Going Native

[DartzIRL]

Working Title was 'Insecurity!'

Think you have what it takes to save the world. Think, if you only knew, if you only had the chance, you could make those hard decisions and do what must be done and save the world? Think again.

This is not a CYOA Story. Oh no.

--


"Good Morning, Shadow Stalker."

That rabbit-in-headlights look never failed to make my day. Sometimes she got violent, sometimes she just wondered how, but most times, she just looked utterly and totally blindsided. Her mouth would goldfish open, while the others stood and stared.

I stepped back before she composed herself, and in a flash it'd never happened. Lost to deadtime.

Might aswell do something amusing with this bloody thing in my head, huh?

Hess hurried passed, the terrible trio already late for the daily lunchtime struggle session. Whether today was the day or not, I didn't know. I knew we were in the run-up to it.

My locker was a metaphor or myself; a bit of a bloody mess. So what, one of the advantages of being just sixteen is having the right not to give a fuck about things like that. Still, some order had begun to seep back into place.

It meant I had a chance of finding the notebook I was looking for before the bell rang.

It meant being still focused on a cubic metre of school-rubbish, crash helmet and riding gear when something slammed into the side of my head, knocking me onto my arse. A football bounced off the tiled floor beside me, followed by laughter.

"Hah!, Nice catch, Mick."

"Yeah man, right in the head and like, BAM! on his hass!"

Fuck. My turn today. I didn't know their names. I couldn't be arsed learning. One year held-back, a few centimetres taller, and the four of them walked around like they owned the place.

Sighing, I stepped back, and caught the football on the second try.

"Hey, Nice catch, man..."

"Try make it harder next time." I passed it back with a gentle kick. It wasn't too different from a rugby ball. They'd find someone else to bother today, and that's good enough for me.

Butterflies are amazing creatures. Amazing the difference they make. The formed the single bit that flipped between a few moments of respect and few moments ridicule.

Ironic. I'd joined in the ranks of 'normal kid' now. Nobody special,. Bit tall. Bit on the larger side. Maybe a bit quiet, but understandable really. Just one of hundreds looking to keep their head down and just do their time in Winslow in peace. Having a little experience helped.

Who am I?

I am not the protagonist you were expecting. I am not even a background character.

Thankfully.

The bell rang and the bustle began. I took the back stairs to class to avoid the crush, a path I knew would take me passed the girl's bathroom and the possibility that today would be the day when the rollercoaster set in motion in January reached the end of it's first nerve-wracking climb.

I thought about turning back and taking the longer way around, just so I could avoid knowing. Every hair prickled on my neck as I reached the top of the stairs. My knees ached from the strain of the climb.

I stopped for a moment, regaining a little strength before forcing myself to walk through the corridor.

To see Taylor backed into the space between two rows of lockers, surrounded by the three of them.

What a perverse relief. At least one more day to go.

She saw me.

She looked right at me.

Why do you walk past?

I did nothing. Just like everyone else. Just like everyone else, I had my own crosses to bear.

The sound of footsteps running up behind me sent a quick jolt of adrenaline into my veins.

"Hey! Hold up, Ian?"

I glanced back, releasing the fist I'd made with my left hand. Once beaten, twice shy.

"Damien. What's up?"

Damien stood shorter than me, with fair shaggy hair like a an escapee from a Spielberg film grown up a few years, but a couple of ratchets up on the fitness level to the point where he might've been able to take me in a fight if I didn't have my advantage.

"Airplanes. Airplanes are up."

Most of all however, he was a decent human being. Even if the pun obliged me to roll my eyes at the pun.

"You got the assignment?"

"Sure thing. Solid B grade." He slipped few white sheets from his backpack, offering them to me. Freshly printed on crisp paper, On Parahuman Society and its Future. "And a summary clipped to the back incase you get asked any questions."

I took it with a cheeky smile, leafing through it quickly to make sure I hadn't been handed something like the Unabomber manifesto as a prank. Especially with that title.

"Grand..." I said.

"Got my Math?"

You don't get anything for free in this world.

"One A-rated maths assignment."

Easier for me to do. Twenty minutes at a computer, not that I told him that. Then print.

"Boys,"

I recognised the voice immediately. Step back....

Footsteps jogged up from behind me.

Hey, hold up, Ian?"

"Damien, What's up?"

"Glory Girl, man?"

Butterflies? Time to change things a little. Probably not the best idea to trade papers in the middle of the corridor. Well, do we look like experienced drug dealers?

"Poster get delivered?"

"Finally!" he grinned

"That's a glorious poster."

"Damn fine," his grin broadened.

Oh yes. That's what I liked about being sixteen. The simple pleasures.

"Boys?"

Gladly. As welcome as a fart in a broken lift.

"What?" Damien was fast off the draw.

"We weren't doing nothing." I tried not to sound like a whining kid. Naturally, that made it plain as day that we weren't doing something. Or something like that. I'm shite at English, OK?

"Bags. Let's see what you've got in there." He smiled like our best friend as he screwed us over.

I felt my power latch back into place. A moment later, I was fifteen seconds earlier.

"Glory Girl man," said Damien, grinning.

"Hey, ah, can we go a different way?"

He blinked owlishly, caught off-guard by the sudden swerve "We'll be late,"

I didn't care. "Better a tardy than getting caught with this. Trust me. There's a trap ahead." I pointed at an office door.

"Alright," he breathed "You've been right about stuff like this before."

Both of us turned to take the long way around, back past Taylor and Friends, down the stairs, then back up the middle with the rest of the crush. My knee complained at the rush, but better some aches than getting busted.

"Boys! Stop right there."

"Ah Fuck!" Everyone flinched, my voice carrying down the corridor.

Kobayashi Maru. Fifteen seconds didn't help when your downfall had been set up minutes earlier.

"There's only one person in this school who uses partial differential equations in High School math, or so I'm told. And that same person doesn't use American English spellings in his essays.

And wasn't he so sickeningly pleased with himself?

Damien deflated.

"Fuck sake." I admit it. I am not an eloquent man.

With hindsight, it should have been obvious. It mightn't have been the worst injustice in Winslow high, but fuck me if it didn't annoy.

-

I skated through the rest of the morning.

Shop class gave me something to focus on, to let the frustration cool. I ran parts off on the engine lathe for the class. The fun lasted until someone branded a kid with a file that'd been heated to somewhere between bloody-hot and absolute glowing hellfire with a gas torch meaning the rest of us spent the last half of the session sitting in stone silence while the teacher glared at us.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

The scream chilled me to the bone.

After a hungry hour's wait, lunchtime finally arrived. I took laser aim at the food, forgetting everything else.

The habit refused to die.

I bobbed and weaved through the queue, earning a few curses in the process as I grabbed my fair share. Then a little extra, with a few cartons of froot-joose stuffed in the pockets of my jacket for later.

Another habit which refused to die.

I'd half finished before Damien sat down on the bench opposite, dropping his tray down on the table. My eyes fell on the pea that rolled free from the edge. I didn't even look up at him, jealously pulling my own tray towards myself. I didn't breath. I didn't speak. .

"I don't know how you eat that shit," he said.

I swallowed, taking a breath while I loaded my plastic fork with as much as it'd carry.

"Still better than rations," I said, filling my mouth with another slab of mystery meat and synthetic mashed potato. "First lesson for survival." I smiled. "Food and water."

He prodded at the mystery meat with his fork, stirring it around it's bath of brown slime.

"I don't think this qualifies as food."

"If you're hungry enough, everything is Food."

I didn't even flinch as I scooped up another mouthful. It reminded me of dogfood. It tasted little better. You learned not to chew.

"I've never been that hungry,"

A thought rushed in with a vicious sting. You're going to find out soon enough.

I filled my mouth with a sliver of meat before any words could escape. The weight of what that meant, fell on my shoulder, stirring things up from the back of my mind that I really didn't want in the front.

Damien stopped poking at the slab of meat.

"You okay?"

I looked up at him. Thanks for asking.

"It's alright," I forced myself to say.

It didn't feel alright. I couldn't tell myself how it felt. Just that it did, sitting heavy like fat on the brain.

Six weeks to go. Tension rippled through my body.

For a moment it seemed crazy that life continued as normal, that nobody knew even though nobody could know. People queued for food, grabbing buns, butter and a quick chat. Insults were traded. Fights arranged. Girls babbled together, swarming some poor unfortunate who'd been served the white bread sandwich of poverty because her parents hadn't kept her lunch account current.


"Aki's In the library, I think," he said, still poking at the meat with his plastic fork. "She didn't get her stuff finished last night so she's catching up."

Thanks. I took a breath. The weight didn't leave.

"She know we got caught?" I said, putting my thoughts to more practical things.

"I messaged her," he said, flipping the screen open on his phone to show me. "Roberta and Alan got their stuff handed off too."

"Grand," I breathed. I threw a quick look over my shoulder. Nobody for now. Getting nabbed earlier had raised my paranoia – even if the noise of the cafeteria could swallow everything we said.

"They'll be watching me us for a while," he said, before finally plucking up the courage to take a bite. Hunger won out in the end.

My hand swirled the last morsel of meat through the jellied gravy, mopping up the remains

"Aki' won't be able to keep up on her own."

"Not for long,"" he said through a full mouth. "In a few weeks it'll be over anyway."

I looked up from my plate, feeling my appetite vanish. Fuck's sake.

After a moment, he managed to swallow. "Yeah, Summer can't come fast enough."

Six weeks to go.

--

Given the choice between taking two full week's detention and re-doing two assignments, or taking a day and touting on all those involved, I took the weeks. Buy the ticket, take the ride. No sympathy for the devil as a good man once said. Take a seat in a full detention hall and take the time to get my homework done, then get the guts of the assignment for World Affairs done before I got bored.

My hand rubbed at the brace on my right knee. A long day had started it aching again.

The assignment on the desk in front of me proved one simple thing.

Worm was a story. This was a World.

The weight of the future hung from my shoulders for the first time in months, no matter how much I tried to ignore it.

By the time detention ended, the school had emptied. Only the last few extra-curricular stragglers and the janitor remained, leaving an eerie pine-scented quiet behind.

Empty schools always feel strange.

I grabbed my crash helmet, armour and boots from my locker, along with the second key. I struggled to get my armour on, but preferred the struggle to being high-speed road pizza.

Armoured up, I could almost be a hero.

Or a villain.

The idea always lingered for far too long.

The bike had been parked where the bicycles were kept; a four-hundred-dollar rusty shed of a Honda that pre-dated parahumanity and came with a registration plate ominous enough that nobody even thought about stealing it.

Sixteen made me old enough for a provisional license. Well, they call it a learners permit. It amounted to the same thing; freedom from Public transport. Enough to feel like the beginnings of an adult again and know that if I really felt like it, I could just turn around and cross the entire continent.

I wasn't trapped in Brockton Bay any longer.

And my own power let me slice through rush-hour traffic. Fifteen seconds is plenty of time to avoid the cop, or the crossing traffic. Fifteen seconds gave me time to revel atavistic freedom, a quick regeneration after the day's stresses.

Ripping through late evening streets on a motorcycle helped clear my head. It gave me something to focus on, something to do, something to keep my mind off everything. Most of the rush-hour traffic had gone, leaving me free to play.

I wheelied through a red-light.

Blue Lights sparked up behind me.

Step back. Stop. The same police car rumbled to a halt beside me, both occupants chatting to themselves inside. Neither of them paid much attention to me. I couldn't help but stare at the guns. Armed police still felt wrong. Of all the things different about Bet, Glory Girl and Endbringers and dollar coins, that's the thing that stood out?

Weird.

I wrenched the throttle away from the lights, the old Honda popping and banging as it tried to keep up. A thin haze of blue oilsmoke followed behind. Both of us turned our separate ways and I tried to put some distance between us.

Another right turn brought me to the Brockton Knight's Arcade lit up in glorious cyberpunk neon. A few of the tubes had broken, but I thought that just added to the effect. I chained the bike up outside, then stuck it in third gear and pulled the lever off.

I marched inside with my helmet hung off my belt feeling like a hero. Heavy crash-boots and armoured leather makes anyone feel invincible. Inside, the electric heat embraced me, the scent of bubblegum and warm electronics crawling up my nose.

I doubt the place had changed much in two decades, except for the addition of some chattering pachinko machines to the usual chiptune electronics and thrumming music piped in from overhead.

I found the people I was searching for in the back, taking up two of six seats at an old Villains and Vigilantes booth. I preferred Space Opera, but being late came with a penalty.

"Hey, he finally shows up," said Damien, waving me over.

"Hi!" Aikiko bubbled. Say what you want about said-bookism, but I wouldn't be surprised if little candy love-hearts started popping into the air around her.

Akiko revelled in being the stereotype of every Japanese schoolgirl you ever saw. Shorter than average, with jet-black hair that seemed to have been varnished dead straight, broad cheeked and obsessed with the Kitty to the point where her hair at been speckled by a dozen jolly-rancher coloured flecks. She proudly wore a DDID tattoo on her arm – not a real one, of course.

I liked her.

That's exactly what I meant to say and no more.

I took breath, dropping any mental baggage behind the chair. "Andy and Roberta not here yet?"

"Called ahead. Said they were busy."

"Within five minutes of each other, too."

"Shared study time?"

"I didn't say that..." The smirk on her lips said it far better.

"So, loser pays?" Damien suggested.

"Christ man, I can't afford to lose."

"You can afford to go hungry then?"

I had an hour to kill before work. I had friends. Just because I'm stuck on the Titanic, doesn't mean I can't at least try and enjoy the voyage while it lasted. If this could never end, I could die happy. Flash and gone, while having a good time with friends, that's how I wanted to go.

I could've used my power to win every game, but I lost. It's easier to lose to friends. And more fun. The three of us laughed and had a great time. I could go into the minutiae of it, but there's no point. We were just three teenagers being friends.

I missed out on this sort of thing on my first run through school. My own fault really, I made the mistake of keeping too much to myself. Of just doing the work and getting the grades.

I suppose that's the advantage of experience.

Power or not, I'd had more fun in the last six months, than I'd had in six years. Doesn't that sound insane somehow?

Akiko's phone chimed three times. She glanced at her, her smile dissolving in a instant, like she'd been told a grandparent had died or something. She scratched at the back of her neck, glancing between the both of us like she expected us to jump on her or something.

"Something happen?" Me and Damien spoke at once, glanced at each other, then focused on her.

"Sumimasen, ehno." She giggled, covering her mouth. "Ah...I got to go." She jumped to her feet, fumbling her way out of the game booth, nearly tripping over her own feet "Talk tomorrow, Bye!"

She made it halfway to the door before she finished speaking. Me and Damien watched her leave, breaking into a full-on run before the door'd even closed. "That's been happening a lot lately," he said, before eating a chip.

"I hadn't noticed," I said.

"Do you notice anything?

I shrugged. "Probably some family thing."

My phone picked the wrong moment to sound out the Imperial march, putting the final coup-de grace between the eyes of what'd been mostly a decent afternoon.

"You too!"

I glanced at three-line screen, only needing to see where the message had come from to know it'd be a howler. A look at my watch confirmed it.

"I should've been at work an hour ago."

"Shit,"

I borrowed one of Akiko's sayings. "Shikata Ga Nai."

"Yeah. Shit happens."

So it goes. But for a crap start to the day, it hadn't turned out too bad, had it? Both of us stepped out into cold night air. A looming sky threatened rain in the morning, but for the time being it stayed dry. I'd get a bollocking when I got across town, but I didn't give a fuck. Life's too short to work to miss out on things like this. I knew that too well.

"That's him!"

I turned my head towards the voice just in time to see the knife.

Step!

--

The first time I got myself into a fight, the idea of accidentally hurting someone frightened me more than getting hurt. Funny that. Most people are like that at the start. It got scrappy in the way children's fights usually did. Neither of us really hit that hard. It ended in tears, not blood. We were both only ten.

The second time, a world away, I grabbed a hurley and cracked it hard over someone's skull. For those of you not blessed with an Irish childhood, a hurley is a flat, heavy ash bat with a steel brace, normally used to slap a solid, fist-sized ball of leather down a pitch at a speed somewhere north of a hundred kilometres an hour. And I hit him so hard with the edge of it, it split.

His legs folded beneath him, his body just dropping to the ground in a heap, pale pink blood trickling from his eyes and ears. I don't know what happened to him after that.

I hadn't eaten for a week. I could barely walk. He must've been just as hungry, just as desperate as me to even think about trying take what I had. At the time, I didn't think about that. I didn't think about anything except ending the hunger clawing away inside me. My mind went to the Serengeti place. I hit him hard enough to make sure he never got up again, then took my rations home. And his.

With hindsight, I could've dealt with it better. We could've talked it over, been civilised and human about things, but we didn't. Hunger makes you forget.

The third time happened a week before the Christmas break, in Winslow. A group of ABB kids jumped me. The first time, they caught me by surprise. The second, I took a knife to the stomach when I tried to fight back. The third time, still aching with a phantom wound, I found that Serengeti place again. It seemed easier this time, less of a hurdle to overcome. I found a fire extinguisher on the wall, and this time around I knew which one of them had the blade.

The fire extinguisher rang like a bell when it hit him. He collapsed into a fit, his girlfriend ran and the other boy called for security. The fat guard tazed me for it.

Of course, the administration went a little bit balubas over it. But he'd had a knife in his hand, and I had the benefit of being an Endbringer kid. You know what those are like, right? Just a little bit broken, he couldn't help it. The school settled for a month-long suspension, to keep everyone happy. I spent January on the couch. Saito spent a month in hospital with his jaw wired shut.

I don't want it to sound like I'm proud of it. Down that road lies the darwinist sociopaths like Hess. I don't believe it. Humans might be animals, sure, but we're a co-operative species. We're stronger when we work together.

Hunger made me forget that once. Panic made me forget it twice.

Now I had my little galaxy-sized friend hitching a lift in the back of my mind.

I had fifteen seconds before I got jumped by someone with a knife. I could think of nothing else, but ways to use my power to get the jump on him first.

"Damien. Stop," I said.

He laughed "What? You think Gladly's around the corner?"

The expression on my face stopped him dead in the street.

"Two gangers. Asians."

Adrenaline echoes thrummed in my veins, my heart clenching. I took hold of my Power, clenching my hands into fists, then turned and walked in the other direction.

This time, I caught myself.

"Hey man, how could you know that?" Damien paced after me.

I saw the Knife. I saw teeth. I saw eyes staring at me. I could still see the green of their t-shirts. Two of them, one with a blade, the other with a bat. With each pace, the pieces fell into place. They'd been waiting. They'd targeted us. They'd targeted me. Motherfucker.

My mind locked.

Motherfucker.

"How do you know?"

I didn't answer.

"How do you always know?"

I could hear footsteps, rushing up behind. I knew who owned them. Every muscle in my body stretched taught.

I looked at him. He looked behind, his jaw dropping wide.

"How?" he breathed.

I ran just long enough for my power to latch into place. The universe folded inside out, twisting and wrenching itself around me, snapping mind and body back in the blink of an eye.

I stopped dead, Damien walking on a few more steps before turning to face me.

"Hey man, what is it?"

"We're about to be attacked."

He laughed. Again. "Get out!"

"Two Asians. Waiting for us."

He took a single, long breath, looking back over his shoulder to the alleyway. "Right."

I had a Power. I could do it. I'd done it before. Maybe that's why. After so many months, a revenge attack? Motherfucker.

I stood there, with my mind in spinlock, looking for anything that'd help. A weapon. A cop. The local PR-fucking-T. Anyone except for the three or four bystanders who did exactly what I'd done in their shoes.

"How do you always know this shit?" Damien asked me, again.

"Doesn't matter," I said, through my teeth, hoping I wouldn't be heard. "We can't run. We have to fight."

No other option. I tried to walk away, but they chased us. My fingers found a weapon in my pocket – an old Leatherman knockoff going rusty around the rivets. My sweaty palms fumbled on the metal grip, struggling to unfold it. The blade locked itself into place.

He stared at it.

"Surely. You can't be serious,"

"I am serious. And don't call me Shirley."

Okay, that's just mandatory. Call me a moron, but bringing just my fist to a knife-fight seemed like a stupid thing to do. At least this gave me a chance. It made me feel better. Feel safer.

Damien sighed, resigning himself to it.

"Thanks mate," I said, with a thin smile.

He snorted. "Fuck, man. If you get your dumb Irish ass kicked, I'll never pass math."

I hugged the shopfronts on my left, remembering something I'd watched about Castles on Discovery Channel before it'd degenerated into inane reality TV.

I had reach on my side, and strength. They had a blade and a baseball bat. I had a Power. I had a friend. I had the Serengeti place. I felt my guts twist themselves tight into a knot, every muscle in my body pulling to run away. I'd just get run down if I did. My fingers clenched tight on the grip-handle of the tool, skin blanching white.

I took one deep breath, letting the building adrenaline march me towards certain pain. I could take it. I could do it.

I glanced at Damien, his face glistening with nervous sweat. He seemed to grok my intent, stepping just ahead of me, both fists clenched. He'd get pasted if I got this wrong, but I could always try again.

I heard feet running.

I dived. We crashed into each other, my shoulder and fist burying themselves in someone's stomach. Something bit at my wrist, before scraping off the armour in my jacket. My blade clattered free from my fingers as both of us rolled on the concrete. I scrambled to my feet while he clutched at his stomach, winded. I kicked his knife away, sending it skittering into the street

The shock of the impact numbed the fingers in my right hand. Damien took a hard a hit to the chest with the baseball bat, knocking him to the floor, with his arms around his guts, panting.

I struggled for breath, a deep ache thrumming inside my arm. It felt nothing like the time I'd been stabbed, so just a bruise. Nothing serious. My hand clenched into a fist. No pain, only a strange tightness. Still OK. No need for my Power.

The second stood a few meters away from me. He matched me in height, both of us standing eye to eye. I knew I had a few kilos on him. He stared at me through strands of sweat-slick hair, both hands gripped tight on the bat's handle, ready to strike out on my skull.

Or something. Baseball's not my thing, alright?

He glanced down at his friend, still struggling to his feet. "Fuckers knew we were there, Dai."

Dai managed to groan, still with his hand pressed on his stomach, a dark patch spreading around his fingers. "Daijobou," he breathed.

I panted for breath, high on adrenaline. Every single bone in my body fizzed as I stood there, daring him to make the first move. He stretched the bat towards me, aiming the tip of it at my head, telling me exactly what he planned.

Maybe I should've taken the chance...

His eyes went wide, like he'd sat on a live sparkplug. Something slammed into him – causing him to step back. The bat dropped from his grip, cracking against the concrete of the path. Both of us looked down to see a single arrow-bolt projecting from his chest – six inches of black shaft topped with four white feathers.

"Cape..." he managed to say as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. His legs crumbled beneath him, his body dropping into a heap on the footpath.

"What?" I said.

Something clicked beside my ear, answering the question.

Slowly I turned, raising my hands. Something warm crawled up my arm, tickling under my jacket.

Coming face to face with the Shiny End of a crossbow is enough to make every hair in by body stand on end, especially when the person holding it hadn't been there a second ago.

Shadow Stalker.

Sophia. Standing there, looking up at me through a scowling Ayn Rand mask. Blocked patterns on her cloak absorbed the outline of her body, making it hard to tell where she stopped, and fabric began. If I hadn't know the secret, I'd never have been able to guess.

Funny how that worked.

"Stand down," she ordered.

Pro-tip. Don't argue with the point of a crossbow.

I stood there, staring down at her. "They attacked us," I said, trying not to sound like a petulant kid. Would my Power work before the tranquilliser took hold?

"I saw," she said. "Sit down against the wall and wait."

Like I said, never argue with the point of a crossbow. The windowsill of a closed Pollo's gave me a comfortable place to sit and cool off as the adrenaline wound down. Damien shuffled in beside me, still wheezing with his arm around his stomach.

"Hah. That was lucky," he wheezed. "That's why Brockton is the best."

I looked up at him, but didn't feel the need to say anything else. My whole body had begun to shiver. Sweat stickied up my gloves, my right arm still half numb and thrumming from whatever hit it. A girl with a purple skunk-stripe in her hair grabbed a snapshot with her phone from the other side of the street, before running.

Shadow Stalker zip tied each of the gangers with their arms behind their backs, not exactly being gentle about it either with a heavy stomp on the back to stretch their arms tight.

Dai struggled a little, earning a sigh and a bolt from a crossbow in the back for his trouble.

"Two gang members, ABB. Sycamore and Vale. Both have been tranquillized. Two civilians, one wounded."

She seemed to speak to herself, but I guessed her mask had some sort of intercom. I looked at Damien, still holding himself like he was trying to keep his guts from spilling.

"You alright?"

"She means you. Your arm,"

He pointed a finger at it. A steady drip-drip flowed from the cuff, plashing in bright red spots on the concrete path. Three scarlet pools had formed, with another dribble running down my trouser leg. I held my arm in front of my face, watching the blood seep out from a split in the leather.

Something had grazed off the armour, slashed the jacket and nicked my arm deep enough to draw blood. Nothing serious. It didn't even hurt that much, not like the last time I'd been stabbed. I gripped it with my good hand, keeping the red in.

"It's not bad," I said, trying to wave her off.

The Ayn Rand mask said nothing, turning away from me.

"Fine," Damien shrugged. "Bleed to death why don't you. Getting me into a stupid fight like this."

"It couldn't be helped," I said, looking at him.

"We could've run away."

I rapped a knuckle on my braces. "Not very far,"

"Just far enough for me to get away while they kick your ass."

Alright, maybe some Americans do understand the concept of black humour after all. I gave him a wry smile and a dig in the shoulder.

"Then how would you pass maths?"

Both of us laughed, dry as a desert.

I sat there shivering, cold fingers crawling all over my body as I watched Shadow Stalker check both the gangers for weapons, cleaning them out. She found my multitool in the road. That metal face scowled at me and I grabbed for my power, just in case.

Bystanders snapped pictures. Probably tourists.

She marched over to me, boots stomping on concrete. I pushed myself to my feet, steadying myself with a hand on the steel shutter behind.

Shadow Stalker offered it to me on an open palm. My Power hummed in the back of my mind, reminding me I had a way out

"Take it. Before Armsmaster sees it."

"Alright..."

I grabbed it in slick fingers. The mask scowled, offering no warning of what happened next.

She stepped back, turn away, and left me standing there bemused.

Apparently I'd arrived in the weird alternate version of Worm where Sophia isn't a complete bitch who takes pleasure in fucking everyone over, just because she can.

Knowing better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, I stuffed the tool into my back pocket and tried not to smile at her as I sat back down.

Damien nudged me from behind. "Dude, I read on PHO that she's supposed to be a complete hardass."

I gave a quick shrug of my shoulders. "I amn't complaining."

The full weight of the day hung from my shoulders while I sat there staring at my arm and the patterns my own blood had left on the palm. I gripped my arm tighter, trying to stem the flow a little.

My ears thrummed, like an engine running inside my head.

"Hey man," Damien nudged me. I looked up

Commander Riker of the Ultramarines chapter loomed in the traditional superhero power pose. The shock of his sudden teleportation left me

"What happened here?"

Damien got the jump on me. My mind just spun in neutral. "These two guys were waiting for us. They tried to jump us but we spotted them. It was self defense man,"

"You spotted them?"

"Ian did,"

Armsmaster looked at me. Son of a bitch. I charged up my best petulant teen glare and grabbed for the first answer I could think of.

"I was walking along. I saw them hide in the alley. I recognised them as Asian's"

"You're lying."

"No I amn't!"

I stood up, almost managing to get eye-to-eye with him. The benefit of being a big Irish bastard. My legs went to jelly, but I caught myself with my good hand. No falling over drunk for me.

His head moved, glancing down at my arm, then at me.

"My visor tells me otherwise. Care to start with the truth?"

An angry growl rose out of my throat while I rifled through the back of my mind for anything that didn't end in 'Your under arrest' or 'Interested in Joining?'

My Power flickered, threatening to die out, before finally lurching to life. The world crunched and slurred around me, more a drunken stagger in time than a neat step, before crashing back into place with a jolt that left my head spinning.

I looked around, trying to place myself in the conversation.

"Well..."

Something I'd overheard one of the black lads say at school. Don't talk to those boys in blue. They ain't gonna ever help you.

Good advice.

"I take the Second,"

"You mean the Fifth," he said."Which only applies in cases where the answer might incriminate you."

Damien nudged my shoulder. "Dude, don't be a dick. You'll get us into trouble."

Armsmaster's the dick.

"Listen to your friend. We can sort this out here, but if you insist, we can take it to the local police station."

"I saw them in the alley," I said.

"How?"

"I have a way of seeing things."

"A way?"

I have a fucking Power you thick-headed dope, but I don't want to say that out loud. Because then, what little bit of a life I've managed to put together and start actually enjoying will get pulled apart by you and your circus of caped insanity.

Because Sophia will know. You will know. I'll get the Pitch. I'll get pushed into wearing a cape because I know it'll make my family's life so much easier and then, hey, I'm the one fighting Skitter and friends and I really, really don't like the taste of cockroaches.

'Um...I saw them,"

"We've established that. I want to know how, when you would have been walking down a street with no clear view through any window."

I watched him, rocking back and forth, blurring out of focus. How much did I have to drink? I tried to breath, swallowing a cluster of deep, gasping breaths to clear my head. It failed.

I looked up at him, opened my mouth, and the ground accelerated towards me.

I don't even remember the hit.

--

My head felt like an elephant had used it for a chair.

Laying back on the bed, I closed my eyes and waited, trying to block out the usual noise of a hospital emergency department.

"Could you not just let it go, Ian?"

My eyes shot open. The mammy had arrived by teleporter, standing beside my bed her face set into that professional, piercing scowl practiced by all Irish Mammies.

"What?"

"That bike's worth, what, four hundred dollars? The insurance on this alone is over two thousand. Is it really worth fighting?"

Money? She's more concerned with money? Caught on the hop, my mouth found a gear before my brain caught the look of pain on her face.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know they're not going to hurt me anyway?"

I stood up, staggered, then caught myself like a drunk,

"If you don't give them a reason to..." she steps back and I see that shot of fear in her eyes. "...your father was worried sick trying to call you and he still has to run the pub. Have you any idea what you're putting us though?"

Yeah. I do.

"Ah for fuck's sake, leave it out. It's not my fault!"

"If it's not your fault, then why does it keep happening?"

"Because I'm in a shithole school in a shithole city on a shithole world!"

Silence. Only a few machines chirped. Yeah. I said it out loud. Someone mumbled a complaint

"But you don't have other children getting into fights... how many thousand of them are there now. And this is how many times?"

She got close to me. Almost close to tears. But I'm right. She cupped my hand in hers with the warmth only a mother could manage. I snatched it back. I'm right.

"They attacked me!"

I knew I'd lost when she just buried her face in the palm of her hands and shook her head slowly from side to side.. She'd never see it my way. I could probably have pretended to see it hers if I bothered my arse.

But I didn't.

I could've just used my Power to spare everyone the stress.

But I didn't.

Using my Power would be backing down.

"Let's just get you home."

The cashier declined the debit card, so the bill found it's way towards inflating the family credit account. Outside, the night had gone stone cold, rain still threatening to roll in off the bay. I followed her across the car-park.

"Can we go get my bike?"

"Tomorrow."

She didn't even look at me.

A wood-panelled Buick LeSabre in Griswold Green awaited.

Old yank iron might piss petrol out the exhaust, but even 80's malaise-era estates came with seats that just sort of absorbed your body and coddled, especially when the heater decided to work. The engine rumbled along far away in another world like something from an ocean liner while the suspension drifted along undisturbed by salt-eaten roads beneath.

Everyone called it a heap of shit. I liked it.

Brockton rolled by the window, a vision into the Days of Pearly Spencer. As familiar as home now. A month away from being washed away. My fingers drummed on the door. Over a month away, I reminded myself. Still time to run. Plenty of time to plan a Holiday in New York and a climb up the World Trade Centre, or weekend on the other side of the hill.

Maybe I'd get lucky. I already had an alternate universe version of Sophia. This time around, how about Leviathan takes out other city? I'd like that.

Both of us sat there in silence, neither wanting to risk the first word. I looked at her. She looked at me, then looked away.

That hurt.

My Power bristled at the back of my mind, impotent now to save me from this fuckup, but still desperate to do something, a child in the back seat of my brain constantly nagging.

Can I do something? Can I do something? Can I do something?

The cut on my arm throbbed Painful, but no worse than anything I'd had to endure. Gripping my hand into a fist proved nothing permanent had been damaged. Even the stitches had been more uncomfortable, than painful.

A familiar apartment block loomed into view. An old Civil Defense sign over the parking garage told the world of the repurposed fallout shelter beneath. I'd already decided I wouldn't go down there when the siren sounded for real. Just thinking about it made my blood run deathly cold, an ice-rain chill trickling down my spine.

We pulled in to our assigned parking spot and she shut down the car's engine. It dieseled over before finally settling down, leaving us in silence.

I reached for the doorhandle.

Locked. Trapped.

She breathed, a long draw filling her chest, the way all Mammies do, just to let you know how much pain and suffering you're causing them, giving time to brace for the guilt trip.

"Why does this keep happening? Is something wrong?"

I saw the look of pain in her eyes. I heard the strain in her voice. I tried the doorhandle again.

"You're not leaving this car until I get an answer."

Only one answer kept coming to mind. I shot it down. It hummed at the back, reminding me that I could at least try it, just an experiment. Right so. Just to shut that bloody thing up.

The hardest five words I've had to say.

"Mam, I have a Power."

Start the count. 1....2....

"Power?"

Her mouth hung open, her mind not really able or willing to grasp what I'd set.

Time ticked on. ...3...4...

"Yeah. Like a parahuman. I've had a Power for the last six months."

She looked at me, her face gaining years as realisation began to dawn. Time to put the last nail in this coffin.

....6....7....8....

"That's how I knew I had to fight. If I ran away, they would've stabbed me in the back."

....9....10....11...12...

A look of Wide-eyed, open-mouthed horror told me everything I needed to know. She believed me the way a mother would.

Congratulations, your sole remaining son one of the tomatoes, doomed to life as a Ward, or worse. The whirling monster of the Protectorat will take the life you've worked so hard to rebuild in it's jaws and thrash it from side to side, tearing it apart.

I couldn't be that cruel to her.

My Power triggered. The cape went back in the closet. Just like the last time.

Back to the start.

The mammy sat there, still waiting.

"If I didn't stand up for myself, I'd just become a target," I said. "This place isn't like home."

"No. It isn't." She shook her head."But, I'm worried about you. This fighting was never like you, Ian."

And where have I heard that before? Maybe something in dead time, maybe not. She tried to grab my hand, I pulled it back.

"I have to stand up for myself."

"And make yourself a bigger target?"

"No, just...."

The words escaped me. Like two people outrunning a lion. You didn't have to outrun the lion, just the other poor bastard.

"What?"

"I amn't the same person I was a year ago."

Fucking Understatement.

"I know. But, this is a dangerous city. If this keeps happening, eventually it's going to go too far."

"It wasn't my Fault!"

My power latched back into place. Try again!

Back to the start.

I did what I should've done the first time. I looked her right in the eye, took a deep breath.

"It's late. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"Alright. Tomorrow,"

With luck, it'd get forgotten about.

Now, I never made any claims to being a nice person, did I? I've enough self-awareness to know that I'm not making the best of impressions. So what?

Archie waited in the apartment, the little black Jack dog vibrating with apoplectic joy, trying to jump up and kiss, sniff and taste where I'd been all day.

The mammy busied herself in the kitchen, cleaning up the last of the night's dinner while I retreated to my fortress of solitude, accompanied by my trusty sidekick.

I allowing the door to my own room latch shut, exhaling a long breath before shedding my jacket and trousers, then boots, then disassembling the braces that kept my knees from fucking themselves while I walked.

A full-sized floor-to-ceiling window could've given me a commanding view of the city if we'd been higher than the second floor. Opposite, sat my bed with a stack of bookshelves above it. I had a desk-study with something that could've been called a mid-range computer four years ago and a wardrobe full of budget clothes. A tangle-of-wires-and-metal 'school project' that got me my photograph taken with Armsmaster six months ago sat discarded against the wall, still teasing with possibility.

Beside the PC, there were photographs of me, at a home I knew. My brother, who looked much the same as I remembered. A class photo with nobody I recognised, but a uniform that I did. A dozen other frozen moments that'd never been mine and one single one that had.

On day one in New York, I got my photo taken on the observation deck of a building I'd once watched dissolve into burning dust live on the Tuesday evening news.

And finally, hung on the wall, a world map constantly reminding me that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

In case I could forget.

Tired, I flopped back on my bed. Pine framing gave way under the shock, the whole thing collapsing underneath me, leaving me sprawled and aching in a snarl of bedsheets. Oops.

"What happened?" mam called in.

I stepped back fifteen seconds and sat on it carefully before lying down, dangling my feet off the side.

I suppose, that had been the worst part of it. I knew they weren't my real parents. Sure they looked like them. Of course they sounded like them. They'd even grown up exactly like them, in the same houses in the same part of town.

But they weren't the mother and father I grew up with. Scion changed everything in the years between their marriage and my birth. They'd become dark shadows of my real parents, the centre of a black mockery of the life I'd known, mutilated to fit the narrative.

But still, I didn't hate them either. Don't get me wrong, I didn't think they were bad people. I couldn't hate them.

I couldn't place my feelings. Not when they sounded the same, or smelt the same, or told the same basic stories.

Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and the strength to change the things I cannot accept.

What can I say. I might not take mass, but I'm still a Catholic. You just can't shake the mindset. Not all of it. You take the boy out of the Catholic church, but you can't take the Catholic church out of the boy.

Well, you know what I mean. Dirty fuck.

I'd accepted a lot in a year. I didn't feel very serene. I don't really know what I felt. Every single thing in my mind crushed itself together into a tight ball – I don't know if you know what Marla is – It's like some child scrunched up all my thoughts into one rainbow-flecked lump of amorphous brown ball of Marla and I couldn't pull it apart.

I felt like screaming. I felt like crying. I felt trapped. I felt proud of what I done. I felt like flying through the city. I felt scared. I felt like breaking a window and getting bloody. I felt like roaring down the street on my bike backfiring at things with two fingers up. I felt like slipping under the bedsheets, going to sleep and getting today over with. I felt too young, I felt older than I looked. I felt like a bomb ready to explode. I felt like an empty cartridge.

I felt alone.

I sprawled myself on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to tease it all apart and get to the heart of it.

Archie settled up on the bed at my feet and started licking at my toes

Maybe not alone. That dog pulled a smile to my lips, clearing my head for a moment.

I sat up, giving the dog a gentle scratch behind the ears. Alright. It's time to take a principled stand. I know I'll make some enemies with this, but I have to just outright say it. Cats suck. Cats look down on you. Dogs are awesome. Good Dogs are always glad to see you. And I know I've made mortal enemies, more than if I'd joined the S9 or shipped Sophie/Taylor....but I don't care. A man has to have his principles.

I'm going to get shipped with Bitch for that, amn't I?

A snort of a laugh earned me a puzzled look from the dog. My reflection in the window answered with a wry smile. It cleared the air and gave my mind a chance to breath.

The gears of plot and time had begun to mesh around me. The story began in a matter of days. In a house not too far away, Taylor worked on her costume. The Undersiders had knocked over a casino four weeks ago. Glory Girl had been battering Empire thugs. Paige McBee stood trial on CNN. Speculation simmered on the wider web about when and where the next Endbringer would hit.

I knew all of it. I had it all worked out once.

I worked out all the little strands that led to a Bad End – the sort of stuff that frightened even the nightmares away and left me lying awake at night in a cold sweat. Make the wrong call and I'll be lucky if I die screaming.

Call me a coward if you want. You're not sitting here.

I couldn't avoid the end. I couldn't get off. But I could try enjoy the ride while it lasted. And make the best of what came after.

And you know, I have more proof...I have absolute proof that I'm doing the right thing. I've been here for a year without seeing you-know-who. Given the shit I know, doesn't that strike you as odd? No interrogation. No assassination.

That's proof I'm doing the right thing. I'm on the right path.

"Amn't I?"

My reflection in the glass didn't look convinced this time. Archie gave me that wide, seal-eyed look of his, before turning away. Don't ask me, I'm just a dog. I don't know. Must be nice to not know.

That thought carried me to sleep, sprawled on my bed with a dozing dog on my stomach.

---

I hate public transport. Mitching from school on a Friday morning to go grab my bike gave me a chance to suffer Brockton Bay's public transit for the first time in months and catch up on what the Mill had been doing.

Akiko; Tlk w/ Lisa @ lunch.

Not Lisa Wilbourne. Lisa Banbridge - a girl who lived in Emma Barne's social orbit.

Me; Better you than me

I never mastered the art of txt spk. Never tried.

Akiko; She scamn sum1 we no & can use.

Something clicked.

Motherfucker.

I marked her in the schedule as taking Lisa's work, blocked out a day on our common calender when she couldn't work on anything else, added some of her workload to my own, then offering the rest out to whomever was free.

Andy grabbed some of it for himself.

If you called Project Management an art, I could just about manage a few deviantart-worthy doodles in the corner of a napkin. That still put me ahead of the majority of kids out there when it came to running things.

In another life, I'd been an engineer, an apprentice of the Tao of Scotty. Now....

My phone chirped in my pocket.

Damo; Yo buddy still alive?

Me; No.

Damo; Cool. Ger Hero's Autograph.

Me; Line's too long.

Damo; Mayb u in hell?

I looked out the window.

Me; No. Not going to school yet

From Damo; Tell me about it. WA today >,<.

Me: Fuck no. Dodging that. See you lunchtime

Damo; Right man, lunch.

The bus stopped two blocks from where I'd parked the bike, leaving a short walk that took me past the spot where, last night, I'd been in a fight for my life. The footpath had been jetwashed clean of any blood. The Pollo's had filled with tourists.

I found the bike sitting as I'd left it, unmolested by anyone. It came to life with unusual enthusiasm, both of us sputtering off in a blue haze. I raced through the streets, taking the long route back to the school, enjoying the morning air.

Bet had changed me, I mused.

A sick part of my mind added 'for the better'. I had friends at school. I did things. I had motivation. Drive. Energy. Self-respect. How fucked up is it that?

The multiverse had a cruel sense of irony at the best of times.

So what? I had shit to do when I got there.

My phone buzzed in my pocket again. I pinned it against the handlebar with my clutch-hand. Few morons live long enough to master the are of Texting while riding a motorcycle. Few Morons have a Power that lets them rewind until before they hit the truck...

Damo; Assignment on Capes for WA. Easy

Me; SS and Defiant?

Damo; U mean Arsmaster, rite?

Oops. Too late to take it back.

Me; Sure.

Damo; Effects of capes on world

A red light gave me time to think.

Me; Shouldnt be hard.

An assignment with a five-word answer. "And then things got worse."

Another message came through.

Akiko; Lisa L8. Makn me w8

Me; B careful

Something felt wrong about this, a spark deep inside lighting a smouldering dread. I twisted the throttle, racing to the school. Honestly, I expected some sort of ambush, a screw job of some sort to stick Akiko in the frame to earn brownie points with the administration or some other fucked up plan. It wouldn't be the first time.

Tearing into the schoolyard at near 50 would earn me an expulsion if anyone reported it. So what? If the Mill got blown open I'd be fucked anyway.

I rode around the back of the school, skidding to a halt outside the rear entrance. What I saw there stopped me cold.

Taylor. Standing just outside the doorway, looking at me, a dozen different colours and flavours of soft-drink dripped from her body. A trail of sticky liquid followed her, snaking back into the building.

"Ah fuck," I managed to say. My Power fizzed at the edge of my mind, demanding to be triggered, just to keep me from realising it, to let me live the rest of the day without knowing.

Today's the day.

Gestation. Insinuation. Whichever one the fuck it'd been called. We'd crested the climb and the ride had begun. Leviathan. The Slaughterhouse. All of it started today, as inevitable as the sudden stop after a long fall.

She turned away, realising no help would come from me.

My Power fired.

Back to the start, Taylor Staring at me again. Maybe I could?

I couldn't.

Did I really want to be a part of all that? I'd had enough of this shit, thank you very much, without taking on the responsibility for the entire goddamned planet. What if I give her a lift home and she changes her mind or something?

The chain gets broken. Bad End

She turned away, realising no help would come from me.

My Power fired.

And if I don't, what then? Up to now, I could be any kid in the universe. I could've been bystander #4, or some random piece of background colour – something that didn't matter. Something that either died or lived or, most likely, had the brains to get out of the city before it all went to hell.

Taking Taylor home would mean joining the narrative, joining the story, stepping up on to the dance floor and becoming a part of it – fair game for everyone and everything and all those fucked up things that came with it.

Again, Taylor turned away,

Again, I fired my Power.

I might've watched her a dozen times, each time coming to the realisation that no help would come. I saw it in her eyes. The guilt bit deeper each time around. Grinding me down. No matter how I felt, or what I thought about the future that wouldn't be fixed anymore.

My Power betrayed me.

Even as I tried to talk myself out of it, it became inevitable. Just the two of us at the back of the school. Nobody watching. Nobody to jeer, or to pressurise. Nobody to laugh at Locker Girl or any of the other shit. Just me, her, and a decision to make.

Ultimately, something simpler than The Fate of the World made the decision - I just couldn't bring myself to be that much of a scumbag.

It's easy to turn away in a crowd, but placed on the spot, on my own, with nobody to see but myself and her, I had no choice. This isn't a story with a narrative to protect. I'm here right now.

My Power fired one last time.

The world reset. Taylor looked at me. I spooled up the nerve, grabbing hold of reality. I knew what I could do. Nothing major. Nothing world shaking. But it'd make me feel better about myself.

"Hey Taylor!" I called out. "How're you getting home?"

She stopped. Officially, we had entered unknown territory.

"There's a bus," she said through thin lips, caught off guard.

"Eh," I nodded towards the pillion seat. "I can take you."

Welp, I'm fucked.

--

(26000 words, reduced to 10,000 to get to the same plot point.)

Spoiler

Note 1: This story has pretty much had the guts ripped out of it to trim down the plot and reduce arc fatigue. There's a lot of minor details that've been sent to room 101 - along with a few major plotpoints that, in hindsight were a bit stupid

"Good Morning, Shadow Stalker."
Thought this'd make for a nice, sinister opening with a bit of punch. At least to entice with the question of why. The followup is more about showing the Power in action.

Might aswell do something amusing with this bloody thing in my head, huh?
There was a time when this thing was just a one shot excersis in establishing some stuff. Arguably this line can go. The whole opening of this story is intended as a counterpoint to the usual, Choosing the Adventure or Waking up in Another World intro. They're boring and pointless. Let's start later on, when everything's settled down, we're into the life and things are happening

On Parahuman Society and its Future
A subject we know a great deal more about than we pretend.

Butterflies? Time to change things a little
Showing, the Power isn't perfect between iterations. A different glance - a different angle. Stuff *can* change. Banking the possibility as a thread for later.

"Boys! Stop right there."
Second plot thread being banked. The Power can still be defeated by events occuring outside its window. Decisions made a long time ago can leave him in a no-win situation.

someone branded a kid with a file
What you don't get is the sizzle - or the roast pork smell. Was a pretty fucked up thing that left a lifetime scar on the kid. In a visible place

A thought rushed in with a vicious sting. You're going to find out soon enough.
Still maybe just a tetch on the nose. The original version of this scene had it outright stated that we're an Enbringer survivor. This scene also originally marked the PLOT STARTS HERE point - happening much later. Instead it's been cut down and the entire Sophia plot it started has been removed. It's just bridging moments and setting up some of the normality of the situation instead.

Worm was a story. This was a World.
A million words is a very small window. For one thing, the memes would be entirely different. Sets up a little something in the next part. And tells what I originally showed later.

Brockton Knight's Arcade
We originally met The Travellers here. Another subplot gone. The whole point had been to show that we just would'n't recognise important characters from their descriptions whenever they showed up. Tattletale got the same treatment in a later scene. They're gone now - to focus the plot down on 'normal' life. We're in our own comfortable niche.

"Andy and Roberta not here yet?"
Yet again, they suffer from being empty names from the better side of the tracks.

"Sumimasen, ehno." She giggled, covering her mouth. "Ah...I got to go."
Foreshadowing. She's ABB. And despite this being QQ, she's not into compensated dating.

his body just dropping to the ground in a heap, pale pink blood trickling from his eyes and ears
A fatal blow. But he doesn't say 'I killed him'. He's hiding that from you.

The fat guard tazed me for it.
While probably wondering who the newcomer was - before getting arrested for showing an unhealthy interest in one Taylor Herbert and tripping all sorts of child protection alarms - the dissapearred from cusody and ended up in a room with a doctor, a bean-cruncher and a slug. Or not. Anyway, never mind all that - somewhere I have to work in the foreshadowing that Cauldrons Plans Are Different.

"How do you always know?"
Damien is observant. He notices a pattern.

I scrambled to my feet while he clutched at his stomach,
The moment he gets stabbed with a blade. In the confusion, it's not noticed or mentioned as an intent. It's not even consciously stated. I'd say he isn't really aware of it himself in the adrenaline.

Shadow Stalker.
PLOT STARTS HERE. Lets start the plot in the first ten thousand words this time. Keep people reading. Also remember, she watches muggings to see if people will fight back before intervening.

I held my arm in front of my face, watching the blood seep out from a split in the leather.
The difference between the winner and looser in a knife-fight is who dies in the street, and who dies in the ambulance. Fighting anyone has consequences.

"Just far enough for me to get away while they kick your ass."
You don't have to outrun the bear - just outrun the slowest member of the party.

"Take it. Before Armsmaster sees it."
Sophia knows us, and was impressed by out willingness to fight hard. We made a friend!

"My visor tells me otherwise. Care to start with the truth?"
Armsmaster is not being friendly. He's bleeding. There's a guy in the street bleeding. We're giving him shit, and he's getting untruth warnings from his gear - evenm if they're picking up on the wrong lie. Armaster being a dick is a memer - but he has every right to be a dick.

"I take the Second,"
A mistake I made once in another fic....

Laying back on the bed, I closed my eyes and waited, trying to block out the usual noise of a hospital emergency department.
A cameo from Glory Girl and Panacea has been removed from here. The plan had been for the presence of capes to add a sense of versimiltude and being in a place - but it just got distracting.

Using my Power would be backing down.
Ians tendency to react badly to being blackmailed and controlled has been played down a lot - simply by removing the Sophia subplot where it was so present. But it's still there. He's still a petulant little shit when he wants to be.

Back to the start.
By giving us the opprtunity to back out of stressful interpersonal moments our power hamstrings us into never really growing.

Archie waited in the apartment,
Two scenes compressed together to give a feel for his world and where he lives. This is what happened, and this


But still, I didn't hate them either. Don't get me wrong, I didn't think they were bad people. I couldn't hate them.
Telling far too much. I may delete a lot of this

Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and the strength to change the things I cannot accept.
Adding an element from a Third scene

But I could try enjoy the ride while it lasted. And make the best of what came after.
Getting involved in the Plot is too much bother. We just want to be fucking happy - rather than some misereable anxiety ball. We're not a hypercompetent robot.


Not Lisa Wilbourne. Lisa Banbridge - a girl who lived in Emma Barne's social orbit.
Originally this was Sophia - instead Akiko's just doing her own thing. Life is otherwise carrying on

A sick part of my mind added 'for the better'. I had friends at school. I did things. I had motivation. Drive. Energy. Self-respect. How fucked up is it that?
Depression is a cunt.

Effects of capes on world
PLOT!! And we miss it. A little snap foreshadowing. Taylors appearance seems just that little bit less sudden because it's been a thing mentioned in the background once or twice already.

Taylor.
And here we go! We didn't even make a conscious decision to be here - it's just dumb bloody luck, but here's the moment where we can make a decision to do *anything*, or just sort of sit there and ignore the whole story like the Start of Far Cry IV

I just couldn't bring myself to be that much of a scumbag.
The best reason to do anything. It's a decision made in the moment for genuine reasons rather than picking her up because she's Taylor and we must undo every bad thing that ever happens to her. It's a natural choice rather than a CYOA one.

""Eh," I nodded towards the pillion seat. "I can take you""
And thus, we are now DOOMED. We've taken part in the Plot. We're part of the narrative. And shit happens to people in the narrative.

Final Note:
A major objective here had been to streamline a lot of events by gunning subplots and cameos that made a lot of sense early on - because they showed certain things like not being ablke to recognise obvious people because deviantartists have a certain bias, or hinting at the possibility that we're being watched - or just plain creating versimilitude and a sense of place. This means a massive cutdown on cruft and uptick in speed . Also bit of a loss in the Boo-Hoo aspects - there's a lot less moaning. Instead, rather than justifying our noin-intervention and calling ourslves cowards a simpler route is taken - it'd just be too much hassle when we've made a life for ourselves.

It also means the big Sophia subplot which started as her trying to just use The Mill to get a legup in a class she took - and mutated into an attempt to frame Taylor for cheating in a class she enjoyed when I realised Sophia and her friends didn't take that class. Instead, we get a random cheerleader just being part of Emma's ring.

OTOH, Sophia now approves of him in her own way - and likely is quite aware that he's a suspected cape. The Protectorate probably has enough to draw the inference that there's a Power there, from Armsmaster's own logs - but nothing concrete to prove it and start the assimilation machine.

EDIT: Note THERE IS A LOT OF REWORK GOING ON, PARTS OF THE STORY AFTER THIS MAY NOT LINE UP PERFECT - LIKE

 

[DartzIRL]

Nobody stopped me.

No power. No intervention. No lightning from the heavens to strike me down for having the temerity to risk the world and challenge the status quo by going against the world as written.

"Thanks," Taylor said.

Both of us waited for different shoes to drop. I gave her the usual run-through I gave all passengers on how not to get us both killed by gimballing around corners, and how to communicate over the noise of the engine. I waited for her to squelch into place on the slab of a passenger seat before booting the engine back to life.

She gripped tight as the bike lurched, steadied herself, then clung-on to the tail.

That's all it took.

The pair of us passed out of the school gates, took a right turn, and left the pages of the story for something new.

The idea shot through me like a bullet, turning up the heat on the idea simmering at the back of my mind. Tonight, the girl on the back of my bike would don the Cape for the first time, go bug a dragon, meet some new friends and be back home in time for breakfast.

Or something like that.

A tap on my shoulder told me to take the next right.

A quick detour to avoid a bollicking from the cops caused her to tense, expecting the worst for a few minutes, before we turned back to the main streets.

Another left. Another right. Riding like I carried a statue of glass on the back.

Back on track, she relaxed. The future sat on my pillion seat. Try not to Crash. Try not to get her arrested. The weight of the world hung of the back of my bike, clinging to my every thought and action. Every twist of the throttle could turn an apocalypse into a total annihilation.

Both of us sat on edge.

My fingers blanched white.

Another tap, another left onto Lord Street then a short sharp jerk on the throttle, followed by two rapid pats.

Stop.

Outside an old house that I knew probably had one gammy step, and which looked a lot more comfortable than our apartment. Her costume sat in the coal chute, waiting for tonight.

She stepped off the bike, taking a moment to fix her hair and glasses.

"Thanks,"Taylor said."But I won't join your group."

"I don't remember asking,"

"That's what everyone like you wants," she said. Bug powers or QA shard or what, I couldn't escape the fact that those eyes seemed to bore through my mind, like she could read my soul. "That's the only reason people like you help anyone."

"And what's that?"

"Because there's something in it for you."

She stood and stared, letting the accusation bed in. A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss, I mean, I did just potentially enter the fucking firing line for you.

I clenched my hand on the handlebar, grounding the thought to earth.

"Y'know, maybe I was just trying not to be a complete shitehawk after yesterday." It came out with far more of a snap then a I wanted, but I didn't care. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Maybe you should head back to school before they start looking for you,"

"They won't give two wet shites," I shrugged. "Probably glad to be rid of me."

"That's nothing to be proud of."

My Power fizzled in the back of my mind, offering me a way out.

I took it, took a breath and felt her step off the back of the bike.

"Thanks,"Taylor said, again. "But I won't join your group."

What could I say, when she's already made her mind up about me.

"The least I could do after yesterday, that's all,"

Let's go with that. Let's leave it at that.

Again, her eyes studied, staring through me. I stared back, daring her to disagree.

"I'll see you around, so," I said, throttling the bike before she had a chance.

My effort gained me a stained pillion seat, sticky leathers, the knowledge that Taylor probably didn't like me anyway, and the afternoon off school.

So not a complete bloody waste.

Honestly, what could I have done to make that go better? Even with my Power, I can't really manipulate people – I just don't have the skill.. And what sort of sick fuck would I be to use what I knew about her to fuck with her head?

Who the fuck would do that, honestly?

Would you?

Maybe I could've gone all out, to make her like me, but honestly, that'd make me no better than fucking Emma. Just using private shite I know to really fuck with her.

Yeah. I'm done.

--

First thing's first. Trigger Warning.

Now that I've got you're attention with what you really want to see , on with some revealing backstory.

I knew I had to be here for a reason. With the shit I knew and the whole train of coincidences that led to me here, through Leviathan to getting off the Amtrak in Brockton Bay.

There had to be a fucking reason for it, right? For something like this to happen.

Something, somewhere wanted me here. The only reason it could want me here with what I knew, was to save the world. It falls to me to right the wrongs and make the right shit happen when it needs to. I'm special. This is my reason for being here. It seemed logical. It made for a bloody handy crutch. Something to keep me going, in spite of this place.

So I sat down, and I worked at it. I worked out my own plan to save the world.

First thing's first. I knew I'd forget things.

So I wrote it all down on my computer. Off the top of my head. All the little details, the triggers, the dates, the pivotal moments. If you-know-who ever showed up, I'd even planned for that. I must've put down over a megabyte of notes – maybe more. Stuff I'd glanced at in WoG threads that'd never made it to fiction. Even a few fanfics came with a good ideas to write down and think about. Hours upon hours were poured in to plotting the right course, the right things to say or do, the right moment to give just that little nudge.

Because I couldn't afford to fuck this up.

Approach it as an engineering project, rather than a heroic one. Man, Materials, Method, Machine, Environment all done up in Herringbone diagram charting my own personal path to victory, all the little causes aiming towards each effect I wanted.

Then Start again when I realised I'd fucked it up and forgotten some minor detail.

A new plan. A different idea? Maybe try the Cauldron route? My biggest asset stops being an asset the moment I use it. After that, another nobody who just knows too much.

Over and over again.

What if I do this? What if I do that? Be careful, one slipup and the world ends. Try a new route. Same roadblock. Could I bring myelf to be that callous when the time came

Again.

Again.

Hammering my head against a brick wall. I know enough to know where I start. But what next? Try to befriend Taylor. Save her from the Locker. What now? What happens to the whole of the 20th century if someone trips Gavrilo Princip on his way to have a sandwich and stops some damn foolish thing in the Balkans?

How much inertia does history really have? Only time travellers know the truth for sure but I stared the question in the face. History is nothing but the unlikely sum of infinite coincidence, someone once said. I couldn't disagree. Reality is so unlikely.

Try again. What if I try this?

Watch it all fall apart. Again. The same problems. I stared at the future.

It all seemed so inevitable.

One more go.

Then shatter when the drive I had it all stored on hit the wall with a scream.

I staggered to my feet. Months of work and sleepless nightmares crash to a head. I feel the snap, hot like something liquid held inside a broken capsule in the side of my head. The string I'd hung my sanity to finally snapped. I stood, dazed for a moment, like my mind missed a gear. My thoughts caught up.

I ran from the apartment in a haze of a panic. One thought rang clear.

I'm done here. More an impulse, than a solid phrase. It clanged around in the back of my mind. I'm leaving now. I took the lift to the top of the building, glaring at a scrawled swastika with the 14 words beneath it.

Another reminder. Another reason to go.

If I'm lucky, maybe I'll finally wake from the nightmare.

The roof was cold. The autumn rain bit. I paced around on the gravel, shivering. I stepped up once. Then talked myself down. Again, I stepped up. I talked myself down. In the back of my mind, it urged.

I caught the intruders. Alarmed, I walked towards the door. It felt inevitable. Irresistible. I stopped, before pacing again.

My whole body wrung itself taught, trying to tear itself apart. In the back of my head, a pulse threatened to become a headache, The busy sound of city traffic rose up from below, calling. I stepped up to the parapet for the third time and looked over.

Fifteen stories. Straight down.

It'd take 2.1 seconds to hit the ground. Give-or-take. I could do the sums in my head

Above, the sickly yellow cloud broke, the stars above watching me. For some broken reason, I found myself thinking about Taylor and the final line. We're all so small.

The void called and I answered. My feet moved. I felt the wind scream through my mind. Hard concrete rushed up to meet. Windows flashed by. I tumbled.

I looked up. I reached back for the parapet

I'm going to die.

It rang clear as a church bell.

I've just killed myself.

I really don't want to die.

I Panic. I Scream. I reach out to try grab anything. Nothing but thin air find my fingers. Because I know – even if I couldn't save the world – I could've saved myself. I could've made it through everything. I could've been okay.

If only I...

Bang.

It hits. Mid-thought, like lightning through the skull, shattering my mind and I see it as a train of cat-scan images, discrete slivers in 3 dimensions of something that dwarved time and space itself, making a full-on scream-through bombing run over the solar-system spalling shattered world-sized missiles off in glittering rain. One missile aims towards me, laser guided, zooming in like the last few seconds of a wartime missile-eye newscast and I could see myself looking up at the incoming hellfire like one of so many hapless feckers broadcast live to the world on CNN.

I know what's happening. I try to run. Too late.

Hey you, you poor dumb fuck, I choose you.

And then...

I'm back on the roof, stepping up to the parapet, feeling like I woke up from a nightmare. I stepped down, dazed and dizzy, my head ringing like a bell. Maybe I didn't...

My Power slammed home, alien energies bolting through my brain, filling my body and confirming everything I wished I didn't know. It didn't fade like a dream – it lingered like the worst nightmares, chiselled in the back of my mind.

Congratulations! You've just had your very own genuine Earth Bet Trigger Event. That's what you earn for being arrogant enough to think it's all about you being the one.

I couldn't even leave. Beaten, empty, exhausted, with nothing else to do, I stumbled back towards the lift. The same Swastika waited for me. A hot flash of anger and hard punch left a dent in the metal wall. I couldn't take it out on the universe, but I could annoy some Nazi somewhere.

I made it back to a cold and empty apartment.

Like I said, I did it to myself. Not by jumping off, but winding up to it. With hindsight, I went about it the wrong way. Mea Culpa.

Some time alone gave me some time to think, time to start gathering the pieces and working out what to do with myself, now that my assimilation had been completed. It didn't happen immediately. I had to bootstrap a little. I took time – far more than one night.

But, to paraphrase, I made a start on being okay.

I'd try to just live, be happy for a while, and see what happened after that. Maybe I'd get to the point where I could try again, maybe not.

I had time to get my head in order.

Step one on the path to sanity; delete the backups.

--

This is the point where normally we'd get some sort of an interlude or something spoken in Taylor's voice that gave the second part of the Rashomon puzzle and told what she made of the whole experience, and what disastrous little breezes have or haven't been whipped up by my butterfly wings.

I guess you'll just have to live in the same suspense I did.

She didn't like me. She still doesn't like me. Well, it's not like I expected anyone to fall madly in love over one random act of kindness. At best, we're even.

At least now, I wouldn't get dragged into the whirlwind. My conscience had been soothed. My few moments of interaction with the plot had ended. I'd added maybe a footnote to Chapter 1 and maybe a new name to the taglist.

If I even deserved one.

My phone chimed in my pocket, bringing me back to the real world

Damo: Wher u @?

Me: Lord Street

Damo: Whatre u doing there?

Me: Gave a friend a lift home

Damo: We've Sophias stuff. Its fuckn gonzo

Me: Really

Damo: emaied 2u. Aki is all WTF

Me: Grand. Will grab it in library.

Damo: Tell Aki, she wants to 2 tlk

Me: This might be too much trouble.

Damo: 2 L8

Fuck.

Me: Will talk later when I see it.

It rang before I could put it back in my jacket pocket. Mam's number.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Ian, where are you?"

"At School?"

With surprisingly heavy traffic in the hallway.

"Then why did they call wondering where you are?"

Bollocks. I used my Power to turn my phone off before taking the call, rather than worry about dealing with that.

Why do I have to be the only student Winslow gives a shite about?

--

What started as a well intentioned visit to the library to catch up on schoolwork in peace and quiet quickly devolved into a load of bollocksing on PHO over whether the hero Jet Fuel could melt steel beams with his Power.

Either that, or someone, somewhere had baited a cunning and devious trap for any visitors from another world looking to get their bearings.

Someone put the whole thing to bed by bringing up the incident with The Sleeper he'd been involved in and I felt myself go just a little cold inside.

I really wish I hadn't looked that up.

I can undo. But I cannot unlearn.

Trust me, for you're own sanity, you're better off not knowing.

With hindsight, it'd probably be trivial for Cauldron to find any guests with ideas. They could just flag the weirdo's reading up on Parian, then Sleeper, then the Blasphemies. The repeatedly unanswered questions on r/parahumans would be their path to doom.

That seemed like a lifetime ago, now.

Holy shit. The Bagrat replied. To Me. That almost made the last year worthwhile. I could go home right now satisfied that I'd completed the entire Worm experience. Or as much as any sane human being would want to go through anyway.

In another window, I had the rest of the Mill in chat with the final answer to the Sophia question.

Aikiko; She has our next pop quiz. Is that the correct term?

Damo; Yep

Me: Shit.
Me; Did she say what she wanted with it?

Akiko; Told me to figure it out myself, since I was the smart one. I could take the deal or leave it.

Andy; What I want to know is how she got it?

Easy, for Shadow Stalker.

Andy; And if we can make money out of it.
Andy; Just cos I wont work for free.

Roberta; Not worth much?

Akiko; Not worth anything. Most people in Knott's passing fine. Just us nerds.

So. What's her game? Why would she want to pass a class she didn't even take? Tattletale I amn't. I couldn't see the wood for the trees.

Me; Do we still want to work with her?
Me; I've got a bad feeling about this.

Akiko;. Me too.
Akiko; But I really need Gym credit

Andy; What happened to not wanting to work with her?

Akiko; I think I figured out how to handle her
Akiko; I walked away. Told her No. She threatened me. I...how can I put this...handled it.

Damo; Cool. Mind me asking how?

Akiko; Why?

Damo; Don't want that psychobitch on a warpath

Akiko; No! No... nothing like that. Just reminded her of some new facts she didn't know.

Damo; I'm intrigued

Me; AOL!

Roberta; ?? AOL?

Me; Obscure meme, you wouldn't remember

Akiko; I've changed in a year. That's all.
Akiko; I have this

Me; If you want to do it. But this feels wrongness

Stupid autocomplete.

Roberta; Your decision, Akiko

Andy; I think if we get her on our side she might get more of these.

Me; I really don't want her in our group.

Roberta: But you still work with her?

Me; We work with anyone, if they follow the rules.
Me; But we don't let anyone join

That kept us safe.

Andy; Not Join. But maybe that could be her payment.
And; Wemake a lot of money selling them.

Me: Your getting ahead
Me: I wannt know why. If she drops us in it, we take the fall.

Akiko: I will be careful.

Roberta: Good enough for me

Damo: It's your call, Akiko.

Now, I think you've figured out what Sophia's doing. From where you are, you can see the whole forest. Down here, all I could see were the trees with my head still stuck into the rabbit-hole that people only came to us when they wanted to pass classes.

Me; Just take care. She's dangerous.

Andrew; Go for it.

That decided that.

Damo; You hear what she did to lockergirl today?

Me; Guess who I brought home?

Damo: Shit. Whyd u do tht?

Me: She wasn't interested in joining.

Piece of advice I once received. If you're going to be a sonofabitch, own it. Fighting it makes it worse.

Roberta: You might've discussed that with the rest of us.

Me: I had a chance. We couldve worked it out later.

Andy; Bell's ringing here, time to go.

Me: Righto. I'll have everyones schedules before you get home.

Roberta: Member. I'm busy Thursday.

They ran back to class. I sat back in my chair.

In one window, I had a spreadsheet with our workload on it. In another an online poker site. I didn't use my power to win a thousand dollars straight up – that'd draw attention. They looked out for Thinkers fucking with probability, even to the point of advertising it on the login screen.

But, my Power had the beauty of looking a lot like sensible play. Ten dollars an hour beat minimum wage. Just about. Enough to buy and run a motorbike.

You're up," a voice said, snapping me out of the screen.

I looked up at the face of a freckled dirty-blonde girl, barely older than myself, with a body on just the right side of fit so that she could've passed for a cheerleader if she'd bothered with the whole school thing. Blondie peered in over my shoulder at the monitor.

"Guess I'm just lucky," I smiled at her. My mouth continued to work on its own, a spark in the back of my mind catching light."You doing anything?"

"Sorry. I'm meeting friends."

Damn.

"Worth a shot,"

"Good luck. Maybe we'll meet again sometime, hmm?"

"Maybe."

Oh well, what the hell.

The last time I'd gone through school, I wouldn't have come close to picking up the nerve to make a snap pass like that. But now.

Having a Power helped me become a sane and well-adjusted human being.

Mostly.

Going through a Trigger event pushed me so far through the red-line that I spun a mental bearing, spat the rods out of the block, then somehow managed to patch the wreckage together into something resembling a human being.

How the fuck did that happen?

The thought brought a smile to my face as I wiled the last school hour away, browsing the list of traders at the Market and what they sold. I found a new headlight, a fresh set of points and two lightweight batteries – nothing that broke the bank, but useful nonetheless. All things that'd make the Honda a little bit happier.

All things that let me feel in control of my life again, like an adult.

I picked up my phone to give the trader a call, only to find I'd turned it off a few hours The phone took its time rebooting, with a half dozen voicemail messages waiting

All came from the same number. Bollocks. Back to being sixteen again. Biting the bullet, I called the Mammy. The phone didn't even ring once.

"Oh Jesus Ian, you're alright,"

Oops.

"Yeah ma, ran out of battery. Sorry"

"I was in the horrors trying to call you." Just so I knew how much being so careless made her suffer. "God help me the school called and told me you never showed up and you left this morning and after last night I was almost ready to start calling the police have you any idea..."

It actually brought a guilty smile to my face.

"Mam, mam... I gave a friend a lift home. Some bullies doused her with minerals. I gave her a lift. That's all"

It had the virtue of being true. Except the friend part.

"You should've told me!"

"Yeah ma. I'll be going to the Market to find some bike parts before work."

"Fine," she sighed, making it clear again just how much extra suffering I'd caused. "Be back before six. Or your dinner will be in the dog."

No matter what you do, an Irish mammy will always find a way to make you feel guilty for it.

I went to market and bought my parts, among other things.

I went to work and made beer.

I went home to find the promised conversation from the day before had been brushed under the carpet and forgotten about. Thank fuck.

All told, going to bed, I could actually label it as a good day. For myself, anyway.

--

Somewhere out there, Taylor met Lung and Armsmaster for the first time. While I lay on my back in bed, trying to burn off energy with the help of my best recollections of Glory Girl and that epic rack.

It didn't help.

Still buzzing like a charged battery at 1am, with nothing better to do, I tried on my school project for the first time in months.

It took an hour to untangle the harness, rewind one of the cable spools and realise the batteries had drained themselves. Five month's neglect allowed spots of corrosion to sprout on the frame, dragline cables and relay box. The spool bearings still spun freely, as did the cable runners. Nothing had seized. Both gas canisters had been drained, one of the jet-valves had stuck open and the latch on the storage compartment in the right 'blade'-rack had jammed.

All hard technology, built in a month at school. The battery-packs and van-der-waals clamps had been inspired by Hero, before being researched, analysed, sanitised, diluted then bottled up to be sold through Radioshack a decade after being invented. All the rest, you could build yourself if I gave you the plans.

I am no 'Fucking Tinker'. I am an Engineer. I cannot break the laws of physics, but I do have the Power.

And it felt good to wear it.

Powerful.

Heavy.

Mechanically, A solid weekend's work would have it running as new again. Physically, I never learned to use it – or even if it could ever become anything more than a shiny kevorkianesque prop. Armsmaster's words, not mine. Like I said, I got cold feet before taking the plunge.

I stood infront of my bedroom window, legs apart in the traditional pose. Both blade carriers hung by my side, cantilevered off the harness on my back to sit level. Heavy springs stolen from an attic staircase creaked and squeaked as they kept it all some in some semblance of balance. I took hold of both triggers, trying the buttons with my fingers. Both of them converted from old 1911 lowers, switches wired up to the grip-safety and trigger, adding another thumbswitch to act as a brake/rewind control, then welding on a brake lever from a bicycle to act as a quick release for whatever attached to where the slide and barrel normally sat. I tried the triggers, being answered by the 'ting' of relays latching behind my back. Both ammeters on my wrists twitched, before centering at zero. Voltmeters twitched before dropping to offscale-low.

A smile scrawled its way across my lips. Reflected in the glass, I saw who I could've been. Maybe if I hadn't read the story, if I'd been a real native, or just that little spark more reckless, I could've done it.

"No," I told myself, shaking my head. "Not a chance in hell."

My reflection didn't seem convinced. The smile on my lips spoke differently. I could drift away into fantasies of sweeping through streets riding a steel cables like tarzan, jets of gas driving me higher, cable spools a screaming stuka-siren as I dived down between skyscrapers, steel blades singing in the air.

The only 'blades' I had were a pair of blunt cut strips of black mild steel, browned with a haze of surface rust. I drummed my fingers on steel. It just needed power. A solid weekend's work would get it going. Two fresh batteries waited under my bed and my bike only needed one – I could have it running in time for Sunday night.

STOP!.

Motherfucker.

Anyone else might've called it serendipity, but I knew better.

Have you ever seen those ants with the brain fungus that makes them climb to the top of flowers and get eaten. I wonder if they knew anything more beyond the desire to see what lurked up there above the grass.

And what's that swooping down to meet me? Maybe it wants to be frie-

My Power crackled in the back of my mind, begging for me to do something. It knew. It knew everything I did. It knew that somewhere across the city, Taylor fought Lung. It knew what happened after. It knew I could get involved and it wanted in on all that fun.

The harness went back into storage.

Still restless, I lurked around the wider web, looking for something I'd know when I found it. A few games gave my Power something to do, but ending rounds by calling down airstrikes got old fast.

Nothing had appeared on PHO about Lung getting nabbed. The usual natter elsewhere continued. Iron Falcon nailed a small time Villain calling herself Spectra. Someone posted a short thread on an ABB smalltimer called Bakuda which told me nothing I didn't know. I drifted back to my 'home' board. What passed for it.

Irish Boards seemed to be a universal constant. A shithole ruled by the self-rghteous who wouldn't be content unless they had someone to look down their nose at from up on their high-horses. Leviathan might've dampened things a little in Dublin, but it couldn't dampen the national character. The reconstruction continued, those who stayed lording it over those who left like wading in the mud made them better somehow.

Nothing could be more Irish that good old-fashioned Catholic miserybragging.

The bus service had been restored. Bang Bang had gone right back to blasting at them with his golden key. Leviathan killed Forty Coats and The Hairy Lemon, along with most of the other Characters. The Bird, Zozimus, DamnTheWeather, The Diceman.

All of them sunk into the soft mud.

My home. My brother. My old life. Anything that could've let me sit comfortable in the delusion that this hadn't happened to me. Swallowed by liquefaction and thousand year old Viking shite.

How the fuck could I be nostalgic for a place I'd spent exactly three days?

Wide awake, I chose to make a profit, at least, rather than sink into self pity again. Online Poker gave my power something useful to do to tire itself out. With a few hands down and some money in the bank, it seemed like a good time to try get back to sleep.

A popup messaged onscreen from another player nixxed the idea.

Lib1rn; "You're up."

Me; "Yup,"
Me; "Can't sleep lol"

Lib1rn; "Thirty bucks for the night?"
Lib1rn; "That's up in my book"

Me; "Yeah. Run of luck. Probably bout to change."

Lib1rn; "Nah. Dont b so negative."

I lost the hand. An honest loss this time, even if my Power helped minimise the impact. Lib1rn won handily, I checked her stats on the server. Hoy fuck, she had a higher win rate than I did; thousands of dollars in the black.

Me; "You a pro?"

Lib1rn; "Nah. Got a system. You too?"

Me; "Of a sort."

That I enjoyed. We played. Hand after hand. Lib1rn played like you'd expect a pro to. My Power matched her, keeping me close but not over. Having a taller poppy at the table let me cut lose just a little bit more.

Again, it fell to us both at the Showdown. Just the two of us. Floating down the River, a Four of hearts, an Eight of spades, an Ace of Hearts, a Two of clubs and a Nine of Diamonds.

Some people could solve the same for starting probabilities and things like that. Lib1rn might've been able to do that to win so much. So, Parahuman Power against Card Counter. Which would win?

With a Two of spades and Four of spades in the hole I thought I had the advantage. With the strongest hand on the table, Lib1rn bet first.

Two dollar bet, to me.

I called. I waited, twirling a few strands of my hair between my fingers. Any moron could lose at poker. But losing on purpose, believably, took skill. You couldn't just fold on a pair of aces with another floating down the river. The system would flag that as a deliberate loss. No, I had to play to win this time.

The cards turned to show me what I faced.

Ace of Spades. Five of Clubs.

Right. Now that I knew, my own system kicked into gear. Maximise the wins, but don't manufacture them. Minimise the losses, but don't look for them.

Step back.

Again, she bet Two.

I answered. Two Dollars. Raise Two.

So, what'll she do?

Another raise. Up to a Twenty dollar pot. In the back of my mind, I knew I had to start losing. But I had momentum and a pro at the table. Dollar signs danced in my eyes glancing again at her stats.

Her brunette avatar grinned at me, teasing.

To hell with it. Call.

Showdown.

Twenty Four dollars into my wallet.

Lib1rn; Good game. Ur Good.
Lib1rn; Why don't we go to a bigger limit?

That's how it began.

--

The radio woke me up in the morning, painfully early. Is there anything more frustrating that forgetting to unset your alarm for the weekend?

You're listening to Marty in the Morning, Brockton Bay Radio Nova on Saturday morning and it's the top of the hour and time for the news.

This morning's headline. Landslide in California. Heavy rain in the Los Angeles valley triggers a mudslide. Dozens still missing. Emergency services and California National Guard responding. Parahuman teams en-route. More information as we get it.

The Dockworkers Association backing Mayor Christner's Project 2015 to rejuvenate the Docks promising tax breaks and city support to any new businesses setting up shop in the new renovations.

Medhall Pharmaceuticals announces fifty jobs in an expansion of it's Brockton Bay manufacturing facility, the news welcomed by the City Council. Chief Executive Max Anders affirmed his commitment to Brockton Bay's future in a public statement yesterday evening.

And now with Today's weather, Amy Wallis. And how does it look out there Amy?

Click. The radio went silent.

Oops.

What more can you say when you've just doomed the world?

--

Maybe I worried about nothing. Maybe I got the date wrong. Maybe a single random act of kindness just fucked the world. Maybe if I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and said 'Bloody Contessa' three times while standing on one lef, the answer would appear. Or a path to something. How about a trade? Not for Power, or money or influence, but blissful ignorance.

Now what?

A morning shower cleared my head. Isn't the first rule in a crisis to not move too soon? I can't remember where that originally came from, but I first heard it in a Superhero fic a few years ago in another life.

Thanks for the advice, Doug Sangnoir.

Maybe, in the last few months, I'd gotten stronger. Or something. I hope. I didn't spiral. I didn't crash. I stared it in the face and let myself understand. Grey eyes stared back at me through the mirror, framed by clammy strands of dark hair.

My fingers drummed on white porcelain. Only one idea came to mind.

"Easier said than done," I said to myself.

In the back of my mind, my Power buzzed, reminding of the last time I thought I had to save the world. Trigger warning, it said. It spun cartwheels in my mind tearing itself apart but still unable to do anything to help.

A thump on the door snapped me out of it.

"Ian! Don't take all day in there."

Back to the real world. The Mammy insisted. Alright. Mam. I have a Power. I thought about it. Mam, I'm a Parahuman. Hey, you'll never guess who got Powers...

They're a hollow mockery of my real family and I still can't be that cruel to them.

Another hard thump shook the door. "I'm going to throw up!"

"You better hurry up," the oulfella added, sounding more amused than concerned.

"Alright!"

I could go a couple of days without shaving. A quick axe-bath and a towel around the waist saw me ready to face the world.

I slid the door open. A woman half my size shouldered me out of the way with enough force that I had to catch myself on the outside wall. The door slammed shut behind, biting at my heel

The sound of early morning prayers before the white porcelain altar filled the apartment. The oulfella looked at me over the top of his tea mug.

"Your cooking?"

He calmly set his mug on the table, placing his glasses on top of his copy of The Sun."You might say that." The sly expression on his face said far more than that.

One. Two. Three. Plink! The penny hit the floor so hard it bounced a caught me on the nose.

"FUCK!"

The dog barked an answer, before hiding under the table.

"Basically," the oulfella said in a flat voice. I stood there watching the second head grow on his shoulder. "Well, we thought it was time we started looking to the future again,"

My mouth outdragged a stalled brain. "Jesus Christ, in this town? With all the shit that's going to happen?"

How could anybody be so cruel to a child?

He looked through me, looking at another man and not a child. "It's time to move forward. We thought about the future, when we had you and your brother." He took a breath, placing his hands flat on the table. "We still want to try for that. Even here. Even knowing the risks."

"Even if you knew it would happen again?" It hissed through my teeth

"We thought about it." He smiled at me, then nodded, confirming the worst."Even if I knew, I'd still want to try."

A brick to the face would've been more welcome. My power sparked, leaving it all to deadtime, dumping my back outside the bathroom door with the mammy puking last night's dinner down the jacks and me standing there struggling to get a hold of mysel.

They thought it all through.

We're all here standing on a train booming through a tunnel, riding along at full throttle towards that brilliant light at the end, and I'm the only one who could see the oncoming train.

My head threatened to burst, a scream of frustration hanging on my throat.

"Yes?" he said, placing his copy of The Sun on the table.

"Snapper?" I said.

"It was going to be a surprise." He chuckled. "I'll have to talk with the bank during the week and maybe you might have to share a little of what you're earning, but it's about time."

"Congratulations."

What else could I say? Of all the little things. That child deserved so much better than it'd ever get.

I hid in my room, dropping onto my bed, trying to sort out the tangled mess in my head into something that resembled a plan, or even an inkling of what to do next. The weight of the universe crushed until I thought my eyes would burst and my brains pop through my ears.

They didn't know. They wouldn't care if they did. They'd try anyway.

I needed space to think. With my braces snapped on beneath a pair of jeans, a cheap t-shirt that barely fit and a good pair of boots, I knew exactly where to find it.

"I'm taking the dog for a walk,"

The Mammy didn't even look up at me from her bowl of cereal.

"Don't forget, physio appointment at 1."

As if I could, having to wear those poxy braces all the time.

--

Walking the Dog in Brockton Bay always risked a chance encounter with Rachel Lindt. Guess what? She didn't magically appear on April 8th – these people all live here too. So long as the mutt seemed happy, it would never become a problem.

The presence of Bitch in Brockton Bay meant two things;

People either looked after their dogs or were weirdos owned by cats instead.

In person – she stood almost as tall as me, but a lot heavier in build, even without that fur-lined jacket of hers adding weight to her frame. Just standing near her made the hair on the back of my neck prickle, especially as the dogs circled around behind, panting.

This could hurt. Very quickly. The thought ran through the back of my mind that I'd only get one warning from my Power. And even then, it wouldn't be enough. My hand clenched tight into a fist, my other finding my multitool in my pocket, just in case.

Archie sat between us on his haunches on the sand, panting with glee, grinning at both of us in turn. She looked down at him. I fought the urge to snap off and tell her where to go. Ever fibre in my body strained against my mind, tugging at the leash.

Her hand disappeared into her jacket pocket. I held my breath. I watched her slowly pull it out again, opening her fingers, offering a treat and a gentle scratch behind the ear. Archie yapped at her, drawing a thin smile to her lips, before snaffling the biscuit from between her fingers. She placed a hand on his belly and I almost snapped.

"He's healthy," she said, looking through him. "And happy."

Oh thank Christ.

"Thanks," I managed to say, letting the tension ground out through my feet.

On the second try, I remembered not to smile. She nodded. She left, heading up the beach in the opposite direction to me, orbited by her trio of dogs. Occasionally, she'd throw a ball, controlling the dogs with a whistle as they chased after it.

Nothing else happened. Achievement unlocked; Undersider met.

And only met, thank fuck.

Archie sat there, grinning at me, as if he'd just received the greatest prize in the world.

"You little bollocks, making me run. "

He didn't give a rat's, just staring up at me. A nearby chunk of ship rusting in the sand offered a place to sit and rest, my legs aching from the run up. Thanks Leviathan, really.

The sea breeze cleared my head, blowing across the rusting hulks of the city's past glories. The scuttled wreck of the Empress Sampson rotted at the harbour entrance, looming over the old docks.

The man who did that spent ten years in prison, and regularly drank in our pub until he couldn't help but tell everyone about the most momentous day in his life. Idiot.

All along the beachfront, warehouses fronted onto the sea wall. It had a familiar feel to it. Almost like home, after the economy tanked. The desolate remains of rusted dreams, someone had called it.

The only thing missing where two giant chimney stacks across the bay. Where they should've stood, sat the south ferry terminal.

A fleeting sense of homesickness evaporated away. Help! I think I'm starting to suffer from Cleveland syndrome!

A boat ran out to the local Protectorate headquarters, carrying either a group of tourists or maybe Taylor making a different choice this time around.

Now I had to make a choice.

Easier said that done. A quick sketch of the timeline in the sand didn't help. It's one thing to know the future. It's another thing to know what to do about it.

Now I knew I could make a difference. A small tiny sure, but I'd done it. That's all I knew. I had ideas. They all seemed wrong. No matter what, something ended in ruins. It all came with a price that seemed just too high.

A personal price. A global price. A sanity price.

Pick two.

If I was to ask you a question, would you answer it?

Why are you here?

What do you want to see me do?

Join the Undersiders?
Join the Wards?
Do you want to see me try and fail?

Are you here for Catharsis, or some sort of vicarious absolution for the times we turned our backs on people like Taylor? We all like to think we'll be the Micheal Allen, the knight in golden armour with the courage to ride to the rescue and make everything okay.

But we're not. We're just people. With our own problems that have to be dealt with first.

I don't have to do anything. You might believe in utilitarianism, but I have to live with myself, and I can't live with doing some of the things I have to do. I can't be the hard man making hard decisions.

I mightn't be able to do what I must, but I can still do what I want.

So, 64,000 dollar question time? What do I want to do?

Do I want to save the world?
Do I want to be a cape?
Do I want to enjoy the next two years and just die happy?
Do I want to fight?
Do I want a family and a normal life?
Would I rather die happy? Or die right?

Truthfully, I had only one answer; Yes.

That's not a fandom joke.

I have a life in Brockton Bay. As much as I've just shown the skim across the surface of it all, it's a proper fucking life. Not dropped into a vacuum rootless, or going through the motions, but really living. And the end of it all, boiled down with all the pithy little justifications strained off one answer sits in the bottom of the pot staring back at me. The reason for everything.

I'm scared.

Scared of dying. Scared of failing. Scared of Lung. Scared of Scion. Scared of Bees. Scared of fucking it all up. Scared of watching every little thing I worked at building just wash away in the mud again.

Just. Fucking scared of it all.

Scared that when I see that last golden light in the morning sky my final thought will be 'I'm so sorry I didn't...."

No matter what I do, something I want to keep goes away. No matter what, I'll regret something.

Alright. So, I took a breath and decided to stake it all on chance. A single dollar coin would decide my life. Whatever the coin told me, I'd do. It took just one flip to tell me what I wanted, and I didn't even have to look at the coin after it landed.

No justifications. No rationalisation. No regrets. This is how I want to live my life. This is what I want to do. A dollar coin proved it.

Nobody stood on top of a big blue ball and congratulated me for it.

But I made my decision.

I had 4 weeks left.
--

A year ago, I wandered in a daze of disbelief as everything familiar disintegrated around me, replaced by cruel imitations and terrible reality. I stumbled through life, looking for something to hold on to, something to give me being here a purpose beyond Hah! Fuck You! You poor dumb fuck!.

I found one.

That kept me going. It kept the aspidistra flying.

For a while.

Until I crash-landed.

At my lowest, face down in the dirt after the hardest of hard landings, it seemed like the natural thing to do, to put on the cape and find something to do with myself. Along the way, before I made it happen, something weird happened. I found friends. I found a life. Then Challenger burned up and I stopped being so sure...

What if?

More and more, it seemed like a constructive form of suicide. I tried that once, it didn't work out so well.

When you get right down to it, I think that's the real difference between me and Taylor. Nobody kept me down. Nobody stopped me from crawling back out.

But I'd made my decision, I reminded myself.

A shallow swell lapped at the pilings for the boardwalk as I stared out over the water. Behind me, the first of the evening neon flickered to life, some shops closing for the day, other bars still just opening. The day shift of tourists gave way to the night shift of clubbers.

In a months' time, it would all be gone. All of it washed away. Now, it vibrated with life. Tourists snapped photographs of Protectorate headquarters as it shone against the darkness. Two bouncers 'encouraged' a pair of drunks to move along. The spicy scent of hot curry invite

Damien nudged me on the shoulder "Jesus man, don't look so serious."

"Just thinking," I said, folding my arms and leaning down onto the wooden railing.

"About what?" He propped himself up with his elbow, looking at me. His denim jacket hung open to reveal a gaudy Miss Militia t-shirt.

"It's all going away, eventually." I said, staring out into the night. "Endbringers, end of the world. It'll all come to an end."

A punch to the shoulder stung. "We come out for a drink on a Saturday and you have to be so goddamn morbid again."

"Nah, Not morbid," I said with smile. "Just a reminder to enjoy it while it lasts, because it's never going to come again."

"Man. You need this more than I do."

I swallow a mouthful and it warms my body to the core, spreading to my fingertips. Warm sake on on cool evening, watching the night roll in off the bay with friends, that sounds almost suspiciously like an ideal of heaven to me.

Time to be courageous. Time to trust my friends. Take a deep breath. My Power warmed itself up, acting as backstop to my fuckups, letting me know I could abort if I had to.

"I have a secret," I said, before swallowing another mouthful of sake. "And it's a really fucked up one."

Damien didn't miss a beat."You secretly like Star Trek."

"Fuck you! Everyone likes Star Trek."

A hard knuckle to the shoulder made him wince.

"Ow."

Aikiko giggled.

And I didn't want to be anywhere else.

--

It's tradition to end of of these with a peak into someone else's viewpoint, isn't it? Let's do it. Interlude time. What sort of weeked did Armsmaster have, I wonder?

It's Saturday night and while the bar's are hopping and Brockton Bay's celebrating the weekend, Armsmaster's coming off Patrol.

After nabbing a quick cup of tea (or coffee), he sits at his desk and starts with the night's paperwork. There's a lot of important stuff going on that isn't really worth my bothering over, all of it more important than one minor violent altercation interrupted by a Ward two days earlier that's finally come back to his desk, but something nags him.

Something bites.

And he sits back and thinks about it; when had his lie detector last behaved like that? He sifts through the records because he's just that sort of meticulous person until he comes across the file he thought of – a note with the exact same malfunction.

And there I am again.

It's a video of me, taken by his helmet-cam while I'm explaining where I got the idea for the individual parts of my maneuver gear, how it all works.

And in the middle of it, a jolt – a discontinuity. The indicators spike, then shift, like hitting a brick wall, then bouncing off in another direction. And again. Then a third time. Never quite tripping the 'Lie', but definitely with an undercurrent of deception.

Something happened, and that something interests him.

He makes some notes, certain it's not an equipment fault – he's a man who trusts his gear above all else. Something else has to be causing it. It's a problem, something that trips a switch in his mind. It's a problem. Problems must be solved.

First, find the common factor.

That one's obvious. That's me.

He reaches for the obvious conclusion. Paddy's got a Power. But proving it, that's the trick. Curiosity burns. He has to know. Has to quantify.

So he goes back to the crime scene. Photographs, at least. Transcripts. Police records.

At first, it seems normal. Two gangers out to mug two teenagers out a little too late. A normal Thursday in Brockton Bay. Two teenagers defend themselves long enough for a Ward to appear. Violence happens. One of the kids takes a cut from one of the gangers who gets his own knife to the gut in response

Only now, he has a report telling him that the blood doesn't match. Neither does the profile on blade match the wound.

Is that it? He writes on a notepad;

Victim B stabbed ABB2 in self defense? Pocketed knife? Afraid of punishment?

Alright. The explanation makes sense. Still, one outstanding question remains.

How did Victim B spot the attack?

Even Shadow Stalker's report states he was unsighted – but reacted as if he'd known the attack was coming. He takes a sip of tea or coffee or whatever sort of beverage he likes late at night and it hits him, right in the face. After drying himself off, making sure it hadn't actually burned anywhere, and issuing a stern warning to Carlos and Chris, he gets back to work, squeezing their ball in his hand.

The break clears his mind and he's probably secretly grateful for the interruption because it gives his brain the space to breath again. It grasps hold of an answer.

Thinker. Precog. Low level. Not enough to avoid the fight, but enough to know it's coming. Enough to pre-empt. Now, that's a legal grey area. Maybe it'd make for leverage?

He writes Thinker 2 into his notebook. Victim B becomes Rogue A – not enough information for a codename yet. It becomes the basis of a fresh file with my name on it. I'm on the radar and in the traffic pattern of the P-ENE.

So, I've graduated from innocent bystander to potential recruit. Possible threat. Thinkers are in demand, and there's more than the Protectorate out there willing to recruit a white teenage male.

Dragon interrupts with something more important. We're a month away from the next Endbringer and it's time to start thinking about the unthinkable again, just in case. They probably go over the armband designs and he takes notes, hacks together a quick prototype for himself and tests it for waterproofing, impact proofing and finally, EMP resistance. The results meet his satisfaction.

He makes a note in his diary that'll probably prove blackly ironic in the near future.

They have enough time for some awkwardly efficient friendly conversation before sleep finally claims him, at his desk.

The next thing he knows is Hannah laughing at him as he comes around. It's late on Sunday – an hour before he's due to come back on shift. The teasing hurts. Even though he knows she doesn't mean it mean it, it still gnaws at the back of his mind. A mix of jealousy and anguish, a mild sense of betrayal. He masters it by focusing on his day.

He showers, cleans out his armour and tries his best to relax his mind to make up for the lost sleep.

A report from Principal Blackwell crosses his desk. Terse. To the point. Suspiciously like all the others to the point that he suspects a xerox machine has been involved somewhere in the process. It's the Director's problem. And if she doesn't want to make a big deal of it, he doesn't have the time to. So long as it doesn't effect Shadow Stalker's fieldwork.

For a break, he spends two hours in his workshop.

Four hours later, he's rushing back to his desk for more paperwork, angry at getting lost in it again. Training scheduling. Patrols. Public relations. Intelligence briefings. It's a busy fucking day and none of the shit he wants to get done has happened yet. All of it has to be rushed through.

Piggot fires a report back to him for an obvious error that should've been caught and he curses himself, loosing more time correcting it.

Finally, halfway through his workday he's able to pick up where he left off Saturday night.

Me.

I'm really not worth his time - being so low-level – and he knows it - but a new rogue in town needs to be noted, analysed and recorded, just in case Rogue turns Villain. Trying to shed some workload, he passes a few files over to Dragon including my entry for Hero's Challenge and some intelligence on ABB activity including the possibility of retaliation against one of the small-time local Parahuman gangs - something to watch out for on patrol later that night.

Dinner is skipped because Chris needs mentoring, and it's been blown off far too much lately.

After an hour herding a teenage Tinker around a workshop– a job like herding explosive cats and about as thankless – it's back to the office where Hannah's coming off patrol. A pair of ABB underbosses in custody. One tourist rescued. And publicly too. It's good PR with CNN and the local Fox affiliate asking for interviews.

Hannah has the whole night to get all the paperwork in order. This is what happened. This is where. This is how. This is how they were armed. This is what Power was used, and by whom. This is what she remembered happening, what was said. Evidence is recorded and collated by the administrators before a report is passed over to the local law enforcement. If it goes to trial, it'll have to go to court. I's had to be dotted, t's crossed – anything to avoid giving a lawyer a loophole.

Hannah tried to chat, but he has to focus on work. Maybe he's a little too terse with his refusal and it bugs him for an hour or more, wondering what she made of it.

A message from Dragon flashes up on his monitor. - another Leviathan update.

After the recent incident in Boston, she'd put money on Beantown taking the hit this time. Right now, Brockton's peaceful. Armsmaster probably isn't sure whether to be disappointed or relived.

Finally, with a few moments to spare as the sun goes, Dragon has one last thing to show – her analysis of the CAD plans for my maneuver gear, from the competition months before.

Colin's Power lights up, sparking off all the all-to-obvious flaws in the design – so many things that could've been so much better if he'd put his own hand to it – so much that it burns his brain to not be able to do anything about it. But a few parts catch his eye, like how the motors work 'inside out', pulling cooling air through themselves. The control system is rudimentary, but elegant.

All in all, he writes it off as the work of a decent engineer. A good professional, a teenager with a talent, but nothing Parahuman. He thinks about making a Scotty reference, but doubts Dragon is old enough to get the joke. Best not to make her feel awkward.

Dragon corrects him, painfully. Star Trek is a classic! It took time to catch it because it's subtle – masked by the fact that the builder seems to have actual experience with actual engineering.

Tinker 2. That's her verdict. Allowing for Power, combined with a little natural skill.

Tinker 1, he suggests. It's mostly natural, and maybe a secondary effect of the main power.

She doesn't dispute it.

Good. That's my problem sorted. Another file off the desk and onto Piggot's with his recommendation over what to do with me. Finished, gone. Now, back into his armour.

Dragon voices her concern that he's overworking himself. He assures her, he'll be fine. Duty calls. Evil triumphs when good men do nothing and he's been doing nothing all day.

It's Sunday Evening according to the dayclock in the workshop.

Armsmaster's on the verge of going on patrol for the night, burned out, tired and ready to meet a teenage girl who doesn't quite look like a hero – who seems to have taken out one of the biggest villains in Brockton bay on her first night on the scene.

How fucking galling would that be?

Or not. I would guess on my part. Just something that fit the mood, my mind's eye of the rest of the world.

Maybe that happened. Maybe not. Maybe something else other than some random teenager kept him busy on that night. I'll leave it up to you to decide.

Technically, I suppose this might count as my first worm fanfic.

Written;
Apartment 52,
Roxbury Building,
Acacia Avenue,
Brockton Bay,
03807, NH

Sunday April 10th, 2011, just before 10pm

Worm is an original fiction by a gentleman using the online handle 'Wildbow'

Find it, enjoy it,

I'm just here, doing this thing in a quietly borrowed universe.

.....I really hope Cauldron can't see my harddrive.

As for my first fic, how'd I do?

--

As far as we go here. I'm positing in Larger chunks because..... ahm. They're slightly different

 

[macdjord]

Interesting so far.

 

[Biigoh]

Very interesting~

 

[DartzIRL]

It's different. Deliberately so.

Too many people go in over powered and overconfident. Let's let the universe fight back.

 

[duburu]

So what dis about?

 

[DartzIRL]

So what dis about?

Click to shrink...

Y'know that fic where the random shows up in another universe, makes it dance to his whim and intricately plots the downfall and destruction of every major crisis without a single hiccup?

This is not that fic.

 

[duburu]

Y'know that fic where the random shows up in another universe, makes it dance to his whim and intricately plots the downfall and destruction of every major crisis without a single hiccup?

This is not that fic.

Click to shrink...

Do you get rape?

 

[DartzIRL]

REDACTED

 

[DartzIRL]

In hindisght I overdid it. I think the aim was to overdo it to the point where it sounded more like self-convincing or justification - a sort of inverse-weavering. It fell a little flat.

 

[DartzIRL]

We Return. With The Real Bubblegum Crisis

------

My good deed on Friday earned me a note from the mammy, excusing me for the day, due to an obvious injury. The cut on my arm itched, even after the bandages had been replaced. Except for Glory Girl's signature. That, I kept as a memento.

"Ani, Hunter, Sparky and Karen." Andrew handed me a jump drive. "Also have stuff on it from Julia for Cho."

I checked the running totals on my locker door. "Grand. We're ahead. That leaves Cho in the red."

"I'll remind her she needs to actually do stuff for people too." Andrew nudged me in the shoulder. "Look at that. What do you think Sophia's done to her now? Lighter torture?"

I looked over my shoulder. Taylor walked by, scorched and singed around the edges.

"That's fucked up," I said, trying to hide the smile.

"Unh. And the peckerwoods kicked the shit out of some someone up on the third floor on Friday afternoon – some debt thing. At least the Asians won't be dicking around for a while since Lung got nailed."

I looked at him, remembering a painful lesson I'd gotten months before on American slang. A pale scar cut between my lip and chin, reminding me of the time I thought 'Peckerwood' was somebody's name.

"Nah. It just means his Lieutenants go buggo and try break him out. The cycle continues"

He put a finger to his lips. "Maybe Bakuda will blow up the school?"

I looked around. Paint peeled from walls. One of the tiles on the floor had cracked and lifted, revealing the concrete beneath. Metal cages shielded the lights overhead. Even the windows on ground level had been fitted with bars.

One of the posters opposite my locker, in five languages, advised Asian students who to go to for help when the ABB came knocking for tribute.

"Where else would they go for recruits?" I said.

"Good point. Catch you later?"

"Detention. Again. Remember?"

"Shit."

"No sympathy for the devil," I breathed.

"Later bro."

With a few moments to myself in the crowd, I marked May 15th​ off on my calender. A Sunday. Five weeks to go. Enough time to get cold feet again. Enough time to think it through. Time to be sure. Yeah, this is what I want to do. This is how I want to do it. Edit

By rights, I should've started this months ago.

Sophia made her arrival with a bang, trying to catch me off guard with a fist to the door. It worked well enough to pull a smile across her lips, right up until my Power dropped her into deadtime.

"Christ, what now?" I whispered to myself, taking a long, deep breath.

My head popped out from behind the locker door in time to catch her sneaking up.

"What?"

The flash of irritation in her eyes drew a thin grin to my lips.

"I want to know what you were doing with her."

She hissed that word through her teeth.

"Who the fuck is Her?"

I already knew. But I wanted to make her to say it.

"Hebert." Sophia leaned in towards me, trying to dominate my space.

I shrugged, consciously not looking at her. "I gave her a lift home."

She folded her arms.

"You're trying to get her to join, aren't you?"

I still didn't look at her, busying myself shuffling books between my backpack my locker.

"What's it matter to you?"

Now, that should be obvious to you.

She scowled, the skin on her face drawing tight across the bones of her cheeks and jaw. "If she joins, our deal's off."

"I don't have time for this bollocks." I said, slamming the door shut. "You know how we work. If you don't like it, that's not my problem."

She leant back against the locker door, looking down at the floor in front of her, matching me.

"Maybe it's Akiko's," she said, her voice quiet enough that I had to strain to hear her over the bustle of the corridor. "It'd be a shame if someone found out. That'd ruin her future."

Fuck's sake.

"Somehow, I don't think Princeton will give two dry shites about a week's detention and a slap on the wrist."

"But a juvie record?"

That caught my attention.

"What do you mean by that?"

She smiled at me. It wasn't a nice smile, more a smug, sneer than anything happy. "You're the smart one, you figure it out."

Her eyes went to a poster on the noticeboard opposite my locker.

Sophia let the insinuation hang in the air as she turned and left. Bitch, I thought, clenching my fist. Sophia or one of her cronies touts to the authorities, accusing Akiko of being ABB. The story gets backed up by a helpful Ward named Shadow Stalker? By the time the mess gets sorted out, if at all, her life would be ruined

I'd known her for six months. Akiko didn't get involved in things like that.

Fucking bitch of a thing.

That set my mind.

--

Being a teenager is like spending your whole life in that moment in the party where everyone's on a buzz and having a good time and someone decides to say 'Hold my pint and watch this'.

You know it's stupid. But you can't help yourself.

The idea takes hold. It carries you along, and the next thing you know you wake up the next morning to a broken leg and a dozen text messages calling you a fucking moron for trying to jump a bicycle over the canal.

Not that I'd ever done that.

Adding a shard of Scion to the mix had the same effect as adding Red Bull to Vodka.

Only one locker in the school had recently been steam-cleaned, sandblasted, then freshly repainted. Someone had still taken the time to scratch 'Worm' into the fresh paint under the combination lock.

I might've laughed at the irony.

Taylor wasn't there.

Either she'd gone straight to class, or hid in the jacks somewhere. Grand, not a problem. It gave me something better to do during American History than listen to Mr. Clough blather on about a battle in Atlanta. It gave time to have second thoughts and wonder if maybe, just maybe the idea had come from something other than myself.

It had to be my Power.

Common sense stepped on the brakes. I knew better. I hadn't planned on letting Taylor in. I didn't want to. She didn't want to.

And I couldn't stop.

I preferred that idea. It's not my fault.

The shard whispered in my ear in my own minds voice. It doesn't matter that I didn't want Taylor to join. Sophia mattered. Sophia's opinion mattered. Once the camel noses into the tent, the rest of the bastard soon follows. Once she thinks she has control, she won't stop trying to use it.

The end of the world be damned, my sanity came first. Nothing mattered more than proving to Sophia that I Would. Not. Be. Blackmailed. Easier to face the golden light of Scion, than her smile thinking she had a single iota of control over me.

Time to do the right thing for the wrong reasons.

I've never had a real addiction. But I wonder if it doesn't feel something like this.

Beating Taylor to World Affairs meant a full-bore sprint across the school, down a flight of stairs, then back through the crowd bustling around their lockers getting ready. My Power carried me through the crowds, saving me from a broken leg, but not from the thrumming pain in my knees.

My own fault for doing exactly what my physio had told me not to do but it got me there in time to catch her coming down the corridor. She slipped through the crowd, keeping tight clutch on her backpack. A cackle of laughter from a group of girls snapped her head around, ready for the worst. It didn't come – the girls came from another year.

Now, don't take this the wrong way because I don't mean it like that at all, but she looked like prey. She broadcast that edge to the world, like a deer moving in long grass expecting the wolves to jump at any moment. Glancing, verifying, dodging, scanning for where the next attack might come from.

I stepped forward.

"Taylor. We need to talk."

She stopped. Her eyes stared through me. My skin crawled. Maybe whatever lived on my skin crawled, all in the same direction.

"I hope you don't think I owe you anything for the ride on Friday,"

"No," I said, forcing myself to smile, stepping in front of her. In hindsight, probably not the best way of forcing her attention."We talked it through and decided to ask you to join."

"Why?"

Option One. The usual pitch.

"Because you're pretty good."

She took a breath.

"You're working with her."

Just a flicker of anger around the word 'her'. A stress on her lips. Otherwise, Taylor kept her calm, her voice steady and even. No prizes for guessing who she meant.

"We work with anyone."

That's the rule.

She stepped forward. "And that's your problem."

"I don't see how,"

"People like you are why people like Sophia, Emma and Madison are able to skate through school. So long as you don't understand that, we have nothing to talk about."

On the back foot, my mouth moved first. "You've got it wrong!"

Completely. Her expression darkened.

"No, I don't think...."

To hell with this. Bang. Gone to deadtime. I think I might've preferred the bugs than trying to argue with her. The world folded over itself, dumping me right back to the start.

"Why?" asked Taylor.

A little later than I wanted. Time to run with argument number two; Appeal to cooperation. Gathering my thoughts took a moment, damping down on the lingering simmer of anger.

"Humans are cooperative animals. We're better when we work together. It lets us cover our weaknesses."

She stopped. Considering? I pushed.

"Like, I'm good at STEM things, but bad at US History or English," I said, forcing a salesman's smile."So we all trade the subjects we're good at, for ones we aren't."

"You're all cheating together." Her voice remained even, more a statement than an accusation.

"Collaborating," I corrected.

"So how does she fit into it?"

Fuck. I saw the spiral coming. My Power recharged and I triggered it. Back to the start. Alright. If Sophia's the point of pain, why can't I turn that around?

"Why?" Taylor asked, again.

I took a breath.

"Because Sophia got in a strop after seeing me give you a lift yesterday and tried to tell me not to talk to you, because she thought I was asking you to join."

This time, I had the advantage of telling the truth.She blinked.

"That sounds pretty dumb."

Was that a spark of amusement I saw in her eyes?

"Well, yeah. But I don't respond well to being being blackmailed."

She seemed to listen. Her hands went to her jacket pockets. She took them out a moment later, then looked right through me.

"So. I do this, and she just makes it worse on me," she said, her voice hardening just a little. "I'm the one who'll pay for it, for standing up to her."

"That's a fair point."

My Power latched into place, reminding me that I could restart.

"Girls don't work like guys. You can't just oppose them," she said."And you can't just beat her half to death and hope to get out of it."

Yeah, I carried a reputation. You put one arsehole in hospital. Her eyes went to the bandages around my arm, making the obvious conclusion.

"He came at me with a knife."

I tried not to laugh, but my face betrayed me.

"What's so funny?"

Getting lectured by the queen of escalation herself on using too much force. Oh, she'll learn soon enough, sure she will.

"I panicked," I diverted the question. "And I'll never live that down, will I?"

A genuine smile came to my lips.

"No," she shook her head. She paused, seeming to realise something as the edges of her lips turned slightly up. "And No. I'm out. One thing I promised my dad I'd never do was cheat at school."

A firm tone told me I had no chance of changing her mind.

"Alright," I breathed, grasping at the back of my head. "Your call."

Now, here's the part where I could've gone full arsehole. I could've been the person who said. I could've put on my best Thinker's Grin and oozed out the possibility that Sophia's only causing a problem because of Taylor herself or something to that effect. It might even have worked. I preferred the valiant defeat, with a little mutual respect, over being a complete shitehawk, but getting what I wanted.

Enough had been done to shut the voice in the back of my head up. The pressure eased. That's all the mattered.

The school bell rang, ordering us to class. Taylor ran at a steady jog. I followed with a limp, adjusting the brace on my leg to take more of the weight.

I followed her through the class door, only a few seconds behind.

"Taylor, Ian," Gladly looked at us both with the closest thing that amounted to a stern glance he could ever manage. "Any later and I'd have you both written up for a tardy. Take a group."

Only one remained with two spare seats. Taylor gave me a glance out the side of her eyes, almost accusing me of setting it up.

Honestly, No. Do I look that clever?

The whispers began, rising up from Madison's group.

"Ooh, maybe they were doing it?"

"Of course not, what could anybody see in a complete beanpole like her? He must be blind."

Sophia gave me a glare that could strip lead paint. I smirked back at her. Greg's backpack snuck up and tripped me.

"See," Julia giggled as I caught my fall on the desk.

My Power made sure that never happened.

Damo and Akiko waited at a table, with two spare seats. I sat first, slinging my backpack underneath. Taylor glanced at all three of us in turn, then around the room looking for alternatives.

Between Greg, Sparky and Julia – and us – she chose us.

No really, I didn't plan that at all. Do I look like Contessa?

Akiko and Damien looked to me for an explanation. I shrugged. It'd have to wait.

Damien placed a folder on his desk. "So, stuff we talked about last night. What've we got?"

"What a world without Capes would be like," I said, placing a sheaf of handrwitten pages on the table. " I did the AU history, so we could contrast."

Basically, home. So I cheated. Sue me. I help run a cheating syndicate.

Akiko skimmed the bullet points. "This is Aleph."

"Well, yeah, but without any influence from here,"I said. "Like that hurricane in New Orleans or the Japan earthquake. Or the technology differences."

Taylor sat and listened, marking through her own papers, scratching with a pen.

"That nuclear accident would be a lot worse," added Akiko, shifting like she sat on a thorn. "Like I said yesterday, I looked at disaster management. We are better at handling crisis than they are..."

She offered a folder, filled with photographs from Japan. One of a blasted power plant reminded me where I came from.

"But that's not really a cape thing, is it?" asked Damien, leafing through a few of the pictures.

"Aleph does not have them. I think it is a Cape thing," said Akiko, offering sheaves of printed notes. "Even without them. Powers work much better in disasters. Look at Panacea?"

Bad example, I thought, with a cringe.

"Wouldn't you hate to be her?" said Damien "Anyway I looked at Military, like how wars and weapons work." He added photographs of predator drones, F-22's and other hardware long cancelled or mothballed on Bet. He had missiles. "They'd still have all their nuclear weapons and all their cold war stuff pointed at each other."

"And most of it still works," I added. For a value of 'works'.

"They all go on about the attacks and capes and stuff, but they're the ones still one lazy operator away from global thermonuclear war. And they can't prepare for it because they don't think it's possible. At least we're aware of our threats so we can deal with them."

Except for the big one, I didn't say. I glanced at Taylor, recalling everything. There sat the person responsible. Skitter. Weaver. Taylor. Khepri. She looked more like a librarian, than anything I'd read about. Last night, she rotted Lungs balls off.

Funny that. A little mouse of fear nipped in the back of my mind. Maybe this time, I'd ruined it all somehow. But, I reminded myself, I decided not to worry about that anymore.

"Law enforcement," said Taylor, taking it as a cue to speak "With qualified capes handling some of the workload, real cops can train better, and be a lot more versatile ." Taylor offered a thick folder to the desk, easily doubling our pagecount. "I did more, on the tinkertech boom, fashion, cape celebrities." She looked at myself, and Akiko. "And maybe immigration too."

All annotated and supported by actual newspaper clippings pinned alongside each paragraph. She even went into detail about how Star Trek VIII differed in each timeline.

"This is good," said Damien. He turned a page. His eyebrows raised. "Really good."

She frowned. "I already said I won't join."

Damien and Akiko looked to me for an explanation.

"Doesn't matter," I tried to deflect it. "We need to get this yoke together."

So now, turn it into something that'd win a bar of chocolate. Jump, puppies, jump!

We huddled. We hustled. We bounced ideas off each other. Taylor slipped into the group, rapidly finding her feet in a way that almost felt natural. She chipped in, she countered. We argued. We battered it all together into something truly mighty. We kept going long after we agreed everyone else would've given up.

Not for chocolate. Not for token treats like dogs, but to prove that we could fucking do it regardless. We'd do it with middle fingers raised. Any cabbage could do a shite job and call it a protest. It took real skill to show up the teacher and go places Gladly would never think of.

Maybe Taylor took it as her chance to show the terrible trio up along the way. A little nip in return for the hell they gave her.

When the time came, Greg stumbled and mumbled through his own presentation, before going off on a long tangeant about various the differences in the Star Wars prequels and the differences in the origin of the force.

Madison made a better hash of the same presentation.

A quick game of Jan-Ken-Pon elected Taylor to be our unwilling representative. My Power helped me lose quick. Hers didn't. She lost fair and square. Unfortunately.

The whispers began as Taylor stepped up.

"Oh they probably just stole ours anyway." A girl named Shiori giggled.

Well, the fox smells her own hole.

"Quiet please," said Gladly, his voice barely rising above the chorus.

Sophia simmered. The whispering continued, tickling at the edge of our hearing. Akiko looked at me, blaming me.

Taylor spoke. And kept speaking for a good two minutes longer than any other group had managed.

She stopped. She thanked everyone for listening. She sat down.

"Hasegawa, Hebert, Miller, Sullivan, that was...." Gladly began, stopping to go on a hunt for the right word. Fucking awesome, I didn't say. "...Comprehensive."

That little flutter of embarrassment made it all worthwhile.

Next group. They took half the time to hit a quarter of the points.

Gladly, for all the fandom and the student body hated him, kept to his word. Really, we just wanted to make him spend his own money. Not like dogs begging for treats.

Not at all.

They have these things in America called Reese's Pieces that're like crack in orange packets. Don't try them unless you like selling your soul to a higher power for a little ball of peanut butter in a shell. All while being congratulated on a job well done.

What?

Quinlan wouldn't be as kind about us showing up late, so I left everyone getting theirs

"Ian," Taylor's voice said, behind me.

"Yeah," I stopped, waiting for her to catch up.

She stopped, less than a foot away from me. The scent of coconut shampoo tickled my nostrils, mingling with the unmistakeable ashy smell of singed hair.

Did I put too much bodyspray on this morning, I wondered? Where did that come from?

"I won't have anything to do with you assholes. The answer's No." She stared right through me, almost making me believe it. "So leave me alone before I tell Gladly how you do it."

Standing two doors way, Sophia's eyes went wide. I caught the plan immediately.

"Well, fuck you very much then!"

And I said it with a smile. Thanks.

I think.

--

My right knee throbbed, the pain following me to the school canteen. It crawled up the bone, pulsing with each step. Trying to walk straight-kneed numbed the worst of it, but not all.

Thanks, Leviathan. I could've done without the reminder. It slowed me up getting to the queue. It hamstrung me, trying to cross the canteen floor. It meant Damien beat me to the table.

"You actually asked Taylor to join?"

"Sophia saw me give her a lift yesterday and jumped to conclusions. I showed her I wouldn't be blackmailed."

No big deal.

He took a breath, sitting back in "Man, you keep doing things like that you'll have problems."

"You told me..."

"Yeah well," he caught it. "You got to balance it. Some people you stand up to, just so everyone knows you're not a complete pushover." He paused."But some people are just too dangerous to fuck with."

"I can handle Sophia," I said, before sipping from a carton of Froot Joose.

He gave me a dubious look, thinking about it as he twirled a spork in his 'mash potato'. "I don't know. She has something on the school. You got suspended for a month for self-defense. She got a slap on the wrist for the locker thing. And that was sickening. I could smell it on the second floor.".

"And I know what it is."

The concept of the Vulpine Grin must be universal to everyone with Thinker Power. I tried not to do it, because it really is such a painful cliche, but sometimes I just couldn't help myself.

I knew.

"What?"
"I figured it out last Thursday."

It took a heartbeat for the penny to drop.

"Fuck!"

For a single moment. Everyone looked at us.

"Yup," I nodded.

"She's..."

A ward?

"Yup."

"Thats...." he stopped, his mind spinlocking. He ran his fingers through his hair, struggling to gather his thoughts."Does she know you know?"

"Not yet." I shook my head. "Call it the nuclear option."

He looked at me. He took a single breath.

"Man, that's dangerous. You didn't tell me that." He glanced around, scanning for earwigs. Nobody seemed to care. "They go apeshit over people knowing things like that. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear a thing. I didn't hear that"

He cupped his hands over his ears.

"I won't tell her," I assured him. "Do I look stupid?"

Yes, said his expression. What? I wondered. What the fuck am I supposed to do.

"Look, man, you're a good friend, so I'll say this. The only reason the ABB didn't retaliate over the guy you broke, is because he wasn't a full member yet." He paused, just letting it sink in. "They would've fucking hurt you for a stunt like that."

He aimed a finger right at my face, I sat back, feeling a prickling unease crawl up my spine. Some of the gangs stood out – the ones who wanted you to know. The rest dissolved into a thousand bodies, trying to have what passed for a meal.

To the point where I started second guessing myself, even about some people I knew. Maybe?

"You've been here long enough to think you know it, but you really don't. Not yet. It took Aki' years to find her way."

I couldn't disagree. I sat forward, resting my face in my hands for a moment, waiting for my head to clear.

"This place is fucked up," I managed to say.

"Well, welcome to High School."

--

With little better to do in detention, I tried to work out what Sophia's response would be. Being so blatant with Taylor threw the gauntlet down. I challenged her in public. Taylor did that thing she did, getting herself out of it.

Which meant Sophia'd have to answer me. Ego and reputation had to be fed. Not to mention the backseat passenger egging us on.

Sophia wouldn't do it to my face – she'd go after something else. Which meant I'd have to answer back, escalating. Escalation would feed off escalation until someone either backed down and took a hit to their reputation, or the school administration finally got off its fat arse and did something so that nobody won.

If you've played Balance of Power, then you know the game. A simplified version of it anyway.

All because I did the 'right thing'. Well, you know what they say about good deeds and punishment? Fucking karma.

Ultimately, I alone had the doomsday option, Shadow Stalker.

Still, the thing with doomsday machines? They don't work unless the other side knows you have them. That left me an hour to mull over what the response would be while I tried to tweak the Mill's schedule, line up new work and figure out what favours I had to call in if I needed it.

Damien's warning rang in the back of my mind, but I had it under control. I knew what I needed to know to manage it. One sober thought made it through the haze.

He still had the right of it.

I looked at my reflection in the glass, and realised I couldn't even stop. Not when every single nerve ending in my body screamed bloody murder at the whisper of an idea of backing down. Muscles stretched taught and my mind squeezed itself to burst, forcing any hint of another option out.

I've already fucked this up. Now I just had to ride it out.

The bell rang. Knott dismissed us. I gathered my things, limping back to my locker on a leg that still ached, preparing for the worst.

My locker waited for me, unmolested. No marks. No dents. Nothing inside had been touched. The mess remained as I left it.

One other item left in the firing line – something I really cared about.

My bike sat outside, exactly as it'd been left. No sugar in the fuel. No slashed tyres. No cut brakes. Still full of oil. No bleach smell on the cap. No syringe in the seat. The engine fired up with a little choke and one hard boot, running like like 1970's Japanese 4-cylinder butter.

It meant one thing.

--

The first time my phone rang, I ignored it. Both my hands were full trying to regenerate the Gramme filters. Yes, that Gramme. The filters formed part of the wastewater recovery and purification system, something the law required us to have on the brewery.

The phone rang again, five minutes later. I glanced at it.

Akiko.

Why would she call me at work?

I caught it on the last ring.

"Yeah."

"What did she say?"

If she could've grabbed me through the phone, she would've.

"Nothing much," I tried to deflect it.

"What. Did. She. Say?"

Her voice pulled tight, a twinge of fear biting at my ear. I went with the truth, expecting an angry denial.

"She'd go to the cops and frame you for being in the ABB."

Silence. The worst answer she could've given me. The pieces slipped into place and I knew without her telling me. I bet you're fucking smiling for figuring it out before me. You can even give me that golfclap, if it makes you feel better.

"I see," she finally said, all the colour gone from her voice.

The phone line went dead. I stared down at the green screen, grasped my Power and triggered it, letting time fold back around me. Nothing else seemed appropriate.

"She told me she'd blow the entire Mill out of the water. So I called her bluff."

"That's Okay." I heard the relief. I heard the smile and it stabbed. "If she does that, She will make enemies."

"Yeah. She's just blowing steam."

"Fine. Her assignment's done. We'll talk to morrow. Ja ne,"

"Later"

Click. The phone went back into my pocket and I swallowed the urge to break something expensive.

I lied. Shoot me. I felt like a shitehawk for it. But I couldn't let her go through with telling that. I can't change it. I can't unlearn it. I can't forget. But I can let her live without ever having to tell me.

My best friend thinks I'm going to get hurt. My other friend has been a member of the fucking ABB all along. I'm staring down the barrel of a hard feud with Sophia Hess. My Power's fucking with my head and I can't stop. And I have five weeks to get ready before it all gets washed away anyway.

The oulfella noticed the expression on my face immediately.

"Bad news?"

"Just learned something about a friend of mine that I wish I didn't know."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it doesn't change who they are."

I think he expected something else entirely - the usual teenage shite and not this.

"Yeah," I breathed, not looking up at him. "It doesn't."

It just meant a friend of mine could either get frozen in time, dissolved like the wicked witch, warped into grotesque fucking monster of a thing or worse at the whim of some mad yoke who's just been pissed off. But it didn't change who she was. Not at all.

That's not fucking right? How in the name of God did she end up in a gang? Someone like that?

"Well, get back to work. We're short for the week."

Not now John, we gotta get on with this. Work kept me from thinking about it. Not really.

I couldn't stop worrying.

---


--

The one thing nobody tells you about Leviathan is the sound. A thousand jet engines blowing through a thousand waterfalls all at once. The thunder, the screams, the collapse of a nearby building, even the sound of my own heartbeat in the dark sloshing through water rushing for the emergency door, all of it lost.

Even my mind washed away in a tidal wave of white noise.

Mindless. Thoughtless. Blank with Terror, a tide of pushing bodies carried me up the ramp against the force of rushing water, washing me up onto the kerb.

A gloved hand hauled me to my feet, drawing me to eye level with a black, visored mask. The hand pointed to the shelter's steel blast-door, a flood of water pushing it closed onto the crowd.

"Hold that door! Das ist Ein Befehl!"

His order rang in my mind as clear as a church bell on Sunday. So I did. I held it against the force of the water, locking my knees against a concrete kerb. I held the door long after the shelter flooded, drowning anyone still trapped inside in churning murk. I held until my knees buckled then gave out and still my mind screamed at me to swim back and hang on, despite the agony. The door slammed shut, breaking the spell, leaving me thrashing for something solid to hang onto as the current grabbed hold.

My world turned to pain, noise,shit, salt and aching cold. Tumbling, scrambling, screaming, gasping, drowning. Naked bloody pain and nothing else kept me awake, sucked feet first through a portal into darkness.

Something hard caught my jacket, pinning my body in place as the water rushed up over my face. Dead after three days, killed by Endbringer.

This is how I die.

Luck took over before this became a short story. My jacket tore. The current carried me through darkened corridors, bashing my body against furniture, doors and railings. Hard edges jabbed, punching the air from my lungs. A gasp for air found only bitter black water, burning my lungs. My body wretched, convulsing, puking, then gasping again.

My arm wrapped around a railing, hauling me over onto my back, cracking my skull off hard concrete stairs. Two clear breaths on my back gave me a flash of hope. Trying to stand up on two ruined legs stole it again.

Agony screamed, leaving me on my back. Black water boiled up, rising past my waist. carrying shards of debris. Papers. Staplers. Photographs. A cape figurine. A body of a man, face down with his shirt and shoes missing.

That's me in a few minutes.

One single clear impulse filled my mind.

No. No way. I don't want to die. Not here. Not after three days. Not without even knowing why this happened. Why I'm here in a place with Endbringers and Capes and Bad Canary on the radio that, three days ago, had been nothing more than words on a page.

Stairs stretched away up to another landing. If you want to know why this happened. If you want to see tomorrow morning. If you want to take just one more breath. That's what you have to do, if you want to live. Either grit your teeth and crawl, or drown.

I did.

Hand over fucking hand I did it, chased all the way by a rising tide, jamming ice-picks into my knees the entire way up. I crawled it, sick and screaming through four stories until the building hit an outcrop of bedrock and settled.

Over a year later, my legs still ached. They'd never be normal. But I survived.

The noise came back at night, rushing through the pipes in the building, filling the silence and flooding into my mind. The same terror echoed in my thoughts to the racing drumbeat of my heart.

In the darkness, hard edges on furniture mutating into concrete, the shine on the floor turning to liquid water, my skin soaked wet and cold. A glass of water from the kitchen tap didn't quench the pressure in my mind.

It crushed down, every muscle in my body pulling itself tight, screaming to run nowhere. My jaw clench, panting breaths hissing through my teeth. My fists crushed onto the kitchen table edge, grounding out the panic.

My body's charge drained away, leaving me standing with my head pulsing, Power running at full throttle with nothing to do.

My breathing slowed as I took control, easing back down, feeling more like I'd run for my life, than run to the kitchen.

Energy faded away, leaving me standing sick and empty. Outside, a fire-engine's siren moaned through the street, pulling me back to Brockton Bay. It sounded so different from home.

I slumped onto a sofa.

Only a month to go before I went through it all again. That inexorable force of un-nature would roll in off the sea, and it'd destroy everything familiar all over again. Curling into a ball wouldn't make it go away. Nothing will make it go away. You might aswell try and stop a hurricane.

I could only leave.

And still lose everything I had. For the third time.

So. My decision set itself in concrete.

"I'm staying." The darkness swallowed my words.

I know I'd hate myself for leaving it behind. Because this is my life. It's messy. It's scrappy. It's fucked up and broken at times. But on some deep level below the spark of my Power and beginning of rationalisation it felt right.

My life here felt like something worth fighting for. Maybe I had gone mad. You're free to offer your own theory.

The dog stared at me, thinking, tail tic-tocking

"You think I'm a gobshite, right?"

He scratched himself. Basically, Yes. Maybe, I thought, swallowing a sick lump in my throat.

The dog turned and padded away, nuzzling himself into the parent's room, looking for a warm body to sleep beside. I watched his tail disappear, his shadow lingering behind before the door creaked shut.

That reminded me of one more thing to worry about.

How the fuck do I tell them?

They might not be my real parents, but they didn't deserve to linger in the dark wondering why. That'd be cruel. So would telling them their only surviving son had decided to take on the thing that killed the other one.

It could wait. Wide awake and needing something to tire my mind, I turned to the computer. Old habits die hard. A message popped up onscreen moments after I logged in.

Lib1rn; "Up late again?"

Me; "Yeah sure, what the hell."

The beginnings of a plan began to coalesce in my mind, more a general direction towards success than a path to victory, but it'd do.

--

The clock radio in my bedroom decided to tease me, waking me up with the same exact song I'd woken to on my very first day on Bet.

Bad Canary. Night Storm

Brockton Bay Radio Nova took up the 'Free Bird' cause with a vengeance.

A year later, I still enjoyed the song. By the time I finished my morning shower, the mammy had already gone to Arcadia. The oulfella had gone to the bar. I ate breakfast alone and basically went through all the usual steps that'd suggest an isolated, empty and unhappy home life to an outside observer.

I liked it. Less pretending. Less stress. It let me feel like something of an adult again, looking after myself. Even if I had to go to school, rather than do something useful. Wheelieing through rush-hour traffic in the morning would've been stupid dangerous for anyone else, but not for me.

I parked in my usual spot, chained to the usual rail, getting ready for a normal day. The little techniques for day-to-day survival came naturally. Small things, like doublechecking my surroundings for anyone watching before trying to take my helmet or riding gear off, or chaining the bike with my back to the wall.

I could've just fucked off and had a day of it, but I didn't. I faced Tuesday morning at Winslow High School head on. Just having the freedom to leave made choosing to stay easier.

My two biggest problems waited for my behind those iron-bar windows.

Sophia glared across the yard as I locked the bike up. Touch the machine, and there would be no mercy. Violating the sacred sanctity of a man's motorcycle warranted only one punishment.

A flame lit itself in the back of my mind, burning hot. If we backed down now, then we'd draw a line. People would know. They'd know how far to push me. They'd know where to attack. I'd get Taylor'd too.

Do you want that to happen to you?

Every vein in my body burned with the urge to retaliate against an attack that hadn't even happened yet. I gripped the lock on my locker door, pulling my head against the steel of the door, soaking the heat away. The parasite in my brain came off the boil.

I might've said it before, Powers would be cool if I didn't know a thing about Powers.

Footsteps approached from the right. Another locker door opened.

"Hey, man, what's up?" said Damo

"Airplanes," I said, feeling a smile pull across my lips. A voice in my mind reminded me I'd planned to tell him.

I snuffed the thought. Too many ears to overhear. It could wait until lunch, or detention or some other time when nobody could overhear.

"No sign of the Sophia?"

I glanced around. Nothing but the usual bustle.

"Nope."

I braced for one, two, three seconds in case she popped out of thin air just to prove me wrong.

"Good." he leant back against his door, lowering his head. "This whole situation is gone beyond fucked up."

I looked at him, feeling the hair on the back of my kneck bristle. "So, what can we do about it?"

His eyes sparked. The edges of his lips turned up.

"The others need to know about Sophia," he said."Maybe someone will have an idea how to deal with this."

He looked at me. I looked at him. A thought occurred. Chased by a nervous flash. What if we got caught?

"That's a dangerous can of worms," I breathed, hoping he knew what I really meant.

He scowled, a bristling flash of anger crossing his face. "She has all the power and she knows it. If they're willing to pull strings to overlook the locker thing for her, then they'll overlook anything else she'll do. They need to know."

I didn't need to be told, I didn't object. I knew. He knew.

"Tonight?"

"I'll text you later once we work it out."

So. I know what you're thinking now. And you might think that, but I couldn't possibly comment.

I had one advantage Taylor didn't have for dealing with Sophia; Friends.

Christ that sounded cruel.

And I wore a cruel smile through class all morning. My second biggest problem might just solve itself with a nice sense of poetic justice. My first, maybe I could solve it tonight.

If I could trust Akiko and run the risk of suddenly qualifying for official 'Honourary Asian' status.

Maybe next time I had Damien along.

Right.

I fizzed through the first class, mind drumming with possibilities. A guilty pang bit, but it died quickly, replaced by a rush of justice that warmed right to the core – the same satisfying sense of justice that damned three-time petty thieves to life in hell. I'd been in America long enough to catch the virus with a vengeance.

Taylor had already mitched off for the day, her empty seat sitting in the back of my mind all morning. When did she start skipping again?

The school hustle swept me along to the next class, mind drifting elsewhere.

The mill cranked on, running on automatic. Assignments made it to where they needed to go. Payments were taken.

Life continued, oblivious to the future. I followed, unable to stop thinking about it.

Another class. Industrial Arts gave me a chance to tinker in the old fashioned way, getting up to my elbows in the classroom machinery, before heading into lunch smelling of machine oil and teen spirit.

My skin crawled as I turned a corner, touched by feeling that someone, somewhere watched. I stopped, my head snapping around. Nothing beyond the usual mill of teenagers pushing past each other, cliques huddling in their own corners. The Serengeti continued as usual.

Ever see those African nature documentaries where the solitary gazelle is standing in the grass. The camera sees the lion sneaking up, and the Gazelle smells the bastard sneaking up, but for the life of him he just can't see where the attack is about to come?

Somewhere upwind maybe?

My Power sparked into life, tingling at the tips of my fingers, ready to go, ready to fire, ready to give that little bit of an edge that made the difference.

You can fight, it assured.

I stood there, wound up and ready to spring, body burning for action.

Nothing happened.

Not a thing.

Fuck you Shadow Stalker and your fucking paranoia. The energy dumped through my first through someone's locker door. The haze cleared, my surroundings filtering into my mind.

Four Nazis. Five Asians. A thinning crowd in the corridor. My subconscious had just beaten my conscious mind to the realisation.

I raced on to the canteen, stabbed by a sudden pang of hunger. A few scavenged cartons of Froot Joose joined the school-issue meal. Compressed pea-fibre, breadcrumbs, chicken-skin shreddings, deep fried yellow-dyed flour sticks and 'brown sauce'.

Yum.

I took a seat at our corner table, opposite Akiko. She didn't even look up from her tray, hunching over it until every last stain of food had been removed.

We both shared that tendency. We both had the same teacher. She just took that lesson to its logical conclusion, doing what she had to do to get away from Sophia.

You can say 'Fuck the bitch' all you want. I couldn't. We're still friends, after all.

Damo dropped into the seat beside me, slapping his tray onto the table. The other two had decided to eat out somewhere or something leaving it up to us three. A finger of chicken rolled free, bouncing on the floor before settling against the wall.

Aki' watched it roll, waiting for him to pick it up.

She frowned as he stabbed another with his fork instead. "Mouttai nai"

"Five second rule," he shrugged, swallowing the next finger whole. He shuddered as it oozed down his throat. Hunger proved a better sauce than Frank's.

I looked at her with a smirk on my lips. Don't worry, he'll learn soon enough. Four weeks to go. She scratched at her neck for a second, settling herself back into her chair

"So Ieba," She began. "I had a thought last night while finishing this off."

Aki pulled a single jump drive from her pocket, placing it on the table in front of her.

"Just one?" Damien poked.

She scowled at him, flashing a middle finger. He smirked, chomping a spork full of chips. Somehow, it felt just a little hollow.

"I asked how many people in Knott's class had links with Sophia. Friends. Enemies. Then friends of friends, someone she might owe a favour to....or a victim"

She dangled it for us, glancing between the pair of us. I grabbed the low-hanging fruit for myself. "Hebert?"

"Yes," she nodded.

The pieces crashed into place.

"Fuck's sake," said Damien through his teeth."She's using us to fuck her over."

Yep.

And amn't I the gobshite for not realising it in the first place? You can sit there smug all you want, this only happened because I completely forgot Sophia didn't have any friends in
that class.

"We'll figure it out tonight," I said.

--

The message arrived during detention; We're meeting at Roberta's house.

Dancing with the sausage creature through Brockton Bay's rush hour traffic blew off the stress of the day, my power keeping me one step ahead of the monster's mangled, moaning grasp.

Roberta lived in that small part of town high above the ocean that owned the rest of town down below on the waterfront.

Her house lurked beneath the shadow of Captain's Hill ablaze from the sunset falling behind. In winter, oppressed by stormclouds rolling in from the Atlantic with lightning cracking over the tower and wind howling through gaunt, dead trees it loomed over the neighbourhood, sheltering diabolic pacts and Things that Should not be.

The best efforts of spring couldn't shake the gloom that still clung to the walls. The last remnants of the guilded age flaked from walls built by brazen new money long spent.

Iron railings made for a handy place to chain the bike up, right beside the sign warning people not to chain their bicycles to the historic iron railings.

Curtains twitched and camera's zoomed as the neighbours took interest in the outsider invading their demesne, lowering the tone of the road. I traipsed up the gravel drive, backpack on my back, helmet under arm and leather jacket hanging open.

I stepped up, rang the bell and waited, fighting at the urge to pick flakes of paint off the carved face of the gremlin on the door.

The door groaned open before I could ring the bell. A pair of dark eyes glared down at me from the centre of a squared face, shining with sweat. Black-dyed hair had been combed straight forwards, aimed right at me. There I stood, dirty, scruffy, half-broke, daring to shit on the carpet of his life just by existing and he hated every inch of me for it.

"I'm here to see Roberta."

His brow furrowed, maybe wondering if he could catch whatever disease of karma infected the rest of the town below. Christ, what if the neighbours found out – he might be quarantined in case it spread. Cast down to live with the proles.

"Do I know your father?" he asked.

Probably not, but that's not the right answer. I'd met enough of these people in another life to know what to say. You have to talk up to these people, drag yourself up to their level.

"He's the managing director of the Brockton Bay Brewing Company. I'm the Chief Control Engineer."

Which sounds a lot more impressive than 'He makes the beer and I make the whole shebang work.'

To the man in the suit that owns half the boardwalk, a man behind a bar pulling pints is nothing but a peon, while a managing director of a brewery stands as an equal – an Owner. A near-future neighbour, if things went well.

I stared him down, daring him to call me on it.

Roberta's voice called down from above. "Hey Dad, it's Okay. He's from my school."

The man sighed, stepping back from the door.

"Her room is up the stairs in the tower," he said, hoping I'd have the decency to leave anyway."Don't touch anything"

I don't think I could afford to.

A cold iron staircase spiralled up to the tower room carrying me past a century's worth of distinguished city gentry, spirits trapped in faded canvas. Locked panel doors hid secret passages down to forgotten dungeons. Ancient tomes of forbidden literature lined the walls of the first floor library. The floorboards groaned with the souls of the legions dead condemned to an early grave to serve the guilded majesty of the house.

The must of hidden history oozed from the walls. Old places like that sparkled in the imagination, so maybe you can excuse the Weber-blocking for a bit.

Another narrow staircase led up to the tower room, a shaft of light spreading across the wooden floor from under the door. My hand went to a warm brass nob, tried to pull the door open before remembering it was an older door.

It hinged inward, to a world of succulent carpets, pink kingsize beds, and a wall of Maggie-Holt novels.

I never finished that series. In either guise.

"Finally got released?" asked Damien, allowing the beanbag he sat in to swallow him whole, soaking in the heat of the radiator behind.

"Der Grammerfuehrer was late."

Nothing else needed to be said. Everyone nodded in sympathy.

"Aw man, I hate it when that old fart does detention."

Andrew lay on the bed, beside Roberta who sat with her arms around her legs. I couldn't help but take a long look at her legs, sheathed in black tights. My backpack made for a nice backrest against a chest of drawers.

"So, like I said. Sophia Hess is using us. But there's one last piece of the puzzle everyone needs to know before we figure out what to do..."

He looked to me, hand open "You wanna?"

"Yeah."

Akiko leant forward. "What is so screwed up we cannot send by text."

"The sort of secret you go to prison for knowing." Damien said.

"I'm not sure I want to know what that is." said Roberta, her body visibly tensing.

Well. Here goes. Aki stared, eyes begging for information

Alright. Best to just say it.

"Sophia's a Ward,"I said to her."Sophia's Shadow Stalker."

It sat there in the air, like a brick waiting to drop.

"So na..." Aki whispered, shrinking down into her seat.

"Son of a bitch," Andrew breathed, jaw slacking open a moment. "How'd you figure that out?"

The perfect moment, laid on a plate. I could tell them all right now. I have a power too. Just four simple words. Just say them and I've told everyone. Just break the dam and speak.

Damien beat me to it. Thankfully.

"Last Thursday, when we got attacked. We got a cape rescue. Ian figured it out."

"She spoke to me," I added, grateful for the help.

"Does it change anything?" asked Roberta, scanning the room for an answer "Her identity's a secret."

"It changes a lot of things," said Damien, his voice as serious as a cancer diagnosis. "It explains why the locker thing got brushed under the cover for a start. If we get in a fight, guess what happens?" A sharp crack from his fist against his palm punctuated.

He looked right at me for some completely unknown reason. A lump rose in my throat.

"Right. If she starts something we need evidence," Andrew suggested, turning to Aki.

She sat there, lost in her own mind.

"They had plenty of evidence the last time and they did nothing," Damien said.

Roberta sat upright "Wait, she's the one behind the locker thing?"

Andrew nodded.

"Why would she do that?" She let the question hang a moment, sitting there with crossed legs.

"Because she's a bitch?" suggested Damien with a grin, settling himself against the radiator.

She scowled him down. "Maybe she had a reason?"

"What, you think Herbert has Powers too?" My eyes snapped to Andrew. "Like, she's a villain or something and Sophia knows, but can't do anything overt?"

It shot through me like a bullet. Three days into her career as a supervillain, Skitter's outed by someone who can't even get her name right crawling right out to the furthest twig on the highest branch of the longest limb of the tree. The idea that I might've just blown the plot rang in the back of my mind, my Power buzzing in my ears, reminding me I had an option.

No. White Knighting led to questions. Questions led to lies. Lies led to suffering. My apologies to Yoda for the paraphrase. My stomach squeezed.

I pushed through. So what? We're already off the tracks. I'd made my choice.

"I didn't say that," She said. But she meant it. The thin, cat-like smile on her lips told us all as much. "But nobody really knows her, do they? She hasn't talked to anyone since she started."

Damien raised a finger. "I know her dad. But then everyone dockside does. Danny's head of hiring for the Union."

Arch-nemesis of Roberta's father. Maybe that explained it.

"Yeah, but not her. She's dark and moody. She doesn't talk to anyone. She goes missing during lunch. She's like a complete ghost...." she leant forward, drawing us all into the conspiracy. "....and I heard from Julia she was caught in the library reading about the Decker shootings."

Damien took a breath, looking down at the carpet a moment "If you stuffed me in a locker full of that shit I'd be reading about the Decker shootings too."

Aki squirmed in her seat, looking like she'd sat on a thumbtack for a moment. "She showed up for Knott's class this morning. Her arm had a bandage on it." She let the obvious implication sink in. "She went missing at Lunch."

"That's fucked up," Andrew breathed, clenching at the scar on his forearm.

Occam's Razor won. Everyone jumped to the wrong conclusion; Taylor'd found a way out of the bullying. No-one said one word about doing anything. As usual.

"So." Aki held the thumbdrive up between her fingers "Do we still want to give Sophia this?"

"Yeah," Andrew answered quick. "We give her the drive. Never work with her again. The usual." He folded his arms, sealing the debate off.

Something sparked inside my body.

"Andy's got the right of it." Damien added, taking a moment to listen. "We work the exact same way, with everyone. With anyone." And he emphasised it. "That way nobody can accuse us of playing favourites with gangs. We don't get swept up bullshit. We don't give anyone an opening."

They'd let her win. My skin prickled. I saw the final destination for this train.

"The Mill works a certain way, but it doesn't fuck people over. We help Sophia do it, we might aswell do it ourselves," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. I felt the strain in my throat."The thing that really keeps us safe is our reputation."

"We got our reputation by treating everyone the same way. Everyone." Andrew shot me down.

"She's tried blackmailing us. People know that!" My voice echoed back off the wall. "It doesn't matter what our rules say we do, If we go ahead, she'll think she's won. They'll think she's won The only thing people will know is that she threatened us and we followed through...." My head snapped around, meeting everyone's gaxe in turn."It looks like we caved. It'll be open season."

Why don't they get it? Why are they staring at me like I've three heads.

"Which doesn't matter if we never work with her again. We did what we agreed to do. She broke her side of the deal. Karma's on her." Roberta didn't even listen. She stared through me, daring me to disagree. She wouldn't even listen to someone like me, would she?

Damien spoke next, not even bothering to get up from his beanbag. "We break our side first, nobody will ever trust us again. Blackmail's why we work this way."

I stood alone, on the spot, betrayed. My mind spun, looking for a way out. Something I could say to explain it away, to convince them. Somehow, I'd gotten to my feet, charged up, ready to fight everyone down if I had to.

My power gave me space to think, time to let my thoughts catch up. Andrew shot me down, over and over again. Echoes of adrenaline faded, letting my mind clear again.

One sober moment shone through.

"Ah..." I breathed. "You're right,"

The words stung.

It's not my fault, I reminded myself. I slumped back against my own backpack, cooling off.

"So. What can we do against her?" asked Damien."How do we protect ourselves if she tries to turn it against us?"

"She's in Emma's halo so our usual method's out," Andy said

"Blackmail," Roberta suggested with a grin. She touched a single finger to her lips, thinking.

"I recorded her meeting with us, to use as insurance." The lupine smirk spread across my lips. "It pissed her off too, so she's afraid of something coming out. "

We weren't just rolling over. Sophia would know.

Damien thought for a moment. "Something that could hang her with her own strings?"

"Good idea. But I have better." Aki rose from the grave, the spark in her eyes reigniting as we entered her domain. "If I put a virus onto her memory stick. I could get her emails. We'd have real blackmail."

Andrew crossed his arms, pouring cold water on the idea.."Yeah. And you've just hacked a protectorate network. They have a Dragon and cape shit."

"It will be her personal computer," she pouted, making octopus-lips."Information is the best weapon we have against her. It is our Power."

"I'm all for it," I said, with a shrug.

"I'm just saying. We're playing with fire. What if this backfires?" He paused, looking around for backup. "She has a Power...."

If they listened? I saw my opening, my chance to push it through. A chance to act. A chance to shoot him down.

"So do I."

My brain caught up with my mouth a moment later. My Power convulsed, begging me to trigger it. What if they hate you? You got caught out by Aki, right? You're screwed. You really want to trust them? A Nazi? A Merchant?

Disbelief stared back at me. Open mouths, half smiling, waiting for the punchline.

All I had to do was laugh and it'd never happen. I didn't even need my Power to make it go away.

"You're fuckin with us?" Damien said with a broken smile "Right? Surely you can't be serious"

See, he didn't even believe me. Just make it go away, that's all I had to do. Just laugh it off as a bad joke. My mind locked, my jaw hanging half open. The muscles in my neck pulled tight. My Power screamed, tearing my brain apart, pulling every joint in my body rigid. Do something, do anything!

It strangled my throat. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breath. It pinned me to the edge of the blade, teetering, unable to push forward, unwilling to turn back.

Silence. He stared. Around, the room shrunk back, retreating into the void beyond my mind. My power thrummed, throbbing in the back of my skull, begging to fire.

No. I want to tell them. I really do. Sixth time lucky.

Something inside burst, a hot liquid pop in the back of my neck that seeped down the inside of spine. Time ticked forward, past the point of no return. The pressure released, leaving my sitting, slack-jawed struggling to find the right words.

You're on your own now, mate. You didn't listen to me, now look. This is all your fault.

"Yeah. I am," I breathed. Damien looked right through me, eyes widening. My Power sat there, mocking me. Look at the friendship you've just blown.

The room grew pregnant, waiting for something to happen. We all looked at each other, hoping someone else would fill the silence. Roberta leant forward. Andrew st there with his arms crossed, looking at me like I had cancer. Aki sat in her chair, looking like she'd taken a wet fish to the face.

With nothing better to do, I sealed the deal.

"That's how I figured her out. That's how I knew about the lads in the street. That's how I saw Gladly coming and that's how I knew those cunt's would've stabbed me if I didn't skull them."

Then waited. I'd just admitted to the few people I could call a friend, that I'd been lying to them for six months.

"Y'know.......that's deeply fucked up," Damien finally said, taking a breath.

"Yeah..." I said, already regretting it, trying not to throw up.

What happens now. No sympathy for the devil, I guess. At least I made my choice.

"Man. Don't take this the wrong way but I almost wish you'd said you were just gay or something because at least then I'd know what to say in return." Andrew stopped, looking at me like a man who'd just realised he'd stepped into the middle of a minefield, after he heard the click underfoot. "Like, I like you as a friend but not in that way and we could still be friends"

A thin smile spread across my lips. Things might be okay.

"How?" Aki breathed, leaning towards me "How did it happen?"

And I knew what she meant too. Dwelling pulled my head into that space again.

Falling.

Tumbling.

Accelerating.

Regretting.

Trigger.

The Power thrilled in the back of my mind, resonating in the instant. Cold fingers of death crawled over my body, room revolving around as my mind tumbled through the moment.

I caught myself. Yeah, I did that. No need for a long story. No need for the lead up. Just the simple facts, to save my own sanity.

"I got into a bad place. I jumped off a building. Halfway down I regretted it. My Power triggered."

She inhaled through a half open mouth, placing her hands on her lap. Her fingers grasped.

"Fuck," Andy spat, sending a shock through the room."I knew I shouldn't have let them talk me out of it."

The grin he wore on his thin face ate shit for breakfast, dinner and tea.

Nobody laughed.

Then everybody did

Except Aiki. She sat there, lips moving as she tried a few syllables on for size, but found nothing that fit.

"What?" I asked.

"That...... is that what it takes?"

I nodded. "It happens when you're just so fucked up, when you're panicking, you're trapped and you just can't find a way out, eventually it just breaks through and you trigger."

"So...."She inhaled."How is that even fair!" Her voice rang back off the walls as she jumped to her feet. The chair clattered over onto its side. I pulled myself up against the drawers. She stepped forward. "After all.... after everything and you get a Power and what happens to me?" she jabbed herself in the chest with her finger."What makes you so different?"

Dumb. Fucking. Luck.

I used my Power to cheat her out of the truth. Again.

Again, she asked me.

I looked away from her, at the bandages on my arm, still feeling the echo of the moment. "I don't know really."

"So na..." She slumped into her chair, energy draining from her body.

"So, what's your Power man?" Damien asked, forcing a smile. The others sat there, looming forwards, begging to know.

I learned my lesson from the last time. My Power bought me time to think, to pick my words.

"My power helps me succeed."

Well. It does. Eventually

"Could you show us?"

Roberta's curiosity hungered. My fingers found a dollar coin in my pocket.

"Heads or Tails?"

Ten times tails left no room to pass it off as a joke. To much to call coincidence. Especially when someone else tossed the coin. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Eventually, I always guessed right.

A cold draught of air snapped us out of it, the night breeze pulling at the curtains. Aki's chair sat empty. A pair of french doors leading out onto the balcony, creaked in the breeze.

"Hey, where'd she....?" Damien started.

"Shit," I snarled. A dreadful thought rang in my mind. I rolled to my feet, racing through the curtains after her. She already stood by the railing, looking out over the glittering city below, her body rigid with tension, arms locked supporting her against the metal.

"Hey wait!" I yelped.

Her body spasmed, her head snapping around to face me

"I..." she gasped. She looked out over the rail."You thought I was going to!"

"Well..." I felt my cheeks flush.

In fairness, given the tone of the conversation....

"Thanks," she gave me a warm smile."Anyway."

"Anyway?" I stepped forward.

"I just wanted to think," she said, letting the rail take her body weight."What could I do with a Power?"

I leaned back against the cold iron, feeling it soak the heat of the moment out of my back. I thought for a second

"And Power......" I stumbled over my own tongue, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. I looked up at her, not obviously listening to me. "A Power doesn't make the problem go away it just. It gets you out of the moment." The words came to me a moment later." But It doesn't acually solve the problem."

My thanks to the Word of God for that one. My Power hummed along, reminding me I could push it a little further.... maybe explain myself better. I had a way out if I fucked it up again.

It gave me the nerve to look her in the eye and say what I really meant.

"My Power saved me from the jump sure, but everything that brought me up to the roof – it didn't do a damn thing about it." I looked down, pursing my lips for a moment, before feeling myself smile as the words came on their own. "The last six months helped me deal with that."

A faint smile showed she'd grasped the implication. Never let anyone say I didn't mean it either. My Power kept my body from splattering on the concrete, but it didn't save my life.

"I..." She started. Her expression darkened into a frustrated scowl."English is a poor language."

I snorted. She smiled. Our eyes met. Something sparked in the moment. It died as she looked away over the city, leaving a vague emptiness behind. Nothing would happen.

"One day this city will wash away too. And we will be free again." she said, staring into the night. "We have learned to swim."

I wondered how she knew. Then I realised what she meant.

We'd both reached that parapet moment, herded to the point where we had no other option but to jump. We both had our one bad day. A Power beyond our own reached down, with an offer neither of us could refuse.

And we both had a price to pay our deal on Chickasaw mountain.

We both stood there watching the city below until the others finally got the hint and came out to join us in the fresh night air.

--


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♦Topic: My Friend Just came out to me
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay ► Help

BBThrowaway95 (Original Poster)
Posted on April 12, 2011:

Throwaway because I know how sensitive some people can be about these things.

A friend of mine came out to me today. Just seemed to force himself to say it out of nowhere. Like, Bam. I have a Power

It makes a lot of stuff make sense. I'd been thinking something was a little strange. He never really seems to get caught out by shit, dodging at the last minute or slipping out. I mean, there's things you just can't get out of I know but he always seemed to know it was coming.

How the fuck are you supposed to talk about shit like this?

That scares the shit out of me because he's always getting into fucking fights with people. Some guys snuck up on him at school and he put the one with a knife in hospital. The school just assumed he'd seen him draw it and called it self defense. A coupla nights ago someone tried to mug us on the street and he knew it before it happened. He drew a knife and managed to put one of them down before Shadow Stalker showered up and ended it.


On the one hand, it's kinda cool that I've met someone who has a power and on the other I'm sitting here wondering if he's been using it on my the entire time. There's something about it that feels a little skeevy, like I've been lied to the entire time I knew him.

I just want to know what the fuck do do. I don't want to see another friend getting in way over their heads making a bad decision. And I don't really want to loose a friendship either. But if I do nothing, it's only a matter of time before he gets caught by the wrong person and then it gets messy. Either he goes to far too quick or one of the local heavy hitters takes an interest,

Any advice?

[Note from Judge: Okay. Given the likely subject matter I'm placing all your posts in this thread on moderated for the time being. I know you mean well. It will just give me time to edit anything that might potentially out our young friend's identity and keep everyone safe.]


(Showing Page 1 of 1)

► The Fake Kid Win (Verified Cape)
Replied on April 12, 2011:
One of Us! One of Us! One of Us!

We don't bite.

Let Him know he's welcome at Boards ► America ► Brockton Bay ► Teams ► W-ENE. We can chat. In public or Private.

► Laser Augment
Replied on April 12, 2011:
I'm going to assume you're probably a teenager. And if 'some guys' snuck up on you with a knife I can guess what school you go to too. You have my sympathies, kiddo.

He's placed a lot of trust in you by talking to you. He wouldn't do that if he thought you would do wrong by him. It sounds like you might even be the first person he's been able to work up the courage to talk to.

► Judge (Moderator) (Veteran Member)
Replied on April 12, 2011:
Sounds like your friend has a solid Thinker Power. Maybe precog?

Young people especially are vulnerable to being negatively influenced or used by others as their Powers emerge.

The best thing you can do, is tell him to go to the local PRT office were he can be assessed for suitability for the Wards, Or just meet people trained in giving guidance to young people in living with their powers, if he isn't interested in donning the cape. They can protect young Parahumans, even ones who don't want to join. They provide Codenames. Records. Backup. Protection.

Even counselling if needs be.

It's the best deal out there.
​

End of Page. 1,

--

Wednesday morning. Before I ever got the chance to talk to Damien, a message sat waiting for me on a yellow post-it note inside my locker.

One just large enough to prove that someone had opened the lock

"Thinker 2. Tinker 1.

Meet me at the corner of Caldwell and Revere. Tonight. Midnight. Wear something that hides your identity.

You know who I am already."

Bollocks.

--


I first met Emma Barnes on my third day in Brockton Bay. Her bright eyes and cheery smile gazed up from a summer catalogue. Everytime I saw in her in the corridor, I thought about that well-thumbed catalogue sitting under my bed, and hoped nobody could see...


It's not petty. It's not vindictive. It's being sixteen and not being able to help it.


Her rusty hair shimmered as it cascaded over her shoulders, drawing my eyes down to a low cut red-t-shirt that led my gaze straight to the dark gulf between both sumptuous breasts, then on to the full curves of her body, her hips stretching her jeans taught.


"Oh, it's you."


The illusion of beauty shattered the moment she spoke, her eyes blistering at the sight of me. I stood a head taller than her and she still tried to look down on me, another lust-filled insect beneath her contempt.


"Where's Shadow Stalker?" I said, forcing eye contact.


Must. Not. Look. Down.


Again.


My hands went to my pockets. Emma looked like I'd stabbed her with a live sparkplug.


"How do you know that?"


Oops. My Power kept my secret. In my defence, she distracted me.


She opened with the same blister, words popping out of her mouth.


"Yeah, it's me. Where's Sophia?"


Emma sneered, "What does a thug like you want with her?"


That bit. My fist clenched and released.


"She has an assignment in with us."


"She was here earlier," Madison piped in with a bright smile filling her face. Emma stabbed her with a sharp look. "It's her vocational day today."


So. Ward Bollocks, right? No problem.


I shot her a grin. "Thanks, Mads,"


Her giggle thrilled. Her purple jumper, short black skirt and sweet cherry perfume dragged up hot memories of summer and my first months in the Bay with her slim figure warm in my arms. We both drifted through it, sharing a smile, wondering if maybe, we said the right thing right now we could have that again in a racing heartbeat...


Her fingers grasped at the blue hair clips


Emma stewed, stepping in front of her friend, murdering the memory.


"Shouldn't you be somewhere?" she growled. "That isn't here."


Right you are, princess. Down to business. No more reminders of the dumbest thing I ever did. Take a breath.


"If you see her," I said, staring her down. "Tell her the answer's yes. Sophia'll know what I mean."


Don't look at me like that. What choice do I have?


Confusion flickered across Emma's face for a single heartbeat before she caught herself. Appearances had to be kept up.


"Fine, whatever. Go away." She prickled, spinning on her heel with a flick of her hair, throwing up the wall. Her royal highness can no longer tolerate your axe body spray.


Or the idea of being left out of the loop by her pet parahuman.


Right. That's that done. Sophia's note crumpled inside my pocket as I crossed the school. Aki'd gone to Knott's class. Taylor'd gone missing. A quick glance at my phone showed my own personal PHO thread simmering along nicely.


Quick summary: "Join the fucking Wards, dumbass."


Sophia knew.


Armsmaster of Borg probably knew.


Beneath the veneer of a school day, the bureaucracy of assimilation ground to life. A letter would arrive. Or a summons to the principal's office to be met by a sour-face Blackwell flanked by a pair of blank-face protectorate goons and a cheerful suit with a contract


Your life as it has been has ended. Your Powers will adapt to service us. You will be assimilated.


Resistance is futile.


I'd already decided to don the cape.


I still wore the stupid smile on my lips when a hard slap to the back of the skull knocked me to the ground. I caught myself on my hands, panting. Laughter chased. My Power triggered.


I caught the ball on the second try.


"Fucking Twice!?" My voice echoed in the corridor, pulling all eyes to me. The egg-shaped ball cannoned from my toe, tumbling through the air, clattering off a light before ricocheting to the ground in front of three people.


They still didn't have names that I knew.


It bounced into their leader's hands. I'd meant it to hit his grinning face.


The trio marched towards me. I stood my ground. They circled around. I stepped back. The crowds in the corridor watched, eager for another brawl.


"Just testing it wasn't a fluke the other day," the leader said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Hey, Sully, right? You're sharp, could use someone like you."


His hand right hand extended, my new best friend according the shining grin filling his round face. The hair on my neck prickled. Hard eyes stared through me. My own hand went to my pocket.


"I don't do sport,"


A knuckle tap against the brace on my legs explained why.


"That's the beauty of it, Sully. The gym's got a beast of a physio, sponsored by Medhall."


Paranoia bit deep into my back. They fucking knew. Somehow they knew. I stepped back. The noose tightened as all three stepped in, circling around. The grin broadened. My power snapped back to life.


His eyes dropped to the pocket where I held my multitool. My fingers worked the blade open, just in case. The air drew thick in around us, their bodies turning tense, pulsing with too many steroids. Behind the smile, I saw his mind work, his free hand clawed over his own pocket, ready to draw.


The other two probably did the same. I didn't dare break eye contact to check.


I get him. His friend gets me. My Power gives me the edge.


The smile remained. Savage, daring me to fight, to give them a reason. He made a show of leaning forward, to share some hidden secret, staying just far enough away to dodge if I took a swing.


My hand gripped tight, blood coming up to the boil. My Power pulsed in my ears, winding itself up.


"You're still kinda new here, so you probably don't know it yet. But this is the kinda city where being in with the right crowd can really open a lot of doors." His voice oozed from his lips, slick as a salesman. That right hand still hung there, waiting for me to grasp. "Especially if you get in early."


Just take the hand. Be friends. Join the team. Have a lot of fun being a part of something. Life gets easier when you stand together. And we all pull together, marching to the future. Become part of something bigger. See those slant-eyed fuck's over there? They're hurting your new mate Jimmy here, the same guy who helped you out last night. Here's a gun. Stop 'em.


Two words came to mind. My fingers clenched tight on the handle, ready to back them up. Drumbeats thrummed in my ears, drowning out the little voice of sanity that begged me to slip out of the noose.


The world beyond crushed down to nothing, the trio and me spotlighted on the stage. I had to act. I had to do something.


Two stood behind me, beyond arm's reach. A snap of a glance told me they had weight and size on their side, a year older than me at least a year. One with a broad face a heavy gut and sunken eyes – the same guy who'd won a spelling competition a few months back. The other, thinner, with bony cheeks. He had a hand in his pocket too. All three wore the same orange jersey.


Sponsored by Medhall.


"So, what do you say, brother?" His eye winked. His free hand hovered. His other held behind his back.


I'd be a fucking moron if some traitorous part of my mind didn't wonder if it'd make life easier for the bar. Heil a little. March a little. Pay lip service. Like going to Mass. You didn't have to give a fuck about God, just play along like the rest to keep up appearances, be part of the community, well respected in the village.


Get a nice Germanic cape name when Kaiser figured me out...Schroedinger or something.


The bubble in my brain burst. Clarity crashed back. Five better words followed.


"I got shit to do."


Nobody questioned it. Everybody saved face since everyone had shit to do. Two quick steps took me through a gap between them, walking away.


Just like that.


I tackled a problem like a sane and normal person, walked away, and felt bloody good about it too. My hand still clutched the tool in my pocket, in case they changed their minds. They talked as I Ieft.


"Told you the Mick wouldn't go for it."


"Yeah, but you see what he did to that slope last year?"


So that's why. You break one scumbag's skull and nobody ever forgets.


Adrenaline drove my body along in high gear all the way to morning physics class, burning for action. A fourteen hour day stood between me and the traditional 'First Night Out'. My mind spun through ideas, sketching things out in my copybook when I should've been drawing up experiments.


A shadow loomed over.


I looked up to be assaulted by the image of the absent minded professor with the grey, scraggling beard, tangled hair the colour of an Irish summer sky.


"What's this?"


"Electrical circuit," I answered.


Just drop it. He picked it up instead, grabbing the notebook without even asking. Nope. You're just a fucking kid. Nothing more. I'll do what I goddamned want in here in my own little domain.


"And the calculations?" He pushed, skimming through them, sketches of circuit diagrams and ideas. He leafed through the numbers, a page or two of calculations scribbled and scratched out before I remembered how to do it right. Of all the people who might have an idea, who might call the police.


Then came the questions. Then came the offer. What the fuck do I have to be the one the administration of Winslow gives a bollocks about?


Why not someone who actually needs it?


He eyed me up, grey eyes looking down on me through thick spectacles. "Dwell time on an inductance as function of the capacitance, am I right? Cycle time? What's this supposed to be? A weapon?"


The engineers among you can guess what I'm doing.


Trying not to laugh, for a start.


"Trying to build something for my da's bar. It's a level sensor."


I lied through my teeth and dared him to call me on it. I could see the thought go through his mind. Why so much voltage for a level sensor?


Don't worry, I had an answer for that. I had my Power. I had my way through.


The notepad dropped to my desk with a crack


"Well. At least try and give me the illusion of paying attention. And remember, unfortunately you're graded on your ability to remember this curriculum, not how to put any of this to any practical use in the real world."


He concluded I wasn't worth the effort.


Thankfully.


Another morning class dragged itself out into hours, my mind screaming along with the accelerator pinned to the floor. No second thoughts. Not one step back. The elastic in my brain cut and all the pent up energy and tension snapped into action.


Nobody told me to stop. Nobody cared. Girls babbled. Greg talked at Julia about Star Trek. The school walls greyed out. The world outside the barred windows rolled on, shining with colour.


Lunchtime arrived.


Nothing happened.


The note turned over in my fingers. Twelve hours until the cape went on and I couldn't think of anything else. It ballooned inside my skull, squeezing the world out.


Thinker 2. Tinker 1.



Maybe.


How in God's name did I guess that?


Another dreadful possibility loomed and I offered small thanks to myself for deleting my backups months ago.


"What's that?"


The voice shocked me out of it, a jolt running through my body as every nerve lit up on guard. It drained away in moment.


Damien had decided to join me, slapping his tray onto the table.


I could've killed him. I could've killed him again for sneaking up on me like that. Want to take a bet that he'd spent most of the day avoiding me just in case I snapped off?


Our eyes locked. I slid the note across the table and he picked it up.


The smile drained from his face. "That was waiting for me this morning in my locker,"


His jaw hinged open as he read it, the dawning realisation of just how bad he'd fucked me breaking across his features.


"Shit..." he breathed.


"She knows." Yep. You did that.


He fucked up. He knew. It stabbed him right to the chest. That's all the mattered. Now move on and get the fuck over it. The benefit of being an adult stuck in a teenager's body – sometimes I could almost make a passable impression of being a sensible human being.


His head napped around, snatching at glance at Emma as she came through the doors, then back to me.


"She's calling you out?"


"I don't know,"I said, scratching at my lunch with a plastic spork. "I'll figure it out when I get there."


Alright, and sometimes the impression fell apart.


"You're actually going?" He blinked. "It's probably a trap y'know."


He stabbed a slab of mystery-'meet' with his spork to make the point.


"It probably is." I gave a gallic shrug.


"Yeah. She's a complete power-tripper. She'll pin you down as the new villain on the block just to prove she can."


Yep.


"But I know her weakness."


"Water?" he snorted.


"Electricity." I grinned. "And I'm pretty good with the canned Thor."


"It's still fucking retarded when she has the backing of an entire organisation of heroes and the rule of law behind her. Between the Nazi's, the Asians, the Merchants – the most dangerous gang in this city is still the cops y'know."


"We have evidence." I took a bite, hoping he'd drop it.


"The school had evidence." he pushed, pointing a finger right at me.


A spark flickered in my mind. Finally, a reason, something good enough to justify to the rationalist weirdos out there.


Hah! I have a reason for doing this. You can't disagree with it.


"She's a power tripper, right? She'll do what she has to do to force me into it. At least I can go on my terms rather than being bounced into it."


Click. Another landmine realisation. Yep, you're fair game too y'know. She'll get to me through you. She'll do anything to you just to force me to fight.


"I just wanted to help," he muttered, deflating.


"You just summed up a million words."


I hated the look in his eyes. My Power had been right all along. Bloody idiot. My power crackled in the back of my mind, giggling to itself. Either I could go with the argument that shut him up and made him feel like shit, or I could get proved wrong.


Maybe> Maybe not? Maybe he needs to know anyway?


Fifteen seconds passed.


I ached to undo it, to make it go away. Sorry, too late. This ride's departed. Sit back. Enjoy. This happened because you wanted it to happen.


"I better buy a goddamn tazer or something," he said, eventually.


"I'm going to the Market after school to try find some parts."


"Yeah, alright."


We might as well have been going to his funeral.


--


So.


Scumbag points.


Who's keeping score so far?


I just racked up another one Weavering a friend like that. I mean, it has the beauty of seeming like a logical argument, doesn't it?


She knows who I am. She wants me to fight. She's going to do everything in her Power the fuck me up, fuck me over and force me into it whether I want to or not. She'll go after me. She'll go after the people I give a shit about to get to me.


So. Go on my terms. Go with an ace in the hole. Go when I'm strongest.


You might even have agreed with me all the way if I'd offered that up first.


Truth be told I don't even understand why myself.


I'm the person in the best place to know just why this is stupid. I know everything. I know on a rational level how stupid and near suicidal putting on the Cape in Brockton Bay is and I'm past suicide - way past it.


It's not some constructive suicide trip. Not on my part anyway.


Some spark deep inside, far below anything capable of having an intelligent idea insists on it.


It's what I want to do. What I've always wanted to do, what I nearly did months ago before common sense found its second wind and counter-attacked. I lied to myself to believe it. There, I said it out loud. I know it. Maybe you might've guessed, but I admit it.


I figured it out.


It was an act - a self-sacrificing white-knight I'm suffering for right rationalisation to prove to myself that I was doing 'The Right Thing', just because I was fucking scared. Driving Taylor home cracked the lock. Leviathan broke it off. Sophia kicked down the bloody door and left everything beyond naked to the world.


Just put on the cape and step through.


I know it's stupid. I know it's a bad idea. It's not rational, It's not sane. It's what it is. Whatever comes of it.


Fuck me.


How I sat through an entire school afternoon, then after-class detention without doing my best impression of a hamster in a microwave, I don't know.


--


I had a shopping list – capacitors, coils, contactor blocks, and some cable, among other things. In another world, Homeland Security hellfire drones would be winging their way to my neighbour's house as I searched. In Brockton Bay, you could buy anything at the Market without even raising so much as an eyebrow.


This world might be worth saving after all.


Someone explain to me how the world with Endbringers, Parahumans, Murderhobos Ashbeasts and Sleeper could, in some bent and fucked up way, seem more rational and less insane than mine.


"It's right back this way," Aki beckoned us through the crowds, snapping me out of it.


"You sure this is OK?" Damien looked at the group of men standing beside one of the stalls selling katsu curry chicken and ramen. My mouth watered at the smell of he food. It took me a few moments longer to spot their shirts.


Even in the market, the gangs lurked.


They eyeballed all three of us as we walked pass. My skin prickled.


"My Father knew Mister Ishimori in Nagasaki. He ran an electronics shop. I'll speak for you."


Aki led on. It's OK. I won't betray you. The idea simmered in the back of my mind, my hand never far from my tool.


My multitool you feckless rogues.


Okay, I'll admit I did have a bit of a thing for the denim skirt and zettai ryouki look she had going, especially with the black jacket hanging open to a taught green t-shirt.


She led us to a stand under a green awning


"This is a bad idea..." he said, into my ear. "You know...."


"Yeah. I figured it out."


He seemed to relax.


"Besides. We've an advantage," I added, with a smirk


His hand clutched tight around a new tazer in his pocket. Thanks for the vote of confidence.


Aki led us to a stand built around a dozen plastic bins filled with meticulously ordered electronic components. Not just capacitors, but whole phone PCB's, screens, batteries, chargers – a real Tinker's paradise.


Behind, a short, man in round shape, with bowl-cut black-hair and square-lensed glasses waited, the edge of his lips curling up.


So, definitely not going to overcharge me then.


"I will talk," aid Aki, stepping in front.


It's one thing to hear her speak with the softest hint of a Japanese accent in English, but an entirely different thing altogether to hear her go full bore in her native language. Her voice threw off the shackles of an imposed tongue, mutating her into a new person. Stronger, harder, more direct, speaking her true mind.


"Holy shit," said Damien, under his breath.


I thought the same, but not in so many words.


Aki stopped. The stall owner gazed at me, reading my mind. I met his gaze.


He gave me one and two fingers instead.


"Man Ni-hyaku dollar."


He answered in Japanese to keep me from arguing, and I knew it. His pronunciation of 'dollar' proved it. Guess he expected an ordinary American, unaware that a world existed beyond the two shining seas, and not a recovering weaboo who picked holiday destinations solely because his favourite anime had been set there. Aki opened her mouth to translate. I cut her off.


"Man Dollar..."


They were the first numbers I thought of. I think it was a flat thousand. The look of surprise on his face made it worth the effort. Yeah, I understood you.


"Man Hyaku."


"Deal."


I offered a handshake. He sucked a breath through his teeth. My hand pulled my wallet from my pocket. Damien's eyes saucered as I counted out the money.


Yeah.


For my troubles I became the proud owner of a duct-tape-wrapped box of potentially stolen electronics. A late night's work could turn it into something....useful.


Damien watched me slip my wallet back into my jeans pocket, his hand still resting on the bulge in his jacket. He didn't ask the question. I didn't answer it either.


Akiko bubbled her thanks to the stall owner, earning a warm thanks in return.


"So, half price, like I promise."


"Thanks," I said.


"Anything for a friend." She said it with a smile.


Paranoia bit deep in the pit of my stomach. Maybe she had another motive? I forced myself to trust her – against my better judgement, or against the whining of my backseat passenger, I'll leave that up to you.


Aki dived deep into bins of old computer parts, scavenging. Damien pecked at the pirate video nasties, lifting them from their racks, before slipping them back into place. I itched to go home and get working, my palms prickling with sweat.


Slow, deep breaths cooled my head. It didn't stop me from fidgeting when we found a spare park bench to sit and eat dinner. For the first time in months, I found it hard to eat.


"For once you aren't hungry.?


"It's six hours to my first cape-fight against an experienced ward."


Some encouragement would've been nice.


"You don't trust my plan?"


Sorry, Aki.


"I don't trust any plan that involves me being the only one risking my bollocks."


And I amn't about to jinx it by telling you what it is, either.


Damien chuckled. "My dad served as a REMF in 'nam. It's the family tradition."


"The fuck is a REMF?"


"A rear echelon motherfucker," he answered."Smart enough to keep around on base while the grunts go out in the shit."


"Someone has to run the server," said Akiko.


"And the other two have shit to do." I groused.


"Dude, you got the Power," he said. "Besides, if she beats your ass, she won't have any reason to bother us anymore. That's why you're doing this, remember?"


Hoisted by my own petard. Fuck sake.


"This whole situation's fucked up."


"Not my fault."


"Nobody's fault," I said. Technically mine for not telling Hess to fuck off on day one, but so it goes. Technically his for blowing my cover, but so it goes. Nothing could change what happened now.


Damien's gaze accused. "We got no choice but to stick together," he said.


Nobody said much after that. Reality bit down hard.


Steel coloured clouds hung overhead, pressing us down. Only Akiko really ate, but even she just picked at things. A bite here, a bite there, but nothing more. Half a box of chicken went into nearest bin, food for the homeless or the seagulls.


We walked together to the bus, kicking at stones and cans.


The spark had gone, Damien said it. The silence proved it. Not today, not tomorrow but soon enough. We'd fall apart, going our separate ways over time until eventually, without realising it, we'd stopped being friends and just become people we used to know. Or I got burned, birdcaged or broken by the PRT PR department.


Fuck. I kicked a stone into the road, bouncing it off someone's parked Buick.


"It might've been easier if I hadn't told anyone."


They both looked at me. Aki shrugged.


"You want to know what?" said Damien, sitting on the bustop bench supporting himself with his elbows on his knees. He looked down at the tarmac before looking up at me. "You know what I thought when you told me?"


I pushed forward, looking out into the street, rather than right at him. "I'm scared to know."


My Power rose to the surface. I made it wait.


"I thought, if I had Powers, at least I know I'd have a certain job. Isn't that weird?"


Aki watched, leant against the bus-stop with her legs crossed, making a show of obviously not listening, just as I obviously didn't appreciate how cute she could be in a denim miniskirt with thigh-hugging dark tights.


"Well..." pushed Damien.


"I think you just made the best argument ever for joining the Protectorate," I said, with a shrug.


"So why have you not done that yet?"


"It'd be a job for life sure, but........."


The laughter started. What I'm about to say. What I'm about to do. Fighting Wards and Endbringers. A job for life, sure.


"What's so funny," she asked.


"Nothing, really."


Well. Maybe not entirely poisoned.


I'd end up a Ward, probably. But I'd go kicking and screaming the whole way in.


--


My bedroom stank of hot electronics, sweaty teenager, wet dog and cold stew.


I sat on my bed, all fingers and thumbs trying to get the last few cable connections to mate. Wiring things up to work on a bench, that's easy. Wiring things to work as part of clothing that has to be taken on, taken off, and tolerate being bounced around in a fight, that's hard.


Doing that and having it all work first time?


Maybe I did earn a Tinker rating.


I knew how to build it, even if I couldn't always translate that to my fingertips.


Aki clattered away at her laptop – a sleek black model set up beside my clunky desktop - making a desperate attempt to ignore the dog snuffling at her feet, hungry for the dregs in the bowl.


Archie yapped for attention. Aki bolted rigid in her seat, staring at the dog, tethered to the desk by a static-strap, pinned by a locked door, with no option but a bloody fight to the death against razor-sharp fangs, gleaming for blood.


[Destination?]


[Agreement]


[Infestation?]


[Agreement]


[Insinuation?]


[Nah Fuck it. Couldn't be arsed.... ]


An open door and a stomp of a boot on the floor encouraged the mutt out before trigger warning turned into Trigger Event. Probably not.


Never, I hope.


"Thank you," she breathed, grounding the panic through the desk.


Damien watched, sitting with his back against the window at the other end of the room, glancing at us both, looking like the lost orphan that didn't get let in on the joke.


Don't worry, you'll get it soon enough if you stick around.


"Is it ready?" he asked.


"Unh," Akiko nodded, remembering herself. "I need to test it first. You mind, Ian?"


"Sure. Just delete it afterwards,"


"What, you don't trust me?"


Her eyes glimmered with feigned pain.


You can call me a gobshite for it, but I forced myself to trust her. At least until I wiped the drive and re-flashed the BIOS. She gave us both the explanation, getting deep into the intricacies of a JVM vulnerability.


Maybe she did trigger earlier.


She had a true Thinker grin on her face, mouth motoring on oblivious to the fact that the audience had long since stopped following somewhere between the towns of Lost Comprehension and Apathy.


She finished with a flurry of keys."…and now I can see anything on the PC's harddrive, all the browser history, passwords…."


"Yeah, now stop."


"But I am so Leet!"


Wow. She actually said that without a hint of irony.


Damien leered. "Hey, what porn's he searching?"


Click-Click. "Hmmmm…."


My power triggered in a panic.


My boot kicked the PC's plug out of the socket before she triggered the Trojan.


"Hey!" she snapped at me.


"It worked. Trust me," I held my hands up.


Her head turned to me, then to the blank screen "But I never….even…"


She trailed off, realising how I knew.


"That's creepy," Damien muttered.


"Powers are,' I said.


"That Basketball game the other day? Was that your Power?"


And stupid, in hindsight, with a Ward watching.


"Yep," I nodded.


"Devil's Night?"


Or, how we avoided having a hell of a night ruined by a lurking cop ready to slap on a few tasty misdemeanours.


"Yep,"


"That guy you nearly killed?"


"Yep,"


"Shit," he said. "So what's it feel like?"


"It's like....." A hard fucking question to answer. Like asking what it's like to have a left hand. It screwed over in my mind, my hand clasping and releasing as I tried to find the right words. His eyes begged for an answer, pinning me under the spotlight.


"It's like a live wire humming in the back of my mind, plugged in to an abyss of energy the size of a planet, and every time I trigger it, it takes the smallest zap."


"I can't even imagine that," he breathed. "But thanks."


I'll admit, I liked being in the spotlight a little, being the one on the pedestal. It sparked off the ego and set it burning, to be something other, to be something with that little extra edge.


It thrilled in my body as I flexed the Power in my mind, feeling it crawl across my skin and down through my bones.


"So, how does it feel being normal, with no Power messing with your head?"


A wry grin twisted my lips.


"I can run away from fights, still use common sense…." He shrugged. "Enh, it has its ups and downs,"


"It never really seemed like that to me."


"Lucky you," said Aki, reminding us both that she'd been listening.


"Maybe..." I sat with my elbow on my knee.


The strangest thing about having a Power? Maybe it's just me, or maybe nobody else really noticed it or decided to think about it a way worth writing about, or sharing with the audience.


You just can't imagine life without it. It's as normal as your right arm, like you've had it all your life, but never used it.


Fuck me I hope I didn't just foreshadow something there.


A sharp crack and the acrid scent of escaping blue smoke snapped my mind back to what I'd been doing.


Two pairs of eyes stared at me. You didn't just blow that, did you? Knowing I had a Power that helped what that sort of shit brought out the biggest pair of shit-eating grins I'd ever seen.


My Power spared a few hundred dollars worth of mobile phone motherboard from dying a second time. I'd forgotten to adjust the power supply to something the board could swallow.


A turn of a screw, a flick of a switch and white light shone up from the remnants of the keypad.


"It lives!" I hissed between my teeth, looming over the board.


Aki giggled. She got it. Programmer or engineer – that Frankenstein moment when the system finally came to life and became a working thing always thrilled. The spark of creation, the engine of innovation.


The culmination of the Tao of Scotty.


A screen suspended over one of the goggle lenses turned opaque white. Another one set into the left glove beside the keypad showed the Nokia logo. Chimes tingled in the earpiece inside the helmet. Cables ran to a mic inside the facemask, another hidden in one of the filters, just beneath the surface. A tan ribbon led down from the phone's camera desoldered, re-cabled, then tucked in behind the other lens.


Care to guess what's been planned yet?


"Ready to test the uplink?" Aki asked, bubbling in her chair.


"We have about four gig on the sim, right?"


"Unh," she nodded. "4 hours at that bitrate."


"Right, right."


Load the program. Log in to a brand new Streamster account, broadcast, then wait. A black screen showed on Aki's computer, waiting for the livestream.


"Signal in here's shite," I murmured, checking the display. 1 Bar. Maybe.


The laptop echoed my words, chattering blocks of colour coalescing into a choppy video filled with glaring lights and a Japanese girl with her jaw hanging open, gazing at herself onscreen, gazing at herself onscreen.


"Yatta! It works!"


The dog answered from outside with a bark. A spasm bolted through her body, stunning her enthusiasm dead.


Damien sat up. "It actually worked?"


"Oh ye of little faith," I said with a grin, aiming the helmet at him.


He shielded his face with his elbow. "Dude, no."


The alarm on my watch chimed. On hour to midnight.


Nobody said a word. We traded glances, waiting for the silence to break. Something that'd almost started as a game just transformed into something real, exceeding our minds, becoming something solid.


I am really going out there, in costume, to fight against a fucking Ward with a no-holds-barred brand and the attitude to back it up.


Every muscle in my body begged to go. Every shred of common sense begged me to stop. My heart drummed in my chest, driving me forward.


This could end so badly and I knew it. It hurt to know it.


To see it coming.


I couldn't stop myself.


What would they think if I stopped now? When happens when Sophia tries to push me into it? A thousand and one justifications rushed forward and smothered my qualms, leaving them writhing in the pit of my stomach.


Did Taylor feel like this?


Did anyone?


Banging like a hammer in my head, begging me to go.


"Let's do it."


"Man," Damien breathed, face turning pale. "Whatever happens out there. Good Luck."


"Thanks."


Aiko said nothing, the expression on her face a confused muddle of pain and concern, and relief that she got to be the one safe at home.


We snuck passed the mammy, carrying everything in sports bags to the lift. Nobody said a word on the ride up.


Cold air greeted on the roof, the Brockton night crisp and fresh. My mind rolled through the last time I'd been up there – the night I got my Power.


That falling sensation rushed up, roaring in my ears, my Power thrilling in the back of my mind.


No. No backing down. No cold feet. This is happening.


My riding leathers made a good base, something lightweight and flexible, that could take a beating, tolerate a hard landing and, most importantly, zip together to keep bugs out. A kevlar military helmet with an added flare at the neck kept my head safe. A green poncho would keep the water off the power boxes. Sorting out the manoeuvre gear took longer, getting it properly balanced, strapped up and ready to run. Two fresh batteries brought it to life for the first time in months. Relays chattered. Motors whined. The display in the lens came to life, overlaying the world with white terminator-text before settling on a chat window.


Both blades touched. Lightning arc'd, shedding firefly sparks from the steel. The scent of rust and ozone filtered through the mask, battery gauges on my glove twitching.


Hot energy flooded my body a kick of adrenaline snapping me wide awake as I nestled my helmet into place. They spoke, I answered on autopilot, not really minding. I forgot what they said a moment later, washed from my mind.


A hundred visions ran through my mind of how this could go. Most ended badly. It'd hurt sure, but I'd win tomorrow.


Akiko snapped a photograph, showing it to me.


Hands on both triggers, blunt blades locked into the trigger handles, cables running to the harness under the poncho.


"Holy shit," I breathed.


That's me. That's who I am. That's a real fucking cape in the picture and not some moron in riding leathers with a half-assed cosplay.


I am not a pretender.


I transformed. In a real, tangible way, I became something else.


Not a costume.


Not a congoer.


But a genuine cape.


For better or worse.


This is going to fucking hurt. Whatever happens, at least I can say I did it.


All I had to do was step up to the parapet, and jump. My Power would help me figure out the rest along the way.


When Jack Slash is dead at my feet and I'm barking orders at a traumatised Bonesaw while taking my rightful and bloody place as the new leader of the Slaughterhouse 9, you can look back at this moment and go 'heh'.


--


Wind roared in my ears.

Whining motors wound me forward.

Ammeters on my wrist twitched.

Petons snapped back into their launchers, jolting the motors.

Pain thrummed through my legs.

Soaring.

Swinging.

Riding a ballistic trajectory along the street.

My stomach hung at apex.

Feet forward.

The roof rose up.

My feet touched concrete at a running speed, a jolt running up through my bones. I stumbled, running forward to catch myself, arms forward to stop the fall.

A whirring air-conditioner condenser did the job for me, clattering against the left spool, digging into my ribs.

Third time lucky so. A scrappy landing, but no broken bones or twisted ankles, just another ache in my chest where the corner of the condenser had jabbed.

I called it a pass, just to keep moving.

A moment's rest let me catch my breath, building the nerve to go again. My batteries still had a good charge. The phone found a good signal from a nearby mast. My legs had taken the worst of it, but I could, as they say, deal.

I walked to the parapet, picking my route across the street to apartment block on the far side. A few steps back gave me a runup. My heart stopped as I jumped, ten stories above hard concrete.

The ground rushed up.

I aimed my body.

A twitch on the triggers fired both petons.

Motors whined as they spooled out cable under power, keeping the weight off the flying peton.

Both latched onto glass, van-der-waals forces locking them in place.

Flicking two switches reversed the spools. A jerk at my waist pulled me forward, turning an accelerating fall into a turning swing.

I forced myself to look at my target, ignoring the traffic flashing below. Don't look at what you don't want to hit.

A camera strobed.

Caught.

Fuck.

Fuck it anyway I'm in costume.

Leaning into the strap pulled me away from the wall, a thumbed adjustment to the motors turning me parallel to the street.

Full power pulled me upwards, swinging up in a tight arc into the vertical, accelerating under electric power.

Two red switches released the petons, spools revving up with a shriek.

Momentum carried my body in what could almost pass as a graceful arc to a position barely a meter above the building roof.

For the first time, I landed on the first try.

My legs hated me for it. Pain shot up from my ankles, ringing in my knees.

I pushed on, too focused on the basic practicality of moving to think about anything else.

With a few weeks dedicated practice, some parkour lessons from a good traceur and maybe a new pair of legs from a random act of Panacea, I could see myself actually achieving a fluid rhythm with the gear.

On my first night out it took five hours to make the half hour journey.

I leave it up to yourself to do the sums.

Five. Bloody. Hours.

Barely able to walk, I chanced a few minutes rest, pacing slowly to keep muscle from going stiff. Every step crushed my knees in a vice.

I could take it. My legs couldn't, but I could.

Pacing the roof gave me time to think, time to clear my head. Ideas sparkled in my mind, little hints of ways that my gear could be improved. Step one, something to take the shock of landing and running off my legs…

Maybe another time.

The phone rang in my ear. Step 2 on the road to heroism, get Solid Snake's codec as a ringtone.

"Akiko…" I said.

"You made it," her voice answered. "That looked awesome."

Of course it did, she got the edited version where everything went right first time, rather than the other four and a half hours left on time's cutting room floor.

"Yeah,' I breathed, my voice pulling tight as another lightning pain shot up my leg.

I pushed myself to keep walking, step by step.

"Anything on the scanner?"

"No police," she said.

Good.

"Nothing to do but wait then."

"Call's messing with the stream, hang up."

'Right, right."

Nothing to to but wait. And wait.

And watch the clock grind past midnight, second by second. Breath by breath. Heartbeat by heartbeat. My mouth parched. My body soaked. My legs ached. My mind spun through possibilities.

How do I fight her?

Why am I really doing this?

I shook it off. Down that road lay madness. I'm doing it because if I don't, Sophia'll force me. She'll take it out on my friends. Now I've backup. I've friends. I'm going into this with open eyes and…

Wham!

It bolts through my knee, kicking me off my feet with a scream of pain that cut through the knee. Landing hard on metal, I catch myself with both hands having just enough presence of mind to look for where the attack had come from.

A body, formed in black, silhouetted by red light, aiming at me.

That was quick. I used to be a cape too, but then I took an arrow to the knee….

My power triggered and I spun to face he. Something popped in my knee, a bite of pain shooting up the muscle. I stepped through it, swallowing it down. The glint of an arrowhead drew my eyes to the crossbow aimed at where I had been standing.

She stood there, a human whisp of smoke backlit by the neon glow of a Budweiser ad. The light filtered through the particles of her body, shimmering as she stepped forward. A shadow coalesced on the rooftop, expanding from her feet as her body turned solid, reaching forward to touch me.

That randian sneer turned to face me

'I knew it," the mask hissed."Precog, huh? Some sort of spider-sense?"

My Power gave me some headspace to think, to come up with something better than 'You shot me', something that didn't give too much away.

"You read comics?"

No answer.

She stepped to the side, making to circle around, her steps singular and tense, giving a moment to pounce between each. The crossbow aimed at my mask. Energy crackled across the back of my neck, begging to turn and run. Muscles in my body pulled tight, asking to fight.

I stood my ground. Running gives the predator what they want. It triggers the instinct and starts the chase.

"You going to shoot me?"

The mask's expressing didn't change. Reset. Try again. Something that gives me more control.

She circled. She raised her crossbow. Again I raised my blade to guard, Again. We've done that all before, even if she aimed at my chest rather than my face.

"You going to try shoot me?"

"Not yet," she answered, her voice calm and even.

A threat?

Both blades sparked blue lightning off each other, a friendly reminder that I had options too.

She paused mid-stride, betraying a moment's hesitation. I saw the thought. 'He could hurt me with those'.

She could be faster. She had range. But I could dodge. She had the energy advantage, but I had the awareness. She had the backup, I had video evidence. She had skill, I had size.

I had a weapon that'd fucking damage her if I took the chance and made it stick. And she knew I'd take it too. The blades might be blunt pieces of steel, but enough weight moving fast enough against the tip would deal some bloody pain.

She'd probably win the fight. I just had to make the risk of losing high enough to not make it worth the effort. You might be the predator, the panther circling around, but this fucking bull's got horns big enough to hurt if you fuck it up. Ones I haven't even shown her yet.

I'm missing something, amn't I?

I held one blade across my body, with another in-front, aimed at her. She circled, keeping her crossbow between myself and her body. I put a blade between myself and her, stepping forward. The other held by my side, ready for a follow through.

"What do you want?"

"Same thing you do."

It sounded like an accusation.

"I doubt that,"

"No. I'm right," she said. The mask hid the smirk I could hear on her lips. "You wouldn't be here in costume if you didn't want it. You wouldn't have hurt yourself to get here…"

The crossbow aimed at my knee. I put the other leg front of it.

"You're going to have to fill me in,"

I played dumb.

"You're the genius, you figure it out."

Fuck's sake.

"I thought you were trying to trap me. Stitch me up as the newest villain in town."

"I thought about it," she said, her voice dangling the possibility that maybe she's still thinking about it. "But they'd just suck you into the Wards anyway and then they'd either brainwash it out of you in San Diego, or stick you in some shithole like Madison where you won't cause trouble. That'd be a waste."

Didn't tell me anything.

My Power set me back. The crossbow aimed at my knee. She doesn't want me in the Wards. She doesn't want to frame me either – she wanted something about me…

Plink. The penny dropped.

'You want to work with me?"

"Got it in one,"

She almost sounded impressed.

"Why?"

"Because of all the rogues in this city, you're the only one who really gets it."

"What the fuck is it?" I snapped at her.

"What it means to be a survivor. To stand up and fight for the last breath, no holds barred. Real life or death. You or him. I saw it, in your eyes."

My blood chilled. She knew…

"When you get right down to it, none of the Wards will do that. Too concerned about public opinion to do what needs to be done."

Something rang deep inside me. I snorted it down, borrowing a Tattletale-line from an old fanfic I remembered. "Did you have the snail dream too?"

Her head turned. "Snail dream?"

"I saw a Snail, crawling along the edge of a straight razor. This is my dream. This is my nightmare. Crawling along the edge of a straight razor, and surviving."

"If you actually read biology, you'd know the snail doesn't care. It can deal."

Somebody's not a fan of the classics, then. Even after I went through all the trouble of matching Brando's delivery. I folded my arms.

"Answer's No."

Because seriously, that's the answer I'm supposed to give, isn't it?

"And why not?"

As if it'd be the most natural thing in the world.

Shouldn't it be obvious? I mean really?

"Because I trust you about as far as I can throw you, that's why."

"Shame," she shrugged her shoulders. "This is your one shot at freedom. Work well enough as a rogue, the protectorate'll leave you alone. None of the pretence. None of the bullshit. Just the freedom to act. Or you wait and let them catch up to you and become some marketer's toy, a stuffed man with no mind of your own."

She struck me to the core and I knew….

There it sat, all served up on a plate like roomservice, exactly what I wanted. All I had to do was say yes.

My heart stopped. Something felt wrong, right at the back of my mind, a warning screamed. A sick feeling in my stomach. A feeling of rats crawling across my skin.

Sophia's the enemy. Sophia's everything we hate. The apotheosis of a fandom's impotent fury and desire to do something to help a fictional character as penance for all the times we turned our backs on real ones.

Yeah, I went there.

So….

…when Sophia bloody Hess turns around treats you as an equal, maybe it's time to take a look in a mirror and ask what the fuck you've done wrong with your life.

When the shit she says makes a horrible sort of sense…when it resonates in your soul and finds some sort of home in your bones that has you listening. I know I'm supposed to disagree with her. I'm supposed to turn around and spit in the face, and turn my nose up and be the good person, But…

I needed space.

Time to get my head straight.

More than I'd get from fifteen seconds glaring at that sneering mask waiting for the answer to her offer.

An offer I couldn't refuse. The reason I came still stood She'd push me into it if I didn't say yes. I'd pave the first flagstone to hell if I did.

Time for a third option. A single step and a shot of pain up the bone gave it to me. Turn it back, make it her fault.

"Dealing with this bollocks fucked my legs and you know it."

Your fault, not mine. You fucked your own golden goose. I would've done it if you hadn't hurt me.

The mask considered. I held my blade, daring her to attack. She stepped forward. I stood my ground. The moment she'd moved, I'd step-back and hit first.

The crossbow aimed. I braced.

She took a step back

"I don't need a lame duck slowing me down." Shadow Stalker scorned. "Offer stays open until your legs heal up, or you fuck something up on your own and get swallowed by the Protectorate."

Her body faded out with each step away, crossbow still aim at my face until nothing but a faint whisp remained, a vaporous ghost fading out like a double-exposure on an old film camera.

The phantom launched into the air, vanishing into the afterglow of the city lights.

I waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips. The phone's chime broke the silence in my head. A button-press answered the call.

"Wow," Akiko's voice said.

"You heard that?"

"Yes."

"Fucked up, huh?"

"Yes."

"I wish it was a fucking fight she wanted."

She groaned. "Now we will get no subscriptions."

What?

I growled through the mic. "So, the secret's out,"

"Nyah~…."

"I'm going fucking home,"

"Buses have stopped."

"Fuck sake,"

Well, I'd walked kilometres on a hurt leg before so what the fuck, I could do it again. I needed the time.

"My apartment is closer," she suggested. "And my parents are away."

Score! The pain in my legs retreated. Standing up again brought it back with a vengeance, grinding to the bone as muscled pulled.

One step convinced me I wouldn't be using the manoeuvre gear to do more than get down off the roof.

Nobody saw me do a reverse-batman down the wall, thankfully. Step by step, feeding the cable out, riding the spool-motors the entire way down. The scent of hot plastic filtered through the mask, motor windings slow-cooking themselves.

Each step shot stabs and jabs up through my legs, bolting up my back. My panting breath accompanied each step, forcing myself to keep moving. I'd done it before.

I could do it again. No big deal.

One foot in front of the other. Step by step, black cold concrete passing underfoot.

Tapping that memory tapped everything that came with it. The hunger. The dread. The desperation. The reminder that objects in the rear view mirror were always closer than they appeared.

You or him, she said.

Him….

The image of that man, tired grey eyes fixed on the brown bags I carried. The sensation of his hands grasping at my jacket, reaching for the rations, begging, attacking, pleading. A pang of hunger bites deep and I'm just so hungry and so is everyone else and I can't stand the idea of being this hungry anymore and I want him to just fuck off and leave me alone and in a thrill of panic it just happens.

My arms swing. I hear the crack of a man's temple and feel the shock run up my arm. The body drops dead to the ground with a meaty thump, pink blood trickling from his nose. One last breath rattles through the lips and then…

Nothing.

I killed him. Dead as disco in one shot. Either the concrete or the hurley, it didn't matter. One of them did it for him. One moment there and starving the next, dead and nothing. Stilled. Face down on the footpath. Glass eyes stared at their own reflection as my soul chilled, the realisation settling in like winter frost.

Cold and slow, clinging on in the shadow. A desolate sensation bigger than my mind, but concentrated in my body, rippling through every muscle and leaving me sick.

Not quite regret.

I don't regret surviving.

Not quite joy.

I amn't glad I killed him.

I still don't know. Can it be both? What do you think?

How I felt didn't change the fact. I killed him. I did that.

In the dark, that's who I am.

He died.

I lived with that.

Sophia Hess saw it. She saw me in the dark and liked it. On some level, Sophia had the ugly measure of me.

How fucked up is that?

I could see my final destination. It'd happen in a flash – a moment's panic with my back against the wall.

Trapped by time.

Trapped by circumstance.

Another bloody case of Skitter syndrome.

Alright. I can deal with that. Can I?

I think you're laughing. You're right too. Really, being sober, one option remained.

Salvation sat in the bay, lit up with shining searchlights reaching for the heavens screaming join the Protectorate you fucking gobshite rather than take the retarded edgelord route.

Get your shit together and go.

But when you look out over the black water of the bay and see that rig sitting there, light up as paragon of a steel Christmas tree, glimmering with manicured hope and feel nothing but sick?

You think of being hollowed out.

Being stuffed with a marketer's branding.

Being ground against the media schedule; look good, keep up the image, be the shining paragon of hero for all the little kiddies, now, go stop Lung. Of having to work with Sophia and treat her like human being. Being close to people who might figure out my little secret.

What would you do?

That's not for me.

That's fucking terrifying.

What sane person wants to be a celebrity? A celebrity with a chance of death and dismemberment every Thursday night. Bugs. Bombs. Behemoth.

Standing in the drizzle, I see my reflection in a pool of water on the footpath. This is who I want to be. Who, or what that is I don't know but it feels right, right down through my bones. Fast, swift, striking, moving. Riding my Power like a motorcycle. Given time and practice, that's what I'd be.

Almost soaring. Free. Happy.

That's the heart of it, I think. Maybe you can understand?

So. That's my plan. Get some space. Think it through. Because right now I'm on the road to hell and I know it. And knowing's half the battle, right? Thanks Sophia. You kept me from going to a really stupid place.

A whooping cheer congratulated me from high above. Startled, I looked up to see the source – a heeled boot attached to a lithe, toned leg extending up a pair of white panties, accelerating towards my face.

Not again.

My Power triggered.

Fifteen seconds to impact. I already had a plan. My hands tightened on both grips, checking the blades were still locked in their sheath.

I focused myself on walking, trying to play dumb, listening for the attack. Moisture fogged the inside of my goggles, sweat trickling down the bridge of my nose. My footsteps counted out the seconds, adrenaline drowing out the pain in my knees.

I looked up, raising both blades across my face.

No panties?

She hit the road instead, fragments of concrete pattering off my jacket The dust cleared, revealing Glory Girl in all her majesty, crouched in the superhero pose with her fist drilled into tarmac.

I stood, awestruck, gazing as she drew herself up to her feet, long strides of toned legs carrying her inexorably towards me with the steady tak-tak of high-heels on tarmac. A shining white leotard clung to her body the way I desperately wanted to, cheerleader's skirt swaying with her hips as she stepped. Golden hair cascaded from her shoulders, shining white cape streaming behind her.

Crystal eyes fixed mine, staring through me.

I raised my blades, rooting myself to the ground. Fight back, my body urged. My heart raced. My trousers went taught. My feet moved. The wall behind drew closer.

"I got one name for you. Andrea Young. Ring a bell?"

Her voice hit like a slap.

My lips moved. "Who?"

"Don't play ignorant." She loomed, the world around her receding into the shade of her radiance. "An innocent college student. One of your boys beat her within an inch of her life this afternoon."

I blinked. "Huh?" Caught in the spotlight, it took a moment for the penny to drop. She couldn't have? "Do I look like a fucking Nazi?"

Dressed in black armoured leather, wearing a helmet with a flair over the neck, a pair of tinted goggles and a facemask with a filter on either side….

No, I see no resemblance. Do you?

Her arms folded across her chest.

"Yes."

Ahm…How many villains happened because some overzealous hero spotted a newbie who couldn't afford a shiny sparkly glam-metal costume or didn't like the idea of being the obvious target and decided to judge a book by its cover.

Some bloody cliché.

"Well……." Fixed in place by that steel eyed glare, my mind struggled to find the words, any words to convince.Every impulse screamed to just nod. Gears ground, but the thought slammed home. "I amn't alright!"

She leaned over. Looking for anything other than her iron gaze, my eyes fell down to the shadow between her breasts.

She pushed. "Then who the hell are you and what're you doing out here?"

Ah, a ward called me out here to fuck with me and waste my time and try start some fucked up Frank Castle vigilante yoke. I wanna be a hero. I want to fight. I stopped dead, mind firing blanks, looping through ideas. Words died on my lips as she loomed large above me, crushing me down with awesome power.

"You going to say something?"

Eventually. Whenever my mouth stopped goldfishing for something to say. When the truth won't be believed, maybe a half assed lie.

My lips moved.

"I built some stuff, came out to test it and hurt my leg," I said, my voice gaining strength "I'm walking home because the bleeding busses don't start until four!"

"Oh…." She broke the spell, despite not taking a step, giving my mind more space to work "So why'd you try fight back then?"

"Because I had no idea who the fuck you where!" I barked.

She blinked owlishly.

"Oops," she smirked, feigning shame while not really being sorry. My fault for not caring what I looked like, not hers for jumping to the wrong conclusion. "Tell you what .To make it up to you I'll call my sister, she'll fix your legs."

Wait.

Wow.

…"Thanks."

I guess. What else could I say?

What am I supposed to say? I stood, transfixed as she fetched a mobile from her belt pack, flicking it open. She pinned it between slender shoulder and delicate neck, waiting for it to wring though.

"Hey sis. Yeah, it's me….. I need your help.."

A pause. She flinched.

"No, no… I missed this time." Glory Girl almost sounded sheepish."This one's actually a new hero on his first night out. He hurt his leg."

My nerves fizzled. She called me a hero.

"Well it's not my fault. He looked like a Nazi,"

"Hey," I protested. She held up a hand. Shush!

One arm went to her hips. "No I did not have a blonde moment. He totally asked for it dressing like that"

She scowled.

"That's a completely false parallel and you know it."

An exasperated sigh.

"Fine. Next time, I promise."

The phone clasped shut in her hand and she returned it to her pocket.

"See. Told you. Sorted."

Wow.

…"Thanks."

I guess. What else could I say? Even the chance of having the pain in my knees just vanish after a whole year of living. It went beyond excitement and straight through to disbelief.

One single thought filtered through.

How would I explain that to my parents?You're not half crippled anymore, how'd that happen?

Glory Girl broke into my thoughts. "So what's your Power anyway?"

"Thinker," I said, without thinking.

She smirked. "I can see that. Manoeuvre?"

Now, I hate to explain the joke but I realise not many of you would have the worldly experience to know this. An important thing you need to know about my native accent is that it has an atrocious habit of making 'th' sound like a hard 't', tree, sound like three.

So, she probably heard 'Tinker'

"Yeah," I nodded, knocking on the metal of the spool.

She paced around, body racing to fight. "Still don't know how you managed to see me coming I was coming in wicked fast over your shoulder…"

A sour look from her burned, like I'd hacked the game on her. Smirking inside my mask, I kept stumm.

"Still don't know how you knew I knew."

Her eyes zoomed in.

"You had a limp." A finger pointed at my leg. "Then you didn't, right after you grabbed both handles. Figured they were a weapon of some sort and you were trying to hide that you spotted me by playing cool."

"Shit,"

You sure she's a blonde?

"Yeah, that's experience."

Her chest swelled with pride. She figured that all out just by watching me? Glory Girl'd been doing this for years, of course she knew. Amazing,

"Fuck," I said, feeling like I'd shrunk on the spot.

The phone chimed in my ear. I cancelled the call. It chimed again. I cancelled again. A text message chirped up onto the screen

:: Sugoi Sugoi…. Ne.

Glory Girl's head snapped around. Dread rolled up inside me. "What's that?"

The phone chirped again.

::Busted

My hand covered the screen. Tension rippled through my body, bracing for the hit. She could cartwheel a skip with a half-hearted kick and I knew it.

"I amn't an idiot." I ground through gritted teeth. My hands tended towards the blade handles. I caught them, getting a handle on myself. "I have a livestream camera feed going in my helmet in case something went wrong, so someone could call the Protectorate. You've a fan"

The smile came out forced. Her aura dimmed, easing the pressure.

"Hmmm…."She inspected me, looking for obvious lenses or cameras. I stepped back. So this is going on the internet?"

I shrugged., failing to look her in the eye "Wasn't planning on it."

"Too bad, …"

Another chirp brought a new message on screen.

::It is. It will now.

"You want it?"

"Sure, tag along and take some video of us nailing some Nazis"

::Sugoi [][][][][]….

The phone couldn't display the rest.

She paced between the pools of orange light thrown down by the streetlights. I sat on a bollard in the shade, ignoring the shooting pain in my knee. Gone, just like that, all I had to do was wait.

A signing bonus for the good guys? I flexed my knee. Bones ground. Tendons screamed. It hurt so much more than it ever had before, getting its last licks in before being erased for good.

Panacea emerged from the shadows of a side-street, face shaded by the cowl of her nurses habit. She kept to the dark, lurking behind the radiance of her sister.

"What kept you?" Glory Girl asked, sounded almost exhasperated.

"The homeless," she sighed, slipping around her sister. She took one look at me, sizing me up. I tried to stand straight. "I see what you mean."

"I don't look like a fucking Nazi!"

She shrugged. "Yeah. You sort of do."

Glory Girl giggled.

"Fuck's sake."

Panacea's tired eyes just glared. Heavy bags hung beneath, adding years to her face. "Just give me your hand,"

Tentatively, I pulled my sleeve back,

"Do I have your permission to heal you?"

A lump crawled up the back of my throat.

"Please,"

Sure, she only ever turned people into her willing lesbian love slaves in that one fanfic. Panacea's fingers brushed like a live wire, energy pulsing through my whole body at once. My Power died, leaving me naked against whatever she decided to do. Tendrils of energy numbed my arm, a thrill of terror rising up as her grip firmed, spreading through my body.

Instincts begged to fight. The world shrunk away. Glory Girl went dark. Nothing remained but Panacea and me, her mind crawling over every atom of my body.

Pinpricks danced through my knees. Panacea's jaw hinged open.

"How are you still walking?"

A nervous smile came to my lips. "One foot in front of the other, one at a time,"

Her head slowly shook. My phone chimed another message. It went unread. My knees bubbled, cords of Power tracing up and down muscles, centipedes skittering through my veins.

A gasp rose through my throat. The connection broke. Exhilarating sensation crashed back.

Then…

Nothing but the sound of my own gasping breath inside my facemask.

"That should undo the worst of it," she said, not even looking up at me."It's better to heal the rest of the way naturally, or the limp will stay."

I swallowed, hinging my knee. Stiff, tight, like I'd just spent the last hour sat on the toilet reading fanfic on my phone, but pain-free. Nothing

"Thanks."

Panacea said nothing, looking up to her Sister, rather than bothering to listen to me. For her it was Thursday. Glory Girl stepped forward, growing in stature as she took another breath.

"Now we're supposed to give you the speech about accountability, the value of heroism and doing the Right Thing and then offer to join, but I think it's better to just go beat up some bad guys instead."

That broad, shining grin on her face couple with the spark in her ice-blue eyes drew me in. I could barely nod.

Both hands went to her hips. "So what do we call you anyway?"

Ahm. Cape names are hard. Under the spotlight,my mind came up blank, offering my own name first before realising just how stupid that'd be. My hands clenched both throttles. Pulled deep from the depths of my arse the answer emerged…. Sie sind das essen, wir sind die….

"Jaeger?"

I liked it immediately.

Glory Girl rolled her eyes. "Again with the Nazi,"

"You put it into my bloody head!" I snapped.

Her broad shoulders shrugged. "It suits for tonight."

Panacea said something, lost behind her sister. I paced, trialling my new legs, bouncing, jumping, shocking the knees, just to make sure.

A quick jog across the street, then back again, did nothing. No pain. No grinding. No aches. No bruises.

The laughter didn't stop, half manic, half insane, almost giggling inside the mask. No black mark on my soul. No dark bargains. Just one spark of good luck that made putting on the costume worth everything.

All copacetic, like, as the locals say.

Life's not all naval-gazing, self-deception and edgelord bollocks. Sometimes good things happen.

"So, Jaeger, let me fill you in…."

My cape-name.

The mask hid the stupid grin I wore.

--



--

Just following Glory Girl made everything worthwhile.

Mind, body and soul sang in harmony, the last year of my life drifting from my back as I swung through the streets. None of it mattered. The stress, the doubt…

I should've done this sooner.

Building to building, building confidence each time, hours of trial and error reduced by my Power to moments. Another swing ended with a bone-crunching thump.

My Power left only the ghosts of pain behind, carrying me up to next roof. Fresh legs carried me across to the next parapet, leaping into free space.

::Wer u goin?

I looked up at Glory Girl making graceful weaves through the sky.

"Following that arse."

A draught of a sea breeze filtered through my mask, tickling inside my nostril leaving the trace of salt on my mouth. Sweat tickled down my forehead, prickling at my nose, crawling down my neck.

::700mb

Otherwise known as hurry the fuck up. Four hours me arse, it had taken fifteen minutes to eat through it all.

"Yeah, Yeah,"

At least I won't have to worry about stumbling across Lung or something.

Another swing brought me crashing through the roof of the old Redmond Welding building, dropping into the gloom with a heartstopping scream. Shards of rust followed me into the black, my Power triggering in terror before the final splatter.

My second attempt clattered my body onto the apex of the roof, adrenaline echoes ringing. A moment's pause let me catch my breath and plan. Rust had eaten the lower levels into steel swiss cheese, but the top of the roof above the loft had been shielded from the sea air by the bleached-pink sign looming over. Unlike the faded reminder of the city's former glory, it almost looked new.

Dogs barked in the distance. My panting breath drowned them out. My heart drilled through my chest. Every part of me would hurt in the morning. No part of me cared.

My feet rattled the galvanised steel sheets, carrying me over the loft to the far end of the building.

I launched.

Petons latched onto the building opposite.

A fat bug cracked its guts across my goggles, followed by a second, then a third. Something pattered against my shoulder, buzzed in my ear. I didn't swat, aiming for the building head.

A clean landing kept my momentum, kept me running.

The hulk of an old chiller gave me cover to take my goggles off and clear the guts off with the back of my glove.

::ew.

"Yeah. Downside of moving fast."

Tipping my facemask up drained the worst of the sweat, a few wipes cleaning the worst of it.

::No. Roaches

Shit.

Crawling out from the guts from the machine. Swarming. Skittering.

Shit. Shit. Shit

She's near. Haunting.

"Me and my bloody mind," I growled, fumbling with my goggles as I jumped to my feet. She had to be near. Maybe right under me. With Glory Girl right above and a massive clusterfuck building by the second.

The whole goddamned Undersiders. Nicely ticked off at being woken up by some random arsehole in the night. Maybe I could bullshit them into ignoring me – I'm just out here dicking around - but then justice would drop in to be served, quickly followed by more violence than I really needed in my life right now as Taylor took her first baby steps in villainy.

And I just got my bloody legs fixed! I cursed. I ran, crunching roaches underfoot. A chitinous smear lingered on the lens as goggles found their place.

Stiff legs carried me away, running full pelt. Sheer adrenaline swung me across the gap between buildings, putting distance between me and escalation.

Initiation circled above, looking to see if I'd finally splattered myself.

Not in this timeline.

She feathered onto the roof beside me, her feet not making a sound as she touched down.

"Problem?"

A whole team of bloody supervillains waiting, a building behind. My skin prickled, the weight of her aura pushing into my mind. I breathed, breaking eye contact, body at war with itself trying to sort out naked relief, the echo of terror and teenage kicks all at once.

"Nobody ever said anything about costumes being sweaty, sticky messes."

A lie that had the benefit of being true.

"And people think we only wear this getup for PR reasons,"

She planted herself on the roof, the single-piece leotard she wore beneath her skirt stretching taught against firm muscle. Her chest swelled to the rhythm of her breathing Sweat-sheened bare skin glimmered under the electric light.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

I stepped. My hand clenched. All I had to do was reach. The pressure built, threatening to burst out. What if she saw? What if she knew?

"Yeah," I managed. My whole body tingled, a shiver running through my spine.

She stepped into the air. A thousand teenaged fantasies took flight chasing after her, leaving my body shivering behind with my mind conjouring up a million million-to-one chances.

I chased them all, riding the wires, finding momentum. Trial and error had mutated into a solid foundation. Rooftop to rooftop, keeping pace, legs carrying me faster and faster, making more landings than I failed.

This is me.

This is what I'm meant to be.

Why I'm here, why I went through everything. No great plans, no world-saving shenanigans, this moment right here and now.

This one moment made it all worthwhile. The one thing mind, body, Power and soul agreed on. Somewhere I knew it had to be the backseat passenger grabbing at the wheel but I couldn't care. It doesn't matter why or how.

It felt right.

All good things come to an end. Hours collapsed into moments.

Glory Girl landed herself on the roof of an old shipping office, overlooking a dockside bar. The Protectorate's rig watched over us both, shining in the night. Pink Neon shone above the bar's shuttered front windows, spelling out the name. The Richmond

Taking a moment to catch my breath again, I paced to keep my muscles from going stiff. Waves lapped at the shoreline below, tongues of seawater wrapping themselves around steel pilings.

The whole world shone neon, glowing with new life.

Glory Girl looked to me. "You ready, Jaeger?"

Yes. With all my fucking heart. I just nodded.

"You got any gear that can see in there?"

No. Shit. The question stung, sounding more like an accusation. My mind added the 'why dont' in front of it. Panic in my chest begged for an answer, something to make up for it. An idea sparked, bringing a smirk to my lips.

"Info-chan?" I congratulated myself on remembering not to use Aki's name. "You know anything about this place?"

Glory Girl gave me a puzzled look. A message came through a moment later.

::1 min ^^

Somewhere, I knew she giggled. Power or not, she'd gained a codename too. They'd talk about her on PHO. Verified Cape? Who is this Info-Chan?

"Wait a minute," I relayed, finding it hard not to swagger.

Glory Girl held on hand on her hip, glaring at me, body taught and straining for action. A shiver crawled up my spine, my eyes switching between her and the building…

…maybe.

A chime in my ear killed the desire, trickling down.

:lans

Downloading slurped a whole fifty meg of data. My fingers tapped through a set scanned blueprints from when the bar had been last renovated, keypresses zooming in. Glory Girl's gaze urged.

"2 floors. Living space upstairs – two apartments. Bar downstairs with the bar and a storeroom at the back. Basement cellar where they'd store kegs."

"And no idea who's in there." she pushed.

Whatever part of my mind conjured up the idea, I hated it immediately. I couldn't stop myself. Just to show her what I could do. The thought hung on my lips, begging to be spoken. I knew how to find out. She'd already given me the answer.

"You think I look like a Nazi?"

She caught the ball. "You really want to try that?"

"He's panicking. He knows you're after him."

"They might've sent reinforcements," she smiled.

"One way to find out?"

"But what about your accent?"

"Ayuh, I reckon I could do a wicked good impression though. Just gotta remember to hate the Yankees, talk like a Kennedy, and everythin' will be copacetic."

Never in my life have I seen so much hatred in a person's eyes. Totally fucking worth it.

"Now, how do you get the information out without tipping them off," she challenged.

The answer sat waiting on my head, ready to go.

"You have a mobile?"

Did I just ask Glory Girl for her phone number?

"A mobile?"

Right, America.

"Cell, what's your Cell?"

Her lips pursed into a pout. "What's yours?"

"603-867-5903"

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Nothing," she murmured.

Something that made me cringe as she flipped her phone open, tapping with her thumbs. Was it something I said? Something about my phone number? A thousand anxious possibilities raced through my mind as I paced across the roof.

::My Cell. GG

If I'dve known she'd give mobile number so easily, I'dve put the cape on sooner.

"Going to forward it to Info-chan, so she can tell you what I'm seeing."

A scowl flashed across her face, the objection hanging in her open mouth. She reached the same conclusion I did. Narrating 'My first visit to a Nazi club' would end it a quick and violent death.

"Fine…"

My fingers sent her phone number through with a few taps. Her phone buzzed an answer a moment later.

"Yeah," she answered with a press of a button. Her eyes rolled as Aki assaulted through her earpiece.

"Ready?" I proposed.

"Fine…"

She didn't sound concerned. My feet carried my body up to the parapet. My breath panted against the inside of the mask, hot and moist, sucking the sweat from my brow. My heart drummed in chest. Below, streetlights sparked off distant puddles simmering on the tarmac.

An echo of that night thrilled in my mind, resonating with my Power.

Again, I jumped. Wind rushed in my ears, accelerating.

Concrete realisation crushed down.

The real hell of being 16. Sometimes, you don't realise important things until it's far too late.

Like the fact that Glory Girl had tried to talk me out of pretending to be a Nazi just to scout out their base. Or, that I really didn't want to pretend to be a Nazi just to scout out their base. Or that I really, really didn't want to be on my own, surrounded by Nazi's who might have more than baseball bats to hand.

Or who might be something other than human.

My Power hummed. I could trip it. Stand back up on the roof. Calmly realise that maybe, just maybe, pretending to be Empire might not be the smartest idea I ever had and ask Glory Girl if she had any other plan of action with her experience in the field.

But the idea of turning around an explaining that to Glory Girl somehow seemed ten times worse than running the risk of bumping into Hookwolf and friends and getting hammered by cold reality.

The hot fantasy of parahuman heroics won out as my boots made contact with the roof opposite.

I'm doing it.

I'm actually fucking doing it.

Steam drifted up from the vents beside me, cloaking around my body as I stepped onto the roof. Music thrummed through the floor, deep, driving bass firing the soul. Waiting on the roof, one single sentry jumped to his feet, stumbling over his own laces before catching himself on a vent.

He stood half a head taller than me. A Michelin-man jacket in midnight blue bulked him out to twice my size, big enough to hide a full-bore shotgun. A small voice inside asked if I really thought this was a good idea.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

Alright. Time to look the GM in the Eye. Take a breath. Roll to Bullshit.

"Am I the first?"

Maybe not a complete match to the local accent.

"First?"

But good enough. Keep going. I could still run away if I blew it.

"Reinforcements," I said. My voice rasped against the masks's valves. "You're lookin at New Wave droppin in any minute now."

If you're going to lie, cloak it in the truth. It's easier. Especially if Info-chan had the sense to censor that bit.

"You with us?"

My right hand sheathed its blade, before offering a handshake.

"Yeah brother."

His arms folded.

"So. In accord with Nature's Laws. Nothing is more right…."

My hand hung there. Shit. Thunder-Flash bollocks.

Try again.

Back to touchdown.

"Info-chan. In accord with Nature's Laws. Nothing is more right than?"

I waited. Michelin man jumped to his feet, tripping again. I stood my ground, blades held low in my hand. The screen in my googles remained blank.

He caught himself. My hands clenched tight on the grips of both blades. My Power recharged as my mouth parched dry. Seconds ticked.

"Who're you?"

Shit! Try something else.

"In accord with Nature's Laws. Nothing is more right"

He stopped, dead, caught off-guard. His eyes glanced around the roof, to the aircon vents, the water tower and the remains of the old billboard foundation. What lurked in the shade? Shadows danced at the edge of my sight, threatening a surprise attack.

"…than the preservation of one's own race," he said. One hand hovered over his waist, clawing to grab something in a flash.

Gun. My skin bristled. It had to be.

One thing that could beat my Power. Bullet in the brain-pan. Splat. Game over while waiting for the reset button to reset.

Fuck me, I mouthed. There sat proof. This was not your oulfella's game of Villains and Vigilantes.

What now?

My mouth outran my brain, remembering the first time around.

"Am I the first?"

His hand hung. His eyebrow raised. His face came into sharp focus, rounded off by years of fast food, rough stubble begging for a razor's edge under the jaw. Beady eyes fixed me in place.

"First?"

The phone chimed, a message popping up onscreen.

::Than preservation of ones own race.

"Damn," I breathed, clenching my teeth. My Power latched, coming back to life. The safety-net untied the knot in my stomach.

"What?"

The hand clawed closer. A bulge formed in my mind around some imagined hand cannon.

"Reinforcements. You're looking at New Wave droppin' in any minute now."

My eyes fixed on the hand. He fixed his belt.

"Didn't hear we asked for any help."

"You think you need to ask?" I tried to smirk, hoping it carried in my voice.

"Right, Right."

I'd like to say I had the sang-froid to calmly step forward and plan through the entire conversation to get the exact information I needed. Really, my mind just stuck itself in the same thought-burning loop, churning over and over again.

Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up.

Another message onscreen broke the mantra

::Sry. How many + guns??

Right. Prizes for guessing where the prompt really came from. Take a breath. Try to sound like I belonged.

"So. How many guys you got up here?"

"Six," he answered with a swagger, leading me towards a door.

"Guns?"

Holy shit. I can't believe this is still working.

"A few. Got my glock." He patted at his hip.

"18?"

Only Glock I knew. The GM stared at me. Roll the dice.

"15," the sentry answered.

"Nothing heavy?"

"No. Who else Kaiser sending through?"

What other Empire capes could I remember off the top of my head?

"Hookwoolf. Fenja. Menja…."

I counted them off with my fingers.

"Shame…."

"Shame?"

"What Hookwoolf'd do….."

I thought I saw fear. I thought I saw remorse. I knew that I really didn't give a fuck about the deep personal motivations of an Empire thug. He turned his back to me. I drew both blades with a savage grin.

Crack.

One supercharged jolt from the batteries put him down like a dropped sack of spuds, spasming himself unconscious. A couple of quick borrowed zip-ties around his wrists and ankles made sure he wouldn't get up again. On a whim, I pocketed his Glock to keep it from being used against me.

One down.

Now what?

Really. I didn't have to do anything more. Honestly, I just couldn't help myself. Standing at the door, I pulled it open. A pall of thin grey smoke rose up to meet, bringing the smell of burnt Mellow Virginia through my nostrils.

My stomach turned.

"Jacob?" A voice reached up.

My mind hung a moment, hovering around the threshold of the door.

"He's fine," I answered, finding the nerve to step through. It latched behind, sealing me in, just in time for a pair of tired eyes to greet me.

I looked up at a thin high-cheeked face with a sharp jaw, a single broken fag pinched between tight lips.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Jaeger. Kaiser sent me."

The fag twitched as he sucked on his lips. He stared into the goggles.

"Never heard of you…"

Ahm….

"It's my first day."

His hand slipped towards his wallet. Gun! Flashed through my mind. My blades whipped free, one in each hand. His eyes spasmed wide. His hand drew. His body dropped with a crackle of raw electricity and a meaty thump. A crinkled fag-packet landed on the ground beside his pocket.

"CAAaaaape!" his friend beside me yelled. A body dived for cover behind a couch. Shouts rose up from below.

Shit.

My Power triggered. Now for a different approach. The longer they don't realise I'm a threat, the more I can fuck them up. If I could stop them from getting downstairs, or lock a door

"Jacob…." A voice reached up again.

Adrenaline thrilled through my body, recalling the last time.

"He's cool," I answered.

Grey eyes looked down at me. "Who're you?"

"Jaeger. Kaiser sent me."

"Who?" His hand hung beside his pocket.

I couldn't run. I had to push forward. I couldn't imagine doing anything else.

"I'm new."

I don't know if he heard the smile on my lips.

"Welcome to the club," he offered his right hand.

I took it with a hard grip and shook it. There was an irony there, when you think about it. How did Adolf Hitler get his start again?

::Find who beat Andrea??

Right. Mission.

"You stay up here. Wait for the signal…"

"Says who?"

He stood his ground, hand pressing against the bulge beneath his leather jacket. Yeah, I got a gun.

"Says the person with two swords and a fucking Power," I snarled through my mask."We got friends coming in. You think you can take on New Wave with that peashooter?"

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me don't call me on it. I'm so far out on a fucking limb here and this could go so fucking badly and thank Christ these fuckers can't see my face because I'm bricking it…

All he saw were a pair of blank of goggles and a twin-can mask, breathing hard, a faint glow from meters built into the gloves. Steel blades glinted under the incandescent lights. A full harness of steel hung from my waist, two heavy containers slung by my hips.

The man took a breath, gauging me.

Black armoured leather. Flared helmet. Glaring goggles. Lightning flashes of metal clasps.

The man stepped aside.

Wow. This really works. This is working. What the hell do I do now? Keep going. Passed another open door on the first floor.

Holy fuck, I know that eejit.

He looked at me. Right at me. Right through me. I felt it. If he knew.

My Power loomed.

Earlier that morning, he'd asked me to join. The same kid, wearing the same orange jersey with same medhall sponsorship and that same best-mate smile which had asked me to join.

I looked him right in the eye, grabbing hold of my Power, daring him to recognise me. Hey Mick, nice costume. He shook my hand instead.

"Glad to have ya, brother."

I nodded, swallowing the lump. A deep vader-breath pulled in dry, stale air. The filters cleared up the smoke, keeping me from coughing.

My goggles scanned the room. CNN on the telly in the corner broadcast the news, showing preparations for some event tomorrow. Two men, one tall, one short, circled a pool table, sizing up their next shots. Both had a decade on me or more.

Cigarrette ash smouldered in the tray on the coffee table set in front of a worn leather couch. A scarred baseball-bat leant against it. Only the flag with the crossed grenades picked it out as anything more than a social club.

Right. Time to be the prick

"So, which one of you stomped the porch monkey?"

Don't ask how I first heard that.

"Ayuh," the shortest raised his cue. A crisp set of red laces decorated his steelcaps.

"New laces?" I said.

"Yeah men," he grinned, bold as brass. "Man I just saw that bitch," he laughed, nervous eyes scanning the room. "Fucking queen never worked a day in her life and she's going through college on my dime because of some liberal affirmative action and I'm here working three goddamned jobs and can't even afford a fucking dentist and so, Bam! No more teeth"

Every nodded sagely. An old story. I kept up appearance.

"Ayuh," the tall one agreed, before taking a crack of a shot. "Freeloaders taking honest white men for a ride. What's this country coming to? Fucking traitors get their day soon."

Everyone nodded sagely. An older answer. I kept up appearances, scanning around.

Yes. Racist fucks really talk like this. This thing is not a parody. Poe's law lives and it stood right in front of me breathing through gleaming white teeth, wearing the strange air of civilised respectability.

Everyone looked to me. My mind struggled to scratch something together, gathering something from a past life.

"Yeah man, make America great again," I said.

It really was the first thing I thought of. Honest. And totally not a commentary on an election I never saw finish.

"Make America great again. I like that," said the kid beside me, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off with a grunt.

"Touchy," he mumbled, holding both his hands up.

"Make America white again?" asked the taller.

"Yeah," shorty agreed. 'We could use that."

Dear God, what have I unleashed? Someone's going to call that a commentary on something, I guarantee it.

To be brutally honest, for a moment, I almost got it. Say the right words, make the right gestures, nod your head at the right time and kick the shit out of the wrong people and you were welcome.

You are one, with us.

We are part of something.

Still. No sympathy for the Devils, as the man says. They bought their ticket, now how do I take them for a ride? A fire axe sat in the cabinet beside me, alongside some old hose. I'd played enough games to know what they were really there for. I could strap the door shut, maybe break the handle

::!

I blinked, taking a moment to wonder what that meant. The window shattered an instant later with a whoop of joy, a cold draught dragging sparkling shrapnel behind a white blur. Something crunched against the wall beside me, landing with a thump and a groan. My eyes opened.

Shorty lay slumped over, looking like a doll broken in half.

Tallboy stood, pool cue in hand, not sure what'd just happened.

"Dad," said the boy beside me, his voice shrinking in the background.

Glory Girl stood in her radiance, legs apart, thin red cape drifting on the breeze behind her.

"Nobody move!"

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. My heart thumped.

Darkness encroached around, enveloping the room until only she remained, a human beacon holding back even our own thoughts. My hands hovered beside both sheathed blades, mind frozen on the last instruction.

Every thought crashed against the wall inside my head.

Nothing existed except Glory Girl and her awesome bodysuit, standing, daring someone to attack, powerful legs rooting her to the spot.

"Do something dude," the kid behind me breathed, his voice shaking.

My thoughts ground against stone, muscles straining to work. Fingers found the grips of the blades. Their weight filled my hands, sliding free, gaining momentum. Metal scratched against metal, building momentum. Glory Girl's eyes glanced at me, then the kid behind me. His breath shivered as the full force of her aura came to bear.

Tallboy's hand reached for his waist, clawing at something. My mouth found a gear.

"Gun!"

Her head snapped. He drew. The aura collapsed. My mind sprung free. The kid beside me had enough time to realise how badly he'd been fucked before both blades shocked him off his feet.

Glory Girl launched tallboy into the ceiling with a swinging kick.

The body landed in a heap. His gun skittered across the floor.

Footsteps drummed down the stairs outside, door bursting open. The barrel of a gun met my face, sweeping through the room. Thoughtly, I lashed out. His eyes widened, mind taking a moment to process and wonder why a 'friend' was attacking. My first strike knocked the gun from his hand, sending it skittering across the floor.

He grabbed hold, wrestling me to the wall. Metal crashed against concrete. One, two three hard blows with my fist caught him on the nose. Just enough to knok him back. A stab at my stomach knocked the wind out of me but the adrenaline carried me through, grunting. The pommel of the sword met the side of his chest and he dropped with a crack of lightning. Yeah. I don't need to use the pair to do it.

Glory Girl had disappeared. So had the gun. Two men lay on the ground. Shorty and Tallboy. A third from the stairs groaned at my feet.

The kid had gone missing.

I scanned the room. A shadow loomed behind me. The bat beside the couch had gone missing.

He swung the bat. My blade parried, shock running up the arm. The shot stunned my arm, my fingers spasming, shock grounding through my feet. My fist caught him across the side of the face. He stepped. I lunged, crashing into his body. He toppled with a yell. Hands grasped at my costume straps, pulling me off my feet with a yelp of fright.

We landed in a heap, my body across his.

A hard blow to the face cracked my mask against my nose, bringing tears to my eyes. Instinct took over. One. Two. Three. The shock ran up my elbow as it slammed down hard against something made of bone. I pushed myself off. He lay there, face bloodied, nose askew, struggling to move

Done.

Fucker.

A gunshot shook the building. Followed by another heavyweight thump as somebody soft met something hard.

Then nothing.

Only my own panting breath and the roar of blood in my ears. My body shook, driven by adrenaline to do more than just stand a wait. My eyes scanned round.

Three men, either groaning or unconscious. One kid curled up in a ball, blood gushing from his nose. My arm thrummed. My legs ached. My heart threatened to burst free.

A savage grin crossed my lips and I waited for the last one to make his way up. My blades hung ready by my side.

Glory Girl shouldered the door open, a flash of her aura stunning my mind long enough for her to stride past, long legs carrying her into the room. Her chest rose and fell in time with her breath, matching mine. Her grin shone radiant as she stood

"Tie 'em up and I'll call my sister."

The rest of it happened much as you'd expect. You've probably read the original Interlude. Panacea arrived and made sure nobody'd had their life permanently ruined in her own sinister way.

Again.

I sat on the roof in the cold air, winding down from the greatest high of my life, a strange sense of disbelief swimming through my body. Every single hair on my body fizzled with excitement, my mind turning itself through loops begging to go again.

I just passed the fucking tutorial level, and I was ready to pay full price to play the game.

Fighting and winning.

It felt like life.

I've been such an eejit, haven't I? My Power hummed in agreement. Somewhere deep inside, I knew better, I knew where the idea came from

It didn't matter.

::That was so cool.

Info-chan summed it up in one line on my goggles.

A new life pulsing in neon colour, vibrant, thrumming with energy, beckoning, enticing – begging me to step forward and claim it. I got it. I finally got it. A diamond bullet to the brain. A brand new apocalypse.

I really could do things that mattered.

This made two. Twice I'd stood in the narrative and twice things had been different in some small way.

"First time's always intense," Glory Girl hovered beside me, winding down from the same adrenaline high. A shock ran through my body, grounding fast.

"It took me far too long to do it," I admitted.

She dropped to her feet, standing with one arm held akimbo, the other brushing the breeze-blown hair from her face. "Mom'll kill me for saying it, but the Wards really could use someone like you,"

"I want to wait a few weeks," I said, making a conscious effort not to focus on her.

"The sooner, the better. Being a solo act in this city's so dangerous you might as well commit suicide."

That stabbed, a heartbeat snap into the moment, falling. Trigger warning. She caught the flinch immediately.

"Oh geez, I'm sorry."

Her whole body seemed to shrink, the pressure on my mind receding. I saw the real her, wearing a sheepish smile, embarrassed in the moment. It drew a genuine smile to my lips, hidden by the mask. Maybe even a little ashamed myself for reacting so much.

"It's okay, really," I waved it off. Really. "I just have to work some personal things out first."

Really.

Freed from her shame, she grew three size in my mind again, crushing me down.

I thought I could've said something else, something about looking after her sister or how fucked her mind might really be by the stress of it all, but it died inside of me. What if she got angry? What if I tripped her little trigger?

The aura loomed, smothering my words.

That's my excuse.

I stood and stared over the city, just trying to hang on to the moment.

The whoop of approaching sirens and blue lights strobing in the street signalled the end of all good things. Reality had arrived to intrude.

"Now for the real fun," she said, through gritted teeth.

"Yeah. No," I said with a shrug, making for the roof edge.

One firm hard grasped the strap across my back. "Oh no you don't...."

Goddammit. I had better things to do than spend a half-hour explaining myself to blank-face stormtroopers in SWAT gear.

Just don't ask them if they know Governor Tarkin. They've heard the one before.

--

Aki exploded when I landed on her roof.

"That was so awesome," she panted. Her mouth opened. Japanese came out. She stopped, blushed, and composed her words again. "Like. In the face. And Glory Girl…. Ano…. Ano…" she gasped, outrunning herself again.

Wearing only short and a t-shirt, she shivered against the cold. My eyes glanced down. Very obviously cold, too.

One free hand levered my facemask and helmet off, steam rising from my hair. The helmet clattered down onto the rooftop.. I stood opposite her, struggling to breath. Formerly fresh-legs burned from the exertion.

A thick smile crossed my lips, chased by a childish giggle.

"It fucking was, wasn't it?"

She laughed, smothering it behind her hand, looking up at me with bright, shining eyes.

"Hai…"

We stood, catching our breath. She'd run up the stairs from her apartment below. I'd swung across the city. She placed her hands on my shoulders, light, almost imperceptible through the leather.

My heart stuttered at the possibility.

My own hands pressed against her waist, soft skin giving way, fuelling the drive to just pull her tight.

My mouth watered. She sucked on her lips, body turning tense in my hands. Sweat glistened across her broad face. Jim Steinman wrote whole operas about this moment. Both of us, sixteen years old and sparking in the dark, hungering for the taste of each other's lips.

She pushed free.

The chill took hold of my body. Not tonight. That look of naked pain on her face stung.

"Your clothes are downstairs," she said, her voice flat.

Why? What had I done wrong? She turned and walked, leaving me bewildered, standing in the cold with my helmet leaning again

"What was that?" I asked.

She glanced back, as if I should've known the answer

"What'd I do?" I demanded.

No answer.

I followed.

The roof door squealed shut behind me. My gear rattled with each step

"What happened?"

No answer. She turned a corner. Flourescent lights buzzed overhead, throwing a hard blue light against the walls. Paint peeled in flakes beneath my touch.

She threw me a hard glance, pushing open a veneered door. Light poured out from inside, harsh and white. I followed her in, slipping out of my boots before the step up on to the timber floor.

She stood alone in a silent apartment, almost offering it as her explanation. That's why, asshole.

I saw.

Dishes piled in the sink for days. Clothes scattered across the floor, unwashed. Cans of food left open and mouldering. Papers thrown on the table and the floor – dozens of typed sheets scattered haphazardly, dropped where they'd fallen. Shards of broken ornaments sat spilled on the ground.

The pieces crashed into place.

And I couldn't ignore them.

I had the power. I could do things that mattered. Maybe, I could do this now. Maybe I could ask her.

"Your bag's by the couch. Get changed in the bathroom."

I stared down at the helmet in my hands. My costume. My other face. The hero I could be. I'd have to do it.

"Akiko," my voice tried.

She just stood with her back to me, focused on the picture of her family hanging on the wall.

"I'm going to ask you a pretty hard question, and I need an answer quickly, or I can't do anything."

She stepped away. Her head turned back over her shoulder, looking at me through the side of her eye.

"What is it?"

At least she listening. We did it again, just to set a marker with my Power. Now for step two.

Please God don't let me fuck this up.

I looked right at her, stared straight through her skull with a laser gaze, and took a shaking breath "I know you're ABB." And that slapped her across the face. She snapped to face. Her eyes golfballed, her mouth hinging open to protest, to scream a denial. If I'd been closer she'd've slapped me across the face. "I can try get you out with my power. Do you want me to try?"

I promised myself. I'd move hell to make it happen. I meant it.

She stood.

Completely blindsided. Hit by a brick.

Well sorry, I only have fifteen seconds, how fucking subtle can I be?

She turned. She looked away. She scanned the room. She eyed me, gauging my chances. Not just mine, but the whole Protectorate. I'd do it. I 'djoin. There's my fucking condition. They'd do it. They'd have to do it.

She gauged the whole world's chances to save her, for something good to possibly happen and save her.

Tears welled up her eyes. My stomach turned. I knew the answer. I waited anyway, counting the timer down in my mind.

"No," her head shook. Her face twisted into a mask of fear and pain and I hated it. "Please don't do anything, my par-."

My Power triggered, gunning the moment, banishing it to dead time. Fuck it all. That's all I needed to know. I won't admit to feeling just a little relieved, released from my own unspoken promise.

I'll admit to hating it.

"What is it?" she asked, again.

"I already asked," I said, swallowing the truth. "I used my Power."

"What'd you ask me?" she pushed.

My head shook slowly. "Nothing,"

She scowled at me. "Fine…"

I stood on that timber floor, turning it over in my head.

Damn them for doing this to her.

Damn her for getting into it in the first place.

And damn me for not being able to do anything.

"Akiko," I said, my voice lost in the mess of the apartment. "Keep yourself safe, please."

That's all I could do. All I could hope for her.

Slowly, she turned to face me, tears glistening down her cheeks.

"Thank you very much." I like to think she knew I'd figured out her secret, even if I didn't need to say it. Maybe that's why her smile came back. Soft, sad, stinging, but still welcome. "And you, please," she breathed. "Good Luck."

I bowed. "Arigatou Gozaimashtou."

My eyes turned up just in time to see her do the same, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. We stood up, sharing an awkward smile and an uneasy squirm. Our hands reached out, tentative, testing the air between us. We touched. Hand to shoulder. A hot thrill through my bones begged for more, for a gentle moment threatening to pull in to something closer – warmer.

But no. Not tonight.

We stepped back, fatigue hanging from our bodies. It'd already been a long day. Neither of us needed to say any more. No denials. No excuses.

She went to bed.

So did I, taking the couch to myself in a t-shirt and shorts.

In the darkness before sleep, sanity returned. I tried to reassure myself that really, I couldn't have done anything. Not against Bakuda or Oni-Lee or a thousand conscripts with shotguns and baseball bats.

No matter what I told myself, it just rung hollow.

Having a Power, couldn't keep me from feeling utterly powerless.

No. To hell with it. I'm doing something.

I just need to figure out what.

And how.

The first one of you to say Good, the Bitch deserves it, gets a punch in the mouth. Seriously. Fuck you.

--


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■​

♦The state of play in Brockton Bay Pt 3
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay
(Showing Page 301 of 301)

►Lib1rn (Original Poster)
Posted on September 13th, 2010:

Since the Previous thread's topped 500.

Keeping everyone in the know. People's lives might depend on what you post. So keep that in mind before you hit send.


► Herriot
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Okay. You see This thread here. Now, that's an Emipre Safehouse in The Richmond getting hit by Glory Girl and some n00b.

Up until a week ago the whole area was solid ABB.

This whole Lung getting captured thing has really upset the apple cart we all knew. Three days ago two [slurs] knocked in asking for their monthly protection.

This morning two peckerwoods knock on the door and tell me I'm part of the Empire now and they want their pound of flesh before the end of the week, to get on the right side before the Day of the Rope comes to Brockton.

This is fucking ridiculous.

(User Warned for this post. Comment by Judge: Really? I get the frustration, but keep it civil)

► General Antagonist
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Not sure which is worse.

Not sure if the ABB aren't going to come out like a cornered rat.


► Binkadocious
Replied on April 14, 2011:

With what?

2 capes. One that just sorta appears to follow orders and one whos sole claim to fame is a bomb threat in Princeton. Face it, without Lung, they're really nobody.

What does the Empire have? Empire'll win.


► BayFresk
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Wait and see.

Something funny's been happening with my Japanese neighbours.

► Binkadocious
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Like What?


► BayFresk
Replied on April 14, 2011:

A week ago, you could set your watch by them. .

Then they go missing. Come back at strange hours in the day sort of thing. Like, they were missing all last night but their teenage kid was home, and then there's a lot of shit happened late last night. Lots of weird noises

Anybody else have neighbours?

► Binkadocious
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Y'see. There's your problem. They got teenagers. And you know what teenagers do when their parents are away


End of Page. 301 of 301,

--
♦One year on
In: Boards ► Places ► Europe ► Ireland ► After Hours
►MegaGurrier (Ar Bhain na Muice)(Moderatoir)
Posted on February 10th, 2014:

So. It's been a year since that day.

How's everyone doing?

Same rules apply.

(Showing Page 22 of 40)

► Stocious_One (Sued by Denis O'Brien)
Replied on March 14, 2011:

The Bang Bang's back in action. For better or worse. Things are getting back to normal. A sort of clean and shiny normal.

Still. No Hairy Lemon. Who'll look after the dog's now?

►Dad_Zebra(Still Alive….)
Replied on March 14, 2011:

The character of the city's been gutted, drowned under the muck and filth. All that's replacing it is thick steel and sheer glass just like every other city the world over.

Sure it's 'Dublin'

But it's not mine.

I don't recognise this place at all anymore. It could be any European city built out of my town

► Small_Far_Away(On Craggy Island)
Replied on March 14, 2011:

Well, what the fuck do you expect? The whole fucking thing's beneath a couple of hundred yards of muck

What were we supposed to do?

Dig it all up?

Plough it to green fields and let Cork be the bloody capital?

Build some twee American-style image of what the city used to be? A carbon copy in fake red-brick?

Get some cop on why don't you?

It'll never be the town we grew up in. So what? The town we grew up in was destroyed. The rest of the world can put up with it, why can't we? Why do the Irish always have to put on the poor mouth?

► Muir Eireannach(Cold. Grey)
Replied on March 14, 2011:

Not this again….

I've had enough of this bollocks.

► TweeTwee(Brewmaster)
Replied on March 14, 2011:

I miss Ryans pub. I'm tearing up just thinking about it. When you step outide and the smell of roast barley from the brewery across the river. We'd drop in for a pint coming off shift with the rest of the team and it'd just be hopping.

All the great boozers are gone.

► Fonzi (Blast it with Piss)
Replied on March 14, 2011:

Mulligans is still open

► TweeTwee(Brewmaster)
Replied on March 14, 2011:
There is no Temple Bar anymore, how is there a Mulligans?

► Fonzi (Blast it with Piss)
Replied on March 14, 2011:

Up in Stoneybatter. The last true pub in Dublin.

►RyanCian (Indicators Optional)
Replied on March 14, 2011:

The Brazen Head just opened up again. Looks well done on the inside too. Not too modern, not to overdone and the pint's right.

► Dad_Zebra (Still Alive…. )
Replied on March 14, 2011:

It's not the original. We played an Ars Magica game in the old one once. All the PC's met up in the exact same pub, 800 years ago. At the same table.

You can't do that now.

End of Page. 22 of 40, >>


--

♦So, Everybody's seen *that* video
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay ► Capes

Needtocomeupwithaname (Gargoyle) (Original Poster)
Posted on April 14, 2011:

Link here if you didn't.

Since I need to do more.

Brockton Bay's newest entry onto the cape scene took the unusual step of sending a recording back to home base, in case he got into trouble while testing some new gear. He hurt his leg somehow, and we join him making his way through the Richmond trying to get home.

In summary.

*Glory Girl mistakes him for a Nazi. He dodges her attack. Panty shot.
*They team up.
*Cleavage shot of Glory Girl
*Panacea makes an appearance and defuckulates his leg.
*We move through the streets of Brockton Bay Docklands riding some sort of wire-swing contraption.
*We arrive at an Empire 88 holdout.
*Info-chan is the voice on the other end of the line.
*Cleavage shot of Glory Girl.
*We swing over to the roof to be challenged by a sentry
*Speak 14 words to enter.
*Sneak in and around, gathering intelligence.
*Violence happens.
*Cleavage shot of Glory Girl.
*Skinhead who put a woman in hospital gets put in hospital.
*Stream cuts somewhat abruptly, like whatever it ran off ran out of data.

Now. What does this tell us about our new wannabee?

Name seems to be Jaeger.

(Showing Page 1 of 3)

► Dendromedary
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Tinker 2./ Mover 4. If he got good at that he'd be moving fast, and keeping high.

No. Wait. Maybe Thinker Power too.

How'd he know the password?

► Bernstein Beer
Replied on April 14, 2011:

That's like being amazed at having your account hacked when yours password is Password1

Any messhungener can pick up the Nazi schtick if you live in certain parts of this city, whether you want to or not. Or does anyone honestly think they haven't heard the promises that the Day of the Rope is a coming. Especially in the last week.

I've never known Nazi's for creativity.

► Brackish_Water
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Creativity.

Like using 'Birth of a Hero' as a soundtrack.

Again.

There is more out there than Two Steps from Hell.

► DerricotPie
Replied on April 14, 2011:
Cliches work

Kinda fits the swing.

I hafta ask though. Who, or what is Info-chan?

► Kyoki no Ongaku
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Probably whoever was making the recording. Home base support on speed-dial. Gotta love it. It's the most useful talent ever.

It means we're not dealing a complete moron. Sure he's alone, in a dark part of town with untried gear in an unkind world, but he's at least got someone watching his ass to call 9-1-1 if he gets in trouble.

And that someone's smart enough to grab building plans on a minute's notice, and probably relaying what's she watching on screen to Miss Prom Queen on the roof, since he's busy doing the whole heiling and marching and marching and heiling thing down below. (And creepily well for a non-Nazi…)

Smart enough not to go charging in without scoping the place out first. Dumb enough to think going in there pretending to be a Nazi is a good idea. Lucky enough to pull it off. Foolish enough to post a video online. Aware enough to edit anything identifying out of it.

Kid's got potential.

Especially if you take the little lie of just being out to test some gear at face value.


► Glory Girl (Verified Cape)
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Yeah. We met the guy. If you saw his costume he looked totally like a Nazi cape, especially from high up. I thought he knew too much about the Empire, so maybe he might be related to one, but maybe not. I think he hates them.

Sweet. Bit weird. Couldn't keep his eyes off me. Good fighter. Sounded Sorta like a Southie but weirder.

And the worst imitation of a New Hampshire accent I've ever heard.

► Lehane (Faithless)
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Not Southie. Definitely not one of us.

Sounds more like Australian to me. You don't hear that too often. Maybe someone who got stranded, or got out before they set up the checkpoints?

Small wonder he's keepin a low profile then. INS will be up his ass to make sure he's not one of hers pretty damn sharpish.

Also, he who fight's monsters and all that. Jaeger might be a reference to this.

► Morgenstern (Know your enemy…)
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Jaeger was taken as a cape-name. Changed his name to Stormfront after shacking up with Fuhrerprinzip in LA because they had that dispute with MacDonald and the NAA. Been free since.

Why do I feel dirty for knowing that?

I vote it sticks.

Just look at the way he swoops down on that guy. Both blades touch and he drops.

ZZaaaapp! Thud.

It's just so right.

► XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Hah! Jokes on you. I set mine to Password 2. They'll never guess that.

He's already been doing this for a long time. You think somebody using a sort of swing catapult like that has had a lot of practice or training to avoid going splat.


► Meeksa
Replied on April 14, 2011:

KNO…. Lie? Kinda makes sense.

End of Page. 1 of 3,

(Showing Page 2 of 3)


► Dendromedary[/b]
Replied on April 14, 2011:

I don't think anybody believes that. Maybe he does. But you know what they're like….

Why the full costume if it was a gear test? That's a lot of gear.

This has been planned for a long time. This isn't just some spur of the moment thing thrown together by a kid in a bedroom in one night.

Cowboy's right. He's had practice.

► Hardron Prime
Replied on April 14, 2011:

"Swing Catapult". I like that.

Another vote for Jaeger. Especially since the last guy spelt it with the two dots. And sucked.

► Kyoki no Ongaku
Replied on April 14, 2011:

He's not smooth enough to be practiced.
But definitely assisted.

And definitely lying about why he was out there.

The more I think about it, the more I have my suspicions. Too many kids like this meet bad ends.

► Tiron Heel
Replied on April 14, 2011:

[CONTENT REMOVED]

Judge: Okay yeah, there's calling for restraint which is okay even against Nazi's because hey, they're human beings too. And then there's the whole Day of the Rope Turner Diaries tangeant. Enjoy the break.


► DellGriffen
Replied on April 14, 2011:

I see what you mean.

It's like each jump with the swing catapult is his first one and he's just sort of barely making it each time.

I think some sort of secondary power. Something kinaesthetic. Like Circus? It lets him succeed in gymnastics.

And be Shadow Stalker's boyfriend. Swooping down from the darkness to strike down the evildoors

Also. Reported.

► Hardron Prime
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Who will save us from Zombie Hendrix and the Evil Doors?

► Lambsbridge_Runaway
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Official release to law enforcement services from the office of the local PRT and straight into the wiki:

Codename: Jaeger (Prev. Chariot).
Age: 13-17 estimated
Sex: Male

Provisional evaluation is:
Tinker 3. (Mover 3).
Thinker 2. (Precog)

Tinker specialisation appears to be electrical equipment, as evidenced by the design of the harness. Not enough information to speculate further. Classification to be amended pending acquisition of a sample, or further encounter

Costume confirmed to include some form of integrated cellular communications device, with camera, recording and text capability. Ostensibly to allow a remote individual to call for assistance if in trouble.

Equipment shows a tendency towards being light and flexible.

Known allies: "Info-Chan".

Combat style: Fast. Hit and Run.

Known to carry a pair of blunt 'blades' that are electrically charged and can induce severe stuns in an unprotected human, equivalent at least to a high energy Taser shot. Possible risk of severe injury to individuals with pre-existing or latent heart conditions as a result. Blade pommels appear to contain some form of lightweight momentary stun.

The PRT would like to speak to Jaeger on non-criminal matters.
Jaeger is not currently a suspect in any active investigation.
Jaeger is not assumed to be a direct threat to the public. Normal precautionary procedures to be followed until otherwise indicated.


Codename: "Info-Chan"
Age: Unknown.
Sex: Female:

Provisional Evaluation is:
Tinker 0

Possible parahuman power. Classification to be amended pending further encounters.
Specialisation may be computers and technology.

Known Allies: "Jaeger"

Combat-Style: Unknown.

Noted for Information Technology.
Codename suggest possible east-asian cultural base.

Info-Chan is not currently a suspect in any active investigation.
Info-Chan is not assumed to be a direct threat to the public. Normal precautionary procedures to be followed until otherwise indicated.


► Hardron Prime
Replied on April 14, 2011:

"Prev. Chariot"

So, already known to the PRT as a parahuman, but this is the first time putting on the Cape and being spotted in public.

Chariot's probably a better name, IMHO.Can I change my vote? No Nazi connotoations for a start.


► TheFakeKidWin (Verified Cape)
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Dude, I know you're reading this. I did too when it was me. Feels cool, right? Everyone talking about you, calling what you did awesome. Being their hero....

The Protectorate just want to talk. Honest. Discuss options, none of which mean you have to sign up.

Drop me a PM, even with a throwaway.


► Meeksa
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Like clockwork.

'We are the WENE's. . Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Your Powers will adapt to service us. You will be Assimilated. Resistance is Futile.



End of Page. 2 of 3,

---

Fuck.

Almost likely I planned it. The offer sat on the plate. The route forward cleared.

Registering an alt on PHO took five minutes, through the helmet's own connection..

I couldn't do this alone. Some things were more important that pride.

I'll be fucked. It has to happen.

-------
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■​

♦So, Everybody's seen *that* video
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay ► Capes

Needtocomeupwithaname (Gargoyle) (Original Poster)
Posted on April 14, 2011:

Link here if you didn't.

Since I need to do more.

Brockton Bay's newest entry onto the cape scene took the unusual step of sending a recording back to home base, in case he got into trouble while testing some new gear. He hurt his leg somehow, and we join him making his way through the Richmond trying to get home.

In summary.

*Glory Girl mistakes him for a Nazi. He dodges her attack. Panty shot.
*They team up.
*Cleavage shot of Glory Girl
*Panacea makes an appearance and defuckulates his leg.
*We move through the streets of Brockton Bay Docklands riding some sort of wire-swing contraption.
*We arrive at an Empire 88 holdout.
*Info-chan is the voice on the other end of the line.
*Cleavage shot of Glory Girl.
*We swing over to the roof to be challenged by a sentry
*Speak 14 words to enter.
*Sneak in and around, gathering intelligence.
*'Make America Great again', the new fascist slogan.
*Violence happens.
*Cleavage shot of Glory Girl.
*Skinhead who put a woman in hospital gets put in hospital.
*Stream cuts somewhat abruptly, like whatever it ran off ran out of data.

Now. What does this tell us about our new wannabee?

Name seems to be Jaeger.

(Showing Page 3 of 3)

► Walker_Of_Swords
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Using the elbow like that's a DQ in UFC.

So. Someone who subscribes to the whole, you win by being more willing to fuck the other guy up permanently, school of fighting.

Great. Another dark-leather wearing edgelord doomed to a shitty end, or a joke of a villain career, or probably both.

► BB_Jaeger
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Nope. Just someone too broke to afford anything better.

And they had guns. I don't like getting shot.

Needtocomeupwithaname (Gargoyle) (Original Poster)
Posted on April 14, 2011:

Alright. Fresh account from a Belleast I.P., but I'm gonna call bullshit until I see proof....

► BB_Jaeger
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Right. Will this do?

Blade and motor assembly.

► TheFakeKidWin (Verified Cape)
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Nice!

Especially those cooling fins on the motor core. You fixed the shaft and welded the casing to the spool so it spins and self-cools?

Elegant. Armsmasters visor is getting steamy just looking at it.

We could work so well together.

EDIT: Typo

► Meeksa
Replied on April 14, 2011:

"Arsmmaster"

Childish I know, but I lol'd.

Anybody willing to swing through a city wearing a contraption like that deserves either respect or a Darwin Award.

Or both.

Needtocomeupwithaname (Gargoyle) (Original Poster)
Posted on April 14, 2011:

"Will this do?"

Good enough for me. Submitted to the higher ups for verification.

Be careful out there kiddo, whatever you do. This isnt a game

Listen to Kid Win. Ignore these fools.

► Hardron Prime (Shocking)
Replied on April 14, 2011:

How the hell does anyone even train to use something like that? Darwin award is right! I hung on to my desk in the office for fear of crashing.

On the one hand, I can put together how it works. I'm an Electronic Engineer and I'm sure I could build this.

And I'm sure I'd probably kill myself the first time I tried to wear it.

► BB_Jaeger
Replied on April 14, 2011:

Thanks KW. PM sent whenever this unlocks.

I learned by Trial and error. The painful way. I'ma n former EE myself. A true believer in the Tao of Scotty.

I cannot break the laws of physics, but I do have the Power.

► TheFakeKidWin (Verified Cape)
Replied on April 14, 2011:

"An EE myself"

Sorry man. I really didn't think you were that old. But I can see it in your work.

Your handle's on my Whitelist.


► Kyoki no Ongaku
Replied on April 14, 2011:

A cape who's a qualified engineer who works in real AM rather than FM?

I thought I was the only one on this god'sforsaken rock!

I can see where you're going, so let me give you a nickel's worth of free advice.

Don't let anyone tell you you don't fight the right way. If you're not fighting to win, you're loosing.

And Law enforcement always wins in the end. You're going through those doors whether you want to or not. You can go through them wearing handcuffs, or with your head held high knowing you made a difference.

It's your call buddy.

​

End of Page. 3 of 3,

----

It took an hour for my new account to unlock.

It took five minutes for me to splat the message away.

My watch chimed. Lunchtime.

It took me five seconds to remember why I wouldn't ve getting an answer.

Too late, gobshite. You're on your own for this one.


------------




By way of an explanation for what's going on. Potentially spoilerific.....

First one is setting up Bakuda's station of the canon, while also taking a look at what the general state of things is. Some people are wrong on the inernet (Cornell, not Princeton, IIRC) The Empire's bullish. And also a joke from a neighbour who's overheard the activities in the third segment and drawn the wrong. conclusions. Lib1rn is supposedly Lisa Wilbourn, gathering information. (Too many people use The All Seeing Eye, it's a bloody cliche). It's setting up the sense that something is about to come to a head (And not necessarily the canon something either)

Second part, I might've overthought. Someone's looking at the closest thing to home. It's a thread that's been looked at (Hence the page 22), but then ignored for a long time. There's supposed to be some sort a sense of alienation and seperation from it. Even if it is a little amusing. (Also, The Hairy Lemon and Bang Bang really did exist - it's a long story). Maybe thinking about 'home'. Some of these are somewhat 'Irish' memes. An American audience isn't supposed to get them....

The third part is ringing bells for more than a few things:
Kyoki no Ongaku is a reference to the Drunkard's Walk fanfic series.
Actually reveal what the video might've been like and give it a soundtrack. And add some self-deprecation.
Bernstein Beer is to show that the city has a Jewish community that's getting hassled (I think.... Yiddish idioms != my thing and i didn't want to overdo it)
Dendromedary's comment about this not being put together in one night is telling - both because it sort of was, and wasn't at the same time.
Posting the video has revealed a lot about his power. Enough for people to make guesses....
....That may still be wrong. Hence Void Cowboy makes a reasonably insightful point, he's wrong, but not stupid. It's a logical enough conclusion. (Contrary to his usual fandom portrayal)
KNO's postings, and the comment about Fighting Monsters are meant to foreshadow something upcoming. See the Nazi's being bullish up above for further hints.
Tiron Heel indicates that Kaiser is, on some level, being made aware of Jaeger. The link being the phrase 'Day of the Rope', and the reference to The Turner Diaries. (I feel so dirty). The phrase will appear again. It's supposed to be a touchstone.
In related news, Lehane's specific comment about the Jaeger/Hunter comparison is also supposed to be just a little telling in light of the above. Something about hate.
It's also finally the only way I could think of to reveal that the Protectorate already knew about the kid - they gave him a codename, which (while also being both an in-joke, is another slice of foreshadowing for the future, considering the original 'Chariot') indicates they know a lot more than he thinks. Which is an important hint that other people have plans first person perspective cannot know.
The Protectorate, on some level, even individually, are trying to reach out rather than be an omnipresent bullying authority.

Switch handles. Because now we've switched gear. Some action will be taken. At least, there's an intent to do it.

Hey, some people think he might've been a bit too brutal . Walker_Of_Swords especially.
Jaeger as a name is taken on the forums. Also a true statement. Colour costs money.
Isn't it somewhat traditional fanon to pictures of your costumer to get (Verified Cape). There's no Verified handle here yet....
Hardron prime's post abut being an EE hints at a different sort of Thinker power, and the true nature or our Protagonist's shard/Power combo.
Our protagonist grounds himself, giving a background in our world. An engineer by training too - (Also why we added the Trump catchphrase earlier. May be going native, but still a bloody foreigner). The post is also a half-truth. Tattletale might fill in the other half if given the chance
Kid Win makes the obvious and logical assumption. This might change the protectorate's response going forward. But again, the protagonist had a life before Bet and learned skills.
AM,FM. Actual Machines. Fucking Magic. KNO is, with tounge in cheek, maybe not from around here. (A sort of in-joke)

Lunchtime. What happened at Lunctime on Thursday, April 14th, 2011?
Yup. There's the plot, right there. Kid win's not in a position to answer PM's - he's got a bigger issues.

And I've probably overwrought the whole bloody thing, but so it goes. This was fairly thought out. There's probably far more thinking in this yoke than'll ever be noticed. Maybe one day I'll go back and flag it all. Even the title is a reference to the Victorian trope of random white guy showing up knowing better than the 'savage' natives and leading them to salvation from their wicked and uncivilised ways....... like so many other SI fics.

And nobody copped it.

 

[Ack]

Wow, that was a read and a half.

Just one note. No such thing as the Glock 15. The 17 is the lowest number in the Glock range.

 

[DartzIRL]

Ah. Em. We'll blame Scion for that one. Ahem....

And yeah. QQ's getting the version that may one day end up on FFN if I can remember my login. SB's getting the annotated version and SV's getting some of the more eperimental parts first. TvTrops has gotten nothing so far, thankfully.