Alchemical Solutions [Worm/Exalted] Thread 17: Quality Quest Quizzes Quixotic, Quailing Quorum
- Thread starter Gromweld
- Start date
Jack Folstam
Refinement of Copper
Armed CMAs are easy, that's most of them - only three CMAs are permanently unarmed, as Celestial Monkey and Silver-Voiced Nightingale have charms that allow weapons. Ranged is much harder, and only about half allow armor. This is kinda important, given that we can make excellent armor with much more ease than is typical for Exalted.
Eye see you~
Anyway, I'll point out that the Quest is not so numerically rigorous that the GM is obliged to simulate every charm.
As long as the MA style is not egregiously broken(no SMAs allowed!) and is appropriately thematic, the chances are good that Grom can work with them.
My personal list of CMAs is something like this
And while I'm at it,
One of the Twins, courtesy of the Jojo Character Creator.
notthepenguins
Neither Spherical Nor Frictionless
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
Note that that particular version of Fist of the Daystar is not 2.5-OK; even the 2.5-OK one I've seen floating around is OP in a couple places, especially when you get into the Solar-only expansions (when it ramps up to full Ink-Monkeys-Solar-Melee have-this-or-go-home-lol levels). It's pretty cool though.
Hey, glad to see someone's getting use out of this one
I know that's canon.
Just in case Auto-kun chose to hack the PLM for extra performance in this Quest, I'm reiterating it.
I wouldn't agree.
Some of the charms in that tree are just plain fucking useful, especially against the spirits we're likely to have to deal with eventually.
I wouldn't advocate it as a primary style, but it fills some important weaknesses.
And of course, that's assuming that the elemental surcharge applies here; Steam and Oil are both Autochtonian elements after all.
Or the Autochtonians could have converted it.
Basically not seeing the need to limit our choices at this point.
The expansions don't count for Alchemicals, just the main tree.
And as I said, it's mostly the thematics, not the crunch; there's a limit to how much math anyone can expect the QM to do in the quest.
I can't help but get a chuckle out of the capstone.Hey, glad to see someone's getting use out of this one
I swear you must have been watching or reading Naruto to have come up with that Charm in particular, and the rest of the style in general.
notthepenguins
Neither Spherical Nor Frictionless
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
Most of the style was Bleach-inspired, with a few Charms heavily inspired by Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha (though most of the Charms could easily come from either). In fact, how heavily MGLN was on my mind when I wrote it can't really be overstated; when I finally made a character using this style, she had a transformation trinket and this guy too.
I'll correct myself: It's a 1 mote surcharge, not 2. And this:
says that the surcharge would apply. You'd have to significantly modify Water Dragon into Oil Dragon to not have it apply. I don't deny Water Dragon is a great style, but it would complicate the mote math.
A 1-mote surcharge is not going to kill us.
Especially when you consider that Water Dragon happens to have this nifty charm called Theft of Essence Method for crippling Essence-wielding hostiles like spirits; a tool missing from our skillsets.
This is not a crunch heavy quest, after all.
Like I said, noone had the time to writeup most of the CMAs mentioned in the Alchemical books.
Having the Autobotians come up with essentially the same MA, just with different fluff, is much easier than having to homebrew a bunch of elemental CMAs to match the Autobot elements.
Let Gromweld decide whether it's appropriate or not
Night Breeze is kinda useful as it lets you perform Thrown attacks with your MA pool. In fact, that's what most useful terrestrial MA styles do, let you use your MA pool for different kinds of attacks.
FunkyEntropy
Occasionally insightful, possibly grumpy
- Location
- Los Angeles
WAITING INTENSIFIES
Dynamesmouse
Bzzzzzz
We'll be unarmed, but not defeeted, I'm sure!
Ridtom
Good. Bad. I'm the man with the Wand.
I'm sure Taylor has a batch of Leg puns ready to sweep you off your feet.
Gromweld
Learning By Mistake
Chapter 8.2
Elsewhere Scrapyard:
[X] It's Raining Drones: Extrude some/most/all of the drones for the other Tinkers to use. (Stunt dictate what drones are extruded, can suggest Tinker or mundane projects.)
- [x] Stunt: The matter replicator of WCM's hoverthrone hums merrily in the background as you direct support staff to their assigned Tinkers. Dragon and Armsmaster are hunched over a large workbench discussing vulnerabilities in the drone AI, Chris focusing on utilizing them as modular dimensional disturbance detector/comm relays. Smoke accompanies Strider's arrival, another set of teleportation and bomb jammers.
On the First Day of Slaughter:
[X] Rest for the Weary: Sleep for 8 hours, getting rid of all sleep deprivation penalties.
- [x] Stunt: You compose yourself as Amelia works upon your fleshly form. As she finally looks up from concentration, you pass her the information on Bonesaw's work gathered during the fight, "You seem much better, can I have your opinion on dealing with these?" You continue as she reads, "And inform your worried teammates. The past only matters for anticipating the future."
[X] Getting To Know You: Sit down and chat with someone, one-on-one. This takes 2 hours. (Can be selected multiple times, Stunt dictates with whom we speak.)
- [x] Stunt: "Inquisition…" You allow her a moment as she is lost in the coffee/decaf (your own brew) delivered with the stack of documents by her assistant "We must be prepared for tomorrow, make sure things are running smoothly here. But I also require your input in determining and establishing alternate rally locations before we both rest."
[X] Getting To Know You (2nd Vote): Sit down and chat with someone, one-on-one. This takes 2 hours. (Can be selected multiple times, Stunt dictates with whom we speak.)
- [x] Stunt: You hiss in pain as Wyld molds another wasp. "Alright," she says confidently, "I modified the venom so it serves as a potent tranquilizer, it should also have the proper redundancies to combat Bonesaw." You can feel the changes. Better. Faster. Stronger. Your smile is not a nice one. "They're wonderful. Have you considered applying your talents towards enhancing humans?"
Free Actions:
[X] Free Action: You artfully manage to avoid stumbling as you land outside the PRTs Emergency Response Center. A disturbingly chipper woman is there to greet you, "Hi there, Weaver! I'm Lt. Kelly and I'm your assigned LNO." LNO? Uriel, you magnificent… "Kelly, first thing is make sure that these key individuals have the support staff and minders they need." "Right away."
[X] Free Action: "Ready to begin? Would you like me to put you under or…" "One sec." It takes mere moments to retrieve your IEU activations from Armsmaster, Inquisition, Strider, and the others; you nod in satisfaction as they wearily retreat to the snug embrace of their beds. Except Colin. He needs a motivational nip from one of your wasps to get moving.
XP Expenditures:
[X] EOA - 6 XP - Equipment (Orange Drones) ●●○○○
[X] EOA - 6 XP - Dexterity ●●●○○
[X] EOA - 4 XP - Athletics ●●●●●
***
You keep your gaze focused towards the blazing wreck of the Walt Whitman Bridge as you tear through the night sky, having dropped back down just below the cloudcover to give yourself an unimpeded view of the growing inferno two miles away. Still, your Ultraperipherial Awareness sub-module also allows a clear view of Who's petulant form, cradled bridal-style in your suit's arms.
"So… what's going on, Weavs? I thought you were a better flyer than that? And what's with this weird rain?"
"Siberian's hair took my right leg off at the thigh," you manage to grit out, your other consciousnesses scanning the fiery wreck of the bridge.
Who stops trying to brush off the drops of liquid soulsteel raining down on her from your billowing anima, startling at your growled admission.
"Holy shit! How-" she yelps, trying to crane her neck around to see the damage, but you clench your right arm around her shoulders.
"Stop moving."
"Fuck! Aren't you gonna bleed out?!"
"No. I can stop my own bleeding."
"Ooo...kay," she draws out, wilting slightly. "I'm guessing that's a robo-thing?"
"Yes."
Who snorts, then crosses her arms over her blood-soaked, armored chest and settles back into your grip. "Whatever. I'm pretty sure Poison Ivy can't fix robots, so what are you gonna do about it? And what about your armor?"
It takes you a second to get the reference, but you don't bother rising to the bait. "Wyld was able to heal my disguised form after the sniper attack, as well as my Alchemical form after Behemoth... though neither were as major as this. I'm going to see if she can repeat what she did with your limbs with my disguised form, but I'm not sure if that will carry over."
You can feel the young Stranger's stare through her opaque baseball helmet-and-visor, but eventually she just waves a hand dismissively.
"I'll pretend that makes sense, but what about your armor? Are you going to go back to the Island to get parts to fix it?"
You shake your head. "My storage charm can fix it without the need of spare parts."
"Wait, but… where does it get the spare metal and shit? The other random crap you've sucked up?"
"No. The charm creates mass and energy on its own," you admit, your shoulders twitching as you suppress the instinct to shrug - a movement that would throw off your flight pattern. "Once I get a moment to rest, I need to start refilling an antimatter battery for a device I picked up earlier, actually. It's a power supply for a mobile command center, which should help us coordinate with Dragon and the PRT outside of Philly."
Who is quiet for a moment, though the roar of the passing wind is starting to echo the roar of the massive gouts of flame still melting the bridge in the distance.
Your zoomed-in vision is just now starting to pick out more details on the melting bridge, which now mostly lacks anything like a 'road' in the section between the two suspension towers. However, judging by the way the loose suspensions cables are swaying and the flickers of dark shapes on them, there may be people stranded above the slagged bridge and flame-covered waters.
"So will I be able to do all this bullshit too when I get a robo-body?"
Even with the bridge growing closer, this new conversation thread is important enough to warrant a train of thought - specifically, recalling Aisha's pain-laced begging less than an hour ago.
"I am still not sure you are ready-"
"Oh, bullshit!" Who barks back, twisting in your grip slightly to give you a masked glare. "Then what the fuck was that 'will of a champion' shit you made me agree to?"
"You were delirious with pain and needed something to focus on," you mumble, barely keeping the grimace out of your voice - both at the pain still flaring from the air whipping past your exposed, amputated leg and at the admission of manipulation. You had needed to get Aisha to focus on suppressing her power long enough to allow Wyld to heal her, and in your defense, the tactic had worked. "Willpower is only one part of what's needed."
"Well, what the hell else-"
"I think I see your brother and his team on the bridge up ahead," you blurt out, forcefully derailing the conversation for some time when you are not wounded, tired, and flying into a steel-melting inferno that is still dumping survivors into a freezing river.
"Wait, what?" Who sputters, craning her neck around to look towards the growing glare. "Why the- don't fireballs usually explode? Not… y'know, sit in the air and burn shit?"
Indeed, over the few minutes you've been barreling towards the melting bridge it appears that the three explosions you were studying are, in fact, miniature suns - two melting through the massive support towers, and one floating the middle of the air where the bridge used to span the Delaware river. Each appears to be roughly one hundred feet in diameter, so while the bridge's roadway has melted and fallen into the ice-cold river, the towering support structures look like candles melting from the bottom.
"Bakuda. Tinker with a bomb specialty."
"The fucking Slaughterhouse Nine have a bomb tinker now, too? On top of those fucking drones? What the hell am I supposed to do, then?"
Veering right, you keep an eye on the struggling forms of the Wyld Hunt and dozens of civilians scrambling along the sinking portions of the bridge - the two primary support cables still keeping the fallen sections from being carried away by the river. From what you can see, you suspect the Wyld Hunt had kept to the sides as they crossed, which allowed them to leap to the supports when the middle of the bridge turned into a miniature sun.
The large mutant dogs they were riding appear to be more than capable of treading the rushing water as it consumes the fallen pieces of the bridge, but the two bodies Maestro was controlling are nowhere to be seen. Otherwise, all the Wyld Hunt members are accounted-for, though it looks like they are attempting to save as many civilians from the river as they can.
As you near the water's edge, your awareness once again lights up as more and more insects come into range... immediately bringing into view dozens of motionless bodies in the buildings nearby, the blood-drained corpses attracting flies and other scavenging insects. Pushing the images out of your mind is not easy, the scaling multi-tasking abilities of your Shard of Perfect Administration never quite allowing you to completely ignore the insects within your range. Instead, you start pulling the flying members of your swarm out and away from the corpses to direct survivors of Shatterbird's Scream to safety.
Thankfully, the firebombs were mostly kept to the over-water portions of the mile-long bridge, and you are slightly surprised that no additional bombs were placed to cut off where the long suspension cables anchor into the raised Interstate-76 highway. The concrete structure that serves as the interstate-bridge connection point also possesses the only stairwells for foot traffic to get down from the raised roadway, so you drop down amidst the crowd of civilians that are both desperately trying to flee the raging fireballs on the bridge and gawk at the slow-motion destruction of a Philadelphia landmark.
Almost everyone is cut up in some way, mostly light gashes on the faces and hands, but the dozens of bloodied bodies lying motionless in the rows of parked cars all around you reveal that these are the lucky ones - those fortunate enough to avoid being torn to shreds by the exploding glass of their windshields and side windows.
You don't turn your anti-gravity thrusters off as you carefully let Who slide out of your grip, however; while you could certainly balance on one leg even in your armor, it's not something you'd like to try in front of two-dozen panicking civilians.
"Everyone! Calm down and stop pushing!" you announce clearly, boosting your suit's speakers to their highest setting to make up for your lack of a swarm to echo your voice. Those who had not noticed your approach snap their heads to look in your direction, and on both sides of the highway you can detect a palpable sense of relief wash over the crowds as they realize a hero is here to help them - even though you do notice some wary glances at the light-devouring aura surrounding your form. A rush of desperate pleas begins, so you raise your voice again to cut through the noise.
"Yes, the Slaughterhouse Nine are in Philadelphia," you announce, forcing your voice to be steady despite the wails such a proclamation generates. "They are responsible for the glass in your cars exploding and the firebombs along the bridge. But right now, they are not here! I know many of you are hurt and afraid, but we have to be strong together. The Ward by my side is named 'Who', and she's going to help everyone get down from this bridge quickly and safely. I saw survivors on the bridge, so I need to go try and save them before the bridge towers collapse. I will be right back!"
"What the f-heck are you doing, Weaver?" Who hisses at you through a clenched smile, all while raising her hand to draw the attention of the desperate crowd to her. "Don't leave me in charge of this sh-stuff! Coordinatin' is your job!"
Rising higher into the air, you scale your vocalizer back down so that hopefully only she hears you. "Be visible, keep people moving, and point people to PRT Downtown if they need help. Remember that practice demonstration with Chevalier and the PRT squad?"
Her shoulders sag slightly at the memory of trying (and mostly failing) to boss around a few dozen PRT officers a few weeks ago, all while the officers gleefuly pretended to act like scared civilians. You hear a grunting sigh of admission before she strides to the middle of the road and hops up on top of a stalled pickup truck so that both sides of the road can see her - twitching slightly as she ignores the gory remains of the driver and passenger.
Tearing off towards the bridge, you absently keep track of Who gesticulating at the crowds to try to get them to form the crushing mobs into orderly lines, her body language already conveying impatience at the lack of immediate progress.
Yes, you have considered Aisha as a stronger and stronger candidate for exaltation - her quick wit and penchant for deceptively-clever schemes makes her one of the few candidates for the Moonsilver caste - but her young age and mental immaturity still give you cause to doubt whether her expressed desire for conversion is just a childish need for a quick solution to her problems.
Judging from your email inbox this morning, you already have a deluge of Case 53s clamoring for the same thing.
You were afraid of that happening when you chose Marrow, but now you're even more concerned about what their reaction would be if the next Assembly member isn't selected from the much-maligned Case 53 community. Especially since many of the emails were borderline threats.
None of that had mattered while you were carrying Aisha's mutilated body through the murderous hallways of Protectorate Island - the possibility that only Conversion would be enough to save Aisha having crept into your mind more than once during that nightmare. If Dragon hadn't given you the location of the Wyld Hunt, it's quite possible that you would have gone directly to the Cradle... which would have left that group vulnerable to the Siberian and Bonesaw…
That train of thought causes a cascade of mental images through your other consciousnesses: the vision of Missy, with wires and tubes grafted into her skull and her mouth stapled into a rictus smile. The warped body of Sakura, her head shaved and covered in grafted eyeballs and other electronic implements. Possible ways that Saki, and the other Wards, could be mutilated to serve the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Shuddering under the mental strain to force the images from your mind - and to keep your lunch from wallpapering the inside of your helmet - you shake your head and grit your teeth. Dwelling on those horrors is a waste, right now, when you need to keep it together for the people in the waters below.
You can already tell this is going to be a long night.
***
Compared to the hellish flames and blasts of lightning from Behemoth, the steel-melting miniature suns are a walk in the brightly-lit park. Even if your Industrial Survival Frame wasn't casually dismissing the heat with all the consideration of an absent-minded shrug, you had initially designed your armor to withstand blasts of flame from a powered-up Lung and the laser rifles used by Coil's mercenary minions - both of which were capable of temperatures on-par to those caused by Bakuda's bizarre firebombs.
The three floating suns light up the Delaware river almost as well as a cloudless afternoon, though the flames' reddish glow give the waters the tint of dark blood. Despite the lighting, those in the water are quickly losing hope; the Delaware River moves at just over a jogging pace at this time of year, which is more than fast enough to have already carried many unfortunate civilians hundreds of feet downstream.
While Feral's monstrous dogs are quick swimmers, you manage to make each trip - from the docks just south of the melting bridge to the center of the river - in just over three minutes, even if you grab two people. The Wyld Hunt keeps busy on the concrete loading docks where you and the dogs are dropping off survivors: Wyld healing the wounded while the other members search the surrounding warehouse and parking lot to make sure the area is secure.
By your twelfth trip, a streak of blue and white zips by to lend a hand.
"Weaver," Legend greets you as he slows to a halt, grimacing at your lost leg. "Are you alri-"
"There's four more downstream, right over there," you interrupt, pointing with your left hand as you lower yourself down to pick up the forty-something woman begging for help below. You turn your head back to give her the impression that you are paying attention to her quails. "M'am, please, take my hand but don't pull down. I'll lift you out slowly, don't worry."
You nod at the usual thanks from the civilian, paying more attention to Legend as he offers some reassurances to the woman while floating down to help secure her grip on your right arm.
"Don't worry, m'am, Weaver here will have you safe and sound in no time."
The woman gives a bleary, shivering groan of relief as you haul her slowly out of the river, and then Legend is off in a blink towards where you pointed. By the time you make it back to the dock, the Protectorate's leader has already made all four trips necessary to fish those survivors out of the water.
Just as you arrive, however, a booming groan from the Philadelphia-side suspension tower signals the end of the bridge. All thirty-eight heads in your assembled group turn towards the sound, watching as the narrow, rectangular 'U' shape buckles and folds in on itself - thousands of tons of steel being carried down by the remnants of the bridge it was designed to support. After a thunderous crash of steel, concrete, and churning river, the only remnants of the support tower are the two stocky legs sticking up out of the water and the miniature sun hanging above.
As everyone turns away from the destruction, you keep to the air to avoid having to hobble around awkwardly, allowing Wyld and her group to herd the survivors into the nearest warehouse for temporary shelter. Zooming in your sight towards where you left Who, it appears most of the civilians there have managed to make their way down the long stairwell that criss-crosses the concrete support structure. Before you can fly off to go pick up the young Stranger, however, Legend floats over to your side with his jaw set in a way that makes you think that you won't be able to easily distract him this time.
"Weaver," he tries again, his voice low despite the fact that you two are floating over fifty feet in the air. "Are you alright? Chevalier didn't mention you lost your leg."
Not wanting to stay idle, you wave at him to follow you while you begin to float towards where Who is guiding the last civilians down the fence-lined stairways.
"The Siberian and Bonesaw attacked the Wyld Hunt's base when I was there. Siberian's hair cut through my armor when I tried to distract… it."
"Ah," Legend sighs, nodding with a frown. "That was brave, but you should count yourself lucky. Not many have faced her and lived."
You turn to face Legend fully, the both of you now almost eighty feet in the air and away from where anyone might be able to hear you. Still, you keep your voice low to match Legend's.
"I was able to look through the Siberian with my enhanced sight, sir. She's a projection, just an air-filled forcefield."
Legend visibly stills at your comment and explanation, motionless in the air save for some wisps of his dark brown hair waving in the breeze. His silence is punctuated by the crackling flames generated by the miniature sun only a few hundred feet away - the Triumvirate member making no motion to indicate that he is bothered by the light or heat.
"You're certain of this."
You nod. "I didn't see the Master controlling it, but it's likely their range is large if they've managed to stay hidden for so long. I've been trying to scan everyone I see for a Corona Gemma, but it takes around five seconds for each person - I can scan six at a time right now, but still..."
Legend crosses his arms over his chest and nods in return. "We've considered the possibility that the Siberian was a projection, but it didn't match up with her behavior patterns…" he trails off, turning his head to look off into the distance absently. "If you're correct, it just means we've been played for fools for a decade."
"The controller is smart," you admit, going over what one of your minds has been considering. "I've been thinking about it, and it's likely they know how the PRT operates well enough to focus all the attention on the projection and avoid drawing attention to themselves. In the worst-case, they might be able to recall the projection back to themselves instantly and to take care of anyone that did discover them."
"And it would just look like another one of her 'random' hunting sprees," Legend sighs. "I hope you're right about this, because it'd be the first break we've had on the Siberian since she appeared. Does anyone else-?"
"Only you, Dragon, and Who - since she was with me when I figured it out. I don't want to make it public yet, because that might make the controller go to ground or act differently."
Legend nods again at your reasoning, but otherwise remains silent as he stares off into the distance for a few moments. His reverie is broken by Marrow's voice crackling through the Endbringer armband you noticed on his right forearm.
"Crawler and Burnscar sighted at Holmesburg Prison. Requesting assistance."
Legend's left hand whips to the armband and he raises it to his mouth. Just as he is about to speak, you see him turn his head slightly towards you, but you shake your head. With a slight nod, he speaks clearly into the armband, "Legend en route."
"I need to make sure Who and the Wyld Hunt make it to Headquarters," you explain, motioning to where Who is guiding the last of the stragglers down the southernmost stairwell. "I probably wouldn't make it in time to help, anyway."
Legend appears to stall, but a ghost of a smile passes across his face. "No, it's just that I forgot you were a Ward for a moment. Still, your plans are good. Be safe, Weaver."
Before you can utter a reply, Legend blurs up, away, and into the clouds in a blast of displaced air - a low rumble following his departure as the Triumvirate member casually breaks the sound barrier.
Turning back, you float down to where Who is waiting for you atop a grey SUV - this one without any dead occupants. She greets your arrival with a mock salute and a tired smirk, though you notice her hands and arms are covered in blood.
"Mission fuckin' accomplished, Commander Robo. Can we grab my bro and get the hell outta here?"
"Where did the blood come from?" you ask evenly, pointing towards her arms.
"Ehh… two guys were cut up pretty bad so I had to use my med kit to slap those anti-bleeding bandages on 'em. Didn't really have anything to wipe my hands on, 'cause, well…" she trails off, motioning her still-blood-soaked costume.
Nodding, you sweep down and pick her up in a bridal carry again, earning the usual petulant squawk at the act before she grumbles to herself and settles in for the ride. You rattle off your status - as well as the Wyld Hunt's - to Dragon, but her small avatar in your HUD barely nods to give you the indication that the message is received; from what you know of Dragon's limitations, she is likely still focusing her attention on coordinating the planned relief efforts.
During your week-long "imprisonment", you had gone over with Dragon just what the PRT did when they were able to predict an upcoming S-Class event. As it turned out, the PRT long-ago discovered that actually trying to prevent or "hunker down" for a predicted S-Class event either incited the event itself, or flat-out made things worse - a bitter example of all those ancient myths about the folly of attempting to fight one's own destiny. Instead, the PRT now prepares outside of the expected event area, with the goal of making response and relief efforts as streamlined and immediate as possible; in this case, Director Uriel called for PRT jurisdictions outside of Philadelphia and Camden to begin stockpiling emergency combat supplies and civilian relief.
Which, you suspect, explains the functional Endbringer armband that Legend was wearing. You had cribbed some of the armband's reinforcements for your suit when you were building it, so you know that at least three critical components would have been damaged by Shatterbird's Scream - that Legend's was functional means that a shipment of new armbands and other communication devices has likely already arrived.
While you consider all this, your other trains of thought focus on guiding your body around the perimeter of the shipping terminal in a sweep for survivors, bombs, possible traces of the Slaughterhouse Nine, and to gather up a large swarm. Who remains silent for the ten minutes it takes to patrol the four-mile-long perimeter, but a quick exam shows that she is both healthier than you've ever seen her and still brimming with energy - left-over side-effects of Wyld's "tune up," you suspect. For the mouthy Stranger to be silent for so long is slightly worrying, but you have more pressing matters to consider.
Finishing your circuit, you rest most of your million-strong swarm on top of the warehouse in which the Wyld Hunt and civilians are holed-up, while having the remainders circle through your range and sweep through the warehouse itself. Overall, the city block-sized warehouse is fairly empty save for an abandoned office on the top floor, some forklifts, and empty shipping containers.
Gliding through the open door facing the waterside, you float over to where Wyld, Inquisition, Skein, and Slate have gathered - Maestro still roving through the warehouse on one of the forklifts while Feral re-grows her monstrous dogs off to the side. From what you have picked up with your swarm, they are discussing their next plan of action while Wyld rebuilds Slate's and Inquisitions limbs from the sloughed-off meat and bone from Feral's dogs.
"We need to get to the PRT Downtown headquarters," you declare, causing their heads to turn as you float down just outside their gathered ring. "Shipments of new communication devices should have arrived already, and the PRT will be coordinating relief and combat efforts."
Your proclamation garners only silence for a few moments, with Inquisition twitching in a way that makes you think she is actively avoiding saying something in response. Wyld turns to give a masked glance to both Skein and Slate, then looks back to you - the glowing green eyes on her smooth, leafy helmet narrowed in concern.
"We're willing to help the PRT," she begins, her voice strained, "but we're still talking with Dragon and Narwhal right now. If you don't mind."
You can feel Who bristle in your arms at Wyld's tone, but you reply before the young Stranger can make a scene.
"You have working radios?"
Wyld nods her head to Slate, who is still flexing his new left leg absently. You squash the errant train of thought that appreciates the way his dark skin ripples with toned leg muscles, refocusing that mind on what repairs and improvements need to be made to Who's costume.
"Slate's power blocks Shatterbird's, so we were mostly safe from the Scream."
You hum in acknowledgement and refocus the mind working on anti-S9 strategies to ways that Slate's power could be used to lock down Shatterbird - which might only require hitting her with his cloud of darkness once, if timed right.
After a moment of silence, Wyld's stand-offish posture droops a bit and you can almost hear her sigh of resignation through the helmet. "Do you want me to fix your leg? We're waiting on Narwhal to confer with Dragon and the PRT, so I have time."
At her mention of your leg a flare of pain shoots through the amputated limb, causing it to twitch slightly and flick a few drops of silvery, luminescent blood on the ground - your consciousness dedicated to controlling your suit's flight patterns quickly compensating for the twitch so as not to send you sprawling to the side.
"I'm not sure it would work with my Alchemical form, actually," you sigh, "The materials used in my body's construction are probably beyond what your power can make. It might work if I switch to my disguise first, but I can't do that right now with my current anima level."
Skein and Slate shuffle a bit, clearly not understanding anything of what you just said, though Wyld's glowing eyes blink in a way that makes you think she only got half of it. Inquisition has stilled, but you hear a slight groan from her before she puts both hands to her helmeted head and mumbles some curses under her breath. Still, the way Wyld deflates a bit makes you think she was looking for something to occupy her time besides leadership duties.
"Actually," you muse aloud, bringing the mind that's been working on new bug ideas for Wyld to the forefront, "do you think you could try modifying some insects for me? I've been thinking of a few things ever since I saw what you were doing with your plants."
This gets nervous glances from everyone, even Who. Still, Wyld comes around after getting a nod from Skein - her voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
"What… kind of modifications?"
***
The first few experiments revolve mainly around altering a few insects to possess superior sensory organs - sight, sound, scent, etc. - both to get Wyld used to modifying insects and to confirm that your Diagnostic Overlay sub-module will serve as a good way to double-check her work. You do note that she sterilizes all the insects she works on, but you decide not to comment on the lack of trust that implies.
From there, the two of you moved on to something you had desperately hoped would work: a bug that could imitate Iris' function as a range-extension mechanism. After a few minutes of study, Wyld was unable to figure out exactly how your Shard of Perfect Administration controlled members of your swarm, though she did notice a slight tingling through her power that reminded her of when she operated on you in the past; without an understanding of how your power worked, neither of you were able to determine a method for amplifying your charm's range.
Then you gave her Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, and things rapidly accelerated from there.
Fifty PRT-white wasps possessing similar knock-out power as a full-sized tranquilizer dart. One-hundred blue, flying spiders capable of pumping out silk stronger than even Darwin's Bark Spider silk at triple the rate. Twenty-five flying red ants with saw-like jaws and powerful enough to tear through even your new spider silk, with a venom in their bite similar to a Bullet Ant's. Two-hundred houseflies modified to have nearly-human levels of eyesight and hearing, as well as limited camouflaging capabilities. Each of these new species were also made more durable, stronger, and capable of flying longer than their natural brethren. These improvements were not without cost, however, as the new breeds require anywhere from five to twenty times more food to compensate for their improvements.
Of course, they all pale to what Wyld finished making for Who only a few moments ago. The entire idea spawned from Slate asking if Wyld could design something to watch over his sister, but by the end even Wyld was starting to visibly have doubts about just how much power she had effectively dropped into Who's - and your - hands.
"Hahaha! Fuck yeah! Bug calvary, bitches!"
Guiding the flying, motorcycle-sized creation is an enlightening experience, especially after the few tweaks Wyld made at the end to give the massive beetle-mantis hybrid sufficient instincts to be able to operate outside of your charm's range: rudimentary learning abilities for how to better utilize its quad wings and four-foot-long, scything front arms. You can almost feel the creature recognizing how you're guiding its flight to allow it to swoop around through the rafters, hover in place, and even slowly fly backwards.
What is more curious are the puppy-like feelings of joy you are getting from the creature, which - like other insects and animals - seems immune to Who's Stranger power. Wyld's familiarity with working on Feral's dogs clearly had an impact on its behavior patterns, but you had noted earlier that any attempts to make the creature's brain resemble an actual canine's had caused it drop out of your charm's control. In the end, you and Wyld agreed with a "smart" bug that was about as intelligent as the dumbest dog ever, but operated more on instincts than reasoning powers; you could force the creature to remember individual scents as "master", "friendly", and "hostile", with all other scents defaulting to "indifferent" for safety's sake.
For now, Aisha's scent is the only one it recognizes as "master", as you can simply take control of it within your Shard of Perfect Administration's range if you need it to follow orders. Still, it should serve well as a guardian in the case the young Stranger finds herself in trouble again. Better still, the creature is covered by her power when she isn't suppressing it - as shown by the lack of reactions when you have the creature fly just above the group of civilian refugees that Skein is attending to now. Honeycomb-like compartments in the creature's abdomen also allow for you to store your new, smaller insects within the larger creation, though that was a feature Wyld only agreed to because Who backed up your request.
You didn't miss the look Inquisition shot you after that argument with Wyld, but the Thinker remained mostly silent during the entire brainstorming session - only occasionally suggesting something for Wyld to change to ensure that the new bug breeds wouldn't be too powerful, or subtle flaws that Wyld could invoke should the insects need to be neutralized. You in turn held your own tongue, as you simply didn't want to deal with the blatant hostility radiating off the silver-and-purple-clad teen.
According to your HUD's clock, the entire process from start to finish took barely over half an hour - longer than you had wanted to spend away from the PRT's coordination efforts, but an alert from Dragon had relayed that PRT forces would be on the way soon to set up temporary shelters and medical tents at the shipping terminal. Not only were the local hospitals beyond capacity, but with most cars disabled and the streets seeded with exotic bombs, Director Uriel was urging people to seek out the shelters being constructed around the city and to stay off the roads.
Just as you start to wonder when that might happen, your outermost swarm detects movement coming from the main dock entrance. It's barely a blur in the firebomb-lit night, but you know better than to suspect anything but the worst with the Slaughterhouse Nine in town.
"We've got company," you declare, taking a breath as you hop up from your seated position on the floor and extrude your armor again. The short break was enough time to get some repair work done on your suit, so now you get to enjoy the bizarre sensation of your armor's empty right leg wobbling about with no easy way to control it. Maybe you can fill it with bugs for now, just to give it some mass?
Moving quickly in response to your warning, Wyld looks up from the Brute-body she is rebuilding and begins directing her team to spread out and scan the area for hostiles. While their various members gear up and move out, you focus on getting your new insect breeds into the air and ready for whatever might be coming your way - especially Aisha's new guardian-bug.
"Let's go," you mumble, floating up beside Who as she weaves through the rafters. "I'm taking control of your bug, just in case this isn't the PRT."
Who straightens up from her forward-leaning seat and crosses her arms. "What."
"I said, I'm taking control-"
"No," she cuts in, a smirk evident in her voice as she points to the massive beetle-mantis hybrid below her. "That's her name. 'What.'"
While one of your minds appreciates the humor, the rest of your consciousnesses aren't willing to deal with this kind of nonsense right now.
"It doesn't have a gender, but fine, call it a 'she'. I'm vetoing that name, though - you're already enough of a problem."
"Ugh, killjoy. Fine, how about 'Mothra'?"
"No."
"Suzy?"
You blink and turn back to Who, just as the two of you touch down on the floor near where Wyld is finishing Maesto's new combat-body - the young Stranger suppressing her power again to get a startle out of the other two heroes.
"Suzy?" you clarify, incidentally drawing the attention of Wyld and Maestro.
"Y'know. Like those old 'Suzuki' bikes the ABB had. Tried to steal one once, but…" she shrugs, "I sorta crashed it before I got down the street."
Maestro and Wyld, the only two of their group still left in the warehouse, share a snort of laughter at that - the tux-wearing Master pointing to the large insect after finishing his sardonic chuckle.
"Monster Bug might get pissed if you ram him into a telephone pole, dork."
"Fuck you, dickless. Don't make me sic Suzy on you."
From his lazy recline on the ground, Maestro lifts one arm and gives a half-hearted wave of dismissal.
"Yeah, not gonna call that thing anything other than 'Abomination' or 'Terrifying'. Pretty sure the PRT's gonna shoot it on sight, anyway."
"No," you clarify, putting weight into your voice. "They won't."
As a response, Maestro just shrugs, holding his free hand up in a weak 'what can you do' gesture.
Thankfully, Wyld coughs and stands up from where she was kneeling over the seven-foot, insectoid-humanoid coming together under her power. It looks passingly similar to the plant-insect Brute-body you saw Maestro controlling earlier, but where plant material was used in the other creation this one was fashioned from the remaining blood, bone, and muscle that Feral's dogs sloughed off earlier when they shrunk down to normal size.
"Finished, Maestro. I tried to keep the nervous system the same from before, but I couldn't remember everything I did with the last one. Try it out."
Sitting up from his reclining position, Maestro tilts his head a bit to analyze the creature - which you can tell is breathing, now, judging by the hissing rush of air you hear from pores all along its body. With a flick of his wrist, the creature's own limb twitches in a slight imitation of the movement.
"Not the same. Gonna take me a while."
Your swarm is still noticing the barest hints of movement at the dock entrance, but your new sight-enhanced bugs are able to make out some specifics.
"Looks like a crowd near the dock's front gate," you call out, getting the attention of the heroes around you. "No PRT trucks yet, so it's either scared civilians or Bonesaw zombies." You ignore the glances from the other three at this statement, instead turning your head to look towards the teenaged Master. "Maestro, I'm going to give you a boost - let's see if we can speed this up."
"Boost? Wha-aaooohhh," he begins, before trailing off in a daze as you push a new instance of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade into his mind. Maestro leans forward to clasp both hands to his head, remaining in that position for a few silent moments - punctuated only by the cries of tortured souls your anima broadcasts - before he slides to his feet in a series of smooth, mechanical motions.
"Huh."
"It's amazing, isn't it?" Wyld cheers, nodding once before turning back to Suzy to do a few final alterations.
"Kinda crowded in my head now but... whatever," he sighs, though the affected slump almost seems too mechanical to be natural now.
Turning his attention back to the task before him, when he raises his gloved hand at the large body before him, this time the body follows the motion smoothly. Maestro doesn't say anything more, instead appearing focused on the creature - which is now making numerous twitches and movements - simultaneously - all through its body. In less than a minute the creature is slowly climbing to its feet, though it's clear Maestro is still improving his control as he goes.
"Ok, yeah, this is pretty bullshit," he snorts, a hint of a wry smile in his clipped tone. "Can I keep it? Probably could… eh, nevermind. Too much work."
"Don't make me regret this, Maestro," you say evenly, quickly deducing what he was implying based on his criminal record. "I pulled up your file last week, so I know what to look for."
Wyld shuffles a bit behind you at the acusation, while Maestro himself just gives a quick shrug of indifference. Who, however, takes a few seconds of looking between you, Maestro, and the Brute-body he's controlling before finally making the connection with a startled jerk.
"Holy shit, you can hijack pe-?"
"Later," you cut in, holding your arm out as your swarm catches sight of something new near the front of the gate - and something high-up, approaching from the east. "New contacts, by the gate and in the air. They're… Oh, thank the Maker."
Wyld looks up, her glowing green eyes slanted in confusion. "They're the refugees?"
"Better," you grin behind your mask, noting Miss Militia and Armsmaster leading the convoy of flat-bed trucks, while Alexandria flies alongside the incoming Dragon-shaped aircraft.
"Reinforcements."
***
With a nod from Alexandria, Legend steps up to the clearing made at the far end of the room. His audience, filling the central office inside the dock's main warehouse, is mostly comprised of the Wards, Protectorate, and PRT agents, with a few noticeable exceptions.
Overmind, a bald man suspended by a hover-belt and dressed in a business suit-looking costume, represents the independent hero group, Overleague. Frown, an androgynous figure in a stereotypical fool's motely, represents the Jesters gang that controls most of East Philadelphia. Void King, an imposing man in spiked, black armor with a wicked silver-and-black crown atop his helmet to signify his leadership of the Street Kings - now mostly operating out of Camden after the gang war last week.
Stonewall's absence is worrying, as the Boulder Builders have recently reclaimed the top billing as the most powerful gang in the city. Worse, Geode and Xylophone are missing as well.
The tall horn atop Narwhal's seven-foot form nearly hits the ceiling of the office, but you noted the world's premier forcefield user modified it to allow her to stand straight without tearing up the roof. The Wyld Hunt is gathered around her, though your swarm sees Feral's monstrous dogs still keeping watch outside the warehouse.
Filling out the back of the room, you note Marrow's armored form alongside a number of Case 53s: Weld, Bulldozer (a minotaur), Gully (a teenaged-girl that looks like a hunchbacked linebacker with an overbite), and a tree-like young new Case 53 by the name of Willow. An idle examination of Willow revealed that she possesses the impossible anatomy of a tree, yet still moves, breathes, and talks without any of the organs that would allow such feats. Not terribly surprising given Weld's existence as a hunk-shaped block of metal, of course.
You do wish he'd put a shirt on, as you're tired of having to re-focus idle trains of thought from ogling Weld's adonis-like form. Though, given his frequent glances in your direction, you are most likely the target audience for his fantastic appearance.
It's enough to make you tempted to dip into Clarity, just so you don't have to deal with that right now.
Strider, the man responsible for pulling together so many people from around the city and around the country, is still busy popping in and out of existence as he ferries supplies, PRT workers, and civilians into and out of the warehouse-turned-PRT command center.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I'll try to be brief as I know many of us want to get back out there as quickly as possible, but it's worth making this clear: we've never been more prepared for a Slaughterhouse Nine attack, but the Slaughterhouse Nine have never before had such mobility and firepower."
Legend's voice is firm and even, despite the dread building from his words. You wonder if this was what his rallying speech was like when the forces at Brockton Bay were being organized against Behemoth.
After pushing a button on a small remote in his hand, Legend motions to the images now projected on the wall behind him: a list of names, and nine portraits.
"Before I go over the core of the Slaughterhouse Nine, be aware that these individuals are either missing and presumed captured, or have already been captured and suborned by the Nine: Uzu and Tatsu, the two teleporting Wards with access to a pocket dimension. Vista, the space-warping shaker. Transfusion, can pass regeneration effects through application of his blood. Mr. Feel Good, can pass regeneration effects through music. Bezalel, Tinker with a speciality in robotic drones."
There are some murmurs and shuffling in the audience, but it dies down quickly when Legend waves a hand for silence.
"There may - and likely will be - more to add to that list later, but for now it should be obvious: the Slaughterhouse Nine can teleport and shift their bases with relative impunity, and will likely possess means to heal anything but immediately-fatal wounds within hours. The one limitation of the teleporters is that they must have been to a location before; this is why are meeting here, instead of in the PRT headquarters downtown. Dragon, Armsmaster, and our other Tinkers are already working on ways to possibly block these teleports, but for now assume that the three major PRT headquarters are compromised."
Frown rings their small wand with dangling bells on it briefly, then cocks their head before speaking in a light, almost whimsical tone of voice.
"The girls may Move across the world, yes? What chance have we to stop the Nefarious Nine, before they flee to pastures green?"
There's a murmur through the audience again, and you notice Gallant, Clockblocker, and Kid Win share a glance with each other. Before Legend can respond, Alexandria cuts through the din with a voice like an iceberg.
"The teleporters have been turned into remote-controlled backpacks by Bonesaw. Consider them already dead."
Frown stills for a moment, then quickly swaps their mask for a face with a morose expression on it before nodding sadly. Beyond the tinkling of Frown's bells, the room is silent in horrified shock.
Who, sitting by your side with her power in effect, curses floridly under her breath for several seconds before turning to you with a hiss. "You're not letting that fuckin' happen, right?"
Slowly, you shake your head, your minds awhirl trying to think of new ways to save Sakura and Saki before Alexandria's proclamation seals their fate. Who merely nods in agreement with you, then sits back in her folding metal chair.
Regaining his momentum, Legend motions back to the images behind him with a solemn tone.
"The Slaughterhouse Nine may have a revolving membership, but these are the members we have confirmed are in the area right now: Jack Slash, Shatterbird, Bonesaw, Siberian, Burnscar, Crawler, Mannequin, Hatchet Face, and Bakuda."
With a push of a button, the projector focuses on the face of an attractive, 30-something woman of middle-eastern descent.
"Shatterbird has already used her signature 'Scream' to destroy anything made of silica - glass, computer parts, etc. - so as long as her pattern holds she won't repeat the attack again. In combat she manipulates razor-sharp shards of glass to control the battlefield, but can unleash a smaller Scream without needing build-up like her city-wide effect requires. We expect that she will try to fight near downtown, where she will have a nearly unlimited amount of glass at her disposal, but be mindful of any and all glass in your respective shelters. Finally, the new radios and Endbringer armbands we're distributing to you and your groups are silicon-free, so they should be reliable for the rest of this engagement."
A click, and the image re-focuses on a morose-looking college-age woman with dark hair and a row of cigarette burns running underneath each eye.
"Burnscar can create and manipulate fire, appears to be immune to heat altogether, and can teleport through flames within a mile radius of her position. History shows that she tends to grow more reckless - but more aggressive and powerful - as fights drag on. She will usually set a fire to serve as an escape method before engaging, so keep an eye out for smoke in the area if she flees a fight."
The image shifts to a surly man in his late forties, bald and with a large, sharp nose dominating his face. Dozens of scrapes and scars cover his countenance, giving him a visage only a mother could love.
"Hatchet Face is a mid-level brute with super-strength and regeneration, but it is his two-hundred-foot power-canceling aura that makes him so deadly. We suspect that he was responsible for the capture of the Uzu, Tatsu, Vista, and Transfusion, but his aura means that he will be unable to make use of their abilities to quickly move around the city. He is known for hunting solo, but will work with the rest of the Nine to set traps. Complete destruction may be necessary, as even a bullet to the brain hasn't kept him down for long, but if it's possible to capture him we may be able to use him against Crawler."
At the mention of the infamous Changer, Legend switches the display over to a truly nightmarish image - not a headshot, but rather a picture taken of a six-legged, alien abomination the size of an eighteen-passenger van as it tears through a brick wall.
"This is the most recent image of Crawler, taken two months ago in Wichita, Kansas. He can regenerate his entire body-mass in seconds, and each time he regenerates he mutates, growing stronger against whatever just hurt him. By now he is immune to anything short of an artillery round, and his fluids are some of the most potent acids in the world. He lives only for trying to find new ways to hurt himself, so do not try to fight him; distract, delay, or run. We've also seen him burrow at running-speeds, so don't expect him to always be visible, either."
You note Void King shaking his head and growling slightly under his breath, but Legend continues on, switching the image to a ceramic-white doll. Its head has an impression of a face, with only shallow curves where eyes would be. The design of the rest of the body obviously emphasizes flexibility, with large ball-joints and chain-linked appendages.
"Mannequin, formerly the Tinker known as Sphere... before the Simurgh drove him mad. We suspect it was he who was behind the security breaches on Protectorate Island and the abduction of Bezalel, as his Tinker specialty is Closed Systems. Despite his unassuming appearance he is exceedingly tough and deadly as a combatant, having replaced his entire body with artificial components; we suspect his brain and organs are stashed in one of his legs or in a small compartment in his torso. He is the master of stealth for the Nine, however, so do not trust security cameras and other surveillance equipment to protect against him."
On your right, Who snorts and cracks her knuckles. Unaware of the noise, Legend switches images to a scowling college-age woman of japanese ethnicity.
"Bakuda, theorized to be a Tinker specializing in bombs, is the Nine's newest member. This is a break in their standard methodology, as Jack Slash has gone on record to claim that bombs are 'unartistic'. Judging from the glass bomb on Protectorate Island, the sun-creating bombs on Walt Whitman Bridge, and the dozens of other effects that have destroyed roads across Philadelphia and Camden, his stance has clearly changed. Do not try to defuse, disarm, or smother a bomb if you encounter one. Evacuate the area and alert everyone of its location. Finally, Bakuda will likely not yet possess the physical enhancements Bonesaw gives Slaughterhouse Nine members, but she will undoubtedly have deadman-triggers on her body; do everything you can to knock her out, disarm, and restrain her."
Idly, you have a mind check through your new tranquilizer-wasps. You may need to talk with Wyld to boost their numbers, but for now you're going to keep them in reserve until you get a shot at Bakuda. You weren't quite able to figure out a way with Wyld to get around all the various redundancies Bonesaw has built into her system, as at least one of Bonesaw's implants allowed her to completely turn off blood flow to specific parts of her body.
As if thinking along the same lines, Legend's next click brings up the megawatt-smiling blonde herself. Both Triumvirate members grimace at her cheery expression, Legend shaking his head ruefully before continuing.
"Bonesaw. At twelve years old, she is arguably the world's best biological Tinker, and is the reason why anyone captured by the Slaughterhouse Nine should be considered unrecoverable and a potential new member of their group. She has demonstrated the ability to completely control people with surgically-implanted remotes, concoct delayed-acting plagues, and design implants for the other Slaughterhouse Nine members that give them minor Brute ratings. Yes, she has a Kill Order, but beyond the fact that her own implants require nothing short of complete brain destruction to actually put her down, her body is filled with methods of releasing any number of viruses and plagues. Smother and contain her, if you can, as the only other safe option is to turn the entire block to glass"
The click of a button brings a regrettably-familiar face to the fore, yellow scelera and orange irises standing out starkly on an otherwise pure-black-and-white-streaked face. Legend's voice is much harder now, though Alexandria herself shows no trace of emotion.
"The Siberian. The definition of Unstoppable Force, seemingly driven only by predatory zeal. Nothing we have tried against her in ten years has harmed or even slowed her, and a wave of her hand will go through any amount of armor or forcefields. If you see her, the best you can do is to try to avoid her attention or to fly away; she can run faster than most cars, but can't change course when she jumps. Worst of all, she is able to extend her power - immunity and unstoppability - to anything or anyone she touches, which has saved other Slaughterhouse Nine members dozens of times over. And yes, she even appears to be immune to Hatchet Face's aura, as the two have been known to hunt together. The only up-side is that she will likely be immune to space-warping powers like Hatchet Face, so she will be unable to warp around with the other Slaughterhouse Nine members."
You are both surprised and somewhat pleased that Legend has kept your revelation regarding the Siberian a secret for now, but you had not heard of Hatchet Face and Siberian working together before - if anything, that should serve as further proof of your findings.
"Finally," Legend intones, clicking with his remote to bring up the smiling, handsome face that you have burned into your mind, "we have Jack Slash.
"Jack Slash is, by all accounts, the weakest member in raw power, 'only' possessing the ability to lengthen the cutting edge of and blade he touches up to nearly a mile away. He does not increase its sharpness or the strength of the blow, but he has demonstrated an uncanny ability to find the weak points in a person's armor. If you haven't already, I encourage you to reinforce your costumes around vital areas - many have fallen from a slashed jugular before they even saw him. Beyond that, Jack Slash has somehow corralled the most lethal band of psychotic murderers for nearly twenty years. Do. Not. Underestimate him. He is never alone, and is most commonly seen in the company of Bonesaw and the Siberian. He undoubtedly has similar surgical implants as Bonesaw, so expect only the complete annihilation of his brain to put him down for good. Everything points to the Slaughterhouse Nine falling apart if Jack Slash dies, so if you have to pick a target, aim for him."
Very little of this is new to you, having researched the existing S-Class threats last week during your imprisonment. You've noted Inquisition leaning over to whisper something to Wyld occasionally during the presentation so far, but you've kept from spying on their group after Inquisition pointedly stared at a few of the bugs you had near them when everyone was getting settled. You're not quite sure what you've done to earn the blonde Thinker's ire, as by all rights she should be counting her blessings that you are not murderously angry with her for turning your father against you.
A part of you is sad for having lost your father like that, yes, but your mission is so much greater than that emotional connection that you've been able to set it aside for the greater good. You had hoped to at least find common ground with Lisa while the Slaughterhouse Nine are tearing the city apart, but that's looking less and less likely.
As Legend begins to go into details regarding the PRT's plans for dispensing aid to the neighborhoods hit hardest by Shatterbird's Scream, Dragon's avatar in your HUD blinks to life again.
"Taylor, you said you wanted to talk to me?"
"Yes," you nod, shuffling your consciousnesses to bring forth the mind that has been working on this next proposal. "How are we on Tinker supplies?"
The wireframe avatar raises an eyebrow, then frowns after a moment. "The loss of Protectorate Island means we don't have anything on-hand right now, and I'm waiting on some requests to pull materials from New York and Boston. Why?"
You grin.
***
Kid Win, Armsmaster, and a screen projecting Dragon's wireframe head look on as you disgorge the severed parts of the drones you absorbed earlier while following Chevalier's rampage: four birds, two cats, two dogs, an octopus, and three chunks of a massive robotic bull that had nearly tagged your invisible form with its laser eyes. The mangled robots clatter loudly to the floor of the large Dragon-craft, which has a fully-stocked Tinker workshop in its cargo bay just for situations like this.
Enjoying their expressions - well, Kid Win's at least, as Armsmaster is just as focused as ever - you extrude the item that should hopefully make things easier for the Tinker group. You had only grabbed it on impulse as you fled the Tinkertech Labs, but your instincts have paid off once again.
Dragon hums in recognition, but Armsmaster finally breaks down after a few seconds and snorts in disbelief.
"A wicker patio chair, Weaver?"
"Not just any wicker patio chair. Do you remember WCM?"
His head tilts up, and from his silence you gather he's interacting with his own helmet's HUD. After a few seconds, he nods. "Villain from Atlanta. Technopath that commissioned Toybox projects. Died to Behemoth in Brockton Bay. This was the throne her records mention?"
You nod, sitting down in it - a tight fit with your suit, but the chair only groans lightly at your armored weight of over six-hundred pounds. With a few taps on the armrests, they both slide down to reveal fantastically-complicated bits of Tinkertech.
"On the left," you begin, watching the two grown boys in front of you twitch in curiosity and eagerness, "a holographic workstation, with wireless and satellite connections as well as extendible universal connectors."
With a few hand gestures, you cycle the multiple holographic displays and keyboards to life, disable WCM's security features - which you know perfectly now, thanks to Technomorphic Integration Engine - and then put the system to sleep again. Tapping the right armrest, a box the size of a small microwave extends up from the armrest and dings with the sound of a toaster oven finishing. You slide down the faceplate of the device, then take out its contents: a platter of warm tea and biscuits.
Armsmaster sighs, Dragon giggles lightly, and Kid Win covers his faceplate with his glove.
"Really, Taylor?" the younger Tinker groans, "a tea dispenser?"
You absorb your helmet, drain the tea in one gulp, and then wolf down the biscuit before extruding your helmet again. You're pleasantly surprised by the quality, but coffee is more efficient as an energizing drink. The biscuit wasn't half-bad, at least.
As your HUD re-initializes, Dragon's wireframe face gives you a put-upon stare. "Be glad no one from PR saw you, Taylor. You would no longer be welcome in England for drinking tea like that."
Rolling your eyes, you stand up and have the two boys follow you around to the back of the chair, where pressing a hidden series of keys causes a large panel to slide open in the wicker facade. Inside is a device that looks akin to a kitchen garbage compactor - which you pull open to reveal a multi-colored mush of material. You drop the platter and teacup into the mush, then let the lid snap closed. Armsmaster is first on the pick-up, though Dragon obviously knows all about the device already.
"A replicator? I thought Rubix didn't sell those to villains."
You shrug, not aware of that history but filing it away for later. "It's not perfect, and WCM only programmed in a few food and drinks into it. You can add more designs by putting things in the armrest dispenser, but it drains the reactor quickly if you put something complicated in there. Still, it should serve as a good stand-in for me if you need to replicate a bunch of parts quickly - just be sure to put in the necessary materials into this bank here."
Armsmaster harumphs while Kid Win seems to be contemplating something, but the older Tinker finally shakes his head and waves a hand the chair - its form clearly offending his minimalist sensibilities.
"Is it still capable of flight and projecting a shield? Those were the main features on her PRT report."
Kid Win perks up at the question, but Armsmaster shoots him a glance that makes the younger Tinker sigh in admission. You raise a hidden eyebrow at the byplay, but you suppose the two have worked together long enough before the transfer to Philadelphia to still have each others' numbers. As Armsmaster turns back to you, you nod in agreement.
"All controlled by the computers in the left armrest. It's not too complicated, but I haven't actually flown it myself."
"Alright, then," Armsmaster begins, turning back towards the pile of parts you dumped on the aircraft bay floor earlier. "We need to get to work on-"
Dragon cuts in through the aircraft's PA, though her voice is heavy with trepidation. "Weaver, I've been told you need to check in with Chevalier. He's waiting for you in the warehouse office."
You see a line of tension run across Armsmaster's jaw for a moment as he stops in his tracks, but then the moment is gone and he's pacing away from you. Kid Win shoots a worried glance at his back, then looks to you.
"Are you going to be coming back, Taylor?"
You open your mouth to reply, but only end up yawning. Dragon's avatar in your HUD gives you a stern look, but you ignore it.
"Hopefully. I still need to get Wyld to rebuild my leg, but I'll try to be back before long."
"Your leg?" he asks, tiling his head, looking at your dangling limbs as you float just off the ground. "Is it… your right one? What's wrong with it?"
You sigh, figuring that any excuse you give him means he'll just ask Dragon for the truth after you leave. "The Siberian cut it off with her hair. I already fixed the armor, but there's no leg inside."
You punctuate the statement by knocking on where your thigh should be, though your suit's construction doesn't give you the hollow ringing you were hoping to evoke with the action. Kid Win still freaks out, though, babbling and condolences and fidgeting uncomfortably.
Sighing, you shake your head while letting his words roll over you. You don't have time for this.
Shoving a new application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade into his head via one of the bugs you've placed on his armor, your anima explodes into full totemic majesty - filling the space behind you with lightning-infused smoke and the menacing Design Weaver.
"I'm fine," you grind out in a mechanical growl, "but Chris, you need to focus. You're the only Tinker that's been in the Twins' dimension, so you're our best hope for getting their signature right for the dimensional anchor. We need that if we want to have any hope of saving Sakura and Saki."
Kid Win jerks back - half because of your anima and half because of the sudden application of your charm - but otherwise remains silent in shock. Armsmaster has turned back to watch you, frowning in thought, but you ignore him for now.
After a few seconds, the Design Weaver in your anima disperses and the severity of your anima fades slightly. Kid Win remains silent for several seconds more, but eventually sighs and nods in agreement.
"I'll see what I can do."
"No, Chris," you growl, floating forward and grabbing his shoulders, "you can do this. You will do this. We cannot fail them, so we won't. Do you understand?"
"I-I-" he stammers mechanically, before you hear his mouth click shut behind his helmet and he stills. After a few heartbeats, you feel his shoulders square under your armored grip and he nods again - this time with the finality you are looking for.
"You can count on me."
***
You made sure to leave Armsmaster with his own application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, which was finally enough to get a ghost of a smile out of the determined Tinker. You keep enough insects in the aircraft's bay to monitor their progress, but so far the three Tinkers appear to be making headway into a device that can lock down an area and prevent the Twins from teleporting in or out; the hope being that enough of the devices can be made to cover the PRT headquarters, hospitals, and shelters going up around the city, as well as prevent the Slaughterhouse Nine from fleeing a fight with your friends in tow.
Who catches back up to you as you leave the Dragon-craft, having spent the time learning how to fly around with Suzy - specifically, how to buzz over people's heads while her power is active. You had to take control the first few times to prevent some collisions, but both of them are quick learners.
As you float into the office where you are to meet Chevalier - Who riding Suzy behind you silently - Miss Militia and Inquisition are also waiting for you. Rounding out the group is a moderately-attractive, college-aged woman with died blue hair and a hopeful - if somewhat tired - smile.
"Weaver," Chevalier greets with a raised hand, raising his voice to speak over the sound of tortured wails echoing from your armor, "thank you for coming. I know you want to help out the other Tinkers, but Director Uriel, Narwhal and I feel that you and Inquisition can be of more use here trying to pinpoint Slaughterhouse Nine strategies, tactics, and ways to better organize our relief efforts."
Inquisition has not moved a muscle since you floated in, though from her posture and the slant of her mask's glowing purple eyes she appears to be looking… down? Maybe at the droplets of soulsteel leaking from your armo- oh. This might be bad.
"We understand the two of you have history," Chevalier continues, glancing at Miss Militia who nods in response, "but you were able to work together for Behemoth, and this situation is no less serious. I trust this is not going to be an issue?"
"No, sir," you respond quickly, shaking your head. Inquisition is silent for a long moment, drawing the group's attention to her, before she jerks with a pained hiss and holds a hand up to her silver-leaf helmet.
"Just…" the teen Thinker grinds out, sighing away the pain while her glowing eyes wince shut, "don't leave me alone with her, alright? It hurts just to even look in her direction when she's like this."
Miss Militia scowls at Inquisition's attitude, but Chevalier audibly sighs and looks back to you.
"Why don't you have your disguise active, Weaver?"
"I've been extruding the drones I absorbed for the Tinkers to use as raw materials, as well as handing out applications of my Thinker boost. My anima is going to take at least an hour to disperse to a level where I can activate my disguise."
He hums in thought for a moment, then casts a glance at Inquisition.
"Will Weaver's Thinker boost help your headaches?"
"No!" she yelps, jerking away like she'd been shot and holding her hands up defensively. "No, that's alright! I'll be fine, just- just have Chambers here work as our go-between, alright?"
It doesn't take your HUD pinging 'Lie' to know that reaction is anything but a sign that the teen Thinker is fine, and your eyes narrow in suspicion. There's clearly a story going on here, as Tattletale seemed to relish your Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade when you gave it to her during the Behemoth attack, so what changed between then and now?
"You're the first person to ever turn Weaver's Thinker boost down, Inquisition," Miss Militia replies evenly, an eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Is there something we should know?"
Inquisition growls in a way that makes you think she is only barely holding her tongue back, then grips her head again and turns away from the group completely. "Fuck! Look, if you want my help then just keep the soulsteel from screwing with my head any more. Chambers, I'll be over here in this cubicle when you're ready to start being useful."
The college girl wilts slightly, though still manages to keep a semblance of a smile on her face while she offers a nervous giggle. Turning back from the departing Thinker, she holds the thick reams of paper in her arms to her PRT uniform's chest to allow her a free hand - which she uses to offer for a hand-shake.
"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Weaver. I'm Kaylee Chambers, and Director Uriel assigned me to be your Liason Officer for now. It's not standard protocol for a Ward to receive one, but the Director told me you had been authorized for Protectorate-level clearance as long as the Slaughterhouse Nine are in the area."
You take Kaylee's hand and give it a polite shake with your armored gauntlet, your other minds re-evaluating Director Uriel's competency.
"Thank you, Kaylee. Actually," you wonder aloud, turning your head to address Chevalier and Miss Militia as well, "where is Director Uriel?"
Chevalier shakes his head, his voice somber as he crosses his arms over his armored chest.
"The PRT still has to maintain the appearance of control over the situation, so Director Uriel is going to remain in the Downtown headquarters. He's already made a few public appearences to the crowd that's constantly there, but… well, he knows that most PRT Directors don't survive Slaughterhouse Nine attacks. Director Samson is already proof of that."
Your minds take a few moments to process that, allowing an awkward silence to hang over your group. Finally, you turn back to Kaylee and let your handshake drop.
"Kaylee, let's get started. We're going to make sure Uriel beats the odds."
***
By the time ten o'clock rolls around, a number of facts about your situation have become clear:
First, the Slaughterhouse Nine are still conforming to most of their standard behaviors thus far. With little-to-no way to stop teleportation or space-warped incursions, there is very little that can be done to stop them at the moment… but yet they have kept to their usual pattern of allowing the defenders in a city time to rest after each attack. Inquisition expects that they won't resume activity until at least daybreak, so for the moment tension levels in the command shelter are at a low simmer.
Second, the PRT is resolved to pour more resources towards this fight against the Nine than ever before, due in no small part to the threat posed by a Slaughterhouse Nine with the potential to teleport around the world at will. As a result, both Legend and Alexandria will be in the area for the duration of the Nine's stay, with Eidolon possibly joining as well if he is able to deal with the Three Blasphemies rampage that is on-going in Africa.
Third, the city is largely in chaos. Residential and commercial streets all across both cities are mined at random points (with bombs that completely obliterate the road in some exotic fashion), power and water are out in most residential areas, and every local cell tower and internet hub needs some form of repair after Shatterbird's Scream. Thankfully, tonight is a balmy fifty-five degrees with only light humidity, but the weather is expected to take a turn for the worse tomorrow when a light rainstorm rolls.
Fourth, Inquisition is terrified of you to the point of wrapping all the way around again to anger. While she refuses to talk to you directly during your two hours of collaboration, the insects you have monitoring her pick up her scribbled notes on the side letting you know she "wants nothing to do with your dark god." Worse, when Who tries to get her to lay off of you, Inquisition freaks out and tries to convince Who not to let you "kill her." Who quickly wipes the conversation by asserting her power again, but Who is clearly shaken up by the desperate plea and leaves to go spend some time flying around with Suzy.
Fifth, Kaylee Chambers is Glenn Chambers' daughter, by way of an accident in college. She prefers the Human Resources and administrative side of the PRT, but she transferred to Philadelphia on Friday; Director Uriel was going to assign her to you after your imprisonment, but things haven't gone according to plan lately.
Also, Kaylee talks far, far too much.
"Inquisition said she's at her limit and is going to go find a place to-"
"Yes," you sigh, for what feels like the hundredth time. "I heard her as she walked out. Thank you, Kaylee." You're not quite sure how she can maintain a positive attitude when you and Inquisition are passing notes about plagues, bombs, ambushes, and casualty statistics in the tens of thousands, but she hasn't flagged so far. Perhaps you can get Wyld to scan her, to see if she can boost other people with that kind of boundless energy?
Unperturbed, Kaylee nods in satisfaction.
"Well, I've received a message from Director Uriel stating in no uncertain terms that you are to sleep tonight. Both Dragon and Legend have also sent me messages telling me the same thing."
You level an exasperated glare at the wireframe avatar on your HUD, which only causes it to roll its eyes.
"I know you didn't sleep last night, Taylor," Dragon quips in your helmet. "And after what you've been through today, you need it. In fact, I've already called Wyld to make sure she helps knock you out - just in case you have trouble sleeping after…"
Dragon trails off, her gaze drooping at the reminder of what you've witnessed in the past twenty-four hours.
"Fine," you say aloud to both Dragon and Kaylee, generating smiles on both of their faces. "Is Wyld still in the medical tents?"
Kaylee opens her mouth, but Dragon's voice crackles through her tablet computer before she can say anything.
"Yes, Weaver, Wyld should be in the medical tents right now. Ms. Chambers, I recommend you make use of the time to get some sleep as well."
The blue-haired LNO purses her lips for a second, then nods. "After I drop off these notes to Chevalier and Legend, Ms. Dragon. Will there be anything else, Ms. Weaver?"
Extruding your armor - having kept your helmet out while you worked in the comfort of one of the plush office chairs - you float a foot off the ground before turning back and nodding.
"I'm glad Assault and Battery transferred over to the Brockton Bay refugee camp, but the timing feels… too coincidental. Could you ask Director Uriel about that tomorrow morning, since he would have had to approve the transfer?"
"Of course, Ms. Weaver," Kaylee smiles, tapping away with her right hand while cradling the tablet in her left arm. "Anything else?"
"No, that's it, Kaylee. Thanks again for taking the plans to Chevalier."
"No problem! Good luck with your leg!"
You nod at Kaylee's enthusiastic farewell, then glide out the door, over the railway, and down to the warehouse floor. The central warehouse is now filling up with PRT vans and officers, as well as dozens of cars and trucks being worked on to serve as civilian transportation. Clusters of refugees are also being scanned and processed before being admitted to the medical tents - a precaution you and Inquisition insisted upon despite the clamor it's causing. No one has been found to have any implants or bombs, but you suspect that trend will be broken some time this week.
As you float out and then accelerate towards the medical tents, you observe how Alexandria and the other Brutes have piled up the shipping containers that were previously stacked in the area; instead of rows of containers up to five tall, they are instead assembled in boxed-off sections with only one pathway between each of the six large tents. The outer perimeter surrounding the complex is four trailers wide, allowing for plenty of PRT officers to patrol the improvised battlements while not making it nearly impossible for anyone to sneak over the edge without being noticed. There is still plenty of room for expansion, as more and more civilians are expected to pour in over the week, but right now the shelter is already housing over a thousand civilians - most of that overflow from the downtown hospital.
Flying over the tops of the tents, Who and Suzy briefly come into your range high above you but then pass back out. Accelerating, you catch the two of them again and take control of Suzy to bring her down closer to the ground.
Who greets you with a wave of a hand and a casual air, but you can see some hesitation in the movement.
"What's up?"
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah," she shrugs, "just working on getting used to Suzy. Needed to get away before I cut that bitch."
Your HUD pings the statement as a lie, but you let it slide for now.
"It's alright. We managed to get some work done on strategies for each of the Nine, which areas of the city they're most likely to hit next, and what the teams should be for when we move out."
"I'm with you, right?" she asks, a little too quickly.
You pause, trying to figure out a delicate way to put this.
"Actually, the Wards are being kept here at the shelter to make sure we have firepower in reserve. Besides, as long as they still have Hatchet Face and Bezalel's drones, there's too great a chance for them to get through your power."
"Oh. Well, that sucks," she grouses, "fuck those drones."
You shrug, opting not to mention the fact that you technically don't count as a Ward at the moment and will be leading the search against the Siberian tomorrow.
"Suzy's getting hungry," you point out, motioning to the motorcycle-sized bug. "Go ahead and land, and I'll gather up a swarm to feed her. I'm going to bed soon, anyway, and you should too - the Nine are probably going to do something tomorrow morning, so it's best to get some rest."
Who rubs the slick black carapace near Suzy's head, patting the space between the two horns that double as handlebars. "Awww, what's a hungry bug? You're a hungry bug, aren't you?"
Rolling your eyes and sparing a chuckle, you wave goodbye and pilot Suzy down to a clearing outside one of the tents where the other Wards are staying. You feel bad about not speaking to them after what you experienced today, but your swarm has seen how busy they've been kept since they arrived in the shelter - moving supplies, helping civilians reunite with family members, doing all the public outreach tasks that Wards are supposed to do.
Better that you're being treated like a Protectorate member now. You never really were a Ward, anyway.
Floating down into the medical tent, it takes you a few seconds to reach Wyld as she strides through the tent - three vine-like tentacles unfurled from each outstretched arm, each resting on a sleeping patient for a few moments before lifting off and moving to another. Hanging off her shoulders is a leafy, backpack-like sack of fluid that twitches slightly each time she touches someone.
"You're not asking for their permission?"
Wyld halts mid-step, her six vines finishing on their current patients before shrinking back to disappear into the tracings of her plant armor. That done, she turns slowly to face your floating form.
"Everyone that's admitted signs a release form," the bio-Striker admits casually, though you detect an undercurrent of… disdain? "Unless they are unconscious, of course. Either way, I don't have to wait around."
You hum in consideration, then motion with a hand at her backpack.
"Have you thought about extending a vine and let anyone who wants to just grab it for healing?"
Wyld perks up slightly, crossing her arms and narrowing her glowing eyes in thought.
"I can do that with lower-form organisms, but the bigger and more complex bodies get the harder it is to keep track of all the information without switching things around. Your boosting power is amazing for helping with that, but even with it I don't think I could handle more than six people at once."
"What about those pods with the goo in them?"
"Oh! I was just trying to copy those healing tanks from sci-fi movies, but I only ended up giving a bunch of rats cancer if I didn't customize the broth to each one individually. At that point, it's easier just to do what I'm doing now."
You remain silent in contemplation of her experimentation, but Wyld quickly brings up her hand to dismiss the thought.
"Oh, no, I fixed the rats. Well, I mean, until I- uh…" she trails off, suddenly looking nervous about her surroundings. "Can we talk somewhere else?"
"Actually, I was wondering if you had the time to heal my leg now. Is there somewhere we can-"
"Yes!" she agrees, with enough enthusiasm. "There are private beds set up for capes. Do you want to go now?"
"S-sure," you mumble, letting her take you by the hand and lead you over to the cape-reserved tent. It's not yet secure as the ones in the Brockton Bay refugee camp, so you've had dozens of insects placed strategically throughout the tent for a while now, but there's no one else in the tent at the moment.
You opt to take the middle-most bed, with its back in the direction of the other tents - just to be on the safe side - though you don't say as much to Wyld as you drop down to the floor within the curtained-off area.
The skip in Wyld's step is making your heart beat a little faster than normal, and your minds are starting to plot out escape routes and ways to take down the bio-Striker should things get a little too Penny. Should you get Skein over here?
Resigning yourself to the rollercoaster that is your life, you extrude a set of spidersilk shorts and t-shirt - made last week through your spiders, so not quite as good as your hand-crafted works - and then absorb your armor. As it folds up into compartments all across your body, you plop down on the bed with your leg and stump hanging off.
"Oh, my," Wyld gasps, not yet touching your Alchemical form's skin but instead leaning down to examine your amputated leg - and all the exposed networks of magical materials that make up your skin, muscles, bones, and charms. "I didn't get a good look at it before, but… I'm sorry, it's just so different than anything-"
"It's fine."
"Does- does it hurt?"
"Well, now that you've reminded me about it," you grit out, feeling the spike of associated pain that you had previously pushed out of your head and causing your eyes to blur. "Yes, it stings a bit."
Wyld's left hand reaches out, and you see the plant-armor gauntlet pull away to expose her lightly-tanned skin. Just before she touches your thigh above where the leg was amputated, her eyes dart up to meet yours.
"M-may I?"
Your eyes are closed and teeth gritted, so you just nod, deactivating Industrial Survival Frame in the same motion.
Her hand is warm on your skin, but you don't feel anything beyond that for several long, quiet moments. Wyld herself is stock-still, her glowing green eyes wide since the moment of contact, but eventually you hear her sigh in confusion.
"It's just… I can't… what are-? AH!"
With a scalding yell, Wyld yanks her hand back as if burned. The motion causes her to fall backward from her awkward forward-lean, resulting in her landing hard on her rear with a dull thud on the sanitized mat.
"Wyld?" you ask, trying to keep some surprise in your voice, even though there are a number of things in your body that could cause that kind of reaction.
"Wh-what was that?!"
"What was what?"
"I don't know!" she exclaims, waving her arms in exasperation towards your stump of a leg. "I was trying to figure out what you are made of, to see if I could replicate it! I was starting with your skin, which I think is some sort of clay-metal hybrid mesh, but then I just… it hurt me!"
You do your best to not let your worry show about Wyld trying to deduce the workings of soulsteel, opting instead to take a different route.
"What did you do when you healed me after Behemoth?"
"I-" she starts, before forcefully taking a long, deep breath to stop her hyperventilation. "All I did then was reconnect the pieces. That normally shouldn't work, but I can't- there's too much information in… whatever you're built out of."
You open your eyes, as the pain has mostly subsided for now, and cock an eyebrow as Wyld gathers her thoughts.
"It's the feeling you get when you're walking into the water on the beach. At a certain point, the water starts to get up near your neck and your head, and you can't see the bottom anymore. It feels like there should be ground when you take your next step, but then all of a sudden… it's like I stepped over a ledge."
"Ah," you say, eloquently. "Yeah."
Wyld's glowing green eyes blink owlishly as she tries to parse your detailed response. You hear her start to take a breath to respond, but hold up a hand before she can speak.
"It's ok. I didn't think this would work. Let me… try something."
Closing your eyes, you begin working through some breath exercises to prepare yourself mentally for this next step - not that the act will be strenuous, but rather you will be placing yourself at more risk than you would normally allow.
You'll just have to trust in your allies.
One by one you deactivate all your applications of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade. Wyld gasps in shock as you save hers for last, but then you feel the sparking current of electricity near the base of your skull finally subside. With that done, you gather up your will and struggle mentally for a few moments with your Shard of Perfect Administration, letting out your breath in a woosh of air as it finally slams closed - and then nearly fall over as your world narrows down to just your tiny, miniscule perspective.
How long had it been since you last turned it off? Weeks? A month? You're not sure if you ever felt so… incomplete without it active before, even though you consciously recognize that as an unhealthy train of thought.
"Taylor! Are you alright? What happened?"
"Ah-" you try, struggling to get used to being in only one brain with only one consciousness again. "I'm fine, sorry. I just deactivated everything, since I think you were picking up on some of my active charms. I'm going to switch to my disguise now, then let's try that again."
Wyld simply nods, then slowly picks herself off the floor and brushes her armor off while you close your eyes and enable Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier and the Loom-Server Migration sub-module. You feel your body shift and hum as your body transforms into a perfect simulacrum of a human being, the sensation never quite growing old despite how many times you've done it before.
"Alright, try again."
Wyld doesn't move, and from her posture it seems she was watching your stump during the transition. Without your insects around you weren't able to see it happen, but it must have looked suitably bizarre as your metallic, crystalline, and clay components transformed to bone, sinew, blood, and flesh.
"O-ok. If you say so."
Once again Wyld places her hand on your thigh, but this time you see her glowing eyes blink in surprise. You hear her breathing even out over the next few moments, until you finally hear her mumble to herself.
"Alive... "
You remain quiet, giving her all the time she needs for now - you don't feel any changes happening, so for now you're content to let Wyld have her moment of universal understanding.
After what feels like five minutes of Wyld simply standing still and breathing lightly, she twitches and blinks her eyes rapidly.
"T-Taylor! You're alive!"
You nod your head slowly, hoping you didn't just fry Wyld's brain.
"Yes. I am alive. Are you alive, Amelia?"
Still keeping her left hand on your leg, Wyld gestures at the rest of your body with frantic excitement while trying to give you an eager stare through her helmet.
"No! I mean, yes, I'm alive, but not like you! You're not like everyone else, just a bag of meat and bones and chemicals bumping around! You're… real! You look like you're made of what everyone else is made of, but then I keep trying to dive deeper and deeper and it's… there's just so much potential!"
By now Wyld is practically jumping around, her left hand locked to your thigh in a way that is now growing distinctly painful.
"Uh, Wyld?"
"That's what I was getting from your bugs, and why they didn't feel the same as the ones I used in my Garden! Somehow you're passing… no, I was seeing you!"
"Wyld!"
The manic bio-Striker jerks to halt, the act nearly bringing tears to your eyes as you try to grit through a smile.
"You-uh?"
"That… really hurts."
"Ohmygosh I'm so sorry!" she gasps, sliding back so that she is up against the bed where you are now laying down in pain. "Here, I'm going to try to heal you now! Let me know how that feels?"
You just nod, not trusting your voice any longer, and watch as a much thicker, hose-like vine grows from the pack of goo on her back and slithers down to meet where her hand is on your thigh. Almost instantly you feel the pain disappear, only to be replaced with a light tingling sensation that reminds you of the times your foot or leg fell asleep. It's not the painful, but rather it's almost as if your leg is there but also… not there. A phantom limb inside your actual limb.
The process takes all of ten seconds, but as Wyld releases her grip on your leg and pulls away, the sensation doesn't fade. Frowning, you test your new leg by flexing it and wiggling your toes.
"Is everything alright?" Wyld asks tentatively, "I tried to build it using the template from your other leg, but I don't know how to make it… whatever you are."
"It's good, just… it's weird. Like it's not really a part of me. It's somewhat like what I expected to happen, but not exactly."
The verdant, glowing eyes of Wyld's mask narrow in what must be a frown of concern or thought. "Not exactly? What do you mean?"
"Well, when I figured one of a few things would happen. Either you wouldn't be able to heal me at all, this would happen, or it'd work perfectly. The first possibility was low, since you were able to heal my jaw, my burns, and my broken bones, but as you said before, those were just putting things back together. The third option would have been great, and we'd be having a much different conversation right now if that had happened, but it didn't. As for the second… well, I figured it would be like what happens when I eat."
At Wyld's blank, luminescent stare, you motion to your leg and nod.
"I'm not just made of different stuff, I actually run on completely different physics than normal matter and energy. I think what you're seeing is part of that when you start diving in the deep end with your power, but I'm not sure. Either way, I'm still able to eat and drink normal food and convert it to my type of physics and matter, so I think I'll be able to do the same thing here. Just… probably a little slower than when I eat."
Wyld blinks a few times as you go through your theory, but remains quiet when you finish. Eventually, she looks back to your leg and pokes it with her left index finger.
"I… think I get it? I mean, I could probably just sit here all night trying to figure this out, but I think I'm starting to get a headache now."
You nod, having expected as much, but you manage to remember one of your thoughts from before just as Wyld is looking like she might be ready to leave you be.
"Actually, Wyld, I was wondering something. Have you ever thought about improving someone beyond the small tune-ups you do? Build muscle, reinforce bones, something like that."
The plant-armored bio-Striker slowly pulls her finger back from your leg, then clasps her hands together in a way you saw her do as Panacea during the attack.
"I'm… not really sure I'm comfortable with that yet. It's one thing for me to experiment on those bodies I build for Maestro or on smaller animals, but…"
She huffs and starts to pace a bit, her gaze focused on the floor.
"It's not like you're the first person to ask. My si-Vicky did a few times, and occasionally people I healed."
"But you never did?"
"No!" Wyld blurts out, but then immediately starts to fidget again. "I-I mean, not intentionally. I-I think I may have done it to Vicky on accident over the years. It's just… it's so hard not to."
You blink, the statement triggering a thought you had last night about the nature of parahuman powers, if yours and Marrow's Shard-based charms are any indication: that powers might, in fact, be large, interdimensional, and sentient.
It's not something you're going to be talking to anyone about right now, but Wyld just may have added more evidence to your pile.
"I only understand what I see, not what came before, and even just reading DNA for instructions doesn't get the same results! I could start changing you or someone else and not know how to get back!"
"That makes sense," you agree, nodding. "From everything my diagnostic sight tells me, I think you might even be rewriting DNA when you make changes - my sight would pick up if something was different than what it should be."
"W-wait, really?" Wyld balks, causing you to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
"You didn't notice that?"
"No! Of course not! I-" she holds a hand to her head, lost in thought, "I would have seen if I was changing Vicky or not!"
"Can you make changes without rewriting DNA?"
"Yes? I mean, that's what I'm doing when I'm healing people."
Both of you are silent for a moment, your own lips pursed as you make the connection several seconds before Wyld does. Unfortunately, the realization is a crippling one.
"O-oh no. No," she mutters, shrinking in on herself. "I-I can't even-"
"Amelia! Stop!" you bark out, turning on the bed and grabbing her shoulder - desperate to stop this train of thought before Wyld collapses completely. "I watched you heal with my own sight. It was perfect. Have you ever heard of anyone having any problems from your healing?"
The question makes Wyld blink a few times, the glowing green eyes of her plant-based helmet flickering as she tries to dredge up the memories.
"I-I don't… I don't think so… but I-"
"No! Shut up!"
You pray to the Maker that Bladedancer's brand of pep-talks will work here, because you're not coming up with anything else.
So far so good, if the stunned, wide-eyes of Wyld's helmet are any indication.
"Are you human?"
"I-wha-?"
You grab her other shoulder, nearly shaking her with the act.
"I said, are you human?"
"Y-yes! Why-"
"Because if you're human, you are not perfect. Nobody is perfect. You have made mistakes. You will make more mistakes. But remember: you haven't hurt anyone."
You take your right hand off her shoulder and point it square in her face.
"Trust me, the PRT would have been on your case instantly if people started complaining about side-effects of your healing, and that didn't happen. So yes, there's a new quirk to your amazing, world-changing power. Who knows, maybe now that you know what to look for, you can even get around it! That's what being human means - figuring things out where things went wrong, then making things better!"
Your breath is heavy and hard after your tirade, while Wyld is still a deer-in-headlights under your firm grip. Eventually, you lower your finger but keep your glare going until you feel her twitch.
"I-"
"No," you lean back in her face, finger now jammed against her mask with your best glare going, "the next thing I better hear out of your mouth is, 'Yes, Taylor!'"
"Wh-"
"'YES. TAYLOR.'"
"YES, TAYLOR!" she finally squeaks, but you don't let up.
"'I am amazing, Taylor!'"
"I am amazing, Taylor!"
"'I am making the world a better place, Taylor!'"
"I am making the world a better place, Taylor!"
"'I am going to stop collecting pictures of you in swimsuits, Taylor!'"
"I am going to-eeep!"
You keep your eyes narrowed, despite the shrill squeal of embarrassment Wyld just made while locking up under your grip.
"Yes, I saw those magazines, Amelia," you growl, trying to sound menacing without actually being truly angry, "though the ones in Sabah room can be excused since it's her job. What were all those pictures and magazines doing in your Garden, then?"
You're sorely tempted to activate Mass-Penetrating Scan to see through her helmet, but doing so would break your disguise at this point. Still, you have a good enough imagination to figure out that she's probably the color of a tomato at this point.
You lean back, eyeing her imperiously for a few more moments before releasing your grip and relaxing with a snort of amusement - falling back into the bed as you do so.
"Oh, whatever," you sigh, managing a weary smile. "It's not like I shouldn't have expected anything less than being pinned up to every teenaged boy's bedroom wall. Serves me right for agreeing to those photo shoots."
A distinctly un-ladylike snort of laughter from Wyld is the start of a gradual escalation to full-blown laughter, which is contagious enough that you get swept up into giggling as well. After a minute or so of it, you slide your legs a bit to the side to give enough room for Wyld to sit up on the bed as well, which she manages with zero grace.
"Thanks, Taylor," she eventually sighs, the giggles finally having died down.
"I'm just glad that I didn't have to start slapping you," you admit, rolling your eyes, "since I'm pretty sure that would have ended poorly for everyone."
That just starts Wyld giggling again, so you close your eyes and relax.
"I'm sorry about asking you about modifications, anyway. I'm just a bit nervous about tomorrow. I think I know what to expect from the Siberian now, but she's out for my blood after I screwed her up with my anima."
"O-oh. Is that how you stopped her from chasing us?"
"Yeah. She even talked to me, called me a machine. Which is right, I guess, but not really the same."
"Y-you're not a machine, Taylor. You're a human."
You crack one eye open to see Wyld fidgeting with her hands in her lap on the side of the bed. Her helmet is down now, revealing her bushy, curly hair and freckled, mousy face as she gazes off to the side.
"Thank you, Amelia. But… I'm really not. Not anymore, at least. I am, quite literally, a machine. Case in point," you sigh, gesturing with your right hand to your bicep as you flex it, "no matter how much I work out or train, I will never gain an ounce of physical power. My body is locked until I can get to a complex that can rebuild my muscles to be… I'm not going to say it."
"Huh?"
"It's an old TV show from before Scion-"
"No-" Amelia frowns, concentrating on a thought, "a TV show? What does… nevermind, you mean all that training the Wards have to do won't help you at all?"
You bob your head from side to side for a bit, weighing the question before wincing. "Not really. I can train my skills - my mind, really - but I won't get stronger or more dextrous. Software yes, hardware no."
From her incredulous expression, Amelia isn't believing this one bit. She turns, bringing her right knee up on the bed as she fixes you with a skeptical gaze. "But brains are hardware. It's just neuron pathways being reinforced each time the brain processes an action or sensation."
"I… think I've heard of that, but no, that's not-" you begin warily, before sighing and shaking your head. "Look, do you remember how I said I run on different physics and matter?"
She nods, still not quite where this is going.
"Well, I actually have this… well, let's call it a phased organ that regulates my consciousness and sense of self. It's like another brain, really, except it actually keeps logs of my past states so that it can compare and contrast to detect changes that are both good and bad. My actual, physical brain in my normal body acts more like a tool for raw processing power, where the phased organ regulates my actual identity."
"O-oh," Amelia blinks, looking away for a moment to process that. After nearly half a minute, she finally turns back with a more thoughtful expression. "Do you know what the organ's called? Maybe there's a way I can try to replicate one if I could figure out how to identify it."
Your eyes widen at that very dangerous line of thought, so you hold your hands up to ward it off. Still, you're pretty sure of what her reaction is going to be to your next answer.
"W-Well, it's got a few different names, actually, but…" you try to smile, but it comes out more like a wince, "I guess you could call it a 'soul'?"
Her face drops into a blank, flat stare fast enough to make you think it'll stick that way.
"A soul? Really, Taylor?"
"Ah!" you counter, pointing a finger with rising indignation, "don't give me that. I'll have you know that where this body comes from, souls are actually tangible things. It's actually what in this big diamond in my head," you proclaim, pointing to the soulgem you've extruded from your forehead, "see?"
Amelia closes her eyes, takes a deep, long breath, then lets it out through her mouth - slowly - as she pinches the bridge of her nose. After finishing her world-weary sigh, she shakes her head.
"And just when I was starting to think you were normal. Honestly."
You just cross your arms and fall back to the tilted bed, pouting with mock-seriousness. "Hmph. Heathen."
This elicits a snort of laughter from Amelia, eventually leading to a short round of giggles between the two of you.
The tent grows quiet afterwards, Amelia looking off into space while you start to feel sleep overtake you. Just as you feel the black creeping into your vision, she turns back with a pensive expression.
"Do you really want me to try?"
You almost lose consciousness, but the effort of parsing the question manages to rescue you. Blinking away the drowsiness, you nod. "If you're up for it. Even the littlest bit may make the difference."
"I'm not going to make you into Marrow, you know," she sighs through pursed lips. "Since you need speed against the Siberian, I'll just try to reinforce the nerve connections to your fast-twitch muscle groups, and…"
You smile, not quite grasping her terminology as she goes into more detail, but you try to memorize it for future research.
"... and I'll work one part of your body at a time, so that I know what I've changed and how to go back if I mess up."
"Good idea. Do you want me to scan while you work?"
Amelia purses her lips again in thought, then shakes her head.
"No, if I'm working on your nerves then I need you to be out - too much chance that when I'm changing things you flex on instinct and I lose track. This is going to take me a while, too, and I'm pretty sure I saw you passing out back there."
"I don't know what you're talking about," you try to say, but unconsciousness has already claimed you.
***
A sudden, loud explosion rips the cobwebs from your mind as you jolt up out of bed...
… and nearly crush your own rib cage with your knees in the process.
You let out a hard, adrenaline-hastened breath as your mind finishes bringing you to the waking world, then hop out of bed with more spring in your step than you've ever had before. Were it not for the thunderous bang you just heard, you be jumping for joy right now.
Discarding your mortal disguise you reactivate your full suite of standard charms in a massive deluge of essence from your periperal reserve. As smoke blasts out from your shoulders and the Design Weaver of your anima screams in challenge, you feel your body shimmer from Industrial Survival Frame, your mind multiply from Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, and expand beyond your single form through Shard of Perfect Administration - the latter of which reveals the scene around you in the morning daylight.
It takes you less than a second to process what you're seeing, but the sensation that hits your nose at the same time is faster than that.
Your eyes burn with liquid silver, your sinuses explode in pain, and you - like everyone else in you can see - collapse to the ground while trying to throw up everything you've ever eaten.
***
Happy One-Year Anniversary, Alchemical Quest!
Stats still to come when I post this to the new thread, with voting options being posted later to allow people to focus on the story for a bit.
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Gromweld
Learning By Mistake
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