- Location
- Right Where I Am
Brockton's Celestial Forge (Worm/Jumpchain)
- Thread starter LordRoustabout
- Start date
I think Lord needs the public schedule commitment to ensure he writes regularly.
I understand, if I have to rely on my own calender to finish projects, i would get nothing done. I need public schedules to get anything done.
I understand, if I have to rely on my own calender to finish projects, i would get nothing done. I need public schedules to get anything done.
Same. Never get anything done on my own, moment the due date is coming up I crank out that 10k word essay in a day. Not a good thing, still a thing.
Need that pressure to wring enough Dopamine out of your stubborn-ass brain as I understand it.
Personally I think that is a intended side effect of shoving kids into one size fits all education, which I think forces people to drain all self motivation (because it is a miserable experience, and you need to force your way through it) and by the time you are out, you have been wringing the motivation well dry, and external pressure from employers takes up the slack. Burn out people's motivations, replace them with external sources. As long as they are functional at work who cares.
Its offtopic, but yeah its clear to me that Lord's delay notices are more for him than they are for us.
Its offtopic, but yeah its clear to me that Lord's delay notices are more for him than they are for us.
> I wake up
( 🐱 )
there is another delay<
( 🐱 )
there is another delay<
108.3 Interlude Armstrong
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
108.3 Interlude Armstrong
Armstrong had been expecting more chaos in the wake of Apeiron's remotely deployed treatments. It was to be expected with any major display of parahuman power or advanced tinker technology. Given that the entire project had been various shades of contained chaos from the moment he accepted it, that had seemed like a safe bet.
In the aftermath of Apeiron's display, effectively announcing his presence through hundreds of holographic screens followed by remote healing and bomb extraction, he'd just been happy that his staff had been able to maintain a level of order. It helped that they were calm and direct with the hostages, but he suspected they were projecting a false front of confidence and doing their best to act as if they understood what was happening. The PRT was good at that, and this was not the time to show uncertainty.
Agents offered empty platitudes about the situation while ushering recently healed individuals out of the way and identifying those who still needed treatment. Hundreds of people fully healed beyond just the removal of the explosive device that had been implanted in them. That left the dozens who had refused the remote treatment, but compared to the scope of what they'd been dealing with before it was firmly manageable.
And getting more manageable. He watched as one hostage was guided to the waiting area with the others who had rejected remote treatment. The woman looked at the crowd of people in the waiting area, then loudly announced that she would like to change her decision. The statement wasn't made to anyone in particular, just yelled into the air, but even so a holographic screen popped up in front of her. The woman smiled and with the press of a button blue circuit-like lines spread across her body.
After a few seconds the lines faded and one of the agents, once again rolling with the fantastic display and acting as if they understood what was happening, took the initiative to lead her away from the group. As they left several more people announced that they had reconsidered their choice.
There was something encouraging about the hostages having a choice. About the fact that it was being given to people who'd had so little control over their lives and safety since this entire mess began. Armstrong didn't know if this was how he would have handled things as a PRT director, but then again, he didn't even know what kind of capabilities Apeiron was bringing into play here. Apparently he could afford this kind of individual monitoring and attention and, more importantly, was willing to extend it rather than swooping in, 'fixing' everything, and vanishing without a care for the aftermath.
A lot of capes worked that way, but Armstrong realized that hadn't been what he was thinking of. Not random capes who acted without care for the consequences of their actions. A specific cape who acted in that fashion, and probably the only cape on the planet who could even be considered in the same breath as Apeiron anymore.
This wasn't how Scion would have dealt with things, assuming he would have dealt with them at all, but that was literally the only cape that Armstrong could conceive of who could deal with a problem of this scale in this kind of timeframe. Apeiron with portals and magic healing or Scion with golden light. Apeiron seemed more grounded, with powers that were based in somewhat understandable effects rather than pulses of energy that might as well be magic, but there was no question about the scale of what had been accomplished here.
That scale would concern people. There was no question about that. It was probably for the best that he had decided to implement information security measures that extended to other PRT departments. The slightest hint of what Apeiron was doing here would send analysts into another spiral of panicked assessments.
Even without the advantage of thinker powers, he could plainly see the implications of what Apeiron had accomplished. Every one of those oh so casual feats leveraged to resolve the impossible situation spoke to terrifying levels of power. Casual construction of translation devices that worked miraculously, but admittedly edited everything a person saw and heard, and even how they were heard. Vast and precise reach of a power or technology that previously had required direct contact. Constant monitoring of wide groups of people sufficient to provide personalized holographic information and consent forms, and persistent monitoring for those who rejected the initial offer.
Apeiron was powerful. That was the least helpful insight that could be offered at this point, but people were still adjusting to exactly what that meant. A lot of capes were powerful, but that was usually because they were strong or dangerous or capable of great displays of their abilities. By their nature, Parahuman powers were typically narrow in scope. Discrete abilities that functioned with specific parameters. Even for tinkers their specializations and methodologies provided limits to how their technology could be applied.
By all appearances, Apeiron did not have those limits. Really, it was almost funny. One of the most obvious amateur mistakes that a cape could make came from selecting a name that perfectly described their abilities. That communicated exactly what they were capable of to everyone who encountered them. It was why Alexandria was no longer known as the Library of Alexandria, with her perfect memory and thinker powers largely downplayed to allow her what advantages she could secure. It was why more abstract names had become popular as of late.
People had assumed that Apeiron was following the same trend. That he was either making an aspirational statement or, more concerningly, embracing a mythological identity. With the latter being unfortunately associated with villains it provided fuel for early concerns about the man's intentions.
But it seemed neither theory was correct. By all appearances, Apeiron hadn't been making a lofty statement of intent, he had been describing his power as directly as any cape ever did. A name that literally meant 'unlimited' chosen by a cape who by all appearances was not bound by any limits. At least not any practical limits that could easily be discerned.
That was another concerning aspect to these interactions. The true scale to how much the man was restraining himself was staggering. For all that had been accomplished in a shockingly short time, there was no sense that any of it had been in any way challenging. The human elements had taken more time and attention than the technological miracles that had been so casually unleashed.
That was why there would be panic on the part of every analyst. Apeiron was reserved and restrained, blessedly so, but he was mostly restrained by the situation within his city. Restrained by a desire to allow peaceful recovery. It was a very human thing, in contrast to so many things about the man and his team, but with this Armstrong had taken a step towards resolving one of the most pressing concerns that had been staying Apeiron's hand.
Once the hostages were safe, once Bakuda had been dealt with, once the Butcher's presence was no longer putting the entire country on edge, and once the administrative mess that was the Brockton Bay PRT had been resolved, then what would happen? What would a man with Apeiron's power do once he was able to act freely and openly?
It was a frightening concept. Not as frightening as it could be. The fact that he was here, working with his department in what could be called a semi-official capacity made that clear. The power of an S-class threat that was willing to meet with and talk to representatives of the PRT was unheard of. Unfathomable. Because there had never been a cape this strong that was willing to sit down and talk.
It was going to change things, and people were not going to like that.
There were power dynamics between the major organizations of the world. Balances within and between nations. Even within the groups themselves. A rogue element, like an unprecedentedly powerful cape, was disruptive, but it could be adjusted to. It happened when Sleeper appeared. It happened with Ash Beast. It happened with the Blasphemies. Major powers could change the landscape and the world would adapt to the new state of affairs. But working around a major power was very different from playing against them.
As the aftermath of the initial healing began to settle, the full weight of the situation began to press down on Armstrong. He was out of his depth, no question. There was a good reason why decisions regarding Apeiron had been kicked up the chain of command. The tinker might be satisfied with sitting in Brockton Bay for the moment, but the second that ended, either through internal resolution or external provocation, he was going to change the balance of power for the entire planet.
Armstrong took a breath. All he could do was what he had always done. Approach the situation with compassion and understanding. Like you were dealing with an individual, not a threat rating or power classification. The phrase 'hope for the best and prepare for the worst' jumped into his mind, except when dealing with Apeiron the worst was beyond imagining and not something anyone could hope to prepare for.
He shook his head and turned his attention to his command staff. "Palmer? Situation." He asked.
The woman looked up and nodded. "Better than we could have hoped. Those earbuds are making all the difference in the world."
"Still unproven tinker tech." He said with a sigh. "Make sure use durations are individually documented, with checks at the beginning and end of every shift."
"Already in place." Palmer assured him.
Armstrong was willing to exercise his authority in the matter of the translation earbuds, but procedures couldn't be ignored. There had been no reason to suspect any ill effects or danger from the devices and the Matrix had even provided a full safety assessment to the letter of PRT guidelines, but without proper testing procedures there were limits on how they could be used.
Mostly an inability to mandate use and the need for extensive examinations and debriefs for any users. That hadn't stopped his agents from jumping at the chance, not after their personal experience with the frustrations of managing more than half a dozen different languages. Once they were able to stand down there would be an arduous amount of paperwork and safety checks, but he would gladly trade that frustration for the complete removal of the largest obstacle they had needed to deal with.
It was incredible how being able to effectively communicate changed the tone of the entire operation. Not just being able to convey information and instruction, but recognize concerns that were being voiced and address them properly. His own earbud had changed the background noise of overlapping languages into something comprehensible. He could pick out words from particularly heated conversations even at a distance. Even that was enough for him to read the tone of the situation and start working out measures to help smooth things out. For the agents dealing with the groups directly, it would make even more of a difference.
A miracle, but a miracle that was both a restrained example of Apeiron's technology and a massive point of concern for those who were trying to remain apprised of the capabilities of the Celestial Forge. A borderline impossible task given the fact that 'three-day old technology' was definitely not just a meme, but even the estimates that tried to take that into account were clearly falling well short of the truth.
"The infirmary?" He asked.
"More than enough space." Palmer said. Which made sense. They had been preparing on the expectation that they would need to treat over seven hundred people on an individual basis. "The last of the cases are being moved in now." She checked a readout on her tablet. "Fourteen of the hostages are refusing 'tinker-based treatment'. They've been informed of the wait for conventional surgery and have signed off on it." She paused. "Well, it was actually seventeen before they were informed of the wait."
"Understandable." Armstrong said. Apprehension about unknown healing methods was fairly common, but when weighed against spending additional time with a bomb in your head, the decision became a lot more direct.
"For the ABB, things are more complicated." Palmer explained. Which made sense, given the division between gang members and conscripted forces. "Some are refusing removal entirely, some had to be restrained when the initial offers were made. A few want to meet with Apeiron before they make a decision." She shook her head. "The group is being deprioritized until after the conscripts have been seen to, but it looks like some of the younger members are hoping to apologize."
"And some of the older ones still don't believe Lung is dead?" He asked. Palmer nodded grimly. That was an unfortunate aspect of the entire situation. Lung had achieved near mythical status with career members of his gang. Many flat out refused to believe that he could have ever been killed.
To be fair, even the Protectorate wasn't listing him as officially deceased. High level regenerative brutes had been assumed dead too often only to reappear alive and well. Without a full assessment of the body, Lung's status was limited to being presumed dead.
Still, Armstrong could help but wonder if that fanatical certainty that Lung would return, rescue the captured members of his gang, and unleash vengeance on Apeiron and the city of Brockton Bay was more of a coping strategy than a genuine belief. There were men who had devoted years of their life to the ABB only to see it completely torn down in less than two weeks. Expecting a rational assessment of their situation from such men was a rather tall order, and not one he was particularly concerned with.
"Tell the agents to start organizing treatments. I'll go inform Apeiron." Armstrong said.
"You think he doesn't already know?" She asked as another of the waiting hostages decided to voice their change in decision and immediately received a holographic screen followed by the now familiar blue circuit pattern of Apeiron's healing.
Armstrong shook his head. "He's leaving some elements of how this is done to us. Waiting until we're ready for him." And given what his time had to be worth, that was a significant gift. "He doesn't need to play these roles, but he's doing it anyway."
"Well, that's encouraging." Palmer said, looking around. "At least he didn't start dictating terms the second he arrived."
Because he could have, and all they'd be able to do would be smile, nod, and go along with his demands. Plenty of capes would have thrown their weight around. Hell, plenty of directors would have tried to do the same. He didn't know if Apeiron's restraint was based on some level of respect for him or his office, or if he was just so far beyond them that there was no point in posturing.
It wasn't a topic he was planning to broach. Not when there were much more pressing questions and few opportunities for answers. He shook his head again as he knocked on the door of his own command center before walking in. Apeiron and the Matrix were standing in silence, but it was clear they had a nonverbal method of communication that Armstrong wasn't even going to consider trying to analyze.
There was no sign of Proto Aima, but given the capabilities she had demonstrated, that wasn't surprising. And then she was back, standing next to the other two capes with a wide smile on her face.
"They're ready for us!" She said. It wasn't a question. Still, Apeiron looked to Armstrong for confirmation.
"Indeed." He said. "We were modifying the camp's infirmary with the expectation that this would be a much more involved process. As such, we have more than enough capacity for the individuals who have requested direct treatment."
"Then we should get started." Apeiron said, and Armstrong took note of the phrasing.
"Um, will you all be…" He wasn't quite sure how to describe the use of unknown healing technology, and didn't want to ask for clarification of a technology that would likely just create more headaches for the inevitable analysis.
"The Matrix has offered to assist and is able to manage the same healing effect that I utilize." Apeiron explained.
"To a lesser degree." The Matrix clarified without a hint of shame in their voice. "But sufficient for this task."
"We thought it best to standardize methodology in order to simplify your own examinations and reports." He explained.
"Ah, thank you." Armstrong said. It was known that Apeiron had multiple methods of healing, and probably several more at this point. There would be enough concerns related to the after effects of the iconic 'blue line' healing. Mixing in various unknown methods would just introduce additional layers of concerns. "So, Proto Aima is not capable of the same effect?" He asked, hoping he didn't sound overly intrusive.
"No, I can." She said. A single hand was raised and the surface began to vibrate and blur. It took on a red glow with circuit-like lines visible under the blur accompanied by the same electric motor sound. The glow and blur faded as the sound dropped away again. "Not the best way to do it, and kind of complicated, but I can help if you want."
Armstrong remembered a detail from Dauntless's report. Proto Aima shaking her hand out and dissolving it into red threads. Given everything that had happened that counted as a minor detail of the encounter, but still something that raised many concerns. Something that clearly had serious implications to it.
"While I would ultimately leave that decision to the individuals being treated, it may create some additional complications." Armstrong said. "While the Matrix is at least known by reputation, your recent change might require more explanation than you would be ready to disclose."
"I don't mind." Proto Aima said cheerfully. Armstrong had to blink at that. The idea that details of Proto Aima's treatment might be shared not because of a carefully managed disclosure of information on the part of the Celestial Forge or due to negotiated exchanges with the PRT, but out of concern for the peace of mind of the hostages remaining to be treated…
He took a breath. Given the amount of times he'd needed to recalibrate his expectations since Apeiron's arrival you'd think he'd be used to it. Apparently not. It didn't help that the Celestial Forge was completely defying convention not just in terms of power, but in procedure as well.
"I'll leave that decision to you, of course." He said diplomatically. "The infirmary is ready for you if you'd like to make your way over."
And without a word a rectangular portal appeared behind Apeiron. Through the washed-out gray surface Armstrong could recognize the interior of the infirmary with the treatment rooms that had been prepared. And the faces of the medical staff that were on hand to assist with what everyone had assumed would be more than a day of work.
He did his best to put on a confident face for his staff as Apeiron and the Matrix stepped through a special rift rather than walk two hundred yards across the repurposed training camp while Proto Aima simply appeared on the other side of the portal. The man gave him a slight nod as the portal closed itself, leaving Armstrong alone in the command center.
The same technology that could, at minimum, step between cities, used to avoid a short walk. That had also avoided what was sure to be an extreme reaction to the man's presence from both the hostages and Armstrong's own agents, but still, it was like watching Eidolon manifest a power that controlled electromagnetic radiation because the television remote was slightly out of his grasp.
It was an outrageous display of strength, but the worst part was it was plainly obvious that Apeiron did not see it as such. There was none of the smugness that came from your typical display of power. No grandstanding or knowing winks to make sure their message had been received. It wasn't even a message, or not an intentional one. The background noise of the man's powers was overwhelming on its own. Somehow, the fact that Apeiron didn't need to show off, and knew he didn't need to show off, was the most concerning aspect of the entire situation.
Letting out a breath he pulled out his phone and dialed a secure number. "Palmer? We have the command center again. Assemble the team and get started on a status update and revised priority list."
She gave a quick confirmation before hanging up. Armstrong found himself settling back into the central seat where he had received his last call from Apeiron. A few minutes of interactions and their entire situation had been turned upside down. Of course, considering how twisted the situation was to begin with, that may have served to right the ship.
He shook off the tangled mess of metaphors and focused on the situation at hand. Not needing to spend hours managing a series of medical procedures was an unexpected boon, but stepping up the schedule brought more problems. He had elected not to share the details of Apeiron's pursuit of Bakuda. It was likely most people would have assumed as much, but that was different from confirming it. However, without that confirmation it would be more difficult to justify containment of the hostages.
Hostages who were now largely free of their implanted bombs and completely healed of virtually all medical issues. And who outnumbered his own agents by a factor of ten. Not that he was anticipating any issues, but the story about that grandmother and the PRT agent had to have come from somewhere.
Medical observation was an acceptable justification for containment, at least for the handful of days that Apeiron claimed he would need. It would have been helpful to have a more precise schedule, but just the fact that he was confident in his ability to track the woman down was enough for Armstrong. The idea of Bakuda escaping after the chaos she had unleashed and the horrors she had inflicted was unthinkable.
Unfortunately, it was a kind of unthinkable that happened all too often, though generally those cases received less public attention than Bakuda had. Without Apeiron's involvement it was possible that the Brockton Bay department would have been able to sweep things under the rug, shifting focus to the next disaster or concentrating public attention on other aspects of the crisis. It was a cynical view, but one that was more honest when it came to how PRT departments operated.
Even he was guilty of having to play to public perception on occasion, downplaying their losses and aggrandizing minor victories. Not to the extent that Director Piggot evidently had, but it was just a fact of life that came from operating a public facing department.
Of course, now he was faced with the opposite challenge. Not controlling the presentation of information to the public, but concealing it as much as possible. It was going to be difficult, particularly considering the current state of the Boston Protectorate.
Bastion was a problem. Frankly, he had been a problem for a long time, it had just come to a head recently. Apeiron's thinker power had apparently informed him that he would not have worked well with Armsmaster, but he couldn't imagine the man would have had an easier time with the head of the Boston Protectorate.
There was a reason that Protectorate members were being excluded from this operation. Fortunately Bastion had seen it as a thankless task that was likely to end in disaster. He had advised against it after the decision was already made, something that did him no favors within the department considering his recent public relations disaster. Still, it at least meant that he didn't need to worry about the man barging into the situation to offer his 'assistance'.
If anything, Bastion would enjoy having Armstrong out of the city. The working relationship between the two of them was stable, but not particularly friendly. Not the kind of rivalry that seemed to have sprung up between Armsmaster and Director Piggot, but not the kind of collaboration that Armstrong would have hoped for.
As for security from other PRT interests, that was more difficult to guarantee. Isolation and information control measures would only go so far. He might be able to keep things obscured, but unless something drew national attention within the next day or so his actions would probably leak to the national office. Hopefully they'd see the logic in staying the course and hold off on raking him over the coals until after Apeiron was done with Bakuda. After that it was doubtful anyone would be particularly motivated to go after him for minor policy violations.
Which could potentially include registering a member of the Celestial Forge as a PRT contact. The exact nature of the 'G.E.C.K.' was a bit nebulous. It had mostly been presented in terms of assurance relating to the supply and accommodation requirements they had been dealing with.
Matter generation technology wasn't unheard of, but typically had significant enough limitations or side effects to keep it from addressing the kinds of problems they were dealing with. He didn't doubt that Apeiron's technology, or the Matrix's adaptation of Apeiron's technology, would be a great deal more advanced than other examples of the same concept, but there were still concerns.
No matter what assurances were provided, you couldn't order people to eat fabricated food or sleep in fabricated accommodations. No matter what the G.E.C.K. was capable of, there would be some level of push back. With over seven hundred people it was inevitable.
Though the idea of being able to fabricate buildings seemed a little much. More likely they'd be provided with generated prefabricated parts that could be assembled into additional housing. That seemed reasonable for the kind of thing being described.
Even so, it would significantly simplify supply concerns, if not totally remove them. The actual device wasn't going to be issued until after the treatments were complete. Hopefully it would let them avoid the need for resupply over the duration of their containment. If not, just the 'signing bonus' had been worth the cost of the contract.
"How are we handling invoices for the Matrix?" Armstrong asked. It was a rather mundane problem, but one that could easily snowball on them. If the security of the project ended up compromised through contractor payment it would be beyond embarrassing.
"Currently budget allocation to an internal account." Palmer explained. "Normally we would be offering assistance with business registration and tax management, but…" She trailed off with a shrug.
There were some amused smiles from around the table. The armored cape's decision to register as a PRT contact was one of the more outlandish events to happen that day, even compared to the general insanity that seemed to accompany all of Apeiron's actions. The fact that they were technically following the same procedures as they would for a freshly triggered tinker who walked in through the PRT department's front doors with a homemade costume and a handful of inventions cobbled together from salvaged junk was somehow deeply amusing.
What was more amusing was the fact that the Matrix specifically requested that categorization. They could have demanded any standing terms, the kind of negotiated deal that was hammered out with tinker collectives or major independent cape organizations, but instead they were being dealt with on an individual basis. They insisted on being dealt with on an individual basis.
Armstrong didn't know why the Matrix had focused on working with them in that capacity, but he wasn't complaining. There was the sense that it was some kind of indulgence on Apeiron's part, that he was facilitating a hobby or interest of his teammate. A situation like this would normally be too serious for flights of fancy, but given what those flights entailed on the Matrix's part Armstrong was more than happy to facilitate the arrangement.
"Sir?" Mitchel said, drawing Armstrong's attention. "I have updates from the agents managing the treated hostages. They're working through a formal debrief, but something came up that you should see."
Armstrong pulled up Mitchell's summary of the situation. Once again, the translators had made all the difference. Technically elective, but his agents had pounced on them as quickly as he had. Relations were definitely improving. Some of the hostages found the devices off-putting, but most were happy to be able to receive clear information and communicate their concerns without the issue of a language barrier.
That was the meat of Mitchel's summary. Clear communication allowed the hostages to bring up issues that had been overlooked. Concerns about their situation, the status of their family members, updates about the situation in the city, Apeiron's actions, and…
And there it was. A point they had overlooked, or more a point they had suspected but not fully understood. Seeing what had been directly reported to the handling agents or just overheard by them thanks to the translation technology raised a whole new host of concerns.
"How should we handle this Sir?" Mitchell asked. Armstrong let out a breath before replying.
"Continue gathering information. Our main priority is to avoid panic or a significant disruption that would breach security." He said.
"Do you think it will come to that?" Palmer asked. "Should we call in additional support?"
"Put them on standby, but don't move yet." He said. "If this becomes an issue we may need to isolate the affected members. In the meantime, I will speak with Apeiron."
And at least that was an option for them. For once they didn't have to endure the impact of the man's actions with nothing but hope and vague thinker assurances. This was a point of concern, but it was something he could ask the man about directly. Personally, he couldn't see any response that would be able to reassure him or resolve the issue, but at least they had the opportunity to try.
Since he lacked the ability to bend space to his will Armstrong was forced to actually walk the short distance to the camp's infirmary rather than just manifest a portal. Not the first time he'd had to reflect on overly casual uses of parahuman abilities, but like everything involving Apeiron, the scale was somewhat skewed.
Agents nodded to him as he entered the infirmary. The waiting area had emptied substantially since Apeiron and his team began their work. Of course, they had prepared for much larger and more hectic arrangements, so it was hardly a logistical challenge for only a few dozen people.
The agents were managing the final patients admirably, once again helped by the translators. Even people with strong skills in English as a second language seemed to be enjoying the chance to speak their native tongue.
Of course, seeing the efficiency and accuracy of the translators firsthand, it was almost frightening. Translation was provided in real time with no delay, as if the device was anticipating a statement before it was in order to provide a simultaneous translation. The only hint that anything was happening at all was the slight accent to the speech and the way a person's lips did not match with what they were saying. Everything else, from tone to inflection, was perfect.
Well, not absolutely perfect. There were some colloquialisms that were translated literally, but always with a tone shift to alert you to the nature of the imprecise translation. Enough to allow you to ask for clarification, with the same being possible for any English colloquialisms that might slip into your speech.
It was as close to perfect translation as Armstrong could imagine and served as yet another sign of exactly how much power he was dealing with. It was strange how small things could hit harder than giant displays of power. Everyone knew that Apeiron had the capacity to wipe cities off the map and deploy weapons the likes of which hadn't been seen since String Theory, but seeing that kind of power directed so precisely changed the character of the entire experience.
Armstrong took a breath and pressed on. It was all he could do. He was apparently the best situated member of the PRT to deal with Apeiron, and likely held a higher opinion of the man than many of his colleagues, but he wasn't blind to the impact that the Celestial Forge was going to have on the world, or the kind of power he was dealing with.
Power that was currently being used to accelerate treatment of the last of Bakuda's hostages who had elected for bomb removal. Something that technically could have been handled by any surgical team, assuming Apeiron was correct about the devices being defused. Given that assumption was the foundation of this entire enterprise and that there had been no word of a reaction from Bakuda following the destructive removal of hundreds of her devices, it was probably a safe bet.
The members of Apeiron's team had been set up in three examination rooms, each with its own queue of patients. Unsurprisingly, the line to see Apeiron personally was by far the longest. There were only two people waiting for the Matrix, while Proto Aima's line was empty, save for the patient she was currently seeing.
The door to her examination room opened and Armstrong saw the red-haired cape bid farewell to a young man with a face roughly the same color as her hair. Armstrong raised an eyebrow and turned to Owens, one of the agents managing the infirmary. The man just smiled at him.
"Most of them are waiting for Apeiron, Sir." Agent Owens explained. "The other two are here for 'overflow', but for most of the patients this isn't about the treatment."
People choosing either of the other members of the Celestial Forge would likely either actually be concerned about the remote nature of the healing, or possibly enthralled by the novelty of the Matrix or Proto Aima's nature.
Or perhaps more basic reasoning came into play with Proto Aima. The girl wasn't Survey, but she had an unquestionable energy and charisma to her as she tried to engage the waiting patients in conversation as the blushing man was led out of the infirmary.
"I don't imagine there are many opportunities to speak directly to Apeiron." Armstrong agreed. "I hope it's not putting an undue burden on him." Though given what he had learned, he could only guess as to what was being discussed.
"It's not." Said the glowing red headed girl who was suddenly directly adjacent to him and Owens. "Most of them just want to thank him, or ask some questions. It's taking longer but it's not a problem."
Armstrong managed to avoid flinching at the teen girl's sudden appearance, but Agent Owens barely reacted at all.
"She does that, Sir." He said in a voice that mixed resignation with a hint of amusement. "It's fine once you get used to it."
It didn't help that the girl flickered across the room to share a few words with a pair of patients, only to vanish from the room in the next breath.
"Yes." Armstrong said. "Though I don't think she means anything by it."
"I don't." Proto Aima said, once again adjacent to them. "It's just nice to be able to meet everyone, even if they'd rather get treatment from Apeiron or the Matrix."
As if on cue the door to the third treatment room opened and a middle aged man walked out carrying a rather plain briefcase. Armstrong raised an eyebrow and looked at Owens.
"The big guy's been handing out party favors to everyone he treats." The agent said jovially.
Armstrong would need to put out a memo regarding interactions with the Matrix. They didn't seem overly prone to offense, but it was good policy to get ahead of that, particularly with their working relationship. "Party favors?" He asked.
"Fresh clothing, toiletries, even some books." Owens explained. "We've checked and inventoried everything, but given what we're dealing with, it didn't seem like a problem."
"It's not really necessary with the G.E.C.K., but the Matrix wanted to be to personalize things for the people they were treating." Proto Aima explained.
"Sorry Sir, the Geck?" Owens asked.
Proto Aima looked ready to launch into a full explanation of the offered matter generation technology, but Armstrong was able to cut her off.
"An arrangement we've made to assist with some supply issues." He said. "There will be a full briefing on it later." He turned to address both Proto Aima and Agent Owens. "Though I will need to speak with Apeiron as soon as possible."
Agent Owens looked concerned, but Armstrong wasn't particularly surprised by the knowing nod that Proto Aima gave him. Because of course she knew. As would Apeiron. Something like this really should have been addressed sooner, but Armstrong was hardly in a place to make demands. Not with everything his department had already received from the Celestial Forge.
"He's almost done." The girl said and looked towards the door of the first examination room just as it opened.
They were greeted by the sight of Apeiron gently guiding an older woman out of the room. Tears were streaming down her face. The tiny woman was clinging to Apeiron's arm as he led her towards the waiting agents. Without a word Proto Aima flickered over and began to speak with the woman as she very clearly expressed gratitude towards both of the capes.
Owens cleared his throat. "There's been a lot of that, Sir." He said. "A lot of stuff pent up. Mostly breakdowns, but some people are angry. Heard yelling through the door but Apeiron's handled things alright."
"We're lucky he's not the type to take offense." Armstrong said.
It was likely he was just a target for frustration to be vented upon. He knew from experience. In the wake of a disaster it was easy for people to cite everything you could have done to prevent the worst from happening, or at least the worst from happening to them. No doubt there were plenty of people ready to criticize Apeiron's actions, but there was more than enough blame to go around. In a fair world it would be directed towards the parties who had caused the problem, not the person who they felt hadn't done enough to fix it.
Armstrong shook his head and looked over the remaining people waiting for treatment. Less than half of the original group, with people seeming to reconsider the Matrix or Proto Aima as a way to skip the line, so to speak.
"I need you to put things on hold for a moment." He said to Owens. The agent nodded to him.
"We could use the time for final checks and debriefs." He said. "And some of them needed some time after, well…" He tilted his head towards the crying woman.
"See to it." Armstrong said. Apeiron had handed off the woman to one of the female agents who was guiding her to a quieter section of the infirmary. They hadn't prepared spaces for people to decompress after treatment, though that would have clearly been a good idea. The lower volume gave them space for that kind of thing, and he was grateful for it.
Apeiron watched the woman leave, then turned towards Armstrong. "Director." He said cordially.
"Apeiron." He returned the greeting. "I hope this isn't too much for you." There was little doubt to the man's technical capabilities, but dealing with the human element was another matter.
"It's fine." He said, turning back towards the door. "And that was a special case." Armstrong raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Soon Won." He said.
Armstrong didn't recognize the name, but he had only skimmed the list of hostages during the transfer process. A few individuals had been highlighted as points of interest, but she hadn't been one of them. "You are familiar with her?"
"Her son was Michael Won." Apeiron explained. "He worked for one of the investment firms in Brockton Bay. When the ABB captured him he was one of the brokers that was forced to participate in March's trading scheme."
Armstrong nodded slowly. That detail had been largely overshadowed in the buildup to the Ungodly Hour. Apeiron's seemingly random strike on a gang hideout leading to the reveal of a precise stock manipulation scheme conducted right under Watchdog's nose. The fact that such a thing had been possible should have massively inflated the threat assessment for both March and the ABB, but most of the public focus remained centered on Apeiron's actions and his openly streamed fight against Uber and Leet's robots.
"I take it from her reaction…" Armstrong didn't finish his statement. The implication was more than enough given what the people of Brockton Bay had gone through.
Apeiron took a breath and let it out slowly. "March used the threat of the implanted bombs to force people to follow her timing instructions. It was what allowed her to spread her influence so effectively. Michael Won's work was disrupted when attempting a trade and his bomb was detonated." Apeiron's expression darkened. "It happened before I arrived. The other traders were forced to continue work with his body still in the room."
Armstrong nodded slowly. With all the spectacle and high-power displays that had become associated with the city, it was easy to forget the casual brutality and barbarism that had been inflicted by the ABB. The horrific conditions their conscripts had been living under until… well, frankly until now. A glance at the drawn faces of those still waiting for their turn, for the chance to meet Apeiron directly for whatever reason they held to, it said enough.
It was the kind of situation, the kind of desperation that could lead to fanaticism. Which was why he needed to address this matter, even if it meant interrupting the last of the treatment.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a matter I need to discuss with you." He said diplomatically, and well outside of hearing of the remaining patients.
"Of course." He said, then turned towards the room. Restrained tension was on every face as they looked at the cape with wide eyes. "I will be returning shortly. In the meantime, Proto Aima and the Matrix will be happy to assist anyone in my absence."
The red-haired girl was suddenly next to her own examination room waving happily while the Matrix ushered one of the two remaining patients who had queued for them into their own examination room. There were flickers of expression suggesting reevaluation and whispers between the patients, but no moves yet.
And no objections or disorder. Not likely in the face of someone like Apeiron, but anyone angry enough to yell as an S-class cape was probably beyond the bounds of conventional restraint. Armstrong was just grateful it hadn't been a common occurrence.
He led Apeiron to a small office in the back of the infirmary. Not the best place for a discussion of this significance, but he would take the chance to address things quickly and privately over attempting to perfectly set the stage. He closed the door then took a seat across from the taller man, wondering where to begin.
"Do you know what this is about?" He asked. "By which I mean, Proto Aima seemed to."
Apeiron smiled. "Proto Aima has a rather broad level of awareness. Without checking with her I wouldn't know, though I could place a guess based on the timeline."
He didn't seem concerned. More significantly, there didn't appear to be any implication of wrongdoing, which was probably an encouraging thing for the effect in question, but still, Armstrong needed to be sure.
"The translators that the Matrix provided have been a great help. They assisted with integration and debriefing of the hostages on a level that was not possible during the initial transfer." Armstrong swallowed. "Which had led to a certain effect being brought to our attention."
Once again, no reaction from Apeiron. Just a gesture for him to continue.
"I understand your policy regarding answering questions about your capabilities, but given what has been observed…" Armstrong took another breath. "Apeiron, it appears there is another active stranger effect associated with you."
He tried to avoid putting emphasis on the word 'another'. Really, things like this were why he needed to remain reserved in his interactions, despite his personal feelings and gratitude towards the man. Long range, indirect, and persistent stranger effects were the kind of things that typically warranted the creation of PRT task forces and standing policy decisions, but like with so many things involving the Celestial Forge, something that should have been of dire consequence was just one more item for the pile of concerns.
Apeiron gave him a weak smile. "I'm guessing that this involves some manner of visions, associated with a specific activity?"
"You don't know?" Armstrong asked in clear concern.
"Not the specifics, but I am aware of the nature of the effect and the conditions under which it would activate." He explained.
"Apeiron, people are seeing what appear to be religious visions when they PRAY to you." He stated directly, with emphasis on the word of concern.
The man just nodded. "I would prefer if they didn't do that."
Armstrong's head snapped up at that. "Is there some level of risk? Containment issue?" A thousand nightmare scenarios ran through his head. Things that had been in the back of his mind since he agreed to work with an S-class threat in all but name. Containment, isolation, Protectorate response protocols, and-
"No." Apeiron said, cutting off the panicked thoughts. "I'd just rather not deal with it."
Armstrong blinked. "You don't want to deal with it? With… what? A religious stranger effect?"
He nodded. "Based on your own concerns, you probably recognize how this kind of thing could escalate. I had hoped that I could avoid it, but it seems that's not the case."
Armstrong let out a breath. It wasn't some effect designed to build a cult or induce fanaticism. At least it didn't appear to be. If anything, Apeiron's reaction was disinterest and mild frustration. That recontextualized things away from the worst of Armstrong's concerns.
"Would I be right to assume that this isn't something that you can disable?" He asked.
"No more than my name or the effect of those attack Calling Cards." Apeiron admitted.
An uncontrolled effect. When it came to capes as powerful as Apeiron, those kinds of control issues tended to be the norm rather than the exception. Apeiron had always seemed to be an outlier in that respect, with only theorized effects relating to his transformation, the manifestation or Proto Aima, and the various stranger effects.
In a strange way, the fact that some element of his ridiculous power level was following convention was comforting. Well, not comforting. More than one set of concerns were traded for another. The idea that you were no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop. Apeiron did in fact have the kind of uncontrollable power expression that was associated with capes of his level.
It just happened to involve eccentric titles jumping into your mind or visions associated with his actions, rather than the spawning of monstrous creatures, uncontrolled shaker effects, or the subsummation of entire regions of the planet. Still a point of concern, but comparatively it barely registered.
"I'm sure you can understand how having people apparently receiving religious visions regarding a cape is something we would be concerned about." Armstrong said.
"Believe me, I understand." He said. "I can only imagine how bad this kind of thing can get."
Armstrong nodded. Cape cults were always a messy business. Given that the Fallen technically fell into that category, that may have been an understatement.
"I have had some personal experience." He said. "Fortunately, they don't tend to stay in large cities with established Protectorate departments for long."
The last time he'd needed to deal with something like this was when Prophet attempted to set up a church for himself before being driven out of Boston. That was nearly a year ago now, but some departments saw this kind of thing as a common occurrence.
"So in terms of preventing the effect…" He began.
"Don't pray." Apeiron said.
"That's it?" Armstrong asked.
"Shouldn't that be enough?" Apeiron asked. "I'd assume it would be the default."
"Generally yes, but given your reputation and the attitudes that tend to be extended towards capes, there will be some exceptions." Armstrong said.
"I know." Apeiron said. "But if I were to announce to the entire camp that I would prefer for people not to include me in their prayers, do you think that would increase or decrease the instances of this happening?" He looked at Armstrong. "Or if I announced it to the Protectorate? Or made a general public announcement?"
"No." Armstrong said heavily. "I'm sorry if I'm being overly abrupt about this, but it isn't the kind of issue I anticipated needing to address today."
"If it's any consolation, I'm not thrilled about it either." He said.
Armstrong gave Apeiron a serious look. "Your powers… You talked to Dauntless about them getting stronger."
The man smiled and his visor glinted with the movement. "I figured you would get a transcript out of him at some point."
"Nothing so detailed." The transcript of Panacea's debrief was an understandable sore point, given its role in putting so many destructive policies in place. "But he did mention that you confirmed that effect. I understand this is a very personal matter, but would I be correct to assume that this growth in capabilities is not precisely directed?"
Apeiron wore a weary grin as he replied. "You think I'd want to be a dinosaur werewolf?" He asked in a flat voice.
"I'm sure there are many people who would, but I understand your point." Armstrong replied. "But effects like this, particularly if they are uncontrolled and derived from instability, worry people."
"You mean people aren't worried already?" Apeiron asked. "I assumed they had enough to be concerned about already."
"Concern is something of a specialty of the PRT. There's a vested interest in making sure no concern ends up overlooked." Armstrong replied, but the attempt at levity largely fell flat. "While I don't mean to imply anything regarding your own situation, I'm sure you are aware how things tend to progress with extraordinarily powerful capes."
"Glaistig Uaine. Nilbog. Sleeper." He said, casually dropping the names of potentially world ending capes. "And your pick of lesser examples." Apeiron looked directly at Armstrong and he found himself wishing he could see the man's eyes instead of just the immaculately crafted visor. "Everyone's been waiting for that crack. For the sign that I'm going to go the same way." He glanced towards the door. "Me or my team."
Armstrong nodded regretfully. "Personally, I am very grateful for what you have done, both for me directly and for the city of Brockton Bay. But I am also the director of a PRT department for a major city. I have seen more than my share of hopeful capes." He swallowed. "Hopes that all too often have been misplaced."
Apeiron took a breath and shook his head. "It is rather depressing that the default position is that any potentially 'good' development must have some drawback. I suppose people are waiting for me to start talking about fairies or declare myself the primal god-king of technology?"
"Nothing so extreme, but there are points of concern." He said. "Normally I wouldn't press on this…" Apeiron waved him off.
"You're going to have to deal with that prayer nonsense. Since I technically dumped that on you I can loosen my policy regarding direct questions." He said.
Armstrong had to smile at that. The sheer disdain for the effect that many other capes would be touting as proof of divinity was refreshing, but it didn't address the core concerns.
"Thank you, though given the measures I've put in place, anything you share is not likely to make it to the rest of the PRT until after this matter has been fully resolved." Armstrong explained.
"Then for your own peace of mind." He said. "What do you want to know?"
Armstrong nodded and straightened his back. "Yesterday morning, after your discussion with Dauntless, there was… he described it as a ritual. Now, I don't want to presume, but it would help to know what that actually was."
"It was a ritual." Apeiron said directly.
Armstrong blinked. He looked at Apeiron and blinked again. "Ah." He said. "A ritual?"
"A series of actions performed according to a prescribed order which carry significance beyond the scope of the actions themselves." He said frankly.
Armstrong took a moment to process that. "I assume there is more to this than symbolism? Some kind of relation to your abilities."
Apeiron smiled. "The symbolism is the relation to my abilities."
"Really?" He asked. "Some unique expression of how your powers function."
"No." The man sounded amused. "Not unique at all."
Armstrong felt his forehead crease. "What do you mean?"
Apeiron leaned back in his chair. "Dauntless's spear is capable of extending and firing blasts of electricity. His boots allow him to fly. His shield projects a barrier, his armor increases his durability and his helmet enhances his mental processes."
Armstrong nodded along, but slowed as Apeiron continued. Beyond the spear, shield, and boots, he couldn't confirm those effects. The fact that the helmet had mental abilities tied to it was completely new to him, but Apeiron had seen the man in person. He had been able to assess the nature of Dauntless's spear and confessed to using similar effects. It made sense that he'd be able to piece together then rest of the details.
"I see, but how is that related to the 'ritual'?" Armstrong asked.
"Because Dauntless can't create a pair of gloves that boost his vision or a belt that increases his accuracy. That's not a limit of the structure of the power being imbued, it's a quality of the items chosen." He explained.
"You're saying there is some innate significance to particular pieces of equipment? One that extends into ritual and action?" Armstrong felt his face twist in confusion as he asked the question.
"No." Apeiron explained. "In isolation a spear or a helmet or a suit of armor is just a collection of metal. There's no inherent significance to them when parahuman powers are concerned. The significance comes from the person wielding the power."
Armstrong nodded slowly. "Perception based power theory." He said. Fortunately, he was well versed in research topics. "It's been investigated, but there's never been any confirmation from controlled condition experiments."
"There's never been a controlled condition." Apeiron said. "Or more specifically, they've been examining the wrong conditions."
"Trigger events." Armstrong said in understanding. "You're saying that the expression of a power is based on the perception of concepts during a person's trigger event."
"That's a simplification, but broadly speaking, yes. I'm sure you're aware of arbitrary limitations on powers. Powers are structured through a human frame of reference, but they are not actively updated. A change in perspective doesn't change the expression of how a power functions once it's been set." He explained.
Once it's been set. Specifically set, by some external force. Passenger theory was always contentious, though Apeiron's faith in the concept and the apparent confirmation following the Case 68 and Case 69 incidents had changed that.
Of course, the idea of guiding intelligences behind parahuman abilities had its own collection of issues, not the least of which came from the conditions endured by Case 53s and other individuals who struggled against powers that were more curse than blessing. And if powers were defined through a human frame of reference, what happened if that frame of reference was twisted or incomplete? And what did it say about the nature of passengers themselves.
Despite the discussion turning towards topics that Armstrong was intimately familiar with, he felt out of his depth. His focus on research had constantly sought understanding of the mechanism behind parahuman abilities. With Apeiron's succinct summation of those mechanics the real concern turned to the justification behind those abilities. Not how did parahuman powers work, but why were they granted and who were the entities directing them.
In a way, the idea that mentality shaped a person's powers spoke to the popular Protectorate lie about good triggers and bad triggers. Those who rose to the occasion to overcome a challenge compared to those who fell into desperation and despair. It was a convenient lie designed to keep children focused on excelling rather than seeking out circumstances that could result in a trigger event, but there were unintended consequences. People with unfortunate power expressions were often considered to be in the 'bad trigger' category. It was assumed that they had brought the state upon themselves somehow, which stripped them of public sympathy for their plight.
Matters were even worse for Case 53s. The good trigger/bad trigger dichotomy had already been in place when the unfortunate individuals began appearing. That just provided one more obstacle for them to struggle against and one more point of 'justification' for discrimination against them and other monstrous capes.
"You're saying that a simple misconception at the time of a person's trigger event could radically alter the parameters of their abilities?" Armstrong asked.
"Shatterbird should not be able to damage electronics." Apeiron said.
"What?" Armstrong felt himself stammer at the sudden declaration.
"There are no structural similarities between glass and silicon wafers that would allow a single power to affect each of them. Additionally, she is able to affect sand but not silica rich materials, including granite." He gave Armstrong a hard look. "People hear silicon and think glass. They know there's silicon in computer chips. They know glass is made from sand, but they don't think of rock and glass in the same category. A power focused on glass expands to include electronics and sand, not because of the mechanism of the power, but because of the perceptions of the person who received it."
Armstrong nodded slowly. It was a rather compelling explanation, though the chosen example wasn't one he would have used to make that point. Then again, it made sense that Apeiron wouldn't have the same concerns regarding the Slaughterhouse Nine that other people would.
"Um, right." He said, doing his best to cover his discomfort. There wasn't a director alive who didn't live in fear of that particular group deciding to choose their city for their next excursion. The only mitigating factor was their tendency to go after cities in critical and unstable situations, exacerbating damage that had already been done by an S-class threat, gang war, or other major conflict.
His eyes briefly flickered to Apeiron, then he purposefully dismissed the thought. Now wasn't the time to be speculating about those kinds of concerns, not with the challenges he was already dealing with.
"Right." He said again. "But with the range of human experience and perception, not to mention cultural context, you could see practically any expression of abilities."
"Yes." Apeiron said flatly.
"Ah. Yes, I suppose I concede that point." Armstrong replied. "So that symbolism, the frame of reference, that is something you are able to make use of?"
Apeiron nodded. "Not to get into precise details, particularly considering what I have already shared, but power works through context. I understand people have theorized that I am a 'power tinker' but that would be simplifying a rather broad range of effects and principles. The framework, symbolism, ritual, and perception of effect is a significant part of that."
He lifted his hand, palm up. "For instance, fire."
A ball of flame sprang into existence in Apeiron's hand and Armstrong found himself pressing back into his chair. The display cast flickering shadows around the small office. He could feel the heat pressing on his face as the smell of smoke filled the room.
"For most people fire is destructive. It's a source of danger and concern. Their experiences with it are limited to minimal use in candles and gas stoves and concerns over fire safety and prevention." The ball of flame roiled in Apeiron's hand. "If a parahuman manifests dangerous or destructive powers, that is a convenient medium for them to be expressed. Often it's not even fire, just the appearance of plasma formations that oscillate in a way they think of as flame. An offensive ability that could have just as easily been served by any number of other effects."
Suddenly, the ball of flame in Apeiron's hand shifted from its yellow-orange gradient to a rich vibrant red. The smell of smoke vanished to a mere hint of its former intensity, reminding Armstrong of campfires and wood ovens. The intense heat vanished into a kind of warmth that seemed to fill his body, easing the aches and pains of one of the most stressful days of his life.
"But fire isn't just destruction. It's change, industry, and warmth. A beacon of safety and a symbol of community. Fire serves as a means of supporting and protecting those under your care. It's still destructive, still dangerous if used carelessly, but it's also the most fundamental element of civilization. A guiding light as well as a source of both strength and comfort. It's all those things and more without being any less of the others."
Armstrong looked into the ball of flame. It was insane, but he could see what Apeiron meant. All the aspects described. The warmth, the support, and the strength that was drawn from something fundamentally dangerous. Something that could destroy as easily as it could comfort. Chaos and order contained within the same substance.
It was something he was familiar with. Directed chaos, the use of a fundamentally dangerous force to provide support and stability. The fires of civilization that could run rampant, or be tamed and controlled, turned towards the good of everyone he was responsible for. Everyone he had a duty to.
His eyes widened as he looked deeper into the flames. Shapes rose and quickly solidified. Familiar faces flickered past with every movement of the flame. Images of his agents seeing to the hostages or manning stations around the camp. The security check and watchpoints that acted as waystations for supplies and other deliveries.
Then images of the Boston PRT headquarters. His deputy director leading a briefing in his absence, updating the field commanders on the status of the city and what to watch for while he was occupied at the camp. Then more faces. Agents and staff that went about their duties. Protectorate capes he worked particularly closely with. Wards that he had supported. Hunch sitting with Blockade, sharing his predictions with his fellow Ward.
Then a scene from outside of Boston. Weld, preparing for patrol, running through his final checks completely by the book. Nearby a girl bore his actions with quiet amusement. A purple costume with a visor and a recently added cape. Flechette and Weld, preparing for a foot patrol in Brockton Bay.
Armstrong blinked and leaned back in his chair. Without focusing on the flames the visions became indistinct, but they were still there. Every aspect was a phenomenally powerful effect, one he was barely able to come to terms with.
"Was that…" He began before swallowing. "Was I actually seeing into Boston and Brockton Bay?"
Apeiron nodded. "That's what I meant by the range of effect. The symbolism of something can change drastically based on how you interpret it." He looked down at the flame in his hand. "The hearth has always been an important symbol. One of authority, but also obligation. Obligation that goes both ways. Fire also had a history as a divination tool."
"Thinker powers, based on fire." Armstrong said. It wasn't something he would have considered, but in a way it made sense. A cape with the ability to see through flames might seem odd, but only from a modern context.
Apeiron nodded again. "If you have someone in a position of central authority working for the betterment of those under his command and you extend that to the symbolic concepts of flame in the context of home, community and protection, then well…" He held up the ball of red flame. "A method of monitoring those under your care."
An instant thinker power, one usable by others and by all appearances created on the spur of the moment based on nothing but symbolism and metaphorical concepts. Cast in that context, the reported ritual made a lot more sense.
Armstrong shook his head. "I didn't realize you tinkered with powers through abstract concepts."
Apeiron grinned. "Well, I also tinker with technology, which is generally a lot simpler than this kind of thing."
Given what Apeiron's technology was capable of, that wasn't as comforting as the man probably hoped it to be.
Armstrong cleared his throat. "With respect to 'that kind of thing', is it an original power effect, tied to a manifested flame?"
"Essentially." Apeiron said.
"So temporary?" Armstrong asked.
Apeiron looked down at the ball of fire he was holding. "Technically, but I guess there's no sense in wasting it." He looked around the office, then gestured to the desk next to Armstrong. "Could you hand me that paper clip?"
Armstrong looked over at the loose paperclip sitting on the desk. Gingerly, he picked it up and passed it to Apeiron. The man took it in his free hand and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. The wire of the paperclip glowed white, causing Armstrong to squint. He could just make out Apeiron molding the tiny piece of metal with one hand, then bringing it to the ball of flame.
As he blinked away the spots in his eyes, he saw Apeiron sat an elaborately engraved brazier onto the desk with that same deep crimson flame burning within it. Looking into the flame he could see flickering images of the people under his command, jumping from one scene to another feeding him information faster than any briefing could accomplish.
He looked away and took a moment to steady his breathing. "You built a surveillance device for my entire department, out of fire." The words seemed unbelievable even as he was saying them. "Um, even for someone in my position, this is a massive invasion of privacy."
"Not really." Apeiron said. "It's the flames of hearth and home, not the fires of tyranny."
"That's a thing?" Armstrong asked with clear concern in his voice. Apeiron waved him off, which was frankly even more concerning.
"What I mean is, the level of intrusion is limited to support and protection. You aren't going to be able to see into agents' homes or spy on personal moments. Only information related to department operation or active threats." He glanced back at the bowl of flames. "And speaking of which…"
Armstrong followed his gaze and looked into the flames again. Images shifted and suddenly he was looking at what he recognized as a remote area of the training camp. One of the younger agents, Kennedy, was typing on a non-standard cell phone while checking over his shoulder.
"Is that what it looks like?" Armstrong asked grimly.
"He's attempting to message Kathrine Miller, an editor at Capewatch. I believe they have a bounty for information related to my activities. Fortunately, he seems to be having trouble getting a signal at the moment." Apeiron said with a sly smile and more amusement than the situation probably warranted.
Armstrong cursed under his breath and pulled out his own phone. After a quick call he was able to watch as two more senior agents approached Kennedy's position. The young man tried to conceal his personal phone, but was unable to hide the device before the agents were on him. And evidently unable to talk his way out of the situation.
Armstrong shook his head and turned away from the brazier. "I am sorry about that. My department vetted each member of the team, but given the timeframe and the staffing requirements, it seems we were not as thorough as we should have been.
"Well, then it's a good thing you'll be equipped to deal with any issues going forward." Apeiron said. Armstrong looked at him, then over to the brazier.
"You are giving that to me?" He asked. A device that on its own would probably qualify the user as at least a thinker four, possibly significantly higher depending on what counted as 'active threats'.
"It's just a demonstration piece, and it's better than letting it go to waste." Apeiron said flippantly. He reached over and adjusted the device, causing it to fold down from a brazier to a table lamp to a burning lantern, then to a… cigarette lighter? Another shift returned it to the bowl of rolling flames.
"This is…" Armstrong trailed off. Was this how Dauntless felt when Apeiron decided to upgrade his spear, throwing off years of carefully planned upgrade scheduling and drastically increasing the man's power? Was Apeiron just going to throw out life changing items of power to anyone who met him on amicable terms? Or was it something about his current situation that allowed this? Being confident enough in his power and position that even something as fundamentally disruptive as THIS was a minor issue for him.
Armstrong swallowed. "Thank you, for this and for addressing the issues at hand." In the wake of numerous revelations the question of potential religious visions had largely been forgotten. It wasn't resolved, but he at least trusted Apeiron's intentions and methods. It was a relief to know that he wasn't descending into delusions of godhood, despite his level of power.
"You're welcome." Apeiron glanced back towards the waiting area of the infirmary. "I know the earlier matter isn't fully resolved, but…"
"I understand." It would likely be problematic, particularly when news spread, but at this point another stranger effect tied to Apeiron would… well, it would still be massively concerning. All of them were. But it would be something that the PRT was at least accustomed to dealing with from the man.
"Though I have to say…" Armstrong said in an attempt to inject some levity. He reached over to the brazier and somehow managed to activate the mechanism, compressing it down to a lantern and then a lighter on his first try. "I didn't anticipate that I'd be walking away with a major item of tinker tech from our time together."
To his surprise, Apeiron gave him a confused look. "The Matrix is issuing a G.E.C.K. to your department, correct?" He asked.
"Yes, Agent Palmer handled the arrangement." He said. Apeiron's expression was unchanged. "The matter generation system, to address our supply issues? I'm very grateful, but compared to this…?"
"Director Armstrong, maybe you should take some time to read up on exactly what you purchased." Apeiron said seriously.
Which was how he found himself back in the command center with agents Palmer, Mitchel, and Crawford while Apeiron saw to the last of the hostages.
"Director, in my defense, the full specifications and safety assessment were not provided until after the Matrix's affiliate status was finalized." Agent Palmer said in a stressed voice.
"Is that normal procedure?" Mitchel asked.
"It is when we're prioritizing the signing bonus." Armstrong said, rubbing his forehead before turning his attention back to the open case in front of him. "Though it was perhaps slightly shortsighted to assume the translators would be the more advanced devices."
"Only referring to this as 'advanced' might be an understatement." Crawford said. She was reviewing the rather extensive documentation for the G.E.C.K., including the device's full name.
The 'Garden of Eden Creation Kit'. A grandiose name, even with the included disclaimer stating that the name was allegorical and that device was entirely a product of technology with no divine, spiritual, or theological elements intrinsic to its operation.
It was a small briefcase, which so far had been something of a theme with the Matrix's work. It opened to a convenient user interface that provided a guide to the device's operation and capabilities. All of its capabilities. It's rather staggering amount of capabilities.
Mitchel looked over at the holographic interface and cocked his head. "Maybe you should shift it to the south?"
Based on Palmer's description, Armstrong had been expecting some kind of matter generation system capable of producing food, clothing, and other necessities. Impressive technology, beyond what a conventional tinker could manage without extensive support over a long period of time, but that seemed par for the course when it came to the Celestial Forge.
"I've tried that. I think the issue is the ground level." Armstrong said, adjusting the input parameters.
It was entirely possible he'd fallen for the mistake of three-day old technology. Or perhaps more than three-day old. They were two three-day cycles from the Ungodly Hour after all. Expecting the Celestial Forge to only offer something beyond the works of the best tinkers in the Protectorate was foolish, as they were now well aware.
"It's probably a proximity issue." Crawford said without looking up from the device's documentation. "That's what it was the last three times."
Because the Celestial Forge didn't do anything by half-measures. Armstrong had gotten the impression that the Matrix was down-selling them when they shifted from directly handling their supply concerns to issuing the G.E.C.K., but that was most definitely not the case.
"It's the same distance as the other two, except for the court." Mitchel said as he squinted at the hologram.
Additionally, Proto Aima's offhand comment regarding the personalized sets of clothing and effects the Matrix had produced for their patients now made a lot more sense. Given what the small device on the table in front of them was capable of, a few sets of fresh clothes was basically a rounding error.
"Then maybe remove the court?" Palmer suggested. "Or just forget this?" She pointed at the structure outlined in red. A structure that had been green for about a quarter of a second when Armstrong first selected it before a slight adjustment had caused it to return nothing but placement errors. "You already have a movie theater and basketball courts. Do you really need the arcade?"
"Need is a strong word." Mitchel said in a jovial tone. The ridiculousness of playing architect with a wide area matter creation and terraforming device made it difficult to keep the seriousness of the situation in mind.
"The Matrix stated that they 'look forward to our full utilization of the device'." Crawford read from one of the documents on her screen. "Which could be considered a contractual obligation to make full use of available features."
Palmer let out a breath and turned back to the holographic layout. "This is just hard to believe." She turned to Crawford. "The Boston PRT really has a terraforming device capable of housing and supporting the population of a small town?"
"A reusable device." Crawford said, pulling up another document. "A 'Make Good' stipulation has been included. The device integrates when deployed, but can be retrieved, reversing the changes." She paused, checking over some more documents. "With the exception of contaminant removal and 'biological integration'."
Because the G.E.C.K. could create trees. Tree and grass and a staggering amount of other vegetation, otherwise it wouldn't be much of a garden.
"Hopefully the Army Reserve won't mind a little landscaping." Armstrong said. Frankly, the state of the camp when he handed it back was the least of his concerns right now. No, he was focused on making use of the ridiculously excessive device they had apparently signed up for and adjusting to the fact that he was now the owner of two major items of significant power, each handed off either freely or for an insultingly low price.
"If Apeiron has this kind of technology, then why is Brockton Bay still…?" Mitchel asked.
Armstrong grit his teeth at the question, but thankfully Palmer responded before he could.
"Because Director Piggot has kept non-collaboration policies in place from the start of the crisis." She said, "It makes it difficult to ask for civil assistance."
The mention of the ENE department dampened what little amusement there was in playing with the ridiculous technology. Still, Armstrong pressed on, playing model railroad with holographic buildings, and approving recommended supply provisions for both the hostages and his own agents.
The thought of what technology like this could do in the wake of an Endbringer attack, or for cities that had been long since written off. The Matrix had included parameters for the level of contaminants that the device could counter. Armstrong had needed to have Crawford double check to make sure there wasn't a decimal point error.
If the numbers were accurate, this device would be able to deploy a park over a nuclear reactor that was actively melting down. Behemoth attack zones that had been cordoned off for years would be trivial, and any number of other disaster areas could be potentially recovered.
Could be, but probably not by them. By the time they would be able to recover the device to repurpose it, at least three days would have passed. If this was Apeiron's current level, where would he be then?
No, that was the wrong question. This wasn't Apeiron's current level. In fact he had absolutely no idea what Apeiron's current level was. This was a novelty, as was the impossible lantern that gave him a frightening amount of oversight for his department. And allowed him to check on Weld, which was much less contentious.
The point was there had been no indication that any of those devices had been in any way a challenge for Apeiron. This entire venture, with all the miracles deployed to facilitate an impossible task, was nothing more than an afternoon's diversion for his team, and a fairly restrained one at that.
Armstrong had been able to get a measure of the man's character. He was less worried about the power at Apeiron's disposal than he had been, and was far less worried than his peers in the PRT. The irony was those peers didn't have the faintest clue as to how far beyond their estimates Apeiron actually was or what they could expect when he could finally act free of the concerns for his home city.
He let out a breath and went back to work. It ended up requiring minor reordering of the library, gym, both pools, and two of the residential blocks, and several underground structures, but he finally saw that glorious green outline. He immediately locked the building in place and leaned back to look at his work.
A slowly rotating map of the boundaries of the training camp floated above the open briefcase. Low buildings, not obvious from outside the security perimeter, with extensive underground structures. Actually, that appeared to be something of a specialization for this technology.
It seemed excessive. Well, excessive in general, but particularly excessive for what was referred to as a 'domestic model'. In fairness, the G.E.C.K. had only been able to produce residential and recreational facilities. There were security measures, but minimal support for his own Agents. While this technology could very much be used to deploy bunkers and military bases, that wasn't what they had been handed.
No, they had been handed a way to ensure the comfort and care of the hostages until they could be safely released. By providing them with accommodations that were closer to a resort than a containment facility. It was a nice gesture. Monstrously excessive, but clearly coming from a place of concern.
A slight crackling in the air behind them signaled the appearance of one of Apeiron's portals. He and the Matrix stepped through from a now empty infirmary while Proto Aima just appeared leaning over the model.
"Apeiron." Armstrong said, climbing to his feet. "I take it your work is completed."
"For everyone who has elected to receive treatment." He said. "The option for remote removal or a scheduled follow-up remains if anyone changes their mind."
"Thank you, but we should be able to handle things." Less than a dozen conventional surgeries that could be performed outpatient with local anesthetic were hardly an imposition after everything they'd managed to accomplish that day.
"You have made excellent use of the capabilities of the provided technology." Some level of approval seemed to have slipped into The Matrix tone as they examined the layout. Administrative and security structures remained in place, but the barracks, mess hall, infirmary, and training yards were all fully replaced with superior options or supplemented with additional facilities.
"Thank you." Armstrong said. Like Crawford, he didn't know if that statement counted as part of their agreement, but he wasn't about to risk it. "We've informed the staff and moved the hostages into neutral spaces." He said, indicating to portions of the camp that would remain unchanged. "Will you be staying for the activation?" He asked.
It was less of an event than Armstrong expected. Despite all the power contained in the device, it was fairly utilitarian when it came to operation. After a final check from both Apeiron and the Matrix, with Proto Aima voicing her approval of the selection of facilities, Armstrong activated the device. No grand speeches or talk of momentous occasions or great collaborations. A single nod from Apeiron as suddenly the entire landscape was altered at the press of a button.
The activation of the device might have been overly casual, but there was nothing underwhelming about seeing the G.E.C.K. in action. Pulses of green light burst forth breaking down the landscape and forming outlines of new structures, buildings, and even trees. Outlines that filled in as more and more pulses of energy flowed out from the device. In less than a minute the entire camp had been transformed with added facilities, elegant landscapes, rich vegetation, and enough buildings to house and entertain the hostages for a hundred times longer than was needed.
He watched the reports as agents led the hostages to their new accommodations, private rooms rather than barracks cots. The agents did their best to take things in stride and put on a strong front while the hostages looked around at the transformation with wide eyes.
Armstrong was willing to bet that before the day was out there would be a few more cases of those visions that would need to be addressed. Frankly after a day like that, he couldn't blame them.
"Well, I think we're done here." Apeiron said, as if it had been nothing but a minor errand out of a busy day. Another portal was called up, this one to a room Armstrong didn't recognize.
"Yes, thank you for all your help." He said, shaking the man's hand. "And for…" He paused. How did you thank someone for the kind of items that had been so casually distributed. 'Thank you for making me a thinker four and shaker seven' seemed a bit callous. He swallowed and just took his best shot. "For everything."
"Don't mention it." Apeiron said, then dropped his voice. "Seriously. For most of that, I'd prefer if you could keep things quiet."
Armstrong nodded. "We're effectively radio silent until this is resolved, including with the national office. After that I promise I'll be as discreet as I can."
Honestly, it would probably be best for everyone if he just didn't mention anything about magic lanterns to his superiors. As for the rest of the details, that would depend on the situation after Bakuda was dealt with. With any luck there would be bigger priorities from the department than his actions in supporting the hostages.
"Excellent." Apeiron said. "We'll be keeping an eye on things in case you need anything but…" He looked around at the transformed camp. Somehow the Matrix seemed slightly smug despite not having any expression whatsoever.
"I think we can manage." Armstrong said. Honestly, with technology like that they could probably manage anything south of a nuclear apocalypse. "And thank you again."
He watched as Apeiron and the Matrix departed through the portal while Proto Aima just waved goodbye before completely vanishing. After a quick check of their surroundings Armstrong sighed with relief and slumped back against the nearest wall.
"Congratulations on completing a deal with Apeiron." Palmer said, much to the other's amusement.
"To the contrary, this is only the start." Armstrong said.
Dealing with that kind of power Apeiron possessed was exhausting, even when he was apparently well disposed to you. Especially if he was well disposed to you. If the man had only been neutral he probably wouldn't have handed over the Flames of Knowledge or whatever grandiose title would apply to the lighter in his jacket pocket.
He took another breath. "Only the start, but at least it's a good start." He smiled slightly as he looked over the transformed training camp. It was ridiculous and excessive, but ridiculous and excessive in a good way. "Palmer, those facilities should be properly examined before we subject the hostages to them. Once everyone has been shown to their new accommodations, start arranging shifts to cycle the agents through recreational facilities of their preference." He said with a tired grin.
"Absolutely sir." She said with a grin.
He nodded. After the most stressful afternoon in recent memory, the agents had earned some downtime. Frankly speaking, they all had.
Armstrong had been expecting more chaos in the wake of Apeiron's remotely deployed treatments. It was to be expected with any major display of parahuman power or advanced tinker technology. Given that the entire project had been various shades of contained chaos from the moment he accepted it, that had seemed like a safe bet.
In the aftermath of Apeiron's display, effectively announcing his presence through hundreds of holographic screens followed by remote healing and bomb extraction, he'd just been happy that his staff had been able to maintain a level of order. It helped that they were calm and direct with the hostages, but he suspected they were projecting a false front of confidence and doing their best to act as if they understood what was happening. The PRT was good at that, and this was not the time to show uncertainty.
Agents offered empty platitudes about the situation while ushering recently healed individuals out of the way and identifying those who still needed treatment. Hundreds of people fully healed beyond just the removal of the explosive device that had been implanted in them. That left the dozens who had refused the remote treatment, but compared to the scope of what they'd been dealing with before it was firmly manageable.
And getting more manageable. He watched as one hostage was guided to the waiting area with the others who had rejected remote treatment. The woman looked at the crowd of people in the waiting area, then loudly announced that she would like to change her decision. The statement wasn't made to anyone in particular, just yelled into the air, but even so a holographic screen popped up in front of her. The woman smiled and with the press of a button blue circuit-like lines spread across her body.
After a few seconds the lines faded and one of the agents, once again rolling with the fantastic display and acting as if they understood what was happening, took the initiative to lead her away from the group. As they left several more people announced that they had reconsidered their choice.
There was something encouraging about the hostages having a choice. About the fact that it was being given to people who'd had so little control over their lives and safety since this entire mess began. Armstrong didn't know if this was how he would have handled things as a PRT director, but then again, he didn't even know what kind of capabilities Apeiron was bringing into play here. Apparently he could afford this kind of individual monitoring and attention and, more importantly, was willing to extend it rather than swooping in, 'fixing' everything, and vanishing without a care for the aftermath.
A lot of capes worked that way, but Armstrong realized that hadn't been what he was thinking of. Not random capes who acted without care for the consequences of their actions. A specific cape who acted in that fashion, and probably the only cape on the planet who could even be considered in the same breath as Apeiron anymore.
This wasn't how Scion would have dealt with things, assuming he would have dealt with them at all, but that was literally the only cape that Armstrong could conceive of who could deal with a problem of this scale in this kind of timeframe. Apeiron with portals and magic healing or Scion with golden light. Apeiron seemed more grounded, with powers that were based in somewhat understandable effects rather than pulses of energy that might as well be magic, but there was no question about the scale of what had been accomplished here.
That scale would concern people. There was no question about that. It was probably for the best that he had decided to implement information security measures that extended to other PRT departments. The slightest hint of what Apeiron was doing here would send analysts into another spiral of panicked assessments.
Even without the advantage of thinker powers, he could plainly see the implications of what Apeiron had accomplished. Every one of those oh so casual feats leveraged to resolve the impossible situation spoke to terrifying levels of power. Casual construction of translation devices that worked miraculously, but admittedly edited everything a person saw and heard, and even how they were heard. Vast and precise reach of a power or technology that previously had required direct contact. Constant monitoring of wide groups of people sufficient to provide personalized holographic information and consent forms, and persistent monitoring for those who rejected the initial offer.
Apeiron was powerful. That was the least helpful insight that could be offered at this point, but people were still adjusting to exactly what that meant. A lot of capes were powerful, but that was usually because they were strong or dangerous or capable of great displays of their abilities. By their nature, Parahuman powers were typically narrow in scope. Discrete abilities that functioned with specific parameters. Even for tinkers their specializations and methodologies provided limits to how their technology could be applied.
By all appearances, Apeiron did not have those limits. Really, it was almost funny. One of the most obvious amateur mistakes that a cape could make came from selecting a name that perfectly described their abilities. That communicated exactly what they were capable of to everyone who encountered them. It was why Alexandria was no longer known as the Library of Alexandria, with her perfect memory and thinker powers largely downplayed to allow her what advantages she could secure. It was why more abstract names had become popular as of late.
People had assumed that Apeiron was following the same trend. That he was either making an aspirational statement or, more concerningly, embracing a mythological identity. With the latter being unfortunately associated with villains it provided fuel for early concerns about the man's intentions.
But it seemed neither theory was correct. By all appearances, Apeiron hadn't been making a lofty statement of intent, he had been describing his power as directly as any cape ever did. A name that literally meant 'unlimited' chosen by a cape who by all appearances was not bound by any limits. At least not any practical limits that could easily be discerned.
That was another concerning aspect to these interactions. The true scale to how much the man was restraining himself was staggering. For all that had been accomplished in a shockingly short time, there was no sense that any of it had been in any way challenging. The human elements had taken more time and attention than the technological miracles that had been so casually unleashed.
That was why there would be panic on the part of every analyst. Apeiron was reserved and restrained, blessedly so, but he was mostly restrained by the situation within his city. Restrained by a desire to allow peaceful recovery. It was a very human thing, in contrast to so many things about the man and his team, but with this Armstrong had taken a step towards resolving one of the most pressing concerns that had been staying Apeiron's hand.
Once the hostages were safe, once Bakuda had been dealt with, once the Butcher's presence was no longer putting the entire country on edge, and once the administrative mess that was the Brockton Bay PRT had been resolved, then what would happen? What would a man with Apeiron's power do once he was able to act freely and openly?
It was a frightening concept. Not as frightening as it could be. The fact that he was here, working with his department in what could be called a semi-official capacity made that clear. The power of an S-class threat that was willing to meet with and talk to representatives of the PRT was unheard of. Unfathomable. Because there had never been a cape this strong that was willing to sit down and talk.
It was going to change things, and people were not going to like that.
There were power dynamics between the major organizations of the world. Balances within and between nations. Even within the groups themselves. A rogue element, like an unprecedentedly powerful cape, was disruptive, but it could be adjusted to. It happened when Sleeper appeared. It happened with Ash Beast. It happened with the Blasphemies. Major powers could change the landscape and the world would adapt to the new state of affairs. But working around a major power was very different from playing against them.
As the aftermath of the initial healing began to settle, the full weight of the situation began to press down on Armstrong. He was out of his depth, no question. There was a good reason why decisions regarding Apeiron had been kicked up the chain of command. The tinker might be satisfied with sitting in Brockton Bay for the moment, but the second that ended, either through internal resolution or external provocation, he was going to change the balance of power for the entire planet.
Armstrong took a breath. All he could do was what he had always done. Approach the situation with compassion and understanding. Like you were dealing with an individual, not a threat rating or power classification. The phrase 'hope for the best and prepare for the worst' jumped into his mind, except when dealing with Apeiron the worst was beyond imagining and not something anyone could hope to prepare for.
He shook his head and turned his attention to his command staff. "Palmer? Situation." He asked.
The woman looked up and nodded. "Better than we could have hoped. Those earbuds are making all the difference in the world."
"Still unproven tinker tech." He said with a sigh. "Make sure use durations are individually documented, with checks at the beginning and end of every shift."
"Already in place." Palmer assured him.
Armstrong was willing to exercise his authority in the matter of the translation earbuds, but procedures couldn't be ignored. There had been no reason to suspect any ill effects or danger from the devices and the Matrix had even provided a full safety assessment to the letter of PRT guidelines, but without proper testing procedures there were limits on how they could be used.
Mostly an inability to mandate use and the need for extensive examinations and debriefs for any users. That hadn't stopped his agents from jumping at the chance, not after their personal experience with the frustrations of managing more than half a dozen different languages. Once they were able to stand down there would be an arduous amount of paperwork and safety checks, but he would gladly trade that frustration for the complete removal of the largest obstacle they had needed to deal with.
It was incredible how being able to effectively communicate changed the tone of the entire operation. Not just being able to convey information and instruction, but recognize concerns that were being voiced and address them properly. His own earbud had changed the background noise of overlapping languages into something comprehensible. He could pick out words from particularly heated conversations even at a distance. Even that was enough for him to read the tone of the situation and start working out measures to help smooth things out. For the agents dealing with the groups directly, it would make even more of a difference.
A miracle, but a miracle that was both a restrained example of Apeiron's technology and a massive point of concern for those who were trying to remain apprised of the capabilities of the Celestial Forge. A borderline impossible task given the fact that 'three-day old technology' was definitely not just a meme, but even the estimates that tried to take that into account were clearly falling well short of the truth.
"The infirmary?" He asked.
"More than enough space." Palmer said. Which made sense. They had been preparing on the expectation that they would need to treat over seven hundred people on an individual basis. "The last of the cases are being moved in now." She checked a readout on her tablet. "Fourteen of the hostages are refusing 'tinker-based treatment'. They've been informed of the wait for conventional surgery and have signed off on it." She paused. "Well, it was actually seventeen before they were informed of the wait."
"Understandable." Armstrong said. Apprehension about unknown healing methods was fairly common, but when weighed against spending additional time with a bomb in your head, the decision became a lot more direct.
"For the ABB, things are more complicated." Palmer explained. Which made sense, given the division between gang members and conscripted forces. "Some are refusing removal entirely, some had to be restrained when the initial offers were made. A few want to meet with Apeiron before they make a decision." She shook her head. "The group is being deprioritized until after the conscripts have been seen to, but it looks like some of the younger members are hoping to apologize."
"And some of the older ones still don't believe Lung is dead?" He asked. Palmer nodded grimly. That was an unfortunate aspect of the entire situation. Lung had achieved near mythical status with career members of his gang. Many flat out refused to believe that he could have ever been killed.
To be fair, even the Protectorate wasn't listing him as officially deceased. High level regenerative brutes had been assumed dead too often only to reappear alive and well. Without a full assessment of the body, Lung's status was limited to being presumed dead.
Still, Armstrong could help but wonder if that fanatical certainty that Lung would return, rescue the captured members of his gang, and unleash vengeance on Apeiron and the city of Brockton Bay was more of a coping strategy than a genuine belief. There were men who had devoted years of their life to the ABB only to see it completely torn down in less than two weeks. Expecting a rational assessment of their situation from such men was a rather tall order, and not one he was particularly concerned with.
"Tell the agents to start organizing treatments. I'll go inform Apeiron." Armstrong said.
"You think he doesn't already know?" She asked as another of the waiting hostages decided to voice their change in decision and immediately received a holographic screen followed by the now familiar blue circuit pattern of Apeiron's healing.
Armstrong shook his head. "He's leaving some elements of how this is done to us. Waiting until we're ready for him." And given what his time had to be worth, that was a significant gift. "He doesn't need to play these roles, but he's doing it anyway."
"Well, that's encouraging." Palmer said, looking around. "At least he didn't start dictating terms the second he arrived."
Because he could have, and all they'd be able to do would be smile, nod, and go along with his demands. Plenty of capes would have thrown their weight around. Hell, plenty of directors would have tried to do the same. He didn't know if Apeiron's restraint was based on some level of respect for him or his office, or if he was just so far beyond them that there was no point in posturing.
It wasn't a topic he was planning to broach. Not when there were much more pressing questions and few opportunities for answers. He shook his head again as he knocked on the door of his own command center before walking in. Apeiron and the Matrix were standing in silence, but it was clear they had a nonverbal method of communication that Armstrong wasn't even going to consider trying to analyze.
There was no sign of Proto Aima, but given the capabilities she had demonstrated, that wasn't surprising. And then she was back, standing next to the other two capes with a wide smile on her face.
"They're ready for us!" She said. It wasn't a question. Still, Apeiron looked to Armstrong for confirmation.
"Indeed." He said. "We were modifying the camp's infirmary with the expectation that this would be a much more involved process. As such, we have more than enough capacity for the individuals who have requested direct treatment."
"Then we should get started." Apeiron said, and Armstrong took note of the phrasing.
"Um, will you all be…" He wasn't quite sure how to describe the use of unknown healing technology, and didn't want to ask for clarification of a technology that would likely just create more headaches for the inevitable analysis.
"The Matrix has offered to assist and is able to manage the same healing effect that I utilize." Apeiron explained.
"To a lesser degree." The Matrix clarified without a hint of shame in their voice. "But sufficient for this task."
"We thought it best to standardize methodology in order to simplify your own examinations and reports." He explained.
"Ah, thank you." Armstrong said. It was known that Apeiron had multiple methods of healing, and probably several more at this point. There would be enough concerns related to the after effects of the iconic 'blue line' healing. Mixing in various unknown methods would just introduce additional layers of concerns. "So, Proto Aima is not capable of the same effect?" He asked, hoping he didn't sound overly intrusive.
"No, I can." She said. A single hand was raised and the surface began to vibrate and blur. It took on a red glow with circuit-like lines visible under the blur accompanied by the same electric motor sound. The glow and blur faded as the sound dropped away again. "Not the best way to do it, and kind of complicated, but I can help if you want."
Armstrong remembered a detail from Dauntless's report. Proto Aima shaking her hand out and dissolving it into red threads. Given everything that had happened that counted as a minor detail of the encounter, but still something that raised many concerns. Something that clearly had serious implications to it.
"While I would ultimately leave that decision to the individuals being treated, it may create some additional complications." Armstrong said. "While the Matrix is at least known by reputation, your recent change might require more explanation than you would be ready to disclose."
"I don't mind." Proto Aima said cheerfully. Armstrong had to blink at that. The idea that details of Proto Aima's treatment might be shared not because of a carefully managed disclosure of information on the part of the Celestial Forge or due to negotiated exchanges with the PRT, but out of concern for the peace of mind of the hostages remaining to be treated…
He took a breath. Given the amount of times he'd needed to recalibrate his expectations since Apeiron's arrival you'd think he'd be used to it. Apparently not. It didn't help that the Celestial Forge was completely defying convention not just in terms of power, but in procedure as well.
"I'll leave that decision to you, of course." He said diplomatically. "The infirmary is ready for you if you'd like to make your way over."
And without a word a rectangular portal appeared behind Apeiron. Through the washed-out gray surface Armstrong could recognize the interior of the infirmary with the treatment rooms that had been prepared. And the faces of the medical staff that were on hand to assist with what everyone had assumed would be more than a day of work.
He did his best to put on a confident face for his staff as Apeiron and the Matrix stepped through a special rift rather than walk two hundred yards across the repurposed training camp while Proto Aima simply appeared on the other side of the portal. The man gave him a slight nod as the portal closed itself, leaving Armstrong alone in the command center.
The same technology that could, at minimum, step between cities, used to avoid a short walk. That had also avoided what was sure to be an extreme reaction to the man's presence from both the hostages and Armstrong's own agents, but still, it was like watching Eidolon manifest a power that controlled electromagnetic radiation because the television remote was slightly out of his grasp.
It was an outrageous display of strength, but the worst part was it was plainly obvious that Apeiron did not see it as such. There was none of the smugness that came from your typical display of power. No grandstanding or knowing winks to make sure their message had been received. It wasn't even a message, or not an intentional one. The background noise of the man's powers was overwhelming on its own. Somehow, the fact that Apeiron didn't need to show off, and knew he didn't need to show off, was the most concerning aspect of the entire situation.
Letting out a breath he pulled out his phone and dialed a secure number. "Palmer? We have the command center again. Assemble the team and get started on a status update and revised priority list."
She gave a quick confirmation before hanging up. Armstrong found himself settling back into the central seat where he had received his last call from Apeiron. A few minutes of interactions and their entire situation had been turned upside down. Of course, considering how twisted the situation was to begin with, that may have served to right the ship.
He shook off the tangled mess of metaphors and focused on the situation at hand. Not needing to spend hours managing a series of medical procedures was an unexpected boon, but stepping up the schedule brought more problems. He had elected not to share the details of Apeiron's pursuit of Bakuda. It was likely most people would have assumed as much, but that was different from confirming it. However, without that confirmation it would be more difficult to justify containment of the hostages.
Hostages who were now largely free of their implanted bombs and completely healed of virtually all medical issues. And who outnumbered his own agents by a factor of ten. Not that he was anticipating any issues, but the story about that grandmother and the PRT agent had to have come from somewhere.
Medical observation was an acceptable justification for containment, at least for the handful of days that Apeiron claimed he would need. It would have been helpful to have a more precise schedule, but just the fact that he was confident in his ability to track the woman down was enough for Armstrong. The idea of Bakuda escaping after the chaos she had unleashed and the horrors she had inflicted was unthinkable.
Unfortunately, it was a kind of unthinkable that happened all too often, though generally those cases received less public attention than Bakuda had. Without Apeiron's involvement it was possible that the Brockton Bay department would have been able to sweep things under the rug, shifting focus to the next disaster or concentrating public attention on other aspects of the crisis. It was a cynical view, but one that was more honest when it came to how PRT departments operated.
Even he was guilty of having to play to public perception on occasion, downplaying their losses and aggrandizing minor victories. Not to the extent that Director Piggot evidently had, but it was just a fact of life that came from operating a public facing department.
Of course, now he was faced with the opposite challenge. Not controlling the presentation of information to the public, but concealing it as much as possible. It was going to be difficult, particularly considering the current state of the Boston Protectorate.
Bastion was a problem. Frankly, he had been a problem for a long time, it had just come to a head recently. Apeiron's thinker power had apparently informed him that he would not have worked well with Armsmaster, but he couldn't imagine the man would have had an easier time with the head of the Boston Protectorate.
There was a reason that Protectorate members were being excluded from this operation. Fortunately Bastion had seen it as a thankless task that was likely to end in disaster. He had advised against it after the decision was already made, something that did him no favors within the department considering his recent public relations disaster. Still, it at least meant that he didn't need to worry about the man barging into the situation to offer his 'assistance'.
If anything, Bastion would enjoy having Armstrong out of the city. The working relationship between the two of them was stable, but not particularly friendly. Not the kind of rivalry that seemed to have sprung up between Armsmaster and Director Piggot, but not the kind of collaboration that Armstrong would have hoped for.
As for security from other PRT interests, that was more difficult to guarantee. Isolation and information control measures would only go so far. He might be able to keep things obscured, but unless something drew national attention within the next day or so his actions would probably leak to the national office. Hopefully they'd see the logic in staying the course and hold off on raking him over the coals until after Apeiron was done with Bakuda. After that it was doubtful anyone would be particularly motivated to go after him for minor policy violations.
Which could potentially include registering a member of the Celestial Forge as a PRT contact. The exact nature of the 'G.E.C.K.' was a bit nebulous. It had mostly been presented in terms of assurance relating to the supply and accommodation requirements they had been dealing with.
Matter generation technology wasn't unheard of, but typically had significant enough limitations or side effects to keep it from addressing the kinds of problems they were dealing with. He didn't doubt that Apeiron's technology, or the Matrix's adaptation of Apeiron's technology, would be a great deal more advanced than other examples of the same concept, but there were still concerns.
No matter what assurances were provided, you couldn't order people to eat fabricated food or sleep in fabricated accommodations. No matter what the G.E.C.K. was capable of, there would be some level of push back. With over seven hundred people it was inevitable.
Though the idea of being able to fabricate buildings seemed a little much. More likely they'd be provided with generated prefabricated parts that could be assembled into additional housing. That seemed reasonable for the kind of thing being described.
Even so, it would significantly simplify supply concerns, if not totally remove them. The actual device wasn't going to be issued until after the treatments were complete. Hopefully it would let them avoid the need for resupply over the duration of their containment. If not, just the 'signing bonus' had been worth the cost of the contract.
"How are we handling invoices for the Matrix?" Armstrong asked. It was a rather mundane problem, but one that could easily snowball on them. If the security of the project ended up compromised through contractor payment it would be beyond embarrassing.
"Currently budget allocation to an internal account." Palmer explained. "Normally we would be offering assistance with business registration and tax management, but…" She trailed off with a shrug.
There were some amused smiles from around the table. The armored cape's decision to register as a PRT contact was one of the more outlandish events to happen that day, even compared to the general insanity that seemed to accompany all of Apeiron's actions. The fact that they were technically following the same procedures as they would for a freshly triggered tinker who walked in through the PRT department's front doors with a homemade costume and a handful of inventions cobbled together from salvaged junk was somehow deeply amusing.
What was more amusing was the fact that the Matrix specifically requested that categorization. They could have demanded any standing terms, the kind of negotiated deal that was hammered out with tinker collectives or major independent cape organizations, but instead they were being dealt with on an individual basis. They insisted on being dealt with on an individual basis.
Armstrong didn't know why the Matrix had focused on working with them in that capacity, but he wasn't complaining. There was the sense that it was some kind of indulgence on Apeiron's part, that he was facilitating a hobby or interest of his teammate. A situation like this would normally be too serious for flights of fancy, but given what those flights entailed on the Matrix's part Armstrong was more than happy to facilitate the arrangement.
"Sir?" Mitchel said, drawing Armstrong's attention. "I have updates from the agents managing the treated hostages. They're working through a formal debrief, but something came up that you should see."
Armstrong pulled up Mitchell's summary of the situation. Once again, the translators had made all the difference. Technically elective, but his agents had pounced on them as quickly as he had. Relations were definitely improving. Some of the hostages found the devices off-putting, but most were happy to be able to receive clear information and communicate their concerns without the issue of a language barrier.
That was the meat of Mitchel's summary. Clear communication allowed the hostages to bring up issues that had been overlooked. Concerns about their situation, the status of their family members, updates about the situation in the city, Apeiron's actions, and…
And there it was. A point they had overlooked, or more a point they had suspected but not fully understood. Seeing what had been directly reported to the handling agents or just overheard by them thanks to the translation technology raised a whole new host of concerns.
"How should we handle this Sir?" Mitchell asked. Armstrong let out a breath before replying.
"Continue gathering information. Our main priority is to avoid panic or a significant disruption that would breach security." He said.
"Do you think it will come to that?" Palmer asked. "Should we call in additional support?"
"Put them on standby, but don't move yet." He said. "If this becomes an issue we may need to isolate the affected members. In the meantime, I will speak with Apeiron."
And at least that was an option for them. For once they didn't have to endure the impact of the man's actions with nothing but hope and vague thinker assurances. This was a point of concern, but it was something he could ask the man about directly. Personally, he couldn't see any response that would be able to reassure him or resolve the issue, but at least they had the opportunity to try.
Since he lacked the ability to bend space to his will Armstrong was forced to actually walk the short distance to the camp's infirmary rather than just manifest a portal. Not the first time he'd had to reflect on overly casual uses of parahuman abilities, but like everything involving Apeiron, the scale was somewhat skewed.
Agents nodded to him as he entered the infirmary. The waiting area had emptied substantially since Apeiron and his team began their work. Of course, they had prepared for much larger and more hectic arrangements, so it was hardly a logistical challenge for only a few dozen people.
The agents were managing the final patients admirably, once again helped by the translators. Even people with strong skills in English as a second language seemed to be enjoying the chance to speak their native tongue.
Of course, seeing the efficiency and accuracy of the translators firsthand, it was almost frightening. Translation was provided in real time with no delay, as if the device was anticipating a statement before it was in order to provide a simultaneous translation. The only hint that anything was happening at all was the slight accent to the speech and the way a person's lips did not match with what they were saying. Everything else, from tone to inflection, was perfect.
Well, not absolutely perfect. There were some colloquialisms that were translated literally, but always with a tone shift to alert you to the nature of the imprecise translation. Enough to allow you to ask for clarification, with the same being possible for any English colloquialisms that might slip into your speech.
It was as close to perfect translation as Armstrong could imagine and served as yet another sign of exactly how much power he was dealing with. It was strange how small things could hit harder than giant displays of power. Everyone knew that Apeiron had the capacity to wipe cities off the map and deploy weapons the likes of which hadn't been seen since String Theory, but seeing that kind of power directed so precisely changed the character of the entire experience.
Armstrong took a breath and pressed on. It was all he could do. He was apparently the best situated member of the PRT to deal with Apeiron, and likely held a higher opinion of the man than many of his colleagues, but he wasn't blind to the impact that the Celestial Forge was going to have on the world, or the kind of power he was dealing with.
Power that was currently being used to accelerate treatment of the last of Bakuda's hostages who had elected for bomb removal. Something that technically could have been handled by any surgical team, assuming Apeiron was correct about the devices being defused. Given that assumption was the foundation of this entire enterprise and that there had been no word of a reaction from Bakuda following the destructive removal of hundreds of her devices, it was probably a safe bet.
The members of Apeiron's team had been set up in three examination rooms, each with its own queue of patients. Unsurprisingly, the line to see Apeiron personally was by far the longest. There were only two people waiting for the Matrix, while Proto Aima's line was empty, save for the patient she was currently seeing.
The door to her examination room opened and Armstrong saw the red-haired cape bid farewell to a young man with a face roughly the same color as her hair. Armstrong raised an eyebrow and turned to Owens, one of the agents managing the infirmary. The man just smiled at him.
"Most of them are waiting for Apeiron, Sir." Agent Owens explained. "The other two are here for 'overflow', but for most of the patients this isn't about the treatment."
People choosing either of the other members of the Celestial Forge would likely either actually be concerned about the remote nature of the healing, or possibly enthralled by the novelty of the Matrix or Proto Aima's nature.
Or perhaps more basic reasoning came into play with Proto Aima. The girl wasn't Survey, but she had an unquestionable energy and charisma to her as she tried to engage the waiting patients in conversation as the blushing man was led out of the infirmary.
"I don't imagine there are many opportunities to speak directly to Apeiron." Armstrong agreed. "I hope it's not putting an undue burden on him." Though given what he had learned, he could only guess as to what was being discussed.
"It's not." Said the glowing red headed girl who was suddenly directly adjacent to him and Owens. "Most of them just want to thank him, or ask some questions. It's taking longer but it's not a problem."
Armstrong managed to avoid flinching at the teen girl's sudden appearance, but Agent Owens barely reacted at all.
"She does that, Sir." He said in a voice that mixed resignation with a hint of amusement. "It's fine once you get used to it."
It didn't help that the girl flickered across the room to share a few words with a pair of patients, only to vanish from the room in the next breath.
"Yes." Armstrong said. "Though I don't think she means anything by it."
"I don't." Proto Aima said, once again adjacent to them. "It's just nice to be able to meet everyone, even if they'd rather get treatment from Apeiron or the Matrix."
As if on cue the door to the third treatment room opened and a middle aged man walked out carrying a rather plain briefcase. Armstrong raised an eyebrow and looked at Owens.
"The big guy's been handing out party favors to everyone he treats." The agent said jovially.
Armstrong would need to put out a memo regarding interactions with the Matrix. They didn't seem overly prone to offense, but it was good policy to get ahead of that, particularly with their working relationship. "Party favors?" He asked.
"Fresh clothing, toiletries, even some books." Owens explained. "We've checked and inventoried everything, but given what we're dealing with, it didn't seem like a problem."
"It's not really necessary with the G.E.C.K., but the Matrix wanted to be to personalize things for the people they were treating." Proto Aima explained.
"Sorry Sir, the Geck?" Owens asked.
Proto Aima looked ready to launch into a full explanation of the offered matter generation technology, but Armstrong was able to cut her off.
"An arrangement we've made to assist with some supply issues." He said. "There will be a full briefing on it later." He turned to address both Proto Aima and Agent Owens. "Though I will need to speak with Apeiron as soon as possible."
Agent Owens looked concerned, but Armstrong wasn't particularly surprised by the knowing nod that Proto Aima gave him. Because of course she knew. As would Apeiron. Something like this really should have been addressed sooner, but Armstrong was hardly in a place to make demands. Not with everything his department had already received from the Celestial Forge.
"He's almost done." The girl said and looked towards the door of the first examination room just as it opened.
They were greeted by the sight of Apeiron gently guiding an older woman out of the room. Tears were streaming down her face. The tiny woman was clinging to Apeiron's arm as he led her towards the waiting agents. Without a word Proto Aima flickered over and began to speak with the woman as she very clearly expressed gratitude towards both of the capes.
Owens cleared his throat. "There's been a lot of that, Sir." He said. "A lot of stuff pent up. Mostly breakdowns, but some people are angry. Heard yelling through the door but Apeiron's handled things alright."
"We're lucky he's not the type to take offense." Armstrong said.
It was likely he was just a target for frustration to be vented upon. He knew from experience. In the wake of a disaster it was easy for people to cite everything you could have done to prevent the worst from happening, or at least the worst from happening to them. No doubt there were plenty of people ready to criticize Apeiron's actions, but there was more than enough blame to go around. In a fair world it would be directed towards the parties who had caused the problem, not the person who they felt hadn't done enough to fix it.
Armstrong shook his head and looked over the remaining people waiting for treatment. Less than half of the original group, with people seeming to reconsider the Matrix or Proto Aima as a way to skip the line, so to speak.
"I need you to put things on hold for a moment." He said to Owens. The agent nodded to him.
"We could use the time for final checks and debriefs." He said. "And some of them needed some time after, well…" He tilted his head towards the crying woman.
"See to it." Armstrong said. Apeiron had handed off the woman to one of the female agents who was guiding her to a quieter section of the infirmary. They hadn't prepared spaces for people to decompress after treatment, though that would have clearly been a good idea. The lower volume gave them space for that kind of thing, and he was grateful for it.
Apeiron watched the woman leave, then turned towards Armstrong. "Director." He said cordially.
"Apeiron." He returned the greeting. "I hope this isn't too much for you." There was little doubt to the man's technical capabilities, but dealing with the human element was another matter.
"It's fine." He said, turning back towards the door. "And that was a special case." Armstrong raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Soon Won." He said.
Armstrong didn't recognize the name, but he had only skimmed the list of hostages during the transfer process. A few individuals had been highlighted as points of interest, but she hadn't been one of them. "You are familiar with her?"
"Her son was Michael Won." Apeiron explained. "He worked for one of the investment firms in Brockton Bay. When the ABB captured him he was one of the brokers that was forced to participate in March's trading scheme."
Armstrong nodded slowly. That detail had been largely overshadowed in the buildup to the Ungodly Hour. Apeiron's seemingly random strike on a gang hideout leading to the reveal of a precise stock manipulation scheme conducted right under Watchdog's nose. The fact that such a thing had been possible should have massively inflated the threat assessment for both March and the ABB, but most of the public focus remained centered on Apeiron's actions and his openly streamed fight against Uber and Leet's robots.
"I take it from her reaction…" Armstrong didn't finish his statement. The implication was more than enough given what the people of Brockton Bay had gone through.
Apeiron took a breath and let it out slowly. "March used the threat of the implanted bombs to force people to follow her timing instructions. It was what allowed her to spread her influence so effectively. Michael Won's work was disrupted when attempting a trade and his bomb was detonated." Apeiron's expression darkened. "It happened before I arrived. The other traders were forced to continue work with his body still in the room."
Armstrong nodded slowly. With all the spectacle and high-power displays that had become associated with the city, it was easy to forget the casual brutality and barbarism that had been inflicted by the ABB. The horrific conditions their conscripts had been living under until… well, frankly until now. A glance at the drawn faces of those still waiting for their turn, for the chance to meet Apeiron directly for whatever reason they held to, it said enough.
It was the kind of situation, the kind of desperation that could lead to fanaticism. Which was why he needed to address this matter, even if it meant interrupting the last of the treatment.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a matter I need to discuss with you." He said diplomatically, and well outside of hearing of the remaining patients.
"Of course." He said, then turned towards the room. Restrained tension was on every face as they looked at the cape with wide eyes. "I will be returning shortly. In the meantime, Proto Aima and the Matrix will be happy to assist anyone in my absence."
The red-haired girl was suddenly next to her own examination room waving happily while the Matrix ushered one of the two remaining patients who had queued for them into their own examination room. There were flickers of expression suggesting reevaluation and whispers between the patients, but no moves yet.
And no objections or disorder. Not likely in the face of someone like Apeiron, but anyone angry enough to yell as an S-class cape was probably beyond the bounds of conventional restraint. Armstrong was just grateful it hadn't been a common occurrence.
He led Apeiron to a small office in the back of the infirmary. Not the best place for a discussion of this significance, but he would take the chance to address things quickly and privately over attempting to perfectly set the stage. He closed the door then took a seat across from the taller man, wondering where to begin.
"Do you know what this is about?" He asked. "By which I mean, Proto Aima seemed to."
Apeiron smiled. "Proto Aima has a rather broad level of awareness. Without checking with her I wouldn't know, though I could place a guess based on the timeline."
He didn't seem concerned. More significantly, there didn't appear to be any implication of wrongdoing, which was probably an encouraging thing for the effect in question, but still, Armstrong needed to be sure.
"The translators that the Matrix provided have been a great help. They assisted with integration and debriefing of the hostages on a level that was not possible during the initial transfer." Armstrong swallowed. "Which had led to a certain effect being brought to our attention."
Once again, no reaction from Apeiron. Just a gesture for him to continue.
"I understand your policy regarding answering questions about your capabilities, but given what has been observed…" Armstrong took another breath. "Apeiron, it appears there is another active stranger effect associated with you."
He tried to avoid putting emphasis on the word 'another'. Really, things like this were why he needed to remain reserved in his interactions, despite his personal feelings and gratitude towards the man. Long range, indirect, and persistent stranger effects were the kind of things that typically warranted the creation of PRT task forces and standing policy decisions, but like with so many things involving the Celestial Forge, something that should have been of dire consequence was just one more item for the pile of concerns.
Apeiron gave him a weak smile. "I'm guessing that this involves some manner of visions, associated with a specific activity?"
"You don't know?" Armstrong asked in clear concern.
"Not the specifics, but I am aware of the nature of the effect and the conditions under which it would activate." He explained.
"Apeiron, people are seeing what appear to be religious visions when they PRAY to you." He stated directly, with emphasis on the word of concern.
The man just nodded. "I would prefer if they didn't do that."
Armstrong's head snapped up at that. "Is there some level of risk? Containment issue?" A thousand nightmare scenarios ran through his head. Things that had been in the back of his mind since he agreed to work with an S-class threat in all but name. Containment, isolation, Protectorate response protocols, and-
"No." Apeiron said, cutting off the panicked thoughts. "I'd just rather not deal with it."
Armstrong blinked. "You don't want to deal with it? With… what? A religious stranger effect?"
He nodded. "Based on your own concerns, you probably recognize how this kind of thing could escalate. I had hoped that I could avoid it, but it seems that's not the case."
Armstrong let out a breath. It wasn't some effect designed to build a cult or induce fanaticism. At least it didn't appear to be. If anything, Apeiron's reaction was disinterest and mild frustration. That recontextualized things away from the worst of Armstrong's concerns.
"Would I be right to assume that this isn't something that you can disable?" He asked.
"No more than my name or the effect of those attack Calling Cards." Apeiron admitted.
An uncontrolled effect. When it came to capes as powerful as Apeiron, those kinds of control issues tended to be the norm rather than the exception. Apeiron had always seemed to be an outlier in that respect, with only theorized effects relating to his transformation, the manifestation or Proto Aima, and the various stranger effects.
In a strange way, the fact that some element of his ridiculous power level was following convention was comforting. Well, not comforting. More than one set of concerns were traded for another. The idea that you were no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop. Apeiron did in fact have the kind of uncontrollable power expression that was associated with capes of his level.
It just happened to involve eccentric titles jumping into your mind or visions associated with his actions, rather than the spawning of monstrous creatures, uncontrolled shaker effects, or the subsummation of entire regions of the planet. Still a point of concern, but comparatively it barely registered.
"I'm sure you can understand how having people apparently receiving religious visions regarding a cape is something we would be concerned about." Armstrong said.
"Believe me, I understand." He said. "I can only imagine how bad this kind of thing can get."
Armstrong nodded. Cape cults were always a messy business. Given that the Fallen technically fell into that category, that may have been an understatement.
"I have had some personal experience." He said. "Fortunately, they don't tend to stay in large cities with established Protectorate departments for long."
The last time he'd needed to deal with something like this was when Prophet attempted to set up a church for himself before being driven out of Boston. That was nearly a year ago now, but some departments saw this kind of thing as a common occurrence.
"So in terms of preventing the effect…" He began.
"Don't pray." Apeiron said.
"That's it?" Armstrong asked.
"Shouldn't that be enough?" Apeiron asked. "I'd assume it would be the default."
"Generally yes, but given your reputation and the attitudes that tend to be extended towards capes, there will be some exceptions." Armstrong said.
"I know." Apeiron said. "But if I were to announce to the entire camp that I would prefer for people not to include me in their prayers, do you think that would increase or decrease the instances of this happening?" He looked at Armstrong. "Or if I announced it to the Protectorate? Or made a general public announcement?"
"No." Armstrong said heavily. "I'm sorry if I'm being overly abrupt about this, but it isn't the kind of issue I anticipated needing to address today."
"If it's any consolation, I'm not thrilled about it either." He said.
Armstrong gave Apeiron a serious look. "Your powers… You talked to Dauntless about them getting stronger."
The man smiled and his visor glinted with the movement. "I figured you would get a transcript out of him at some point."
"Nothing so detailed." The transcript of Panacea's debrief was an understandable sore point, given its role in putting so many destructive policies in place. "But he did mention that you confirmed that effect. I understand this is a very personal matter, but would I be correct to assume that this growth in capabilities is not precisely directed?"
Apeiron wore a weary grin as he replied. "You think I'd want to be a dinosaur werewolf?" He asked in a flat voice.
"I'm sure there are many people who would, but I understand your point." Armstrong replied. "But effects like this, particularly if they are uncontrolled and derived from instability, worry people."
"You mean people aren't worried already?" Apeiron asked. "I assumed they had enough to be concerned about already."
"Concern is something of a specialty of the PRT. There's a vested interest in making sure no concern ends up overlooked." Armstrong replied, but the attempt at levity largely fell flat. "While I don't mean to imply anything regarding your own situation, I'm sure you are aware how things tend to progress with extraordinarily powerful capes."
"Glaistig Uaine. Nilbog. Sleeper." He said, casually dropping the names of potentially world ending capes. "And your pick of lesser examples." Apeiron looked directly at Armstrong and he found himself wishing he could see the man's eyes instead of just the immaculately crafted visor. "Everyone's been waiting for that crack. For the sign that I'm going to go the same way." He glanced towards the door. "Me or my team."
Armstrong nodded regretfully. "Personally, I am very grateful for what you have done, both for me directly and for the city of Brockton Bay. But I am also the director of a PRT department for a major city. I have seen more than my share of hopeful capes." He swallowed. "Hopes that all too often have been misplaced."
Apeiron took a breath and shook his head. "It is rather depressing that the default position is that any potentially 'good' development must have some drawback. I suppose people are waiting for me to start talking about fairies or declare myself the primal god-king of technology?"
"Nothing so extreme, but there are points of concern." He said. "Normally I wouldn't press on this…" Apeiron waved him off.
"You're going to have to deal with that prayer nonsense. Since I technically dumped that on you I can loosen my policy regarding direct questions." He said.
Armstrong had to smile at that. The sheer disdain for the effect that many other capes would be touting as proof of divinity was refreshing, but it didn't address the core concerns.
"Thank you, though given the measures I've put in place, anything you share is not likely to make it to the rest of the PRT until after this matter has been fully resolved." Armstrong explained.
"Then for your own peace of mind." He said. "What do you want to know?"
Armstrong nodded and straightened his back. "Yesterday morning, after your discussion with Dauntless, there was… he described it as a ritual. Now, I don't want to presume, but it would help to know what that actually was."
"It was a ritual." Apeiron said directly.
Armstrong blinked. He looked at Apeiron and blinked again. "Ah." He said. "A ritual?"
"A series of actions performed according to a prescribed order which carry significance beyond the scope of the actions themselves." He said frankly.
Armstrong took a moment to process that. "I assume there is more to this than symbolism? Some kind of relation to your abilities."
Apeiron smiled. "The symbolism is the relation to my abilities."
"Really?" He asked. "Some unique expression of how your powers function."
"No." The man sounded amused. "Not unique at all."
Armstrong felt his forehead crease. "What do you mean?"
Apeiron leaned back in his chair. "Dauntless's spear is capable of extending and firing blasts of electricity. His boots allow him to fly. His shield projects a barrier, his armor increases his durability and his helmet enhances his mental processes."
Armstrong nodded along, but slowed as Apeiron continued. Beyond the spear, shield, and boots, he couldn't confirm those effects. The fact that the helmet had mental abilities tied to it was completely new to him, but Apeiron had seen the man in person. He had been able to assess the nature of Dauntless's spear and confessed to using similar effects. It made sense that he'd be able to piece together then rest of the details.
"I see, but how is that related to the 'ritual'?" Armstrong asked.
"Because Dauntless can't create a pair of gloves that boost his vision or a belt that increases his accuracy. That's not a limit of the structure of the power being imbued, it's a quality of the items chosen." He explained.
"You're saying there is some innate significance to particular pieces of equipment? One that extends into ritual and action?" Armstrong felt his face twist in confusion as he asked the question.
"No." Apeiron explained. "In isolation a spear or a helmet or a suit of armor is just a collection of metal. There's no inherent significance to them when parahuman powers are concerned. The significance comes from the person wielding the power."
Armstrong nodded slowly. "Perception based power theory." He said. Fortunately, he was well versed in research topics. "It's been investigated, but there's never been any confirmation from controlled condition experiments."
"There's never been a controlled condition." Apeiron said. "Or more specifically, they've been examining the wrong conditions."
"Trigger events." Armstrong said in understanding. "You're saying that the expression of a power is based on the perception of concepts during a person's trigger event."
"That's a simplification, but broadly speaking, yes. I'm sure you're aware of arbitrary limitations on powers. Powers are structured through a human frame of reference, but they are not actively updated. A change in perspective doesn't change the expression of how a power functions once it's been set." He explained.
Once it's been set. Specifically set, by some external force. Passenger theory was always contentious, though Apeiron's faith in the concept and the apparent confirmation following the Case 68 and Case 69 incidents had changed that.
Of course, the idea of guiding intelligences behind parahuman abilities had its own collection of issues, not the least of which came from the conditions endured by Case 53s and other individuals who struggled against powers that were more curse than blessing. And if powers were defined through a human frame of reference, what happened if that frame of reference was twisted or incomplete? And what did it say about the nature of passengers themselves.
Despite the discussion turning towards topics that Armstrong was intimately familiar with, he felt out of his depth. His focus on research had constantly sought understanding of the mechanism behind parahuman abilities. With Apeiron's succinct summation of those mechanics the real concern turned to the justification behind those abilities. Not how did parahuman powers work, but why were they granted and who were the entities directing them.
In a way, the idea that mentality shaped a person's powers spoke to the popular Protectorate lie about good triggers and bad triggers. Those who rose to the occasion to overcome a challenge compared to those who fell into desperation and despair. It was a convenient lie designed to keep children focused on excelling rather than seeking out circumstances that could result in a trigger event, but there were unintended consequences. People with unfortunate power expressions were often considered to be in the 'bad trigger' category. It was assumed that they had brought the state upon themselves somehow, which stripped them of public sympathy for their plight.
Matters were even worse for Case 53s. The good trigger/bad trigger dichotomy had already been in place when the unfortunate individuals began appearing. That just provided one more obstacle for them to struggle against and one more point of 'justification' for discrimination against them and other monstrous capes.
"You're saying that a simple misconception at the time of a person's trigger event could radically alter the parameters of their abilities?" Armstrong asked.
"Shatterbird should not be able to damage electronics." Apeiron said.
"What?" Armstrong felt himself stammer at the sudden declaration.
"There are no structural similarities between glass and silicon wafers that would allow a single power to affect each of them. Additionally, she is able to affect sand but not silica rich materials, including granite." He gave Armstrong a hard look. "People hear silicon and think glass. They know there's silicon in computer chips. They know glass is made from sand, but they don't think of rock and glass in the same category. A power focused on glass expands to include electronics and sand, not because of the mechanism of the power, but because of the perceptions of the person who received it."
Armstrong nodded slowly. It was a rather compelling explanation, though the chosen example wasn't one he would have used to make that point. Then again, it made sense that Apeiron wouldn't have the same concerns regarding the Slaughterhouse Nine that other people would.
"Um, right." He said, doing his best to cover his discomfort. There wasn't a director alive who didn't live in fear of that particular group deciding to choose their city for their next excursion. The only mitigating factor was their tendency to go after cities in critical and unstable situations, exacerbating damage that had already been done by an S-class threat, gang war, or other major conflict.
His eyes briefly flickered to Apeiron, then he purposefully dismissed the thought. Now wasn't the time to be speculating about those kinds of concerns, not with the challenges he was already dealing with.
"Right." He said again. "But with the range of human experience and perception, not to mention cultural context, you could see practically any expression of abilities."
"Yes." Apeiron said flatly.
"Ah. Yes, I suppose I concede that point." Armstrong replied. "So that symbolism, the frame of reference, that is something you are able to make use of?"
Apeiron nodded. "Not to get into precise details, particularly considering what I have already shared, but power works through context. I understand people have theorized that I am a 'power tinker' but that would be simplifying a rather broad range of effects and principles. The framework, symbolism, ritual, and perception of effect is a significant part of that."
He lifted his hand, palm up. "For instance, fire."
A ball of flame sprang into existence in Apeiron's hand and Armstrong found himself pressing back into his chair. The display cast flickering shadows around the small office. He could feel the heat pressing on his face as the smell of smoke filled the room.
"For most people fire is destructive. It's a source of danger and concern. Their experiences with it are limited to minimal use in candles and gas stoves and concerns over fire safety and prevention." The ball of flame roiled in Apeiron's hand. "If a parahuman manifests dangerous or destructive powers, that is a convenient medium for them to be expressed. Often it's not even fire, just the appearance of plasma formations that oscillate in a way they think of as flame. An offensive ability that could have just as easily been served by any number of other effects."
Suddenly, the ball of flame in Apeiron's hand shifted from its yellow-orange gradient to a rich vibrant red. The smell of smoke vanished to a mere hint of its former intensity, reminding Armstrong of campfires and wood ovens. The intense heat vanished into a kind of warmth that seemed to fill his body, easing the aches and pains of one of the most stressful days of his life.
"But fire isn't just destruction. It's change, industry, and warmth. A beacon of safety and a symbol of community. Fire serves as a means of supporting and protecting those under your care. It's still destructive, still dangerous if used carelessly, but it's also the most fundamental element of civilization. A guiding light as well as a source of both strength and comfort. It's all those things and more without being any less of the others."
Armstrong looked into the ball of flame. It was insane, but he could see what Apeiron meant. All the aspects described. The warmth, the support, and the strength that was drawn from something fundamentally dangerous. Something that could destroy as easily as it could comfort. Chaos and order contained within the same substance.
It was something he was familiar with. Directed chaos, the use of a fundamentally dangerous force to provide support and stability. The fires of civilization that could run rampant, or be tamed and controlled, turned towards the good of everyone he was responsible for. Everyone he had a duty to.
His eyes widened as he looked deeper into the flames. Shapes rose and quickly solidified. Familiar faces flickered past with every movement of the flame. Images of his agents seeing to the hostages or manning stations around the camp. The security check and watchpoints that acted as waystations for supplies and other deliveries.
Then images of the Boston PRT headquarters. His deputy director leading a briefing in his absence, updating the field commanders on the status of the city and what to watch for while he was occupied at the camp. Then more faces. Agents and staff that went about their duties. Protectorate capes he worked particularly closely with. Wards that he had supported. Hunch sitting with Blockade, sharing his predictions with his fellow Ward.
Then a scene from outside of Boston. Weld, preparing for patrol, running through his final checks completely by the book. Nearby a girl bore his actions with quiet amusement. A purple costume with a visor and a recently added cape. Flechette and Weld, preparing for a foot patrol in Brockton Bay.
Armstrong blinked and leaned back in his chair. Without focusing on the flames the visions became indistinct, but they were still there. Every aspect was a phenomenally powerful effect, one he was barely able to come to terms with.
"Was that…" He began before swallowing. "Was I actually seeing into Boston and Brockton Bay?"
Apeiron nodded. "That's what I meant by the range of effect. The symbolism of something can change drastically based on how you interpret it." He looked down at the flame in his hand. "The hearth has always been an important symbol. One of authority, but also obligation. Obligation that goes both ways. Fire also had a history as a divination tool."
"Thinker powers, based on fire." Armstrong said. It wasn't something he would have considered, but in a way it made sense. A cape with the ability to see through flames might seem odd, but only from a modern context.
Apeiron nodded again. "If you have someone in a position of central authority working for the betterment of those under his command and you extend that to the symbolic concepts of flame in the context of home, community and protection, then well…" He held up the ball of red flame. "A method of monitoring those under your care."
An instant thinker power, one usable by others and by all appearances created on the spur of the moment based on nothing but symbolism and metaphorical concepts. Cast in that context, the reported ritual made a lot more sense.
Armstrong shook his head. "I didn't realize you tinkered with powers through abstract concepts."
Apeiron grinned. "Well, I also tinker with technology, which is generally a lot simpler than this kind of thing."
Given what Apeiron's technology was capable of, that wasn't as comforting as the man probably hoped it to be.
Armstrong cleared his throat. "With respect to 'that kind of thing', is it an original power effect, tied to a manifested flame?"
"Essentially." Apeiron said.
"So temporary?" Armstrong asked.
Apeiron looked down at the ball of fire he was holding. "Technically, but I guess there's no sense in wasting it." He looked around the office, then gestured to the desk next to Armstrong. "Could you hand me that paper clip?"
Armstrong looked over at the loose paperclip sitting on the desk. Gingerly, he picked it up and passed it to Apeiron. The man took it in his free hand and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. The wire of the paperclip glowed white, causing Armstrong to squint. He could just make out Apeiron molding the tiny piece of metal with one hand, then bringing it to the ball of flame.
As he blinked away the spots in his eyes, he saw Apeiron sat an elaborately engraved brazier onto the desk with that same deep crimson flame burning within it. Looking into the flame he could see flickering images of the people under his command, jumping from one scene to another feeding him information faster than any briefing could accomplish.
He looked away and took a moment to steady his breathing. "You built a surveillance device for my entire department, out of fire." The words seemed unbelievable even as he was saying them. "Um, even for someone in my position, this is a massive invasion of privacy."
"Not really." Apeiron said. "It's the flames of hearth and home, not the fires of tyranny."
"That's a thing?" Armstrong asked with clear concern in his voice. Apeiron waved him off, which was frankly even more concerning.
"What I mean is, the level of intrusion is limited to support and protection. You aren't going to be able to see into agents' homes or spy on personal moments. Only information related to department operation or active threats." He glanced back at the bowl of flames. "And speaking of which…"
Armstrong followed his gaze and looked into the flames again. Images shifted and suddenly he was looking at what he recognized as a remote area of the training camp. One of the younger agents, Kennedy, was typing on a non-standard cell phone while checking over his shoulder.
"Is that what it looks like?" Armstrong asked grimly.
"He's attempting to message Kathrine Miller, an editor at Capewatch. I believe they have a bounty for information related to my activities. Fortunately, he seems to be having trouble getting a signal at the moment." Apeiron said with a sly smile and more amusement than the situation probably warranted.
Armstrong cursed under his breath and pulled out his own phone. After a quick call he was able to watch as two more senior agents approached Kennedy's position. The young man tried to conceal his personal phone, but was unable to hide the device before the agents were on him. And evidently unable to talk his way out of the situation.
Armstrong shook his head and turned away from the brazier. "I am sorry about that. My department vetted each member of the team, but given the timeframe and the staffing requirements, it seems we were not as thorough as we should have been.
"Well, then it's a good thing you'll be equipped to deal with any issues going forward." Apeiron said. Armstrong looked at him, then over to the brazier.
"You are giving that to me?" He asked. A device that on its own would probably qualify the user as at least a thinker four, possibly significantly higher depending on what counted as 'active threats'.
"It's just a demonstration piece, and it's better than letting it go to waste." Apeiron said flippantly. He reached over and adjusted the device, causing it to fold down from a brazier to a table lamp to a burning lantern, then to a… cigarette lighter? Another shift returned it to the bowl of rolling flames.
"This is…" Armstrong trailed off. Was this how Dauntless felt when Apeiron decided to upgrade his spear, throwing off years of carefully planned upgrade scheduling and drastically increasing the man's power? Was Apeiron just going to throw out life changing items of power to anyone who met him on amicable terms? Or was it something about his current situation that allowed this? Being confident enough in his power and position that even something as fundamentally disruptive as THIS was a minor issue for him.
Armstrong swallowed. "Thank you, for this and for addressing the issues at hand." In the wake of numerous revelations the question of potential religious visions had largely been forgotten. It wasn't resolved, but he at least trusted Apeiron's intentions and methods. It was a relief to know that he wasn't descending into delusions of godhood, despite his level of power.
"You're welcome." Apeiron glanced back towards the waiting area of the infirmary. "I know the earlier matter isn't fully resolved, but…"
"I understand." It would likely be problematic, particularly when news spread, but at this point another stranger effect tied to Apeiron would… well, it would still be massively concerning. All of them were. But it would be something that the PRT was at least accustomed to dealing with from the man.
"Though I have to say…" Armstrong said in an attempt to inject some levity. He reached over to the brazier and somehow managed to activate the mechanism, compressing it down to a lantern and then a lighter on his first try. "I didn't anticipate that I'd be walking away with a major item of tinker tech from our time together."
To his surprise, Apeiron gave him a confused look. "The Matrix is issuing a G.E.C.K. to your department, correct?" He asked.
"Yes, Agent Palmer handled the arrangement." He said. Apeiron's expression was unchanged. "The matter generation system, to address our supply issues? I'm very grateful, but compared to this…?"
"Director Armstrong, maybe you should take some time to read up on exactly what you purchased." Apeiron said seriously.
Which was how he found himself back in the command center with agents Palmer, Mitchel, and Crawford while Apeiron saw to the last of the hostages.
"Director, in my defense, the full specifications and safety assessment were not provided until after the Matrix's affiliate status was finalized." Agent Palmer said in a stressed voice.
"Is that normal procedure?" Mitchel asked.
"It is when we're prioritizing the signing bonus." Armstrong said, rubbing his forehead before turning his attention back to the open case in front of him. "Though it was perhaps slightly shortsighted to assume the translators would be the more advanced devices."
"Only referring to this as 'advanced' might be an understatement." Crawford said. She was reviewing the rather extensive documentation for the G.E.C.K., including the device's full name.
The 'Garden of Eden Creation Kit'. A grandiose name, even with the included disclaimer stating that the name was allegorical and that device was entirely a product of technology with no divine, spiritual, or theological elements intrinsic to its operation.
It was a small briefcase, which so far had been something of a theme with the Matrix's work. It opened to a convenient user interface that provided a guide to the device's operation and capabilities. All of its capabilities. It's rather staggering amount of capabilities.
Mitchel looked over at the holographic interface and cocked his head. "Maybe you should shift it to the south?"
Based on Palmer's description, Armstrong had been expecting some kind of matter generation system capable of producing food, clothing, and other necessities. Impressive technology, beyond what a conventional tinker could manage without extensive support over a long period of time, but that seemed par for the course when it came to the Celestial Forge.
"I've tried that. I think the issue is the ground level." Armstrong said, adjusting the input parameters.
It was entirely possible he'd fallen for the mistake of three-day old technology. Or perhaps more than three-day old. They were two three-day cycles from the Ungodly Hour after all. Expecting the Celestial Forge to only offer something beyond the works of the best tinkers in the Protectorate was foolish, as they were now well aware.
"It's probably a proximity issue." Crawford said without looking up from the device's documentation. "That's what it was the last three times."
Because the Celestial Forge didn't do anything by half-measures. Armstrong had gotten the impression that the Matrix was down-selling them when they shifted from directly handling their supply concerns to issuing the G.E.C.K., but that was most definitely not the case.
"It's the same distance as the other two, except for the court." Mitchel said as he squinted at the hologram.
Additionally, Proto Aima's offhand comment regarding the personalized sets of clothing and effects the Matrix had produced for their patients now made a lot more sense. Given what the small device on the table in front of them was capable of, a few sets of fresh clothes was basically a rounding error.
"Then maybe remove the court?" Palmer suggested. "Or just forget this?" She pointed at the structure outlined in red. A structure that had been green for about a quarter of a second when Armstrong first selected it before a slight adjustment had caused it to return nothing but placement errors. "You already have a movie theater and basketball courts. Do you really need the arcade?"
"Need is a strong word." Mitchel said in a jovial tone. The ridiculousness of playing architect with a wide area matter creation and terraforming device made it difficult to keep the seriousness of the situation in mind.
"The Matrix stated that they 'look forward to our full utilization of the device'." Crawford read from one of the documents on her screen. "Which could be considered a contractual obligation to make full use of available features."
Palmer let out a breath and turned back to the holographic layout. "This is just hard to believe." She turned to Crawford. "The Boston PRT really has a terraforming device capable of housing and supporting the population of a small town?"
"A reusable device." Crawford said, pulling up another document. "A 'Make Good' stipulation has been included. The device integrates when deployed, but can be retrieved, reversing the changes." She paused, checking over some more documents. "With the exception of contaminant removal and 'biological integration'."
Because the G.E.C.K. could create trees. Tree and grass and a staggering amount of other vegetation, otherwise it wouldn't be much of a garden.
"Hopefully the Army Reserve won't mind a little landscaping." Armstrong said. Frankly, the state of the camp when he handed it back was the least of his concerns right now. No, he was focused on making use of the ridiculously excessive device they had apparently signed up for and adjusting to the fact that he was now the owner of two major items of significant power, each handed off either freely or for an insultingly low price.
"If Apeiron has this kind of technology, then why is Brockton Bay still…?" Mitchel asked.
Armstrong grit his teeth at the question, but thankfully Palmer responded before he could.
"Because Director Piggot has kept non-collaboration policies in place from the start of the crisis." She said, "It makes it difficult to ask for civil assistance."
The mention of the ENE department dampened what little amusement there was in playing with the ridiculous technology. Still, Armstrong pressed on, playing model railroad with holographic buildings, and approving recommended supply provisions for both the hostages and his own agents.
The thought of what technology like this could do in the wake of an Endbringer attack, or for cities that had been long since written off. The Matrix had included parameters for the level of contaminants that the device could counter. Armstrong had needed to have Crawford double check to make sure there wasn't a decimal point error.
If the numbers were accurate, this device would be able to deploy a park over a nuclear reactor that was actively melting down. Behemoth attack zones that had been cordoned off for years would be trivial, and any number of other disaster areas could be potentially recovered.
Could be, but probably not by them. By the time they would be able to recover the device to repurpose it, at least three days would have passed. If this was Apeiron's current level, where would he be then?
No, that was the wrong question. This wasn't Apeiron's current level. In fact he had absolutely no idea what Apeiron's current level was. This was a novelty, as was the impossible lantern that gave him a frightening amount of oversight for his department. And allowed him to check on Weld, which was much less contentious.
The point was there had been no indication that any of those devices had been in any way a challenge for Apeiron. This entire venture, with all the miracles deployed to facilitate an impossible task, was nothing more than an afternoon's diversion for his team, and a fairly restrained one at that.
Armstrong had been able to get a measure of the man's character. He was less worried about the power at Apeiron's disposal than he had been, and was far less worried than his peers in the PRT. The irony was those peers didn't have the faintest clue as to how far beyond their estimates Apeiron actually was or what they could expect when he could finally act free of the concerns for his home city.
He let out a breath and went back to work. It ended up requiring minor reordering of the library, gym, both pools, and two of the residential blocks, and several underground structures, but he finally saw that glorious green outline. He immediately locked the building in place and leaned back to look at his work.
A slowly rotating map of the boundaries of the training camp floated above the open briefcase. Low buildings, not obvious from outside the security perimeter, with extensive underground structures. Actually, that appeared to be something of a specialization for this technology.
It seemed excessive. Well, excessive in general, but particularly excessive for what was referred to as a 'domestic model'. In fairness, the G.E.C.K. had only been able to produce residential and recreational facilities. There were security measures, but minimal support for his own Agents. While this technology could very much be used to deploy bunkers and military bases, that wasn't what they had been handed.
No, they had been handed a way to ensure the comfort and care of the hostages until they could be safely released. By providing them with accommodations that were closer to a resort than a containment facility. It was a nice gesture. Monstrously excessive, but clearly coming from a place of concern.
A slight crackling in the air behind them signaled the appearance of one of Apeiron's portals. He and the Matrix stepped through from a now empty infirmary while Proto Aima just appeared leaning over the model.
"Apeiron." Armstrong said, climbing to his feet. "I take it your work is completed."
"For everyone who has elected to receive treatment." He said. "The option for remote removal or a scheduled follow-up remains if anyone changes their mind."
"Thank you, but we should be able to handle things." Less than a dozen conventional surgeries that could be performed outpatient with local anesthetic were hardly an imposition after everything they'd managed to accomplish that day.
"You have made excellent use of the capabilities of the provided technology." Some level of approval seemed to have slipped into The Matrix tone as they examined the layout. Administrative and security structures remained in place, but the barracks, mess hall, infirmary, and training yards were all fully replaced with superior options or supplemented with additional facilities.
"Thank you." Armstrong said. Like Crawford, he didn't know if that statement counted as part of their agreement, but he wasn't about to risk it. "We've informed the staff and moved the hostages into neutral spaces." He said, indicating to portions of the camp that would remain unchanged. "Will you be staying for the activation?" He asked.
It was less of an event than Armstrong expected. Despite all the power contained in the device, it was fairly utilitarian when it came to operation. After a final check from both Apeiron and the Matrix, with Proto Aima voicing her approval of the selection of facilities, Armstrong activated the device. No grand speeches or talk of momentous occasions or great collaborations. A single nod from Apeiron as suddenly the entire landscape was altered at the press of a button.
The activation of the device might have been overly casual, but there was nothing underwhelming about seeing the G.E.C.K. in action. Pulses of green light burst forth breaking down the landscape and forming outlines of new structures, buildings, and even trees. Outlines that filled in as more and more pulses of energy flowed out from the device. In less than a minute the entire camp had been transformed with added facilities, elegant landscapes, rich vegetation, and enough buildings to house and entertain the hostages for a hundred times longer than was needed.
He watched the reports as agents led the hostages to their new accommodations, private rooms rather than barracks cots. The agents did their best to take things in stride and put on a strong front while the hostages looked around at the transformation with wide eyes.
Armstrong was willing to bet that before the day was out there would be a few more cases of those visions that would need to be addressed. Frankly after a day like that, he couldn't blame them.
"Well, I think we're done here." Apeiron said, as if it had been nothing but a minor errand out of a busy day. Another portal was called up, this one to a room Armstrong didn't recognize.
"Yes, thank you for all your help." He said, shaking the man's hand. "And for…" He paused. How did you thank someone for the kind of items that had been so casually distributed. 'Thank you for making me a thinker four and shaker seven' seemed a bit callous. He swallowed and just took his best shot. "For everything."
"Don't mention it." Apeiron said, then dropped his voice. "Seriously. For most of that, I'd prefer if you could keep things quiet."
Armstrong nodded. "We're effectively radio silent until this is resolved, including with the national office. After that I promise I'll be as discreet as I can."
Honestly, it would probably be best for everyone if he just didn't mention anything about magic lanterns to his superiors. As for the rest of the details, that would depend on the situation after Bakuda was dealt with. With any luck there would be bigger priorities from the department than his actions in supporting the hostages.
"Excellent." Apeiron said. "We'll be keeping an eye on things in case you need anything but…" He looked around at the transformed camp. Somehow the Matrix seemed slightly smug despite not having any expression whatsoever.
"I think we can manage." Armstrong said. Honestly, with technology like that they could probably manage anything south of a nuclear apocalypse. "And thank you again."
He watched as Apeiron and the Matrix departed through the portal while Proto Aima just waved goodbye before completely vanishing. After a quick check of their surroundings Armstrong sighed with relief and slumped back against the nearest wall.
"Congratulations on completing a deal with Apeiron." Palmer said, much to the other's amusement.
"To the contrary, this is only the start." Armstrong said.
Dealing with that kind of power Apeiron possessed was exhausting, even when he was apparently well disposed to you. Especially if he was well disposed to you. If the man had only been neutral he probably wouldn't have handed over the Flames of Knowledge or whatever grandiose title would apply to the lighter in his jacket pocket.
He took another breath. "Only the start, but at least it's a good start." He smiled slightly as he looked over the transformed training camp. It was ridiculous and excessive, but ridiculous and excessive in a good way. "Palmer, those facilities should be properly examined before we subject the hostages to them. Once everyone has been shown to their new accommodations, start arranging shifts to cycle the agents through recreational facilities of their preference." He said with a tired grin.
"Absolutely sir." She said with a grin.
He nodded. After the most stressful afternoon in recent memory, the agents had earned some downtime. Frankly speaking, they all had.
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Rem Freeman
Clouded Personality
- Location
- Ocean Bound
Well done on the chapter, Lord! And it's nice to see that, no matter the universe you're in, town and city-building games remain just as addicting as they are here 😁
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Not first. For real?
Another excellent chapter, Lord_R!
I remember your earlier notes on how you were weary on how to handle character exchanges and interactions. So for me, it's ironic how I consider that character dialogue seems to be your best and strongest skill in writing. But you write character's internal thoughts and monologues extremely well with such care and attention to detail that Joe's presence really feels like a world of difference in comparison to the standard protagonist these types of stories usually have.
I remember how I once said here (Show Comment | Archive of Our Own)
that "I can't get enough of how good BCF is. It really feels like a living, breathing world with a massive spectrum of characters with their own hopes, fears, and outlook on everything they see around them, to a greater degree than Worm and Ward."
One thing I feel that I failed to take note was in BCF specifically, a lot of characters are under a storytelling microscope where their personalities and their influences, choices, and presence on their world gets thematically examined, dissected, deconstructed and sometimes reconstructed. And in a great way too!
I really wish Worm and Ward had preambles, interludes and addendums in the way that BCF does.
Sure, that would increase the already enormous word count but as I once said, it's about what you do with the runtime that really matters. I think Worm and Ward really could have benefited from more time in the oven. But BCF is taking its time very wisely and like a tortoise, slow and steady wins the race.
It's really hard to feel bored or exhausted with a very long story if it's constantly shifting with extremely substantial viewpoints that feel like they present only the tip of an iceberg.
I always felt that the canon stories were missing something that always prevented me from connecting with them fully. Like, I had just enough engagement with them to tolerate reading through their stories but not enough to really "click" with them. It's very fucking complicated and confusing for me, like I was looking a giant puzzle with one massive piece missing. Maybe I'm just stupid.
I couldn't put into words what that "Something" was that I felt they were missing. I tried reading fanfiction of Worm in hopes of finding some Worm stories with that "Something," and ,while I think some fanfics have their own qualities, they just don't feel like Worm and Ward. (Keep in mind, I haven't re-read Worm and/or Ward in a hot minute so I could be misremembering or only remembering the feelings I had reading them.)
Please donate some tolerance to me on this next part:
BCF is so supreme in its quality that I feel no hesitation whatsoever in counting BCF as the official third parahuman story. It feels completely insane to me but out of all the things I had in my 2022 bucket list, "Discover a Worm fic that feels like a threequel." was not one of them.
It feels really sad when I see people outside of this space harp on BCF with a really reductive stance on it like they do with Worm and Ward.
I guess it's kind of fitting that BCF feels like a Parahumans Threequel and, like Worm and Ward, has a very similar divisive reputation in the wider community, if for different reasons.
(Side note: I know this will never happen but if BCF has an alternative name that matches with the canon stories, what would it be called?
My money's on Wave.
Worm, Ward, and now, Wave.
I choose Wave because I feel it accurately represents the Wave of impact that the Celestial Forge, both the team and power, has on the universe surrounding it.
The Forge themselves metaphorically unleashes a massive Wave akin to a tsunami that changes the entire fundamentals on how the world functions.
Also would fit because of the (potential) relationship between Joe and Crystal.
Another good alternative title, I think, would be Weight.
Worm, Ward, and now, Weight.
Sounds and looks strange but please hear me out.
Weight as a title would show how similar it is to Worm and Ward with them superficially starting with "W" but also how different it is with how blunt it is in comparison.
Similarly, the chapter list is formatted completely differently but the chapter names themselves could match with the Arc names of Worm and Ward.
Kinda like how the Celestial Forge has a bunch of powers that are similar but different to the power of parahumans. Like the powers of parahumans, the powers of the Celestial Forge are given a lot of Weight. More, in fact.
As such, the Celestial Forge has an unbelievable impact on the world and, by extension, Joe himself.
Joe carries not only this pressure, but the personal burdens he has both on himself and other people. But with Joe being the strongest, he can give Weight to other people that are overlooked in these types of stories.
With great power, there must also come great responsibility.)
Honestly to me, that's why I, and a lot of other readers, don't really mind the constant delays because it means more quality in the writing and storytelling. That's why I love Brockton's Celestial Forge a lot. I love reading this story so much that I honestly don't mind waiting for it.
I feel so much hype from the waiting in a way that reminds me of waiting for some awesome movie, like Avengers Infinity War or video game, like Halo 3, to release at midnight where the majority of my time is spent waiting in the line.
This is the only fanfiction that I have read where the quality is so high that I have felt genuine guilt on not having paid money to see it.
I feel kind of embarrassed to admit that in the context of a chapter for a fanfiction, But at the same time, the term fanfiction doesn't really mean anything inherently negative to me these days because of the potential for very high quality work to be made, like BCF.
(that and it's not like commercial work is looking very impressive by comparison.
The recent Borderlands movie is so god-awful.
If anyone reading this is curious or just wants to watch it, please don't. It's not even "so bad it's good". It's just absolute dogshit. It baffles me on how it's existence in its current state got approved.)
Meanwhile, Brockton's Celestial Forge here has a novel each chapter and it's completely free.
By the time that the Slaughterhouse 9 get dealt with and the Triumvirate have to deal with Apeiron, it's gonna be a massive blast.
I'm extremely excited to see your take on Legend and especially Eidolon. It always feels refreshing to read a Worm fic where these characters actually resemble their canon selves.
It feels especially dramatic with how Joe's passenger perceives them, Joe growing up admiring them and how they are in reality.
It's a dynamic that is ripe for potential but if there is one person I know can pull it off, it's Lord R.
...
(So if anyone else is still reading this clusterfuck I spent too long putting together, first off, thank you for your time and patience.
Secondly, I'm sorry if you want a refund of the time you spent reading this, but hey, at least I tried!
unlike the people behind the Borderlands movie.)
Edit: spelling correction
I remember your earlier notes on how you were weary on how to handle character exchanges and interactions. So for me, it's ironic how I consider that character dialogue seems to be your best and strongest skill in writing. But you write character's internal thoughts and monologues extremely well with such care and attention to detail that Joe's presence really feels like a world of difference in comparison to the standard protagonist these types of stories usually have.
I remember how I once said here (Show Comment | Archive of Our Own)
that "I can't get enough of how good BCF is. It really feels like a living, breathing world with a massive spectrum of characters with their own hopes, fears, and outlook on everything they see around them, to a greater degree than Worm and Ward."
One thing I feel that I failed to take note was in BCF specifically, a lot of characters are under a storytelling microscope where their personalities and their influences, choices, and presence on their world gets thematically examined, dissected, deconstructed and sometimes reconstructed. And in a great way too!
I really wish Worm and Ward had preambles, interludes and addendums in the way that BCF does.
Sure, that would increase the already enormous word count but as I once said, it's about what you do with the runtime that really matters. I think Worm and Ward really could have benefited from more time in the oven. But BCF is taking its time very wisely and like a tortoise, slow and steady wins the race.
It's really hard to feel bored or exhausted with a very long story if it's constantly shifting with extremely substantial viewpoints that feel like they present only the tip of an iceberg.
I always felt that the canon stories were missing something that always prevented me from connecting with them fully. Like, I had just enough engagement with them to tolerate reading through their stories but not enough to really "click" with them. It's very fucking complicated and confusing for me, like I was looking a giant puzzle with one massive piece missing. Maybe I'm just stupid.
I couldn't put into words what that "Something" was that I felt they were missing. I tried reading fanfiction of Worm in hopes of finding some Worm stories with that "Something," and ,while I think some fanfics have their own qualities, they just don't feel like Worm and Ward. (Keep in mind, I haven't re-read Worm and/or Ward in a hot minute so I could be misremembering or only remembering the feelings I had reading them.)
Please donate some tolerance to me on this next part:
BCF is so supreme in its quality that I feel no hesitation whatsoever in counting BCF as the official third parahuman story. It feels completely insane to me but out of all the things I had in my 2022 bucket list, "Discover a Worm fic that feels like a threequel." was not one of them.
It feels really sad when I see people outside of this space harp on BCF with a really reductive stance on it like they do with Worm and Ward.
I guess it's kind of fitting that BCF feels like a Parahumans Threequel and, like Worm and Ward, has a very similar divisive reputation in the wider community, if for different reasons.
(Side note: I know this will never happen but if BCF has an alternative name that matches with the canon stories, what would it be called?
My money's on Wave.
Worm, Ward, and now, Wave.
I choose Wave because I feel it accurately represents the Wave of impact that the Celestial Forge, both the team and power, has on the universe surrounding it.
The Forge themselves metaphorically unleashes a massive Wave akin to a tsunami that changes the entire fundamentals on how the world functions.
Also would fit because of the (potential) relationship between Joe and Crystal.
Another good alternative title, I think, would be Weight.
Worm, Ward, and now, Weight.
Sounds and looks strange but please hear me out.
Weight as a title would show how similar it is to Worm and Ward with them superficially starting with "W" but also how different it is with how blunt it is in comparison.
Similarly, the chapter list is formatted completely differently but the chapter names themselves could match with the Arc names of Worm and Ward.
Kinda like how the Celestial Forge has a bunch of powers that are similar but different to the power of parahumans. Like the powers of parahumans, the powers of the Celestial Forge are given a lot of Weight. More, in fact.
As such, the Celestial Forge has an unbelievable impact on the world and, by extension, Joe himself.
Joe carries not only this pressure, but the personal burdens he has both on himself and other people. But with Joe being the strongest, he can give Weight to other people that are overlooked in these types of stories.
With great power, there must also come great responsibility.)
Honestly to me, that's why I, and a lot of other readers, don't really mind the constant delays because it means more quality in the writing and storytelling. That's why I love Brockton's Celestial Forge a lot. I love reading this story so much that I honestly don't mind waiting for it.
I feel so much hype from the waiting in a way that reminds me of waiting for some awesome movie, like Avengers Infinity War or video game, like Halo 3, to release at midnight where the majority of my time is spent waiting in the line.
This is the only fanfiction that I have read where the quality is so high that I have felt genuine guilt on not having paid money to see it.
I feel kind of embarrassed to admit that in the context of a chapter for a fanfiction, But at the same time, the term fanfiction doesn't really mean anything inherently negative to me these days because of the potential for very high quality work to be made, like BCF.
(that and it's not like commercial work is looking very impressive by comparison.
The recent Borderlands movie is so god-awful.
If anyone reading this is curious or just wants to watch it, please don't. It's not even "so bad it's good". It's just absolute dogshit. It baffles me on how it's existence in its current state got approved.)
Meanwhile, Brockton's Celestial Forge here has a novel each chapter and it's completely free.
By the time that the Slaughterhouse 9 get dealt with and the Triumvirate have to deal with Apeiron, it's gonna be a massive blast.
I'm extremely excited to see your take on Legend and especially Eidolon. It always feels refreshing to read a Worm fic where these characters actually resemble their canon selves.
It feels especially dramatic with how Joe's passenger perceives them, Joe growing up admiring them and how they are in reality.
It's a dynamic that is ripe for potential but if there is one person I know can pull it off, it's Lord R.
...
(So if anyone else is still reading this clusterfuck I spent too long putting together, first off, thank you for your time and patience.
Secondly, I'm sorry if you want a refund of the time you spent reading this, but hey, at least I tried!
unlike the people behind the Borderlands movie.)
Edit: spelling correction
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SiegfriedisOP
Calamity Demon King of Time
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I suppose people are waiting for me to start telling the truth?
I believe that should be thinker four, rather than tinker? For the brazier?
- Location
- .wa.us
Armstrong, I think?
Probably should be defused.
I suspect you meant king.
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- Location
- Cyberspace
I rather like Armstrong's perspective. He's capable, reasonably benevolent and quite experienced, but an external party to all the complete absurdity that is the Celestial Forge. And yet he's put together enough pieces to realize just how massive potential changes could be "once Brockton Bay is cleaned up"... and even had a slight bit of foreshadowing as to just what event will allow Apeiron "off-leash".
Well, mostly off-leash. He's going to be trying to dodge major Passenger (ie, Scion) notice, of course. Which he... probably could manage as long as he keeps to the 'mundane'? Scion isn't terribly attentive at present, and Apeiron is fiat-protected from precognition, so unless something trips an alarm of some kind the golden man's not going to anticipate Apeiron doing something he intensely dislikes ahead of time.
In the meantime, however, Cauldron will almost certainly be freaking out in a moderate way. Not major, as Apeiron's (probably) not yet derailing their plans to kill Scion and salvage humanity in the aftermath, and the man's technology might even help (I suspect Fortuna could path the utility of any Forge tech that spreads once it's out in the wild)... but he's definitely going to be very clearly not contained and not controlled. And trying to find a route to 'remedying' the latter will likely run afoul of some rather unpleasant divine effects, if I recall right.
But that digression aside, I hope there'll be future Armstrong interludes... or at least scenes involving him.
Well, mostly off-leash. He's going to be trying to dodge major Passenger (ie, Scion) notice, of course. Which he... probably could manage as long as he keeps to the 'mundane'? Scion isn't terribly attentive at present, and Apeiron is fiat-protected from precognition, so unless something trips an alarm of some kind the golden man's not going to anticipate Apeiron doing something he intensely dislikes ahead of time.
In the meantime, however, Cauldron will almost certainly be freaking out in a moderate way. Not major, as Apeiron's (probably) not yet derailing their plans to kill Scion and salvage humanity in the aftermath, and the man's technology might even help (I suspect Fortuna could path the utility of any Forge tech that spreads once it's out in the wild)... but he's definitely going to be very clearly not contained and not controlled. And trying to find a route to 'remedying' the latter will likely run afoul of some rather unpleasant divine effects, if I recall right.
But that digression aside, I hope there'll be future Armstrong interludes... or at least scenes involving him.
Daecl
CURSED BY THE DICE
You know, given the detailed description of perception based powers and the specific examples Joe brought up, the PRT is definitely going to assume Apeiron was a devout Hellenist before he triggered. It even explains why godhood isn't automatically going to his head - the Greek Gods were a far more flawed and human set of deities compared to the Abrahamic faiths.
Hell, he even appears to be building his own little pantheon.
Hell, he even appears to be building his own little pantheon.
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Well what kind of capabilities would you like him to bring into play here? Low level is fixing every problem you have, middle is ressurecting everyone a bomb killed so Bakuda officially has 0 casualties, and on the high end we have world peace.
Spiral Power waiting in the background to break the setting in half, loading it's Chekhov's mecha.
Foreshadowing!
Why would you expect the works of the best superhero division in the planet with decades of experience to stand up to monkey steel!?
Glad to see the Endbringer speculation was addressed. That three day build time is never going to be lived down and it's glorious!
Apeiron casually making random people he meets better than most parahumans!
Finally, since it doesn't fit the reactiony bit above I want to comment on the Scion comparison. The whole reason Joe got in trouble is because he showed up, "fixed" something with overwhelming and unknown power, and continued to do so repeatedly through the ungodly hour, only ever giving an accounting at the summit. So Armstrong saying, "Well it's a good thing that Apeiron communicates unlike Scion" is really ironic considering the problems that domino effected into the current story is from Joe acting exactly like Armstrong described.
backgroundnoise
Getting Too Old For This...
- Location
- The Shadowlands
Poor guys, that's a lot of world-shattering revelations to go through over the course of a long afternoon.
Thanks for the chapter!
Seeing what our boy Apeiron made out of a paperclip in the middle of nowhere makes me curious what the most impressive thing he could make out of paper clip in his workshop.
Seeing what our boy Apeiron made out of a paperclip in the middle of nowhere makes me curious what the most impressive thing he could make out of paper clip in his workshop.
Thanks for the great chapter LordRoustabout! It was pretty cool to get a look into the more professional and balanced thoughts of a moderate PRT director like Armstrong so that we can see what sane people think of the CF.
Missing a "the" here
Should be "sign", not "sign".
Should be thinker, not tinker
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Some typos
Sign
The second armsmaster should be Armstrong
Loved the chapter!
Sign
The second armsmaster should be Armstrong
Loved the chapter!
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OerstedMagicMan
Casual LoR Enjoyer
- Location
- Indonesia
Thank you for the Chapter!
Time to read the Armstrong Interlude as a whole
Time to read the Armstrong Interlude as a whole
Thanks for another great chapter.
Both could technically fit grammatically. But It just looks wrong when I read it.
Is that supposed to say Armstrong instead of Armsmaster?
Both could technically fit grammatically. But It just looks wrong when I read it.