-esque way of destroying things. You blame Kid Win for intruding on your Faultline-time and making you subconsciously associate the two. Perhaps 'blame' is not the right word, you don't really mind this particular power-mutation. So what if you need to understand what you destroy? Between industry and forge wisdom and your own Tinker 0 skills, understanding things is a piece of cake.

The biggest issue is the time it takes - maybe fifteen seconds to completely model an object in your soul? Still fine for dynamic entry, provided there is no one outside to see you stand around fondling the wall prior to your Kool-Aid Man impression. Not so good for hot pursuit.

Actually, about that... you grab two of the boards, and use a mind-hand to drive a single nail through the middle before invoking your charm of unmaking once more. Just as you'd expected (or at least hoped), it is much quicker to unmake your simple wooden X.

When you try it on just a nail, though, nothing happens. Well, it was forged from a single piece of steel, after all. What is there to disassemble? It makes sense, as long as you don't think too hard about the ontological implications of 'object-ness' apparently being a real, physical thing that applies to certain groupings of atoms but not others. That's easy enough, you're already ignoring the alive-ness property that Faultline's original power demonstrates, among other things.

Ideally you'd want to test your new... your charm of unmaking on something more complicated as well, like a car or something. But the boat graveyard was scoured clean of technological debris long ago, when Squealer made her debut and started offering hard drugs in exchange for Tinkerable scrap.

Instead you try for volume. Just how much wall can you disassemble in one go? Straining yourself, you manage to encompass most of an entire side of the building. A good two hundred square feet, if you're any judge. Shit, didn't mean to actually unmake that!

You throw yourself outside as bricks explode around you on decidedly unnatural trajectories. None of your martial arts instructors would be impressed by your landing, but you ignore the pain and keep rolling towards safety as part of the roof caves in, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

You did sort of make an oopsie there, you freely admit. Still, boat graveyard. No one cares.

---

When you get home, Dog Burglar is waiting for you with another set of pictures. You call Lisa to relay the information.

"Tell Rachel 15 Willow street, Sunday night slash Monday morning, 3 a.m. And yes, that's the only time it's unguarded."

She groans. "Make me be the one to explain to her that fewer locations means increased resources protecting each one, why don't you?"

"On the bright side, it's the last one."

Your next order of business is to make a faraday cage. That sounds impressively 'SCIENCE' to the uneducated ear, but translated into practical terms it means 'chicken wire'. Just wrapping your laptop in layers and layers of chicken wire - you're not exactly straining the Tinker 0 powers here. There are more elegant ways to do it, but chicken wire happens to be what you have lying around in the basement.

It works, but it makes it incredibly annoying to type, and almost as much of a pain to read the screen. You'll just check the most important things for now, a proper binge can wait until you've set up a properly shielded room (somewhere that's not your house).

Or that was the plan, but the very first entry in the alphabetized list of parahuman names demands that you stop and check it out. No, it's not a joke. Not only is there a Tinker out there whose official cape name is 'Single quote right parenthesis semicolon drop table parahumans semicolon dash dash', the glorious bastard somehow got a PRT intern to enter it in the database using punctuation characters instead of spelling it out. "'Table' for short", the entry guilelessly notes, just above where it says he's wanted for vandalizing digital government property in seven different countries.

Sorry Armsmaster, you will only ever be the world's third greatest Tinker.

Spoiler: Database entry PRH-Lowkey

Cape Name: Low Key
Civilian Name: ....................../´¯/) ....................,/¯../ .................../..../ ............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸ ........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\ ........('(...´...´.... ¯~/'...') .........\.................'...../ ..........''...\.......... _.·´ ............\..............( ..............\.............\...
Gender: F
Age: Unknown, probably late teens
Alignment: Villain, Empire 88
Ratings: Master 4 (Brute 4, Mover 2, Thinker 1)

Able to summon a giant wolf, which she rides into combat. It's unknown how well she is able to control the projection, but she appears to treat it as an independent being rather than an extension of herself. Thinker sub-rating is due to "wolf senses", which allow the wolf to notice and act on details that a normal human would not pick up on. According to hearsay she finds using her power to be unusually exhausting, and needs to rest several days between uses.

May have access to tinkertech equipment, since she was seen rescuing Smith (see profile PRH-Smith3) during the Simurgh attack on Ottawa (see incident report SMG-9), and Smith later mentioned "debts to repay".

Related files: PRH-Smith3, SMG-9, ENE-17245, ENE-17288, ENE-17366, ENE-17368

Spoiler: Database entry PRH-Smith3

Cape name: Smith
Civilian Name: ....................../´¯/) ....................,/¯../ .................../..../ ............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸ ........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\ ........('(...´...´.... ¯~/'...') .........\.................'...../ ..........''...\.......... _.·´ ............\..............( ..............\.............\...
Gender: M
Age: Unknown, probably early fifties
Alignment: Rogue, Guild-affiliate
Ratings: Tinker/Shaker 2

Able to transmute gold (along with a "secret ingredient") into an indestructible material he refers to as "orichalcum". This process takes a week and requires expensive equipment, but there is theoretically no limit to the size of a single "batch". He can also telekinetically move and shape orichalcum in its molten form. Smith claims that he is unable to affect the material once it has set into its indestructible form, but nevertheless no attempt to engage him should be made by individuals carrying orichalcum equipment.

Like with many other "indestructible" materials, Flechette (see profile PRH-Flechette) was able to destroy part of a provided sample of orichalcum. Rust (see profile PRH-Rust) was unable to match this feat, although he noted that his power cannot affect mundane gold either.

Smith collaborated with Dragon (see profile PRH-Dragon) to create anti-Endbringer weaponry, which has yet to see combat.

Dragon reports that she has been unable to duplicate the orichalcum-making process on her own.

Related files: PRH-Dragon, SMG-9, ENE-17177

Spoiler: Database entry PRH-Quicksilver

Cape Name: Quicksilver
Civilian Name: ....................../´¯/) ....................,/¯../ .................../..../ ............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸ ........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\ ........('(...´...´.... ¯~/'...') .........\.................'...../ ..........''...\.......... _.·´ ............\..............( ..............\.............\...
Gender: F
Age: Unknown, probably mid-twenties
Alignment: Rogue, Independent
Ratings: Thinker/Trump 3

Able to "see" parahuman powers and deduce their applications and limitations. She works as a consultant for parahumans having issues with their powers. She is confirmed to have consulted with Faultline's Crew (see profile PRO-Faultlinescrew), but it is unknown which member(s) required assistance.

Related files: PRO-Faultlinescrew, ENE-17391

You confirm that there is no hint of Low Key's wolf being anything but a regular Master projection. Nor does a search turn up the word 'Arcadia' in any of the 'Unknown Master' or 'Unknown Stranger' profiles. Gallant has not spotted Fenrir. Nor are there (as far as the PRT knows) any other capes with sensory abilities in Brockton Bay.

The peace of mind is nice, but you won't really have any immediate use for the rest of the database - there's plenty of capes you haven't gotten to yet right here in the city, and it's not as if you can just decide to move elsewhere without getting your civilian identity into a lot of trouble. But one day...

After some reflection, you decide not to lean on Kid Win for any further services. His Loyalty is uncomfortably ragged, and if it snaps he might fess up and paint Quicksilver as a villain. You can't have that, not with an entire database of heroes you might want to approach as a neutral party once the local prospects dry up.

Like that fascinating Flechette person, for example.

===

Spoiler: Updated status

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: ???
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Faultline leads you to a door no different from any other in the corridor. With a muttered "wait here" she opens it slightly and slips inside without letting you catch a glimpse of the interior. Presumably she's telling Labyrinth to put on her mask before you see her.

The door opens fully and Faultline beckons you inside. It appears to be a two-person bedroom, but the second occupant is not present. Labyrinth is sitting on one of the beds with her feet drawn up, hugging her knees to her body. She's wearing civilian clothes and a green mask with a maze pattern fully covering her face. Her long platinum-blonde hair is quite similar to yours. A coincidence, you didn't consider Labyrinth's appearance when you designed your current disguise. You wonder whether the resemblance affected Faultline's willingness to accede to your request, one way or the other.

You walk over and sit down on the unoccupied bed, and Faultline returns to Labyrinth to, well, 'hover protectively' seems to be the best description. Labyrinth turns her head to follow you as you cross the room, but doesn't say anything.

"Hi," you say. "I'm here to study your power."

She doesn't answer verbally, but a thick thorny hedge starts growing out of the floor between you. The room is thick with her power, but it's not... touching anything? The hedge is covered with the telltale glow of an active power, but not suffused? She's not actually transmuting anything, she's... transporting it from elsewhere? You're fairly sure that no terrestrial plant has thorns quite that theatrical, either. Interdimensional transportation!

"Fascinating," you say softly.

An odd grinding sound makes you turn your head to look behind you. A rusty suit of armor is emerging from the wall behind you, its outstretched arms coming to rest on your shoulders. A sword appears gripped in its right hand, with the blade resting on the upturned palm of the left hand and the edge pressing against your throat. The sword is rather dull, but the message is clear.

Faultline turns towards Labyrinth. "Should I tell her to leave?" she asks.

Labyrinth shakes her head. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

The pressure on your throat eases, and you look down to see a rounded section of the blade fade away and disappear. She isn't transporting things at all, you realize, she's overlapping other dimensions with your own.

"It's quite alright," you reassure her. "Please keep using your power."

Faultline nods to herself and leaves the room. She walks right through the hedge as if it wasn't there, yet when you reach out to touch a leaf it's completely solid. Selectively modulated dimensional overlapping! Oh, it is Christmas.

---

When you arrive at the bar on Monday, you discover that your plan was successful: Without any fighting pits left for you to guard, you're back to patrolling with Rune. You also see Alex there, but without his usual companions. You suppose the inexplicably successful raids have been shaking up everyone's schedule. Alex confirms as much, when you innocently ask what's up.

"Good riddance," he adds.

"You don't like dog-fighting?" you ask.

"Fucking nigger sport," he says. "Disgusting. Figures you'd be alright with it, being a super-nigger and all."

"Didn't see you agitate against it."

He shrugs. "Can't go against the brass, can you? Makes me wish our uncle was still with us, he'd never have stood for this shit."

"I wish that every day," Big Brain speaks up in agreement. "For six million reasons."

You hold your peace on the subject, but there's this thing that's been nagging at you for a week now, that you never got the opportunity to ask about.

"Apropos nothing, what did you guys have against Joshua Wilson anyway?" He rather stood out among the 'hate crime' headlines you found for having been targeted twice in the same week, far from Empire territory. First having his house vandalized, then being beaten up a few days later.

"Who?" Alex asks.

"The hortler from December," Big Brain says.

"Oh yeah, him. That."

"What?" Your dictionary on the nazi technical vocabulary must have missed that one. "What's a hortler?" You feel safe professing ignorance now. It may result in mockery, but not suspicion. They've already accepted you as one of them.

Big Brain doesn't even mock you, he just calmly explains how even in Brockton Bay the demand for hate crimes occasionally outstrips the supply. Which can lead the more enterprising individuals among the deprived minorities to take matters into their own hands, scrawling swastikas on their own walls and burning down their own (well insured) buildings.

Only swastikas are trickier than you'd think. A common rookie mistake is drawing the tines pointing the wrong way - this is what is known as a 'heil hortler'. But in this one case - unlike, say, welfare programs - the imperial citizens gladly embrace the white man's burden, and enthusiastically track down anyone who signals their need in this manner to beat them up for real.

---

You've barely even started your patrol when you come across the intruder. Unlike the typical gang-bangers who decide to test your borders, he is alone, unarmed, and wearing a suit and tie. Oh shit, is this an actual lost innocent? Wishing to preserve your streak of moral behavior while pretending to be a villain, you tell Rune to continue her patrol while you deal with him. "Call me paranoid, but he could be a distraction," you dissemble. It works, and she flies off.

The man stops when he sees you approach, making no moves to either flee or attack. Either an innocent or a highly skilled assassin, you think, then curse your brain for being silly. It's true what the rank and file says, Hollywood really does rot your brain (though you're not quite prepared to accept their follow-up thesis, that this an elaborate jewish plot to weaken the white race). Just because he's calmly striding into enemy territory dressed in a suit doesn't mean he's James Bond.

"Can I help you, officer?" he asks politely as you approach. He deliberately holds his hands away from his body too, in what you recognize as the 'I know I'm black and interacting with the police, but please don't shoot me' stance. He thinks you're a hero.

"...you're not from around here, are you?" you ask.

Indeed he's not (he explains), he's a sales representative for Silestra EcoPharm Incorporated, and he flew in from California just today (you note that he doesn't offer any identification to back this up, but that's probably just to avoid any unfortunate 'reaching for his wallet/gun' mixups). He was just on his way to his hotel when he ran across you, which brings him back to his original query of, well, can he help you, officer?

Ideally, he could help by geting the hell out of Empire territory before any real nazis show up to help you evict him.

"I'm afraid this is a restricted area," you settle on. "Do you have a map?"

He does, yes, but it didn't say anything about- you lean down to grab it from him, then scribble in the Empire's borders. There. That's the restricted area.

That's... a very large area, he notes cautiously. It is, you agree. Please vacate it ASAP. He does a fairly good job of repressing any facial expressions that might be taken as resisting arrest, despite your curt tone.

His entire demeanor is kind of funny, because if you look at the stats - and the rank and file fucking love looking at the stats, and sharing them with anyone in earshot - the police tendency to disproportionately shoot black people vanishes once you divide by 'giving the cops extremely compelling reasons to shoot you'. But two wrongs do make a right in this case: You aren't a cop, and he really should fear the organization you represent.

Makes you wish you could be a fly on the wall and observe his reaction when he asks a local about the restricted zone, and figures out what really happened here.

"That's one nigger that's never sticking his nose inside our borders again," you - entirely truthfully - tell Rune when you catch up with her.

"Nice job," she says, offering you a high five as Fenrir jumps up onto her rock.

"No one trying to sneak past?"

"Nope. Looks like another dull shift."

You start to nod, but freeze as you become aware of a strange whirring sound, rising over the background traffic noise. "What's that noise?" You swear you've heard it before, but can't seem to place it.

Rune pulls back her hood enough to free an ear. "Spoke too soon," she says. "That's Armsmaster's bike."

Oh. That's where you recognize it from. As it happens, you're not overly fond of Armsmaster after his disingenuous recruitment attempt the other day. "I wouldn't object to feeding him his teeth in a friendly engagement," you say conversationally. There may be a certain eagerness in your voice for her to pick up on.

Rune laughs. "Sorry to rain on your fight boner, but their patrol routes are pretty conservative. Unless he hears someone screaming for help he won't test our borders."

Right. There's a certain amount of realpolitik involved here. The Empire does have significantly more parahuman firepower than the local Protectorate. And while the latter has access to strategic assets the former lacks (cruise missiles, airstrikes), under normal circumstances they lack the political will to call on those in a populated area.

Rune laughs again at the way your shoulders slump. "I suppose if he actually caught sight of a pair of wanted criminals he'd have to give chase, but we're supposed to keep our heads down if possible."

The way she says that leaves you with the impression that she might be willing to disregard those instructions, should you press her on the matter. Rune is a bro.

"Welllll..." you say. "What if you were to cry for help? Do you think you could lure him away from his bike for a minute? Or 30 seconds at least?"

---

Peering over the edge of the roof, you see Armsmaster coming down the street on his bike. Just as he's about to pass you by, a piercing, feminine scream comes from the side street he just drove past. He instantly slams the brakes and jumps off the bike, halberd in hand, before it has even come to a complete stop.

Of course such a fancy tinker contraption does not fall over, but instead drives itself over to the curb, deploys its kickstand, shuts down the engine and engages its security system with an electronic chirp. Sorcerer's sight confirms that it contains almost as much tinkertech as his armor.

Be a shame if anything happened to it.

As Armsmaster dashes off below, you motion Fenrir over. Then the screaming stops, to be replaced with laughter as Rune flies up over the rooftops, out of reach.

"Halt!" Armsmaster calls. You see a grappling hook go shooting towards her rock, but a smaller rock deflects it before it can latch on. Still cackling madly, Rune flies off. "You're under arrest for multiple crimes, including assault with a parahuman ability and aiding an escape!"

Also conspiracy to provide an excellent distraction, you think as Fenrir positions himself at the edge of the roof. He lifts one leg, and three stories below multiple alarms go off as the yellow stream hits the tinker bike.

You fan the air in front of your face. Whew. With the steam alone being this pungent, he's going to have to invent brand new tinker solvents before his ride stops smelling of second-hand mutton.

Then Rune is back, having circled around to pick you up. She deflects another grapple shot as she swoops down to pick you up, then pulls into a steep climb leaving you completely out of range of the land-bound hero.

"I heard the alarms," she says. "What did you do?"

What kind of friend would you be if you didn't record the whole thing on your phone? Chortling with glee, you hand it over.

Spoiler: Armsmaster-o-vision

"..."

"..."

"...Biological sample kit."

"You have got to post this on PHO," Rune says as she passes your phone back.

You shake your head. "I wanted to tweak his nose, not start a feud." No one knows better than you just how big of a glory hound Armsmaster is. "Turning this into a public humiliation would make him come after me, I don't need that in my life. And I'm suspended from PHO anyway."

"Yeah?" What did you do this time?" Not waiting for you to answer, she gets her own phone out.

Spoiler: PH-O-vision

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You have 14 infractions and 40 warnings.

■​

♦Topic: Alabaster escapes custody
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay
Posted by: Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Posted on March 26, 2011

(Showing Page 3 of 25)

► Low Key (Verified Cape)
Replied on March 26, 2011:
@Shadow Stalker
Sorry about what happened. I expected you to shadow-dodge that like you did everything else. I hope Panacea was able to lend a hand.

@Clockblocker
I'm not sorry about what happened to you. You touched my wolf.

► Shadow Stalker (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied on March 26, 2011:
You're deafd, bitch! Dead, you hear me? I'll fukcxing kill you!

-User received a suspension for this post. Reason: Death threats, not cool. No, not even against villains.

► road_to_hell
Replied on March 26, 2011:
Now I'm curious, what happened to Clockblocker?

► Clockblocker (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied on March 26, 2011:
Nothing! Nothing happened to me! No parts of my anatomy had to be painstakingly reconstructed by Panacea, and it wasn't the most mortifying experience of my entire life. Everything is fine!

► rrqn
Replied on March 26, 2011:
@Clockblocker
Ouch!

► Aaaardvark
Replied on March 26, 2011:
He deserved it. Did you forget? He touched her wolf.

► Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied on March 26, 2011:
He didn't just touch her wolf, he froze it in time.

► Smiling Songstress
Replied on March 26, 2011:
Gasp! What a cad!

► Hairy Porter
Replied on March 26, 2011:
I would never freeze m'lady's wolf without at least buying her to dinner first.

► Clockblocker (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied on March 26, 2011:
y u do dis, reave? :(
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... 23 , 24, 25

(Showing Page 6 of 25)

► vanity
Replied on March 26, 2011:
@rrqn
I agree. We're not *savages*

► will_eat_anything
Replied on March 26, 2011:
Harder! My wolf is thawing!

► Patrick O'Shaughnahuan
Replied on March 26, 2011:
Remember, in the Empire 88 they don't believe in wolf freezing before marriage.

► i_lurk_below
Replied on March 26, 2011:
I'm literally just here to fill space.

► rrqn
Replied on March 26, 2011:
@i_lurk_below
That's what she said.

► FreshAir996
Replied on March 26, 2011:
@Low Key
If I buy you dinner, can I freeze your wolf?

► Hermes (Moderator)
Replied on March 26, 2011:
The next person to use 'freeze wolf' as a euphemism gets a two-day vacation. Let's try to get this thread back on track.

► Low Key (Verified Cape)
Replied on March 26, 2011:
@Clockblocker
Oh shit, I didn't realize I hit you that hard. Now I feel bad. Can I make it up to you? How about if you come over and freeze my wolf all night?

-User received a suspension for this post. Reason: What did I *just* say?

► rrqn
Replied on March 26, 2011:
Hubba hubba!

► Smiling Songstress
Replied on March 26, 2011:
Can love bloom on the battlefield?
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 ... 23 , 24, 25

(Showing Page 25 of 25)

► NaCl
Replied on March 28, 2011:
Did anyone else feel that the press release was even more perfunctory than usual?

► Low Key (Verified Cape)
Replied on March 28, 2011:
@Clockblocker
For the record, that wasn't a euphemism. I meant exactly what I said. How about it, Clock? Offer's still open. Just you and me, and Fenrir being frozen in time. Over and over again, for *hours*.

-User received a suspension for this post. Reason: Stop. Just stop.

► Clockblocker (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied on March 28, 2011:
I'm so confused right now.

► Hermes (Moderator)
Replied on March 28, 2011:
I'm closing this thread.
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 23, 24, 25

"Nice," Rune concludes, having read through the thread in question. "But you better post that shit as soon as you're back, or else."

"Oh nooo, not a threat!" you drawl. "I'm shaking in my boots, here."

 

[Daniel Snuts]

After your brief (but immensely satisfying) encounter with Armsmaster, things settle down into smooth sailing once more. Hookwolf is considerably more tolerable to be around now that you don't interact with each other directly anymore, and you make good progress on studying Othala's power.

It might just be your imagination, but is the discipline in the dojo ever so slightly better ever since the standard punishment changed from 'having your limbs broken' to 'having to tutor Low Key'? Well if so, at least you're sufficiently aware of your shortcomings as a student to be more amused than offended.

If only he'd have come up with this method of dealing with you from the start, the big dumb jerk would still have his stupid fighting pits.

You're getting on well with Labyrinth too. She still doesn't speak, but she hardly ever conjures swords or thorny plants or rusty, bloodied meat hooks to point at you anymore.

In addition to Death Jungle World and Rusty Weapons Palace and Painfully Stereotypical Horror Asylum she also has access to a number of nicer places that show up when she's feeling less insecure. You're currently enjoying what you've mentally dubbed the Overgrown Royal Gardens.

The space between you is considerably wider than it used to be, and recessed in a way that shouldn't be possible without blocking off the dance floor downstairs. Not that any of this is a problem for Labyrinth. The impossible area is taken up by an impromptu giant chess set - something you suggested to pass the time. The floor has changed into the appropriate black and white tiles, and the pieces are weathered, ivy-covered statues with something of a greek or roman air about them. Sunlight streams in from nowhere in particular.

The statues are far too big for you to push around (and she'd get upset if you moved closer to her anyway), so Labyrinth has been phasing them in and out of existence in order to carry out your moves. Turns out she's terrible at chess, but then again so are you. At one point her king was left in check for three moves before either of you noticed.

You do have the excuse of being focused on her power, but it would be just that, an excuse. You're terrible at chess. It's an oddly refreshing thought, because it's something that you would never have been able to admit a year ago, even to yourself. Because it would imply that you weren't smart.

Which you're not, particularly. But everyone needs to have something going for them, and you certainly weren't pretty, or rich, or strong or popular. So you clung to being smart. Well, that and nice, which ahahahaha- no. But you were certainly a borderline genius whose grades were being kept down by the people stealing your homework, and not some random loser with no redeeming features whatsoever.

Perhaps you wouldn't complain if someone were to call you cunning. Insidious, to keep so many lies going. But your plans have a distinct tendency to be terrible, for all that they usually more or less work out in the end. None more terrible than 'just tough it out, Winslow won't last forever' (and it too did work out, because without the worst day of your life you'd never have met Fenrir).

It actually feels good to be able to say it: Your name is Taylor Hebert, and you're a bit of a dumb-dumb. And a girl who can't even tell what dimension she's in half the time just took your queen with a pawn.

Speaking of things working out, Thursday sees another downright placid session in Hookwolf's dojo. You'd estimate that you're halfway done with Othala already.

Yes, everything is going so smoothly that soon enough you will have to find new goals, new targets. Well, you could always just continue on to Spitfire, it's not like you're hurting for money. You haven't placed any priority on simplistic energy projection powers simply because they are so common: You can get those anywhere. But if you have some free time coming up there's no reason not to.

Strictly speaking the ability to spit fire is mostly redundant now, since your mind-hands already provide an excellent short- to medium-range non-physical combat option. But if nothing else it would let you support additional identities.

Flight is in a similar spot. Not only is it very common, you've decided to wait and see what you get from Glory Girl before taking any further steps in that direction. Yes, Glory Girl is ticking along too, preventing your entirely unnecessary schooling from becoming too boring.

Perhaps once you've finished with her you should have another go at the ABB, to see if you can get a version of Oni Lee's disposable clones that last long enough to go to school in your place. The realization that you can (probably) guide what shape a stolen power takes has certainly opened up new vistas for you.

(Oh, if only every cape was as agreeable as Vista)

Alec has voiced a desire to hang out more, now that you think about it. But the straightforward way to study his power in the long term (ie becoming a slave puppet) has certain obvious downsides that you ideally should resolve before you start going down that road.

The Empire is also full of interesting people. But Rune's unreasonably complicated power is lagging behind, and you can't request a new schedule until you have that one down. At least switching partners shouldn't be a problem once that's finally done: Requesting a transfer would hurt her feelings enough that she wouldn't want to hang out with you anyway.

Speaking of Rune, on your way home from the dojo you receive a text on your empire phone. It reads 'Don't say I didn't warn you. XOXO, Rune', followed by a link to a PHO thread. That's concerning. These phones aren't meant for personal business, which means she was so eager to get her revenge on you for not posting the Armsmaster video that she convinced someone in ops to pass the message along instead of waiting until the next time you met. Despite your earlier dismissal of her threats, it's with some trepidation that you go online to check it out.

"That bitch!" you exclaim to nobody in particular on seeing what she did. Your finger move on their own to type out a scathing reply, before you stop and take a deep breath. You're not angry. If you're angry, she wins. You are calm, and disappointed.

Spoiler: PH-O-vision

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■​

♦ Private message from Rune (Verified Cape):

Rune: You didn't post the video! See what happens when you don't post the video?
​

■​

♦Topic: Refusal, four faults (cape footage)
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay
Rune (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Temp-banned)
Posted on March 31, 2011:

video link

(Showing Page 1 of 2)

► Low Key (Verified Cape)
Replied on March 31, 2011:
I can't believe you posted that. You're the second-worst best friend I've ever had.

► will_eat_anything
Replied on March 31, 2011:
You can't just post something like that and leave it there. What did your worst best friend do?

► Low Key (Verified Cape)
Replied on March 31, 2011:
trigger event

►rrqn
Replied on March 31, 2011:
Damn, girl!

►will_eat_anything
Replied on March 31, 2011:
I was going to turn this into a 'worst best friend stories' thread, but nvm. Low Key wins.

► Mustachioed Pierogi
Replied on March 31, 2011:
I hope you fall off the roof next time, nazi *****!

-User received a warning for this post. Reason: Language.

► rosalind91
Replied on March 31, 2011:
You leave her alone! She saved me, she's a bigger hero than anyone in the Protectorate.

►Mustachioed Pierogi
Replied on March 31, 2011:
Saved you from what? Having to tolerate other races?

► Low Key (Verified Cape)
Replied on March 31, 2011:
youths

► Rune (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Temp-banned)
Replied on March 31, 2011:
Feral *******, duh.

-User received a suspension for this post. Reason: I can't take my eyes off of you for a minute, can I?
​

End of Page. 1, 2

Hmph. Serves her right.

---

On Friday you walk in on Big Brain telling a story to a rapt audience. A tale about a man from sometime during the nation's youth, you deduce from the presence of Indians ("feather, not dot") and frenchmen on the same continent. A military man, who turns out to be a bit of a glory-seeking asshole, and a bit of a war criminal.

You expect the twist to be that he's talking about some famous abolitionist figure you've never heard of. But no, turns out the hero of the tale was one George 'Town Destroyer' Washington. Huh. You must have slept through that part of history class.

Big Brain skips lightly over the war of independence, then starts going into more detail as George and his cronies start planning a coup d'état. Wait, what?

Okay, let's see if you have this straight: The Articles of Confederation were a perfectly good basis for government, but George and a bunch of other rich guys who had lent money for the war were unhappy about the rate at which they were being paid back? They wanted to greatly increase the amount taxes the government could levy, and thus the Constitution was born?

On the one hand, greedy rich people make for great unsympathetic antagonists. On the other, they were owed money, and if the people voted for-

Oh, the people didn't vote for it? Through means ranging from simple lying to straight up manhandling delegates, the Constitution was put into place with considerably less than 50% approval among the voting public.

Still, you're surprised to find anti-Constitution sentiment here. Oughtn't they love the first amendment, which lets them express their particular political opinions without being rounded up on the spot?

Oh, right. That's an amendment, not part of how ol' Town Destroyer originally envisioned the thing. A compromise with the anti-federalists. Who, to hear Big Brain tell it, had a hundred other issues that didn't make it into the bill of rights, though he doesn't specify what those were. You should probably look that up at some point.

"This laid the groundwork that would eventually lead to the Tyrant Lincoln and the War of Northern Aggression..." Okay, that's more like what you expected to hear, but he has clearly reached the epilog for tonight. The next history lesson will no doubt be spicier. It is a bit funny to hear the Civil War referred to as 'the War of Northern Aggression' here in Connecticut, though. Eh, whatever. Your regular history class made it quite clear that everyone is supposed to feel bad about winning against the Indians, it's only fair that these guys get to feel bad about winning against the South.

"Finally!" Rune says. Oh, you didn't notice her arrive. "We're late, you fucking history nerd."

You elect to not mention how she also stayed to listen instead of interrupting. She's clearly a cool person and not some kind of nerd.

About halfway through your patrol, your phone rings. You frown in confusion. That's your Empire phone, but orders are supposed to go to Rune (the 'senior cape') when you're on patrol together.

"...Low Key," you answer it. You always take an extra second when answering a phone these days, to double check that the name you'll give matches the phone you're using.

"Hey, it's Mike. We could use your help."

"Shouldn't this go through ops?"

"It's a personal matter. I know you're on duty, but..."

"Yes?"

"Well, we, uh... Look, here's the thing. We caught a domestic violence case. The policy is to drag the perp into the street and beat the shit out of them, but, uh..."

"Yeees?"

"Frankly, none of us here are comfortable striking a woman. So-"

Ah. "So you figured that since I'm a violent psycho..."

"You said it, not me."

"Pretty sure you did say that, Mike. Just not to my face."

"Well, where's the lie?" You can practically hear his insouciant shrug over the phone.

You sigh. You weren't not going to help him. You just would have liked to make him squirm a bit first. But people who can be shamed into disavowing their beliefs don't exactly join the Empire in the first place.

"Fine. Give me the address." You put your hand over the microphone. "Rune? Let me down please, I need to run an errand. I'll meet up with you at checkpoint six."

---

Sven is waiting for you when you arrive. You park your wolf outside and let him show you to the right apartment. He gestures you towards the living room, but you stop when you catch sight of the victim through the kitchen door.

He looks like a perfectly normal guy. Not the manliest of men perhaps, but not stereotypically weak either. There are bruises forming on his face and neck, his lower lip is split, and he has a nasty scalp wound that Alex is in the process of stitching up. You study him for a while, trying to find something that would let you recognize him as 'abuse victim' without the immediate clues. No, you suppose that if it was that easy to spot a victim, someone would have noticed you.

You don't make a great big ass out of yourself by asking something stupid like 'are you alright?'. Nor do you ask 'why didn't you fight back?' and especially not 'what set her off?'. You know how it is.

"How long has this been going on?" you ask instead.

He looks up when he hears your voice, startles when he sees you're a cape ("Keep still while I'm sewing!" Alex hisses). He licks his lips and swallows a few times before answering.

"A few months?" It's clearly a question. You shake your head. You're not the one who knows the answer. "Closer to a year, really."

You nod. You don't ask 'why didn't you tell anyone?' or 'why didn't you leave her?'. You know how it is. Instead you simply leave. You have a bully to take apart.

"Please don't drag her out into the street," he calls after you.

'Why are you protecting her?' you don't ask. You just shake your head as you walk away. Not punishing her to the fullest extent of the law is not something that's on the table here.

Mike is standing in the living room, holding a woman with both hands twisted behind her back. Judging by his expression, and the scratches on his face, he is fairly close to overcoming his sexist hangups and rendering your help unnecessary.

The woman opens her mouth as you enter the room. Your fist closes it for her before you can find out whether she was about to request mercy or offer defiance.

---

Once you're done you return to the apartment. Alex has finished treating the victim and packed up his supplies.

"Pen," you say. Mike hands you one, along with a notebook. Of course Serious Policeman Mike has a notebook. You scribble a note, tear off the page.

"You." You turn to the victim. "Get a divorce."

He lets out out a startled laugh, unprepared for you to walk right up to the elephant in the room and punch it in the snout like that.

"You obviously have reasons for not having done that already," you continue before he can respond further. "Fuck your reasons. Your reasons suck. You need to burn this chapter of your life to the ground, yesterday. In the meantime, here's my number. She lays one finger on you, you call me. And if I ever find out that you didn't call me when you should have? Then I'm coming for you too, and I'm a lot scarier than she is. Don't fuck this up."

Harsh, perhaps, that last part. But necessary. You know what you would have done in his situation, before you got powers. Which is nothing.

You leave without another word. The skinheads trail after you.

"Thanks," Mike says. "We owe you one."

"Gloves," you say without looking back.

"Excuse me?"

"Gloves. Black leather, size 6. Your dumb scruples got blood all over this pair."

 

[Daniel Snuts]

You bask in the familiar sensation of a power settling in and becoming a part of you. Three days, that's ridiculous. Labyrinth is arguably the strongest cape you've studied so far, yet you figured her out in three days flat. As compared to a solid eight days for the considerably less impressive Faultline, just to give one example among many. You've officially given up on understanding how you're understanding these things, but at least you're saving money right now.

Now for the hard part: Figuring out exactly what power just you got. You never seem to copy things exactly, and the mechanics of exactly how things change are as opaque to you as the apparent variation in complexity. You still don't know how to use the power you got from Lung (another contender for strongest cape studied, whose power took you two days).

You try to activate your new power, and feel a dimensional shift taking hold right away. Thank god, it's one of the cooperative ones. The chess pieces start to crumble, wearing away into fine silvery sand.

"What? What's happening?" Labyrinth asks.

Oh, you probably should have waited until you were alone to try it out. You thought you could just affect some tiny detail that wouldn't be noticed. Instead the chess set has been completely reduced to sand. How do you control this thing? The sand is spreading across the floor. How do you turn it off? You take a spill as the bed you're sitting on turns into sand, and then you're tumbling down a dune. The world is spinning and all you can see is silver sand and black sky. Wait, sky?

You come to a stop lying on your back at the bottom of the dune. Your hair and clothes are full of sand, but your shitty Brute powers saved you from being overly bruised or abraded. You get to your feet with a groan and look around. You spot Labyrinth lying some distance away and hurry over to help her. Oh, ouch. She's not a Brute. It looks nasty, but she's not bleeding too badly.

"Where are we?" she asks as you help her to her feet.

"I don't know. We'll have to climb back up and take a look around."

You have to steady her at first, but she seems to be recovering. By the time you're back at the top of the dune she's walking on her own. The view that greets you isn't encouraging. The sky is pitch black without moon or stars, but the silver sand is glowing faintly, enough that you have no trouble seeing. And what you see is sand. Endless desert, stretching to the horizon in all directions.

"Is this one of your places?" you ask. You noticed that she had several distinct dimensions she was pulling things from, each with its own 'theme'. The desert is new, though.

"No, it's- the worlds, they're gone!"

"What?"

"I, I can't reach any of my worlds." She sounds terrified.

"You can't bring us back?" you ask.

"I don't even know how we got here. My power doesn't work like this."

"And you can't bring anything here? Like, say, food and water?"

Labyrinth shakes her head mutely. Shit. Okay, this is clearly you fault. You owe it to her to get her out of this - not that you were planning on dying in an otherworldly desert regardless. You close your eyes and poke at your new power. It accidentally walked you into hell, now how do you walk back out? Come on, bullshit power intuition.

Aha! Wait, shit! Okay, you can do this. You just have to keep telling yourself you can do this.

"We had better get moving at once," you say. "Come on, it's this way." You start walking.

"How do you know?" she asks.

"Just a feeling," you say, looking back over your shoulder. "Do you have a better idea?"

She shakes her head again and follows you.

---

"You seem different," you remark. "I think you've talked more since you got here than you did over the last three days."

"It's my worlds. They're all gone, so there is more space for... me."

"You know that Faultline hoped that I could figure out some way to help you once I understood your power?"

"Yeah."

"Well, mission accomplished I guess." You scowl. "All I had to do was strand us in an isolated hell dimension."

Labyrinth reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. Huh, initiating physical contact. She really is different.

"It's not so bad," she says, "the Bad World is much worse."

You can hear the capitalization, and decide not to ask for details. Probably the one you called the Asylum. At least you hope so, you'd hate to think she had something worse than that. Instead of dwelling on such things, you hand her your cellphone.

"Here. Record a message saying as much. I'll hold it out in front of me when we get back and maybe I won't get murdered on the spot."

"She's going to be pretty angry, isn't she?" Labyrinth muses. "I wonder how much damage was done to the club this time? I remember her being upset about that before, even though she tried to hide it.

"But can't I just- oh." Yeah. Sounds like she just realized that this is temporary: Once you escape this isolated place her power will come back and everything will be back to normal. It takes her a while to compose herself and record a message that won't do more harm than good after that.

---

Labyrinth lies down and refuses to get up. When you try to coax her, she holds up your phone, showing the time. Oh. You arrived late last evening, and now it's apparently eight in the morning. The sun hasn't come up, though. You don't think this place even has a sun. You decide that calling a halt is reasonable.

"How much longer?" she asks.

You shrug. "Several days at least, I think." You know exactly how long it will take, but you're afraid that if you tell the truth she'll just give up then and there.

She groans and covers her eyes with her arm. You lie down next to her and try to get some sleep.

When you wake up, you start walking again.

---

The night never ends. This probably saves your lives. It remains dark and chilly, and you sweat relatively little as you walk. The makeshift urine-filtering device your Tinker 0 powers rig up probably also saves your lives, but the less said about that the better. It doesn't work all that well, that's more than enough said.

---

The second day wasn't too bad. The third day was awful. Day four Labyrinth became delirious, but she remained cooperative enough that you could lead her by the hand. On day five she wouldn't wake up, but wasn't considerate enough to stop breathing.

So you plod onwards, carrying Labyrinth on your back. She's not all that much smaller than you are, and you aren't all that much stronger that a normal human.

Your resentment involves a certain amount of envy. If not for your shitty Brute powers, you could be comatose right now, too. Instead you're getting to enjoy every nuance of dying of thirst in exquisite slow motion. With a sack of rocks on your back.

Once you're certain she won't wake up, you start cheating by using mind-hands to take up most of her weight. It helps, for a while. But your mind isn't in the best shape either right now, and you're having trouble keeping its hands on task. They have a tendency to drift off and fade away whenever your concentration slips.

Oh, you stopped. Stopping is bad. You had better stop doing that. Heh, stop stopping, stupid. Your feet were hurting before, but now you can't feel them at all. Maybe they've been worn away completely, and you're walking on the stumps? You don't look down to check, just in case. Your vision is too blurry to see much anyway - that's not a symptom of anything, you just had to discard your contact lenses days ago.

You keep expecting to see four-armed Scion, or the sandworm. But it's the wrong desert, this one is real. You think. Real-ish. You keep seeing something in the corner of your eye, but every time it's just Labyrinth's head resting on your shoulder. At least she's too dehydrated to drool on you.

You're pretty sure that you aren't plodding in a straight line any more, but trying to turn around and look at your tracks seems like an excellent way to fall over and never get up again. And that's just too goddamn tempting to consider.

The world is fading in and out, that probably means you're delirious too, now. But your surroundings are subtly different each time, which means that you're still walking. How are you still walking, loaded down as you are? Wait, are you? You feel a spike of panic. You must have dropped Labyrinth! Oh, no, there she is on your back, just where you left her. Yet you're still walking. It's a mystery.

There is sand in your face. Sand in your face means you've fallen down! You flail your limbs about and feel the sand shifting around you. You're lying on on your back, underneath the sand. Not very deep, though. You manage to clear away enough sand that you can breathe, and open your eyes. The sky is dark - but not black, and there are clouds! You made it!

With some struggling you get into a sitting position. You note with relief that Labyrinth is sprawled next to you, not inexplicably buried. You're sitting in a patch of glowing silver sand in the middle of a city. You recognize the buildings - this is exactly what Brockton Bay would look like, if the Palanquin nightclub was a faintly glowing desert.

Speak of the devil, that's Faultline & Co approaching right now. When they recognize you they break into a run. Most of them cluster around Labyrinth with various exclamations of relief and concern, but Faultline herself is focused on you. You prepare an eloquent explanation of your situation, and a stirring defense of your actions.

"Water," you croak, and pass out.

===

Spoiler: Updated status

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: ???
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

The bad news: You accidentally Cecylene (a primordial god-thing that takes the form of an endless desert) and gave her a foothold in your reality.
The good news: Walking for five days just put you back in the real world, which means you didn't accidentally Malfeas (a primordial god-thing that takes the form of a vast city populated by trillions of demons).

Usually Hell-Walker Technique just brings you into Cecylene, and doesn't leave a permanent foothold behind. However, intersecting Labyrinth's power with other explicitly dimensional effects canonically creates permanent rifts*​. In this case, the DM rules the effect to be as if you'd also used Holy Land Infliction and Dune-Drowned Oasis Ritual, sacrificing yourselves. With you being Essence 3 and her being Essence 2, you just brought 2500 square yards of infinite desert into Earth Bet.

*​Yes, I know, all parahuman powers are implicitly dimensional effects, and this effect makes no sense. That's canon for you.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

As you gradually return to awareness, the first thing you notice is how much everything hurts. But you're not in the desert anymore! You're in a bed, with sheets and everything. That's good. There's something stuck in your arm. Your gaze follows the plastic tubing up to an IV bag. Liquids, going into your body. That's also good.

When you turn your head in the other direction, you see Faultline in a chair next to your bed. Everything is still blurry, but you're pretty sure that's a gun she's pointing at you.

Which is fair. Faultline trusted you. You repaid that trust by, essentially, burning down her house and kidnapping her daughter.

"Is Labyrinth OK?" you ask.

"You're alive," Faultline answers. That's fair.

"Did you get her message?"

Faultline pokes the gun towards you in a shrug-adjacent gesture. See previous answer.

"If you had asked me whether I would give up the Palanquin to help her, I would have said yes." She hesitates briefly. "Probably. If I thought it would work. But you didn't ask, and you didn't succeed."

"I fucked up," you agree. "I thought I had something, and didn't stop to think." Is there anything you can say in your defense? "I did carry her out of there on my back."

"You owe me a nightclub."

Neither of you speak for a while. The obvious question is 'what now?'. The obvious answer is that you hand over your life savings and maybe indenture yourself somehow, and Faultline doesn't shoot you. But for some reason she's hesitant to demand that.

You belatedly realize that your sorcerer's sight lapsed while you were unconscious. You rectify that, and get a face full of semitransparent fur. Fenrir is standing over your bed, ready to materialize to catch a bullet and/or bite Faultline's head off at a moment's notice.

You blink away tears. Good dog. Best dog. He must have been worried sick when you vanished.

Oh shit, your dad! You're a missing person now. What are you going to tell him? For that matter, what are you going to tell the Empire? Low Key went AWOL and missed her Monday patrol.

You're distracted from your mounting panic when you spot the most peculiar glow.

"What's that in your pocket?" you ask.

"So you can see it. I was going to ask you the same thing." Faultline shows you a milky white stone, smoothly oval in shape and about an inch in diameter. "It was lying in the the desert, roughly where you vanished from."

You unconsciously reach for it. Faultline pulls it back and moves the gun forward. Right, look but don't touch. You study it intently. It's a third color. Not Case 53, not regular cape, something different. The structure is unlike any tinkertech you've ever seen. But as long as you can see it, you can figure out what it does.

Faultline remains silent, studying your face while you stare at the gem. Oh, you're not wearing your mask, are you? No matter, this face isn't real anyway. Though you had better take some selfies once you get out of here - now that Schrödinger's face is out of the box, you need to be able to recreate it accurately in the future in case you lose your mask a second time. Up till now you'd been saving time by only paying attention to the lower, visible half of Quicksilver's face, letting the rest fall as it may.

A small part of your mind keeps wandering while the majority remains engrossed by the strange stone. Seeing a parahuman point a mundane gun at someone is so weird. But of course it's necessary in this case: No one knows better than you that her power can't hurt people. Hm. Now that you think about it, the stone is less like tinkertech and more like a-

Wait, no way. No way! "It's the solution!" you exclaim. "It's the power to help Labyrinth!"

Faultline does not react the way you expect. "A power?" she demands, shoving the gun in your face again. "How do you administer it? Does it cause mutations? What do you know that you haven't been telling me?"

"What? No! It doesn't make Case 53's." Or, hm... It's the wrong color, true, but if someone knew how to mass-produce gems like this, and had some method to render them into a consumable form... No, probably not. Your Tinker power is yelling ways to use the gem into your brain, and consuming it is not one of them. "It's more like... naturally-occurring tinkertech? Power-granting equipment?"

Faultline pulls the gun back, but does not apologize. "How do you use it?"

A plans forms in your mind.

"You need regular tinkertech to attune- that is, to interface with it. Tens of thousands of dollars worth of specialized tinkertech," you say truthfully. Orichalcum isn't cheap. You pause for effect. "I happen to know a Tinker who owes me a favor. A big favor."

"Hm," Faultline hums. She's not stupid, she understands where you're going with this. "Very well. Gregor and Newter will escort you." What will happen to you if you try to run is obvious.

"I'll need a drop of your blood," you say.

"Excuse me?"

"Secondary attunement requires- look, the explanation quickly stops being English. He's going to need a blood sample to match your, like, fingerprint of magic vibrations? with the gem. If you want anyone else to be able to use it, they also-"

"Mine will do," Faultline interrupts. "If this is a trick..."

Yes, yes. She needn't worry. You like Labyrinth, you genuinely want to help her.

---

You lead Gregor and Newter (and Fenrir) across town to your old forge.

"Wait outside," you tell them. "Smith likes his privacy, and Faultline is angry enough without one of you getting himself killed by stumbling into a Tinker's lair uninvited."

Newter starts to object, but Gregor touches his arm to stave him off (generating a thick slime over his palm to avoid direct skin contact). "I trust her," he says.

"Yeah? Then why are we even here, genius?" Newter asks.

"Because Faultline does not. We will wait here. I will take responsibility."

"Fine, whatever."

"Thanks, Gregor," you say.

"Thank me by helping Labyrinth."

You flash him a smile and turn away. "Smith, it's me! I'm coming in!" you call to the empty building before going inside.

"One bar of orichalcum, and the outfit," you tell Fenrir. He obediently sticks his head into the ground and starts rooting around for the dematerialized objects you had him bury there. You don't have him fetch any other reagents. No need to waste Lung's scale when you have this much magic sand stuck in your hair.

You collect the sand that falls as you shift your hair and face Smith-wards, then change into the matching costume. Even Smith's slightly off-prescription glasses are a relief after being unable to see properly for so long. And you stashed reserve contacts with his costume, for when you change back.

You have Fenrir dematerialize again after plucking some hairs from his coat. It wouldn't do to have Newter catch sight of him, should he decide to climb up and peek through the skylight.

You open the door a sliver and call out to Gregor in the guise of Smith, your voice changed by the mask.

"Gonna take a couple of hours. Bring pizza!"

Then you slam the door again and reach out for Dragon's power. You throw in industry and forge wisdom too, in case it helps. Can't have too much Tinker.

Spoiler: Sutra of the Wandering Maiden

Once there was a maiden...
...who wandered lost in a labyrinth of her own making.
It was a truly grand creation, each room a world of its own.
Each world held a thousand wonders, and a thousand horrors.
"Please come back to the real world," her friends cried out. "We miss you!"
But she could not understand their words.
"They all look real to me", said she.

You've barely gotten started - drawing out strands of orichalcum to coat the wolf hairs, forming them into fine links joined in a chain - when there's a knock on the door. You open it and accept a pair of pizza boxes from Gregor, fighting against the resistance of the paper strips around your wrists and the Tinker song in your brain.

"You're bleeding," Gregor says.

"Bugger off," you tell him, and shut the door in his face. Now, where were you?

You eat pizza as you work. After five days without food, it's heavenly. Though Brute 0 or no, it's probably a good thing that your Tinker fugue state makes you eat slowly. After finishing the chain, you move on to the main body. You alloy the orichalcum with blood and sand. Shape it into a nine-pointed star, with a setting for the gem.

You come back to your senses, frowning at the amulet in your hand. Why did you waste orichalcum on a star shape? Well, no matter. It's quite thin, you used up less than a third of the bar. You rouse the dozing Fenrir and have him put everything back in the ground while you change back into Quicksilver.

---

"How does it work?" Faultline asks.

"You put it on, touch her with the stone, and will her to become better."

"Just like that?" She slips the amulet around her neck. "I do feel something. Different from my own power, but... I'm a mind healer now? That sounds too good to be true."

"It's not reverse Panacea in a box," you say. Watching the circuit forming between Faultline and the gem makes it easy to understand just how it works. "The effect is temporary, and it only has the power to do it about once per day or so."

"How long?"

You shrug. "Maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours. A stable environment should help prolong the effect."

"So, no use in a fight."

You make a 'so-so' motion. "A fight only last a couple of minutes, doesn't it? But it would wear off when it stops being a fight and starts being 'escaping the burning building,' I think."

"I see. Let's try it." Faultline gestures for you to follow her.

"You know something," she says as you walk. "This is all far too neat. You're not just a Thinker, you did something to her power, to make it go haywire like that. This 'power gem' - something I've never heard of before - appears, and it's exactly what we need. You orchestrated all this."

"I'm as confused as you are, honest." You really are. "Probably more so, because I can see all the things that don't fit. My power did somehow interact with hers. I don't know how or why. I couldn't do it with you. I agree that the desert probably reacted to my desire - or hers - in some way to produce that gem. But if I had planned any of this, I'd have brought food and water."

"What is the desert? Where did it come from? Why- how does it care about anyone's desires? She never manifested a world like that before."

"I don't know. I know that it's infinitely large, and that it takes exactly five days to walk from end to end. It doesn't matter how fast you walk, but you have to keep walking. I know these things. I did not learn them." You don't mention the other fact about the desert that you know without learning. It wouldn't make her any happier. It certainly isn't making you any happier.

Faultline sighs.

"Yeah," you agree.

Faultline stops at a door. Labyrinth's room in these temporary quarters, presumably.

"You should go in alone," you say. "You want it to last as long as possible, and I might disrupt the stable environment when I leave."

"You'll just have to stick around, then."

"Look, I just went missing for the better part of a week. I have commitments. I need to go salvage my life."

"You're coming inside so I can shoot you if something happens to her."

Faultline opens the door. The room is a lot larger than what ought to fit in the building, but the space is cluttered with rusty torture devices and restraints. The lighting is poor, but you're pretty sure that's blood flowing down the walls. Labyrinth sits unmasked in the middle of it all, staring at nothing. She doesn't react to your presence.

"May I approach?" Faultline asks softly. No response.

She motions for you to stay put, and slowly walks across the room, not making any sudden movements. You watch the strange power gather as she hefts the amulet, and release as she gently brushes the stone across Labyrinth's cheek.

Instantly, the rust and blood fades into nothing as the regular furniture returns, and the room regains its original dimensions. Labyrinth holds up her hands in front of her, staring in open-mouthed awe as vines with small blue flowers climb up her arms. Then she's hugging Faultline, and crying.

You stand around awkwardly as Labyrinth tries to explain how happy she is. Maybe Faultline has to wipe away a tear of happiness or two as well, judging by the way she works a finger beneath her mask to swipe at her cheeks.

Then Labyrinth spots you, and you're the one being hugged and showered with tears and incoherent gratitude (Faultline adopted a combat-ready posture the instant Labyrinth came near you, but relaxed a moment later, shaking her head slightly). A wreath of flowers form in your hair.

"You fixed me," Labyrinth repeats over and over again.

You hate to do it, but you eventually manage to pry her away from you and calm her down enough that you can explain that you didn't quite fix her. This too will pass.

She becomes solemn at that, but still gives you another hug. "Thank you anyway," she whispers in your ear.

"I really have to go," you tell her. "Sorry."

"Okay." She lets go of you.

"You are still not welcome back," Faultline says.

"Yeah." You did still burn down her house. "I'm sorry."

===

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

The DM rules the effect to be as if you'd used Holy Land Infliction and Dune-Drowned Oasis Ritual - and that the resulting demesne produces a hearthstone (if you're more familiar with Final Fantasy 7 than Exalted, it's basically a 'materia') without any (visible) geomantic structures.

What is this shit, a fix-fic? Where's your promised grimderp!? He'd better kill off someone small and cute soon to compensate or you'll stop reading!

Spoiler: Updated status

The Silver Desert
Cecylene Manse •

It's a flat patch of sand with no structures or amenities whatsoever, and a slight risk of becoming lost in an infinite desert should you linger too long. But hey, it produces a Stone of Comfort.

Once per day, its bearer may touch the Stone of Comfort to someone who suffers from a derangement and ease that person's insanity for a scene.



Bloodbound orichalcum hearthstone amulet
Artifact ••

A bloodbound artifact is created by alloying the magical material with the blood of a mortal during the forging process. Though an exalt must still commit essence to attune the artifact as normal, it can then be lent to the mortal whose blood was used. As long as the essence remains committed, the mortal can use the artifact as if she was the one attuned to it. However, the mortal never receives the magical material bonus of the artifact, even if the attuning exalt would.

Making an artifact bloodhound does not increase its artifact rating. Rather, this is a two-dot artifact because its creator also made it so that she (but not the bound mortal) can banish it Elsewhere and resummon it at will, as if using the charm Summoning the Loyal Steel.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

You stop outside the door of Faultline's temporary quarters and take a deep breath. You did a good thing today. And by 'today', you mean 'the last five days', which has caused you all sorts of problems. As do-goodery does, you suppose, else it'd be more popular. What did it gain you, besides a decisive end to a profitable business relationship? A power? Haha nope, you're just going to go ahead and pretend that you don't have a technique for walking straight into hell permanently etched into your soul, thank you very much.

Another deep breath. Okay. Game face, Taylor. You can deal with this. First order of business... is to rush home, get your Low Key outfit, shape-shift again and barely make it in time for your Friday patrol, with an excuse ready for your absence on Monday (and Tuesday and Thursday, not that Hookwolf cares whether you show up for training anymore). Okay. Another deep breath. Go.

Your dad isn't home when you grab the costume, so you have another few hours to think of what to tell him. Small favors.

"Low Key!" Happy voices greet you as you enter the bar. "You're alive!" "What happened?" "Are you all right?" "You didn't call in sick."

"Have you ever had a fever so bad you started hallucinating and didn't know who you were?" Most people present indicate that no, they haven't. "Good. Can't say I recommend it."

"But you're fine now?"

"Well, no. My everything hurts." That didn't stop being a thing that was true at any point during the day. It would be really nice if you could just curl into a little fetal ball of wolf cuddles and not have to deal with anything for a while. "But I know what planet I'm on today, and I've got a job to do." That job being 'studying Rune's stupidly difficult power', of course.

"Are you sure?" "Dude, shut up. She says she's fine, she's fine." "Of course Psycho Bitch needs some violence to recover fully."

Then Rune arrives and you have to repeat your lies all over again (you are touched by her concern. It's almost as if you're real friends).

The ride is noticeably less comfy than usual - it must have taken a lot out of Fenrir to materialize three times in a single day, he has no magic to spare for the task of sparing your butt. Still, you make it through the night. The patrol ends without incident, and you part ways with Rune.

Then just as you've changed back into street clothes and dematerialized your wolf, your fucking phone rings. It's Lisa.

"Taylor, good to have you back. I could use some help."

"You knew I was gone?" You didn't think she knew about Quicksilver... then again, of course she'd investigate the Palanquin vanishing like that, and who knows what her power might have told her?

"Would you believe that a lost puppy showed up at my doorstep?"

You glance at Fenrir, who nods. So he didn't just sit around and worry. He was clever enough to go to someone smart and trusted for help. Someone is getting all the belly rubs.

Spoiler: Lisa-o-vision, four days ago

"Jesus! Wh- oh, it's you. Almost gave me a heart attack there, Bubbles."

The floor creaks dangerously under the sudden strain while I try to get my breathing back under control, my limbs thrumming with adrenaline. I really wish my power could have given me some hint that Taylor's wolf would materialize in my apartment, but without Taylor around to read there are no clues that he even exists. Right up to the moment when you get a face full of giant carnivore.

"Alright. Fight or flight responses tested and confirmed to be in fine working order. Thanks for that. Now." I pause for another deep breath. "What's up, Lassie? Did Taylor fall down a well?"

He nods. I start to grin, before realization dawns. If Taylor wasn't in trouble, she'd just have called me. Instead of sending Bubbles to... my apartment... that she doesn't know about.

Bubbles can track me down wherever I go. Bubbles can perfectly track anyone once he has their scent.

Because he wasn't scary enough already. At least we're friends.

Bubbles would kill me without hesitation if doing so would help Taylor, or if she asked him to.

I said, at least we're friends!

"Ok, what happened?" He offers a canine shrug.

He doesn't know where Taylor is, despite his tracking ability.

"You don't know where she is?" Head shake. "Did she get teleported away by someone?" Are there even any teleporters in the city? Oni Lee, but he can't go all that far in a single jump. Bubbles should still be able to track- Bubbles shakes his head.

He doesn't need an unbroken scent. He can track people even across teleports. Taylor is not on earth.

Ah, shit. List of capes who can go into space: Legend. Sphere (RIP, sorta). The Simurgh. Eido-

He can track people in space.

"Really? You can track people in space?" He just tilts his head in confusion. "Like, the moon. If Taylor was on the moon, would you be able to tell?" After a moment's thought, he nods. Okay. Not on earth, not in space. List of capes who can travel between dimensions: Professor Haywire (RIP). The Simurgh. I really don't like where this list is going. Maybe Eido-

Labyrinth.

Really, Labyrinth?

Taylor was involved in the attack on the Palanquin.

"Has she being hanging out with Faultline's Crew? You know, uptight bitch in a welding mask, big fat slug dude, orange punk..." He nods again. Good, good. Not the Simurgh.

"I would believe that," you agree. "Look, can this wait until tomorrow? I'm sort of dead on my feet, here."

"Not really, no. I could really use some backup now, tonight."

Backup, as in parahuman muscle? You look again at the transparent form of Fenrir. No way in hell is he materializing a fourth time today. "Is it a party? Because I just put the kids to bed." One of the few nice aspects of having a powerful Thinker for a friend is that you can just make up a code as you go along, confident that she'll be able to pick up on the message no matter what.

"Please, like you don't have options. How long has it been since the last one? Don't tell me you're slowing down down in your old age!" Her chipper tone grates on your exhausted sensibilities, but you have to admit that another benefit is that she can make up a code too, picking one that she magically knows you will happen to understand.

In this case she's telling you that she knows you have powers in reserve, not attached to any identity. She's asking you to cash in one of them - and needling you because you haven't already done so.

"I sleep, you know," you bite out. "Do you have any idea about the hours I work? Besides, I don't have anything to wear to a party."

"Just put on some makeup and come over, I'll have an outfit for you." (that's her telling you to shapeshift yourself, btw)

You grit your teeth. You do owe her, and she knows exactly how much you'd like to repay that debt.

"Fine." You hang up on her, then sigh theatrically. Absolutely no rest for the rogues.

"Go home and wait for me there," you tell Fenrir. "You need to rest too, I'll manage this on my own." He looks so sad at his inability to help you that you simply have to manifest a mind-hand and pet him a bit. "None of that! You're the best, you know that right? The best dog, the best friend. Yes you are."

Your phone beeps. A text from Lisa, giving the address where she wants to meet. Your face involuntarily scrunches up, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. "Go. Try to get enough sleep for both of us."

---

The 'outfit' Lisa has for you is a plain white mask. No clothes, no accessories. You can't really complain though, your 'makeup' consisted of you turning your hair straight and blonde. Have you mentioned how your everything hurts, and how shapeshifting makes it worse? Your hair hurts now, and hair doesn't even have pain receptors. No, the weird thing is that she isn't wearing her costume either. You thought this was a party?

"Sooo, about the Silver Desert-" Lisa says.

"Is that what they're calling it?"

"Yeah. My power keeps telling me it's infinitely large."

"It is."

"It's like 50 yards across!"

"On the outside, sure. It's infinite on the inside, though. 's why it took me so long to walk back across it." Lisa stares at you, then throws her hands up in disgust when her power confirms everything you just said as true.

"Says it's alive, too," she mutters.

"Sounds legit," you agree. Taylor doesn't know any more about it that I do, Lisa's power says. She makes a wordless sound of disgust, and you find yourself smiling a bit despite everything. Say what you want about misery, at least it loves company.

"So what are we doing here?" you ask.

"Right. I was scouting out new targets for the Undersiders to hit when I found this Merchant stash house. There's no parahumans there tonight, just three thugs with guns."

Sloppy, but what else would you expect of Merchants? What you don't see is where you enter the picture. "So hit it then. A couple of bullets won't stop Rachel's monsters." Not that they would be likely to hit anything in the first place, with Grue and/or Alec there as well.

"I didn't tell them about it. I figure it's lightly guarded enough that the two of us could take it, and I could really use a bit of money that no one else knows I have. For reasons."

And by the two of you she sort of means the one of you, because she's certainly no use in a fight. But really, 'reasons'? Did she forget that you have her soul's price? The incredulous look you send her way makes her blush ever so slightly, confirming that she did in fact forget that little detail.

"Fine, I'm plotting a murder, alright? Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." You take a moment to consider your options. With Thinker support and the element of surprise you could take a couple of gunmen, you're pretty sure. And having serious money would be nice, even if you no longer have to worry about paying Faultline for her time. And of course Lisa knew you'd agree all along, or she wouldn't have bothered to call you. "50-50 split," you say. It's not a question, or a suggestion.

"Never dreamt of offering anything less," Lisa says.

---

"One outside, two inside," Lisa says. "The guy outside has a gun in the back of his pants. Inside, probably shotguns." You nod. You both put on your masks, then you walk around the corner. As promised, there's a thug lounging against a door some fifteen yards away. Mind-hands lash out, glowing white tendrils crossing the distance between you in the blink of an eye. One wraps around his throat, to keep him from shouting a warning. One goes around his waist, to haul him away. The last one retrieves the gun before he even has time to realize he needs it.

Despite your pain and fatigue, you can't help but smile a little as you drag him into the alley and choke him out. This is what superpowers are like. You decide to act, and mortals are helpless before your might. Oh, Low Key has wrecked thugs before, but that was all Fenrir. It has a different impact when you do it yourself. You've never gotten to use superpowers to utterly destroy- okay, there was Brute 0 vs Emma, you had forgotten about her (and doesn't that make your smile even wider? If someone had told pre-superpowers you that you'd ever forget Emma...). But this is the real-

"We're not done yet. Here." While you were woolgathering, Lisa has not only gagged and zip-tied your catch, but also retrieved his keys and figured out which one leads to the stash house. "Be careful," she adds.

Yeah, yeah. You're not worried at all anymore. Mind-hands are fucking awesome. Wait, back up, did you mentally refer to that guy as a 'mortal' just now? You, who explicitly chose not to become immortal when you declined to go after Alabaster's power? Well, what else would you call him? He certainly can't be called a 'civilian'. You'll think about it later, you have mortals to wreck. You walk over and unlock the door with a spring in your step. Your misery is about to have even more company.

You slam the door open. One guard, check. Second guard, check. Shotguns, check. Also a bunch of other people - you'll process that later, Lisa said they aren't armed. Mind-hands lash out once more. You only have three of them, but that's okay. Those are the last two guards, it doesn't matter if they make a ruckus.

You rip the shotguns out of their hands, and grip one throat. It's just a convenient way to detain people even when you don't care about noise. "Wha-" is as far as the other guy gets before you toss one of the shotguns back towards yourself and get a chokehold on him too.

Your slow, awkward, regular hands almost fumble the catch, but you manage to grab hold of the shotgun before it falls to the floor. You point it meaningfully towards the unarmed people (you have no idea whether the safety is on or not, so you keep your finger well away from the trigger). "On the floor, please," you say calmly. They comply.

Now that you're not in imminent danger of being shot, you have time to take in your surroundings. This stash house puts the emphasis on 'house': It's just someone's spacious living room, that someone put a bunch of tables in. The various plastic bags on the tables aren't labelled, but you imagine that the different colors of tape holding them shut indicates their contents to those in the know. Let's just say you're pretty sure it's not powdered sugar.

Partly because the actual powdered sugar is still in its original packaging - one of the tables held several people diluting (cutting, you think they call it?) the drugs and splitting them into portion sizes for sale. Another table holds a bunch of money, which one guy was uncrumpling, sorting and counting. You sidle over and take a look at the number punched into his calculator. Niiice.

"Good job," Lisa says, entering behind you. She walks over and casually sweeps all the money into a bag, undoing all of the poor accountant's labour. Then she turns towards the guards. "Where's the rest of it?" There's more?

The guards refuse to answer, even when you loosen your grip around their throats enough for them to speak. Not that this inconveniences Lisa in the slightest.

"Somewhere in this room? Not in this room. The bathroom? No? The kitchen? I see. Cupboards? Left, right, top- under the sink? Thank you."

You can only shrug apologetically at the guards as Lisa goes to fetch the money. Nothing they could do. With your brawn and her brains, what could possibly stop you? Anyway, time for them to go beddy-byes. You tighten your grip again, quickly inducing unconsciousness in your captives.

Then the world turns blue, and you stumble and almost lose your balance. Your first thought, not unreasonably you feel, is that some of the drugs got into the air. But when the blue tint intensifies in a series of discrete steps, you realize what's really going on. But by then you're already falling, your inner ear insisting that the floor is a wall and vice versa.

You scrabble for purchase, with limited success. The angle is too steep, the floor too slick. Your mind-hands flail about, grabbing hold of whatever is close - which accomplishes absolutely nothing, as the 'mind-arm' tendrils don't actually transmit any force to your body. Which is convenient when you're hoisting four times your body mass of thugs into the air, not so much when trying to catch yourself while falling.

You at least manage to crash into the wall without breaking anything - which is not to say that it doesn't hurt or knock the air from your lungs... but you know what broken bones feel like, and this ain't it. You look up (it feels like 'up') at your assailant: Greasy hair, blue cloth mask, a grin with multiple missing teeth. Yep, you were right, only slightly too late for it to help: This is indeed what Skidmark's acceleration fields look like from the inside. Dammit Lisa, there weren't supposed to be any capes here!

Skidmark's grin turns feral, and a new acceleration field appears off to the side. One of the tables slides over into the heavily layered field you're stuck at the bottom of, and immediately accelerates towards you. Your mind-hands knock it aside, but you don't have time to deflect its payload. Bags upon bags of white powder crash into and around you, bursting apart as they hit.

You hear Lisa shout "no!" just before your ears are assaulted by the loudest sound you've ever heard. Several times. Through the clouds of powder you see Skidmark stumble back outside, bleeding from several wounds. The acceleration field pressing you against the wall abruptly vanishes, causing you to fall forward and faceplant into a pile of unidentified drugs.

"Tay- fuck! Are you okay? Please be okay." You roll over to see Lisa holding a hand over her face, breathing through her sleeve. The other hand is clutching a gun, still pointed towards the door.

"You shot him," you say wonderingly. Since when does Lisa have a gun? Capes aren't supposed to use guns.

"The field slowed the bullets a lot. He'll live." Her tone indicates that she would have been fine with other outcomes as well. Wow, she really cares about you, huh? You lick your lips self-consciously, unsure how to reply - then reverse course and spit when you realize what substance was coating your lips. And every other part of you.

"Hold your breath," Lisa says through her sleeve. She holsters the gun and points towards one of the doors. "Get in the shower, rinse everything off."

She's a lot more worried about this than you are. To be fair she probably knows more about drugs than you do, but you know your own body. "Brute powers," you remind her.

"Don't talk. Shower. You not being worried is a symptom."

You walk right into the shower and turn it on without undressing. Your clothes are saturated with the stuff too, it's not like you could wear them again without washing them. As you close your eyes and lean back to rinse your face off, you realize that nothing hurts anymore.

That's probably a bad sign.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

God damn, but your life is going well. True, your clothing is dirty and doesn't fit at all (Lisa appropriated it from one of the people who didn't run away quickly enough after Skidmark got shot). But you're rich! Lisa is carrying two bags, one containing your sopping wet original clothing, and another just as heavy full of cash money!

True, you're currently exfiltrating Merchant territory after shooting the leader of said Merchants a little, but so what? Lisa is super smart, you're super strong, you have nothing to worry about. And did you mention you got loot? So awesome.

But the company sort of sucks if you're honest. You're skipping along and chattering happily about whatever crosses your mind, but Lisa is boring and serious and maybe a little nervous and you don't see why. You won a cape fight and got loot!

Lisa's phone rings, and she makes shushing noises at you before she answers. Fine, you'll be quiet. She sounds even more serious when she talks to whoever it is, so you tune her out. You try to balance along the curb, but it's tricker than you remember it being.

Lisa hangs up and starts saying "fuck" a lot, which is pretty funny. But then she dials another number and you turn away again. Oh, wow. This street art is amazing. You can't believe you've never noticed it before. Whoever drew this was a genius. The colors, the depth, the sheer joie de vivre expressed in every curve. It's like the letters are dancing in front of you, shouting out their names. M! E! R!

Spoiler: Actually-paying-attention-to-Lisa-o-vision

"Hey, it's Lisa. You're about to do me a huge favor and I'll owe you big-time."

...

"I don't care! Look, the Merchants got to my friend. Shot her up with some shit. She's safe now, but she needs someone to watch over her until she comes down."

...

"I can't! I just got a call, official Undersiders business. The boss will kill me if I don't show up."

...

"You don't understand. He will non-figuratively end my life if I blow him off, it's that important. I need- oh god, she's licking the graffiti. Get your ass over to 5th and Samson, now!"

Lisa rudely pulls you away from enjoying the modern masterpiece.

"Stop that! I don't even want to think about what freaky pathogens could be sticking to that wall, or my power might tell me."

Silly Lisa. Didn't you tell her about your shitty Brute powers? Maybe you didn't. "'m resistant. Prob'ly."

"...my power is backing you up on that one." Hah! Score one for Team Shitty Powers. "Still, I refuse to believe that you enjoy the taste."

You stick out your tongue and try to look at it. "Tastes like art?" you hazard.

She shakes her head. "Let's... let's just go over here and sit down quietly and wait for my friend to show up. You'll like him."

---

Lisa's friend turns out to be a ni- a black guy. He's about her age, but he's huge. He's got muscles for days. And that tight shirt, daaaaamn. Good thing you're sitting down or you'd be falling all over yourself trying to get a piece of that.

"Hey," he greets Lisa, "so this is your friend? What's she on?" He barely even glances at you, rude!

"God, what isn't she on? Coke and MDMA from the way she's been acting, but there were opiates in there too. And probably traces of some freaky Tinker-made stuff. Even my power can't sort it all out."

"Does she need to go to the hospital? Because that sounds-"

"A hospital is the last thing she needs. Hospitals call your parents." The black guy winces at that. "Power says she'll be fine. 100%."

"Yeah? Because the last time you were 100%-"

"She'll be fine. I wouldn't gamble with her life the way I do yours."

"What was that?"

"Just... don't let her out of your sight. Make sure she stays hydrated. And now I really have to run."

She does. Literally. Her friend reaches out a hand towards her and starts to say something, before sighing and shaking his head. He finally turns towards you.

"Hi, I'm Brian." His smile is a bit forced, maybe, but you don't mind.

You take his proffered hand and try for your best seductive look (it's probably not all that good, if you're being honest). "Taylor."

"Can you walk, Taylor?"

"Of course!" You try to stand up, only to get your feet tangled up and fall all over yourself trying to get a piece of that.

Brian catches you. He is warm and snuggly and his muscles feel even better than they look. Now you have to say something smooth to cover for your lack of coordination. "Best two out of three?"

Brian shakes his head and scoops you up in a bridal carry. Yeah, you're alright with this. You snuggle up to his amazing muscles. Mmmm. He smells nice too.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

"Back to my place." he replies. Damn, this guy works fast. You approve. Still, you let the conversation lapse and take the opportunity to use your powers. You're not about to go home with a guy without knowing his soul's price.

Brian wants to gain legal custody of his little sister.

Huh, depending on context he's either pretty damn heroic, or incredibly villainous. And Lisa wouldn't set you up with an incredibly villainous guy, would she? Especially since if he was, he'd already have a girlfr- no, let's not think about that. The guy is clearly a big damn hero. You snuggle closer and slip a hand inside his shirt to better appreciate his heroic pectorals.

---

Brian lets you down and steadies you with one arm as he unlocks his door. As you're being led into the apartment you suddenly realize that your sorcerer's sight must have lapsed at some point before meeting Brian - you have his soul price, but no idea whether he's a cape or not. You quickly reactivate it and give Brian the once-over. Turns out he is parahuman (duh, he's friends with Lisa) but he's not currently using his powers. It's nothing you couldn't figure out on your own, but always checking strangers over with your magic spy powers is a rule, dammit! You're slipping.

"Hey, do you need anything? Hungry? Thirsty?"

"Sofa." you mutter. You need something all right.

Brian tries to put you down on the sofa, but you refuse to cooperate until he sits down too. You quickly scoot into his lap before he can escape. You start taking off his shirt, but he grabs your hands. You move to kiss him, but he lets go of one hand and gently pushes your head aside. You settle for kissing his neck.

"Look, Taylor. Taylor, look at me." You do. "You're not in your right mind right now. Let's not do anything you'd regret later."

He's so wise and thoughtful in addition to being handsome and strong. Passing up the opportunity to make out with this heroic beefcake is clearly something you'd regret. You nod solemnly and stick your free hand down his pants.

Suddenly you are airborne. You land half on, half off the sofa and bounce to the floor. By the time you get your bearings Brian is standing halfway across the room, his back to you.

"Taylor, I don't want this. Please stop." You only had your hand down there for a brief moment, but you're pretty sure he's lying. You sneak (stumble) up behind him and reach around to caress his chest. You hear him sigh in resignation. Resignation is good, right? It means he'll come back to the sofa? You start taking off his shirt again.

"Aisha! Get your ass over here, right now!" Yikes, that was loud.

Another girl enters the room, slamming the door behind her. Judging by her face she's younger than you - but she still has considerably more curves, you note sourly. You can tell easily, because she's dressed like a prostitute. Did you interrupt something? Hmph, you don't see what she's got that you don't. Give you twenty minutes and you could grow a rack that would make this slut weep.

Oh, she's talking.

"Yeesh, you don't need to shout, I'm right-" she stops when she spots you and what you're doing and covers her eyes. "Whoa, bro! It's your place, you can bring over as many sluts as you like. But I'm not interested in whatever weird threesome sibling bonding thing you're thinking about right now."

Brian sighs again. "Aisha, this is Taylor. Taylor, Aisha. Taylor was given quite a lot of drugs and needs someone to take care of her. As you can see I'm clearly not the right person to keep her out of trouble, so it's now your job. Think of it as rent for staying over at my place. Bye." As he was speaking (and Aisha tried to get a word in edgewise) he gently pried you off and led you over to his sister. After making sure that you wouldn't fall over he started rapidly walking towards the door and at 'bye' he was already closing it behind him.

Noooo, your beefcake escaped! From Aisha's sudden giggle you cleverly deduce that you may have said that out loud. You turn around to find her eyeing you dubiously.

"You're not bi, are you? I don't want to spend the whole night fearing for my virtue."

"'m straight." you mutter. Stupid beefcake. You're regretting things already.

"Aight, cool. We can hang out, then. Have a slumber party." She leads you back to the sofa and you gratefully sit down.

Wait, what just happened? You told someone you're straight, and they believed you? Holy carp. You love Aisha now. You could just kiss- no, wait, kissing her would be counterproductive. She'd get the wrong idea, and then you wouldn't love her anymore. No kissing.

Oh, she's talking again.

"Best part of slumber parties is the gossip. And you don't seem too pleased with my brother right now, so let's talk about him. Have you known each other long?"

"Never met him before in my life." Stupid beefcake.

"Uh-huh. So you're not, you know, coworkers?" She winks at you, and you have no idea what she's getting at. "You know, at his 'day job.'" Finger quotes this time, and you are still clueless.

You stare at her blankly. Wait, shit, you were supposed to be staring at her with your sorcerer's sight. It keeps turning off for some reason. Hm, no powers. Wait, powers! She's trying to find out whether you know about Brian's powers!

"Fucking finally she gets it!" Oh, you said some of that out loud too. Shit! You're supposed to keep these things secret.

"Shh, it's all right. I can keep a secret." You did it again! "So how about you, do you have secret powers too?"

You giggle, then frown. Making very, very sure that you're not thinking out loud, you ponder the question. Do you have secret powers? Bitch, you have so many secret powers you don't even know what to do with them all. Oh! Oh! You know the best answer. You have one power that's so secret not even you know what it is!

You carefully look around to make sure no one is listening, then lean in and whisper "I'm a dragon."

Aisha pushes you away from her. "What, like Lung?" She looks a bit skeptical, you think.

You raise one finger. "Exactly like Lung." You lean back and cross your arms in satisfaction, but she doesn't get the clever joke you just made.

Instead she leaps to her feet. "Wait here, I have the best idea!"

You nod absently, and reflexively reach out for her soul's price as she leaves.

Aisha wants superpowers of her own.

---

Hee, that tickles. Wait, what's happening again? ...apparently you're naked from the waist up and some girl - Aisha, right, you're having a slumber party - is painting you? The paintbrush tickles! But you're confused, you're only supposed to paint each other's nails at slumber parties, right? Unless this is the new hip thing? You haven't had a slumber party for years, because- that's a sad thought, so you stop thinking it. Much better.

Instead you look closer at some of the finished artwork. It's honestly not very good, but you can tell that it's supposed to be dragons. Oh. Ooh! Dragon tattoos! Like Lung! Aisha is a genius! You paw at her face until she stops painting and looks up at you.

"I'm a dragon!" you confide in her.

"I know, now hold still. This is harder than it looks."

You start to nod, but freeze halfway through the motion. Gotta hold still. You focus your entire being on not moving, even though it tickles.

---

You're cold. That's odd, weren't you at a slumber party just now? Why are you outside?

---

Lung wants to find the woman in the fedora for a rematch.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

You wake up in a strange bed, with no idea where you are or how you got there. Uh... Last night you... Lisa, talking you into joining her. Skidmark. Oh, right. Enough drugs to kill a non-Brute, judging by Lisa's reaction. That would explain- Brian? You blush as more of your actions last night came back to you, but a quick check reveals that you're alone in the strange bed. That's... good, right? Maybe you wouldn't have minded...

You're itching, you realize. A lot. Shit, didn't you hear somewhere that druggies can end up with 'ants crawling under their skin' hallucinations? Like, permanently? Or was that from a Philip K. Dick novel? Only, uh, Phil did an awful lot of real drugs before he started writing about them, didn't he? It could still be real! You definitely remember hearing that doing drugs just once could fuck you up forever, if you were unlucky. You really hope that was just scaremongering bullshit propaganda like your old classmates said.

Eventually the sheer itchiness grows enough to overcome the horror you're feeling. You're just going to scratch yourself. Gently! You're not going to tear your skin open to get at the ants! You- oh. There's dry, flaking paint all over your body. And all over the sheets. No wonder you're itchy. You were panicking over nothing. Oh right, what's-her-name, Aisha. More memories return. She painted you like Lung, because you- why do you know Lung's soul price?

This fresh bout of panic makes you sit bolt upright, and take better stock of your surroundings. It's a small room, with a single window (you've slept quite late, judging by the light). The only furnishings are the bed, a dresser and a bedside table. There are several items on the table, each accompanied by a note: A large bottle of orange juice ("drink this"), a handful of pills on a saucer ("take these") and a laptop computer ("read this <3 Lisa").

The name makes you relax somewhat. You're among friends, or at least people who damn well ought to feel guilty over what they got you into.

Spoiler: Lisa-o-vision

"What the fuck, Brian? You had one job!"

Spoiler: Brian-o-vision

"What the fuck, Aisha? You had one job!"

Spoiler: Aisha-o-vision

Dear diary,
Today was the best day ever. Also Brian said I was grounded like forever, but I just told him that if he was gonna be like that I'd just go back and live with mom, and he folded like a chump.

Now let me tell you about the greatest mastermind in Brockton Bay, and how she is behind the events everyone is talking about.

You get started on the orange juice right away, but you're not about to scarf down a bunch of unidentified pills, especially not after the events of last night. Thankfully the bottles and cartons they came from are piled up behind the note, and you're able to verify their provenance: Vitamins and other supplements. Can't hurt to take them, you suppose, especially as a Thinker seems to believe they will help with the hangover from... whatever the hell you ingested yesterday.

After washing down the pills with another gulp of juice, you turn to the laptop. It wakes up without requiring a password, and the only open window is a browser displaying a PHO thread (the logged in user is 'DD', probably a throwaway account). 'Brockton Bay dragon megathread', the title reads. It has 134 pages. Rather, it had 134 pages. You hit the refresh button. 217 pages. You have a hunch that a) you're about to find out why you know Lung's soul price, and b) you'll be one of the last people in the city to know.

But it's going to take forever to read, and you could really use a shower to get rid of this paint. But knowing what the hell happened last night could be really important. You decide to compromise, and click the link named 'the moderators agreed to allow a link to this video' in the first post. You'll watch that now, then go back and read more once you're not itching so badly.

The actual title of the video, once it opens in a new tab, is 'Druggie dragon footage compilation (censored version)'. You have a bad feeling about what those last words imply. Please be censoring violence, please be censoring violence...

They're not censoring violence. When the video loads, there's you, dressed in pants, shoes, and a mask that looks to be made mostly of tinfoil. And that's it, unless you count the badly drawn (painted) dragon-themed body art. At least you were still blonde? You offer a silent prayer that the flimsy-looking mask stays on all the way through before hitting play.

Because this is the censored version, there's a pair of googly-eyed cartoon dragon heads superimposed over your chest. As the video plays they jerkily follow your movements, preserving your modesty and occasionally making funny faces. Whoever edited this was clearly enjoying themselves.

The footage is, as promised, a compilation of many different videos, all of them from cellphones. Judging by the scenery changes you spent a considerable amount of wandering around topless last night. And every time you saw someone you walked up to them and cheerfully introduced yourself with "Hi! I'm a dragon!"

This was usually met with laughter, and occasionally fear, but a gratifying number of people also asked if you were alright ("Yes. I'm a dragon."). Not everyone believed your answer, but no one actually tried to stop you from wandering off afterwards. You don't exactly blame them. Accosting an unknown cape is a terrible idea even before taking into account that this particular cape is clearly high off her tiny, naked tits.

One courageous lad does help you to your feet when you accidentally walk into a lamppost and fall over. The mask holds up surprisingly well, making you suspect that your Tinker 0 powers were involved in its creation. If- oh fuckballs there's Lung. And you just walked up to him like any other person. And you're pretty sure you recognize the neighborhood as ABB territory.

The fact that you're demonstrably still alive and well does relatively little to set you at ease.

Lung does prevent you from wandering off, one comparatively huge hand closing on your shoulder and holding you in place. This part is filmed by someone standing sensibly far away, so you can't actually make out the ensuing conversation beyond the occasional "dragon!". But after a while he releases you, and you hold out a hand for him to shake. He does so. The picture whites out.

Spoiler: Lung-o-vision

"Hi! I'm a- you're a dragon too!"

"Are you mocking me?"

"No, I'm a dragon. We're both dragons!"

"You're... Yabai, what are you on?"

"Dunno? Skidmark just, wham! All over my face!"

"I see... Did he put you up to this, too?"

"Up to what?"

"Dressing as this mockery, coming here."

"Nononono, that was the other girl. She was going to take care of me. But she left me all alone? ...is she a bad friend?"

"So, you're a mere tool..."

"No, I'm a dragon!"

"Truly? You're claiming to be parahuman?"

"Yes! That's why she painted me, you know. She found out I'm a dragon. Like you!"

"Well then, little dragon. I will forgive your offenses against me, on one condition: That you call upon your power, and fight me here and now."

"...fight? You're Lung."

"Hah. A friendly duel, no more, with the loser walking away free and without further harm."

"...promise?"

"On my honor."

At this point the video switches to another viewpoint, one looking across the Brockton Bay skyline. A pillar of white-gold light shoots up up to tower over the rooftops. It switches again, showing the same thing from a different angle. And again. Over and over it switches between several different viewpoints, playing the same footage repeatedly, each time accompanied by an increasingly loud organ chord. Until finally, on the last shot, a fountain of spinning cartoon dragon heads erupts along with the light, mouths open in shock and eyes googlier than ever.

Whoever edited this had way too much fun.

Spoiler: Protectorate-dispatcher-o-vision

"All units! Calling all units!"

Spoiler: Coil-o-vision

"Now! Commence the operation now."

Then it cuts back to the previous, all-white viewpoint. The camera quickly adjusts to the new light level, showing that the girl across from Lung has been replaced with a giant (like, three times Lung's height), glowing, golden-scaled (but paint-smeared) dragon-girl. You pause the video right there, to properly let the mortification sink in.

From the way the two censoring cartoon dragons remain in place, you learn that dragons are mammals. From the way a third one shows up to join them, you learn that unlike Fenja and Menja, your size-increasing power does not work on clothes. RIP your pants, and dignity. The fact that the PHO moderators will delete links to the uncensored version of this video will do approximately nothing to stop its spread.

You open a new tab just to confirm the obvious. Yep, there it is, the top search result for 'druggie dragon uncensored'. You do not open it, do not check its view count. You already know that it is higher than the total number of people you have met in your life.

Your name is Taylor Hebert, and your privates are on the internet. And as the AIDS cherry on top of the shit sundae, because you were tripping balls at the time and don't remember any of this, you still don't know how Lung's power works.

Silver lining: While the transformation destroyed your mask, it also turned your face into a proper dragon snout. Unrecognizable. Your identity is still safe. Enough self-pity, you need to finish watching this video and take a goddamn shower. You hit play again.

The dragon-girl - you grab Lung by one leg, lift him into the air, and proceed to smash his head into the pavement over and over until he stops screaming. Which is fairly soon, he barely has time to grow at all. Score one for instant dragon transformation, you guess. You know Lung can grow bigger than you did, but taken by surprise as he is he can't do more than lightly singe your scales with pyrokinesis before his head is a mushy lump and you drop his limp body to the ground.

Then you start walking towards the cameraman, who - from the way the video shifts to a blurry, flailing view of surrounding buildings - promptly turns on his heel and books it out of there. Again, you don't blame him, even if you're pretty sure you were only going to politely inform him as to your current status (a dragon). The video ends after that.

You push the laptop away. Shower time. There are no clothes laid out for you, but (with a small effort of will) you don't let that bother you. If Lisa put you to bed she's already seen you naked. She and several hundred thousand- no, don't think about that. Leaving the bedroom, you find Lisa lounging on a couch, texting someone on her cellphone.

"Hey. Finally awake. On a scale from one to ten, how are you feeling?"

You pause to consider this for a moment. "Three," you decide. "More like seven after a shower."

"Through there." She points to a door.

"I only watched the video," you shout from inside the bathroom, "Can you spoil the ending?"

"A friendly Thinker decided to investigate what had everyone so excited - she had a hunch, you might say, as to who might be responsible. Brilliant as she is, she was able to find you before anyone else and sneak you out of there, even though the area was swarming with heroes. For the record, you were sleeping in a dumpster, still glowing faintly."

Why would- oh, you must have crawled in there to hide the glow. Good thinking, past-Taylor. Lisa sounds entirely too pleased with herself, though. "Don't think I've forgotten who got me into this mess to begin with!" A stray memory returns to you. You weren't paying much attention at the time, but... "Weren't you in a meeting with your boss? Like, a really important one?"

"He decided to call the whole thing off when you happened. Your clothes from last night are in the dryer, by the way."

---

"How did you manage to copy his power so quickly?" Lisa asks as you, paint free and no longer naked, go to fetch the laptop.

"Ha, I've had that one for ages. You didn't figure that out? Some Thinker you are." You normally wouldn't say any more... But if there's one time Lisa won't silently judge you for your life choices it's today, the day when everything is her fault. "I'll tell you about it in exchange for breakfast?"

It's not a long story, so you quickly settle down to read the PHO thread while shoveling cereal into your mouth. The only new thing you learn from the OP is that Lung is in custody. You might have celebrated this, if you were incredibly stupid. But you know exactly how much of a revolving door the parahuman prison system is: All his arrest means is that the most powerful cape in the city is now your enemy. Lovely.

You start skimming the thread itself. It's rather disjointed to start, as the first several pages are made up of several different threads, merged together. They also reference a number of non-existent posts, which you gather from context were deleted because they contained links to uncensored videos. But you are able to piece together a rough timeline:

Reports and videos of a knockoff Lung start to appear. As you saw in the video title, they quickly settle on the cape name 'druggie dragon'. As more of those start trickling in, another set of threads appears speculating about the bright light in the sky. No one makes the connection yet. Then, breaking news: Lung has been captured! This sets off yet another storm of speculation. Your favorite post so far:

► relatively_anonymous_gentleman
Replied on April 8, 2011:
Guys. Guys! *That's* who druggie dragon was! Leet finally invented the girlifier ray he was talking about and used it on Lung! And then the heroes swooped in and arrested him/her while he/she was still disoriented.
​

This theory gains a surprising amount of popularity, considering the obvious size and ethnicity mismatch between the two dragons. It's at this point that censored versions of the videos start to appear. An influx of new people who didn't read the previous, mostly deleted, discussion start calling you 'derpy dragon', in honor of the cartoon dragons adorning your chest. A minor flamewar breaks out before a compromise is reached:

► Oftenest
Replied on April 8, 2011:
The obvious solution is to just call her Double D, and let everyone decide for themselves what the initials stand for.
​

Everyone loves this suggestion, especially smarmy assholes who make posts along the lines of:

► ropey
Replied on April 8, 2011:
I would of course never *dream* of looking up the uncensored videos, but if you say that Double D is an appropriate name I have no reason to doubt you. I shall henceforth refer to her thusly.
​

Next order of business, find a power that lets you punch people over the internet. Not only are hundreds of thousands of people looking at your naked chest, they are mocking you for- Waaaait just one second. You scroll back to the top of the page.

You are currently logged in, DD (Unverified Cape)
​

DD has made one post, and has received 769 private messages.

► DD (Unverified Cape)
Replied on April 8, 2011:
Hi! I'm a dragon!
​

"You are the worst," you tell Lisa.

"Me?" She bats her eyelashes at you with feigned innocence. "I just made sure to grab the name for you before someone squatted it. Because I'm a friend." Under your unamused stare, the faux innocence turns into a smug grin. "The password is 'lisaistheworst', all lowercase, no spaces." To add insult to injury, sorcerer's sight lets you see her power informing her of the exact moment you decide not to punch her. Her grin grows even wider.

The private messages are exactly what you would expect. Though weirdly many of them give off the impression that they're more attracted to your scales and dragon snout than they would be to a regular eighteen-foot woman (but there is also a fair share of disturbingly sexual requests on the theme of 'please sit on me and squash me flat').

One message in particular stands out as something you didn't expect:

♦ Private message from Vegas Fleshcrafters:

Vegas Fleshcrafters: Tired of not living up to your name? Vegas Fleshcrafters! No knives, no implants, only biokinesis! Message us on PHO, or call 555-NEW-YOU
​

You're not going to use their services (you're perfectly capable of crafting your own flesh), but you feel somewhat tempted to give them a call just to tell them that their social media manager deserves a raise.

Anyway! The next thing to happen is that the video of the fight itself is released. Someone quickly identifies the scenery, confirming that it matches the location of the pillar of light. Everything is thrown into chaos as speculation runs rampant and threads are merged wildly. All kinds of speculation:

► rrqn
Replied on April 8, 2011:
I ship it.

► Frederick T. Great
Replied on April 8, 2011:
Dude, gross. He's gotta be like twice her age.

► rrqn
Replied on April 8, 2011:
Counterpoint: Dragon. Who's going to stop him?

► Forum Playwright
Replied on April 9, 2011:
You mean, aside from *her*?

► rrqn
Replied on April 9, 2011:
Point conceded.

► Mentats
Replied on April 9, 2011:
Hatesex shipping?

-User received a suspension for this post. Reason: This line of discussion ends *now*.
​

The more sensible, unbanned speculation involves your affiliation. Everyone had initially assumed Merchants, for obvious reasons. But the video of the fight combined with the news of Lung's arrest has some people theorize that you're a new Ward. The more thoughtful members of the audience note that if so, better archive the entire thread quickly, because it's going to vanish from the internet forever as soon as the PRT PR division wakes up. Then another bombshell drops:

► road_to_hell
Replied on April 9, 2011:
Check this out. Here's screenshots of the press release, before and after the video dropped:
before.jpg
after.jpg
Notice how the first one says "Armsmaster was able to subdue and apprehend Lung', but the second just says 'apprehend'?

► happyman69
Replied on April 9, 2011:
Hahahaha! Busted, you glory-stealing ******!

-User received a suspension for this post. Reason: We do not use that word here.
​

The opinion firmly swings to you being a Merchant after that.

Spoiler: Skidmark-o-vision

"Which one of you pustulent, cum-stained assholes recruited a new cape without telling me, your fucking boss? Maybe if I'd had some cock-gargling backup out there I wouldn't have gotten fucking shot!"

===

Spoiler: A/N

Shockingly, Lung has a soft spot for people who (he believes) triggered with Dragon powers due to an involuntary faceful of drugs. Maybe he shouldn't have let down his guard that much, though.

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

It was By Rage Recast! A charm that lets you turn into a custom-designed monster (in this case the design consists entirely of dragon-y bits, for obvious reasons), but requires anima flare to activate.

To explain it simply: Exalts have two separate mana pools, 'personal' and 'peripheral'. If they spend mana from the peripheral pool they start glowing. This is known as 'anima flare'. But Taylor isn't really an exalt, she's a parahuman. Without a peripheral essence pool, she couldn't flare her anima and trigger the charm.

Luckily(???), eclipse caste solars also have a pact-sealing power, the use of which automatically causes anima flare. She just never tried to sanctify an agreement before.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

50 chapters, huh? It hadn't quite sunk in what a monster I'd created until I decided to finally get off my ass and get it up on AO3, despite that site consuming html instead of bbcode. Even after the css was in place and the conversion script written and debugged, it still took over an hour just to paste everything in! And it's still not quite up to date there, because I saved everything as drafts and hit the rate limit trying to post it all at once.

And the story is nowhere near done!

===

Spoiler: Lisa-o-vision

"You really shouldn't do this right now," I say.

"Really," Taylor says. It's not a question. I sigh. I don't need powers to deduce that there's no arguing with her.

"Fine, whatever. But I'm coming with." If it was someone else, I might have been able to spin it as helping, making up for my mistake. But Taylor is entirely too good at spotting such things, so I don't even bother. Weird really, considering her- her social abilities are the result of a minor Thinker power. Yeesh, another one? But it makes sense, she- no, focus.

"Yes, I'm babysitting you," I tell the bristling Taylor. "Because you are mentally incompetent." The unexpected bluntness leaves her momentarily speechless. "Brute powers or no," I continue before she can retort, "it's going to be days before your neurotransmitters are back to normal levels."

For just a moment her lips form a silent 'oh', before her control reasserts itself. "I see," she says with affected calm, before turning to leave. "I'm fairly certain I would make this decision the same way, though," she adds over her shoulder as I follow.

I think so too, to be perfectly honest. Which puts me in a bit of a bind.

Before you do anything else, you need to go fetch your wolf. Dad is at work when you get to the house, so that particular issue is put off for later. It's not super cool, leaving him to worry for an extra day when you already got back, but you can safely blame that on Lisa and her brilliant plans.

Fenrir must have heard/smelled/insert-bullshit-wolf-senses-here (seriously, how did he track you teleporting across Canada?) you coming, because his translucent form comes shooting out of the ground in front of you as you walk up the driveway - a faster way to leave the basement than stairs and doors, when you're intangible. He barrels right through you, turns around and starts running in circles around you, panting happily.

"Missed you too," you say softly. A quick glance around shows no witnesses, so you give him a quick pat with a mind-hand. In response he leaps into the air, performs half a barrel roll and skids to a stop in the belly rub position. You shake your head. "Later, I need your help with something first."

He looks a bit disappointed at that, but scrambles to his feet and follows you anyway. He's a good dog.

---

As you wait, you once again reflect on the fact that having a wolf is cheating. While you hide in this alley, Fenrir stands dematerialized outside watching the street. No one else can see him, but he'll indicate to you exactly when you should act. This way, you can appear right in front of your target like some omniscient horror movie villain.

Go time. You pivot around from where you were pressed up against the wall and take a single step into the street. Aisha jerks back in surprise, barely a foot away from you. The look on her face when she recognizes you is an excellent start.

Spoiler: Aisha-o-vision

Shit!

"Hello, friend," you say. She starts to turn to run away when a hand lands on her shoulder. Lacking a wolf, Lisa uses her giant super-powered brain to cheat at ambushes. Aisha wilts, giving up thoughts of escape. "We need to talk," you continue, as Lisa hustles her into the alley.

Spoiler: Aisha-o-vision

Double shit!

"H-hey. You're here to thank me, right? For helping you beat up-"

"You don't realize how much shit you're in," Lisa says, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about the front you're putting up. Behind that, that fear that you're trying to hide? It's not nearly enough."

"She's fine, right? Everyone is fine. Lung got taken down. No harm no foul, eh? Eh?"

"You were entrusted with my life," you hiss. "I was helpless and placed in your care, and you use me in a prank?"

"Whoa, back up there. I painted dragons on you, sure, but you ran off all on your own! I just turned my back and you were gone.

"A lie," Lisa says. "She deliberately led you towards ABB territory, hoping that a confrontation would occur."

"I had faith in you!" Aisha protests. "I was sure your dragon powers would beat his."

"Another lie. It didn't occur to her to consider your safety at all."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you shout. You're supposed to be the other person, the calm, polite, scary person, but you find yourself unable to calm right now.

"Uh, mom didn't stop doing drugs just because she had a bun in the oven?"

"...what?"

"Hey, you asked," Aisha says with a shrug. "Pretty sure that's what's wrong with me."

She smirks at you. Smirks. She thinks she gets to be funny. Does she get to be funny?

No. No she does not. You haul back and punch her in the solar plexus, as hard as you can without using mantis form. Aisha staggers back into the wall and slides down to the ground, gasping for breath. She looks quite scared as you loom over her.

Good. She should keep doing that. You pull out your knife.

Spoiler: Aisha-o-vision

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!

"Point of order," Lisa says. "No one is going to complain if you rough her up a bit, because she certainly deserves it. But if you do anything permanent, Brian will try to kill you."

"What makes you think he's not next on my list?" you snarl.

Spoiler: Aisha-o-vision

Shit shit shit shit sh-

DESTINATION

AGREEMENT

You wake up in an alley, with no idea how you got there. You- you were completely out of your head on drugs, weren't you? You remember that. That would explain how you fell asleep in an alley.

Only... you're pretty sure you already woke up from that? And then someone told you that you had accidentally arrested Lung in your sleep and the internet was thanking you by exaggerating your cup size. Was that all a hallucination? It sounds like a hallucination.

You roll over, and see Lisa lying next to you. Did Lisa take drugs too? You distinctly remember her being the sober one, though.

Oh, she's saying something. She's mumbling, and what few words you can make out don't make much sense. Something about an infinite number of worms having sex in her brain? Maybe she did take drugs.

"Lisa?"

"But where are they- whuh?" Her eyes snap back into focus at the mention of her name.

"Why are we lying in this alley?" you ask. You get to you knees, and the two of you sort of help each other up from there. Lisa frowns as she looks around.

"I don't know. I don't know? I don't know? How- Stranger!"

Fuck! Lisa pulls her gun, and you dive for your knife - you must have dropped it at some point. No, you must have been made to drop it, which means that trying to pick it up again is pointless. But what else is there to do?

Your hand closes on your knife without incident, much to your surprise. Wait, why would that be surprising, it was just lying th-

"Stranger," Lisa reminds you.

Fuck! You scramble to your feet and move to stand back to back with Lisa, for all the good that will do when you can't even... you can't even...

That's odd. You could have sworn there was something you were supposed to be doing. "Uh-"

"Stranger," Lisa explains before you can even ask. "There's a Stranger in the alley with us, I can't tell what they're doing but I can tell that they're here! Stranger, Taylor! I'm freaking out over here use your bullshit powers to save us from the Stranger! You're too out of it to manage that aren't you? Use your goddamn sorcerer's sight! Just do what I say, you don't have to understand why."

Wow, no need to be rude. "Sorcerer's sight is on," you report.

"Okay. We're going to spin in a circle so that you can take a look all around us. Tell me at once if you see something invisible."

"Just the dog," you report after you've somewhat awkwardly shuffled through a full circuit, still backed up against each other and brandishing your weapons at nothing in particular.

"Damn. If you-"

She's interrupted by Fenrir lunging into solidity, interposing himself between you and, well, thin air as far as you can tell. He's sure as hell intent on protecting you from said air though: Teeth bared, hackles raised, growling up a storm. He takes several slow steps forward, as if he's forcing the imaginary threat further down the alley.

"The dog can smell you, Stranger!" Lisa shouts triumphantly. A Stranger? That would explain why everyone except you is freaking out.

Lisa grabs your shoulder and guides you to press yourself up against one of the walls.

"Please escort our friend out of the alley," she says. When nothing happens, she has you repeat it.

Fenrir steps to the side, then starts walking towards the exit. Lisa keeps her gun trained on a spot just in front of him as he passes you, but you cannot for the life of you figure out why.

You start to get a bit worried when Fenrir approaches the mouth of the alley. Not only are you unmasked, it's Tuesday. You're not supposed to be able to summon him on Tuesdays. You're going to have to deal with a bunch of nazis asking pointed questions if anyone sees him today. But Lisa is clearly up to something, and you don't know how important it is.

"I suggest you run," Lisa says loudly, drawing a strange look from you. "Run and don't stop until you hit city limits, because there'll be an invisible wolf at your heels.

"Nod if they're running away," she adds in a much softer tone. Fenrir nods. "Send him away," she says to you.

A quick "begone" from you and Fenrir is once more intangible.

"Did you want him to go somewhere?" you ask. "He won't be able to affect the physical world again for a while, you know."

"I know, I was bluffing. It worked, but the big problem is that someone sent a- oh. I get it now. That's funny."

"...are you going to share with the rest of the class?"

"Yeah, that should be doable now that she's out of range and no longer stepping all over your short-term memory."

She proceeds to make the situation make sense again, and you have to agree with her verdict: It is funny. You wonder how far Aisha will run before she gives up and discovers that there was no wolf chasing her after all.

Some healthy exercise and a bit of mortal terror is no worse than she deserves.

"You did good," you say. Granted that you weren't in nearly as much danger as she thought you were, at least she didn't just stand around being useless. Like you did. You need more Thinker powers.

"Sorry about outing you."

"Eh." You wave away her concern.

"No, seriously. She's seen the dragon, the wolf and the sorcerer's sight. If she blabs to someone clever, they could figure out what you are. We have to find some way to make sure she keeps quiet." She sighs. "Between the knockout effect and the mental invisibility, dealing with her is going to be awful."

"Pretty sure the knockout wasn't her. Faultline said that always happens to parahumans who witness a trigger event."

At your words, Lisa power starts going off so quickly you can't even make out the details.

"What? But why- how- communicating? No!" She pinches the bridge of her nose and clamps down on her power. "Can't afford to waste headaches on that, have to deal with your compromised identity."

"You worry too much, Lisa. I'll just ask her nicely."

"You'll- okay, spill. What's her soul price?"

You laugh happily, and tell her.

===

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

Taylor can't spot Aisha, because sorcerer's sight explicitly does not work against magical stealth (though it does give a bonus to spotting magical people using mundane stealth, because they're glowing)

The spirit charm Tracking, on the other hand, lets you do a contested roll to completely ignore magical stealth. With Fenrir's 7 dice and 3 autosuccesses against Aisha's 4 dice, it wasn't much of a contest.

Spoiler: Aisha-o-vision

Oh god. Oh god. I'm dying. I can't breathe, I can't think. This still counts as running, right? Right, mister giant invisible wolf sir? Please. I'm trying. I'm sorry I'm not faster. Please don't eat me.

Is that? Oh yes. Praise baby Jesus, the sign says 'you are now leaving Brockton Bay'. Just a few more yards. Just a few of the longest yards on earth.

I collapse underneath the sign. For a while I'm too busy puking my guts out to be properly scared. When I still haven't been eaten alive by time I'm finished, I allow myself to relax. And by relax I mean collapse in a sobbing heap. Crying is very relaxing right now.

I should have gone along with Brian. If I was grounded for life he'd be around to protect me from crazy bitches and their monster pets. But nooo, I had to be all 'I could always just stay with mom, she never tries to ground me'. Why did I do that?

Because it worked, dammit. I love you, bro, but you are such a chump. Though I could really use your chump ass and its superpowers right about now, mine don't work on wolves.

Dammit. I have no idea whether the wolf is still watching me, either. Just my luck, no sooner do I get invisibility powers than I run into a monster that has better ones. It can see me, I can't see it.

And I can't risk going back until I'm sure it's buggered off. Taylor - she's that Empire chick isn't she, not Rune, the other one - is going to need it back sooner or later. She'll definitely call it back in a day or two, right?

Unless she's holding a particular grudge against my black ass. Which, uh, yeah. Maybe a little bit. Better make it a week.

Dear diary, today was the worst day ever.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

You had been fretting awfully over what you'd tell your dad - how would you explain going missing for almost a week? In a sense, your dragon-based misadventures were just what you needed, because they gave you the time and opportunity to come up with an answer. You enter the house without hesitation.

"Taylor!" You don't even have time to close the door behind you before you're being hugged, which is a promising start. "What happened? Are you alright? Where were you?"

"I'm fine," you barely-lie. You will be fine.

"What happened?" Danny repeats. The big question, that seemed so daunting yesterday. But like all riddles, it's easy when you know the answer.

"I'm not going to tell you."

"What?" He lets go of you, taking a step back. In his face you can see confusion gradually giving way to anger. Better nip that in the bud. A shouting match isn't going to make anyone happy.

"I'm not going to tell you," you repeat firmly. "If you press me on this I can always run away for real." You can, too. That's the epiphany you needed to make everything fall into place. With the haul from the Merchants you can easily afford your own place, and all you lose from dropping out of school is access to Glory Girl's power. You're... all grown up, basically.

Danny's expression as he comes to understand this truth is still like a stab wound to heart, though. "I'd like to stay," you hasten to add. "If you'd let me."

"As long as I don't pry," he says bitterly.

"Yes. I do love you, but you don't have that power over me anymore."

"I... of course you can stay, Taylor! I wouldn't put my little girl out on the street!"

"I'd be fine," you say softly. Maybe too softly for him to hear. Maybe not. Your earlier confidence seems to have wandered off somewhere. You wouldn't want guilt to be the only thing keeping you in his house... but perhaps you'd like that more than the alternative.

"But that you don't... that you don't trust me with what's going on, that hurts."

"Yeah."

"Just... just tell me it's not drugs." You get the impression that if you don't tell him that he might just tackle you right then and there and lock you in the basement for your own good. Better avoid that, even if a physical altercation between you would last exactly long enough for you to decide which identity to reveal - shorter if Fenrir noticed and decided to take matters into his own jaws. But nobody wants that outcome.

"I..." The words catch I your throat. What the hell, Taylor? All you had to do was look him in the eyes and say it wasn't drugs. But for some godforsaken reason you can't manage to do that.

It's probably the drugs. Lisa was right, you shouldn't have been allowed out on your own until your neurotransmitters unfucked themselves.

Rather than tackle you, Danny simply slumps in defeat. "Taylor..."

"Once!" you say angrily - you're angry at yourself, not at him. "Fine, twice!" you amend as you remember Newter, even angrier. Why are you bothering him with these details? "It was awful and I'm never doing it again!"

"...that would have been a lot more reassuring if you'd stuck with 'once', kiddo."

"There are different kinds, you know," you say, pouting. It's not a good answer, but it's probably going to upset him less than the truth.

Danny sighs. "Are you going to keep trying-"

"I swear on my mother's grave, I will not do drugs ever again." You regard each other solemnly. Danny nods. You nod back. You would not make such an oath frivolously even if you were in full possession of your faculties.

Besides, going by what Lisa said you've probably sampled all of them already. Even if some of them weren't really meant to be combined.

---

You have a plan for your Sunday: You're not going to do anything. No plots, no parahumans, no nothing. You have giant holes in your schedule where Faultline used to sit, and you're not even going to think about filling them right now. You're going to stay in bed all day, catch up on wolf cuddles, and move as little as possible. At most you'll drag yourself upstairs to eat. Maybe.

Then your Empire phone rings. That's not a punchline, because punchlines are unexpected. The universe shitting on your plans is not unexpected.

"What?" you demand.

"Where the hell are you?" Ops guy sounds like he's having an equally good time right now.

"Enjoying my day off?"

"I heard you've been sick - thanks for letting us know, by the way - but don't you read your messages?"

"No?" Okay, that's on you. 'I was marooned in another dimension and then I was busy beating up your worst enemy' is a pretty good excuse for forgetting to check your texts, but unfortunately not one you can use.

Ops guy makes a wordless noise of frustration. "The rally, Low Key! We need everyone there, as a show of force."

"Right. You know why I have so many days off, right?" You snuggle closer to the perfectly material Fenrir. "No wolf on Sundays."

"You still need to show up. People count the capes at these things."

"Fiiine. Give me the address."

---

You arrive just in time to miss an exhibition match between Fenja and Menja - you see them salute each other and shrink down to normal size as you round the last corner. Judging by the applause, the friendly spar of the 50 foot women was quite the show. You frown thoughtfully as you catch the brief flicker of power - is it worth making them your next project? You already know how to grow huge - except you don't really, stupid obstinate dragon power.

Looking around, Captain's Park is pretty packed, though the crowd is spreading out a bit as they trickle back into the space used for the mock battle. A surprising amount of regular, non-skinhead people, too. Or is it surprising? A group of people manning barbecues off to one side shows that Caesar is providing bread as well as circuses, and an anonymous benefactor just ensured that no giant rage dragons will crash the party. They really should pay you more. Instead you settle for snagging a free hotdog from the barbecue area before wandering off into the crowd. You'll figure out how to best eat it later.

Thing is, no one told you what to do once you're here. What is everyone else doing? You spot Hookwolf just standing around in the crowd, so you suppose you'll do the same until someone yells at you.

"Low Key!" No, that was just a friendly greeting: Alex spotted you wandering past. "What's up?"

"Everything sucks. Some asshole dragged me out of bed on a Sunday to listen to a stupid speech, and I missed the valkyrie fight."

He chuckles politely at your performative grouchiness (which covers genuine grouchiness, but he doesn't notice that). "It was pretty cool, but Victor-Cricket was better on a technical level." Then he spots your hotdog. "Guys, let's give Low Key some privacy."

After a quick series of nudges and gestures on his part you find yourself surrounded by beefy skinheads, standing shoulder to shoulder and facing outwards. This lets you hike up your mask enough to uncover your mouth without worrying about anyone photographing you, or sneaking up to take advantage of your complete lack of vision. "Thanks," you say before digging in.

"It's starting."

You readjust your mask and tap your protectors on the back to get them to move aside. A speaker's stage, complete with podium, is lifting into the air, suffused by Rune's power. Silver lining, at least you'll get some power study done today. Kaiser is behind the podium of course, flanked as always by his valkyries.

They say Hitler was pretty good at giving speeches (you wouldn't know, you've only ever seen brief snippets, and don't even speak German), and Kaiser follows that tradition. Very fiery, very punchy. And so educational! Who knew that pornography, gay acceptance and no-fault divorce were all jewish plots to reduce white birth rates, with the ultimate goal of white genocide?

"Question," you say to Alex as Kaiser goes on to further praise traditional christian values and the sanctity of marriage.

"Shoot."

"Are we pretending that he isn't tapping that," you gesture to the blonde supermodel twins on either side of the speaker's podium, "or are we just acknowledging that it's good to be the king?"

"Huh. You reckon he is?"

"Like Mjolnir striking a sleeping jotun."

"Guess you gotta go with option B, then," Alex says with a shrug. "Wasn't the sleeping jotun an illusion, though?"

He's entirely unconcerned with the matter. Then again, despite the paean to christian values currently being delivered, the Empire is actually made up of a mix of christians, atheists and asatru worshippers (and that one weird pseudo-Hindu). Or as they put it during their friendly theological debates at the bar: Christ-cucks, godless heathens and LARPers.

But there's another point of doctrine that isn't quite adding up here. You decide to engage in some socratic dialog.

"You know I'm a nigger trigger and not super woke on the JQ." You've been around long enough to speak their language, more or less.

"Yeah?"

"But the holocaust didn't happen."

"Uh-huh?"

"So what are they so mad about? Why are they trying to destroy us?"

"Labor camps aren't super awesome even without electric death showers," Sven butts in. Oh, so the rounding-up part of the holocaust officially did happen. Makes sense you suppose, it would be pretty fucking hard to deny.

Ignoring the secondary argument you can hear starting up in the background (in which someone is claiming that the labor camps were quite pleasant actually, and that Mengele was a nice doctor who took good care of his patients), you try another tack.

"Wouldn't civilization just collapse if they did succeed in wiping us out?"

"Sure would," white supremacist Sven says cheerfully. "They'll have to maintain a disenfranchised minority of whites to-"

"I'm trying to listen to a speech here," Alex says peevishly.

"Sorry." "Sorry."

"The jew is, at heart, an honest man," Kaiser is saying. Most of the audience laughs. A few boo. You are just really confused.

"You laugh," he continues, unperturbed, "but consider the truth behind his hypocrisies. In a land where he is the only minority, he feels exposed. 'To defend your nation's borders is like another shoah,' he cries as he reinforces the walls of Israel. When you stand up for your fellow whites, he trembles. 'A people united is like another shoah,' he cries as he conspires with his fellows. When you name him a jew he recoils, for there is nothing he fears more than to be known as the hostile outsider he is. He cannot help but to liken every threat to his power to a holocaust, because at heart, his fear is real.

"In his fear, he seeks to poison and divide us. To deceive and replace us. He fears the shoah because he knows. He knows that should his grip on the great organs of disinformation falter for the briefest moment - should the true extent of his perfidy ever become known - there'd be another one.

"You precious few, who have seen behind the veil, who dare stand up against the enemy in our midst, it is not your fist he fears. It is your voice! Your voice which he must keep from the marketplace of ideas at all costs, lest the light of truth scour away half a century of lies!

"When we are victorious, it will not be your hand holding the sword. It will be those who spat on you, the innocent masses who believed his newspapers and history books, who were told that the destruction of their world was an illusion. And if not an illusion, that it was a natural phenomenon, as inevitable as the tides. And if not natural, that it was deserved! That it should be embraced, that they should welcome their own extinction, go willingly into the grave and leave all their works to those their self-appointed masters deemed more biddable. It will be they who stand up, the scales fallen from their eyes, and strike down he who would destroy them!

"Remain strong, to defend your home against his golems. But more than anything, let your voices be heard!"

The crowd erupts in cheers and roman salutes. You have little choice but to join in.

"I thought jews were supposed to be cunning," you remark once the cheers die down.

"What's your point?" Alex asks.

"I mean, if I was a jew who wanted to prevent the rise of another Hitler, 'a jewish plot to destroy white people' would be the opposite of what I'd do," you say reasonably.

"Yeah, well, you work for a living."

"I do," you confirm, effortlessly contorting your perspective into one from which that appears true.

"You haven't been fired from 109 jobs," Sven agrees, presumably a reference which you do not get.

"Yeah. If you work for a living you can do the peaceful coexistence thing. But a parasite has no choice but to weaken the host enough that he can't make it to the pharmacy and buy delousing agent." From the way people laugh at that, you're pretty sure another reference just sailed over your head.

Your socratic dialog isn't working so well today, you grumpily conclude. It's almost as if some random noob can't just walk up to a veteran nazi and stump him ideologically off the top of her head. Hollywood lied to you again.

===

Spoiler: A/N

What the audience hears: History will vindicate you.
What Kaiser is saying: Please just stay on the reservation and complain a lot, because you being too proactive tends to spook Medhall's shareholders.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Your school is more accommodating about your unplanned absence than your dad was:

"If you don't provide a valid reason this will go on your permanent record."

"Okay."

You can see in her eyes the moment she decides that Winslow kids gonna Winslow kid, and saving a destitute charity transfer from themselves is not her job. Just because they're serious about being the good school doesn't mean they care.

---

When you arrive at the bar for your patrol shift, the atmosphere is strangely tense. Stormtiger is there, which is also unusual, at least at the times you usually show up. He's facing the door, and not drinking.

"What's wrong?" you ask. Lung was arrested, their rally went really well. Why the long faces?

"Glory Girl broke up with her boyfriend again," the bartender says.

"O... kay?"

"Her comfort food is ambushing lone skinheads and breaking all their bones."

"Oh." The gossip rags were for intelligence purposes.

"We've switched up the patrols. Bigger groups, no one goes out without parahuman support. Your group is assembling out back."

"Okay." Welp, there goes your power study this evening, and possibly for several weeks more until Glory Girl gets over herself. Considering your interactions with her so far, you're not exactly shocked to find out that she gets her jollies from bullying the powerless. Fucking heroes.

Your group, as it turns out, consists of Alex, Sven, probably-Eric, Fake Swede, what's-his-name and that guy from Hookwolf's dojo. Look, unless they somehow distinguish themselves, what's even the point of them having names?

"-and when you're not on patrol, stay indoors as much as possible," Alex is saying. "Othala will fix you up if Panacea doesn't, but no one likes having their bones broken-"

"Rating: Mostly true," dojo guy interrupts him, nodding towards you. You give him the finger.

"Keep pissing off our parahuman backup, see how that works out for you," Alex says. "To return to what I was saying: No matter what, you'll get patched up afterwards - but you'll be in a world of shit if she tortures information out of you. Be smart, stick together. Individually we're weak..."

"But together we form a mighty faggot," the others chorus.

"And without an axe blade attached-" you bow slightly and gesture towards yourself, "-you won't ever accomplish anything useful." See, you get some of their references.

You summon Fenrir and set out with your... what should you call them? 'Members of the rank and file' is a bit of a mouthful, and your brain for some reason keeps wanting to call them 'mortals' (which is rude - it's not as if you're immortal. Yet). Baselines? Normies? Mundanes? Charges. You set out with your charges.

They are kinda tense moving out, but the presence of a giant wolf by their side seems to set them at ease, and soon enough they're bantering as usual. You are in no way exempt, but you like to think that you give as good as you get. By the Empire's rules your status as a parahuman inherently makes you their social and military superior... but between your reputation on the battlefield as Psycho Bitch (object of awe, fear and mirth) and your reputation on the training field as Hookwolf's Retarded Chew Toy (object of pity and contempt) it balances out pretty close to you being 'one of the boys'.

Your gender is not an issue. While not a single person at the bar would complain if the nineteenth amendment was repealed tomorrow, and most of them would cheer, you wouldn't quite call them misogynists. Their main point of contention is that women are too nice to be given political power, that they would never vote for the drastic measures necessary to save America (insert air quotes as appropriate).

Considering the 'election results if only men/women voted' graphics you've seen passed around, they're not wrong. But as a parahuman you're scientifically proven not to suffer from excessive niceness. And, hah, empirically proven by joining up in the first place.

Alex is currently teasing dojo guy ('Otto', you think you overheard his name was) for worshipping a kike on a stick (which is how the atheist contingent of the Empire refers to our lord and savior Jesus Christ), while Fake Swede is giving Eric shit for being a... 'nazbol'? A nazi bolshevik? How does that even work?

"How do you manage to get along so well despite your differences?" you ask Sven. Which is not something you ever expected to ask a nazi, but here you are.

Sven shrugs. "Doesn't matter what kind of society you're trying to build, the first step is always to exclude blacks and jews, 'cos they'll fuck it up. One of 'em'll fuck it up by accident, the other'll fuck it up on purpose."

It probably also helps that they don't really disagree all that much when you get down to it. Even atheist Alex admits that Christianity used to be pretty cool: Condemning degeneracy, fighting off the muslim invasion of Europe, and generally helping shape Northern Europeans into the most awesome people on the planet. And Otto agrees that it pretty much sucks nowadays, doing the opposite of all those things. They just disagree on whether it can be salvaged, in this scientific age.

"Bruh, the age ain't scientific," Otto says. "That's jewish bullshit. People want a set of divine commandments to follow so they can feel virtuous, and you can't stop 'em from getting some. It's the duty of the state to provide a state religion with good commandments, so they don't pick up some dumb cult bullshit."

You've never considered religion in those terms before. There's obviously some motivated reasoning going on, what with him being pro-christian to start with, but is he wrong? If you consider arbitrary moral prescriptions as part of the hierarchy of needs...

"Huh," you say. When the mortals turn to you, you wave them off. "No, nothing. It's just that vegans suddenly make sense."

"At least veganism is-"

Your attention is drawn from the argument when you spot the three people coming down the street towards you. Dark skin, check. Merchant colors, check. Guns, ch-

"Guns!" you shout. Of course you had to be enriched by the gun-toting kind of diversity today, when you have a bunch of mortals to protect and your ranged support is busy elsewhere. Can't be helped. As your mortals dive for cover behind parked cars, you kick Fenrir into a run.

They obviously don't miss your shout. Or the giant wolf bearing down on them. Two handguns and a shotgun are brought to bear on you. You press yourself against Fenrir's back to present the lowest possible profile.

Shots ring out as you close the distance. Even outdoors, it's still ridiculously loud. Hollywood really does not do it justice. Fenrir yips as he's hit but does not stumble, does not slow down. Good wolf.

Also, ow. Now you know how your costume felt when you were making it. The sensation of a needle punching through leather is an excellent analogy.

Of the three gunmen, two have the sense to turn and run when their weapons prove insufficient. The remaining idiot tries for one last shot, and gets his hand bitten off for his trouble. Fenrir keeps right on going, bowling him over as he goes after the runners. Fleeing isn't going to work, but the idea was sound.

You pull your knife with your remaining good hand and launch yourself at the guy on the left as Fenrir lunges for the one on the right. You land point first and the knife digs into his back satisfyingly as the impact sends him sprawling. How'd you like that, motherfucker? Not feeling so smart bringing a gun to a knife fight now, are you?

You get a bit emotional when someone hurts your dog, alright?

...trying to get up seems to hurt a lot more than it should.

"Holy shit what the fuck?" Over the ringing in your ears, you hear a shout from the direction you came.

"What did you expect, patrolling with Psycho Bitch?"

"Fucking bulletproof goddamn wolf?"

Otto comes running up to you. "Hey, are you-" His face falls. "She's hit! Alex! She's bleeding!"

"Shit! Get Othala on the line, right now! How bad is it?" Alex runs over to kneel at your side.

"It's cool," you say, "pretty sure the bullet went all the way through." No need to worry about digging it out before Othala does her thing.

"It's absolutely not cool," Alex insists. He's shrugging his way out of his shirt as he speaks. "You and you, apply pressure to the wounds. Here." He hands his wadded up shirt to one of the designated volunteers.

Having a grown man lean his weight on your freshly perforated shoulder isn't super awesome, and the guy stuffing his own shirt in the exit wound in your side also leaves some things to be desired, comfort-wise. It's all so unnecessary, you stopped bleeding on your own before you even jumped off the wolf.

Oh well, you guess it's the thought that counts. You bleed a bit more, just enough to soak the cloth and prevent the nice men from feeling useless.

"Really, you guys are making a huge deal out of this," you try. They aren't having any of it.

"How come you're not wearing a vest?" Otto asks. "The hell were you thinking, charging a shooter without a vest?"

Now that he mentions it, when the shirts came off just now they revealed kevlar rather than abs. Huh. No one issued you one of those. You offer half a shrug in response.

Meanwhile, Alex has been performing triage on your defeated foes, starting with a tourniquet for Stumpy. The second guy is surprisingly rambunctious for someone with a knife sticking out of his back, requiring a couple of swift kicks to the head to calm down. Triage goes both ways, around these parts.

He'll be fine. Given that he considered walking onto Empire turf to start shit a good idea in the first place, he won't notice some extra brain damage. The last guy is more docile, having been thrown into a wall by Fenrir and then generously stepped on.

Fenrir has more holes in him than you and is limping a bit as he walks over, but he shares your sensible attitude towards bleeding. You're not seeing any exit wounds, though. He nuzzles you, showing mild concern.

"I'm fine," you assure him. "Come closer." He lays his head on the ground next to yours and you whisper instructions directly into his ear.

Spoiler: Fenrir-o-vision

I really don't want to leave her side when she's hurt like that, but I do as she told me. I'm a good dog.

Go into an alley. Make sure no one is watching. Demateralize.

Five deformed little lumps of lead drop to the ground. Those were inside me? No wonder it hurt so much! She's so smart!

I rematerialize and hurry back to rejoin her.

With that done, all that's left to do is wait for the healer. Which is excruciating, and not just because of the pain. No one is in the mood for witty banter any more, yet when you suggest that you might take a nap instead they're all "No! Stay with us, Low Key! Look at me!"

"'tis but a flesh wound," you say exasperatedly. "Stop being such mighty faggots about it."

Finally, finally Othala arrives to fix you. You insist that she attempt to do the same for Fenrir, and are gratified to discover that your Master projection is lifelike enough to be granted regeneration (heh). When your patrol resumes, Alex motions the others to walk ahead and lowers his voice so only you can hear him.

"You should be dead," he says.

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm serious. A hit like that, the internal bleeding should have killed you before Othala could arrive."

"Luck."

"Hmph."

"Alright fine, skill. Bleeding is for-" you almost say 'mortals' "-losers. But I would be pretty upset if a Brute rating were to suddenly appear on Low Key's PRT profile," you add.

He holds up his hands to protest his innocence. "I don't snitch on people who take a bullet for me. Personal policy."

---

After the patrol, Otto refuses to let you leave. Instead he leads you to a small house on the southern edge of Empire territory, where it starts to fade into generic suburbs. It doesn't have a garden so much as a token strip of grass between the street and the porch. The American dream, compact version. But it does have an honest-to-god white picket fence, which you suspect is being enjoyed on multiple simultaneous levels of irony.

"Wait here, I'll be right back," he says.

You dismount and lean against the gatepost while he goes inside. You can make out a cry of "Honey? Where did I put my old gear again?" followed by a muffled conversation. You let your mind drift as you wait.

You snap back to attention when Fenrir nudges you. You're being watched. The front door is ajar, and peeking out from behind it is a small boy of about five. He isn't parahuman (of course he isn't, just saying that's why you didn't notice him at first). He ducks back behind the door with an indrawn breath when he sees you looking at him.

"Hi," you say. He gathers enough courage to peek back out, but not quite enough to respond. As he comes back into view, you notice that he's wearing a set of Velocity pyjamas. Normal enough for a kid his age, but considering that his father is part of the E88... The E88 consider themselves to be the good guys, of course, but roughly 100% of the media-industrial complex responsible for the existence of that costume disagrees. You wonder what age is appropriate for that conversation.

"Are you a hero?" he asks eventually.

You ponder this question. It's surprisingly hard to come up with a good answer. On the one hand, well, no, but...

"Never trust anyone calling themselves a hero, kid." It's good life advice, and hopefully avoids stepping on too many toes, upbringing-wise.

To his credit, the kid seems to think about your response for several seconds before dismissing it as typical adult nonsense. He steps out fully into view, carefully closes the door behind him, and positions himself facing you with his hands on his hips.

"Do you beat up bad guys?" he demands seriously.

"I do. In fact I beat up some bad guys with your dad earlier today."

His eyes go wide as saucers. "My dad beats up bad guys?"

Oops. "He didn't tell you?"

He shakes his head fervently, eyes still wide.

"You know that we have secret identities, right? So you mustn't tell anyone."

He nods solemnly, but gasps as something occurs to him. An accusing finger shoots out to point at you. "You just told me!"

"Yeah, I did. That was silly of me. But you're not silly, are you? You're smart. So you won't make that mistake, right?"

The kid rapidly switches between nodding and shaking his head at each statement, the motions violent enough to give an older person whiplash. He keeps alternating for a while after you stop speaking, eventually degenerating into moving his head about randomly. He spreads his arms wide and dramatically falls over onto the grass. The expression on his face communicates that you had better appreciate how wacky it all is, so you chuckle dutifully at his antics.

"Sorry about the delay, I- oh hey there champ." Otto returns carrying a small bundle. He bends down and scoops up his son with his free hand. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

All the shyness seems to have come crashing back down as he was picked up, and the kid is reduced to whispering in his father's ear.

"Uh huh. Of course you had to sneak out and take a closer look."

Whisper whisper.

"She told you that, did she?" Otto shoots you a sharp glance. You can only shrug apologetically. "Did she also mention that you mustn't tell anyone else?"

Nod nod. Whisper whisper.

"I'm giving her some armor, so the bad guys can't hurt her."

Whisper whisper whisper.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"

Shake head. Whisper whisper.

"Why not? You were talking to her before, right?"

Nod- shake head!

Otto sighs, but smiles fondly. "He wants to know if he can pet the wolf."

"Of course."

Fenrir holds very still as the kid gingerly places his hand on his forehead. They remain in that position for a while, until you whisper to Fenrir what he ought to do next.

"It licked me!"

Spoiler: Kid-o-vision

"Its tongue was huuuuge!"

"You still need to go to bed."

"Huuuuuuuuge!"

---

On your way home from school the next day, something unusual happens: Keeping sorcerer's sight up all day pays off, and you have a random encounter with a parahuman in civilian clothes. A blonde girl from Immaculata, who decided to run some errands in town without changing out of her school uniform. A shame that it gains you absolutely nothing.

Well, almost nothing. You still get to sneak up behind her and throw your arm around her shoulders with a loud "You look adorable, girlfriend!"

She startles, of course, and spins around to face you. It takes a moment before she recognizes you, but it's not as if you're trying to disguise your hair or voice.

"Lo- L.K?" Rune says. "What? You- how?"

You tap the side of your nose with a knowing grin. You have told her about your 'wolf senses'.

"You're smelling me? That's creepy AF," she says without heat. "There's rules, you know."

Oh, right. The Unwritten Rules. In your glee, you had momentarily forgotten. ...you're just going to stick with Lisa's diagnosis, and blame faulty neurotransmitters again. Yep, still hungover, no need to take personal responsibility for anything right now.

"Come on, it's not like we're wearing name tags," you say cheerfully. "Besides, I couldn't not let you know that I found out your terrible secret: That behind the mask you're just a sweet and innocent schoolgirl." Rune tries to protest this description, but you continue undaunted. "Adorably harmless, like a little kitten!" Justice for the 'four faults' video has been achieved.

"Never would have pegged you for a catholic, though" you muse. "Or wait, are you?" You know a lot of non-catholics also send their children to Immaculata - it's one of the 'good schools' they moved into Empire territory for.

"Sort of?" Rune makes a 'so-so' gesture. "My folks left the church because the new pope wasn't catholic enough."

You nod sagely. A lot that going around, you gather.

---

Other than that your life has more or less returned to normal. Though there is still the issue of Lung hanging over your head. You suspect that he might be holding a teensy bit of a grudge over what happened, and you have no idea how much of your face he saw during your transformation. Thus, you stick around as the dojo closes down for the day, and approach Hookwolf after everyone else has left.

"Whaddaya want?" He's gotten a lot less grumpy since he handed you off to his subordinates and didn't have to personally put up with your bullshit any more, but you're not exactly friends.

"I heard Lung got himself caught, and is going to be sent to the Birdcage."

"Everyone heard that. What of it?"

"Won't it be nice, to no longer have to worry about the ABB?" you say in the most childishly cheerful voice you can manage.

"Hah!" Hookwolf scoffs the way only someone who has twice been rescued from a Birdcage-bound prisoner transport can scoff.

"Wouldn't it be a shame if some civically minded people with parahuman powers just happened to pass by as the transport came under attack, and decided to help the PRT out?"

"I like the way you think," he admits. "But Kaiser wouldn't go for it. Bad whatchamacallit, precedent."

"Please. With the ABB gone, who could possibly use those tactics against us? The Merchants?"

"You're not wrong. But Kaiser won't have the balls to do it."

"Fine. Forget it." You turn away in disgust. More unwritten rules. You're going to have to do this on your own. Somehow.

Hookwolf's hand on your shoulder stops you before you can take more than a single step. "Kaiser doesn't have to know," he says softly.

Well. "We'd need Krieg, though."

"Why?"

"We're defending the transport. From Oni Lee. We need Krieg."

"Yeah, okay. I'll talk to him."

"We'll be going behind Kaiser's back, though. Won't he be all 'nein, Ich bin just followink orders'?" You've hardly interacted with Krieg at all, but he has a reputation as a bit of a stereotype.

"You've clearly never seen him with a couple of beers in him. Don't let the accent fool you." Hookwolf, telling you that stereotypes are bad.

"I'll talk to Rune, get us some transport."

"Make sure she keeps her mouth shut." He pauses for a bit, thinking. "How will we know when to strike, though? We can't blow off patrols to stake out the PRT, and Kaiser doesn't trust anyone else with his informants."

"I know a guy who knows a guy."

"Alright. Here's my number, call me when you have something."

"Will do."

"Hey," Hookwolf calls after you as you leave. "For a retarded dyke, you're not half bad." It's a peace offering, of sorts.

"So I hear - your mom said the same thing last night." You accept it, and respond in kind.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

You're no more a fan of Glory Girl's current relationship status than anyone else in the Empire, but you admit that it has a silver lining: Her actively avoiding Gallant on her own makes her much safer to stalk! It doesn't make up for her keeping you away from Rune, but you're going make the most of it regardless.

But when school lets out and she flies off to look for comfort food, you're confronted by a problem: You have nothing to do tonight. You've already recovered from your little dimensional misadventure, you don't need any more rest. And due to the way your incredibly slow yet inevitable rise towards omnipotence paints a target on your back, time is your most precious resource. You can't afford to waste it on not acquiring more powers.

You did accidentally establish another identity last week: The whole world now knows that Double D is a Merchant cape who can turn into a dragon. Except possibly the Merchants, who know none of them recruited you. But you could just march up to Skidmark and tell him he totally recruited you, he just doesn't remember it because he was high off his tits at the time. Even if he doesn't totally believe it, there's no way he's going to turn down Lung 2.0 joining his shitty gang. Boom, instant access to new capes.

There are only two problems with this plan: 1) They are going to insist you do drugs together, and drugs are bad. Drugs are the worst. 2) They're going to demand that you turn into a dragon to prove your identity, and you don't remember how to do that. Because you were high off your tits at the time. See point 1: Drugs are the fucking worst.

Perhaps you could call Alec, and just take your chances on the whole slave puppet thing. It's not as if you have any better ideas. Though the suddenly Lung-less ABB ought to be pretty desperate for parahuman muscle right about now, and it's not as if anyone important saw your mind-hands wielded by a white girl. There's an opportunity there, but it should probably wait until you've taken care of Lung permanently. ABB capes will be expected to take part in the rescue attempt, and you can't be in two places at once...

Unless, that is, Oni Lee's power proves easy to learn, and you manage to twist it just right! No, that's a stupid risk to take. But perhaps- but you shouldn't- maybe Alec after all? You wrestle with terrible ideas for a while, but thankfully Lisa calls you up and drops a bunch of parahuman bullshit in your lap before you can admit you have a problem.

As far as you can make it out: Aisha took Lisa's suggestion to heart and skipped town. She called Brian to inform him of this. Brian flipped his shit and demanded she come back, because his custody battle requires that she keep going to school like a good citizen. Aisha told him that you were going to kill her if she came back. Brian called Lisa and demanded that she rein you in. Lisa hates her life agreed to a cease-fire on your behalf, and arranged a meeting to negotiate a permanent truce.

"There's nothing stopping you from just sending Bubbles to murder them instead, but please don't." Lisa sounds a bit tired, you think.

"How much does Brian know?" you ask.

"Brian knows you're Double D. Aisha knows not to tell him anything else."

"Look at her, parahuman for less than a week and already saving lives. A true hero." Lisa snorts at that, knowing your definition of 'hero'. "They're both coming to the meeting?"

"Yes."

"Brian needs to not come to the meeting." You're going to have to discuss things he is not cleared to know about.

"Believe me, I tried. 'I guarantee her safety,' I said. 'It's not as if you'd be able to protect her against the girl who took down Lung anyway,' I said. Do you think he fucking listened?"

---

Lisa has once more found a convenient abandoned building for you to meet in (a different one than the one you fought Alec in, for whatever reason). You look around at the other people in the room.

Aisha looks scared. Brian is trying to look intimidatingly large, but it ends up more 'worried and hovering' than 'implacable and looming'. Lisa looks like she needs a drink. You hope you look calm and scary - you really wish you didn't remember so much of what you said and did to Brian that night, because it's making it really hard to not blush every time you look in his direction.

"Is there, uh, you know..." Aisha looks around nervously, and mimes something that is probably meant to be a pair of fangs, or possibly claws.

"Yes," you say. "Vanishing would be extremely ill-advised."

"Just making sure."

"What are you talking about?" Brian asks.

You sigh and roll your eyes. "This is why no one wanted him at this meeting."

"Believe me, I tried," Aisha says.

"If we could get down to business..." Lisa says.

"Right. First rule of cape club: Identities are off limits. Isn't that right, Grue?"

Brian/Grue stiffens at that, and shoots a glance at Lisa. "How did you-"

"You're too tall to be Regent, and I'm pretty sure you're not Hellhound in drag." Aisha giggles at that, despite the tense situation. "That leaves only one option - let's not pretend as if Tattletale has any real friends."

"Pot, meet kettle," Lisa says.

"No one is going to out anyone," Aisha says quickly. She elbows Brian in the ribs when he doesn't immediately chime in. "Right?"

"Right."

"Good. I'm willing to let bygones be bygones, in exchange for three things." You turn to Aisha and hold up three fingers. "First, that you apologize to me."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. I'm sorry."

"For..." you prompt.

"I'm sorry for risking your life with a stupid prank." Out of the corner of your eye you spot Lisa mouthing something. There may have been a certain amount of Thinker-powered coaching going on beforehand, but you're going to let that slide. "I'm sorry for abusing your trust."

"Imagine if you had led with that the last time we met," you say dryly. "But it all worked out for the best, didn't it? Second, that you thank me for giving you powers."

"You what!?" Brian exclaims. Wisps of darkness start seeping from his skin.

"You didn't tell him?" you ask Aisha, incredulous.

Aisha-

Aisha is standing right there. You blink, having lost your train of thought. Which demand were you on again?

"Don't do that," Lisa says.

You look at the black mist coming from Grue. "Oh, are we using powers now?" you ask mildly. It's mostly a bluff, because you can't use non-dragon powers against him without leaking information. And you just discovered that his darkness blocks sorcerer's sight. He might actually be able to escape to tell others, if he reacts quickly enough.

"Sorry. Happens on its own sometimes." The darkness vanishes. A power that by its very nature cannot be studied by you - your decision not to join the Undersiders is once more vindicated. No, focus on the meeting. You were about to make your second demand.

You turn back to Aisha, holding up two fingers. "Second, that you thank me for-"

"Yes, I know!" Aisha cuts you off. "Thanks for doing the thing that my brother doesn't need to know about!"

"What?" Brian asks.

"...I see," you say, looking between the siblings. So that's how it is? "Then he shouldn't hear about the third thing either."

Aisha glances at Lisa, who shakes her head and makes the fang/claw gesture back at her. "Don't risk it," she says. You have no idea what they're talking about.

"Okay," Aisha says brightly, before turning to her brother. "We don't you need you here anymore, you can go."

When Brian doesn't immediately react to this, she starts pushing him towards the door. He resists only half-heartedly, which is how she's able to move him at all. "But-"

"No buts! We're all friends now, and we're going to have a girl talk that my big lunkhead brother doesn't need to hear! Don't piss her off, she turns into a dragon. Isn't that right, Dee? We're all friends, and no one is going to get hurt."

"No one is going to get hurt," you agree.

"It's fine," Lisa says. "I know what she's going to ask."

"I- fine. I'm trusting you here, Lisa." Brian pauses in the doorway, looking at you, but in the end he decides to leave without making any threats to the girl who defeated Lung.

"Finally," Aisha says after the door closes behind him. "Okay, what's on third?"

You contemplate the girl. Now that she's admitted that her soul's price was granted by you, she's sporting a bright, healthy Loyalty. "Third, you work for me now."

"Oh." The Loyalty trembles slightly as she considers objecting to this, but before it can start to fray she remembers that the alternative is that you don't let bygones be bygones. "...do I get paid?"

"Yes. Which reminds me-" you turn towards Lisa "-we need to talk about money."

"In front of her?"

You shrug. "She knows almost everything already, and is my loyal minion to boot."

"Hey! Uh, I mean, yes I am. You can trust me. I won't snitch. About anything."

You can't help but smile. Between fear and Loyalty, she'll make an excellent minion once she's had some training. Speaking of Loyalty, you just had an idea. You hold up a hand to forestall further conversation, and reach out for her soul's price a second time.

Aisha wants to become respected and feared as a supervillain.

"Huh," Lisa says, her power having told her what you were doing. "Wouldn't have expected that to work."

"Hierarchy of needs, I guess. But I don't know if it's going to stack, or just refresh. Unless you have an idea?"

"Sorry."

Aisha is looking back and forth between you, confusion evident on her face. "This is where you go 'fucking Thinkers,'" you explain.

"Oh."

"By the way, your power. Can you exclude allies from the effect?"

"I can barely keep it from turning on by itself," Aisha says bitterly.

"It's strictly on/off, no selective targeting" Lisa says, with a hint of smugness at knowing more about a power than you.

"Damn." Her power is impossible to study too. A coincidence, or... are they second-gen capes? Not to be a giant bitch about it, but her trigger event was a lot less traumatic than yours...

You shake your head and return to the matter at hand. "In that case I need some shopping done."

You write Aisha a shopping list and hand her some cash. After reading the list she sends a raised eyebrow your way, but you just wave her off.

"A goddamn Tinker too?" you hear her muttering as she leaves.

"Right, money," you say to Lisa. "I'm going to spend some of it on hiring the best information broker in the Bay."

"What do you need?"

"The time and route of Lung's Birdcage transport."

Lisa laughs at that - she doesn't exactly need powers to figure out what you'd use that information for. "Knew you'd break the status quo sooner or later. I can do that. You'll have to pay me later though, the money's already en route to Number Man."

"Number who?"

"You haven't heard of Number Man? He's the banker of supervillains. How else were you going to launder that much money?"

You were just going to dematerialize it and hide it in your mattress. "This Number Man, how often do his accounts get frozen by investigators?" The mattress might have been a better call.

"Never."

"Never?"

"Never. It's the whole reason he's a household name."

"But... every major government has a financial anti-Thinker task force." It's the reason someone like Lisa has to stoop to petty supercrime, instead of retiring to her own private island. Because giant corporations using the most expensive computer equipment on the planet to make six gorillion trades per second and turning the stock market into a circus completely divorced from reality is perfectly fine, but a private citizen using her magic brain to beat the market is haram.

"Then there's regular law enforcement, and regular financial institutions, and goddamn D- hypothetically a rogue AI loose on the internet. And you - every Thinker villain would love to rip him off if they could. He's fighting a one man battle against all of those, and winning? Winning flawlessly? This doesn't worry you?"

If he turns out to be Canadian, Narwhal is going to lose her spot.

"...It didn't until you laid it out like that just now." Lisa rubs her chin and works her power. "I mean, it's not impossible that he's simply the strongest Thinker in the world, stronger than everyone else combined. There's precedent in other classifications."

You nod. Legend among Blasters, Siberian among Brutes.

"But it's more likely that he has backing," Lisa continues. "Like, a bunch of regular billionaires who don't think the Swiss banks are Thinker-hardened enough."

"In either case, why in the world would he care about the tiny sums involved in parahuman crime?" you ask. But you've already figured out the answer by the time you reach the end of the sentence. You don't even need to peek on Lisa's power doing the same.

"A plot for world domination," you say together.

"At least that means I can trust him with my money," you add wryly. With one or more forces actively bent on world destruction, mere domination is not something you're going to lose sleep over.

Besides, if the latter theory is true and he's backed by a shadowy cabal of international power-brokers and financiers... well, all he's doing then is keeping up the facade of the comic book world. And despite a couple of rough patches, the comic book world is undeniably your element. The more people think it's a comic book, the fewer think it's a spy thriller.

If the former theory is true, that's fine too. Democracy had a good run, but if the demonstrably smartest person on Earth wants to have a go at running things instead, you're willing to give him a shot. He'd have to try pretty hard to mess things up worse.

"Speaking of which, he needs to know how you want it."

"Uh, still in dollars?"

"No, I mean, in a private account? Or a company? A non-profit organization? The Number Man can hook you up."

Now that you think about it, a specific kind of company would be really helpful for hiding your biggest expense, wouldn't it? "Does he do identities? I could use a driver's license..."

---

Some time after Lisa leaves, Aisha comes back with your purchases. "Okay, I'm dying over here," she announces. "Why do you need to put up an electric fence?"

"You'll see. Gonna tinker a bit, in the meantime you have homework." You hand her sheet of paper where you've written out the English alphabet. Below each letter is a symbol not found in any language on Earth. "This is the cipher we're going to use. Study it. Practice reading and writing it." The symbols are the nearest phonetic equivalent in the language that came with sorcerer's sight, because why make things more difficult than they have to be? You've also added the numbers 0-9, which have direct equivalents (the Thinker language, being base 25 for some reason, has considerably more numbers than that - but you feel that's a bit above Aisha's pay grade).

"Got it all figured out, huh?"

"Yes."

---

"Right, listen carefully," you tell Aisha.

"Lay it on me, D." Out of all possible forms of address, she chooses the one that specifically reminds you of the incident where your tits ended up on the internet. No, the other one. The one everyone knows about, that was her fault. Because apparently neither credible death threats nor supernatural loyalty is going to prevent this girl from testing boundaries.

"We need a way to communicate while your power is active. You're going to write me notes in the cipher, and I'm going to train myself to implicitly trust ciphered notes that appear from nowhere, that I have no idea who wrote."

"Uh-"

"I'm aware of the irony here, yes. This requires an equal commitment on your part. If the notes ever betray me in any way, you better pray that it kills me and Fenrir both. Because if either of us survive, you will die screaming."

Aisha takes a step back at your vehemence, holding her arms up in surrender. "I can do trustworthy."

"I know," you say. Her Loyalty is right there. "It's 'reliable' I'm worried about."

"...that's fair."

"This is my training rig." You gesture to the device on the table. Six loops of wire extend from the central unit, which is comprised of a car battery, the transformer for an electric fence and a mess of miscellaneous circuitry and wires tying it all together. "Five of the wires carry electricity, one is safe to touch."

You hold up a wireless earbud, then insert it into your ear. "When I hit this button, the safe wire is randomized. The earbud tells me which one it is. Like so." You hit the button. "Two," your recorded voice says in your ear. You touch the second wire, and nothing happens. "See?"

"Okay..?"

"Touching the wrong wire- gah!" You wince as your arm absorbs enough voltage to deter an animal twenty times your size. "Touching the wrong wire fucking sucks."

"No shit."

"You're going to wear the earbud and use your power. I'm going to push the button, and you'll give me a note indicating the safe wire. We'll repeat that until I learn to trust the notes implicitly."

You then proceed to give her seven pieces of paper, and explain the purpose of the seventh.

"Wow. Better you than me."

You hand her the earbud, and

You have no idea why you built this. There are instructions on the table next to it, written by you (not only are they written in a language only you know, you remember writing them). But the instructions make no sense. Which is probably why the last line of the instructions reads 'I know these instructions make no sense, but I should follow them anyway. Cape reasons.'

You scratch your head as you ponder the situation. There's obviously something wrong with your brain, but you can't tell whether it's made you write something crazy, or forget something important. With your brain compromised, can you trust anything-

"You weren't hitting the button," Aisha says. Oh. Oh right.

"I need better instructions for myself. Hang on." You scribble an addendum, then nod to her. "Let's go again."

You have no idea why you built this. There are instructions on the table next to it, written by you (not only are they written in a language only you know, you remember writing them). But the instructions make no sense. Which is probably why the last line of the instructions reads 'I know these instructions make no sense, but I should follow them anyway. Cape reasons. Fenrir knows what's going on.'

"Do you know what's going on?" you ask Fenrir. Fenrir nods. "Should I follow the instructions?" Another nod. Okay. Things don't make any sense, but you trust Fenrir.

You hit the button. You wait. A note appears in your hand. It says '5'. You touch the fifth wire. You are not shocked. You hit the button again. You trust the note. You are not shocked.

This happens a third time, then a fourth and a fifth. The instructions say to treat every sixth note differently. The sixth note reads '1'.

"I am not going to trust this note," you announce. You touch the second wire instead, and get electrocuted. Gritting your teeth, you touch the third. The fourth. The fifth. The sixth. After five consecutive shocks, your entire arm feels like it's burning. A note appears in your other hand. You struggle a bit with the unfamiliar phonetic cipher, but you eventually make out that it reads 'You should have trusted the notes, Taylor.'

You hit the button again.

---

You can't really move your arm anymore. You have to lean over and let it flop onto each wire in turn. You glance at the note. You should have trusted the notes, Taylor. Yeah, you know.

"I think we should stop, boss," Aisha says. Oh. Oh right.

"No. I haven't refused to distrust the notes yet. Get back in hiding."

Spoiler: Aisha-o-vision

Note to self, never ever disobey an order from Taylor. If this is what she does to herself...

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Hookwolf catches your eye and jerks his head to the side. You follow him to a quiet corner of the gym.

"Krieg is on board," he says, softly enough that you can barely make it out past his mask. "Do you have the time and place?"

"Not yet. I talked to the guy, he'll let me know."

"How about Rune?"

"I'll talk to her to-" wait, shit, Glory Girl is still ruining your patrol schedule, you won't see Rune tomorrow. "I'll handle it."

He regards you for a moment. "Don't fuck this up."

You simply nod. "You should break my arm."

"What?"

"People are going to wonder why you pulled me aside, if it wasn't to discipline me. We are doing this sub rosa."

"Sub..?"

"Us more sophisticated people use zeroth reich slang. Means 'sneakily.'"

He either doesn't like your tone or agrees with your conclusions, because he breaks your arm.

"What happened?" Othala asks. "I thought you'd put this stuff behind you."

"I... may have called him stupid and implied that I slept with his mom," you say truthfully.

She shakes her head. "Is it true what the rank and file says? Do you... get off on this?"

"The rank and file is full of shit. Yes I do mean you assholes trying to listen in, don't think I don't notice!"

---

"Check it out this website I made!" Alex says as you enter the bar. Guess that's what happens when a rogue parahuman forces the rank and file to stay indoors all day. You shrug and pull out your phone. What kind of website does a bored nazi make?

Ah, an educational website. Containing a whole lot of bar graphs depicting crimes per capita per race. Of course. Normally you'd suspect a certain reporting bias here given who made the site, but it does cite its source as the official 2010 FBI crime statistics. You're pretty sure Kaiser hasn't managed to infiltrate the FBI.

It's not technically anything you didn't already know - your dictionary of nazi slang did mention that their second favorite four-digit number (after 1488) was 1350. As in 'despite making up only 13% of the population, blacks are responsible for 50% of violent crime.' It noted that this wasn't actually true, but curiously neglected to mention that the more scrupulous number, that the FBI were big fans of, was 1348.7.

"Did you unfuck the stats?" someone asks.

"Nah. More convincing if it's straight from the FBI."

"What's wrong with the FBI stats?" you ask, once more the most naive person in the room.

"Just look at some of their wanted posters," Alex says. Okay, whatever, you were online anyway. Let's see, FBI, most wanted (non-parahuman)... You are confronted with mugshots of criminal scum like Fernando Gomez. Height: 5'4''. Sex: Male. Race: White. Or Jose Victor Sanchez. Race: White. Hamed Abdel Islam, also white. Juan Lois Martinez, white. Carlos Alfonso Vargas...

"Oh."

"Yeah. The FBI deliberately lumps browns into white, to make whitey look bad."

"Guess brown people aren't all that bad then, if they can't skew the stats any further than this," you note. You pause just long enough to let the audience process this heresy, before dropping the punchline: "We should let the Italians back in."

"Mamma Mia!" Johnny shouts in an outrageously overdone accent. "I'm-a so happy!"

---

"Have you got your vest?" Otto asks. What, don't these people trust you?

"Of course," you say. You're just about to hike up your fake viking outfit to show off the kevlar beneath when you hear a gunshot echoing through the streets. "Dammit!"

You kick Fenrir into a run, leaving your mortals to catch up as best they can. More diversity deciding to enrich Empire territory? No, as it turns out, this time it's actually Glory Girl. She's standing (hovering) over a prone skinhead. The gunshot must have been in self-defense. It clearly didn't work, but lucky for him, cavalry's here.

With how assiduously you've been stalking her with sorcerer's sight, you figured out her secret weakness long ago: Her invulnerability is actually a skin-tight forcefield, not regular Brute toughness of the flesh. A forcefield that ought to overload if it takes too much damage all at once, you deduced from the structure of its power supply. The trick is to land one big hit to break her shield, then take her out of the fight before it comes back up.

You whisper instructions to Fenrir as you approach. Glory Girl looks up just in time to get a face full of wolf, as Fenrir leaps over her victim and bites down across her torso. You're almost thrown off as Fenrir decelerates in the air, Glory Girl's flight power fighting to keep her in place against his momentum. You glance behind you as he lands - the skinhead's luck holds, with Fenrir's hind legs hitting the ground just inches away from crushing him.

Glory Girl, meanwhile, is flailing wildly and cursing up a storm, held fast in Fenrir's jaws. Her position affords her almost no leverage, but super strength ensures that the blows that land still draw blood. Her shield didn't break. You had rather counted on that happening. Backup plan time.

"Let go of me, you bitch!" You ignore her banter as you lean forward and pepper spray her. It doesn't stop her flailing, though. You keep the button pressed down, emptying the entire can onto her. It's not working. You're starting to tear up just from the sheer amount of the stuff in the air, but Glory Girl doesn't seem affected at all.

No way. Her fucking shield is smart enough to let air through, but not aerosolized capsaicin? That's cheating!

You don't know how to deal with this. You're metaphorically riding a tiger, here: Letting go would be a terrible idea. Fenrir is stoically maintaining his grip despite mounting injuries and irritation from second-hand pepper spray, but he won't be able to keep it up forever. His head is whipping back and forth now, as Glory Girl tries to use her flight to yank herself free, but his teeth still aren't penetrating the shield. If only you had a real weapon...

"Where's your gun?" you shout over your shoulder.

"She broke it." Crap. Now what do you-

There's a tiny pebble hovering in front of your face, small enough that you'd have missed it if not for sorcerer's sight. The cavalry's cavalry is here.

"Retreat!" you shout, and Fenrir lets go. The sudden lack of resistance sends Glory Girl flying back several yards before she can react. Once she recovers she strikes a pose in the air, pointing back at you in a threatening manner.

"All right, my t-" A giant chunk of concrete smashes her into the ground.

"Ta-daa!" Rune shouts as she comes flying in perched on a second piece of rubble, and glides to a stop next to you.

"Huuuaagghh!" Glory Girl screams, a senseless, animal cry of pain, devolving into puking noises at the end. Her body lurches into the air, flying sideways down the street before crashing into the side of a building.

"Dafuq?" Rune asks.

"I drenched her shield in pepper spray," you explain. "You broke the shield." Depending on exactly how the shield handles the parts of her body that are typically considered to be 'on the inside', but are topographically on the outside, her entire respiratory system may or may not be saturated with capsaicin right now.

"Oh." The two of you watch in silence as her erratic flight takes her out of sight, crashing several more times in the process. "I almost feel bad for her."

"Fuck her," the downed skinhead says. You startle, having momentarily forgotten he was there. "I think she broke my ribs."

"Right, we should call this-" Your mortals come running, fashionably late. "You guys should call this in," you amend. "We got Glory Girl, it's safe now."

"For real?" Alex asks.

"We pushed her shit in!" Rune crows triumphantly.

"Good job showing up in time to help," you add. You don't regret running full speed towards the gunfire - it's sort of your job - and conventional wisdom holds that mortals are chaff in a cape fight. But over here in real life, any one of them could have shot her to bring down her shield for you. You really need to get some sort of real weapon.

"Let's go," you tell Rune.

"Go where?"

"Danger's over, we can resume normal patrols. Unless you don't want to hang out with me anymore?" Ironic puppy eyes don't work so well beneath a grinning mask, so you make sure to inject the most unrealistic amount of emotion into your voice for the second sentence.

Rune laughs. "Sure. You guys handle the administrative shit, and tell my minions the good news if they show up."

"You call them minions? I call mine 'mortals.'"

You can hear the m-people talking as you head off.

"The fuck were you doing out on your own?"

"Just buying some cigs, man."

"Keep telling you, those things'll kill ya."

"Ha fucking ha. Ow. How long till Othala gets here?"

"There's this thing I wanted to talk to you about," you tell Rune.

---

Your brief battle with Glory Girl yesterday reminded you of something important: You're stupid. All this time you've been keeping your orichalcum in reserve because you couldn't think of anything clever to make. Well, how about a weapon capable of harming powerful Brutes? That would have been pretty clever.

Yes, sneakiness and trickery has served you well so far, because you are still relatively weak. And admittedly keeping some orichalcum in reserve more or less saved your life when you burned your relationship with Faultline. But someone truly clever would have figured out that they might be forced into a direct confrontation against a more powerful foe at some point, and planned ahead.

As a wise man once said: In any battle, there's always a level of force against which no tactics can succeed. And just because you're stupid doesn't mean you can't learn from your mistakes: The next time you run into that phenomenon, you want to be on the other side of the equation.

The other thing that was holding you back from using your orichalcum was its scarcity. You still have no idea when or if you're going to be able to make more, so of course you were afraid to waste what little you had on a project you were unsure of. You're sure now - but keeping this scarcity in mind, the weapon you make today should ideally last you your entire career. Or in other words, there is no room for half measures.

Standing in Smith's workshop, you run your finger over the materials you had Fenrir fetch from the dematerialized stash beneath the floor: One full bar of orichalcum. The scale of a dragon, the hook of a wolf. The feather of an angel.

"Is that what I think it is?" Aisha asks, her finger trembling slightly as she points at the feather.

"Probably. I didn't break it off myself, if that's what you're wondering. I don't have that kind of power."

"Oh." She sounds like she isn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"That's what we're here to fix."

You invited Aisha along to watch, because there is no reason not to. The 'she knows enough to spell your certain doom if she betrays you' boat already sailed, so instead you're going to tell her everything. The more she knows about your capabilities, the more helpful the notes can be.

It's why you're currently wearing Smith's form. You have full access to all your powers regardless of what you look like, so unless you're trying to fool outside observers there's no reason to turn into Smith just to work orichalcum. But it felt appropriate, and it let you demonstrate the extent of your shapeshifting (no, you can't really turn into a man, you're still a girl where it counts - no, she'll just have to take your word for that, you're not taking off your pants).

You reach for Dragon's power. Two strips of paper float up, forming circles. You shove your arms inside. Blood drips. You briefly wonder where the hell those special effects are coming from - it's not as if Dragon did anything so flashy - before your mind is distracted by Tinker things. At a twitch of your finger, the materials leap into the air.

As you start working, Aisha walks up next to you and bends down to stare at the bloodied paper strips. Her lips move as she reads.

"They're... not real words?" she says hesitantly. "Antet varlosa...?"

"Anmteot," you absently correct her. "A little bird."

Haltingly, and with terrible pronunciation, she recites something that sort of sounds like verse, which you translate for her.

Spoiler: Sutra of the Voracious Maiden

Once there was a maiden...
...whose parents could not afford to feed her, and so she grew up sickly and weak.
When a kind stranger offered her a taste of food, she was amazed at how strong it made her.
She set out into the world, determined to sample every food there was.
As she ate and ate, her power grew.
"For what purpose do you need so much power?" a passing bird asked.
"I haven't finished eating yet," said she.

"But what does it mean?" she asks.

You grunt and shrug in response. You have no time for poetry right now. You're tinkering, and it's not working the way you want it to. You can feel what you want to do, feel that it's possible... but also that it's not possible for you, not yet. Not as you are. Until you grow more powerful, compromises must be made. But you refuse. Some things can not be compromised. The blade you're making must be able to cut anything and everything. No half measures. Nothing but perfection will do.

You can see the outline of it, the rough strokes of the structure through which you'd have to channel the power. But your mind is too small, too human. It can't encompass the entire thing. You strain against your limits for what might be minutes, might be hours-

"It's been hours," Aisha complains. "Are you going to do something or not?"

Your mind skitters sideways at the interruption, and just like that, you have it. Are you going to do something, or not? What is essential? What can be stripped away, what can be simplified? The blade must be able to cut anything, that's not negotiable. But must it cut anything, all the time? No. A brief moment is enough to decide a battle. Must it be elegant? No. It must merely work.

The path clear, you resume your work. Ever so slowly, the golden metal starts to deform under the force of your will. Atom by atom, the feather is sharpened.

In a perfect world, you would be crafting a sword. It's simple physics, or perhaps geometry - the longer the blade, the more you can cut. But the feather is broken, barely a foot long. You couldn't make a sword even if you had the orichalcum for it. A knife it is. A substantial knife, at least, a 'that's not a knife, this is a knife' knife.

Now that you know what you're doing, you can spare some attention for other things, if not much. As orichalcum coats the feather and the blade takes shape, you explain your situation to your minion, filling in the details. How you can study other parahumans to gain their powers. How there appears to be no limit, how you could theoretically become the most powerful person in the world one day. How utterly fucked you will be if anyone discovers this before you're ready.

You go over each of your powers in turn - skipping lightly over soul's price, for obvious reasons. Telling her everything everything may not be the optimal course of action when it comes to Master effects.

"I can always tell whether you've been disloyal, just by looking at you," is all you say - which is true as far as it goes.

"I've been loyal!"

"I know. I like that about you. You're the only minion who has been perfectly loyal. Well there was Funny Jim I suppose, but-"

"You have other minions?"

"I used to." You leave it at that. You have given her certain facts: You used to have other minions. They were not perfectly loyal. What conclusions she draws from those facts is up to her.

---

"Are you almost done?" Aisha asks. You understand why she thinks that, the knife itself has completely taken form. The feather is almost entirely hidden inside the blade, with only the faintest gleam along the edge hinting at its presence. The scale and hook decorate opposite sides of the pommel (the decorative element is purely incidental, it was simply the best place to slot them into the circuit) But while its looks will barely change from now on, you still have thousands of microscopic power channels left to etch.

You consider how long that will take, do some mental calculations. "I'm more than halfway done."

"Jesus. And you're still bleeding, what the fuck?"

"Hm?"

"I said, I'll get us some food."

You like this minion.

---

It's finally done. Almost as an afterthought, you rip some wood out of a doorframe and some leather from your apron, to form and wrap the hilt. You release Dragon's power. The paper strips burst into flame, and the knife falls out of the air and into your hand. It feels right. It is yours, on a level nothing not made out of orichalcum is.

"It's a bit whatchamacallit, conspicuous," is Aisha's verdict of the giant golden knife. "I thought you were trying to keep a low profile?"

"Really?" you say, smiling. With a thought, the knife vanishes from your hand. It is no longer here. It is nowhere, yet everywhere. It is Elsewhere. "I don't see anything." Another thought sees it return, as if was never gone.

You learned how to do this from the very first piece of tinkertech you ever studied, and it's so very useful. Of course you'd include it in your magnum opus. You're not just going to pick an identity and have it start lugging obvious tinkertech weaponry around. No, this way you remain armed in every identity. And whichever one needs it first, why of course that's the one who had it all along, as far as anyone can prove.

You banish it again, then make it reappear in your other hand. Better yet, you have justifications for how you came to possess it already in place. Thanks to your little caper in Ottawa, the PRT independently theorized that Low Key might have access to orichalcum. And with Faultline suddenly sporting that unmistakeable golden bling, soon enough they will work backward from there and do the same for Quicksilver. Truly, the best way to fool someone is to make them feel clever.

"Neat," Aisha says as you continue playing with the Elsewhere functionality of your new weapon.

"You think that's neat?" you ask, shaking your head. You walk over to the anvil you bought recently - mostly as decoration, considering how you work metal. You can feel the connection, the presence of the knife in your soul, like yet unlike one of your powers. And if you were to activate it...

The knife starts shining brightly, casting crisp shadows across the room as if you were holding a small piece of the sun in your hand. Aisha yelps and throws up a hand to shield her eyes. You cut.

The knife passes straight through the anvil, but it could be moving through air for all the resistance you feel. The light fades, and Aisha opens her eyes in time to see one third of the anvil slide away and fall to the floor with a thump. You run a finger along the bright metal of the cut. Perfectly smooth.

"That's neat," you say with satisfaction.

===

Spoiler: Updated status

The Less Than Subtle Knife
Artifact •••
Attune 5
Orichalcum knife
Speed 5, Accuracy +1, Damage +2L, Defense +0, Rate 3

Taylor's determination to cram the ability to 'cut anything' into Artifact 3 resulted in this curious abomination. Up to (Essence) times per day, the attuned exalt can spend 10 motes of essence to 'charge' the knife. When charged, the knife will shine with a blinding light like that of the sun until the next time it is used to attack, which expends the charge. This attack will ignore all Soak and Hardness, and if it inflicts at least one Health Level of damage it may also inflict one Crippling amputation of the attacker's choice. Multiple charges can be stored at the same time, if for example the exalt wants to have the effect to apply to several attacks in a flurry.

Like all artifacts made by Taylor, it can also be banished Elsewhere and resummoned, as if using the charm Summoning the Loyal Steel.

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

Don't try this at home. If you have Artifact 3 to spend and want to be able to ignore armor, just get a Grand Goremaul. With a +16L damage bonus and the Piercing tag it will do more damage than the charged knife against anything but the most absurd of Soak-monsters, and even a glancing blow will bypass any Hardness that is likely to ever show up in the game. And it can do that all day long, for free.

Why not just make the knife an Artifact 4 or 5 and make the effect permanent, you ask? Because there are certain requirements if you want to forge an Artifact with a rating above 3:

Step 1: Cultivate for 99 years.
Step 2: You know what, never mind the other steps.

There are ways to get around Step 1 - but Taylor doesn't have those charms.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

If there's one good thing that came from the whole debacle with Skidmark and Lung, it's that you're sort of rich now. Lisa gave you 60% of the haul, as an apology for (accidentally and by proxy) entrusting your life and wellbeing to an unreliable dumbass (that you'd later go on to trust said dumbass with even more things is a separate issue). The Number Man didn't just launder the money, for a small extra fee he also set up a front business to your specifications.

That's how you became the proud owner of Big Hank's Whole Hog Steakhouse, a totally real restaurant located at an address that definitely exists. Don't laugh at the name, it does exactly what it's supposed to do. Which is to let you convert portions of your newfound wealth into dead animals on a daily basis without raising eyebrows. Now that you're rich, of course your first priority is to feed your dog properly.

You arrive at the slaughterhouse in your guise as Hank's niece (complete with driver's license, thanks again Number Man) and park your newly bought beat up old truck around the back. What? Cars are technology. You're an excellent driver as long as you keep industry and forge wisdom active.

Even though it's only the third time you're here, it's already routine. You announce yourself, an employee helps you load up a carcass. Clearly the guy has very little to do on Sundays, because he sticks around and tries to chat you up. You're just about to shoot him down when another parahuman shows up.

No, really. Another parahuman shows up, also in civvies, driving a truck the same model as yours. Is someone pranking you?

"Sorry, got another customer," flirty guy excuses himself.

You bum a cigarette off him and pretend to smoke it, just to have an excuse to stick around and watch. Mostly you just hold it near your face and wait for it to burn out on its own. How do people ever manage to get addicted to these things? It's disgusting.

The other parahuman is a Changer too, you conclude after some study. And he's buying a dead pig, just like you. What the hell is going on? Well, you're not a Case 53, so the resemblance isn't perfect. Also not male - although with Changers who know knows, right?

What really gets you is that you know Brockton Bay's entire parahuman population by heart, yet you have no idea who he is. New in town? He's not visibly mutated, which may or may not indicate that he's a hero. Then again, Changer. Perhaps his true form is hideous. At any rate, you definitely need to investigate.

Industry and forge wisdom provides helpful advice on how to tail a car without being spotted. Huh. You wouldn't have expected to find that in the domain of 'understanding technology', but at least this once your twisted copy has proven to be unquestionably superior to the original power.

You tail Mr Changer to a house in the suburbs and make note of the address. You'll have to stake it out later, Fenrir is waiting for his lunch.

---

You return wearing different clothes, and a different face. You park a block away and casually stroll past the house, studying it from the corner of your eye. A spacious garage, yet there are not one but two vehicles in the driveway. You catch glimpses of several people through the windows, all parahuman, all Case 53s. An entire team, then. Almost certainly not heroes.

The garage has a set of windows up near the ceiling. They have curtains pulled across them, but you can make out yet another parahuman glow coming from inside. Which, given your viewing angle, means that whoever is in there is either clinging to the ceiling, or something like ten feet tall. At least one obvious mutant, then.

You continue around the block and make your way back to your car, pondering the situation. It's unfortunate that they're all Case 53s. Well, maybe not. Copying an unmutated Case 53 should be safe. Probably. For a sweet enough power, you might risk it. Extended surveillance will be required to determine who they are, and how they may be approached/infiltrated.

Spoiler: Coil-o-vision

The Travellers arrive in town before their quarters - and more importantly, the secure vault for that thing - are finished, so I put them up in one of my spare properties in the meantime. It will technically leave a trail tying them to one of my shell companies, but they won't be going out in costume until I've moved them into the base proper. No one will even realize that they are in town, much less discover where they're staying.

As you're making your second sweep (in yet another set of clothes and face), looking for a vantage point from which you can carry out more permanent surveillance, you hear shouting coming from inside the house, two male voices. It sounds more like an argument than alarm at being discovered, so you keep walking and pretend not to notice.

Then the voices stop, and one of the capes walks outside, slamming the door violently behind him. With that kind of disturbance it would actually be more suspicious to not stop and look, so you do. A young man with dark hair, not the Changer (you can tell by the power). From the look on his face, it was definitely an argument.

He gets in one of the cars, prompting you to rush back to your own vehicle so you can tail him.

He drives out of the city and into the woods, before stopping at the side of the road and getting out. Do they have a secret base out here or something? You drive past without slowing, parking further ahead out of sight and doubling back on foot.

You know approximately nothing about tracking people through the woods, but fortunately a loud racket up ahead lets you easily pinpoint his location. You proceed forward cautiously, keeping low to the ground and staying in cover as much as possible. You are painfully aware that you're roughly as good at stealth as you are at tracking.

Luck is on your side, though. The terrain slopes down towards a small river - only a couple of yards wide - and you spot your quarry standing on the riverbank, facing out across the water. He bends down and picks up a palm-sized stone, then straightens up and holds it out in front of him. His power activates, and the rock is fired into the river. There's a loud crack as it breaks the sound barrier, immediately followed by a splash that kicks up a huge plume of water. So that was what the noise was.

You watch silently as he repeats this several times. What a power. You're happy as a clam (happier - any actual clams around here are probably fairly unhappy at this point), but your quarry seems unsatisfied. He starts hefting up larger stones, and firing them into the trees on the other shore. It must have been quite the argument.

Well, far be it from you to turn down a free power demonstration. Do it again! Yes, take out your anger on that tree! Your lips part slightly and your breath grows heavy as you imagine what this power would do to Glory Girl's shield. Unfortunately you fear the he won't be able to keep it up for as long as you desire (approximately two full 40-hour weeks, you estimate - it's one of the tricky ones). Isn't that always the case with men, haha, etc. You start shapeshifting in preparation for the inevitable disappointment.

As predicted, he eventually works out his anger. For a while he just stands there, panting and surveying the wreckage. Your turn. You step out into view, and start clapping. "Marvelous show!"

He spins around so fast he loses his footing - or maybe that was deliberate, as falling on his ass lets him scoop up a handful of pebbles to brandish at you. Having just watched him wreck the shit out of the forest, you obviously know exactly what would happen to you if he fired those.

"Who are you?" he demands.

You toss your platinum blonde hair behind your shoulder and offer him a curtsey, as well as a beaming smile. "Quicksilver, at your service."

He takes a moment to mull over this response. You saw his face and powers, and in return offered your own face and cape name. A clear gesture of friendly intent, but still invasive.

"Ballistic," he eventually introduces himself. Very fitting. He lets the threatening pebbles drop to the ground. "At my service, are you?"

"How could I not be, after you provided such an excellent demonstration of parahuman might? I could barely contain my excitement!"

---

Spoiler: Sundancer-o-vision

"Luke! I was starting to think something had happened to you. Are you alright?"

"Hm? Yeah, everything is fine."

"Look, I know Krouse can be an asshole, but... I..."

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're smiling."

"Oh. I, uh... Well, I met a girl."

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Four capes soar across the city along a course parallel to, but out of sight from, a certain prisoner transport. A hand-picked team of the Empire's finest: Hookwolf, muscle. Rune, transportation. Low Key, brains. Krieg, blatant cheating. (Fenrir, invisible, facing the wrong way).

No, really, you are the brains. With Hookwolf and Rune to handle Brute and Mover, your primary role is 'wolf senses'. Which counts as Thinker. And you did provide the intel telling you when to strike. You suspect that Lisa gave you a ridiculous discount, compared to the street value of hacking the PRT. You don't feel bad about that though, the Lung situation is at least a little bit her fault.

Wait, did you say Empire? You misspoke, no Empire involvement here. Civilian clothes, plain white masks. Clearly an unaffiliated team. ...no, you don't expect anyone to believe that. You personally think Hookwolf is entirely unrecognizable, since he's wearing not just a shirt, but a suit and tie as well. But that will only last until battle is joined. The 'giant monster made of chainsaws' thing is a bit of a giveaway.

What, the jig is up even before that, since you're all riding Rune's favorite rock? No, no, Rune reported her vehicle stolen earlier today, honest. Main suspects are the devilishly handsome cape team of, uh, Sawtooth, Hoverdisc, Lycan and Buzzkill? You didn't actually bother coming up with new names.

The paper-thin deception is a statement, 'we're not acting under orders from Kaiser.' That way Kaiser can claim that he does not condone interfering with jailbreaks (true), and that you were punished for doing so (unfortunately also true, most likely). All because he's scared of a future, hypothetical non-ABB (worthless without Lung), non-Merchant (just worthless in general) rival gang doing the same to him.

The question is, will anyone believe that? Possibly. It's only slightly less plausible than the bullshit capes usually get away with, just ask the guy auditing the Palanquin's tax records (RIP the Palanquin).

You spot a tell-tale glow appearing on a distant rooftop. A second later another one appears one building over. And another.

"Go time!" you shout. "Oni Lee!" The way he teleports, leaving a short-lived clone behind each time, is unmistakable. The first light you spotted winks out as the clone dissolves.

Rune swerves the rock sharply towards the transport. Krieg hops up onto a smaller rock, which Rune sends shooting ahead as soon as the transport comes into view.

A normal person would fall off if fired like that, but as mentioned previously, Krieg is cheating. It says 'Brute' on the tin, but the way he gets there is unusual. His power? Making physics his bitch. He can make a speeding truck hit like a slap on the cheek, and vice versa. Fiddling with air resistance and inertia enough to remain standing is no problem for him.

He leaps off as he passes over the transport, and lands on top of it with a feather-light impact. Just in time, too. A pair of semitrucks (sans trailers) come speeding into the intersection ahead from opposite directions, running the red lights and swerving across lanes to pancake the front police escort between them.

"Jesus," Rune says, and you're inclined to agree. Their first move was to straight up kill one or more police officers? The normal cape rules of engagement have been thrown out the window and down a well.

The driver of the transport is forced to hit the brakes to avoid a collision (Krieg, of course, does not fall off). Before it has even come to a complete stop Oni Lee is there, scattering grenades around in a fashion most inadvisable unless you're a disposable clone that would die in three seconds anyway. After a glance from Krieg, they explode like wet firecrackers. The clone manages to look affronted as it puffs into white dust, its timer expired.

Another Oni Lee appears behind Krieg, stabbing towards his back. You don't see exactly what happens when the knife hits the Brute, but Krieg does not seem troubled as he turns around. A casual strike with the back of his hand sends dust exploding across the street.

The rear police escort, not having the benefit of a physics fiddler on the roof, blows up.

The driver of one of the trucks that took out the front police escort manages to get the door open and stumbles out. He may look dazed and unarmed to others, but he is glowing alarmingly to you.

"Tinkertech!" you shout, pointing. Rune immediately sends a rock slamming into him.

He detonates in a bright purple flash - which triggers a secondary detonation from inside the cab of the opposite truck, this one greenish-yellow. The first blast cuts everything around it into regular one-inch cubes, the other turns things inside out.

"Dafuq?" Rune asks.

"They're tinkertech suicide bombers," you state grimly.

"Vat ist dis? Britain?" comes Krieg's disbelieving voice over the comms.

That's when you spot the reinforcements coming up the street from behind the transport. Dozens of unpowered people in ABB colors, on foot. You spot them because they glow.

"They're all suicide bombers."

Krieg doesn't hesitate. "Hookvolf. Take zem out."

Hookwolf leaps from the rock, transforming in midair and landing on springy serrated coils. The coils scrabble on the ground, bounding forward with crude quadrupedal locomotion as the last of his flesh melts away into metal and he starts to assume his signature wolf shape. He's still growing more blades as he pounces on the first mook. Who, predictably, blows up in his face. Not that he lets that deter him. He keeps charging forward, regrowing his damaged parts as he goes. Though he does compromise a bit on the wolf shape, growing several long, whip-like appendages to take out the next set of bombers from slightly farther away.

Not all of them explode as he tears through them. Which is not to say that you were wrong. They're tinkertech bombs, regular explosions would be entirely too mundane. There are pillars of ice and flashes of lightning. Earth, wind and fire. Bursts of light in every color of the rainbow. Concrete turns to jelly, fields of magnified gravity crush people and vehicles flat. Hookwolf continues forward through it all, unmindful of the damage he's taking.

Someone either has great respect or great hatred - or both - for their boss, if their plan was to throw all that at the prisoner transport and expect him to walk it off.

Fenrir materializes. You spin around to see Oni Lee caught in his jaws. Your trap worked. With you and Rune 'alone' and 'distracted by the battle', he could not resist the temptation to appear behind you and stab you in the back. He screams as Fenrir bites down, bones snapping and blood spurting. You kick the grenade he dropped over the side.

Fenrir violently shakes him back and forth, then flings him away with a final twist of his head. He puffs into dust before he hits the ground - a clone. But when you catch sight of him on a nearby rooftop he's sprawled down, bleeding from a double row of teethmarks. He didn't get away quite in time, then.

When Rune sends a rock to smush him he starts retreating, teleporting away across the rooftops. You report as much over the comms. "Goot, very goot" Krieg says. Hookwolf doesn't respond.

"Take us down," you tell Rune. "Clear the way for the transport."

While she gets started on that, you mount up and dash off to check on Hookwolf and the suicide bombers. You pass Krieg, who has jumped down from atop the transport and is having a tense but civil discussion with the driver. He nods at you as you go by.

You have to slow down when you reach the field of battle - despite each individual blast only having a radius of a few feet, there were enough of them to almost block the whole street. You carefully pick your way between areas that are still on fire (who knew concrete could burn like that?), or glowing bright blue (you don't know what it does, but you're staying away), or frozen in time (a severed whip-appendage hangs in midair, reaching into the gory center - he must have used another bomb to blow it off in order to get free).

Shit's fucked up, is what you're trying to get at (but still considerably less awful than what you saw in Ottawa). There are other bits of Hookwolf strewn about too, from individual hooks to entire chainsaw limbs. He may have overestimated himself a bit here.

You find the man himself surrounded by a particularly dense set of danger zones, having just crawled out of a pit filled with what looks like the same white dust Oni Lee turns into. He's... he's seen better days. His head, one arm and part of his torso have transformed back, but there's easily a dozen yards of unspooled chainsaw monster still extending below that, twitching and coiling uncontrollably.

Ah, you see the problem. A... metal-eating plague(?) of some sort is working its way up towards his fleshy bits, black metal turning green and runny and gradually sloughing off. Dibs on not touching that.

"I've got this," you tell him. "Hold still." He complies, doing his best not to twitch a chainsaw into your face as you dismount and step in close. You materialize your orichalcum knife, charge it with power and sever the infected limb with a single stroke, well ahead of the advancing infection. "There."

Hookwolf's human parts shudder as the knife passes through, and he turns around to see what you did. "Move," you say, disappearing your knife and shooing him away from the dripping green mess you just separated him from. "Don't touch that."

"No shit." He moves over a bit and finishes transforming back into a human without further incident. "Thanks," he adds.

You shake your head. "I did nothing. I am not secretly packing high-powered tinkertech weaponry." That's the second time in as many weeks you reveal a trump card to someone in the Empire. You really hope they can keep their mouths shut.

He chuckles at that. "Whatever you say."

"Can you walk? Or do I need to load you onto Fenrir?" Fenrir snorts in disdain on hearing that. You glare at him. What's his beef with Hookwolf? "What are you, a unicorn? You can carry someone who isn't a fair maiden once in a while. Especially when-"

"I can walk," Hookwolf interrupts the argument.

Rune and Krieg meet you halfway. Glancing behind them you can see the blockade cleared out, and the prisoner transport gone. "Mission accomplished," Krieg reports. Hookwolf grunts in satisfaction.

"I think that went pretty well," you remark.

"I for one am looking forward to being chewed out by Kaiser for for doing him the biggest favor of his life," Rune agrees.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

That's another soul price moving into the 'never gonna use' column, you suppose. Which isn't to say that it hasn't been useful. Lung, who famously fought Leviathan to a draw, wants a rematch against someone else. If you ever see a parahuman woman wearing a fedora, you're turning around on the spot and running the fuck away.

But back to the present: After taking care of Lung - once again out-heroing the heroes, just as a side effect of being a sane person acting in your own self interest - the next item on the agenda is 'hanging out with Rune'.

"Since we have patrol tonight, I can't just dismiss Fenrir for the day," you explain, not entirely honestly. "I need somewhere a giant wolf can lay low until our shift starts."

Because you enjoy a certain amount of irony in your life, you suggest you hang out over the Medhall building - no one ever spots anyone up there. But almost as soon as you you get out of sight from the others you notice Rune's hands start shaking, prompting you to put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"All those people," she says softly. "There were- I saw a little kid get caught in..."

"Yeah," you say, because there's little else to say. The suicide bombers were not defeated without collateral damage.

Fenrir tries to nuzzle her, but she flinches away from his bloodstained affections.

"How are you so calm?" she asks.

"Practice, I guess. Ottawa was worse, and hit me harder at the time."

"You were at- you never spoke about that."

"And I never will."

Rune nods.

Actually none of that happened, because Rune is a certifiable badass who would never show weakness in front of others - and if it did, you would have been sworn to secrecy about it. The next couple of hours are pleasant enough as Rune gradually calms down you sit around and talk about nothing in particular, only somewhat marred by post-traumatic stress the way you're sort of expecting to get called in and chewed out by your boss at any moment.

The conversation eventually circles around to the subject of boys, as conversations between teenage girls do (you know this from overhearing others - you yourself haven't exactly had friends since becoming a teenager).

Now as it happens, you did meet a boy yesterday - but Low Key can't exactly talk about what Quicksilver did, now can she? You have to fall back to the second-most-recent boy you met. And even with the cape-related details omitted that's still a risky thing to share. But mutually assured destruction through shared secrets is what friendship is all about, and Rune is being a friend.

"I did meet this one guy recently," you say. "Big, strong, handsome... a little older than me, but that's just the way I like them. He seemed nice too, but..."

"Taken? Gay?"

"Black," you sigh.

"Oosh. Better not go spreading that around."

"Yeah, I know." 'I'm trusting you to keep my secrets' goes unsaid, but not unheard.

"No worries," Rune says. "I've been there. This one time, one of my dumb friends from school sent me a picture of a some shirtless nigger - and wouldn't you know it, some rank and file asshole was looking over my shoulder right as I opened the message."

You cringe in sympathy as she continues, seemingly addressing the world at large as much as yourself. "It was just a fucking picture! I admit the dude was hella ripped, but you wouldn't believe the earful I got for noticing. It was just some random internet beefcake, it's not as if I could've fucked him even if I'd wanted to!"

"I have a dream that my children will one day live in a nation where my eye candy will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the definition of their abs?" you suggest.

Rune snorts. "It was like half a year ago, and they're still sending me stats on domestic abuse and single motherhood broken down by race!"

You laugh and roll your eyes. They are such fucking nerds. "It's nice to know they're looking out for you at least," you say.

Rune aims a swat at your head, but you dodge. "I'll forward the whole mess to you so you can feel appreciated too!"

The funny thing is, you do feel appreciated. Rune is looking out for you, and you're not even reverse blackmailing her. You might even keep hanging out with her after you've gotten her power. Which is going to happen any month now, Jesus Christ what is so difficult about lifting rocks?

---

You patrol, you sleep, you go to school, you go to the dojo - and still you don't get called in to answer for what you did. Over the course of the evening pretty much every single mortal at the dojo manages to catch your eye and give you either a respectful nod or a softly-spoken "well done", so it's not as if no one knows. Everyone knows.

But speaking of irony in your life, the very first session after having befriended(?) Hookwolf is when you finally get Othala's power down. Meaning you no longer have any reason to stick around. Well, you can work with this.

"Me 'n Krieg told Kaiser it was all our idea, and we press-ganged the two of you into helping out," Hookwolf tells you after everyone else has left, and suddenly everything makes sense again. And you're going to have to take the question mark off of 'befriended', because taking the fall for you like that was a seriously decent thing to do.

"'preciate it. How hard did you get reamed?"

"Eh." Hookwolf waves the matter away. "We had him over a barrel and he knew it. We're the only lieutenants he's got left."

An excellent point, that you hadn't thought of. It's easy to forget that Hookwolf is actually third in command in the Empire (with Krieg in second), because he comes off as a simple thug. But he really is a lot like Lung - you shouldn't be fooled by the way they habitually turn into giant monsters and wreck shit. That doesn't mean they're stupid: Turning into a giant monster is a very intelligent solution to a great many problems.

"So," you say, "now that we've gone through the classic buddy cop arc and become friends despite our differences-" Hookwolf snorts at that "-I've realized that the friendliest thing I could do would be to stop shitting up your dojo with my retarded presence." Crap, you called it a dojo to his face. He doesn't react to it, though.

"Will you be alright? You are shit at fighting still."

Oh sure, now he wants to teach you. You hold out your hand in front of you, and will the golden knife to appear in your grip. "I'll manage."

With that, the 'Hookwolf saga' part of your life story comes to a satisfactory conclusion. Oh, you're hopeful that some day you'll be able to parlay your buddy cop status into studying his power for real, and become a chainsaw monster too. But attending the dojo is not how you do that, and you need to free up time so that Quicksilver can hang out with Ballistic.

Yes, just as you were worrying about where your next power was going to come from, one of the most amazingly lethal Blaster powers you've ever seen practically dropped into your lap. You'd say someone must be looking out for you, except you really hope not because that someone would be the Simurgh. Quick, think about something else.

Like your new power. Gotta figure out what you did to this one. You'd call it a crapshoot, but to be honest only one power (Lung's) has given you any real trouble (one point five if you count whatever the hell Newter did to you). Sure, it could be argued that Labyrinth's power gave you quite a bit of trouble - but the power itself was easy to use and self-explanatory in its effect. The fact that said effect turned out to be 'stranding the user and any bystanders in a desert for the better part of a week' is a separate issue.

So, Othala. The power to grant powers. She has to touch people to do it, but some instinct tells you that you won't have to. You'd prefer a proper instruction manual, but vague nudges are more than some powers (Lung's!) have given you. So you try to reach your mind out to Fenrir, as he immaterially pads along next to you. Flight, you think as hard as you can. Because a magic wolf companion is awesome, but a flying wolf companion would be even better.

It doesn't work. Okay, what about powers you actually possess? You mentally flip through your (gratifyingly long) list of powers, looking for something that would a) be obvious if it worked, and b) Fenrir can be trusted with.

Oh, you're dumb, the correct answer is obviously mind-hands. A magic wolf companion is awesome, but a tentacled wolf companion..? No but seriously, mind-hands are ridiculously dextrous, and his biggest weakness is his lack of thumbs. Not to mention that they can cross the material/immaterial barrier. Mind-hands, you think at him.

It doesn't work either. If it only works on humans, you're going to be pissed - or realistically, mildly disappointed. Super strength? you suggest without much optimism, but it seems your power likes that better. You feel a connection form, above and beyond the ever-present connection of a spirit-tied pet. Your mind brushes against his, and you perceive... contentment? Your power can't improve Fenrir, because he is happy the way he is?

Really, subconscious? You gave yourself a power-granting power that only works on people with body image issues? Really? Could you maybe pretend to not be a broken person for just one single power? (trick question, you're a parahuman)

You put further experimentation on hold, because you're not about to try to convince Fenrir that he isn't awesome. He is awesome, but he also loves you enough that he might believe you if you told him otherwise. And you'd rather kill yourself than abuse his trust like that.

It's when you get home and see your dad that the last piece falls into place.

He is tired, your power whispers. You know. He's always tired, he's working so hard. To keep the union alive in a dying city... and to provide for you, despite the way you've been acting recently. You wish you could contribute some of your ill-gotten gains to the household budget without blowing everything up even worse... but there is something else you can do. He has never tried to hide how life wears on him, at least not very well.

So you give him an unsolicited hug, and supernatural stamina.

Not very much, yours is not a flashy power. Strictly Brute 0 territory. Not that you would inflict capehood on your old man even if you could. But enough to keep up with the demands he makes of himself a little better.

Not flashy, perhaps, but apparently permanent. Once given, you discover that you couldn't take that stamina back even if you wanted to. An interesting trade-off compared to the original power. You almost hope this somehow reveals yet another deep-seated flaw in your character, because the alternative is that you subconsciously made Othala's power more low key. Ugh.

You're going to call it 'emptiness endowment', you think. Because it can only fill up the holes in your spirit.

You shoot off a quick message to Lisa before bed - you are going to want to brag about this one. Of course it would be even better if you could use it on y- you can use it on yourself! As soon as you think of it, every single aspect of yourself that you've ever been dissatisfied with opens up for improvement. Ouch, it's a lot.

You're this close to doing something stupid, before you stop yourself. That thing can wait. That other thing too. You haven't discovered what limits this power has, if any. You should start with the most useful thing, and work your way down the list. But what would be the most useful?

Well, it sure would be nice to know some knife fighting techniques to go with your magic knife. Cutting through anything is all well and good, but you've heard that some people use weapons to parry things as well.

And just like that, you know. You summon your knife into your hand, and run through a series of attacks and guard stances. So that's what Cricket was trying to teach you. Ha. Now that you've left the dojo once and for all, you finally get it.

You straighten up and send the knife away again. You experience a mild mental hiccup when you don't forget anything of what you just learned - having gotten used to industry and forge wisdom, you sort of expected your sudden expertise to vanish the moment you let go of the implement. But no, this power is different. The knowledge is still there, even when you don't immediately need it. As is a faint ache that you recognize from when you created Fenrir, though nowhere near as bad. Hm. You recovered from that without ill effects, but still. Pain is generally your body's way of telling you to stop. And you're in a much less precarious position now than you were back then, you can afford to be careful.

You sit down on the bed, turn your sorcerer's sight inwards and study your new power as you meditate on the feeling. It reaches out like that, and injects... your internal monolog quickly degenerates into Thinker-language, but you think you see what's going on. Forcibly shoving foreign capabilities into your soul(?) damages your... potential for growth?

This is where a scientist would start making shit up in order to generate a physics- and biology-compliant model of what was happening, and start using words like 'brain plasticity'. As an old hand at unreasonable ontology, you don't make that mistake.

Instead you follow the warm glow of I'm sitting next to my Spirit-tied Pet back to the power in question, to see if your new perspective on things can give any new insights. Uh-huh. Yep. That thing was burning your potential to fuel his growth. Stick that in your brain plasticity model and smoke it.

Good call on not going nuts with self-endowment, though. Overusing that thing could seriously retard your ability to learn things naturally - and 'learning things' is the whole point of your main power!

---

"You'll love this one!" You reach out and boop Lisa on the nose with one finger, concentrating on bestowing a gift of intelligence. She's certainly complained enough about the flaky nature of her own power for it to count.

Her eyes go wide, and her power goes off - you're too busy getting your unfamiliar new power to work correctly to catch what it said - and she rejects it. Without a willing recipient you lose control and the gift fizzles out.

"For the love of god, Taylor. Could you please stop adding creepy Master effects to your powers?"

Yeesh, is she still sore about you having her soul price? Wait, Master effects?

"Master effects?"

"The fact that you didn't know is the only reason I'm not punching you in the face right now. Hm. It didn't feel like soul's price, though. Hit me again, I want to figure this out."

You roll your eyes, boop her again, and get rejected once more. Maybe if she'd been smarter, she could have figured it out in one go.

"Huh." Lisa leans back in her chair. "More Shaker than Master. Probability manipulation. You're not compelled to obey, but if you don't, something terrible happens to you."

That's... sort of awesome, actually. "See, I only make nice Master powers. I give you something nice, and all I ask is that you're nice back. Soul price is 'guaranteed gratitude', this is 'karmic justice.'"

Lisa sighs, but you like to imagine it's a fond sigh. "I'm still not going to let you do it."

---

"Stupid ungrateful Thinkers," you mutter to yourself as you prep the apparatus. One more session should lock in trusting the notes properly. A short session this time, to keep the permanent nerve damage to a minimum: Without the dojo as an excuse your access to Othala is more limited. And you do have a date with Ballistic later tonight.

"What did she do?" Aisha asks.

"I was going to use my new power to make her smarter. Lisa loves being smart, right? But noooo, she had to get all pissy about the Master effect. It's not like I would have asked her to do anything bad! We're friends!"

"Huh. So you're basically Teacher now?"

"I suppose."

"Hey. Um. You know..." When she doesn't continue, you turn away from the apparatus to face her. She's looking at her feet, and fidgeting. It's weird. You can't say you know her well, but you've never known her to be bashful. About anything.

"Yes?"

"Could I have her smarts? Since she didn't want them and all." Once she starts speaking, the words come out in a rush.

You raise an eyebrow. "You sure? The Master effect will fuck you up if you ever disobey me."

She snorts. "Yeah, like you wouldn't fuck me up if I disobeyed you regardless."

"An excellent point. Here." You boop her with smarts. You don't have to touch people, but it's funnier if you do.

"Holy shit," Aisha says. She blinks rapidly a couple of times, then looks around the room, wide-eyed. "Hit me with a math problem!"

You shrug. "9x - 12 = 51?"

"Uh... minus twelve, um, sixty-three... Seven? Holy shit, I just got that. Is this what smart people feel like all the time?"

"No," you tell her.

"Oh." Her shoulders slump a bit. "I suppose you get used to it?"

"I didn't give you that much," you continue as if she hadn't spoken. "That's what people of average intelligence feel like all the time."

She starts to give you the finger, but reconsiders it halfway through the gesture. "Could I have some more then? Please?"

She could, but... "Give it a couple of weeks to settle in. Could be side effects if I give you too much all at once."

"Yeah? What kind of side effects? Because-"

"Learning disabilities," you say.

"Never mind!" Yeah, you had a feeling she'd say that. Right in the insecurities. "But, uh, as soon as it's safe, yeah? I've been a pretty good minion, haven't I?"

===

Spoiler: Updated status

Charms:
Taylor: All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight, ???
Tattletale: Know the Soul's Price
Bitch: Spirit-Tied Pet
Aegis: Ox-Body Technique
Browbeat: Shaping the Ideal Form
Dragon: Implicit Construction Methodology
Kid Win: Industry and Forge Wisdom
Lung: By Rage Recast
Vista: Mind-Hand Manipulation
Cricket: Mantis Form
Faultline: Charm of Lesser Unmaking
Labyrinth: Hell-Walker Technique
Othala: Verdant Emptiness Endowment

Spoiler: Mechanics corner

Taylor's new charm does exactly what Lisa describes it as doing. A deal with the devil, except you don't need to explicitly ask the devil for anything, just express discontent where the devil can hear. And the devil doesn't have to tell you that anything is happening at all. It can be refused, but unless the devil warns you ahead of time that happens on a purely subconscious level - the DM says "you're getting X as a Training effect, would you like to spend 1 Willpower to not have that happen?" but the character can't hear that.

Lisa is as usual using her power to cheat at the 'not knowing things' part.

Still not using XP because it's still not a Gamer fic, but respect for this very XP-debt-like 'soul strain' will keep things from degenerating into '5 dots in everything'.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Your date with Ballistic was... okay. You think you successfully hid how unbearable it was having a regular unmasked dinner with his inert power sitting right there taunting you, and you hardly dislocated his arm at all dragging him off to a secluded spot where he could trade supersonic projectiles for post-dinner makeouts. He was rather adorably shy about being spotted, you had to reassure him that in Brockton Bay people would just assume the noise was gunfire and go about their business. He still didn't relax completely even after a series of faint bangs in the distance proved you right.

When you get home, your dad lunges from the couch to embrace you. "Taylor! You're alright!"

"Uh, yes? Should't I be?"

"There have been bombs going off all over the city!" He leads you over to the television, which is playing a special report showing just that.

"Huh. I thought it was just gunfire." You settle down next to him on the couch and try to figure out which of the noises you heard were which buildings blowing up. It's complicated by the way they keep cutting away from the summaries as they get footage of new explosions. Hang on, you recognize the way that concrete is burning.

As does someone else, because soon afterwards they cut away to a Protectorate advisory identifying the culprit: Bakuda, aka the Cornell Bomber. Crazy murderous Tinker and, crucially, half asian by descent. You nod to yourself as everything falls into place. Turns out you overestimated the ABB's cape shortage, and underestimated how upset they would be at losing their boss.

Nothing you can really do about it, though. A glance at the clock shows that it's half past wolf cuddles, and you should be in bed already. You already defeated Lung twice, you can let the heroes do their job for once and take care of his grieving widow.

Spoiler: Trickster-o-vision

"You're dating a local? Have you given up on getting home?"

"Fuck you, Krouse. Just because you're mooning over a monster-"

"You will not call her that!"

"Stop it you two! Stop it!"

---

"School is cancelled," dad tells you at breakfast. "They found a bomb at a school."

"Was it Winslow?" you say hopefully. "Did it blow up?"

He shakes his head, trying - and failing - to look like he disapproves of your eagerness. "No, and no. But they shut down every school in the city until they're sure it's safe." He hesitates. "You will be staying home, right?"

"Will you?" you counter.

"I can't-"

"Are you going to a big building full of people, that would make an excellent target?" you ask. "Because I'm going to have a picnic in the woods really far from any buildings at all."

That takes the wind out of his sails just as he was opening his mouth to argue. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Really really? All by yourself?" He seems unwilling to believe that you could be behaving sensibly on your own initiative. A less self-aware person might have taken umbrage at that.

"There may or may not be boyfriends involved," you allow.

He adopts a mock-stern expression. "Just how many boyfriends we're talking about here?"

---

Your picnic preparations get interrupted by a call from ops.

"Low Key. We recognize that there are times when it's appropriate to be coy about the exact nature of one's powers. This is not that time. Exactly how well are you able to spot Bakuda's bombs?"

Ah, one of your co-conspirators must have tattled about your role during the Lung anti-breakout. Not that you can really blame them, seeing as how the heroes are useless and the city is still blowing up.

"It's not x-ray vision, if that's what you're asking. Sure I could spot someone walking down the street carrying a bomb - but you're already turning away all asians by default. If it's already planted inside a building, or in the back of a truck or something, I won't be able to tell."

"Damn. Alright. Just report for duty as normal tomorrow then."

It's interesting to note that it doesn't even occur to them that you might be lying in this situation. Not that you are lying, just saying that it was an interesting thing you noticed.

---

Your date with Ballistic was amazing, because you have discovered the secret of men. Here's the secret: They really like women, and will go out of their way to make them happy. All you had to do was not hide how excited his power made you, and he was falling all over himself to demonstrate it. It's funny that it took you this long to figure it out, but every single power you've acquired to date either belonged to a female cape, or was studied covertly, or both. Clearly you need to go on more dates.

Not that Ballistic - Luke, you should say, now that you've gotten to know each other (you decided that Quicksilver's civilian name was Robin). Not that Luke doesn't have other things going for him, beside his power: He's also a handsome international man of mystery... or should you say, interdimensional?

Ballistic wants to go back to Earth Aleph.

Very mysterious! But you can't ask about it, because interdimensional travel is super illegal, and with his nervous disposition he might panic and do something stupid if you let on that you know. But that's fine, the solution is simply to build up more trust before asking - i.e. more dates.

You also subtly steered the conversation towards childhood memories, and either he's the greatest liar you've ever met, or he doesn't have amnesia - so he probably knows where monster capes come from as well (Earth Aleph!?). Another thing you can't ask about at this point in your relationship.

Spoiler: Genesis-o-vision

"So tell me about this girl who has you smiling so much lately. Is she pretty? Smart? A beast in the sack?"

"Jess!"

"Hey, it's not like I get to go out on a lot of hot dates, you know. I need to live these things vicariously. Now give me all the lurid details or I'll guilt-trip you some more."

"Mars, make her stop bullying me!"

"I dunno... you do blush so prettily..."

"He does, doesn't he? And that blush tells me he did something really naughty. Did you tie her up? Spank her?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you anyway."

"What was that? You can't just say something like that and not follow it up."

"Yeah, dish!"

"Fine! She gets off on supersonic projectiles, alright? I'm the only man in the world who can satisfy her without a firearms license."

"Ha! Good one."

"You're right, I don't believe you."

---

Friday sees no change in the situation. Shit is still blowing up, school is still closed, heroes are still useless. The news claim that Armsmaster has been disarming a majority of the bombs before they explode, but you don't have any way to verify that. "Look at all the buildings that aren't blowing up, that's definitely not because they never had bombs in them in the first place we swear." Still, even if it's true... way to treat the symptoms, guys.

Not that you're complaining all that loudly about getting to spend time with Ballistic instead of Glory Girl. It really is an improvement in every conceivable way. No, it's the villains that rain on that particular parade.

"Shit, I have to take this," you say as the ringtone of your Empire phone goes off. Ballistic - Luke lets out an annoyed grunt as you disentangle yourself from the hot sloppy makeout position and scramble to locate the correct phone. But instead of answering, you decline the call and send them a text.

> Can't talk right now

You could, but Ops and Ballistic are expecting two different voices to come out of your mouth. Your phone chirps with their response.

< Priority mission, call back ASAP

Dammit. With the schools closed you suppose they're free to give you day-time assignments, as it won't impact your education. Complaining is unlikely to help - even beyond the general 'everyone pitches in to help in a crisis' principle, there is probably some sentiment in the Empire that the whole situation is partly your (/Rune's/Hookwolf's/Krieg's) fault. You don't accept that. Yes, if not for you Lung would still be around to rein in the psycho - but if Bakuda wants to throw a two-digit-body-count tantrum over your actions, that's on her.

"Sorry," you tell Luke. "Priority client. If I could tell them to fuck off I would." He sighs, but nods in understanding.

You start to jog back towards your car, modifying your vocal cords as you go.

---

Looks like they found a use for your 'wolf senses' after all: Your mission is to escort a VIP who would rather not make his association with the Empire public. Thus they ordered you to dress in civvies and simply walk next to him - but if you spot the faintest glimmer of tinkertech explosives you're to grab him, toss him on a wolf and gallop the hell away. Survival trumps circumspection.

Personally you think walking around in a baseball cap, sunglasses and a scarf is more conspicuous than just wearing the blank mask of the incognito cape... but nobody asked you, and orders are orders.

---

You were told that the VIP would be waiting for you at the rendezvous point, but when you arrive all you find is a fat little boy. Teenager, whatever. Roughly your own age.

"Um, hi? I'm Theo," he says.

"Four hundred and forty-nine," you respond.

"Oh right. Um... uh... One hundred... One hundred and seven?"

"Ninety-seven," you correct him with a sigh. This is a VIP?

Theo, you quickly discover as you walk across the city and he keeps trying to engage you in conversation, is a loser. Harsh, perhaps, but you spent all of high school at the bottom of the totem pole. You recognize a loser when you see one.

Here's a secret about outcasts: Most were cast out because they're awful to be around. Not even other losers want to hang out with losers, and if they had alternatives none of them would. There is no fellowship of pariahs, they only stick together because they were thrown in the same pit.

It quickly becomes apparent that Theo isn't even a racist. You'd almost think there was some sort of mixup, and the real VIP is standing around getting increasingly impatient as he waits for you to show up. But no, Theo knew you were coming, and he (almost) knew the countersign.

He's certainly expecting you to be a racist, though, because most of the conversation is him trying to 'deprogram' you with all the subtlety of a brick to the face. And he's feeling noble about the attempt. If you were cringing any harder you'd give yourself a hernia. This little shit, who believes exactly and to the letter everything that the schools, government and media want him to believe, is feeling proud of being not indoctrinated.

He's also proud of 'tricking' the Empire, by 'subverting' his assigned escort. But he's so bad at it! He approaches it as if your supposed racism comes from somehow never having heard any arguments against it, despite having grown up with the same aforementioned schools, government and media.

Though to be fair, this is the first time you've heard anyone consecutively argue that race isn't a real thing because hereditary traits don't exist, and that all the really obvious hereditary traits that perfectly match up with classical notions of race are only skin deep and there aren't any that affect anyone's disposition or ability. Because..? He fails to specify how he came to that conclusion. Because the world would be really unfair otherwise, and the world couldn't possibly be unfair? Boy have you got news for him.

Still, you shouldn't let your personal feelings get in the way of business. He is, for some godforsaken reason, important. That means his soul price has strategic value.

Theo wants to lose his virginity.

Right, you're stupid. Teenage loser, male. What the hell did you expect? It goes in the 'achievable' bin, you suppose, but you don't have the power to grant it right now. Some would argue that you're equipped to grant it at any time, but they'd be wrong. First you need to pick up a Master power that removes any and all traces of self-respect, with a Manton limit of 'self only'.

Oh god, is he trying to convert you because he sees you as a potential mate? Do you have enough residual loser-stink on you that he can spot you in turn, and thus considers you attainable? The part of you that delights in misleading people with the truth suggests telling him 'I regret every decision that led me to this point', but the thought of letting this kid believe he succeeded at anything fills you with revulsion.

---

You make it to your destination unexploded. Said destination turns out to be the apartment of a mousy little woman, who is secretly a cape. Well, that neatly explains everything: Theo is someone's very special boy. Christ, not only did he completely fail at refuting the Empire's stance on race, he proved that they were right about single moms too.

You refuse an offer of tea, citing the need to get back to your regular patrol. The woman isn't using her power, so there's nothing to gain by sticking around. You do snag her soul price on the way out, though.

Kayden wants someone to uplift the lesser races so her asshole ex stops being right about them.

...you're going to need a third category for soul prices, that's labelled neither 'well-adjusted' nor 'achievable'.

You wonder who she is. Even without her using her power, you can tell it doesn't match that of any of the capes you've met before. Purity? You thought she'd left the Empire, though. Well, trying times do bring people together, perhaps she's been reconciled in the wake of everything blowing up?

 

[Daniel Snuts]

Since you didn't need to summon Fenrir for your escort mission, you have no excuse not to show up for patrol as normal. You arrive at the bar to overhear Fake Swede complaining about his representation in the media, waving a newspaper about: "Just like jews to slander a good honest nazi!"

You feel you lips quirk up. That's... not a false statement, you suppose. But... well, you can't resist the chance to tweak his nose a bit.

"I dunno," you say thoughtfully. "My slanderous newspaper story was written by someone named K. Sandstrom - sounds more like a fake Swede than a jew to me."

"Bah!" Fake Swede scoffs. "Sure they got shabbos in the trenches, but I bet you a hundred bucks the chief editor and the owner are both Chosen."

"I wouldn't take that bet if I were you," Big Brain interjects, fiddling with his phone. "Which paper was it?"

"Uh, the Brockton Herald I think?"

He nods, and hands you his phone. It shows another educational website, that has managed to compile the entire org chart of the Brockton Herald. Complete with names, job titles, pictures... and little Stars of David in the corner wherever appropriate.

"Oh my god, it's full of stars," you exclaim theatrically. A sucker's bet indeed. "Clearly this country needs stronger affirmative action laws," you add wryly as you hand the phone back.

Big Brain and Fake Swede both chuckle at your witticism, but someone else shouts "No!" and suddenly you have a skinhead getting all up in your grill - someone you haven't been introduced to, but who has clearly introduced himself to several alcoholic beverages tonight.

"Jesus Ryan, she was just joking," you hear faintly from behind him, but he's having none of it. In a loud and passionate - if somewhat disjointed - monolog, he explains to the world in general and you in particular that he's not a far right extremist, he's a national goddamn socialist! He loves big government, and everyone else would too if it wasn't for affirmative action (several people around the room silently shake their heads). If the public sector would just hire on merit, instead of being used as stealth welfare for mentally deficient African-Americans (those were not the words he used).

"Instead it's, it's..." The poor guy is so passionate/intoxicated about his socialism that he's at a loss for words.

"'A charade designed to prop up a society based on the notion that all men are born equal, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary?'" you suggest, quoting wildly out of context.

"Yes!" Ryan shouts. "Holy shit you guys, Psycho Bitch gets it!" Then he tries to drunkenly hug you.

"Careful there," you say as you sidestep the attempt. "Wouldn't want any wolves appearing indoors." This casual remark of yours is taken very seriously, and Ryan's friends hustle him off almost before you can finish the sentence. Which is good, sure, but are you really that scary? Perhaps you should try to find some way to ameliorate your Psycho Bitch reputation at least a little bit?

---

Rune laughs and shakes her head as you relate the incident. "I'll never understand why you keep hanging out with-"

The night air is split by feminine scream. Rune cuts off mid-sentence, Fenrir leaps onto her rock and you speed off towards the source, all levity forgotten. You feel a jittery energy infuse your body as you prepare to enact brutal retribution on the people responsible...

...only to arrive too late. The woman lies crumpled on the ground, clutching her face and sobbing in pain. Of the perpetrator, no sign.

"Shit," Rune says. She's already going for her phone to call for help, so it's up to you to render assistance. This is a terrible allocation of labor, because a) Rune presumably paid more attention during first aid class than you did, and b) you don't carry any medical supplies with you, because you don't bleed. Still, what can you do? You crouch down next to the woman and try to gently pry her hands away from her face.

"Here, let me see- oh shit." She's got a deep knife slash across her face, starting above her right eyebrow, going across her nose and slicing open her left cheek. Shit. Um. Bandages, you need bandages. Your own cape outfit is mostly leather, so...

"I'm going to need to cut up your clothes for bandages," you tell the woman.

"Purse, bandages," she manages to get out. Yeah, but- her purse is still there. Some asshole just sliced her face open and ran off, without even robbing her? What the fuck? No, focus on staunching the blood.

It's at this point Rune's end of the phone call clues you in on the fact that she's calling 911, not Ops.

"What the hell?" you demand. "Get Othala over here. Without proper regeneration she's going to be scarred for life!" (the woman whimpers quietly on hearing this, but it's not as if it wasn't obvious already)

"Othala isn't a charity," Rune says. "Her brand of health insurance is for active members only, not random civilians."

"This is on us," you counter. "We were patrolling, we were supposed to stop this!"

"I know!" Rune says angrily. "I don't make the rules!"

"Oh, for... fine!" You draw your knife, flip it over into a reverse grip, and jam it straight through your left forearm. "There! Injured cape. Get Othala out here, because I'm not in any condition to be moved." You make sure to keep bleeding for a while, for effect.

Rune stares at you, speechless. "Uh..."

"There's a giant wolf who will savage anyone who tries," you explain further. Fenrir growls in agreement.

"...right." She hangs up on the 911 operator, and calls Ops. Good. Guilting Othala into helping once she shows up won't be a problem.

You're aware that you just completely ruined any chance of lessening the legend of Psycho Bitch tonight, but you don't care.

You're not done with the perp either, whoever he was. If any other set of capes had shown up he'd have gotten away clean, but he just so happened to piss off the K-9 unit.

"Get his scent," you tell Fenrir. "Run him down, bring him back here." Fenrir sniffs around the scene for a few seconds, then dashes off. "If he's made it inside, come back here and I'll drag him out for you," you call out after him. No smaller-than-a-wolf doorway is going to save him from justice.

"You can do that?" Rune asks. "What's the range on that projection?"

Oh. Right. Most minion-conjuring Masters couldn't have done that. In your anger, you let the sandbag slip a bit. Whatever. "Miles," you say with a shrug.

Rune finishes her phone call and thankfully takes over the first aid. She must have seen how awkward you were about it, and/or didn't want Psycho Bitch any closer to civilians than absolutely necessary.

---

Othala is clearly unimpressed with your injury, looking between your forearm and the empty sheath at your belt and shaking her head. But she doesn't argue when you ask her to heal the victim first, because she's a good person. She's still busy with that when Fenrir returns with a captive in his jaws.

"A fucking nigger," you say without thinking.

"Well duh?" Rune says.

You shake your head. It's not that you're particularly surprised. It's that you just realized what article K. Sandstrom is going to write tomorrow: 'Bloodthirsty nazi wolf abducts innocent youth minding his own business.' This fucking clown world would have people believe that you were the one committing race-based hate crimes tonight.

It's not going to help the actual hate criminal here and now, though. Fenrir obediently drops him in front of you and holds him in place with a foot. "Do as you would be done by," you say as you draw the knife from your forearm.

"Vengeance threefold," his victim suggests from behind you, surprising you. But okay. You can work with that too.

---

Remember back at the start of the Bakuda crisis, when you said that the heroes could do their job for once? Boy were you wrong. Four days in, it's gotten to the point where the villains are teaming up to do something about it. You were also invited, despite not being a villain.

The conference is going to be held at a small pub called Somer's Rock. Calling it 'nondescript' would be giving it too much credit: 'Run-down' and 'shabby' would be better adjectives. Being the designated neutral ground of the city's major gangs must not pay very well. Though to be fair, you don't know how complicit the owners are - if Kaiser shows up and says 'nice place this, I'm going to hold a meeting here', who would dare argue?

Not being completely retarded, Kaiser has you go over the entire building with 'wolf senses' before showing up in person. Until the conference is over it's the single most bombable building in the city - including the PRT HQ and the Rig, because the people at Somer's Rock might actually pose a threat to Bakuda.

As you search, you can hear the skinheads standing guard outside discussing race and IQ. Their take is less straightforward than you'd have guessed:

"No shit the chinks are smarter than us," Big Brain is saying. "They built a giant wall around their country to keep foreigners out."

"Does that-"

"No, that still doesn't mean you can have an asian GF! Have some fucking self-respect!"

You miss the most of the subsequent conversation as you check the basement and attic - debating, from what snatches you overhear, just what non-IQ deficiencies caused the Chinese to invent big ships and gunpowder and then sit around with their thumbs up their asses, whereas Europeans invented big ships and gunpowder and promptly proceeded to push down and teabag the entire rest of the world, including China.

"Have you considered that not discovering Africa was a pretty high IQ move, all things considered?" you suggest as you rejoin them. "All clear, by the way."

"Good job," Big Brain says. The other guy (Steve?) just grunts and nods.

Then you leave, and wander off to find somewhere were you can change into Quicksilver. When you say you were invited, you mean on net. Kaiser specifically disinvited Low Key from attending the conference itself, because he can form a domineering retinue with only a fraction of his capes, and he doesn't want to pay more overtime than he absolutely has to. No, you got your invites from Luke ("everyone is invited") and Lisa ("it's a good opportunity to network, if there's anyone you haven't infiltrated already").

Villains, as it turns out, like being fashionably late, because when you arrive on the dot only the Undersiders are there ahead of you, seated in a booth by the wall. You pretend you don't know each other. Or at least you and Lisa do, the non-Thinkers in the group have no idea who Quicksilver is.

Though you've barely sat down in a booth of your own when Faultline shows up with Crew in tow. You spot a glint of orichalcum around her neck before you have to stand up again, because Labyrinth is rushing over to give you a hug. Faultline must have felt that the meeting was important enough to burn her daily dose of sanity on. For her sake, you hope it drags on.

Spoiler: Lisa-o-vision

WTF?

Labyrinth was-

No, stop, I can't afford to waste my power on figuring out Taylor's bullshit right now.

Then there's a brief lull during which you have a chance to order something to drink. The waitress, as it turns out, is deaf. Which... doesn't actually move your complicity evaluation one way or the other, when you think about it. Was she hired so the villains could talk freely, or did the villains pick this place because she already worked here?

The Travelers show up next, in sharply tailored costumes of black and red. Well, the hedgehog-quilled gorilla is technically naked, but the quills are black with red tips. Their appearance sets off whispers among the capes already present, but you knew to expect them: Once Ballistic identified himself to you, his teammates were only an internet search away. But you are surprised too, because you had assumed Genesis was the monster you spotted in their garage, or perhaps the Changer you tailed to their house. But no, the gorilla is a Master projection, with a tendril of power leading off somewhere outside the building.

Well, it might still be the monster behind it. And they're keeping the Changer secret, to have a shapeshifting spy no one knows about? Good for them if so, you can't exactly claim to disapprove of that tactic. Another interesting thing you probably shouldn't ask Ballistic about. Speaking of Ballistic, he also pretends you don't know each other, so you follow his lead.

Spoiler: Ballistic-o-vision

She pretends we don't know each other, so I follow her lead.

Then Coil shows up, alone. He's either the bravest person here or the most cowardly, because the guy in the snake-motif bodysuit is not a parahuman. Is he a baseline human doing the supervillain bit and calmly walking into the lion's den, or a regular villain paranoid enough to send a body double?

Next is Uber and Leet, and you'd almost assume they were dressed for a real business meeting given the suits they're wearing. But between Uber's spiky-haired wig and the ridiculous frilly neck-cloth Leet is wearing instead of a tie, they're probably video game characters you've never heard of.

Kaiser makes a grand entrance, with Fenja and Menja as arm candy and Hookwolf and Purity trailing behind. So whatever issue caused her to leave the Empire has been worked out. And you can say what you want about Kaiser's tight-fisted ways, but you have to admit your presence as Low Key would not have made his entourage noticeably more threatening.

The leader of each group takes a seat at a table in the middle of the room. There are some glances sent your way when you remain seated, but you wave them away.

"I will not take an active role in this. Strictly non-combatant. I am merely here to assure everyone that I am not working for the other side."

The discussion is surprisingly civil considering the sheer amount of power and mental issues concentrated around the table - at least until the Merchants show up and try to join in.

"Objection!" Uber shouts, standing up and pointing accusingly at Skidmark when he starts dragging a chair towards the leaders' table. He is quickly backed up by Kaiser, Faultline and Grue. People of all races and creeds agree: Merchants are shit, and should stay in their shit corner.

You roll your eyes as they start insulting each other. This is boring, because no one is using powers to back up their rethoric.

"-subhuman filth-"

"-bunch of menstruating pussies-"

"-selling to kids-"

"-will not deal with-"

They are interrupted by a snapping sound, and all eyes turn towards the Travelers' table, where a couple of flakes of paint are drifting down from the ceiling to land on Ballistic's head. The cape in question is holding a salt shaker. He carefully shakes out a single grain of salt onto a fingertip, then uses his power to fire it into the ceiling. There's another snap as it breaks the sound barrier, and another flake of paint is dislodged.

His little display completely derailed the argument, and with a few last muttered curses and obscene gestures Skidmark accepts his exile to the shit corner. Discussion resumes. But you're no longer paying attention, because Ballistic keeps firing salt into the ceiling, despite Sundancer elbowing him in the ribs and hissing at him to stop. He doesn't say anything or even look in your direction, but you know why he's doing it. You lick your lips and try not to stare too obviously.

---

Spoiler: Sundancer-o-vision

"Why did you keep doing that? Everyone was staring at us."

"They lost interest soon enough."

"That Quicksilver girl didn't. She kept staring the whole time. What was up with her, anyway?"

"Hm. I wonder."

"What's with the smug... No. No way. She's your girlfriend? And she actually-"

"No commen- Ow! What was that for?"

"For doing it in public."

---

You get explicit orders not to show up for patrol on Monday, because the joint operation against the ABB is scheduled for Tuesday, and you should save your wolf juice for then. This suits you fine, you'll just spend the whole day with Luke. You need to do something nice for him after what he did at the meeting. And since he's figured out a way to safely demonstrate his power indoors, well...

He is still a Case 53, you're not going to internalize his power until you've carefully inspected every inch of his body for mutations. And the easiest way to accomplish that in the context of your current relationship is to reciprocate.

"What's got you smiling today?" Dad asks.

"Nothing!" you say cheerfully. You should probably get a motel room, since neither of you would want to reveal to the other where you live. Luke has too many roommates anyway, and Quicksilver doesn't even own a house (because she sort of doesn't exist). You just hope he'll understand that a motel room doesn't mean you're looking for, you know, that kind of intimacy.

---

Good news: Luke is entirely unmutated. Also good news: He was very understanding of Quicksilver's unfashionable insistence that certain things ought to be saved for marriage. More than understanding, he was downright eager to help you brainstorm alternative activities that would not suffer from such restrictions. You'll have to think about some of the things he came up with. Because you'd never considered them before. It's not that you don't see how it would work, but... really? Is that a thing people do?

Perhaps it's an Earth Aleph innovation.

 

[Daniel Snuts]

It's one thing to agree to work together on a problem, but another thing altogether to put it into practice. There may possibly be honor among thieves, but good luck getting the thieves to believe that. So when the Empire 88, Coil, the Undersiders, the Travelers, Faultline's Crew and Uber&Leet unite against a common foe, the immediate result is a giant organizational clusterfuck.

After much wrangling (that a grunt like you wasn't party to, but can infer) it was decided to split everyone up then mix them back together into new teams where no single affiliation would have a distinct power advantage. This way no one can shirk, no one gets unfair amounts of loot from a lucky strike, and there's this whole mutual hostage thing to keep people from settling old scores.

The lesser teams are no doubt arranging all sorts of passwords and fallback points and other contingencies anyway. Kaiser, on the other hand, probably didn't even have to say 'if you fuck with us in any way, I take Hookwolf off the leash' out loud. The atmosphere is fairly relaxed as the imperial troops are assigned to their units.

"Low Key, you're with Uber&Leet," Kaiser says.

"No she's not!" Rune objects. You look at her curiously. You thought you were the clingy one in your relationship.

"She is," Kaiser states with finality. "They requested her specifically, and stated that they would withdraw from the alliance if their demand was not met."

"I don't mind," you say, but no one hears you over Rune declaring "She gets double- no, triple pay!"

"Acceptable," Kaiser says, then turns to the next person as if nothing had happened. "Othala will be in the reserves, and not deploy unless another group needs backup or healing. Victor-"

"Thanks for standing up for me I guess," you tell Rune quietly. "Why, though?"

"They make everyone they team up with join in their stupid cosplay, and they record everything they do. You know what kind of outfits girls wear in video games, right?"

You are vaguely aware of the general trend, yes. "Oh." You do your best to sound... apprehensive? Appalled? Something like that, but on the inside you're dancing with joy. Uber&Leet came to you, and offered to make you their fake gamer girl and let you study their powers without you even having to make a new identity? Could you ask for anything better?

...Well, there's the 'Bakuda not killing dozens of innocent civilians' thing, you might have asked for that. Dem silver linings, tho.

---

"Welcome to our guest lair," Uber says as he heaves the loading bay door open. The space within is mostly empty, with a pile of computer equipment and monitors in one corner, some discarded props (whatever game they're from, you don't recognize it) in another, and a bunch of random junk and tools on shelves along the walls. Some of it is tinkertech, but most of it isn't. "It's not much, but we don't reveal our main base to outsiders. I'm sure you understand."

You hum in agreement as you enter, Fenrir padding along behind you. Uber has been doing most of the talking on the way over, Leet having come down with what you identify as 'oh my god a girl is talking to me what do I do?' syndrome. Not that Uber is entirely symptom free... But his power, which lets him instantly master any skill he wants, clearly includes 'talking to girls' in its library.

Uber wants a loving girlfriend.

Which is not to say that he's been trying to seduce you. No, his power is doing that entirely on its own. He's been nothing but professional, and hasn't even commented on the way you've been staring at him as you appraise every last twitch and fluctuation of his power with laser-like focus. Something about becoming superhumanly good at any skill speaks to you on a visceral level. The thought of acquiring such a power is like being offered a cool draught of water, when you didn't even realize you'd been lost in the desert for years.

Leet's power, on the other hand, is weird. It has the color of a Case 53, but the texture of a normal cape. You have no idea what to make of it. Nor do you really care, to be frank. Gregor might be interested, but that ship kinda sailed.

"Alright," Uber says, walking over to the computer equipment in the corner. "Going live in three, two, one..." At the touch of a button, a quartet of tinkertech drones spring into the air and take up positions around the room. One of them is larger than the others, and has a screen in addition to the camera. It's displaying text that's scrolling by too fast to read, though you manage to pick out repeated instances of 'hi', 'hello', waving hand emojis and other greetings. The stream chat, you cleverly deduce.

"Welcome, dear subscribers, to our premium backstage stream," Uber says, speaking into one of the cameras. "Tonight will be a bit different, as we briefly leave our life of crime behind to take on the brutally barbaric Brockton Bay Bomber, Bakuda!" He turns to face you with a flourish. "But first! Please give a warm welcome to our guest star: Low Key!"

You wave at the camera, and the chat experiences a renewed deluge of greetings, this time generously sprinkled with creative spellings of the word 'girl', and pictures of eggplants. That last part confuses you, until someone helpfully writes 'choke on a (eggplant) nazi bitch'. Ah. It's a compliment. The eggplant symbolizes their physiological reaction upon seeing you. How delightful.

"And Fenrir," you remind them, and chat explodes with 'doggy!'. At least what they lack in subtlety they make up for in being easily amused.

"Your costume," Uber says, retrieving a plastic bag from one of the shelves and handing it to you. A glance inside reveals a headpiece that looks like it's been carved from stone (but judging by the heft of the bag, is more likely to be made of foam) with a bright orange wig built in. "You can change in the other room."

You walk over to the indicated door and take a look inside. The room has a full-length mirror on one wall, but is otherwise almost completely bare. Almost. Thank god for sorcerer's sight, because you're having flashbacks to Casa de Dragon.

"Yeees," you say slowly. "I could do that. But first you're going to go in there and remove all the cameras."

"Haha, what cameras?" Leet exclaims, his tone strained and entirely unconvincing. "We wouldn't do something like that!"

"As an alternative, I could rip your dick off and make you eat it before you bleed to death," you suggest pleasantly. Leet freezes. "None of that was meant figuratively, by the way. Those are exactly the two options on the table right now." When Fenrir starts growling to emphasize your point he jumps away with a yelp, trips over an old costume piece on the floor and lands on his ass.

Uber chuckles as if he was in on the joke. "Sorry lads, I value the integrity of my dick higher than the stimulation of yours," he announces to the room. "Everyone who paid for the premium stream tonight will get a full refund." He then proceeds to take down the hidden cameras in the changing room.

To his credit, he does not try to leave one of them up. Rather less to his credit, he becomes a master of reading body language and checks whether you spotted them all before removing the last one. Can't imagine why he currently lacks a loving girlfriend.

"You know what to do if they try to peek," you tell Fenrir, who nods in response. You shut the door behind you and turn out the bag to see what they've saddled you with.

Well. On the one hand, it covers rather more skin than you had expected. On the other, it's a mottled black and white body stocking. It's highly debatable whether it's more or less revealing than a bikini would be. Well, such is the fate of fake gamer girls. You won't get invited back on if you disappoint the fans. You doff your padded cape outfit and start shapeshifting your curves to compensate. There's a reason you didn't want cameras in here.

When you start putting the stuff on, you discover that it clings far tighter than it has any right to. You've seen thicker body paint. Fucking Tinker materials. When you pull it up past your knee, an arcane-looking pattern lights up, glowing with a turquoise light. You pause there to make sure it's not radioactive or something, because you trust Leet's tinkering about as far as you can throw Gregor.

Thankfully it's just turning waste body heat into visible light, industry and forge wisdom informs you. You take a moment to marvel at the elegant design, you hadn't expected something like that given Leet's reputation. Then another moment to wonder how much the regular clothing industry would pay for such a material, if only the Powers That Be weren't insistent on limiting parahumans to hero and villain roles.

Then you frown as you realize that you cannot possibly wear underwear under this material without making it incredibly obvious. You'd pretend to be outraged or reluctant or something, but with the cameras gone there's no one to see your act. You're fully aware that you'd do considerably worse things to maintain access to Uber's power. Can't disappoint the fans, you repeat to yourself as you peel the offending garment off your leg and strip down completely.

At least it's just barely padded enough right at the critical points to maintain a smooth barbie doll outline, but you suspect that this was done more to remain true to the character (there's a picture included in the bag) than out of any concern for your modesty.

It ends at the neck, but the headgear has a mask built into it, displaying (what you assume to be) your character's trademark one-fanged smirk. It takes some work to bunch up your hair enough to slip it on properly, but you manage.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror. Wow, someone who couldn't shapeshift would be all kinds of insecure wearing this. You take a few extra minutes to make absolutely sure you look your best. Yes, a few. Definitely fewer than fifteen.

You return to the main room to discover Uber and Leet spray painting your wolf. You guess the character Fenrir will be playing has darker fur.

"Pretty brave, doing that without permission," you note.

Leet drops his his spray can when he sees you, and scrambles to pick it up.

"We did ask, actually," Uber says calmly. "He agreed."

You look at Fenrir, who tilts his head at you and shrugs. If you've decided that these people get to dress the two of you up, he seems to be saying, who is he to argue?

A glance at the chat shows a resurgent wave of eggplants, so you do a little twirl for the cameras, making sure your unsupported body parts sway appropriately. Leet drops his spray can again, but he might be playing it up for laughs.

"Do you have a video of my character?" you ask. "I want to get the mannerisms right."

"I'll find some!" Leet exclaims, rushing over to the computers. "Help me out, chat!"

"Not all guest stars are as enthusiastic to play along," Uber says.

You shrug in response, strategically jiggling for the cameras. "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well." If you don't get invited back, how would you steal their powers? Or, well, you're not quite sure about that plural - what if Leet's power infected your native Tinker ability with his famous shittiness? You're getting Uber's power for sure, tough.

Wait, hang on, you know the secret of men now, you could just try to date Uber instead (not that it'd get you his soul price, but as long as he doesn't notice that right away...). Old habits die hard, huh? But fucking up his show isn't how you accomplish that either.

"Actually, could you finish up here while we get changed?" Uber hands you his spray can, along with a reference picture and a stencil for a... wolf cutie mark? No, according to the picture it goes on his forehead.

"Sure."

Leet gets a video playing on the flying screen, and they both retreat to the changing room. You study your role. If you were to describe her in two words, they would be 'haughty' and 'naughty'. Trying to mimic her speech completely isn't going to work, because she speaks a made-up nonsense language with subtitles. But at least you can get the pitch and intonation right.

By the time they get back, you're lounging atop a fully painted Fenrir, inspecting your fingernails and trying to look impishly bored.

"Took you long enough," you say in the imp's singsong voice, and they stop to stare.

"You're a god damn genius, bro," Uber tells his partner.

Leet nods fervently. "This worked out even better than I had hoped."

Uber is dressed in a green tunic and hat that even you recognize, with a painted wooden mask of the famous elf boy's face covering his face from ear to ear - literally, as it's got pointy wooden ears covering his real ones.

Leet... is wearing a pale pink body stocking and a tinkertech harness of the same color, with human-sized fairy wings on the back. So they do know that their audience is laughing at them, not with them, and are milking it on purpose. You had wondered about that.

Leet fiddles with his harness, whereafter he floats into the air and starts glowing. Or not glowing exactly, it's more like a spherical area around him has turned pink. It's almost entirely opaque, even blocking sorcerer's sight somehow. All you can see is the fairy wings sticking out the back. But that's fine, you were perving on Uber anyway.

You scoot around into a more conventional riding pose and gesture towards the exit. "After you, gentlemen. And perhaps one of you could explain the plan?"