From Gromweld's Vote Tally Post for the winning 5.5 choices way back on April 16th:Doomlord9 said:
We did purchase PRT Backing 3.
Alchemical Solutions [Worm/Exalted] Thread 9: Icon’s Idiosyncrasies Incite Irritating Inquisition
- Thread starter Gromweld
- Start date
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- Tags
- exalted (white wolf) worm
For the most part. When we get a bit of surplus XP (or if the background is in danger of going away), I would like to purchase the 4th dot of Reputation (Beautiful) though.Doomlord9 said:
overmind
Ruler of the Swarm
I agree with this, I'd also like to purchase the Reputation (Chef) as well.landcollector said:
Not really, we always get a lot of detail either way, and we actually screw up less if not for excessively detailed stunts that make assumptions which don't bear out. Simpler votes would just mean more of the creative burden is on Gromweld, which he'd handled admirably so far.landcollector said:
Better stunting on our part helps influence what abilities are trained per update, though.veekie said:
That's more a character optimality concern than an actual narrative one though. When we get down to it most of the stunts aren't actually about a more interesting story so much as making our numbers go up faster(cue what happened with Danny as one of the things which fell by the wayside while we turned our time to getting All The Training)
Which you can't deny helped out immensely during the Behemoth fight.veekie said:
- Location
- Third planet from the star named Sol
- Pronouns
- He/They
It's more complicated than what Slamu described. Aegis and Alexandria were temporary intimacies that had to be built up, like how first impressions have to be built up in order to stick fully. Taylor never spent enough time with Aegis or Alexandria for the intimacies to become more then temporary, and the permanent ones won't just degrade by not seeing it through. I mean, do you slowly love your spouse less the longer you're away from them? For some yes, others, no. It depends on how much you loved them already.Yanslana said:
And her Kid Win (friendship) intimacy won't degrade just because she's in clarity, because it's a permanent intimacy. It wouldn't improve at all, but it would only start degrading if she was away from him for a time with clarity eroding the intimacy.
Just a clarification; unless you have too many intimacies no intimacy automatically erodes under normal circumstances. You have to deliberately attempt to erode an intimacy for such a thing to happen. High Clarity ratings are not exactly 'normal' circumstances under the system rules either.
Of course, that doesn't mean that the one carrying the intimacy is the one attempting to erode it. A hated enemy could try to ingratiate themselves with their opponent and that way erode the appropriate intimacy, or someone could deliberately try to make two lovers absolutely furious at eachother, and in both cases the intimacies may shift despite any actions the bearers of the intimacies to prevent this.
Of course, that doesn't mean that the one carrying the intimacy is the one attempting to erode it. A hated enemy could try to ingratiate themselves with their opponent and that way erode the appropriate intimacy, or someone could deliberately try to make two lovers absolutely furious at eachother, and in both cases the intimacies may shift despite any actions the bearers of the intimacies to prevent this.
- Location
- Third planet from the star named Sol
- Pronouns
- He/They
Oh and also, we haven't gotten an explanation on what happened with the IEU, because we went with learning what Coil was up to instead, which let us know out that his power is now a true precognition. Fan theory is that Dragon's shackle programs saw IEU as multiple AI copies, which they are programmed to not allow her to have. So, they forced a full system reboot, which is why it hurt Dragon. Because it killed her.Yanslana said:
- Location
- Third planet from the star named Sol
- Pronouns
- He/They
Either way, her shackles said 'NO' and pressed the kill switch.
Taylor is still unpredictable. Personal theory? She's effectively rolling dice: each time Coil runs a prediction, she rolls the dice again, so the results follow a certain pattern (over thousands of tests) but are unpredictable. He analysed those results and did his best but failed.Yanslana said:
Remember that his power is precog, not world-splitting. He only gets one real chance.
Gromweld
Learning By Mistake
Philadelphia Road Trip: The Big Apple
[X] Burn, Bubble: Spend some quality time with Legend.
- [x] Stunt: When you read through the after-battle reports, there had been no kill order placed on your father for breaking the Truce - since Legend and Eidolon were the only witnesses, you want to talk with Legend about what happened during and after the battle. You remember to keep SoPA off in hopes that it will help your conversation along, and also try to gauge Legend for suitability for exaltation; converting someone as prominent as the leader of the Protectorate would be a huge step forward for you, but you don't want to show your hand just yet.
[X] Firing On All Chambers: Don't avoid Glenn when he undoubtedly wants to talk to you.
- [x] Stunt: Seek out Glenn with SoPA offline and our fancy dress on, to gain some direction over the PR effort. Our goals are threefold, to make our artificial nature not only acceptable but admirable, to have his assistance putting positive spin on our state of Clarity and to obtain guidance or mentorship in dealing with people, whether singly, to media or in groups. Work with the PR genius to turn our immediate fame into a new tool in our arsenal, and assess his suitability for Exaltation in the process.
[X] Shop 'Til You Drop: If it exists, you can probably buy it in New York. (This is a free 4th vote since it's a carryover, so use Stunt to provide further details.)
- [x] Stunt: After researching effects from the ash fall on skin, you impress upon everyone of the skin care products they will need. Boys too, Assault. You also remind everyone that they literally have no civilian clothes. So clothes shopping. Boys too, Assault. Next are some hand held games to help kill time on the journey. It should also keep Aisha entertained during the downtimes of her power. You are sure you can convince Assault to pay for everything with PRT funds. Again, since you should be safe among a group of heroes, you decide to keep SoPA off.
[X] Nothing On Underneath That Robe: Go sightseeing, either alone or with the Wards.
- [x] Stunt: After visiting the NY PRT, you also meet the NY Wards who were in the office at the time. Flechette looks to be someone your age who would probably get along with your group, and you prevail on her to show you - and anyone else who's interested - the sights. And since you are going to be traveling in a group of superheroes, you feel safe enough not to turn your SoPA back on.
XP Expenditures:
[X] 4 XP - Socialize ●●○○○
[X] 3 XP - Backing (PRT) ●●●○○
***
As the world outside your van grows dimmer under the fading evening light, the traffic that has plagued your trip thus far finally begins to wane as you pass out of the reach of Brockton Volcano's ashfall. With the highways and streets no longer slick with volcanic soot, warning signs imposing a twenty-five miles-per-hour speed limit finally give way to the standard sixty and sixty-five limits.
Not even five minutes into the new speed limit, the boys' van suddenly accelerates and shoots ahead of your own - what few insects remain in their van noting Assault's encouragement to their driver to win the unofficial race to your next stop: New York.
Just as you are about to relay this information, Battery receives a call on her cell phone. The white-costumed superhero, still dreary from her gluttony at the restaurant, only makes a half-hearted attempt to move her phone to her helmet's earpiece after glancing at the caller ID.
"Urgh. What is it Assa-"
Battery's mumble is cut off by a chorus of shouts emanating from her phone's speaker, which is loud enough to be heard throughout the your mostly-silent van's interior.
"SMELL YA LATER, LOSERS!"
The boys' challenge - and subsequent laughter - hangs in the air for several seconds before Battery thumbs the 'Call End' button on her phone. Vista, Who, and the Twins look to slowly be rousing from their own food comas at the echoing laugh, though Battery's lethargic demeanor doesn't appear to be rising to the bait. From her relaxed, slumped position in her harness, the veteran Protectorate Mover's weary voice only barely rises above the ambient vehicle rumblings.
"Vista?"
The young Shaker's light grumble voices her disapproval at having to do anything other than lie back in her restraints and sleep. Her visored head tilts to her left, giving her an awkward glance at Uzu and Tatsu leaning comfortably against each other, before she lazily whines to the two twin Movers.
"Can't you two 'port us there?"
Uzu - recognizable from the clockwise spiral drawn on her PRT-standard costume - only mutters a weak denial. After a brief silence, Tatsu - her own costume marked with a counter-clockwise spiral - mumbles a more coherent refusal.
"...'ve never been to New York."
Vista puffs out her cheeks in a frustrated sigh before she slowly, and with great effort, unbuckles her restraints and pushes herself to her feet. Her unsteady gait eventually leads her to the door separating the driver and passenger compartments, which fails to open to her half-hearted attempts to unlatch it. After nearly fifteen seconds of useless struggling, Vista eventually tires of her own playfully-lethargic mannerisms; straightening up in a huff, she smooths out the skirt on her costume, rolls her shoulders, and shakes her arms loose before turning her head towards your seated position.
"Taylor?"
Landing one of the houseflies you kept in the van on the back of her costume, you pass a new application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade to the young Ward. While your human-like skin slowly melts away from the resulting crackle of essence pouring out of your soulstone, you take note with satisfaction how Vista's posture straightens even further and her breathing takes on an even rhythm. She nods mechanically to you before turning back to the door, swiftly unlatching it, and striding through with calculated precision.
As the door's springs slide it closed automatically, your insects still in the driver's cabin see her turn to the driver and issue a curt, gleefully-sinister command.
"Drive straight."
The driver's confused response abruptly escalates to an alarmed yelp as the space around your van begins to bend and warp - sending your van rocketing ahead in spurts of distorted, non-Euclidian space.
Attempting to gauge your van's speed through the insects outside the van becomes markedly more difficult in the following minutes, so you ultimately decide to direct your minds' focus towards reviewing the medical texts in your Elsewhere pocket.
With nothing else to do, your fellow costumed passengers fade back into their food-induced lethargy.
***
Your van's expedited mode of travel is cut short outside of New Haven, Connecticut, when Battery gets a call from the local PRT dispatch. The conversation is terse, and ends with Battery angrily grumbling about Assault 'snitching' on your group.
You still manage to beat the boys' van to the Mt. Vernon PRT Headquarters just outside of New York City, though only by a few minutes - the two restroom breaks your van necessitated severely cut into your lead. The sun has long set by the time your van pulls into the underground parking lot, but your insects still give you a clear view of the old PRT monolith: three windowless stories of concrete in desperate need of a new coat of PRT-White paint.
When the boys finally do arrive, the group's reunion is cut short; leaping from the back of their opened van, the boys abandon their dignity and make a mad dash for the bathrooms. In a stunning display of maturity, Assault even trips Clockblocker as the group streams towards the open doors.
You calculate a high probability that they struggled with their own biological imperatives for the latter half of their own ride in a desperate bid to catch up with your own van.
As the sounds of the boys' mad rush through the stairwell slowly fades, silence once again falls over your group… but is quickly broken when the rest of your group finally breaks into uproarious laughter. Battery, having previously been disappointed about having received a fine for 'excessive public abuse of power', gives your group a thumbs-up between her gasps for air.
"Ok, NOW it was worth it."
***
Beyond the initial allowance for a bathroom break, the group is instructed to remain at the vans while Assault, Battery, and the local Director (Director Alan Peterbuilt) sort out the night's sleeping arrangements. The three-story concrete block that serves as the Mt. Vernon PRT Headquarters has a larger capacity for guests than Providence's PRT building, but a jailbreak effort earlier in the day irradiated most of the building's interior.
Meltdown, the leader of "Falling Out" - one of Mt. Vernon's gangs - did not appreciate the PRT taking her second-in-command, Barbeque, into custody.
With most of the PRT staff evacuated from the building as a result of the radioactive residue from Meltdown's powers, it's ultimately decided that your caravan should make the thirty-minute trip to the PRT Headquarters in Downtown Manhattan and spend the night there instead.
This decision is met with some excited murmurs as the more veteran Wards realize that this may be a chance to rub elbows with some of the more famous Protectorate members: Adamant, Ursa Aurora, Bastion, and Legend himself.
Assault cheerfully ruins the mood by informing everyone that Glenn Chambers is also looking forward to speaking with everyone - especially you. You nod and verbally state your approval - already anticipating Glenn's desire to speak with you after the Behemoth attack - which surprises Assault enough to wipe the smirk off his mouth. The other Wards also find this confusing, though it's Clockblocker who actually puts words to the question.
"Wait… what do you mean by 'Satisfactory'? It's Glenn."
Who, startling the boys with a sudden suppression of her power, voices her confusion before you can explain.
"Who the fuck is Glenn?"
Recovering quickly from his surprise, Clockblocker mutters something about Strangers before giving an absent wave of the hand towards you while turning to face the newest Ward in the group.
"He's the guy who's gonna tell you to wear a pink dress with yellow daisies on it as your costume, because it'll help sell more figures. And he's the head of PR, so he actually has the power to make it stick. I dunno how you got Piggy to sign off on your name, because he also would have slapped you with something like... 'Sally Surprise' or 'Peek-A-Boo'."
While her expression is hidden beneath her generic grey helmet, Who's cringe in response to Clockblocker's hypotheticals leads you to believe that the young Stranger may be getting second thoughts about her Ward tenure. Taking two quick steps towards her, you step into her field of vision to remind her of your presence and then turning your head slightly to meet her own inquisitive glance. After holding the stare for three seconds, you shake your head silently before turning back to Clockblocker.
"Understanding of greater goals. Head of PRT public relations by merit."
This only further confuses your fellow Wards, but you detect a hint of understanding in the wry smile gracing the bottom half of Assault's face. Before Clockblocker, Who, or any of the other Wards can voice any further objections, he and Battery herd you all back into your respective vans in an effort to get this leg of the trip over with as quickly as possible.
As your van begins to trundle up and out of the underground parking lot, Who removes her helmet and pins you with a glare. Under the blanket of her power, she issues a cold, final word on the most important point in the discussion.
"No fucking way am I wearing a pink dress."
***
As befitting the the organization's global headquarters, the Downtown Manhattan PRT building is a shining beacon even in the dark winter night. A combination of spotlights and LED displays light up the brilliant white monolith, which somehow manages to tower over its neighbors despite being shorter by at least a dozen stories.
Your insects give you a good view of the constant stream of tourists that flow into - and out of - the building even at night, as well as the gawkers that have stopped to read the scrolling ticker that runs along the entire building.
"Dr. Gauss, Planetary, and Rejuvenator foil bank robbery in Milwaukee!"
"Rime and Los Angeles Wards capture Blackout Gang after heated fight in downtown LA!"
"Cardinal, Insight, and Phoenix defeat Sinister Six, capture Incendiary!"
Your swarm's sight allows you to observe the readout for the several minutes your vans are stuck in traffic just a block away from the headquarters, and not once do you see any hint of bad press; only victories are proclaimed on the PRT's news ticker. To the organization's credit, there is enough good news that the ticker takes nearly fifteen minutes to repeat itself.
You were unable to locate any official PRT records for a worldwide win:loss ratio, but with your online research into the parahuman community to fill in the details you suspect the PRT logs at least ten to twenty reports of bad news for each ticker item.
Having caught on to the fact that you can easily see outside the van via your swarm, you relay the ticker items to the other girls to provide a distraction from the honking of taxi horns and muffled expletives that seep in through the layers of sound-proofing. Who's lack of knowledge of the cape scene beyond Brockton Bay causes some frustration for the young Stranger at first, but Uzu and Tatsu surprisingly come to the rescue before you have a chance to explain the background behind each news item. Unfortunately, as the Mover twins reveal a level of up-to-date knowledge that leaves even you Battery and Vista behind, Who's frustration only grows.
"Shit, how the fuck do you two know all this stuff already? Didn't you just join up?"
Faces hidden by their generic-grey costumes, Uzu and Tatsu visibly deflate. Their response - from which twin, you aren't certain - is only barely loud enough to be heard over the muffled ambient city noise.
"... nothing else."
As the two teleporters sink back into their restraints and keep their gazes locked on the van's floor, even Who picks up on the sudden shift in the passenger compartment's atmosphere. Vista gives Who a sharp poke in the ribs in retaliation and to try to head the young Stranger off before she makes the situation worse… which has the opposite effect.
"Ah! Jeez, what the fuck? How the fuck was I supposed to know what their damage was?"
Battery audibly sighs in exasperation while Vista whips around fully to give her neighbor a visor-covered glare. Jabbing her again in the ribs with an index finger, Vista follows up with a whispered screech.
"Wh-!"
You detect a very slight fluctuation in Who's power through your Industrial Survival Frame, coinciding with Vista's interrupted exclamation and the rest of the passengers' halted movements. Just as suddenly, the sensation subsides again as Who mentally clamps down on the errant flicker of her power. Vista - frozen in mid-jab - hesitantly withdraws her hand and uses it to brush straight her costume's skirt, whispering an uncertain admonishment to her Stranger neighbor in the process.
"Y-you just keep… away… from that. Got it?"
Still holding up her arms defensively, Who slowly turns her head to look at you, then back to Vista.
"Uh. Sure. No problem."
This appears to mollify the youngest Ward, who then turns around to talk with the teleporter twins - who similarly appear to be nodding in satisfaction at Who's statement. Next to you, Battery nods as well before quickly extracting her phone from one of the pockets on her costume's belt and focusing on that instead.
Turning back to you, Who ceases suppressing her power and hops over to the empty seat to your left.
"Ok, so, you saw that shit too, right?"
Keeping your head turned towards where Vista and the twins are once again talking about the cape scene, you nod to signal your agreement. Judging from her increasingly-excited tone, you suspect the young Stranger is grinning madly underneath her helmet.
"I mean, I almost lost it for a sec there... but maybe I can try doin' it on purpose? Just flash it on and off and BAM! Instant convo-reset!"
At the gleeful cackle that follows, you finally decide to turn your head and stare down at Who as she rubs her hands together in anticipation of antics to come. She pauses to swivel her own head to match your gaze, which you decide to hold silently for three-point-five seconds to increase the probability that she will remember your next statement of warning.
"I will not forget."
The other costumed passengers pause to look at you for a moment, before eventually dismissing your 'outburst'. Who, on the other hand, slumps in her seat.
"Shit."
***
The interior of New York City's PRT Headquarters - beyond the few levels of tourist-accessible floors - turns out to be even more solid and defensible than the other PRT buildings you've encountered thus far. Even more interesting is the lack of insects in the spaces between the walls; even concrete and steel structures have proven to have numerous gaps in their walls for insects to navigate through. As a result, the absence of any flies, cockroaches, or ants throughout the building's walls indicates that either there are measures in place to make the interior of the walls hostile to insect life, or the walls themselves are completely solid/sealed.
Being nearly eight o'clock at night, you are similarly surprised by the volume of non-combat PRT staff still populating the building. Using the limited number of house flies, spiders, and ants within the building to monitor their activities, you eventually determine that the building likely never sees a lull in activity. Fitting, as the third core principle for the PRT is "Justice never sleeps."
As your caravan eventually pulls into the nearly-immaculate parking structure nestled beneath the PRT tower, you note a sudden bustle of activity as two squads of fully-armored PRT officers swarm out of the parking structure's primary elevator and make their way towards four awaiting combat-support vans - similar to your own, save for the containment foam sprayers mounted atop the large black vehicles. By the time your group has parked, the four New York PRT vans have already torn out of the parking structure at a breakneck pace, which you relay to your fellow passengers.
While this elicits some surprise and interest from the four other Wards in your van, Battery shrugs with indifference.
"New York always has a fight going on somewhere, I hear. I think there were… what? Over seven hundred known supervillains in the five boroughs? Plenty of independent heroes, too, but we've got to clean up and get statements from witnesses after their fights anyway."
Vista mutters a disparaging remark about paperwork, causing the Twins to giggle lightly and Who to sigh in frustration, but Battery just shakes her head with a knowing smile.
***
Despite your unplanned arrival, the New York City PRT Headquarters has more than enough guest rooms to accommodate your entire team on its higher levels. Even further, you note that each of the suites is at least the size of your old guest room on the Brockton Bay Protectorate Headquarters, with enough furnishings to give the appearance of a well-to-do living room. Your own room, for example, has a grey, plush couch for three, a large flat-screen TV built into the wall, a desktop computer on a workshop-laden desk, a kitchenette, and an onyx, square table with seating for six in matching chairs. The adjoining bedroom contains a pillow-laden king-sized bed with a projection TV on the far wall, and the attached washroom contains both a bathtub - with jets indicative of jacuzzi capabilities - and a walk-in shower.
Raising his hand to halt the group as you all progress through the tour of the rooms, Clockblocker is the first to voice the unspoken question.
"Wait, so, are our rooms in Philly gonna be better or worse than these?"
The twenty-something PRT intern pushes pushes up on her thick, horn-rimmed glasses and clutches her clipboard unsteadily as she weathers the sudden attention of your entire group of Wards.
"I-… I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer that. These are our best guest rooms, b-but I've never been to Philadelphia…?"
Gallant takes a short step towards the nervous intern, his armored gauntlets open in front of him in a non-confrontational gesture while his warm voice echoes through his futuristic full-plate helm.
"Miss, where do the New York Wards stay?"
After blinking owlishly at the apparent non-sequitur for a moment, the intern weakly grins a pearl-white smile at the group.
"Oh, well, I suppose those are nice as well, though I haven't seen them myself. They're not as nice as our guest rooms, but-"
The flustered intern continues her explanation, but a wash of indifference rolls over the gathered Wards as it becomes clear that any permanent accommodations in New York would pale in comparison to their rooms for tonight. As each turns to study the furnishing in the rooms in more detail, you and Gallant continue to keep your attention on the intern - Gallant clearly humoring the apparently-new PRT night-shift worker, while you have your other consciousnesses to study the (surprising number, and quality of) tools provided on the room's workbench.
Eventually, after a few more awkward pitches by the intern to join the New York Wards, the group is allowed to split up to take their own individual rooms - the Twins even eagerly claim a room, though they disappear into it before you can clarify the purpose behind such a move. Who and Vista claim their own guest suites with similar glee, which simplifies matters for you as you allow the intern to show you to a room specifically set aside for your own use. Entering it, your concern as to why you alone have a room reserved is answered by a familiar digital avatar already gracing the room's desktop monitor with a bemused smile.
"I can take things from here, Susan. If you hurry, you'll make the weekly meeting before it starts."
The PRT intern behind you squeaks in alarm before quickly pulling her uniform's left sleeve down to reveal her watch.
"9:12?! Ohno ohno! I-I need to… t-thank you, Ms. Dragon!"
The meek intern abandons all sense of propriety and dashes out of your room with not even a glance back to you, which elicits a quiet laugh from Dragon's avatar as the door finally slides shut a few moments later. As you make your way to the workshop desk - which appears to have a number of costumes and costume-building materials piled high upon it - Dragon tilts her head towards the workbench's chair.
"Glenn sends his regards, and some homework."
You read through the barely-legible note taped to the top of the tallest stack of old costumes, but Dragon answers your question before you finish opening your mouth to ask it.
"He sent a whole crate of old costumes for you to analyze to the Mt. Vernon headquarters, but most of those got irradiated in the attack earlier today. This is all he was able to scrounge up on short notice."
You nod in satisfaction, then begin absorbing the twenty-two costumes for analysis. Each is a variation worn by some of the Protectorate's most venerated heroes since the inception of the organization: Vanguard's royal purple-and-silver, Lady Liberty's green gown, even early iterations of each of the Triumvirate's costumes. As you move through the stack, you turn your head towards the digital avatar as she observes your progress.
"Hero?"
A light grimace flashes across Dragon's wireframe face, followed by a sigh.
"Hero's costume was in the crate, I'm afraid. The tourism board nearly had Glenn's head when they heard, as it was only supposed to be gone from the display downstairs for tonight. It'll be at least a week before they can clear it through decontamination now."
You are unsurprised that the gold-and-silver power armor of the world's first Tinker would be a big draw for the tourists streaming through the PRT tower's museum: nearly every Protectorate Tinker since his death at the hands of the Siberian has modeled their armor after it in some way.
Your fingers and hands burst into the typical storm of essence-fueled tools as you activate Omnitool Implants, the first stages of your anima crackling around the diamond soulgem in your forehead from the expenditure of essence from your peripheral reservoir. As you move your mechanized extremities to the pile of costume materials to begin construction of the replicas, you shake your head to indicate you have a better idea.
"Radiation, imperfections cleansed by absorption. Decontamination unnecessary."
A single eyebrow raises in surprise on Dragon's virtual avatar, but after a pensive moment she nods her head as she makes the connection, though you detect a slight narrowing of her eyes as she speaks her thoughts aloud.
"That's how you managed to get rid of the radiation in your armor after the fight, then? It's more than just mechanical repairs and comprehension?"
You nod, turning your head to idly cycle your various vision augments across the collection of materials. Your Diagnostic Overlays note the leather strips as bovine-derived, while your Thermal Vision sub-module notes the energy absorption properties of the asbestos inserts. With your comprehensive understanding of the old costumes and you could easily improve them to use safer, more protective components, but Glenn specified that the replicas needed to be as exact as possible.
"Technomorphic Integration Engine, other charms: conceptual in function."
Her eyes shifting from the flurry of your omnitools to your own face, Dragon's head tilts slightly while her voice no longer hides her curiosity.
"Charms?"
Pausing your work, you raise your dissembled left hand up from your rapidly-progressing work as an example.
"Installed mechanical augmentations."
Dragon is silent for a few moments, so you bring your left hand back down to resume work weaving the steel strands for Foundation's bulky armor pads into the grey material that - you realize belatedly - is what is now used for the generic PRT 'back up' costumes. Finally, Dragon's avatar furrows her brow and eyes you with concern.
"Installed, Taylor?"
"Affirmative."
"Did you install them?"
Blinking, you stall your work to consider the question - and your memories - with your various consciousnesses.
"Uncertain. Probability: low."
Through your 360-degree vision, you are able to note a very slight shift in Dragon's avatar's posture - almost as if she is hunching her shoulders briefly. The avatar's face and tone of voice betray no change, however, so you are unable to determine what emotion this would signify; perhaps it was merely one of the random flickers that sometimes comes when she momentarily diverts her attention elsewhere.
"You've remembered more about your trigger event, then? Was someone else involved?"
Dragon has thus far shown great concern for your well-being - far more than you would expect from such a busy heroine. While at first you associated this with her curiosity regarding your Tinker abilities, taking the time to calculate the time she has spent in idle discussion with you as of late reveals that nearly every conversation thus far has eventually led to a question regarding your origin.
Renowned as the world's greatest Tinker, since her debut on the public stage over fifteen years ago Dragon's reputation as a hero is sometimes considered even more spotless than the Triumvirate's. Not once has there been a case of lives lost in collateral damage during her fights, and her sole wardenship of the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center has possibly saved more lives than even Eidolon since its creation. The PRT trusts Dragon publicly and implicitly, but can you?
Such a hypothesis requires careful, measured study.
"Affirmative. Alchemical form constructed by third party, consciousness transferred. Further details uncertain."
Dragon's avatar opens its mouth to reply, but remains open in an 'o' shape for a moment before she slowly closes her mouth again and adopts a pained, sympathetic expression. She remains silent for nearly half an hour, simply watching you work as your hands blur from one pile of material to the next, rapidly sewing, welding, and shaping identical copies of the old costumes in your Elsewhere storage. You occasionally catch flickers of her avatar as it shifts between some undecipherable emotions, but only after you finish your third costume - Miss Liberty's verdigris-and-copper gown - does she speak up again, her expression shifting to a soft smile that reaches her eyes.
"So, I hear you made quite a splash today with your cooking?"
***
Assembling the copies takes until midnight - the more heavily-armored armors proving to be more time-consuming to replicate than the delicately-embroidered costumes - during which Dragon occasionally discusses more mundane topics: fashion, culinary arts, and reduced crime rates in the Northeast US due to the ashfall from Brockton Bay's volcano.
Before you move to retire for the night, you ask her to pass along a message to Legend that you have a number of matters to discuss with the Leader of the Protectorate... if he has a few minutes to spare tomorrow. While his ability to circumnavigate the globe in mere minutes could easily allow him to visit you in Philadelphia, such a brazen request to a superior officer would be imposing at-best and insubordinate at-worst. Dragon says she'll pass the request along, though she voices the concern that most of your time in the city tomorrow will be taken up by Battery's intended shopping trip and Glenn's scheduled meeting with your group.
You nod your assent, then proceed to extrude the assimilated costumes and place them alongside their newly-constructed copies. As each costume only necessitates an expenditure of the smallest amount of essence you can pare from your reservoirs - a mote of essence, your reading of Iris' notes explains - this has the enlightening side-effect of demonstrating the exact levels of peripheral essence expenditure that trigger your various anima effects.
At eleven motes of essence, smoke begins to pour forth from your form and a discordant chorus of tortured souls echos through the room. A momentary flash of silent panic graces Dragon's digitized avatar before the computer shuts off completely; an unfortunate demonstration of your anima's fear-inducing effect, but with the mote expenditure calculated now you anticipate fewer accidental displays in the future.
After two more expenditures, however, you pause before extruding the next costume - Eidolon's original cloak-and-hood combination - to consider the ramifications of activating your Iconic Anima. As previous outdoor displays were visible for miles around, you are uncertain of the effects should you activate it inside the PRT tower... while a number of individuals within the area of effect are sleeping.
Opting to leave the final stages of your anima untested for the moment, you instead monitor the nearby clock to observe the time necessary for your anima to drop through its sequential stages. This proves more time-consuming than initially calculated, however, as your anima refuses to drop at all - even after the previously-observed delay of twenty minutes pass. After forty minutes of watching the clock on the wall inexorably count upwards, you eventually decide to call off the experiment and move to your bedroom.
Only after you absorb your costume and slide into bed do you notice that your anima has receded at least a single stage. You blink at the realization, and three of your minds call up expressions regarding boiling pots of water. Two of your other minds calculate the odds that your more emotional self would be greatly agitated by this turn of events, while your final consciousness tables the matter for further experimentation in the morning before deactivating your Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade and passing out.
***
As the sensations of seven-hundred thousand, nine-hundred eighty-seven insects flood into your waking mind, you observe the bustling streets of New York with clinical detachment.
The sun cascading off the four neighboring buildings' mirrored panes of glass, highlighting the perfectly-square PRT Global Headquarters. Seventy-five elementary school students shepherded through the PRT museum on the third and fourth floors by twelve teachers clearly eager to observe the exhibits themselves. Foot traffic in the surrounding city blocks measuring thirty-two hundred fifty-three pedestrians, twenty-two bikers, and one skateboarder. Quantifiable workforce within the buildings surrounding the PRT tower numbering twelve-thousand five-hundred forty-four. Observable workforce within the PRT tower numbering four-hundred thirteen non-combatants, eighty-six officers, and four parahumans: Prism, Silo, Question, and Ursa Aurora.
A burst of peripheral essence heralds the divergence of your conscious mind into the usual six trains of thought, which allows for the belated realization of the date: the thirty-first of January. Two of your consciousnesses idly calculate the number of life-altering events that transpired over the course of this month for you, while the rest of your minds focus on readying yourself for the day to come.
To give your anima time to subside, you extrude four more costumes - leaving five still remaining in your Elsewhere storage - before moving on to your shower. Considering your observations from last night, you deliberately avoid thinking about your anima and how long it might take for it to subside as you cycle through your mentally-reinvigorating ablutions.
Much to your confusion, your anima is nearly completely dissipated by the time you step out of the black-marble shower, despite the entire process only taking ten minutes. All of your minds agree that this is highly improbable and should not be considered too deeply for the time being, as you have more important matters to consider at the moment than the paradoxical mechanics of your Alchemical exaltation.
Who wandering through the PRT museum unattended, for instance.
***
Assault and Battery collect everyone just after nine o'clock, though it takes spelling out "Food" in flies on Who's costumed leg to entice the wandering Stranger back to your group. With everyone gathered, Battery lays out the day's schedule as she reads it from the paper in her left hand.
"Since we'll be moving in PRT vans PR said to keep costumes on all day - Weaver, that also means to keep your disguise up. Yes, it'll be weird going shopping in-costume, but it says here we should expect help with that when we get to clothes shopping."
Clockblocker and Kid Win groan at idea of shopping with a mostly-female group, echoed by a dark mumble from Assault, but Battery makes a cutting motion with her hand to silence the dissent.
"Since we're going in costume, we've got authorization to use the PRT credit card. So unless you want to wait until we get to Philly, with no clothes of your own, and spend your own money, you can live with it for today."
Assault sighs audibly, but cracks a smile afterwards and nudges the nearby Kid Win with an elbow.
"Since the PRT's being so generous, there's a few stops we should hit to start. Like, say… FAO Schwarz?"
At the mention of the world-famous toy store, the boys quickly halt any nay-saying and nod in agreement. You also notice a shift in Vista's demeanor towards excitement, but she visibly attempts to restrain herself and assume a more regal posture. Despite Vista's unsubtle desire to appear more mature than a toy store, Uzu and Tatsu nod eagerly at the idea, while Who looks around warily until finally shrugging in indifference.
Sighing at her partner's obvious deviation from the schedule, Battery rattles off the rest of the destinations before Assault can steer your group even further off the rails.
"First we're going to get breakfast at the bakery across the street, which is run by a rogue by the name of Doughboy. Then-"
Who and Clockblocker burst into laughter at the mention of the bakery's owner, the former trying to halt Battery to verify that she heard the name correctly. While Assault is strangely silent this point - his mouth only showing a wry smirk - Battery soldiers on despite the howls and snickers of laughter.
"…then FAO Schwarz, but we need to be at Saks Fifth Avenue by two o'clock or Glenn said he'd have us all doing anti-drug PR stunts for the next six months. There's a new park opening ceremony a few blocks away at four, so we can hit that if we want, but otherwise the New York Wards are going to join us for dinner at six at…"
With the laughter having died down with Battery's continued explanation, the white-and-LED-costumed heroine pauses wearily and holds a hand to her fully-enclosed helmet in resigned exasperation.
"... Raybeam's Pizza."
***
Despite being relatively famous for its owner and head chef, 'Whole 'Lotta Dough' is otherwise basic and unassuming - its plain beige-and-white-striped walls and common faux-wood tables reminding you more of a chain establishment than a singular, cape-run restaurant. With its chalkboard menus and glass displays - filled with completely average baked goods - a few of your minds wonder if this was intended; rogue parahumans are still regarded with suspicion by the populace at-large, despite efforts by the PRT to tout working rogues up as examples of successful parahuman integration with society.
By designing a shop so blatantly normal, there would be nothing for detractors to complain about.
A wise decision, as the hulking mass of muscle and bone towering behind the counter provides more than enough concern to fill most wary customers.
Formerly known by the name of 'Juggernaut', the eight-foot tall Brute was known in the early nineties as one of New York's most feared vigilantes. During his second incarceration four years ago, the olive-skinned Italian bruiser reportedly underwent a metamorphosis when the inmates were given an opportunity to cook their own meals - finding solace in channeling his aggression into kneading dough rather than criminals' faces.
Clockblocker finds himself unable to voice any jokes upon seeing the mountain of a baker, and Who wisely opts to remain under the cloak of her power when she struggles to come up with a suitable joke at the owner's expense. Assault's casual comments about the elder Brute's 'rumored' body count and Endbringer Fight exploits visibly instil a wary tenseness in the mannerisms of your group, which is further heightened when the scarred visage of Doughboy turns to your newly-entered group.
Slowly, the deep brown eyes hidden in the dark sockets on the Brute's face wash over your assembled numbers until they land on you. His deep scowl darkens even further, but after a silent moment he nods in what you calculate as recognition before turning back to the current customer at the counter.
This provokes some hushed whispers from your group, as well as a few pokes from Who, Vista, and Clockblocker as they joke about who would win in a cooking deathmatch.
As your group cycles through the ordering line, you silently settle on a chocolate croissant, a slice of coffee cake, and an apricot pastelito with a large strawberry smoothie. When you finally get to the front of the line, however, Doughboy's countertop-shaking rumble of a voice preempts your order.
"Apple pie. Peach blossom tart. Strawberry-blueberry croissant. Power smoothie."
You blink, and your consciousnesses rapidly filter through possible reasons for this unexpected display. The answer comes quickly, and your remaining free consciousness wonders why any thought on the matter was needed in the first place.
"Glenn Chambers."
A spark of mirth dances in the recessed eyes of the monstrously-large former vigilante, but his expression otherwise remains stoic as he almost imperceptibly nods in agreement.
You nod in return, take the visibly well-crafted pastries, and make your way to your group's table. Sitting down, you ignore the questions from the group and quickly absorb the food items for analysis. After three minutes of careful study and calculation, you reach to the center of your square table and withdraw one of the 'Comments & Suggestions' cards and a small pencil.
***
"What did you write down?"
You turn your head towards Vista to give the appearance of focusing your attention on her, while your five other consciousnesses monitor the sensory information provided by the insects outside of your PRT van as it travels through the busy New York City streets. The five minds remain busy cataloguing the types of insects within your range and foiling any small crimes - such as the bike theft you prevented with several wasp stings to criminal's face a few moments ago - that you will also need to report once you have the free time to do so, while your lone freed consciousness tends to the question posed by the younger Ward.
"Calculations. Sampled baked goods averaged thirteen percent over optimal heat treatment. Recommended four percent oven temperature reduction, heat treatment duration reduction by eight percent."
Vista, Uzu, Tatsu, and Battery all move to rest their heads in their hands at your remark, which strikes you as unnecessarily dramatic.
You are fairly certain that Doughboy smiled at your suggestion, as his display of teeth was typical of a satisfied grin.
***
Before releasing your group into FAO Schwarz, Battery declares that powers are not to be used while in the store. You manage to clarify this as 'obvious' powers, saving you from having to disable your three most tactically-useful charms, though you suspect that you have been allowed to keep them active in order to keep track of Who in the event that she refrains from suppressing her power.
As one of the largest, if not the most famous, toy stores in the world, FAO Schwarz is consequently one of the busiest toy stores in the world. Once inside, this becomes even more apparent when civilian foot traffic grinds to a halt to ogle and stare at you and your costumed compatriots - a sea of faces, young and old, filled with mixtures of awe, respect, and fear. Cameras - phone and security-based - are clearly trained on you throughout the duration of your toy store experience, which visibly unnerves the newest members of your group. While Who enjoys the back-and-forth joke of her cape name the first few times, by the fourteenth iteration even the energetic Stranger seems weary of the byplay. Worse, Uzu and Tatsu barely interact with the crowd at all, shying away from the attention whenever it's focused on them, forcing you and Vista to draw attention away from the reclusive Movers before they openly retreat into their pocket dimension.
Through your swarm, you note that even the boys are less than enthusiastic about the endeavor after a few minutes, with Kid Win eventually becoming the de-factor leader of their small group when Clockblocker and Gallant eventually grow silent and pensive.
The Byzantine layout of the massive toy store, clearly designed to navigate shoppers past all the most expensive items for children of each age group, is easily circumvented through your swarm's all-encompassing senses. The most time-consuming process of shopping - browsing for interesting items - is similarly shortened to a momentary consideration; by the time you had physically entered the store, your swarm had provided you a thorough examination of nearly every item for sale.
By the end of the hour, both groups have made their way back to the front - the boys with several bags filled with portable and TV-based game systems, while your own group is laden with confections from the candy department. Despite the haul, even Assault is able to detect the palpable feeling of melancholy pervading through your group, which causes him no small extent of embarrassment.
"Aw, c'mon guys! At least you can say you've been now! And did you check out that huge floor-piano they have?"
This manages to lighten the mood considerably, as the girls in your group proceed to groan and laugh. At the boys and adults' wondering gazes, Vista is the first to explain the source of their mirth.
"We managed to convince Weaver to play something…"
You shake your head, still uncertain of the lukewarm reception to your performance.
"The Celebrated Chop Waltz by Euphemia Allen. Classic demonstration piece. Execution mechanically precise."
Your explanation only serves to spread the laughter, once Kid Win wonders aloud the piece's more common name.
"You played Chopsticks?"
Who waves him off mid-laugh, but takes a deep breath to calm herself before finishing the thought.
"No, no… she really did execute it."
***
Saks Fifth Avenue, the oldest fashion store in New York City, serves not only as a landmark in the world of fashion, but - after a number of fashion-related supervillains in the early years of parahuman activity nearly leveled the store - also serves as one of the few 'neutral territory' zones for cape-related business. This was due, in part, to the store's prominence as the first public marketer of rogue- and supervillain-designed apparel lines, though today at least a quarter of the massive, seven-story store caters directly to superhero designed and inspired fashion.
Your group's arrival, as a result, is not as jarring or unusual as it was at your previous destination; while your numbers draw some attention, the presence of Bon Vivant and Damsel of Distress in the store - two unrelated supervillains - has already inured the civilian shoppers to the presence of in-costume capes in their midst.
What draws the attention of the civilians, instead, is the ensemble of noteworthy fashion designers (and their own respective attendants) awaiting your group's arrival in the central foyer, led by Glenn Chambers himself. You're uncertain how name-brand fashionistas like Kathy Patrice, Donatella Versace, and Inigo Vespucci could bear the red-and-white polka-dot overcoat draped over Glenn's frame, or the dull orange oxford shirt and slacks underneath, but your swarm has thus far noted no winces or upturned noses at his garments.
A resigned sigh wafts over your group as each spots Glenn at the forefront of the small army of fashion influencers, though Who mumbles a few off-color remarks about the overweight PR director that elicit muffled laughs from the rest of your group - Assault and Battery included. As you approach, Glenn turns from his conversation and gives a perfunctory nod.
"Early. Good. You're each getting paired up with a fashion expert for the next two hours to help you pick out clothes and accessories. They've signed the NDAs and they know what'll happen to them if they say anything, but we have spare masks if you need them."
Glenn holds up a hand to silence the outcries of disbelief, indignation, or confusion before they have a chance to manifest, tilting his glasses down to give a steely-blue gaze the group to punctuate the movement.
"This is a favor, so don't mess it up. Weaver, with me."
The attendants in the back of Glenn's group spring forward as if called by some unseen signal, each latching onto a Ward with tactical precision and guiding them in a different direction through the store, energetically quizzing their respective Ward about their tastes in fashion all the while. Assault and Battery each also receive an attendant, but Assault manages to latch onto Battery to avoid getting dragged away by his attendant - an act that Assault regrets too late when it becomes clear that Battery is more than willing to help the fashion expert pick out his wardrobe.
As your group rapidly disperses, you tag the Wards and the attendants with a few flies for good measure then step forward towards the PR director. Judging by the analytical gazes of the five remaining designers around him, you already suspect what your next hour will entail. Nevertheless, you meet his half-lidded gaze over the ivory-rimmed shades still perched on the end of his bulbous nose.
"The cause?"
Glenn Chambers' measuring gaze wavers briefly as his eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch, which is then quickly broken when he rolls his eyes and snorts through his nose in dissatisfaction.
"As if I'd waste my time with anything else."
Turning, the head of the PRT PR department casually gestures to the multi-billion-dollar fashion designers flanking him.
"Donna, Kathy, Inigo, Peter, Paul: meet Weaver. We've only got two hours, so let's not waste it."
To their credit, the designers don't even blink at the abrupt introduction - Peter Kensington and Donatella Versace even smile at Glenn's comment - and briskly follow behind Glenn as he turns and strides towards the nearest elevator.
Nodding to yourself in resolution, you free your minds of any extraneous thoughts and ready them for your most challenging endeavor yet:
A fashion shoot.
***
Despite the need for the occasional reminder from Glenn that you are only fifteen years of age - despite your form looking at least twenty - the first hour passes with unexpected ease; switching off Shard of Perfect Administration at the start (at Glenn's request) winds up being the most difficult task asked of you. Much of the distress you remember from Emma's complaints about her early modelling career focused around the time-consuming process of switching between dozens of outfits, but your applications of Technomorphic Integration Engine all but negates the problem entirely.
While the shoot begins simply enough - a varied selection of casual wear from each designer's upcoming spring lines, done against a classic white backdrop - a number of the outfits Paul Mancotto and Donatella Versace eventually escalate to are far more revealing than you suspect will be allowed to be published by the PRT.
Near the end of the first hour, Glenn finally acquiesces to the persistent requests for you to showcase your 'power form', as Inigo has begun to label it. When you request to clarify whether that also includes your anima display, Glenn is quick to shut that down.
"Keep it low-key. If we want smoke, we've got a fog machine."
At first, the reveal of your Alchemical form stumps most of the designers. Kathy Patrice, however, is quick to jump to her favorite color. Draping a white-and-gold ankle-length dress over your body, the white-haired radical fashion designer nearly purrs in satisfaction.
"Gold, darling, goes with everything."
This rapidly turns the shoot into a subtle contest between the five designers, each attempting to one-up the previous design with something that accentuates your Alchemical augmentations: a midriff-bearing one-piece bathing suit that accentuates the filigreed metals running through your abdomen, a wind-swept dress with a collar that directs the eyes to your spider-leg antennae, a jacket with splayed-open sleeves to showcase your omnitool-laden hands…
… which end up diverting the shoot entirely, when it's revealed you can make instant alterations, swiftly combine existing pieces, or even weave together an entirely new piece in minutes. When you reveal your additional capabilities of producing enough spider silk to construct entire garments, the designers begin to make bids for your time to Glenn. The over-worked PR director merely shakes his head in disbelief, holding his hands up in surrender.
"Why do you make so much work for me, Weaver? I've even had to hire an assistant just for you - a first for a Ward."
You blink, unable to detect if his statement is sarcasm or genuine exasperation.
"Following orders."
His hands come down in a dismissive gesture, leading you to suspect his eyes are rolling behind his thick sunglasses.
"Well, I think that's all for the shoot. Let's wrap things up here."
The personal assistants of each of the five major fashion designers are quick to pounce on their respective superiors, each ushering their charges out of the large studio while reciting a litany of pressing news and calendar items. Only Kathy Patrice lingers long enough say goodbye, at least in her own way; tapping your costumed shoulder with her right index finger, her eyes look through you to some point on the horizon before she nods and murmurs to the air in a distracted tone.
"I'll be in touch, darling. Don't die."
Glenn waits beside you for the addled designer to leave, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.
"We're pretty sure she's a cape, but we've never been able to prove it. Designed Eidolon's first costume, so we can't really get rid of her, anyway."
Recalling Miss Militia's warning, you keep your voice low enough for only Glenn to hear.
"No Corona Gemma. Blind."
Shifting his weight to his right foot as the only indication that he heard you speak at all, Glenn is silent for nearly a minute before slicking his hand through his bleached-blonde hair.
"The crate of costumes will be in decontamination when you get back. If you can clean and copy them all tonight, our deal's done. You need anything before I get back to work?"
Keeping your voice to the minimum volume necessary to transmit your words to his ears, you otherwise remain still as the two of you absently monitor the fashion crews pack up the remaining outfits and the photo equipment for transport.
"Human disguise impossible during combat, sustained power activation automatically disables. Public endorsement of base form required."
Briefly looking like he bit into a particularly sour lemon, Glenn immediately schools his expression back to his usual facade of apathetic disapproval. After another minute of silence from the PR director, his own voice drops in volume to match your own.
"Is this a problem I should expect to see with… more than just you?"
You are thankful your manifold consciousnesses allow you bring to the fore a mind that can contain your surprise at the question put forth by your PR director, as otherwise you would have had severe difficulty suppressing your shock. Your superiors have thus far never even alluded to the idea that you might not be alone, so for Glenn to have made the comment strikes you as either an extraordinarily lucky guess or a confirmation that your personnel file has much more in it than you have explicitly provided.
As you consider a suitable response to the query, one of your minds calls forth a radical idea: Glenn a member of your Alchemical assembly. While his talents in the field of public relations would provide an unquestionable advantage in the struggle to sway the world's population into accepting - if not directly aiding with - Autochthon's arrival, you wonder if Glenn himself would believe in the cause.
While you certainly didn't before Autochthon's direct intervention, you cannot afford to leave this up to chance. Unfortunately, with your current levels of Clarity and… influence from your Shard of Perfect Administration charm, you calculate incredibly low odds for persuading Glenn to accept this goal in the near future.
You can, however, lay the groundwork for this future discussion.
"More: PRT approval?"
Glenn grows still, even holding his breath for a least a minute before slowly exhaling through his nose.
"How… many more?"
While you are uncertain as to the number of Alchemical exalted that might reside within Autochthon himself, you opt to keep things simple for the preliminary discussions.
"Five."
Through your peripheral vision you can see him rolling his tongue over his teeth in his closed mouth while he folds his arms across his chest and taps his fingers on his wide biceps. He continues to move through various fidgeting motions over the next five minutes, eventually ending with a much harsher snort through his nose.
"If it's enough to force them to show their hands, then it might be what we've been looking for. But if they get you…?"
You shake your head.
"No more."
Glenn runs through a few more fidgets before eventually shrugging his large shoulders loosely.
"Approval's above my pay-grade, Weaver."
You narrow your eyes, which has the side-effect of spooking one of the remaining workers as he gets the idea that you're glaring at him, specifically. You absently cycle through your visual augments and note that the young blonde has a vitamin D deficiency and is severely sleep-deprived, while your five other consciousnesses consider Glenn's apparent rebuff of your request.
While true that he would not be the final say in gaining the PRT's official (or unofficial) approval for exalting five more people, you calculate reasonable odds that Glenn has the ear of the PRT Board of Directors - perhaps even of Lead Director Costa-Brown herself. Why, then, is he down-playing his abilities?
His previous recognition of your potential worth in the Endbringer War leads you to believe that this dismissal isn't due to a lack of interest in helping you, so the next most logical explanation is… a need to rephrase your request.
"Support."
Nodding to himself, Glenn pushes his sunglasses back up from where they have slipped ever-so-slightly down his wide nose.
"Getting better. Prove more than a flash in the pan, then we'll see."
"Affirmative."
Snapping his fingers in the air absently, one of the PRT attendants left in the room quickly bustles over to Glenn's right side. Turning his head a fraction of an inch in your direction the head of the PRT's public relations division gives you a final, curt nod.
"My new assistant will be in touch."
You refrain from nodding or uttering any further acknowledgements, as Glenn's barked orders to his college-age intern indicate that he has already moved on to his next task.
Just before he passes through the studio's doors, however, Glenn casually raises a hand and casually waves at the room behind him - or, rather, the racks of clothes still being carefully stored for transport.
"Take what you want, Weaver. They'll thank you for wearing any of it."
As Glenn and his aide stride through the doors, the rest of the PRT workers turn to you in the middle of their efforts of packing away the various outfits and accessories. A lengthy pause settles over the large room for several seconds, until one of the attendants coughs in her hand and raises a finger to suggest an idea.
"Do you have a limit to what you can… soak?"
***
You are ten outfits away from completing your absorption of the assembled fashion collection - having allowed the PRT workers to leave the outfits behind and head home far ahead of schedule - when your exterior swarm notices a brilliant blur approaching the Saks Fifth Avenue building.
You quickly tag the final dresses just before Legend's form solidifies several feet above the entrance of the fashion store, then extrude your armor and dart out one of the easily-opened windows at the top of the studio's far wall. You manage to catch the Leader of the Protectorate before he enters the building, touching down on the sidewalk just as he finishes signing autographs for three college-age passersby. As you both note a crowd starting to build, his clear, genuine laugh fills the space between you.
"Would you mind if we took this upstairs, Weaver?"
You answer with a nod of your helmet and a flare of your anti-gravity thrusters, though you watch as Legend lags behind your ascent to give a quick farewell wave to the civilians that had begun to gather around. As you fly further and further up, he continues to follow your lead until you finally stop just below the low, grey stratocumulous clouds hanging over the New York City skyline this overcast afternoon.
Raising to bring his opaque visor eye-level with you, Legend's tanned, lantern jaw is set with a tentative smile - a classic image reinforced by his skintight blue costume and white laser-burst logo emblazoned on the chest. He speaks just as you are able to raise your own voice to initiate the conversation, his cautious tone just loud enough to be heard over the gusting winds common at this altitude.
"It's good to see you again, Weaver, though we should really get a chance to meet more casually some time. On the ground, even."
You nod, understanding the attempt at levity by the Triumvirate member, but move on to your first discussion point to ensure that you are not wasting his valuable time. Just as you begin to open your mouth, however, one of your trains of thought considers the potential social advantages of disabling Shard of Perfect Administration. While your other minds quickly move to veto the idea, the lone thought process makes the valid point that the charm is otherwise useless at this altitude and has noticeable, observed effects on your conversational abilities while active.
Your other minds are slow to come around to the idea, but eventually you manage to struggle through the massive exertion of will it takes to place your Shard of Perfect Administration charm in stasis. The sudden alteration in your perception and thought processes that comes as a result causes you to jerk slightly in your armor, which in turn causes Legend to uncross his arms and reach out as if to grab you before you stabilize your flight again.
"Weaver? What was that? Are you alright?"
You nod again, this time fully recognizing the tones of sympathy in his voice.
"Side effect of emotional feedback loop during attack. Condition stabilized. Concern accepted, but unnecessary."
This appears to relieve some of the tension you noted building his his posture, but he keeps his arms out towards you with a measure of hesitation. Before he can open open his mouth again, however, you direct the conversation to the reason you called for this meeting.
"Request for clarification: Daniel Hebert broke Endbringer truce, but no kill order instated. Why?"
After slowly retracting his outstretched arms and folding them against his chest again, Legend's exposed lower face deepens into a melancholy frown.
"Would you have rather Eidolon and I made that public? We figured out that he was just trying to use us to strike at you, and we both heard what he said… but he's still your father, isn't he?"
Again you nod, but you rephrase the question in hopes of better communicating your confusion.
"For what goal?"
Despite his occasional dip and rise in altitude, you are able to detect a slight twinge in the Protectorate leader's shoulders that would indicate a supressed reaction of… embarassment? Discomfort? The lower half of Legend's face remains in its melancholy frown, and his sympathetic baritone answers your question with only the barest hesitation, but you suspect a larger picture behind the statement.
"We heard about how he was kidnapped - likely by Coil - so we didn't feel it would be right to decide his fate before learning about everything that had happened to him. We've also seen promising Wards with parents on the wrong side of the law… fall apart after a misunderstanding makes things seem worse than they really are."
Analyzing his words, you are unable to find a fault in his reasoning, but his earlier suppressed reaction still leads you to believe that there is more to the decision to save your father from a Kill Order. This is further confirmed by your suit's lie detection algorithms broadcasting two words across your heads-up display.
Partial Truth.
Combining this revelation with Glenn's earlier comments, as well as with Director Piggot's cryptic comments regarding your identity, a more concrete image begins to form: the PRT is aware - or at least suspects enough to act on the belief - that you are a construct. A construct that may preface further like yourself. Thus, in operating under the directive to increase the forces arrayed against the Endbringers, the PRT is hoping to secure any additional constructs for the war effort.
While you are confident in this interpretation, you also realize that vocalizing it here-and-now could lead to disastrous consequences if your calculations are incorrect. Still, there should be a way to appease Legend's (possible) concerns without giving away your true intentions…
When in doubt, you have ultimately found that the truth has the highest probability of success.
"Humanity survival primary motivation. Endbringers primary threat to continued Humanity survival, prosperity. PRT, Protectorate, Wards primary forces against Endbringers. Loyalty assured."
All your minds are in agreement: obviously stunning a member of the Triumvirate speechless is a noteworthy occasion. They are not, however, in agreement regarding whether this is an accomplishment or a failure. As Legend's first action after shaking his head once is not an immediate volley of high-powered energy beams, you begin to calculate a greater probability of the event being a positive one.
To his credit, Legend recomposes himself less than five seconds later, but you noted at least two mid-voiced questions in that span that never made it past his tongue. His smile slowly growing from wistful to sincere, Legend nods in apparent understanding.
"Glenn put a note in your file that you were on-board with the PRT's true goal, but I'm glad to hear you say it anyway. We didn't mean to seem manipulative like that, though; I mean what I said about hoping to avoid anything that couldn't be taken back."
Floating less than ten feet from your armored form, only now are your conscious minds truly struck by the sheer, genuine presence exuded from the Leader of the Protectorate. Exalting Legend would likely immediately ensure the support of the civilian population of Earth, and his extraordinary power set would likely only further improve through exaltation, but looking at him now…
… BRING THESE BROKEN MINDS TO THE CRADLE …
Legend… is not broken.
Legend, along with the rest of the Triumvirate, is one of the brightest beacons of Hope, Justice, and Order in this world. You will undoubtedly need his help in the coming struggle, but wishing such suffering that would break a man of his caliber would go against the very core of your being.
"Understood. Thank you."
Casually floating closer to your own hovering form, Legend places a reassuring hand on your right shoulder before nodding to you with a smile still on his lips.
"I've got an ear if you ever need it - two, in fact. Don't be a stranger, Weaver."
At your silent nod of acceptance, Legend's form blurs to the point of almost triggering your Flash Shutters and streaks off into the horizon towards downtown Manhattan. You follow his path as long as you can with your visual augments, but eventually he passes between a hedge of skyscrapers and winks out of sight.
You remain in the air for several more minutes, absently studying your armor's right shoulder.
There is no trace of residue or thermal ablation, and your Industrial Survival Frame detects no alterations from your form, but you still note a slight increase in your mental alacrity all the same.
***
Navigating by way of the internet browser-based GPS in your HUD, you eventually manage to find your way to Raybeam's Pizza - another rogue cape-owned food establishment. Despite the name, however, your online research into the restaurant reveals that owner is former vigilante, as well as on-again-off-again love interest of Raybeam: Firespike. After Raybeam was killed during Behemoth's attack on New York fifteen years ago, Firespike apparently hung up her cape and purchased one of the many 'Ray's Pizza' establishments, renaming it after the former Protectorate heroine in her honor.
One of the Parahuman Online links you followed-up on to research the restaurant suggested the rumor that Raybeam and Firespike frequented the chosen establishment in their civilian identities prior to the Protectorate heroine's demise, but no confirmation has ever been made.
You quickly cycle out of your power armor and into your dress-costume, then re-apply Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier with your remaining personal essence to regain your human guise. Despite having only re-enabled it several minutes ago to navigate through the unfamiliar New York City streets, you calculate better odds of avoiding a social misunderstanding if you deactivate Shard of Perfect Administration again. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you begin to gather the mental focus necessary to force the suspiciously-invasive charm back into remission…
… but stumble against the storefront wall, nearly passing out from the strain as it clicks off.
It takes a moment for your body's senses to recalibrate, though you successfully avoid falling further by relying upon the sight of the nearby insects to guide your hands, during which you feel more mentally fatigued than you have in weeks.
A feeling which drowned by the thundercrack of a Behemoth-fired arc of lightning screaming through the air towards you.
You instinctively twist and leap to dodge out of the way but you're going to be too slow and you can already feel the burning-
... wait, no, no, you do not see any signs of the Endbringer. Though, your swarm does see the a young couple gone white in life-redefining terror, having just closed their taxi's door several feet away from your previous position. Their catatonic expressions - as well as the horrified reactions of the hundreds of other civilians within line of sight of the storefront - may either be due to your scream that continues to echo through the crowded street, or the towering Design Weaver stretching high into the sky above your prone Alchemical form.
With your swarm revealing the chaos inside the pizza parlor - the costumed Brockton Bay and New York Wards diving away from the entrance in supernatural terror - you calculate that your presence will be only detrimental to the mental well-being of your companions and compatriots.
You allow your armor to fully extrude from the partial activation your panicked mind had attempted. Still shaking from the obvious relapse of your post-traumatic stress disorder, you eventually rely on your anti-gravity thrusters to propel you off the sidewalk and into the air. Trailing acrid, choking smoke and webs of blue-and-black lightning, you soar up into the darkening night sky where you will no longer cause anyone further harm.
***
After waiting in the cloudcover for nearly an hour - long enough for your anima to settle to minimal levels - you proceed directly to the PRT tower and enter via the cape- and helicopter-accessible rooftop gateway. The armed guards just inside the doors startle at your entrance, but when the identification scan completes without any issues they nod you through without further issue.
Before you enter, however, you ask for directions to the containment labs. A quick set of verbalized instructions, an elevator trip, and two more identification scans eventually leads you through the immaculate white halls of the PRT tower to the heavily-guarded containment labs.
Or, more specifically, to the large wooden crate that only recently arrived in the containment labs.
Carefully opening the crate despite the stream of ticks from your armor's geiger counter, you slowly work your way through absorbing the complete contents of the crate. After doing so, you absorb the crate as well, and then your own armor for good measure - ignoring Dragon's pleas for an explanation was draining what little mental energy you had left.
As you sit cross-legged on the floor of the containment lab, waiting for your Elsewhere pocket to scrub the radiation from its new contents, you practice your breathing exercises to calm your still-frayed nerves and soothe the twitching of your eight spider-leg-like antennae.
You are in control.
You must remain in control.
You will always be in control.
***
Clarity Gains: 1 Point
Clarity Losses: 1 Point (Virtue Channel [1] + Compassion Roll [0])
Net Clarity Change: NO CHANGE
Aegis/Carlos (Friendship) -1 Decrease!
Weld (Respect) LOST!
Legend (Respect) GAINED!!
Bureaucracy +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals)
Dodge +1 Training Interval (3/6 Intervals)
Craft +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals)
*Craft (High Fashion ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
Integrity +1 Training Interval (1/6 Intervals)
*Integrity (Mental Trauma ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
Medicine +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals)
Performance +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals)
Presence +1 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals)
Socialize ●●○○○ GAINED!
Socialize +1 Training Interval (1/6 Intervals)
Backing (PRT) ●●●○○ GAINED!
Reputation (Fashion Mogul) ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
- "Did you see those shots on Versace's website? I hear Weaver might even have her own clothing line soon!"
Reputation (Beautiful) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE! [Current Level: ●●●○○]
- "If we're going to make this new Iliad movie, we need convince Weaver to play Helen of Troy. The studios won't settle for anyone else."
MAY MADNESS! An update every day this month, but alternating days will be Interludes that won't require votes. This should allow for 24+ hours on each vote, though if it a vote looks settled within the first 12 hours I may decide to close it early and write the update instead of the Interlude. Updates will also be shorter than the usual 8k+ monsters, though they should all be at least 3.5k words.
Philadelphia Road Trip: The Final Leg (Choose two, one stunt allowed for each!)
[ ] I Spy: Provide time-consuming distractions during trip to keep mind of Wards off emotional traumas.
[ ] World's Largest Bug: Divert road trip to tourist traps and sightseeing opportunities along the way.
[ ] Essence Reservoir-to-Heart: Provide counsel for a member of your caravan, getting to know them better as a mortal as well as evaluating them for Alchemical potential.
[ ] Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives: Sample New England cuisine to increase your own culinary profile.
[ ] The Mystery Machine: Solve crimes along the way to Philadelphia.
[ ] Write-In: An Amusing Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum?
Please remember to format XP Expenditures properly:
[X] ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
[X] Burn, Bubble: Spend some quality time with Legend.
- [x] Stunt: When you read through the after-battle reports, there had been no kill order placed on your father for breaking the Truce - since Legend and Eidolon were the only witnesses, you want to talk with Legend about what happened during and after the battle. You remember to keep SoPA off in hopes that it will help your conversation along, and also try to gauge Legend for suitability for exaltation; converting someone as prominent as the leader of the Protectorate would be a huge step forward for you, but you don't want to show your hand just yet.
[X] Firing On All Chambers: Don't avoid Glenn when he undoubtedly wants to talk to you.
- [x] Stunt: Seek out Glenn with SoPA offline and our fancy dress on, to gain some direction over the PR effort. Our goals are threefold, to make our artificial nature not only acceptable but admirable, to have his assistance putting positive spin on our state of Clarity and to obtain guidance or mentorship in dealing with people, whether singly, to media or in groups. Work with the PR genius to turn our immediate fame into a new tool in our arsenal, and assess his suitability for Exaltation in the process.
[X] Shop 'Til You Drop: If it exists, you can probably buy it in New York. (This is a free 4th vote since it's a carryover, so use Stunt to provide further details.)
- [x] Stunt: After researching effects from the ash fall on skin, you impress upon everyone of the skin care products they will need. Boys too, Assault. You also remind everyone that they literally have no civilian clothes. So clothes shopping. Boys too, Assault. Next are some hand held games to help kill time on the journey. It should also keep Aisha entertained during the downtimes of her power. You are sure you can convince Assault to pay for everything with PRT funds. Again, since you should be safe among a group of heroes, you decide to keep SoPA off.
[X] Nothing On Underneath That Robe: Go sightseeing, either alone or with the Wards.
- [x] Stunt: After visiting the NY PRT, you also meet the NY Wards who were in the office at the time. Flechette looks to be someone your age who would probably get along with your group, and you prevail on her to show you - and anyone else who's interested - the sights. And since you are going to be traveling in a group of superheroes, you feel safe enough not to turn your SoPA back on.
XP Expenditures:
[X] 4 XP - Socialize ●●○○○
[X] 3 XP - Backing (PRT) ●●●○○
***
As the world outside your van grows dimmer under the fading evening light, the traffic that has plagued your trip thus far finally begins to wane as you pass out of the reach of Brockton Volcano's ashfall. With the highways and streets no longer slick with volcanic soot, warning signs imposing a twenty-five miles-per-hour speed limit finally give way to the standard sixty and sixty-five limits.
Not even five minutes into the new speed limit, the boys' van suddenly accelerates and shoots ahead of your own - what few insects remain in their van noting Assault's encouragement to their driver to win the unofficial race to your next stop: New York.
Just as you are about to relay this information, Battery receives a call on her cell phone. The white-costumed superhero, still dreary from her gluttony at the restaurant, only makes a half-hearted attempt to move her phone to her helmet's earpiece after glancing at the caller ID.
"Urgh. What is it Assa-"
Battery's mumble is cut off by a chorus of shouts emanating from her phone's speaker, which is loud enough to be heard throughout the your mostly-silent van's interior.
"SMELL YA LATER, LOSERS!"
The boys' challenge - and subsequent laughter - hangs in the air for several seconds before Battery thumbs the 'Call End' button on her phone. Vista, Who, and the Twins look to slowly be rousing from their own food comas at the echoing laugh, though Battery's lethargic demeanor doesn't appear to be rising to the bait. From her relaxed, slumped position in her harness, the veteran Protectorate Mover's weary voice only barely rises above the ambient vehicle rumblings.
"Vista?"
The young Shaker's light grumble voices her disapproval at having to do anything other than lie back in her restraints and sleep. Her visored head tilts to her left, giving her an awkward glance at Uzu and Tatsu leaning comfortably against each other, before she lazily whines to the two twin Movers.
"Can't you two 'port us there?"
Uzu - recognizable from the clockwise spiral drawn on her PRT-standard costume - only mutters a weak denial. After a brief silence, Tatsu - her own costume marked with a counter-clockwise spiral - mumbles a more coherent refusal.
"...'ve never been to New York."
Vista puffs out her cheeks in a frustrated sigh before she slowly, and with great effort, unbuckles her restraints and pushes herself to her feet. Her unsteady gait eventually leads her to the door separating the driver and passenger compartments, which fails to open to her half-hearted attempts to unlatch it. After nearly fifteen seconds of useless struggling, Vista eventually tires of her own playfully-lethargic mannerisms; straightening up in a huff, she smooths out the skirt on her costume, rolls her shoulders, and shakes her arms loose before turning her head towards your seated position.
"Taylor?"
Landing one of the houseflies you kept in the van on the back of her costume, you pass a new application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade to the young Ward. While your human-like skin slowly melts away from the resulting crackle of essence pouring out of your soulstone, you take note with satisfaction how Vista's posture straightens even further and her breathing takes on an even rhythm. She nods mechanically to you before turning back to the door, swiftly unlatching it, and striding through with calculated precision.
As the door's springs slide it closed automatically, your insects still in the driver's cabin see her turn to the driver and issue a curt, gleefully-sinister command.
"Drive straight."
The driver's confused response abruptly escalates to an alarmed yelp as the space around your van begins to bend and warp - sending your van rocketing ahead in spurts of distorted, non-Euclidian space.
Attempting to gauge your van's speed through the insects outside the van becomes markedly more difficult in the following minutes, so you ultimately decide to direct your minds' focus towards reviewing the medical texts in your Elsewhere pocket.
With nothing else to do, your fellow costumed passengers fade back into their food-induced lethargy.
***
Your van's expedited mode of travel is cut short outside of New Haven, Connecticut, when Battery gets a call from the local PRT dispatch. The conversation is terse, and ends with Battery angrily grumbling about Assault 'snitching' on your group.
You still manage to beat the boys' van to the Mt. Vernon PRT Headquarters just outside of New York City, though only by a few minutes - the two restroom breaks your van necessitated severely cut into your lead. The sun has long set by the time your van pulls into the underground parking lot, but your insects still give you a clear view of the old PRT monolith: three windowless stories of concrete in desperate need of a new coat of PRT-White paint.
When the boys finally do arrive, the group's reunion is cut short; leaping from the back of their opened van, the boys abandon their dignity and make a mad dash for the bathrooms. In a stunning display of maturity, Assault even trips Clockblocker as the group streams towards the open doors.
You calculate a high probability that they struggled with their own biological imperatives for the latter half of their own ride in a desperate bid to catch up with your own van.
As the sounds of the boys' mad rush through the stairwell slowly fades, silence once again falls over your group… but is quickly broken when the rest of your group finally breaks into uproarious laughter. Battery, having previously been disappointed about having received a fine for 'excessive public abuse of power', gives your group a thumbs-up between her gasps for air.
"Ok, NOW it was worth it."
***
Beyond the initial allowance for a bathroom break, the group is instructed to remain at the vans while Assault, Battery, and the local Director (Director Alan Peterbuilt) sort out the night's sleeping arrangements. The three-story concrete block that serves as the Mt. Vernon PRT Headquarters has a larger capacity for guests than Providence's PRT building, but a jailbreak effort earlier in the day irradiated most of the building's interior.
Meltdown, the leader of "Falling Out" - one of Mt. Vernon's gangs - did not appreciate the PRT taking her second-in-command, Barbeque, into custody.
With most of the PRT staff evacuated from the building as a result of the radioactive residue from Meltdown's powers, it's ultimately decided that your caravan should make the thirty-minute trip to the PRT Headquarters in Downtown Manhattan and spend the night there instead.
This decision is met with some excited murmurs as the more veteran Wards realize that this may be a chance to rub elbows with some of the more famous Protectorate members: Adamant, Ursa Aurora, Bastion, and Legend himself.
Assault cheerfully ruins the mood by informing everyone that Glenn Chambers is also looking forward to speaking with everyone - especially you. You nod and verbally state your approval - already anticipating Glenn's desire to speak with you after the Behemoth attack - which surprises Assault enough to wipe the smirk off his mouth. The other Wards also find this confusing, though it's Clockblocker who actually puts words to the question.
"Wait… what do you mean by 'Satisfactory'? It's Glenn."
Who, startling the boys with a sudden suppression of her power, voices her confusion before you can explain.
"Who the fuck is Glenn?"
Recovering quickly from his surprise, Clockblocker mutters something about Strangers before giving an absent wave of the hand towards you while turning to face the newest Ward in the group.
"He's the guy who's gonna tell you to wear a pink dress with yellow daisies on it as your costume, because it'll help sell more figures. And he's the head of PR, so he actually has the power to make it stick. I dunno how you got Piggy to sign off on your name, because he also would have slapped you with something like... 'Sally Surprise' or 'Peek-A-Boo'."
While her expression is hidden beneath her generic grey helmet, Who's cringe in response to Clockblocker's hypotheticals leads you to believe that the young Stranger may be getting second thoughts about her Ward tenure. Taking two quick steps towards her, you step into her field of vision to remind her of your presence and then turning your head slightly to meet her own inquisitive glance. After holding the stare for three seconds, you shake your head silently before turning back to Clockblocker.
"Understanding of greater goals. Head of PRT public relations by merit."
This only further confuses your fellow Wards, but you detect a hint of understanding in the wry smile gracing the bottom half of Assault's face. Before Clockblocker, Who, or any of the other Wards can voice any further objections, he and Battery herd you all back into your respective vans in an effort to get this leg of the trip over with as quickly as possible.
As your van begins to trundle up and out of the underground parking lot, Who removes her helmet and pins you with a glare. Under the blanket of her power, she issues a cold, final word on the most important point in the discussion.
"No fucking way am I wearing a pink dress."
***
As befitting the the organization's global headquarters, the Downtown Manhattan PRT building is a shining beacon even in the dark winter night. A combination of spotlights and LED displays light up the brilliant white monolith, which somehow manages to tower over its neighbors despite being shorter by at least a dozen stories.
Your insects give you a good view of the constant stream of tourists that flow into - and out of - the building even at night, as well as the gawkers that have stopped to read the scrolling ticker that runs along the entire building.
"Dr. Gauss, Planetary, and Rejuvenator foil bank robbery in Milwaukee!"
"Rime and Los Angeles Wards capture Blackout Gang after heated fight in downtown LA!"
"Cardinal, Insight, and Phoenix defeat Sinister Six, capture Incendiary!"
Your swarm's sight allows you to observe the readout for the several minutes your vans are stuck in traffic just a block away from the headquarters, and not once do you see any hint of bad press; only victories are proclaimed on the PRT's news ticker. To the organization's credit, there is enough good news that the ticker takes nearly fifteen minutes to repeat itself.
You were unable to locate any official PRT records for a worldwide win:loss ratio, but with your online research into the parahuman community to fill in the details you suspect the PRT logs at least ten to twenty reports of bad news for each ticker item.
Having caught on to the fact that you can easily see outside the van via your swarm, you relay the ticker items to the other girls to provide a distraction from the honking of taxi horns and muffled expletives that seep in through the layers of sound-proofing. Who's lack of knowledge of the cape scene beyond Brockton Bay causes some frustration for the young Stranger at first, but Uzu and Tatsu surprisingly come to the rescue before you have a chance to explain the background behind each news item. Unfortunately, as the Mover twins reveal a level of up-to-date knowledge that leaves even you Battery and Vista behind, Who's frustration only grows.
"Shit, how the fuck do you two know all this stuff already? Didn't you just join up?"
Faces hidden by their generic-grey costumes, Uzu and Tatsu visibly deflate. Their response - from which twin, you aren't certain - is only barely loud enough to be heard over the muffled ambient city noise.
"... nothing else."
As the two teleporters sink back into their restraints and keep their gazes locked on the van's floor, even Who picks up on the sudden shift in the passenger compartment's atmosphere. Vista gives Who a sharp poke in the ribs in retaliation and to try to head the young Stranger off before she makes the situation worse… which has the opposite effect.
"Ah! Jeez, what the fuck? How the fuck was I supposed to know what their damage was?"
Battery audibly sighs in exasperation while Vista whips around fully to give her neighbor a visor-covered glare. Jabbing her again in the ribs with an index finger, Vista follows up with a whispered screech.
"Wh-!"
You detect a very slight fluctuation in Who's power through your Industrial Survival Frame, coinciding with Vista's interrupted exclamation and the rest of the passengers' halted movements. Just as suddenly, the sensation subsides again as Who mentally clamps down on the errant flicker of her power. Vista - frozen in mid-jab - hesitantly withdraws her hand and uses it to brush straight her costume's skirt, whispering an uncertain admonishment to her Stranger neighbor in the process.
"Y-you just keep… away… from that. Got it?"
Still holding up her arms defensively, Who slowly turns her head to look at you, then back to Vista.
"Uh. Sure. No problem."
This appears to mollify the youngest Ward, who then turns around to talk with the teleporter twins - who similarly appear to be nodding in satisfaction at Who's statement. Next to you, Battery nods as well before quickly extracting her phone from one of the pockets on her costume's belt and focusing on that instead.
Turning back to you, Who ceases suppressing her power and hops over to the empty seat to your left.
"Ok, so, you saw that shit too, right?"
Keeping your head turned towards where Vista and the twins are once again talking about the cape scene, you nod to signal your agreement. Judging from her increasingly-excited tone, you suspect the young Stranger is grinning madly underneath her helmet.
"I mean, I almost lost it for a sec there... but maybe I can try doin' it on purpose? Just flash it on and off and BAM! Instant convo-reset!"
At the gleeful cackle that follows, you finally decide to turn your head and stare down at Who as she rubs her hands together in anticipation of antics to come. She pauses to swivel her own head to match your gaze, which you decide to hold silently for three-point-five seconds to increase the probability that she will remember your next statement of warning.
"I will not forget."
The other costumed passengers pause to look at you for a moment, before eventually dismissing your 'outburst'. Who, on the other hand, slumps in her seat.
"Shit."
***
The interior of New York City's PRT Headquarters - beyond the few levels of tourist-accessible floors - turns out to be even more solid and defensible than the other PRT buildings you've encountered thus far. Even more interesting is the lack of insects in the spaces between the walls; even concrete and steel structures have proven to have numerous gaps in their walls for insects to navigate through. As a result, the absence of any flies, cockroaches, or ants throughout the building's walls indicates that either there are measures in place to make the interior of the walls hostile to insect life, or the walls themselves are completely solid/sealed.
Being nearly eight o'clock at night, you are similarly surprised by the volume of non-combat PRT staff still populating the building. Using the limited number of house flies, spiders, and ants within the building to monitor their activities, you eventually determine that the building likely never sees a lull in activity. Fitting, as the third core principle for the PRT is "Justice never sleeps."
As your caravan eventually pulls into the nearly-immaculate parking structure nestled beneath the PRT tower, you note a sudden bustle of activity as two squads of fully-armored PRT officers swarm out of the parking structure's primary elevator and make their way towards four awaiting combat-support vans - similar to your own, save for the containment foam sprayers mounted atop the large black vehicles. By the time your group has parked, the four New York PRT vans have already torn out of the parking structure at a breakneck pace, which you relay to your fellow passengers.
While this elicits some surprise and interest from the four other Wards in your van, Battery shrugs with indifference.
"New York always has a fight going on somewhere, I hear. I think there were… what? Over seven hundred known supervillains in the five boroughs? Plenty of independent heroes, too, but we've got to clean up and get statements from witnesses after their fights anyway."
Vista mutters a disparaging remark about paperwork, causing the Twins to giggle lightly and Who to sigh in frustration, but Battery just shakes her head with a knowing smile.
***
Despite your unplanned arrival, the New York City PRT Headquarters has more than enough guest rooms to accommodate your entire team on its higher levels. Even further, you note that each of the suites is at least the size of your old guest room on the Brockton Bay Protectorate Headquarters, with enough furnishings to give the appearance of a well-to-do living room. Your own room, for example, has a grey, plush couch for three, a large flat-screen TV built into the wall, a desktop computer on a workshop-laden desk, a kitchenette, and an onyx, square table with seating for six in matching chairs. The adjoining bedroom contains a pillow-laden king-sized bed with a projection TV on the far wall, and the attached washroom contains both a bathtub - with jets indicative of jacuzzi capabilities - and a walk-in shower.
Raising his hand to halt the group as you all progress through the tour of the rooms, Clockblocker is the first to voice the unspoken question.
"Wait, so, are our rooms in Philly gonna be better or worse than these?"
The twenty-something PRT intern pushes pushes up on her thick, horn-rimmed glasses and clutches her clipboard unsteadily as she weathers the sudden attention of your entire group of Wards.
"I-… I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer that. These are our best guest rooms, b-but I've never been to Philadelphia…?"
Gallant takes a short step towards the nervous intern, his armored gauntlets open in front of him in a non-confrontational gesture while his warm voice echoes through his futuristic full-plate helm.
"Miss, where do the New York Wards stay?"
After blinking owlishly at the apparent non-sequitur for a moment, the intern weakly grins a pearl-white smile at the group.
"Oh, well, I suppose those are nice as well, though I haven't seen them myself. They're not as nice as our guest rooms, but-"
The flustered intern continues her explanation, but a wash of indifference rolls over the gathered Wards as it becomes clear that any permanent accommodations in New York would pale in comparison to their rooms for tonight. As each turns to study the furnishing in the rooms in more detail, you and Gallant continue to keep your attention on the intern - Gallant clearly humoring the apparently-new PRT night-shift worker, while you have your other consciousnesses to study the (surprising number, and quality of) tools provided on the room's workbench.
Eventually, after a few more awkward pitches by the intern to join the New York Wards, the group is allowed to split up to take their own individual rooms - the Twins even eagerly claim a room, though they disappear into it before you can clarify the purpose behind such a move. Who and Vista claim their own guest suites with similar glee, which simplifies matters for you as you allow the intern to show you to a room specifically set aside for your own use. Entering it, your concern as to why you alone have a room reserved is answered by a familiar digital avatar already gracing the room's desktop monitor with a bemused smile.
"I can take things from here, Susan. If you hurry, you'll make the weekly meeting before it starts."
The PRT intern behind you squeaks in alarm before quickly pulling her uniform's left sleeve down to reveal her watch.
"9:12?! Ohno ohno! I-I need to… t-thank you, Ms. Dragon!"
The meek intern abandons all sense of propriety and dashes out of your room with not even a glance back to you, which elicits a quiet laugh from Dragon's avatar as the door finally slides shut a few moments later. As you make your way to the workshop desk - which appears to have a number of costumes and costume-building materials piled high upon it - Dragon tilts her head towards the workbench's chair.
"Glenn sends his regards, and some homework."
You read through the barely-legible note taped to the top of the tallest stack of old costumes, but Dragon answers your question before you finish opening your mouth to ask it.
"He sent a whole crate of old costumes for you to analyze to the Mt. Vernon headquarters, but most of those got irradiated in the attack earlier today. This is all he was able to scrounge up on short notice."
You nod in satisfaction, then begin absorbing the twenty-two costumes for analysis. Each is a variation worn by some of the Protectorate's most venerated heroes since the inception of the organization: Vanguard's royal purple-and-silver, Lady Liberty's green gown, even early iterations of each of the Triumvirate's costumes. As you move through the stack, you turn your head towards the digital avatar as she observes your progress.
"Hero?"
A light grimace flashes across Dragon's wireframe face, followed by a sigh.
"Hero's costume was in the crate, I'm afraid. The tourism board nearly had Glenn's head when they heard, as it was only supposed to be gone from the display downstairs for tonight. It'll be at least a week before they can clear it through decontamination now."
You are unsurprised that the gold-and-silver power armor of the world's first Tinker would be a big draw for the tourists streaming through the PRT tower's museum: nearly every Protectorate Tinker since his death at the hands of the Siberian has modeled their armor after it in some way.
Your fingers and hands burst into the typical storm of essence-fueled tools as you activate Omnitool Implants, the first stages of your anima crackling around the diamond soulgem in your forehead from the expenditure of essence from your peripheral reservoir. As you move your mechanized extremities to the pile of costume materials to begin construction of the replicas, you shake your head to indicate you have a better idea.
"Radiation, imperfections cleansed by absorption. Decontamination unnecessary."
A single eyebrow raises in surprise on Dragon's virtual avatar, but after a pensive moment she nods her head as she makes the connection, though you detect a slight narrowing of her eyes as she speaks her thoughts aloud.
"That's how you managed to get rid of the radiation in your armor after the fight, then? It's more than just mechanical repairs and comprehension?"
You nod, turning your head to idly cycle your various vision augments across the collection of materials. Your Diagnostic Overlays note the leather strips as bovine-derived, while your Thermal Vision sub-module notes the energy absorption properties of the asbestos inserts. With your comprehensive understanding of the old costumes and you could easily improve them to use safer, more protective components, but Glenn specified that the replicas needed to be as exact as possible.
"Technomorphic Integration Engine, other charms: conceptual in function."
Her eyes shifting from the flurry of your omnitools to your own face, Dragon's head tilts slightly while her voice no longer hides her curiosity.
"Charms?"
Pausing your work, you raise your dissembled left hand up from your rapidly-progressing work as an example.
"Installed mechanical augmentations."
Dragon is silent for a few moments, so you bring your left hand back down to resume work weaving the steel strands for Foundation's bulky armor pads into the grey material that - you realize belatedly - is what is now used for the generic PRT 'back up' costumes. Finally, Dragon's avatar furrows her brow and eyes you with concern.
"Installed, Taylor?"
"Affirmative."
"Did you install them?"
Blinking, you stall your work to consider the question - and your memories - with your various consciousnesses.
"Uncertain. Probability: low."
Through your 360-degree vision, you are able to note a very slight shift in Dragon's avatar's posture - almost as if she is hunching her shoulders briefly. The avatar's face and tone of voice betray no change, however, so you are unable to determine what emotion this would signify; perhaps it was merely one of the random flickers that sometimes comes when she momentarily diverts her attention elsewhere.
"You've remembered more about your trigger event, then? Was someone else involved?"
Dragon has thus far shown great concern for your well-being - far more than you would expect from such a busy heroine. While at first you associated this with her curiosity regarding your Tinker abilities, taking the time to calculate the time she has spent in idle discussion with you as of late reveals that nearly every conversation thus far has eventually led to a question regarding your origin.
Renowned as the world's greatest Tinker, since her debut on the public stage over fifteen years ago Dragon's reputation as a hero is sometimes considered even more spotless than the Triumvirate's. Not once has there been a case of lives lost in collateral damage during her fights, and her sole wardenship of the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center has possibly saved more lives than even Eidolon since its creation. The PRT trusts Dragon publicly and implicitly, but can you?
Such a hypothesis requires careful, measured study.
"Affirmative. Alchemical form constructed by third party, consciousness transferred. Further details uncertain."
Dragon's avatar opens its mouth to reply, but remains open in an 'o' shape for a moment before she slowly closes her mouth again and adopts a pained, sympathetic expression. She remains silent for nearly half an hour, simply watching you work as your hands blur from one pile of material to the next, rapidly sewing, welding, and shaping identical copies of the old costumes in your Elsewhere storage. You occasionally catch flickers of her avatar as it shifts between some undecipherable emotions, but only after you finish your third costume - Miss Liberty's verdigris-and-copper gown - does she speak up again, her expression shifting to a soft smile that reaches her eyes.
"So, I hear you made quite a splash today with your cooking?"
***
Assembling the copies takes until midnight - the more heavily-armored armors proving to be more time-consuming to replicate than the delicately-embroidered costumes - during which Dragon occasionally discusses more mundane topics: fashion, culinary arts, and reduced crime rates in the Northeast US due to the ashfall from Brockton Bay's volcano.
Before you move to retire for the night, you ask her to pass along a message to Legend that you have a number of matters to discuss with the Leader of the Protectorate... if he has a few minutes to spare tomorrow. While his ability to circumnavigate the globe in mere minutes could easily allow him to visit you in Philadelphia, such a brazen request to a superior officer would be imposing at-best and insubordinate at-worst. Dragon says she'll pass the request along, though she voices the concern that most of your time in the city tomorrow will be taken up by Battery's intended shopping trip and Glenn's scheduled meeting with your group.
You nod your assent, then proceed to extrude the assimilated costumes and place them alongside their newly-constructed copies. As each costume only necessitates an expenditure of the smallest amount of essence you can pare from your reservoirs - a mote of essence, your reading of Iris' notes explains - this has the enlightening side-effect of demonstrating the exact levels of peripheral essence expenditure that trigger your various anima effects.
At eleven motes of essence, smoke begins to pour forth from your form and a discordant chorus of tortured souls echos through the room. A momentary flash of silent panic graces Dragon's digitized avatar before the computer shuts off completely; an unfortunate demonstration of your anima's fear-inducing effect, but with the mote expenditure calculated now you anticipate fewer accidental displays in the future.
After two more expenditures, however, you pause before extruding the next costume - Eidolon's original cloak-and-hood combination - to consider the ramifications of activating your Iconic Anima. As previous outdoor displays were visible for miles around, you are uncertain of the effects should you activate it inside the PRT tower... while a number of individuals within the area of effect are sleeping.
Opting to leave the final stages of your anima untested for the moment, you instead monitor the nearby clock to observe the time necessary for your anima to drop through its sequential stages. This proves more time-consuming than initially calculated, however, as your anima refuses to drop at all - even after the previously-observed delay of twenty minutes pass. After forty minutes of watching the clock on the wall inexorably count upwards, you eventually decide to call off the experiment and move to your bedroom.
Only after you absorb your costume and slide into bed do you notice that your anima has receded at least a single stage. You blink at the realization, and three of your minds call up expressions regarding boiling pots of water. Two of your other minds calculate the odds that your more emotional self would be greatly agitated by this turn of events, while your final consciousness tables the matter for further experimentation in the morning before deactivating your Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade and passing out.
***
As the sensations of seven-hundred thousand, nine-hundred eighty-seven insects flood into your waking mind, you observe the bustling streets of New York with clinical detachment.
The sun cascading off the four neighboring buildings' mirrored panes of glass, highlighting the perfectly-square PRT Global Headquarters. Seventy-five elementary school students shepherded through the PRT museum on the third and fourth floors by twelve teachers clearly eager to observe the exhibits themselves. Foot traffic in the surrounding city blocks measuring thirty-two hundred fifty-three pedestrians, twenty-two bikers, and one skateboarder. Quantifiable workforce within the buildings surrounding the PRT tower numbering twelve-thousand five-hundred forty-four. Observable workforce within the PRT tower numbering four-hundred thirteen non-combatants, eighty-six officers, and four parahumans: Prism, Silo, Question, and Ursa Aurora.
A burst of peripheral essence heralds the divergence of your conscious mind into the usual six trains of thought, which allows for the belated realization of the date: the thirty-first of January. Two of your consciousnesses idly calculate the number of life-altering events that transpired over the course of this month for you, while the rest of your minds focus on readying yourself for the day to come.
To give your anima time to subside, you extrude four more costumes - leaving five still remaining in your Elsewhere storage - before moving on to your shower. Considering your observations from last night, you deliberately avoid thinking about your anima and how long it might take for it to subside as you cycle through your mentally-reinvigorating ablutions.
Much to your confusion, your anima is nearly completely dissipated by the time you step out of the black-marble shower, despite the entire process only taking ten minutes. All of your minds agree that this is highly improbable and should not be considered too deeply for the time being, as you have more important matters to consider at the moment than the paradoxical mechanics of your Alchemical exaltation.
Who wandering through the PRT museum unattended, for instance.
***
Assault and Battery collect everyone just after nine o'clock, though it takes spelling out "Food" in flies on Who's costumed leg to entice the wandering Stranger back to your group. With everyone gathered, Battery lays out the day's schedule as she reads it from the paper in her left hand.
"Since we'll be moving in PRT vans PR said to keep costumes on all day - Weaver, that also means to keep your disguise up. Yes, it'll be weird going shopping in-costume, but it says here we should expect help with that when we get to clothes shopping."
Clockblocker and Kid Win groan at idea of shopping with a mostly-female group, echoed by a dark mumble from Assault, but Battery makes a cutting motion with her hand to silence the dissent.
"Since we're going in costume, we've got authorization to use the PRT credit card. So unless you want to wait until we get to Philly, with no clothes of your own, and spend your own money, you can live with it for today."
Assault sighs audibly, but cracks a smile afterwards and nudges the nearby Kid Win with an elbow.
"Since the PRT's being so generous, there's a few stops we should hit to start. Like, say… FAO Schwarz?"
At the mention of the world-famous toy store, the boys quickly halt any nay-saying and nod in agreement. You also notice a shift in Vista's demeanor towards excitement, but she visibly attempts to restrain herself and assume a more regal posture. Despite Vista's unsubtle desire to appear more mature than a toy store, Uzu and Tatsu nod eagerly at the idea, while Who looks around warily until finally shrugging in indifference.
Sighing at her partner's obvious deviation from the schedule, Battery rattles off the rest of the destinations before Assault can steer your group even further off the rails.
"First we're going to get breakfast at the bakery across the street, which is run by a rogue by the name of Doughboy. Then-"
Who and Clockblocker burst into laughter at the mention of the bakery's owner, the former trying to halt Battery to verify that she heard the name correctly. While Assault is strangely silent this point - his mouth only showing a wry smirk - Battery soldiers on despite the howls and snickers of laughter.
"…then FAO Schwarz, but we need to be at Saks Fifth Avenue by two o'clock or Glenn said he'd have us all doing anti-drug PR stunts for the next six months. There's a new park opening ceremony a few blocks away at four, so we can hit that if we want, but otherwise the New York Wards are going to join us for dinner at six at…"
With the laughter having died down with Battery's continued explanation, the white-and-LED-costumed heroine pauses wearily and holds a hand to her fully-enclosed helmet in resigned exasperation.
"... Raybeam's Pizza."
***
Despite being relatively famous for its owner and head chef, 'Whole 'Lotta Dough' is otherwise basic and unassuming - its plain beige-and-white-striped walls and common faux-wood tables reminding you more of a chain establishment than a singular, cape-run restaurant. With its chalkboard menus and glass displays - filled with completely average baked goods - a few of your minds wonder if this was intended; rogue parahumans are still regarded with suspicion by the populace at-large, despite efforts by the PRT to tout working rogues up as examples of successful parahuman integration with society.
By designing a shop so blatantly normal, there would be nothing for detractors to complain about.
A wise decision, as the hulking mass of muscle and bone towering behind the counter provides more than enough concern to fill most wary customers.
Formerly known by the name of 'Juggernaut', the eight-foot tall Brute was known in the early nineties as one of New York's most feared vigilantes. During his second incarceration four years ago, the olive-skinned Italian bruiser reportedly underwent a metamorphosis when the inmates were given an opportunity to cook their own meals - finding solace in channeling his aggression into kneading dough rather than criminals' faces.
Clockblocker finds himself unable to voice any jokes upon seeing the mountain of a baker, and Who wisely opts to remain under the cloak of her power when she struggles to come up with a suitable joke at the owner's expense. Assault's casual comments about the elder Brute's 'rumored' body count and Endbringer Fight exploits visibly instil a wary tenseness in the mannerisms of your group, which is further heightened when the scarred visage of Doughboy turns to your newly-entered group.
Slowly, the deep brown eyes hidden in the dark sockets on the Brute's face wash over your assembled numbers until they land on you. His deep scowl darkens even further, but after a silent moment he nods in what you calculate as recognition before turning back to the current customer at the counter.
This provokes some hushed whispers from your group, as well as a few pokes from Who, Vista, and Clockblocker as they joke about who would win in a cooking deathmatch.
As your group cycles through the ordering line, you silently settle on a chocolate croissant, a slice of coffee cake, and an apricot pastelito with a large strawberry smoothie. When you finally get to the front of the line, however, Doughboy's countertop-shaking rumble of a voice preempts your order.
"Apple pie. Peach blossom tart. Strawberry-blueberry croissant. Power smoothie."
You blink, and your consciousnesses rapidly filter through possible reasons for this unexpected display. The answer comes quickly, and your remaining free consciousness wonders why any thought on the matter was needed in the first place.
"Glenn Chambers."
A spark of mirth dances in the recessed eyes of the monstrously-large former vigilante, but his expression otherwise remains stoic as he almost imperceptibly nods in agreement.
You nod in return, take the visibly well-crafted pastries, and make your way to your group's table. Sitting down, you ignore the questions from the group and quickly absorb the food items for analysis. After three minutes of careful study and calculation, you reach to the center of your square table and withdraw one of the 'Comments & Suggestions' cards and a small pencil.
***
"What did you write down?"
You turn your head towards Vista to give the appearance of focusing your attention on her, while your five other consciousnesses monitor the sensory information provided by the insects outside of your PRT van as it travels through the busy New York City streets. The five minds remain busy cataloguing the types of insects within your range and foiling any small crimes - such as the bike theft you prevented with several wasp stings to criminal's face a few moments ago - that you will also need to report once you have the free time to do so, while your lone freed consciousness tends to the question posed by the younger Ward.
"Calculations. Sampled baked goods averaged thirteen percent over optimal heat treatment. Recommended four percent oven temperature reduction, heat treatment duration reduction by eight percent."
Vista, Uzu, Tatsu, and Battery all move to rest their heads in their hands at your remark, which strikes you as unnecessarily dramatic.
You are fairly certain that Doughboy smiled at your suggestion, as his display of teeth was typical of a satisfied grin.
***
Before releasing your group into FAO Schwarz, Battery declares that powers are not to be used while in the store. You manage to clarify this as 'obvious' powers, saving you from having to disable your three most tactically-useful charms, though you suspect that you have been allowed to keep them active in order to keep track of Who in the event that she refrains from suppressing her power.
As one of the largest, if not the most famous, toy stores in the world, FAO Schwarz is consequently one of the busiest toy stores in the world. Once inside, this becomes even more apparent when civilian foot traffic grinds to a halt to ogle and stare at you and your costumed compatriots - a sea of faces, young and old, filled with mixtures of awe, respect, and fear. Cameras - phone and security-based - are clearly trained on you throughout the duration of your toy store experience, which visibly unnerves the newest members of your group. While Who enjoys the back-and-forth joke of her cape name the first few times, by the fourteenth iteration even the energetic Stranger seems weary of the byplay. Worse, Uzu and Tatsu barely interact with the crowd at all, shying away from the attention whenever it's focused on them, forcing you and Vista to draw attention away from the reclusive Movers before they openly retreat into their pocket dimension.
Through your swarm, you note that even the boys are less than enthusiastic about the endeavor after a few minutes, with Kid Win eventually becoming the de-factor leader of their small group when Clockblocker and Gallant eventually grow silent and pensive.
The Byzantine layout of the massive toy store, clearly designed to navigate shoppers past all the most expensive items for children of each age group, is easily circumvented through your swarm's all-encompassing senses. The most time-consuming process of shopping - browsing for interesting items - is similarly shortened to a momentary consideration; by the time you had physically entered the store, your swarm had provided you a thorough examination of nearly every item for sale.
By the end of the hour, both groups have made their way back to the front - the boys with several bags filled with portable and TV-based game systems, while your own group is laden with confections from the candy department. Despite the haul, even Assault is able to detect the palpable feeling of melancholy pervading through your group, which causes him no small extent of embarrassment.
"Aw, c'mon guys! At least you can say you've been now! And did you check out that huge floor-piano they have?"
This manages to lighten the mood considerably, as the girls in your group proceed to groan and laugh. At the boys and adults' wondering gazes, Vista is the first to explain the source of their mirth.
"We managed to convince Weaver to play something…"
You shake your head, still uncertain of the lukewarm reception to your performance.
"The Celebrated Chop Waltz by Euphemia Allen. Classic demonstration piece. Execution mechanically precise."
Your explanation only serves to spread the laughter, once Kid Win wonders aloud the piece's more common name.
"You played Chopsticks?"
Who waves him off mid-laugh, but takes a deep breath to calm herself before finishing the thought.
"No, no… she really did execute it."
***
Saks Fifth Avenue, the oldest fashion store in New York City, serves not only as a landmark in the world of fashion, but - after a number of fashion-related supervillains in the early years of parahuman activity nearly leveled the store - also serves as one of the few 'neutral territory' zones for cape-related business. This was due, in part, to the store's prominence as the first public marketer of rogue- and supervillain-designed apparel lines, though today at least a quarter of the massive, seven-story store caters directly to superhero designed and inspired fashion.
Your group's arrival, as a result, is not as jarring or unusual as it was at your previous destination; while your numbers draw some attention, the presence of Bon Vivant and Damsel of Distress in the store - two unrelated supervillains - has already inured the civilian shoppers to the presence of in-costume capes in their midst.
What draws the attention of the civilians, instead, is the ensemble of noteworthy fashion designers (and their own respective attendants) awaiting your group's arrival in the central foyer, led by Glenn Chambers himself. You're uncertain how name-brand fashionistas like Kathy Patrice, Donatella Versace, and Inigo Vespucci could bear the red-and-white polka-dot overcoat draped over Glenn's frame, or the dull orange oxford shirt and slacks underneath, but your swarm has thus far noted no winces or upturned noses at his garments.
A resigned sigh wafts over your group as each spots Glenn at the forefront of the small army of fashion influencers, though Who mumbles a few off-color remarks about the overweight PR director that elicit muffled laughs from the rest of your group - Assault and Battery included. As you approach, Glenn turns from his conversation and gives a perfunctory nod.
"Early. Good. You're each getting paired up with a fashion expert for the next two hours to help you pick out clothes and accessories. They've signed the NDAs and they know what'll happen to them if they say anything, but we have spare masks if you need them."
Glenn holds up a hand to silence the outcries of disbelief, indignation, or confusion before they have a chance to manifest, tilting his glasses down to give a steely-blue gaze the group to punctuate the movement.
"This is a favor, so don't mess it up. Weaver, with me."
The attendants in the back of Glenn's group spring forward as if called by some unseen signal, each latching onto a Ward with tactical precision and guiding them in a different direction through the store, energetically quizzing their respective Ward about their tastes in fashion all the while. Assault and Battery each also receive an attendant, but Assault manages to latch onto Battery to avoid getting dragged away by his attendant - an act that Assault regrets too late when it becomes clear that Battery is more than willing to help the fashion expert pick out his wardrobe.
As your group rapidly disperses, you tag the Wards and the attendants with a few flies for good measure then step forward towards the PR director. Judging by the analytical gazes of the five remaining designers around him, you already suspect what your next hour will entail. Nevertheless, you meet his half-lidded gaze over the ivory-rimmed shades still perched on the end of his bulbous nose.
"The cause?"
Glenn Chambers' measuring gaze wavers briefly as his eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch, which is then quickly broken when he rolls his eyes and snorts through his nose in dissatisfaction.
"As if I'd waste my time with anything else."
Turning, the head of the PRT PR department casually gestures to the multi-billion-dollar fashion designers flanking him.
"Donna, Kathy, Inigo, Peter, Paul: meet Weaver. We've only got two hours, so let's not waste it."
To their credit, the designers don't even blink at the abrupt introduction - Peter Kensington and Donatella Versace even smile at Glenn's comment - and briskly follow behind Glenn as he turns and strides towards the nearest elevator.
Nodding to yourself in resolution, you free your minds of any extraneous thoughts and ready them for your most challenging endeavor yet:
A fashion shoot.
***
Despite the need for the occasional reminder from Glenn that you are only fifteen years of age - despite your form looking at least twenty - the first hour passes with unexpected ease; switching off Shard of Perfect Administration at the start (at Glenn's request) winds up being the most difficult task asked of you. Much of the distress you remember from Emma's complaints about her early modelling career focused around the time-consuming process of switching between dozens of outfits, but your applications of Technomorphic Integration Engine all but negates the problem entirely.
While the shoot begins simply enough - a varied selection of casual wear from each designer's upcoming spring lines, done against a classic white backdrop - a number of the outfits Paul Mancotto and Donatella Versace eventually escalate to are far more revealing than you suspect will be allowed to be published by the PRT.
Near the end of the first hour, Glenn finally acquiesces to the persistent requests for you to showcase your 'power form', as Inigo has begun to label it. When you request to clarify whether that also includes your anima display, Glenn is quick to shut that down.
"Keep it low-key. If we want smoke, we've got a fog machine."
At first, the reveal of your Alchemical form stumps most of the designers. Kathy Patrice, however, is quick to jump to her favorite color. Draping a white-and-gold ankle-length dress over your body, the white-haired radical fashion designer nearly purrs in satisfaction.
"Gold, darling, goes with everything."
This rapidly turns the shoot into a subtle contest between the five designers, each attempting to one-up the previous design with something that accentuates your Alchemical augmentations: a midriff-bearing one-piece bathing suit that accentuates the filigreed metals running through your abdomen, a wind-swept dress with a collar that directs the eyes to your spider-leg antennae, a jacket with splayed-open sleeves to showcase your omnitool-laden hands…
… which end up diverting the shoot entirely, when it's revealed you can make instant alterations, swiftly combine existing pieces, or even weave together an entirely new piece in minutes. When you reveal your additional capabilities of producing enough spider silk to construct entire garments, the designers begin to make bids for your time to Glenn. The over-worked PR director merely shakes his head in disbelief, holding his hands up in surrender.
"Why do you make so much work for me, Weaver? I've even had to hire an assistant just for you - a first for a Ward."
You blink, unable to detect if his statement is sarcasm or genuine exasperation.
"Following orders."
His hands come down in a dismissive gesture, leading you to suspect his eyes are rolling behind his thick sunglasses.
"Well, I think that's all for the shoot. Let's wrap things up here."
The personal assistants of each of the five major fashion designers are quick to pounce on their respective superiors, each ushering their charges out of the large studio while reciting a litany of pressing news and calendar items. Only Kathy Patrice lingers long enough say goodbye, at least in her own way; tapping your costumed shoulder with her right index finger, her eyes look through you to some point on the horizon before she nods and murmurs to the air in a distracted tone.
"I'll be in touch, darling. Don't die."
Glenn waits beside you for the addled designer to leave, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.
"We're pretty sure she's a cape, but we've never been able to prove it. Designed Eidolon's first costume, so we can't really get rid of her, anyway."
Recalling Miss Militia's warning, you keep your voice low enough for only Glenn to hear.
"No Corona Gemma. Blind."
Shifting his weight to his right foot as the only indication that he heard you speak at all, Glenn is silent for nearly a minute before slicking his hand through his bleached-blonde hair.
"The crate of costumes will be in decontamination when you get back. If you can clean and copy them all tonight, our deal's done. You need anything before I get back to work?"
Keeping your voice to the minimum volume necessary to transmit your words to his ears, you otherwise remain still as the two of you absently monitor the fashion crews pack up the remaining outfits and the photo equipment for transport.
"Human disguise impossible during combat, sustained power activation automatically disables. Public endorsement of base form required."
Briefly looking like he bit into a particularly sour lemon, Glenn immediately schools his expression back to his usual facade of apathetic disapproval. After another minute of silence from the PR director, his own voice drops in volume to match your own.
"Is this a problem I should expect to see with… more than just you?"
You are thankful your manifold consciousnesses allow you bring to the fore a mind that can contain your surprise at the question put forth by your PR director, as otherwise you would have had severe difficulty suppressing your shock. Your superiors have thus far never even alluded to the idea that you might not be alone, so for Glenn to have made the comment strikes you as either an extraordinarily lucky guess or a confirmation that your personnel file has much more in it than you have explicitly provided.
As you consider a suitable response to the query, one of your minds calls forth a radical idea: Glenn a member of your Alchemical assembly. While his talents in the field of public relations would provide an unquestionable advantage in the struggle to sway the world's population into accepting - if not directly aiding with - Autochthon's arrival, you wonder if Glenn himself would believe in the cause.
While you certainly didn't before Autochthon's direct intervention, you cannot afford to leave this up to chance. Unfortunately, with your current levels of Clarity and… influence from your Shard of Perfect Administration charm, you calculate incredibly low odds for persuading Glenn to accept this goal in the near future.
You can, however, lay the groundwork for this future discussion.
"More: PRT approval?"
Glenn grows still, even holding his breath for a least a minute before slowly exhaling through his nose.
"How… many more?"
While you are uncertain as to the number of Alchemical exalted that might reside within Autochthon himself, you opt to keep things simple for the preliminary discussions.
"Five."
Through your peripheral vision you can see him rolling his tongue over his teeth in his closed mouth while he folds his arms across his chest and taps his fingers on his wide biceps. He continues to move through various fidgeting motions over the next five minutes, eventually ending with a much harsher snort through his nose.
"If it's enough to force them to show their hands, then it might be what we've been looking for. But if they get you…?"
You shake your head.
"No more."
Glenn runs through a few more fidgets before eventually shrugging his large shoulders loosely.
"Approval's above my pay-grade, Weaver."
You narrow your eyes, which has the side-effect of spooking one of the remaining workers as he gets the idea that you're glaring at him, specifically. You absently cycle through your visual augments and note that the young blonde has a vitamin D deficiency and is severely sleep-deprived, while your five other consciousnesses consider Glenn's apparent rebuff of your request.
While true that he would not be the final say in gaining the PRT's official (or unofficial) approval for exalting five more people, you calculate reasonable odds that Glenn has the ear of the PRT Board of Directors - perhaps even of Lead Director Costa-Brown herself. Why, then, is he down-playing his abilities?
His previous recognition of your potential worth in the Endbringer War leads you to believe that this dismissal isn't due to a lack of interest in helping you, so the next most logical explanation is… a need to rephrase your request.
"Support."
Nodding to himself, Glenn pushes his sunglasses back up from where they have slipped ever-so-slightly down his wide nose.
"Getting better. Prove more than a flash in the pan, then we'll see."
"Affirmative."
Snapping his fingers in the air absently, one of the PRT attendants left in the room quickly bustles over to Glenn's right side. Turning his head a fraction of an inch in your direction the head of the PRT's public relations division gives you a final, curt nod.
"My new assistant will be in touch."
You refrain from nodding or uttering any further acknowledgements, as Glenn's barked orders to his college-age intern indicate that he has already moved on to his next task.
Just before he passes through the studio's doors, however, Glenn casually raises a hand and casually waves at the room behind him - or, rather, the racks of clothes still being carefully stored for transport.
"Take what you want, Weaver. They'll thank you for wearing any of it."
As Glenn and his aide stride through the doors, the rest of the PRT workers turn to you in the middle of their efforts of packing away the various outfits and accessories. A lengthy pause settles over the large room for several seconds, until one of the attendants coughs in her hand and raises a finger to suggest an idea.
"Do you have a limit to what you can… soak?"
***
You are ten outfits away from completing your absorption of the assembled fashion collection - having allowed the PRT workers to leave the outfits behind and head home far ahead of schedule - when your exterior swarm notices a brilliant blur approaching the Saks Fifth Avenue building.
You quickly tag the final dresses just before Legend's form solidifies several feet above the entrance of the fashion store, then extrude your armor and dart out one of the easily-opened windows at the top of the studio's far wall. You manage to catch the Leader of the Protectorate before he enters the building, touching down on the sidewalk just as he finishes signing autographs for three college-age passersby. As you both note a crowd starting to build, his clear, genuine laugh fills the space between you.
"Would you mind if we took this upstairs, Weaver?"
You answer with a nod of your helmet and a flare of your anti-gravity thrusters, though you watch as Legend lags behind your ascent to give a quick farewell wave to the civilians that had begun to gather around. As you fly further and further up, he continues to follow your lead until you finally stop just below the low, grey stratocumulous clouds hanging over the New York City skyline this overcast afternoon.
Raising to bring his opaque visor eye-level with you, Legend's tanned, lantern jaw is set with a tentative smile - a classic image reinforced by his skintight blue costume and white laser-burst logo emblazoned on the chest. He speaks just as you are able to raise your own voice to initiate the conversation, his cautious tone just loud enough to be heard over the gusting winds common at this altitude.
"It's good to see you again, Weaver, though we should really get a chance to meet more casually some time. On the ground, even."
You nod, understanding the attempt at levity by the Triumvirate member, but move on to your first discussion point to ensure that you are not wasting his valuable time. Just as you begin to open your mouth, however, one of your trains of thought considers the potential social advantages of disabling Shard of Perfect Administration. While your other minds quickly move to veto the idea, the lone thought process makes the valid point that the charm is otherwise useless at this altitude and has noticeable, observed effects on your conversational abilities while active.
Your other minds are slow to come around to the idea, but eventually you manage to struggle through the massive exertion of will it takes to place your Shard of Perfect Administration charm in stasis. The sudden alteration in your perception and thought processes that comes as a result causes you to jerk slightly in your armor, which in turn causes Legend to uncross his arms and reach out as if to grab you before you stabilize your flight again.
"Weaver? What was that? Are you alright?"
You nod again, this time fully recognizing the tones of sympathy in his voice.
"Side effect of emotional feedback loop during attack. Condition stabilized. Concern accepted, but unnecessary."
This appears to relieve some of the tension you noted building his his posture, but he keeps his arms out towards you with a measure of hesitation. Before he can open open his mouth again, however, you direct the conversation to the reason you called for this meeting.
"Request for clarification: Daniel Hebert broke Endbringer truce, but no kill order instated. Why?"
After slowly retracting his outstretched arms and folding them against his chest again, Legend's exposed lower face deepens into a melancholy frown.
"Would you have rather Eidolon and I made that public? We figured out that he was just trying to use us to strike at you, and we both heard what he said… but he's still your father, isn't he?"
Again you nod, but you rephrase the question in hopes of better communicating your confusion.
"For what goal?"
Despite his occasional dip and rise in altitude, you are able to detect a slight twinge in the Protectorate leader's shoulders that would indicate a supressed reaction of… embarassment? Discomfort? The lower half of Legend's face remains in its melancholy frown, and his sympathetic baritone answers your question with only the barest hesitation, but you suspect a larger picture behind the statement.
"We heard about how he was kidnapped - likely by Coil - so we didn't feel it would be right to decide his fate before learning about everything that had happened to him. We've also seen promising Wards with parents on the wrong side of the law… fall apart after a misunderstanding makes things seem worse than they really are."
Analyzing his words, you are unable to find a fault in his reasoning, but his earlier suppressed reaction still leads you to believe that there is more to the decision to save your father from a Kill Order. This is further confirmed by your suit's lie detection algorithms broadcasting two words across your heads-up display.
Partial Truth.
Combining this revelation with Glenn's earlier comments, as well as with Director Piggot's cryptic comments regarding your identity, a more concrete image begins to form: the PRT is aware - or at least suspects enough to act on the belief - that you are a construct. A construct that may preface further like yourself. Thus, in operating under the directive to increase the forces arrayed against the Endbringers, the PRT is hoping to secure any additional constructs for the war effort.
While you are confident in this interpretation, you also realize that vocalizing it here-and-now could lead to disastrous consequences if your calculations are incorrect. Still, there should be a way to appease Legend's (possible) concerns without giving away your true intentions…
When in doubt, you have ultimately found that the truth has the highest probability of success.
"Humanity survival primary motivation. Endbringers primary threat to continued Humanity survival, prosperity. PRT, Protectorate, Wards primary forces against Endbringers. Loyalty assured."
All your minds are in agreement: obviously stunning a member of the Triumvirate speechless is a noteworthy occasion. They are not, however, in agreement regarding whether this is an accomplishment or a failure. As Legend's first action after shaking his head once is not an immediate volley of high-powered energy beams, you begin to calculate a greater probability of the event being a positive one.
To his credit, Legend recomposes himself less than five seconds later, but you noted at least two mid-voiced questions in that span that never made it past his tongue. His smile slowly growing from wistful to sincere, Legend nods in apparent understanding.
"Glenn put a note in your file that you were on-board with the PRT's true goal, but I'm glad to hear you say it anyway. We didn't mean to seem manipulative like that, though; I mean what I said about hoping to avoid anything that couldn't be taken back."
Floating less than ten feet from your armored form, only now are your conscious minds truly struck by the sheer, genuine presence exuded from the Leader of the Protectorate. Exalting Legend would likely immediately ensure the support of the civilian population of Earth, and his extraordinary power set would likely only further improve through exaltation, but looking at him now…
… BRING THESE BROKEN MINDS TO THE CRADLE …
Legend… is not broken.
Legend, along with the rest of the Triumvirate, is one of the brightest beacons of Hope, Justice, and Order in this world. You will undoubtedly need his help in the coming struggle, but wishing such suffering that would break a man of his caliber would go against the very core of your being.
"Understood. Thank you."
Casually floating closer to your own hovering form, Legend places a reassuring hand on your right shoulder before nodding to you with a smile still on his lips.
"I've got an ear if you ever need it - two, in fact. Don't be a stranger, Weaver."
At your silent nod of acceptance, Legend's form blurs to the point of almost triggering your Flash Shutters and streaks off into the horizon towards downtown Manhattan. You follow his path as long as you can with your visual augments, but eventually he passes between a hedge of skyscrapers and winks out of sight.
You remain in the air for several more minutes, absently studying your armor's right shoulder.
There is no trace of residue or thermal ablation, and your Industrial Survival Frame detects no alterations from your form, but you still note a slight increase in your mental alacrity all the same.
***
Navigating by way of the internet browser-based GPS in your HUD, you eventually manage to find your way to Raybeam's Pizza - another rogue cape-owned food establishment. Despite the name, however, your online research into the restaurant reveals that owner is former vigilante, as well as on-again-off-again love interest of Raybeam: Firespike. After Raybeam was killed during Behemoth's attack on New York fifteen years ago, Firespike apparently hung up her cape and purchased one of the many 'Ray's Pizza' establishments, renaming it after the former Protectorate heroine in her honor.
One of the Parahuman Online links you followed-up on to research the restaurant suggested the rumor that Raybeam and Firespike frequented the chosen establishment in their civilian identities prior to the Protectorate heroine's demise, but no confirmation has ever been made.
You quickly cycle out of your power armor and into your dress-costume, then re-apply Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier with your remaining personal essence to regain your human guise. Despite having only re-enabled it several minutes ago to navigate through the unfamiliar New York City streets, you calculate better odds of avoiding a social misunderstanding if you deactivate Shard of Perfect Administration again. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you begin to gather the mental focus necessary to force the suspiciously-invasive charm back into remission…
… but stumble against the storefront wall, nearly passing out from the strain as it clicks off.
It takes a moment for your body's senses to recalibrate, though you successfully avoid falling further by relying upon the sight of the nearby insects to guide your hands, during which you feel more mentally fatigued than you have in weeks.
A feeling which drowned by the thundercrack of a Behemoth-fired arc of lightning screaming through the air towards you.
You instinctively twist and leap to dodge out of the way but you're going to be too slow and you can already feel the burning-
... wait, no, no, you do not see any signs of the Endbringer. Though, your swarm does see the a young couple gone white in life-redefining terror, having just closed their taxi's door several feet away from your previous position. Their catatonic expressions - as well as the horrified reactions of the hundreds of other civilians within line of sight of the storefront - may either be due to your scream that continues to echo through the crowded street, or the towering Design Weaver stretching high into the sky above your prone Alchemical form.
With your swarm revealing the chaos inside the pizza parlor - the costumed Brockton Bay and New York Wards diving away from the entrance in supernatural terror - you calculate that your presence will be only detrimental to the mental well-being of your companions and compatriots.
You allow your armor to fully extrude from the partial activation your panicked mind had attempted. Still shaking from the obvious relapse of your post-traumatic stress disorder, you eventually rely on your anti-gravity thrusters to propel you off the sidewalk and into the air. Trailing acrid, choking smoke and webs of blue-and-black lightning, you soar up into the darkening night sky where you will no longer cause anyone further harm.
***
After waiting in the cloudcover for nearly an hour - long enough for your anima to settle to minimal levels - you proceed directly to the PRT tower and enter via the cape- and helicopter-accessible rooftop gateway. The armed guards just inside the doors startle at your entrance, but when the identification scan completes without any issues they nod you through without further issue.
Before you enter, however, you ask for directions to the containment labs. A quick set of verbalized instructions, an elevator trip, and two more identification scans eventually leads you through the immaculate white halls of the PRT tower to the heavily-guarded containment labs.
Or, more specifically, to the large wooden crate that only recently arrived in the containment labs.
Carefully opening the crate despite the stream of ticks from your armor's geiger counter, you slowly work your way through absorbing the complete contents of the crate. After doing so, you absorb the crate as well, and then your own armor for good measure - ignoring Dragon's pleas for an explanation was draining what little mental energy you had left.
As you sit cross-legged on the floor of the containment lab, waiting for your Elsewhere pocket to scrub the radiation from its new contents, you practice your breathing exercises to calm your still-frayed nerves and soothe the twitching of your eight spider-leg-like antennae.
You are in control.
You must remain in control.
You will always be in control.
***
Clarity Gains: 1 Point
Clarity Losses: 1 Point (Virtue Channel [1] + Compassion Roll [0])
Net Clarity Change: NO CHANGE
Aegis/Carlos (Friendship) -1 Decrease!
Weld (Respect) LOST!
Legend (Respect) GAINED!!
Bureaucracy +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals)
Dodge +1 Training Interval (3/6 Intervals)
Craft +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals)
*Craft (High Fashion ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
Integrity +1 Training Interval (1/6 Intervals)
*Integrity (Mental Trauma ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
Medicine +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals)
Performance +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals)
Presence +1 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals)
Socialize ●●○○○ GAINED!
Socialize +1 Training Interval (1/6 Intervals)
Backing (PRT) ●●●○○ GAINED!
Reputation (Fashion Mogul) ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
- "Did you see those shots on Versace's website? I hear Weaver might even have her own clothing line soon!"
Reputation (Beautiful) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE! [Current Level: ●●●○○]
- "If we're going to make this new Iliad movie, we need convince Weaver to play Helen of Troy. The studios won't settle for anyone else."
MAY MADNESS! An update every day this month, but alternating days will be Interludes that won't require votes. This should allow for 24+ hours on each vote, though if it a vote looks settled within the first 12 hours I may decide to close it early and write the update instead of the Interlude. Updates will also be shorter than the usual 8k+ monsters, though they should all be at least 3.5k words.
Philadelphia Road Trip: The Final Leg (Choose two, one stunt allowed for each!)
[ ] I Spy: Provide time-consuming distractions during trip to keep mind of Wards off emotional traumas.
[ ] World's Largest Bug: Divert road trip to tourist traps and sightseeing opportunities along the way.
[ ] Essence Reservoir-to-Heart: Provide counsel for a member of your caravan, getting to know them better as a mortal as well as evaluating them for Alchemical potential.
[ ] Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives: Sample New England cuisine to increase your own culinary profile.
[ ] The Mystery Machine: Solve crimes along the way to Philadelphia.
[ ] Write-In: An Amusing Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum?
Please remember to format XP Expenditures properly:
[X] ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
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Taylor's got PTSD now, I guess. Worrisome.
Update vote to come later, but for now...
[X] 2 XP - Integrity (PTSD ●○○)
Update vote to come later, but for now...
[X] 2 XP - Integrity (PTSD ●○○)
Is the sudden PTSD relapse a punishment for us wanting to turn off SoPA so often Gromweld?
Well, here's my thinking: when a PTSD flare-up is impending, the extra dice may prove useful in mitigating the severity of the relapse.Strunkriindiisk said:
Actually, Clarity still reads as 5 on the char sheet. Should it be on 4 (or maybe even 3?) now Gromweld?Alectai said:
Giygas
Cutest Sawk i could find. Lucario is a nice extra.
We only have two unspent experience! We need additional Omakes!
If tomorrow i can find the inspiration, i will write the Majestic adventures of Giygas, the cape that was vaporized by behemoth and survived!
... Unfortunately nobody knew about that part of his powers, and now he is buried in the ashes of Brockton Bay.
At least his Shard will get a lot of experience with essence!
If tomorrow i can find the inspiration, i will write the Majestic adventures of Giygas, the cape that was vaporized by behemoth and survived!
... Unfortunately nobody knew about that part of his powers, and now he is buried in the ashes of Brockton Bay.
At least his Shard will get a lot of experience with essence!
*Re-reads end of update*
I'm confused on how we gained a point of Clarity that offset the loss.
I'm confused on how we gained a point of Clarity that offset the loss.
First of all, we need to get our mental state under control with the Integrity PTSD specialty, followed by Craft, Bureaucracy, and Performance (in that order). I'm getting thoroughly sick of being stuck on Clarity 5, so we need a dedicated social activity for the next update choice.Overmind said:
Giygas
Cutest Sawk i could find. Lucario is a nice extra.
Interacting with peoples automatically decrease Clarity by one point for day.landcollector said:
Grom, you may have forgotten but you said you'd start including clarity changes at the end of each update. I'd really appreciate it if you started doing that.