Prologue: A Day Unlike Any Other
That morning, I woke up curled in my sheets, my eyes bleary and limbs splayed every which way. It was just like every other morning. I untangled myself from the sheets, exposing my pajama clad form to the brisk morning air (I like to keep my room on the colder side). I trudged over to the window and shut it closed, then made my way over to the door and across the hall to the upstairs bathroom. Once inside, I began my daily morning rituals: Brush teeth, shower, wash hair, apply products (Miss Militia branded hairspray), apply makeup (light foundation, blush, and lip gloss). Indeed, it was just like every other morning. Everything was fine. There was nothing strange going on today. I am fine! I'm…
The overwhelming tide of foreign knowledge and memories that I had been desperately holding back since I woke up came crashing down. My mind flooded with thoughts and feelings not my own as white knuckles gripped the countertop in a vice. The world swayed, and I bent double over the sink, hyperventilating, lungs fighting for air. In a moment of clarity, it was as if all higher functioning shut down. My mind, which was racing just moments before, was now utterly and bizarrely calm.
I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. Bushy eyebrows framed brown eyes, flecked with green, stared back. Cheeks flushed on a peachy complexion, skin fair and mostly clear. Straight brown hair was pulled into a thick braid that hung over my shoulder down to my modest chest. I stood just a bit under 5'3", which was slightly below average height for a girl my age. It was the correct face and body of Samantha Brown. My face. My body.
I regarded myself feeling detached in that floaty sort of way where your body felt light, like you're a spirit inhabiting somebody else's corporeal form.
It's called dissociation, I thought distantly
. My emotions drifted far away, the panic replaced by an empty calm. Slowly, I came back to myself, everything beginning to feel less unreal. My arms and legs began to shake, and I had to take a seat on the floor lest I collapse.
For a long few minutes, I sat there contemplating what had happened to me. Thoughts raced as I processed the flood of information that had been unceremoniously dumped into my head.
Holy cow, my brain's too small to hold onto all this. I feel like my head's about to burst!
In my mind now sat the entire set of memories of a man called Samuel Brown, the complete life story of an unremarkable individual. Samuel was born to two loving parents (not that they were all lovey-dovey, but they certainly cared for one another). He grew up as the only child of a middle class family living in the suburbs of Des Moines, Iowa. From a young age, his parents encouraged the pursuit of his passions and interests, leading to his gardening hobby and eventual desire for a degree in biology. He was also an avid reader and video gamer, his tastes revolving primarily around fantasy or science fiction for the former and role playing games (or RPGs) for the latter. Samuel did not make friends easily, but those few he did befriend often ended up being close long term contacts. He excelled in academics, never dipping from a straight-A student record. After high school, he attended Iowa State University on scholarship for their undergraduate genetics program, going on to apply and receive admission to the graduate program of the same area of study. However, before he could finish his master's, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Despite aggressive treatments and putting up a strong fight, Samuel Hayden Brown died on May 4th, 2024 at the age of 25.
All in all, his was not a particularly outlandish life. There were some highlights and eventful moments, but I didn't feel that his experiences were entirely incongruous to my own. It was interesting to note that this man apparently lived in a world devoid of capes. Not less capes. Not a few capes. No capes. None. Nada. That and the fact that he died 13 years ahead of the current year from my perspective ruled out both Earth Aleph and Earth Bet as possible worlds of origins. I had rarely contemplated other Earths before. Contact between us and Aleph is so limited that you only ever really hear about whatever new movie or video game is being imported. It was hard to keep my thoughts from rambling.
Now, if all I had received was the memories of some unfortunate soul from another Earth, I might have been able to brush it off without an existential crisis. Oh sure, I would have worried over the source of these memories and their implications, wondering at the differences in technology and culture of this separate reality, but I would have been able to go about my day without breaking down. I wasn't even worried about any personality overwriting or something awful like that; after settling, the memories felt distinctly separate from my own, more like a viscerally emotional movie than something that happened to me.
However, there was a concerning subset of Samuel's memories that had contributed to my mental breakdown. Samuel read a lot. Much of his favorite stories came in the form of web serials or from fan fiction sites. One story in particular resonated strongly with him.
Say it with me now.
Worm.
I shuddered and immediately made a pact with myself to never internally monologue to an imaginary audience again. Down that path lies madness.
This was the cause of my current existential crisis: The story of my world written out as fiction. My existence was reduced to less than a faceless, nameless, background nobody in another girl's heroic/villainous adventure. For all the cosmic horror that the entities entailed, nothing could have made me feel smaller and more unimportant than my nonexistence in canon
Worm or any fanfiction Samuel had ever read.
Am I even real? No, I can't think that way! I have my own memories, experiences, and desires. Just because I wasn't important enough to write about doesn't mean I didn't exist! It helped to think about
Worm as some bizarre dramatized retelling of events rather than as a fictional story.
I wondered for a moment if I was one of the students who protected Taylor at Arcadia when the Protectorate came knocking for her arrest. I would have been at the right time and place. Unless I was drowned by Leviathan, or blown up by one of Bakuda's bombs, or tortured by the Slaughterhouse Nine, or… Another involuntary shudder wracked my body, a small moan of terror leaving my lips. Let's not think about that.
Just because my personal musings on the nature of her existence took center stage did not mean that I forgot about all the other bombs dropped on me. Brockton Bay was in danger of widespread gang warfare and outright terrorism. A gosh darn endbringer was coming in less than five months! Scion/Zion/The Warrior or whatever you want to call him is going to end the world! And the shadowy organization with no scruples against committing the most heinous acts imaginable if it would grant them even a second longer against the entity controls the world with their super-Thinker.
Oh no no no No NO! I know too much. They'll kill me without a second thought, and remove any trace of my existence, and make my family forget about me! Thankfully, no portal opened up behind me, the fedora wearing boogeyman of Cauldron pointing a pistol at the back of my head. Nor did Alexandria crash through the bathroom ceiling declaring my arrest for stealing Cauldron's secrets. Logically, I knew that it was incredibly unlikely that Contessa would be running a path that required me to die or disappear. I had no intention to inform another soul about their dealings. Still, that did little to stop me from imagining the darkest possible outcomes. I took a minute to calm down again, and I was at least satisfied that I was not in immediate danger.
Although, I might be in danger for different reasons. A dead man's memories were not the only thing I had received. Now that I had been given some time to digest Samuel's memories and some of what they entailed, I turned my thoughts to the incredible mountain of knowledge lodged irrevocably in my brain. Pieces of information burst forth: Weapon and armor diagrams, alchemical formulae, spell tomes, anatomy of creatures both ethereally beautiful and disgustingly horrifying, a mixture of things born of magic and science. I held the sum total knowledge of all things present in the RPGs
Fallout: New Vegas, and
Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
Why those games specifically?! Then I realized that these were the games that Samuel had spent the most time playing out of any other. They were the ones he, and by extension I, was most familiar with.
In short, I had the ability to bring any power, creature, technology, or really anything found in these games at all into existence, either through tinkering or some other method. Hence, I was now a cape. Or parahuman? Wait, do I even count as a parahuman? I don't think my powers come from a Shard. I certainly don't have any desire to dress up in spandex and fight crime.
The scientific consensus and canon agree that parahumans have a compulsion to use their powers. Now, maybe I just hadn't given it enough time, but I didn't feel like I had to use my powers or that something was pushing me to use them. In fact, the thought of having this kind of power made me reluctant. I was almost afraid of it and the responsibility that came with it. I thought about Taylor's bravery in the face of insurmountable odds and the heroics of so many others who were probably just as afraid as I felt.
My home is in danger. My family and friends could die if I don't use my powers.
I might die if I don't use my powers.
In the end, it was hardly a decision at all. If I wanted to keep everything and everyone I care about safe, I'd need to use my powers and memories both. With newfound resolve, I began to explore the intricacies of my power. Ideas began to form about what to create first and what I would need to realize my mental blueprints.
I'm a Tinker now, and the material requirements for a lot of this stuff aren't exactly common household items.
bang…bang…bang…
The worst thing would be to get caught by a gang because I brought attention to myself by buying too many tinkering parts. A lot of this would be immediately suspicious to anyone paying attention. Electronics, uncut gems, gunpowder… Wait. Where would I even get a diamond that large?!
Bang…Bang…Bang…
Hmm, I think I might be able to make my own materials for a lot of this, but I'll have to start at the ground level somehow. I wonder if…
BANG…BANG…BANG…
"Sam, open up!" My brother's shout brought me back to reality. Mentally shunting my power-driven thoughts into the corner of my mind, I collected myself. I took a deep breath, held it for a few counts, and then slowly released it. I think it helped. My heart wasn't beating quite so hard as before.
"Seriously, Sam! The rest of us need to get ready too! Saaaaaam open the…" The rest of his sentence was cut off as I swung the door open.
"Morning Cody. All yours," I spoke quickly, hoping to avoid any awkward questions.
"Uh-huh," came his unimpressed reply, "And what could possibly require a whole hour for you to get ready? Is there something happening today that I missed? You're rocking the same nerd look as always." As usual, Cody never failed to be blunt.
My older brother had two years on me and quite a bit more height. At 5'11", he wasn't exceptionally tall, but he towered over me. Cody inherited Dad's dark hair, light green eyes ,and his height. However, he had the same thick eyebrows that we both got from Mom. Cody worked out, and you could tell. His tall frame was built upon by very respectable muscle mass. He wasn't ripped, but he definitely leaned more towards the higher end of lithe. In other words, it was the perfect build for basketball. I'll give you three guesses what sport he played for school, and the first two don't count. The one physical trait that might run counter to what one would expect of the typical high school jock was how he chose to wear his hair. The dark strands fell straight down almost to his lower back, even longer than mine.
I struggled to think of a proper answer to his questions. Apparently I had spent far longer locked in contemplation than I had thought or intended to. Not coming up with a great response, I decided to deflect.
"Girl stuff. And wearing glasses doesn't make me a nerd."
He was not impressed, "Whatever. Danny had to use mom and Dad's bathroom after they were done because you took so long. She might be late to her morning classes, and we're definitely gonna be late."
Cody was my ride to Arcadia, and my breakdown was gonna cause us both to be late. Great. Any thought of powers and monsters was thoroughly brushed aside as I rushed off to get ready. I quickly entered my room, closed the door, and cast off my bathrobe. I didn't stop to think about what I was going to wear today, putting on the first outfit I found.
Graphic tee and jeans it is. A rather large portion of my wardrobe consisted of nothing but jeans and t-shirts. Today's shirt was dark gray with an album cover from one of my favorite bands displayed front and center.
That done, I re-exited my room and raced downstairs. Not having much time for a proper breakfast, I hastily grabbed whatever I could eat on the go (one overripe banana and a granola bar with chocolate chips and raisins).
It wasn't more than a minute later that Cody came downstairs. Not stopping to eat, he continued out the front door to his car (a 2005 Chevrolet Aeon; car makes and models diverged somewhat from Samuel's Earth). It was one of the things he was most proud of, having spent much of the last several years saving up money from his part time jobs. Not wanting to further exacerbate our lateness, I threw on my shoes and sped off to catch up to him. Once in the passenger seat, he barely waited for me to attach my seat belt before backing out of the driveway.
It turns out I couldn't quite hold off all the dark and turbulent thoughts once I had nothing else to focus on. I let out an inaudible sigh. These recurring fears were going to suck. I doubted I would be able to pay attention in school. The car ride passed in silence, Cody keeping his eyes locked ahead on the road, and me ruminating.
It wasn't until we pulled into Arcadia's parking lot that he spoke his first words to me since the bathroom incident, "What's really going on Sam? Are you sure you're doing ok?"
He was looking directly at me, and I couldn't find it in myself to look back at him when I made my reply, "It's really nothing."
I guess my brother really does care. He hardly ever shows it.
"Well whatever," he said, "if you feel sick or something, you should tell Mom or Dad. See you later." Apparently he didn't care enough to dig deeper than that after my brusque answer.
"See ya," I shot back.
Well, off to class it is, I thought. I pushed my braid back over my shoulder so it hung straight down my back and prepared myself for the reprimand that was sure to follow my tardiness. It turns out we had missed first bell by only five or so minutes, but the Arcadia staff weren't exactly lenient in this regard. I walked briskly over to the front doors.
Arcadia High was one of the nicer schools in the bay. It had a reputation as being the richy-rich school and was somewhat deserved. Many of the children from well-to-do families attended Arcadia because its status as a vocational school allowed them to participate in whatever family businesses or internships they had after the shortened school day. And of course, it was an open secret that the Wards all attended Arcadia. The PRT didn't advertise that fact, but my metaknowledge confirmed for me that it was true (with the exception of a certain overly aggressive, crossbow wielding Breaker).
Arcadia absolutely took first prize for the most unique architectural design however. From above the campus looked like a big H. Two large rectangular buildings, both four stories high, were connected at the middle by a shorter X-shaped pairing of hallways. The south building held most of the STEM adjacent classrooms, such as math and science, along with the cafeteria and the gymnasium. The north building extended a bit further in length than its partner and contained more classrooms, mostly for the humanities fields, as well as the auditorium.
As for the offices, the bulk of the administration was located dead center where the connecting hallways crossed to form the X. It sort of bulged a bit in the middle allowing for more office space at ground level around the hallways. There were also auxiliary offices at the main entrances to both the south and north side buildings, used primarily for secretarial purposes. This is the checkpoint I would need to pass through on my way to class.
Unfortunately for me, Mr. Hastings, the designated truancy officer, was already waiting, having just concluded a brief discussion with Cody. I let out another sigh internally.
"Miss Brown, it's not like you or your brother to show up late. I hope that everything is going alright for you," Mr. Hastings was a no nonsense sort of guy, but he rarely escalated to raised voices or hostility against a student.
"Everything is alright, sir. It just took a little longer than I thought to get ready this morning."
"Be that as it may, I will still have to mark down your tardy. It's only your first offense, so you'll get off with a warning today. No detention."
I knew the policy on tardies, but I was still relieved to hear those words.
"I'll have the office contact your parents later," and there goes my relief, "Remember that you can always have your parents contact the office to let us know about any unexpected situations."
"Yes, sir."
"Have a good day, Miss Brown."
"You too, sir."
I felt glad to get out of that situation relatively unscathed. Nobody had pushed too hard yet on my reasons for being late. Maybe I was assigning too much importance to it. After all,
they didn't know about the awful revelations I received this morning and were very unlikely to jump to such outlandish conclusions so soon.
Note to self: Avoid Lis-Tattletail. Oh boy. Confusing civilian and cape identities might be a bit of an issue in the future. I'll have to clamp down on that hard.
With yet another problem weighing me down, I made my way to my first class of the day, only fashionably late. Arcadia's truncated schedule meant that there was no hope of fitting every class into a single day. Therefore, we had a rotating schedule with four shorter blocks on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and three longer blocks on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My short block days consisted of math, science, English, and social studies. My long blocks had just PE/health sciences, computer studies, and my favorite class, art. As it was a Wednesday, (February 2nd) I walked up to Mr. López' math class. Without further ado, I got started on my school day.
"Ugghhhhh," I couldn't help but let out an audible groan. Somehow, I managed to stay focused for my first two classes of the day. It was a constant battle not to drift into thinking about the events of this morning or the tantalizing buffet of power-wrought fantasies hovering just outside the edge of my consciousness. My earlier hesitancy mostly forgotten, it turns out that the allure of superpowers can be pretty strong even without the interference of a mind altering parasite. But I resisted the wicked temptations.
My reward? The best school lunch Brockton Bay has to offer, which is to say, perhaps a bit better than passing but not great. My hunger had built up from the ordeal and lack of a decent breakfast. All that is to say that I was nearly ravenous when I finally sat down with my lunch. I was one of the first in line and to a table on account of having my previous class so close to the cafeteria. I dug into my meatloaf and mashed potatoes, which was not half bad for a school lunch.
It wasn't long before my small circle of friends found me in my little corner. Jasmine was tall with sharp Asian features. I first got to know her from freshman year in art club, and we shared a few interests in that area. Ymena was even shorter than me, with a darker complexion and rounder features. She was a bit on the chubby side, and we all loved her. She was always ready with a quip or funny remark. Cassandra, or Cass as we called her, was white like me, maybe a bit paler but not pasty. Her hair had a neon green streak running through it, and she was a few inches shorter than Jasmine. She wasn't very serious when it came to schoolwork, but she was fun to hang out with.
After greetings and everybody getting some food in their bellies, we turned to idle lunchroom chatter. To my surprise, my minor tardy had made its way to our little friend group. Maybe the gossip mill was slow today? I suppose neither I nor Cody had ever been late before. My friends were mildly curious, but I was able to shoot them down with my generic explanation of taking too much time in the bathroom.
A bit later into our conversation, I was distracted by an outpouring of laughter from across the room. I quickly zeroed in on the disturbance. Ah, it was the Queen Bee's table of popular guys and gals. Oh, Vicky, Victoria, Glory Girl,
Antares. Samuel's knowledge of
Ward consisted mostly of osmosis from fanfics, but of course, that doesn't stop the events and characters from the sequel from being canon. From being
real.
Victoria Dallon and her sister were a whole collection of issues just waiting to explode. There was the whole repressed incestuous desires thing going on with Amy, not to mention the fact that it was likely caused by long term exposure to Vicky's emotional aura. Then there was Amy's suppression of her powers. While the world at large knew her as Brockton Bay's preeminent healer, and she was even nationally famous for it, very few knew that her actual power was blanket biological manipulation. I doubt there was anyone else in the world besides me, not even Amy herself, who knew the extent of what she could be capable of if her power was leveraged fully. Seriously, even taking the most conservative estimates of her power's limits, Amy could probably take on the Triumvirate (all three at once) given enough preparation and imagination…
I was brought out of my musings by a gentle shake of my shoulder. I looked over to see Cass with her hand on my shoulder and a smirk on her face.
"What's up Sam?" she questioned in a playful tone, "You've been staring at the blonde bombshell for a hot minute. Got something you want to share with the class?" Her smirk deepened.
I rolled my eyes at her, "You know she's not my type." I hardly advertised, but it wasn't exactly a secret that I was bi. Everyone in my friend group knew (It might have been slightly awkward if they figured out that I had a tiny crush on Jasmine, but I don't think they know yet).
My response got the attention of the others, and the conversation devolved into playful teasing of my interest in Vicky. They were all nice enough to keep it friendly and not cross my boundaries. As usual, Jasmine participated the least in the gossiping.
We eventually moved onto other topics before the lunch bell rang. Ymena asked if I wanted to hang out with her after school, but I cited my need to catch up on schoolwork at home. It would even have been true if I hadn't spent time earlier in the week getting a head start on my essay. I was normally a responsible student after all, metaphysical catastrophes notwithstanding.
…Which is something that Ymena knows. Darn, I am a terrible liar. I don't know how Taylor handled all that cloak and dagger stuff!
I quickly appended to my terrible lie, "I really should have gotten started on my essay earlier, ugh. But if I power through, I should have some time later in the week. Say, does Friday work for you? We can go hang out down at the Boardwalk."
"Ha, make it a date," she replied with a jubilant smile, "Catch you later alligator."
Apparently my explanation sufficed. I hope this stops being so stressful at some point. Well, I only had two more classes to get through, and after class vocational, and the rest of the day, and the rest of my life…
Frick.
By the end of my last class, I was just
so tired. I found my attention slipping further and further towards magic spells and fusion cells. Half formed plans intruded on my note taking. By the time the last bell finally arrived, I was filled with a nervous energy once more. My shaking legs threatened to drop out from under me.
Breathe in. Hold. Release. It helped a little bit. I hurried myself through the halls, stopping only to gather the remainder of my belongings from my locker. Then, I was out the door and headed to my bus route.
There was still my vocational program to attend, so unfortunately, I would not be going home just yet. Arcadia had a program going with Brockton Bay University (BBU) where students could attend classes and club activities pertaining to their area of interest. It was in large part the reason I went to Arcadia over Clarendon or the other nearby options.
After class bus routes were carefully planned to have a route from Arcadia to the university campus. As far as I know, no other school had this privilege, marking Arcadia as the odd one out in yet another way. I clambered aboard the big yellow beast of a bus and shimmied my way to the furthest back seat. The rest of the seats filled up quickly almost to full capacity; not everyone here would be going to BBU, but there were other stops downtown along the way.
The bus rumbled into gear, and for the first time since this morning, I shifted my mind completely to my power. There was a lot to unpack, and the dearth of options available to me was momentarily overwhelming.
Narrow your focus, I told myself. Despite the multitude of possible directions my power could take, there were only two real starting points. If I wanted to unlock all of Fallout's options, I would need to build a Pip-Boy first. Not wanting to draw attention to myself by tinkering on the bus, I canned that route for now.
As for Skyrim… I think I could do this one. My power suggested to me that I had to enter a meditative state. So, I closed my eyes, relaxed my shoulders, and focused my mind. I wasn't exactly sure what I was supposed to be focusing on though. I thought back to Samuel's memories of his various playthroughs. I envisioned the skill trees, constellations of motes of power engraved upon the heavens. There was no response. It felt almost like I was jumping ahead or skipping a step.
I tried again, this time bringing forth the idea of magical power. Something stirred at this, a sensation in an organ my body didn't possess.
Was that my soul?
Despite the strange sensation, nothing else seemed to happen. This was starting to get frustrating. I thought harder, dredging up all of my memories of the game. There's the inventory, magic screen, skill trees, and map, but none of these felt right. Then I realized it. Samuel played on console. The individual tabs can't be opened up with a single controller button press. First, you open up that screen with the fancy UI cross.
A crossroads.
And like that, it all clicked into place. In my mind's eye, I envisioned it, the four pointed cross, embellished by Nordic design work, each point leading to a separate function of my power: North, East, South, West; Skills, Items, Map, Magic.
The stirring from before jumped a magnitude in strength. It was now a thrumming, coursing current through my metaphysical body. Channels analogous to veins and arteries hummed with mystical energies overlaid on top of my corporeal form.
There was no other way to describe this power but intoxicating. I longed to unleash my might, to enact my will upon the world. Taking more deep breaths, I managed to corral my emotions. It wouldn't do to set the bus on fire. Magic later.
I re-envisioned my crossroads and took the top option. My mental image blurred up and up past a layer of clouds until it landed in the heavens itself.
Woah. Green and blue lightly glowing nebulae enveloped my vision, the ephemeral clouds of gas tapering off towards the top of my field of vision, where they gave way to a dark void filled with distant stars.
In the center of my vision, but still incredibly far away, floated a constellation of glowing orbs wreathed by a familiar design of glowing blue lines. The hand with fingers of flame and a swirling palm symbolized the Destruction school of magic. The constellations for the other magic skills stretched to my left and right, the skills of the warrior and thief further beyond those.
I was curious to know what my skill levels were, and I was greeted by a big fat zero. Zero skill levels in Destruction, and Restoration as well, and Alteration too. In fact, every single skill, all eighteen, were sitting at zero levels.
Well, I suppose that means I have more room to grow?
That was a thought for later, as I wasn't about to start testing my theories. As for my other info, they read off as:
Name: Samantha
Level: 1 (The experience bar was empty)
Race: Human
There were no magical race bonuses for me yet, unfortunately. I'll be stuck as a default human until I can figure that out. My other stats were intriguing.
Magicka: 150/150
Health: 100/100
Stamina: 90/90
Magicka seemed straightforward. I needed a certain amount to cast spells. Stamina likely indicated how much exertion I could put forth until I collapsed from exhaustion. I wasn't sure how Health would work. Would it go down based on how injured I was? Do I die if I reach zero Health? How does that work with Fallout's HP system? I needed a safe way to test my hypotheses, and I definitely would not find that on the bus.
Shelf that for now.
I mentally flicked back to the crossroads and took a right turn. Whereas my Skills screen took up my entire focus, my Items screen was much less distracting. It was less of a screen and more of a mental overlay. I could actually multitask, paying attention to my surroundings and inventory at the same time.
My inventory had all the usual subsections: Weapons, Apparel, Potions, Scrolls, Food, Ingredients, Books, Keys, Miscellaneous, and an All tab to browse every item at once. Oh, there was also a Favorites tab to place items that I wanted within easy mental reach. Currently, the only things in my inventory were what I was wearing. My blouse, jeans, socks, shoes, and undergarments were all listed as equipped under the Apparel tab. Incidentally, my shoes counted as two individual items rather than a single pair. The same was true for my socks.
That gave me an idea. Surreptitiously glancing around to make sure nobody was paying attention to me, I mentally pulled on my left sock. Sure enough, my left foot was now only covered by my sneaker. Belatedly, I realized that could have gone poorly if my power decided that drawing my clothing into and out of the ether should be accompanied by magical sparkles and a light show. Thankfully, there was no such fanfare. My sock was warming my foot one moment and banished beyond this mortal coil the next. I re-equipped my sock.
Alright, next up was the Map. I had no idea what I was expecting, but yeah, that made sense. My vision was once again completely encompassed. This time, I was looking down upon Brockton Bay from above. The city appeared to be semi-photorealistic with a few tweaks to the contrast that made landmarks pop out. Zooming as far out as I could, I saw that the regions outside city proper were occluded by dense cloud cover. Cloud cover which did not exist back in reality. I suppose my Map wouldn't cover anything outside of Brockton for now, but maybe that could change.
Before gaining Samuel's memories, I had a more positive opinion of my home city. Outsider perspective and a revealing bird's eye view have since soured my outlook. The city sat north of Boston and south of Portsmouth barely inside the New Hampshire state border. As far as I could tell, the bay for which our fair city was named did not exist in Samuel's Earth, replacing the coast near Hampton Beach, which did not exist on my Earth. The Bay got started as a colonial city all the way back before the Revolutionary War. The city planners of that time weren't quite so concerned with zoning laws. As a port city, the original docks and boarding houses all bled together to form a sprawling mass. This section became the area residents call the docks and boat graveyard. Far from its heyday, the docks are the most decrepit part of the whole city. Once proud colonial architecture now sat broken and graffiti covered. After Boston became the world's first rail hub in the 1830s, Brockton soon followed, expanding trade to both land and sea. Going further north past the docks would lead you to those same trainyards, now broken down from disuse and neglect. As the decades passed, the city's population continued to climb. Housing grew sporadically west from the docks and trainyard. Older neighborhoods that originated close to the docks gave way to suburbs and that grew sparser as you approached the city limit. Around this same time, the area south of the docks had grown into a full fledged downtown commercial district. Some of the buildings from this period were still recognizable such as the bank and library. By the mid 1900s, Brockton was a moderately large city. Communities spread inland and further down the coast. Captain's Hill, which denoted the city limit between a town of that same name and us, stood furthest west in my view. By the turn of the new millennium, the decline of Brockton's sea trade had marked the end of any prosperity north of downtown. With the fall of trade came the rise of new business. Brockton became something of a hub for the technology and medical sectors. Many of the tallest buildings downtown hadn't existed half a century ago. The rise of superpowered humans had of course affected more than just Brockton, but perhaps no other city had been so obviously influenced; the Protectorate Headquarters, home to the heroes of the PRT East-North-East division loomed unmistakably in the middle of the bay itself with its glowing forcefield and futuristic architecture. This was a city with history. And that history had not always been kind.
From my viewpoint, the various districts were more distinct than I think they should have been. There was a subtle shading to each zone that terminated abruptly at designated boundaries. Makes my life easier.
I idly wondered how quickly I could find my house. Start at the residential zone. Use Arcadia as a guide. The School is at the northern tip of downtown. Go almost exactly due west. Zoom in. There's the pizza place on Kinzie Street. Just a bit north. That looks like my neighborhood.
I did not get to finish my scavenger hunt. Abruptly, I was brought back down to Earth by the rider in front of me who was lightly shaking my shoulder.
"Hey, this is your stop, right?" the unknown person asked.
I vaguely recognized him as an upperclassman I had seen a few times. They were a regular on this route.
"Uh, right. Thanks," My reply came out quiet and rushed, my head still dazed from the whiplash of being snapped back to reality.
"No problem," He smiled a little at me before turning back around.
Not wanting to miss my stop, I hurried to the front and disembarked after thanking the bus driver.
Brockton Bay University was a fairly old institute, established at the same time as Boston University. Red brickwork and sloped green roofs adorned the oldest buildings. Well-trimmed walls of ivy provided that mysterious allure that all older institutions liked to show off. These older buildings surrounded a green space on three sides with the fourth bordered by the street.
Walkable paths wound deeper into campus. I took my normal route around Evans Hall. The rest of the campus displayed progressively more modern structures of concrete and glass. Art installations dotted the various paths, and garden beds, barren in the cold of winter, lined walkways.
My destination was Gotthard Hall of Performing Arts. One of the more modern buildings, it had a multi-tiered design. Gotthard was much wider than it was tall, with an expansive base and a section that jutted out straight up where the main theater space was located. Portions of the first two floors lay uncovered by the floors above, corners forming obtuse angles causing the building to stand out from its nearby peers. A pattern of vertical alternating dark and light sandstone stripes complemented its tall windows. I once heard someone compare it to the Lied Center at UNL.
It wasn't long before I found myself inside, treading through the wide open lobby and into the softly carpeted halls. Making my way around the back of the theater, I came to the backstage section.
Other members of the stage crew were already working on a multitude of projects. Set backdrops were being painted, props built, lighting examined, and costume racks ordered.
Familiar faces called out greetings as I passed, and I gave back nods and "hellos". I stopped next to Sarah (the stage manager).
Blue eyes and white teeth in a bright smile met me, "Afternoon, Sam! We'll have you on painting duty today. The backdrop for the starry night scene. Gerard's on that one, let me know if you have any questions!"
"Got it," I walked over to the aforementioned backdrop.
After a quick back and forth with Gerard, I was caught up to speed on the style he wanted and got to work. The minutes and then hours passed by, the work occasionally broken up by small talk but mostly spent on my painting. It was liberating to give my undivided focus to this mundane task, the stress of today forgotten.
More than usual, I felt glad that I had chosen this for my vocational study. Members of the Arcadia art club generally split their vocational time between personal projects and working with other groups around the city, and at first I wasn't sure what I wanted to do.
Freshman year, back when I was considering who I wanted to work with, Danny had been the one to suggest looking into stage crew at BBU. At the time, my sister planned to attend the university for a degree in performing arts.
Fast forward to now, and she had a supporting role in the upcoming round of performances. It was nice that I got to see my sister from time to time, and I genuinely enjoyed learning all the intricacies that went into a play.
I barely noticed the other members trickle out as the day wound down, lost in my work. I was once again snapped out of my fugue when Gerard informed me that he was leaving for the day and that he'd be able to finish up the backdrop tomorrow.
What was this, the fourth or fifth time I'd been caught lost in my own head today? It was beginning to become a bad habit.
Checking my phone, I saw that it was a quarter past 5:00. Saying my goodbyes to Sarah, who was always one of the last to leave, I trekked out to the student parking lot. Danny was waiting for me like usual.
She greeted me with a big wave and a bigger smile. Daniel Brown was the eldest child in our family and her appearance took a midline approach between me and Cody. She had the same dark hair and green eyes as Dad, but her features were rounder like Mom's. Her eyes came up to Cody's chin level, and she had a
figure. She may have shared my modest curves, but she knew how to use what genetics gave her. Years of religious dedication to dieting had granted her a slim frame. She rocked an hourglass figure with yoga pants and a crop top (I'm sure some of her classmates appreciated the way it showed off her butt). While her hair was naturally straight, Danny styled it with a little curl, wearing it down only to her neck. The shortest out of all us siblings.
"Let's get going Samwise. I'm staaarving," My sister had read the classics.
"Sure thing Fanny Danny," It was hard not to fall into a bantering mood around my sister.
She stuck her tongue out at me as she got in the driver's seat. I chuckled lightly, glad that things were feeling somewhat normal again.
"So what was up with you this morning?" my sister asked, "I'll have you know I had to drive recklessly after you cut into my morning time!" she said in a joking tone.
"Har-har. Things just took a little longer than usual. I'm fine."
She looked at me, an eyebrow raised in skepticism, "You look normal today."
"Cody said the same thing."
"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," she said sagely. She giggled a bit at her own antics, "Okay, what's really going on? I know you didn't take an hour just to put together your normal look," Her expression took on a shade of concern, "You can tell me anything you want, Sam. Sister solidarity."
Doubling down on my lie or staying silent would only deepen her concern. I didn't see a way out of this without telling something at least resembling the truth, "I guess I just got lost in thought. I mean, the state of the city always feels like it's getting worse, and I had some bad dreams the night before about it all, so that just sorta got me in a mood. But I'm fine now. Really. Pinky promise."
I tend to get a bit rambly when I'm uncomfortable. She seemed to buy it though. Or at least enough to leave the topic alone. The rest of the ride home was spent on more comfortable topics, telling each other about our days and what we would be doing the rest of the week.
We arrived before the end of the hour. Brockton Bay rush hour traffic wasn't too terrible.
Home again. The Brown family house did not stray far from the prototypical "American dream". Two stories of off white walls, a brown shingle roof, a three car garage with a wide driveway, and a picket-fenced backyard created the image of the ideal suburban home.
Cody's Aeon was parked on the far right, so Danny parked her car in the middle. Mom and Dad weren't home yet. We got out of the car and went inside, closing the garage door on our way in. You could never be too careful in this city.
"I'll get started on dinner. You go get your homework done," Danny helpfully informed me.
Once up the stairs and back in my room, I made sure the door was closed and locked. I collapsed in a heap on my bed.
Wow, for a day where I hardly performed any physical activity, I sure am tired.
For a few minutes, I just let the outside world wash over me, recuperating my mental faculties.
Alright, priorities time. As much as I wanted to continue exploring my powers, a combination of an ingrained sense of responsibility and routine kept me on track. It was time to slog through my homework.
I took a seat at my desk and opened up my laptop. First things first, I'll finish that essay for social studies. Sophomore year social studies was called Current Events, and this semester had a focus on the emergence and impact of parahumans.
The goal of this essay was to research the intersectionality of parahumans and some aspect of broader culture. How have superpowers affected the economy? Or politics? What changes have capes made to tech sectors or the music industry? When presented with this prompt, I had jumped at the opportunity to write about parahumans in entertainment. About their influences on television, movies, books and the like.
Looking over what I had written so far, I felt a twinge of dismay. It seemed so… shallow. With all that I had learned this morning, my words felt incomplete. Like I was missing the point entirely. I had noted how the percentage of parahuman main characters completely eclipsed normals in recent years. The me of yesterday thought I had made an insightful remark about the popularity of parahuman couples pushing out normals with parahuman pairings. The me of yesterday was proud of my statement that parahuman portrayal had phased out normals as heroic action stars.
The me of yesterday didn't know about the full extent of the PRT's propaganda machine. How much of what we saw in media was a deliberate campaign by the PRT, and how much was artist intent? I didn't know for sure, but today I knew it was much more than I thought just 24 hours ago.
I wasn't about to rewrite the whole essay, lambasting the government organization for making their costumed employees look good while simultaneously conditioning the rest of the population into the mindset that there was absolutely nothing they could do in the face of villains and disasters. No, I was not bitter about my newly learned truths.
Instead, I just wrote a contrived conclusion to the paper I had already written, combing over it again to do some preliminary editing.
A loud sigh escaped my lips. It was done for now. There was no sense in being frustrated with my subpar essay. Not when it lacked any real world importance.
It was a few more minutes with some less divisive assignments (Oh math, I never thought I would be grateful for you) before the distinctive hum of the garage door reached my ears. Mom and Dad must be home.
Opening my door, the smell of tomato sauce wafted in from downstairs. Probably some sort of pasta tonight. I joined the rest of my family in the dining room/kitchen area, the table already set. There stood my parents. Dad was tall, short cropped black hair and sharp green eyes framing angular features. Mom was nearly a full foot shorter with brown hair and brown eyes. Her cheeks were softer than his.
"Hey Sweety," Dad interjected.
"How was your day?" Mom followed up innocuously.
"Good. Classes were fine. Got most of my homework done. Oh, Ymena and I were gonna go to the boardwalk after school. Is that okay?"
"Of course Sweetheart," Mom replied.
Were we not going to bring up the incident? I suppose they didn't want to interrogate me in front of Danny and Cody. Thank goodness for parents who respect the feelings of their children.
Dad walked over to the kitchen counter where my sister was making the final preparations, "That smells wonderful Danny. What's for dinner?"
"Spaghetti in Italian sausage meat sauce," she announced like a server at a high class restaurant reading off the daily special, "strawberries and blueberries for your side."
Cody chose that moment to arrive, and dinner began in earnest. We all served ourselves up and took a spot at the dining room table. Our parents believed in eating together as a family whenever possible, using the time in their otherwise busy schedules to get updates on their childrens' lives.
The food was well appreciated. Us siblings all helped out where we could. Cody and I knew how to cook, but Danny really went the extra mile in her dinner prep.
After hunger was satiated, questions were asked and answers given. Mom ranted about a frustrating case at work, Dad giving her a commiserating look. Cody had plans with his girlfriend this weekend. No, it was someone new. Not the gal from New Year's. They broke up. Danny talked animatedly about something interesting she learned in anthropology. I told everyone how preparations for the upcoming play were going.
I remained thankful that no awkward questions were asked over dinner.
Of course, all good things must come to an end. I blasted the last dirty dish with the sink and put it in the dishwasher. My siblings had retired for the night, leaving me alone with my parents. I don't think there would be any more escaping their concerned curiosity.
"How are you feeling Sweetheart?" an innocent enough question. Mom's tone indicated that she suspected I was feeling something other than "fine".
My heart rate increased. I prepared to give the same answer that I had given Danny earlier.
My dad preempted any possible diversionary tactics, "Sam, we're not upset that you were late to school. Sweety, we know that you're a responsible student who wouldn't be late without a good reason," his face morphed in worry as he spoke, "Your brother tried multiple times over a half hour to get your attention. He said it was deathly silent in there. Sam, if you have something, anything you need to tell us, we're here for you."
And I knew he meant it. Guilt and indecision burned within me. How could I tell them the truth? If I broke down and told them all the secrets floating around in my head, they'd be in immense danger. All of us would be.
Revealing the memories was out, but could I tell them about my powers? Most parents wouldn't jump to the conclusion that their daughter was a cape because she spent an hour of silence in the bathroom. My Mom and Dad were not most parents. Both my parents worked for the PRT, the Parahuman Response Team. They knew parahumans and they knew what signs to look for. Dad's job was nominally a PRT analyst. What he analyzed was never talked about. He had many amusing stories about colleagues and capes alike but nothing that revealed the exact nature of his work. Mom, on the other hand, was part of the marketing team for the Wards. She spent a significant portion of her time interacting directly with underage parahumans. The point is they were far more likely to suspect powers might be at play than the average parents.
Not that I was a true parahuman by the strict definition, but the intellectual differences hardly mattered when I displayed all the wrong signs. The greatest defense acting in my favor was that I had no plausible trigger event. I'm a happy enough child in a loving family that has not experienced a traumatizing event.
I don't
think they suspect powers yet, and either way it's too soon to reveal them. Unless they ask me directly, I won't tell them. Yet.
I had to come up with an answer that throws them off the scent, "Everything just kind of caught up to me today," I couldn't look Dad in the eyes, "Um, you see all those horrible things about the gangs in the news and on PHO and stuff. And all the other stuff going on around the world," Every lie needs to have some level of truth to it, or it's easy to see through the deception, "It uh, it just makes you feel hopeless sometimes, you know. Like no matter what, things are only getting worse. That they won't ever get better even with all the heroes trying and doing their best. Like there's no reason for people to even try and everyone has just accepted that," Without meaning to ramble on for so long, part of my true feelings came spilling out.
SPEECH INCREASED TO 1
wut
"Oh Sweetheart, we didn't know you were going through so much," Mom was teary eyed, "We're here, and we'll listen whenever you want. Or if you don't feel comfortable talking to us, we can get in contact with a professional."
"No! I mean, no I don't think I need to see a therapist Mom. I don't have depression, and I don't feel hopeless. I just had to get all the emotions out of my system."
The mental skill increase notice had nearly given me a heart attack. I'm not sure they didn't notice me flinch and nearly miss Mom's heartfelt words.
"Just remember that the option is always open to you Sweety. We love you so very much," Dad reached out for a hug. I reciprocated.
"More than anything else in the world," Mom made it a group hug.
My words were muffled into Dad's chest, "I love you guys too."
After our heart to heart, I retreated back up to my room. I still had some homework left, but nothing was due imminently. It could be put off until tomorrow… Screw it, I can't hold back anymore. It is officially experimenting time!
The first order of business was to check out my updated Skills screen. A brief mental flick, and I flew among the stars once more. Checking. Yep, my Speech is indeed now at 1. The bar was three quarters of the way to level 2. I had been in and out of conversations throughout the day, but I hadn't been keeping tabs on my skill's progress. I had zero clue whether my last little monologue had been the only contributor to the level up or if I had been making incremental progress throughout the day, and my speech had shot it over the edge. Perhaps only persuasion attempts count towards my progress. I had no way to figure that out without a testing partner.
In addition, my Level bar had gone up by a bit. If I had to guess, it looked to be around a tenth full, which made sense if I got a level up every ten skill increases.
There were so many things I wanted to test. Too many. But there was one thing I had to check first. The last remaining direction of my crossroads. Magic.
With trepidation, I hesitantly opened the last remaining screen. This was it. The abilities granted to me by my inventory were incredible, but this was the flash. The pizzazz. The contents of this tab are what made me a bona fide superhuman.
Flames. Healing.
Just by default, I had been gifted a powerful offensive tool and a broken self regeneration ability. Of the two, Healing was without a doubt the winner. Flames was a cool spell if I felt like burning something down for some reason, but Healing… There was a reason why regeneration powers were held in such high regard. Perseverance in the face of damaging abilities and otherwise crippling injuries was often the trait of a top tier cape. And what a regenerative ability this was. If my Healing was analogous to the game's, then I could expect to have rapid removal of any physical injuries short of dismemberment.
I
had to try this out. Every little boy or girl dreamed about one day having cool powers. Of flying like Alexandria or blasting lasers like Legend.
Going off of in-game knowledge, Healing would be accompanied by a bright glow and sound. I closed my blackout curtains all the way, and just to be safe, I wedged a jacket in the small gap between the door and floor. If the sound from the spell was too loud, I would immediately cease casting.
I equipped Healing in my right hand. Golden orange light popped into existence, the shimmering translucent orb warbling and centered on my outstretched palm. From the central orb, rays speared off, dissipating into the air. I readied my cast, the upraising and clenching of my hand an instinctual instruction from the source of my powers. Gold light flared. A force was exerted on my spiritual body pulling on my Magicka channels. Swirls of light encircled me from head to toe. A sound like white noise was overlaid with a gentle high pitched tinkling. It was not much louder than a quiet conversation.
I was enraptured. I don't know when I had last felt such childlike wonder. Without my input, the spell abruptly cut off, dimming to precast luminosity.
Of course. Spells cost Magicka. At 12/second, I could cast for 12.5 seconds until I ran out of juice. And at a Health gain rate of 10/second, I could heal for a total of 125 Health. More than my current maximum.
While I had been computing some mental math, my Magicka bar had refilled approximately a quarter. It was not mentally taxing to split my focus between the slowly refilling blue bar and other thoughts. And, aha, I can turn it off and on at will. Magicka bar on. Magicka bar off. Magicka bar back on.
I needed to get a better sense for how long it takes to refill to full, so I waited impatiently for it to top off. For my next experiment, I would time exactly how long it takes to refill. Phone in one hand and spell in the other, I cast Healing again until my Magicka was drained. The moment I felt the spell cut off, I tapped start on my stopwatch app.
While I now knew that I could multitask watching my Magicka and doing other things, I kept my full focus on the blue bar. I didn't want to muddy up my data after all.
150 seconds. The stopwatch read 150.33 seconds, but I figured that a rounding to make it a nice, even rate of 1/second made sense. Time to check the reliability of my data.
After repeated testing, I had confirmed a few facts. One, repeatedly emptying my Magicka did not seem to make a difference in the regeneration rate. Two, casting with both hands drained Magicka at double the rate, but still did not affect the regeneration. Three, casts in the left and right hand could be staggered so that they didn't have to begin or end at the same time (kind of obvious, but it's good to know). Four, it is not necessary to cast in the same pose made instinctual by my power; it's only necessary that I have the requisite mental focus. Five, Magicka did not regenerate while a spell was being cast.
Six, I don't actually have to heal off any damage to level up Restoration. I got the notification
RESTORATION INCREASED TO 1 after my latest run. This was wonderful news. It strongly implied I no longer had to worry about the ethics of leveling Destruction on living targets. Images of dousing an innocent animal with Flames as my family looked on in horror flashed through my head.
I mentally repeated the numbers I had learned tonight. There was no way I was going to keep physical or digital notes on something this incriminating.
It was well past 9 o'clock now. I was a bit surprised that I had been experimenting for so long. The time had flown by.
I wanted to test another aspect of my power before I succumbed to my tiredness, so I settled on a brief examination of Stamina. I hadn't noticed the green bar appear at any point today, indicating that I probably hadn't done any activity that required stamina (and therefore, Stamina). Not wanting to create a racket alerting my family to my shenanigans, I decided against sprinting through the halls. Let's see if push ups can get the job done.
I dropped to the carpet with my hands spread shoulder width against the ground and my back straight, nearly flush with my legs. I did one pushup. Yep, that sure felt like I did one pushup. My Stamina had dropped by a nearly imperceptible amount and quickly refilled. Clearly, I needed more extensive testing. I got back into position and began doing pushups.
One. Two. Three. Four…
177. 178. 179. 180. The Stamina bar flashed green. I finally ran out! This was amazing. Every repetition all the way from the first to the last had felt identical to push up number one. But I didn't see why I couldn't keep going. I wasn't suddenly plagued by exhaustion when I ran out of Stamina.
How far could I push myself past an empty bar? There was no need to wait for a full refill. I got right back to my exercise. Another couple dozen pushups later, my green juice was empty again, but this time I continued on. I instantly recognized what was going on. A mere ten reps later, my arms were shaking violently, my back was sagging, and my muscles were burning (I was not a very athletic person).
I concluded that Stamina served as a sort of overcharge on my body's real world fatigue. So long as I had Stamina, exertive physical actions were "free".
I didn't let my time go to waste. Thinking ahead, I had prepared my stopwatch app ahead of time. 90seconds. Stamina recharge rate of 1/second. Simple.
I performed a few more qualitative tests. Other basic exercises depleted my Stamina at more or less the same rate. My room provided little space for more adventurous actions. Sprints and parkour would have to come later.
My brain latched onto a crazy idea. If I was going to save the world from a god-like eldritch being, I would need to exploit my power for all it was worth. I walked up to my bed, bent down, and placed my hands underneath the frame. With my Stamina at full, I poured every ounce of willpower into my arms and lifted.
The bed did not move.
Darn.
No herculean feats beyond my body's strength. This was disappointing but not unexpected. Oh well, I'd just have to get
creative.
I'll have to get creative tomorrow, I thought as I realized how late it was. I functioned best with a full eight hours of sleep.
Today had been an adventure full of towering peaks and abyssal lows. My emotional state had fluctuated wildly throughout the day. I had felt emotions I wasn't aware it was possible to feel. My fears were not entirely abated, and the future remains uncertain. All I can do is prepare for what's to come.
So, I made myself ready for bed, washing my face and unbraiding my hair. Minutes later, laying under the covers, my mind drifted through half formed ideas: Magic and inventories, maps and collapsing cities, getting more and more chaotic until, at last, sleep came.
