Broker: Wheeling and Dealing, a CYOA self-insert.

[Hopelesslylost]

This story is currently posted in my snippet thread on Space Battles, but I figured I'd post it here... after some editing.

Combining ch. 1 & 2 here.

Broker Ch. 1- a new arrival.

Waking up to cold rain falling on my face, before gagging on the stench of the dumpster I was laying next to. This was definitely not how I expected this to start.

I don't know why I was expecting something more, especially considering the bastard I had made the deal with.

A new life with powers and abilities I had chosen, in a new world. The only price the sarcastic bastard had mentioned, was that he wanted me to be entertaining.

Pulling myself to my feet using the lip of the dumpster, I looked back at the mound of burst trash bags that had apparently been my landing pad. Fucking ROB had taken the "drop in" option literally.

Looking down at the grey, now heavily stained trench coat, grey t-shirt, and grey slacks I was wearing, I realized something very important that I had forgotten in writing out my new description. shoes.

So here I am, barefoot, in a back alley in Brockton Bay, at night, and the only things I have to my name are the clothes on my back and a cheap wallet with a hundred dollars in it.

Yep. My name's Johnny Deveroux... And I'm going to die.
____________________________________

Hobbling my way to the end of the alley was an exercise in avoidance. Namely of avoiding any more cold, wet, unknown squishy things between my toes.

Needless to say, my feet were cold, wet, and hurting from stepping on a few hard or sharper objects hidden among the softer clutter of the alley.

Looking to the right, I could see the part of town I was in get progressively worse. A few flickering, buzzing streetlights lined the blocks of rundown, boarded up shops.

Farther on, bleak, graphitti covered tenements crouch at the edges of the sidewalks, looming in rows like the rain soaked corpses of giants. Their doorways board and nail grins, matched by broken window eyes.

Yep... Not going that way.

Wiping a rainslick strand of my dark brown hair out of my eyes, I looked to the left. There were more lights and signs of life.

There were not many people in sight as I made my way through the drizzling rain, towards what I hoped was a better part of town.

I passed several warehouses and what looked like an old, abandoned industrial complex, the wooden fencing around it had all the warmth and welcome of a methhead's grin, all the boards were jagged, gapped, and and in several places, rotted to stumps in the ground.

I looked back in the direction I had came from, and it was like someone had drawn a line showing prosperity, all marked out in working streetlights and lit up shop windows.

Shaking my head to dispell the morbid impression, I turned instead to the flickering neon sign in the distance. A beacon in the falling rain and darkness of Brockton Bay.

A place to gather my thoughts, and make plans against the future. Also somewhere I can deal with the pulsing energy I can feel in the back of my mind...

The vacancy sign of the Bayside Motel.

 

[Hopelesslylost]

Broker Ch.2- a place out of the weather.

The Bayside Motel was smack dab in the middle of what I could guess was the four or five block buffer zone between the tourist trap of the Boardwalk, and the actual docks.

The peeling paint and graphitti covered cinder block walls of the single story building provided all the comforts of home... If you lived in a burned down crack house.

The motel was laid out in a square-ish 'U' shape, and it was roofed in cheap shingles. A rusted metal awning stretched across the opening of the 'U'.

The rain had picked up from a drizzle into what felt like some laughing, vindictive god had decided to piss on me from on high.

Needless to say I was a shivering cold and soaking wet mess by the time I stepped through what seemed to be a solid sheet of water, finally getting a moments respite from the rain under the rusted metal awning.

I walked up to the frosted glass of the motel office, I noticed that some enterprising artist had added a personal touch to the words on the glass: Someone had used a can of bright blue spray paint to cover up the "ice" in office, and added a looping, almost calligraphy styled "Fuck" just above it.

Giving a small shake of my head and a grim chuckle, I opened the door and stopped in my tracks as a loud buzzer went off. I had hit what seemed to be a solid wall made of cigarrette smoke, body odor, and the stench of rotten barbecue.

My teeth started trying to chatter their way out of my head as I was hit by the frigid temperature of the room. Why the hell was an air conditioner running!

Before I could gather my courage to take another step, an annoyed voice shouted out, drawing my attention like a whiny fog horn through the sea of smoke and stench swirling in the chill air.

"Shut the fuggin door!"

I looked in the direction the voice had bellowed from as I closed the door and I couldn't keep from flinching.

The owner of the voice was piled in a stained and broken down recliner that was crammed behind a low wooden counter.

The counter was piled high with moldy take out boxes, crushed cigarette packs, and empty soda bottles, and behind this wall of overflowing ashtrays and trash squatted the most visually offensive man I had ever seen.

He looked to be in his late forties, and was horrendously obese. His appearance was almost that of a human toad, with what looked like four hundred pounds of sweat soaked folds and rolls of skin squeezed into a barbecue and ash encrusted t-shirt.

All of this was topped by a bullet shaped, grease slicked, bald head that reflected the light of the muted porn playing on the tv behind him.

His complexion was a patchwork of warts, pimples, and sores that made themselves known through a scraggly beard that was matted with the sauce from the barbecued rib in his sausage-like right hand.

The man's eyes were a dull and glazed brown, that somehow fit well with the barbecue sauce smeared across his face from the nose down.

"Names Ralph, the price is on the sheet."

Saying this, Ralph taps a pudgy hand against a faded yellow sheet of paper taped to the countertop.

Looking away from the train wreck of humanity in front of me and down to the page, I found several options. None of them were good with what they implied about the area I was currently in.

"So whatcha want kid?"

I couldn't help thinking to myself, as I settled on my choice, that Ralph's name fit him a little too well.

"Sixty bucks a week, right?" I asked Ralph a little hesitantly.

"Nope." The fat man looked me over, before his lips twisted into a sneer before he spoke again.

"Seventy-five for you Merchants, just in case you OD and I gotta have the cleanin girly flip the mattress."

I wanted to get mad, just storm out of this shit with a resounding "fuck you!" I could feel my jaw clench and my eyes narrow, before my brain caught up with me and stopped me from making an ass of myself.

This place was perfect for the situation I was in.

I had come in soaking wet off the streets without any shoes, wearing a stained up grey trench coat and equally grungy slacks.

I was shaking hard enough in the air conditioned chill of the office that it was no wonder Ralph had mistaken me for a crack head looking for a place to get his party on.

But Ralph was still going to rent me a room, even though I looked far too young to rent one. I knew I looked to be about sixteen years old, maybe a young seventeen at the most.

He also hasn't said anything about requiring an ID, which is a good thing, because I don't have one.

This place would provide me with the anonymity I needed to secure my future in this world. And most importantly at the moment, the price, even with Ralph's markup, was cheap.

So I nodded my head. Then I paid the fat bastard. He didn't say anything else, just handed me the sauce smeared key to room twenty-three, my twenty-five dollars in change, and a plastic ashtray with a book of matches.

I was just happy to get out of the office and into the fresh air.
_________________________________________

Once I made it inside, room twenty-three wasn't what I was expecting. I've actually stayed in worse places.

Don't get me wrong, as I looked around, it was obvious this was no holiday inn.

When I turned on the overhead light with the switch by the door, it was a bare bulb that only seemed to draw out how rundown the room was.

The carpet was a stained green, with a worn consistency that reminded me of astro-turf.

A small, wobbly table with a scuffed and dented top was directly in front of the room's wall mounted heater.

Heater!

I nearl broke my neck tripping over the leg of one of the two rolling chairs that were pushed up against the table. The chairs looked to have come from a fire sale.

A small nightstand without any drawers was set beside the queen sized bed. The remote to the tv that was mounted to the wall was on top of the nightstand, as well as a blocky rectangle of an alarm clock with a red 12:45 showing.

Below the tv, a microwave rested on top of a mini fridge that was sitting on the floor.

Surprisingly, the comforter on the queen sized bed didn't look to be in bad shape. And shockingly, I didn't find any bed bugs when I stripped off the covers to check.

The bathroom was small and cramped, with the counter the sink was set in less than a foot in front of the toilet. The floor was green tile, chipped and discolored in spots, with one rack bolted to the wall that had thin, but clean, towels. The shower and tub weren't in horrible shape either, with just a few spots of rust around the faucet and drain.

There's one thing I truly love about motels. Big hot water heaters.

It was about thirty minutes later as I had just finished a long, and very hot shower, that I leaned against the dark green countertop of the sink. I was contemplating the cracked, fogged over mirror in front of me, and what I might see if I wiped the fog away.

I hadn't looked at my reflection when I had stripped off to shower, I had been almost frantic to try and get warm, and now I was feeling a little leary of seeing a stranger's face looking back in the mirror.

Yes, I had chosen how my appearance was going to turn out when I filled out the character description, but something could have gone wrong. Like the shoes.

My hand made a squeaking noise as I slid it across the slick, fogged surface of the mirror. I braced myself mentally, I raised my head to meet my reflection's eyes.

I looked like myself, just much younger. I was also skinnier than I was at that age. The planes of my face looked sharply defined, with none of the softness I was used to seeing. My features in the mirror were a little different, but I could still recognize myself. Especially my nose, it was still slightly crooked, having been broken a few times.

My eyes were still the same, the color changing from a dark hazel, to a bright, pale green near the pupil.

I noted, with some annoyance, that my hair had also changed. It was still the same dark brown, jumbled wave of curls, it was shorter now though. Instead of reaching to about the middle of my back, my hair now fell to the point where it just touched the top of my shoulders.

I shook my head to break myself out of the staring contest with my own reflection.

Stepping over to the bathtub, I pulled my still wet, but hopefully cleaner, clothes from the bottom of the tub. I walked out to arranged them on the back of the chairs to dry.

I Looked around the room and seeing nothing else to distract myself with, I flopped onto the remade bed. It was time to deal with power I could feel shimmering with untapped potential inside of myself.

 

[Hopelesslylost]

Broker Ch. 3- meeting the neighbors.



As I sat on the cheap mattress in my hotel room, I could feel the power inside of me as I concentrated. The power was centered in my chest, in my mind's eye it was a pool of warmly glowing blue energy as thick and rich as honey.

Bending my will to this pool, this reservoir of energy within myself, it was surprisingly easy to separate the smallest piece of it that I could from the main mass of energy within me. A mere tenth of the power I could currently hold.

The small bit of energy that I directed to the palm of my hand should have had my skin glowing like a small sun! Although there wasn't any physical sign to go along with the feeling of potential within the "charge" I held in my hand.

The energy flowing beneath the surface of my palm could become any ability I could imagine!

If I had worded the adjustments I had purchases to my power correctly, it could even affect itself. I should be able to use the "charges" in ways far beyond the standard creation of powers.

I would be a cheating munchkin, and remove the limitations and drawbacks from the only power I had chosen: Power Manipulation!

I couldn't help the grin that stretched itself wide enough to cause pain in my cheeks.

First things first, though. I need to test my ability with this power, to see if it will truly be capable of the exponential growth that I had planned for when I chose it.

I willed the charge of power in my palm to flow back into my reservoir. While doing this I kept the mental image of the blue glowing pool of energy deepening, of the charge hollowing out more room for power to flow into.

As the change happened, I was almost overwhelmed with a shuddering sensation that was both pleasure and pain. It was an alien feeling that I figured I had best get used to if I wanted to surf Earth Bet.

I sighed in relief as the reaction died away. Mentally examining my pool of charges, I found myself giggling. It had worked!

Where there had been one empty space waiting to be filled with potential, there were now two!

No Sir! I did not spend the next five minutes gyrating like an idiot doing a victory dance while laughing like a lunatic! You can't prove it!

Once I had settled down a little, I slowly spent the next hour or so using my remaining nine charges in the same manner as the first one.

By the time I was finished I had become a little more at ease with the reaction using my power on itself caused me.

I had doubled the size of the pool of charges that would refill tomorrow, but the feeling of emptiness within me that came with this was a little unnerving.

Shaking my head at this feeling, I yawned as I was struck by a sudden wave of exhaustion. I looked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Fuck... The glowing red numbers told me that it was 2:15 in the morning.

Rising from the bed, I walked over to the switch by the door and turned off the overhead light. It was definitely past time for me to get some sleep.
_________________________________________________

I dreamed of an infinitely vast blue glowing ocean that stretched itself between dimensions and far beyond the reach of the stars. In the depths of it, an impossible vista of galaxies and nebula swirled. They danced between the glowing, twisting fringes of the event horizons of ever-hungering black holes.

I could feel the tide of this fantastic, impossible ocean rise in a slow building wave. At that moment, as the wave rose so high above me that it may as well have been a view of infinity, I shuddered at a realization.

In the grand scheme of things, I truly was insignificant. I was something so small in the face of this overwhelming power... A tiny little speck of existence waiting on a small beach.

I waited to be overrun and swept away by the cresting tsunami wave of raw power and reality.

The wave broke in a thunderous roar that eclipsed any sound I have ever heard.

I came awake in wide eyed shock, my pulse was a thundering rhythm in my ears as I gasped for breath. The pool of energy within me had refilled itself.

I lay there in the darkness of my hotel room, shaking with the knowledge that I had been a fool when it came to the scope of the power I had chosen. And that I would never need an alarm clock again if this was going to be a reoccurring theme!

When I had calmed down enough to not be at risk of hyperventilating, I turned my head to focus on the red glow of the clock on the nightstand.

5:40 am. Apparently I had been a shaking wreck for a good ten minutes after my charges had refilled. At the time, when I had chosen my power, it had seemed to be a good idea to choose a time early in the morning for my charges to refill. I wasn't so sure of that decision now.

But seeing as I was now wide awake, it was time to see if I could improve my situation.

I grabbed the tv remote on the nightstand and turned the set on, filling the darkness of the room with flickering light and the quiet hiss of static. A few button presses later and I had a local morning news program that gave me today's date. October the 5th. Approximately four months before the locker incident in which Taylor Hebert triggers as a parahuman.

I had chosen the date to enter earth bet after some careful consideration. The amount of time available to me by choosing to arrive in Brockton Bay before the start of the canon story would give me far more options. If necessary, I could even interfere with Taylor Hebert's trigger event.

But at the moment, the plans I had made before coming here didn't make it necessary to intervene. I wasn't worried about butterflies and their affect. Just by me being here, things were going to change, and I was perfectly fine with a different outcome than the grimdark that was the canon story line.
_________________________________________________


Getting up of the bed, I turned on the overhead light. I checked the clothes that I had hung on the wobbly furniture near the heater, finding them to be dry-ish, I went ahead and dressed for the day.

I sat down in one of the fire sale rolling chairs and began to plan out my day.

First thing: shoes! I was in a section of the city where a Goodwill store, or the earth bet equivalent, should be easy enough to find. Barring that, a lot of homeless shelters have donated clothes closets.

My second priority was breakfast, something cheap and filling. If I'm very lucky, I can probably scrounge a meal or two at a homeless shelter, it wouldn't be the first time I've had to do that.

Hopefully there is dollar, or 99 cent type store, somewhere close by in this city. I could handle several of my needs, such as food, drink, and toiletries at one of those. It would also help stretch what little money that I have, without me having to resort to anything too shady.

Or, the thought crosses my mind, I could use a charge or two and not have to worry about spending money on food and drink ever again.

I frown as I look at the door to my motel room. I'm going to have to use some of my charges anyway, because I am not going back out into Brockton Bay without some kind of defense. But, at the moment, it needs to be something subtle.

Having come to a decision, I lean back in the creaking chair and pull up a single charge of potential. Let's see what kind of mileage I can get out of this.

Keeping a clear mentally picture of the effect I wanted, I began to instinctively shape a power. It was almost effortless. In a warm, tingling rush, I felt the power I had just created snap into place.

The power itself was a passive ability that would permanently be 'on'. It would keep me at the peak of human health. It didn't remove my need for food or water, but it drastically reduced them. To the point where I should be able to go up to a month without water, and two without a bite to eat.

I could already tell the power was hard at work. My thoughts had became a little clearer as my aches and pains from the day before began to slowly fade away.

Huh. After I spent the charge, I was left with the impression that it could have done so much more. I had the feeling that I had wasted so much of the charge's potential by trying to keep what I was expecting low. Damnit.

The thought that flowed through my head as I spun up another charge, was to see how far I can push this power.

Smirking at myself, I layer this new charge of power over the one I had just used.

In my mind, I pictured wounds and injuries disappearing as quickly as they are inflicted upon me, not even leaving a scar behind. This power would restore me quickly to a state of perfect wellness, and not require any additional biomass.

There was a mental 'click' as the two powers merged together seamlessly. I had truthfully thought a healing factor would have required more than one charge, but apparently not.

Okay, I now had a "stayin alive" power, and I already had anti-thinker abilities from the "blank" choice.

I began to tap my fingers on the table as I tried to think of what would be a good power to create next.

Duh! I nearly slapped myself as the realization hit me. If I'm having difficulty thinking about what the next power should be, then it had better be a Thinker ability!

One thing I know I'm going to need is an improvement to my memory. Another, is how fast I can think, if I'm able to take in and process information faster, this would have applications in both civilian and combat situations. But high speed perception and thought is definitely one of those abilities that need an on and off switch!

I shrugged my shoulders and spent a charge in the creation of a passive eidetic memory ability. As the power is forming, I try to keep in mind the concept of a memory "palace", as a way to sort and go through what I will no longer be able to forget.

When the power activated, it was as if someone had cleaned the dust from my minds eye. Everything I tried to recall had gained a new clarity that left me mentally shaken for a moment.

In the back of my mind I could feel something forming, pushing back the mists and cobwebs that had always seemed to cloud my memories.

It was a door set in a blank, grey frame that seemed to just hang in the air. Willing it to open, I found myself faced with a vast room that stretched as far as I could see. It's center was filled with shelf after shelf of books bound in a dark leather. When I pulled a book from a shelf at random, I found that there were names, dates, and locations listed in gold-leaf letters on the from of the book's cover. Looking at the packed rows of bookshelves, I knew that these contained my older memories from before the power first activated.

Along one wall was what appeared to be a gargantuan monitor connected to some sci-fi-ishly elaborate computer crossed with a pipe organ. The computer was covered in dials, gauges, levers, and blinking lights. As I approached the keyboard in the center, I knew, on some subtle level, that the computer was where all of my new memories would be archived and stored.

As I looked around my memory palace, I began to wonder just how long I had been in this mental fuege state. It felt like it had only been an hour or so, but I figured I had best check if this was the actual case.

A small effort of will had me opening my eyes to check the clock. 7:15 am. Apparently my mental fuege memory palace bullshit state worked at a one to one time ratio. This could be annoying.

I decided to wait on creating any more powers for the moment, and instead pick up the motel room key from the table. Most of the places I would need to visit today should be open by now, or will be by the time I find out where they are, and walk to them.
_________________________________________________

When I opened the door to the motel room I was greeted by dingy grey clouds and a rain laced cold wind that hit me with the sadly familiar stink of a working meth lab.

I also quickly realized that I wasn't alone out here in the early morning air of Brockton Bay, and that the meth lab was a lot closer than I had been thinking originally.

"Mornin."

The bland voice from my left startled me into a fumbling jump that rattled the door handle behind me.

Whipping my head to the left, I saw a guy sitting on a metal folding chair in front of the open door of the room next to mine. He looked to be in his early thirties, with a slight Hispanic cast to his features. He was wearing jeans, a jean jacket with a white tank top on under it, sneakers, and a blue bandana over his buzzcut black hair.

He was also laughing at me hard enough to drop the cigarette he had been smoking.

When the guy had finally calmed down to just a few chuckles, he looked me over before shaking his head.

"Damn son, you a little jumpy, aintcha?" The man said with a chuckle, before taking a sip from the styrofoam cup he picked up from beside the chair. "I can see why Ralph thought you might be a new member of my crew... you look like you've had a rough one, ehh?"

Shit shit shit. Now that I thought about it, Ralph had sneered something at me about being a merchant. And from what I remember, blue is the color the gang uses. Hmmm. How should I play this?

Fuck it, let's go loud.

Raising my left hand to my face, I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to project as much frustrated exasperation with the situation as possible when I let out a sigh.

"Come on, let's just get this over with... I already received what I'm sure is the traditional "Welcome to Brockton Bay" last night." I say the last part through gritted teeth, as I turn to face the guy, waiting for a hostile reaction.

Instead of the confrontation I'm expecting, the guy just chuckles and lights a fresh cigarette.

"Slow it down son, I'm not here to shake ya down."
His lips quirk into a smirk around his newly lit cigarette. "I was just curious, cause Ralph made a point of bitchin' about how young and scruffy the new recruit was, I'm Martin, by the way." He said while leaning forward in the chair and holding out a hand for me to shake.

I thought 'Fuck it', shrugged and stepped over to shake Martin's hand.

"Names Johnny." I say while leaning against the wall next to the open door.

"So, what'dya mean about a traditional welcome to Brockton Bay?" Martin asked while taking another drink.

I let myself slide down the wall to sit with my hands over my knees, before I looked over at Martin with a rueful expression plastered on my face. "You sure you want to know?" I know the grin on my face as I look over at him and say this, isn't exactly what one could call a 'friendly smile.

Martin snorts a laugh before he responds. "Yup, more than anything now!"

I find myself shaking my head as I chuckle at his words. Martin isn't what I was expecting when I considered the Merchants, for one thing, he's dressed in cleaner clothes than what I currently have on. For another he doesn't seem strung out, and from all the laughing he's been doing, he still has his teeth. Definitely not what I was expecting from all the fan fiction, or even the canon story for that matter.

"Okay... let me tell you "all" about it!" I had timed the sarcastically chipper expression perfectly and Martin ended up snorting the coffee he was trying to take a drink of.

"Dude! Not cool." Martin gasped out while trying not to laugh and choke at the same time.

"So my cousin Ricky gave me a call about three weeks ago, said he had work and a place for me to crash at, because I had to get outa Oklahoma because of a girl's angry father and her four brothers."

Martin looks like he's about to fall out of the lawn chair, because he's laughing so hard.

"Oh no... Just wait!" I paused for a moment to let him catch his breath. "It gets even better!, I've spent the last week on a frickin bus that didn't seem to make it twenty miles before breaking down, sleeping in bus stations, and living on gas station cuisine, but that's not the kicker!"

The Merchant nods and motions for me to continue.

"So I finally arrived last night, make my way from the bus station to his shit hole of an apartment, and he's not even there."

I look over at Martin with a serious expression on my face and continue talking in a low, cold tone.

"From what I could gather from his roommate, who was too spun to make much sense, about three nights after Ricky called he either ended up behind the big bars or on a slab, but he definitely wasn't coming back."

I stopped talking for a moment and just stared at the grey clouds overhead, mentally I was counting... I'd reached a ten count before Martin broke the silence.

"Damn Johnny, sucks about your cousin... but how'd you lose your shoes?"

I wiggled my toes against the chill concrete before replying.

"Get this... I'd just found out my cousin, who was my last living relative, was either dead or doing a dime, and that there was no job and no place to stay, when not a block from what used to be Ricky's apartment... Someone decides to roll me!"

I spat the words out through gritted teeth.

"So next thing I know, I'm waking up with my head throbbing fit to burst, in a back alley trash pile not two blocks from here with everything I own gone!"

Martin's eyes have an assessing look to them as he just waited while looking me over again.

I knew that what I was describing was prime trigger event material, but I wondered if Martin would make the connection, so I decided to embellish a little more.

"They got my bag, they got my walking cash, hell, the fuckers even took my shoes!"

"So that's how I came to be sitting here... And you know what the worst part is?"

"What?" Martin asked me in a quiet voice.

"The little bitch that started all this by telling her daddy that I was the one who got her pregnant... I wasn't even fucking her!"

After he finally stopped laughing, Martin decided to buy me something to eat and show me where I could buy some cheap shoes.

Is it weird that the friendliest person I've met so far in Brockton Bay is a meth cook for the Merchants?

 

[Hopelesslylost]

Broker Ch. 4- These are Merchants?


Walking beside Martin down a cracked and weed infested length of sidewalk, I noticed something that both canon and fanon had lead me to believe impossible. People actually seemed to hold some respect for the man in obvious Merchant colors!

Martin and I didn't talk much beyond him pointing out a few of the more useful locations to know about, such as where it was okay to go, and where to avoid. We were walking to what he called a good thrift store a few blocks from the motel.

As we walked, I noticed that people would give him a smile or wave,a few shouted 'heyas' and 'good mornings' would drift from open doors and a few of the tenement steps where people gathered.

Martin must have seen the confused look I was sporting at what seemed to be a strange state of affairs.

"Go ahead and ask, Johnny, you aren't going to hurt my feelings none."

I tried to decide how to ask what was likely going to be what most people would consider several insulting questions.

"Martin, don't take this the wrong way, but you're a Merchant, right?" Martin didn't say anything, he just nodded his head and motioned for me to continue with the unlit cigarette in his hand as we paused in front of a crosswalk.

"So... What the hell?" The man in the jean jacket snorted a laugh at my words.

"Let me guess, I ain't what you were expecting when you think of Merchants, eh?" Martin looked over at me when I nodded, before he lit his cigarette.

Taking a drag he exhaled, his facial expression shifting to something wild eyed, grit teeth, and manic as he spoke.

"I bet you think all of us are like: ~Hey little boy... I got some candy for ya...~" I couldn't help flinching away from him, that had to be the creepiest, high pitched voice I have ever heard! "And then, needles in your arm."

I don't know what expression I had on my face, but whatever it was caused Martin to smile bitterly and shake his head.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," he continued, with a bitter tone in his voice. "That shit happened a couple of years ago before Skidmark stopped it, and I still sell poison, it's just that I won't force it down anyone's throat." As Martin stopped speaking he turned his attention to scuffing out his cigarette with an annoyed expression.

This... This was unexpected, and a bit sudden. Yeah, I'd met Martin this morning. Hell, less than an hour ago, and during that time I've realized he's got a strange duality going. He can laugh at himself with a great sense of humor and still remind me that he was what most of society would consider scum, a drug dealing gang member. All in the same sentence.

So I had to ask. "What the fucking hell, man?"

"Kid, you need to get outa town." Martin sighed out as he leaned against the pole of the busted stop light on the corner we had stopped on.

Martin looked up from where he had been fiddling with the butt from his cigarette to meet your eyes. He flicked it into a trash can that looked like it had seen more than a few fires, and then he continued to speak in a tired voice.

"Johnny, you need to get outa this town before the bay gets her hooks in ya, you remind me way too much of how I was when I first got here."

Hmm... This could throw a wrench into my immediate plans, who would have expected an altruistic Merchant? If that's not as rare as a unicorn, I don't know what is. So let's try and deflect the Good Samaritan drug dealer.

"No worries Martin, I can take care of myself, I gotta plan for this." I said while grinning over at the older man.

The Merchant chuckled grimly at my words, before he shook his head and replied.

"No you can't kid, but I can already tell you're gonna be a stubborn little shit about it!" Martin chuckled before he straightened up from where he had been leaning. "God knows I was when I was your age!"

We walked quietly on after that, neither of us saying anything for a moment, before Martin turned towards me and spoke in a serious voice.

"Johnny, you're gonna need cash." I didn't even try to stop the snort of laughter at his words, Martin looked thoughtful for a minute, then burst out laughing as well.

"Not what I meant, but I gotta remember that one!" The expression on his face sobered after a few more chuckles.

"Seriously though, if these 'plans' of your's fall through, I can put you to work as a runner." Martin held up a hand to stop my protests at his words.

"Look kid, you're too young to sling and I do the cooking for my crew, but it's an option." He sighed as he fished in his jacket for his smokes. "It might not be a good one, it's a nasty life, but it can pay the rent in a pinch."

I looked at him and laughed before replying.

"Damnit man, you have got to be the worst recruiter for a gang I've ever heard of!"

I tilted my head back and let my shoulders sway as I tried to do an impression of a thug.

"You should be all like: "Come on Son! We gots the bitches, we gots the cash, we got the druuugs! Cooome on!"

During this line of bullshit I had been doing arm motions and gestures, ending it with with what my mom had called the 'come to Jesus' wave. As I stopped doing 'jazz hands' above my head, I looked over at Martin, and in a deadpan voice finished speaking. "Something more along those lines."

The wide-eyed, slack-jawed, cigarette dangling from bottom lip, the expression on Martin's face: Priceless!

I couldn't keep a serious look on my face, and neither could he. Sometime between both of us laughing too hard to walk, and Martin gasping out that I was never to do that again, we had managed to stumble to our destination.
_______________________________________


Martin had ended up bringing me to a small resale shop that was on the first floor of a rundown two story building.

There weren't any display windows in the front of the shop, just a single door with a crack in the glass. The shop had the name 'Mama Grace's Closet' painted on a cheap board sign nailed up above the door.

When I stepped inside and looked around the shop, I was pleasantly surprised at what I could see. At first glance, most people would have labeled this place a junk heap, a typical slum shop.

Whoever owned the place had used shopping carts with the wheels removed and plastic milk crates as sale bins. Some of the better quality clothes were hanging on old steel racks that looked to have come from a department store in the fifties.

Then the smell of the store hit me and I almost cried.

Mothballs. Laundry soap. Clean cloth. Old lace and lavender water. It smelled like my grandma's closet in that store.

By the time I got over my trip down memory lane, Martin was already leaning against what looked to be a sales counter made of old wooden crates. He was chatting with the young, straight black haired, African American girl sitting behind it.

The girl looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old, and was working on her homework, if the textbooks and other school supplies scattered on the counter were anything to go by.

"So Bug, you got anything for me today?" Martin grinned as he asked the girl. She rolled her eyes and pouted, before pulling a scruffy looking pink backpack across the counter.

"Uncle Maaarty!... You know I hate that nickname!" Martin grinned at the whining sound in the girl's voice. "No, nothing new today."

Martin nodded at her words, before he waved me over and introduced the two of us.

"Johnny, this is my niece June, June this is Johnny, he's new to the Bay."

June looked me over, from my mussed up hair, to the stained trench coat, all the way down to my bare feet. Her face took on an annoyed expression as she crossed her arms and stared sternly at Martin, before stating firmly.

"No freebies!"

June whipped her eyes over to me before pointing a finger in my direction.

"I don't give a shit if you're a new recruit or not." Damn, this girl has some hard eyes on her!

"This is my G'ma's shop, so you're gonna have to pay just like any other motherfucker on the block!" I found myself raising my hands and backing up a step, all this from the words of what looked like a twelve year old girl!

Martin was waving his hands as he spoke. "Woah there Bug, Johnny here's not a recruit!"

She looked over at his words, before looking at me with a questioning expression on her face as she asked in the high pitch of a young girl. "Seriously?"

I met her eyes and replied in as serious a tone as I could.

"Let's try this again, my name's Johnny Deveroux. I'm not a Merchant recruit, I just got into town last night..." I chuckled a little darkly before I continued speaking.

"I got rolled less than an hour after I showed up, then met chuckles here in front of my hotel room this morning... So now for the big question, Miss June, do you have any shoes for sale?"

The young girl snorted a giggle as she nodded when I finished speaking.

In short order, the shark disguised as a little girl had talked me into buying not just a pair of sneakers that were in decent shape, but also a couple of t-shirts, as well as two pairs of pants! June threw in a pair of socks for free, but when all was said and done, I was down to just six dollars left to my name!

Martin and I left after saying goodbye to June, who had somehow managed to get me to promise to come back if I needed more clothes!

My first few steps on the sidewalk felt wonderful, I could feel my spirits lifting.

I had shoes!

I kept glancing down at the second or third hand pair of sneakers I had on as Martin and I walked to a corner gas station less than a block away from Mama Grace's shop.

It was amazing what a difference something as simple as a pair of shoes can make on one's outlook on life.

 

[Hopelesslylost]

Author's Note: I know this one's rough, so when I get the time I will be going back through everything I've posted and editing to add details and smooth out dialogue.



Broker Ch. 5- Setting up the Deal.


The gas station Martin and I were at was the type you find in any rundown neighborhood.

There were bars on the door and the windows, all the product advertisements on the walls looked to be a couple of years out of date, and all of the floor tiles were cracked and a few were uneven and raised from the grouting as trip hazards.

All in all, the store reminded me of a few places from back home. Especially the old, grey haired man behind the counter watching me like a hawk.

It didn't take us long to buy a couple of gas station biscuit and sausage sandwiches and a large coffee each and head back out.

I may not have needed to eat, but the sausage and biscuits smelled good!

Never shop while hungry.... I now had thirty five cents left jingeling in my pockets.

____________________________________


Martin and I were walking back to the Bayside Motel. I was trying to do too many things at one time, namely trying to walk, eat a biscuit, sip my coffee, and juggle two Wal-Mart style plastic bags full of clothes. From the grin on Martin's face in between drinks from his own cup, I think I was almost succeeding!

We stopped before an intersection and the man in the Merchant blues looked around for a moment before he spoke.

"So, Johnny… You going hero or villain?"

He spoke so casually that it took me a minute for what he had said to register… and suddenly I was trying to breathe coffee!

Sputtering and gasping, I finally was able to make my mouth form words. "The fuck! "Where'd come you come up with that shit!?"

"Really?" Martin mumbled around the cigarette he was lighting, the look on his face slowly shifted from sarcastic to amusement.

"You didn't even notice!" He barked out with a laugh as he looked at me.

"Kid, you've grown three inches since I met you this morning!" Martin said while shaking his head.

Fuuuuck! This is not good. Plans and options swirled through my thoughts, both benign and bloodthirsty. As I stood there on that street corner, I shifted my shoulders and found that Martin was right! My clothes were tighter across my shoulders than when I had put them on this morning.

"Hell of a conundrum, ain't it Johnny?" Martin smiled ruefully before he continued speaking. "I'm supposed to be trying to bring in any parahumans I run across, but somehow-- I really don't think you'd fit in with us Merchants."

Martin stopped talking and stood there, taking a drink of his coffee and waiting for me to speak.

Damnit, I really wish I had gotten that perception power before all this happened. Okay… Time to move a few time tables forward for my plans.

I grimaced at Martin, before throwing my hands up with a growled out "Fuck".

"Rogue… I 'planned' on being a rogue." I glared at him with gritted teeth as I spoke. "Okay, change of plans, Martin. Since the cat's out of the bag, how much would Skidmark pay for someone getting powers that could get the Merchants some good PR?"

I watched him take a cautious step back at the frustration in my voice, Martin was silent for a moment and he had a thoughtful look on his face before he spoke. "Uhh Johnny, what're you talkin' about? Aren't you a brute?"

I took a step closer and grinned, or at least showed my teeth, before I spoke. "Nope… Thinker, Brute, and Trump. I wasn't joking about having plans."

Martin looked at me with a 'No shit?' wide eyed expression, before he chuckled and threw his hands up. "Why the fuck couldn't you just been a Brute! With what you got, everyone's gonna be after your ass."

I let out a sarcastic chuckle before I replied. "I know, right? But to answer your question seriously, I plan on being a registered neutral rogue, which means I'll deal with anyone in good faith."

"Damn son, you gotta have some serious power if you think you can stay neutral." Martin replied as he lit another cigarette.

I shrugged and motioned for us to start back to the motel.

"Martin, you wanna know the sad part-- it's not the gangs I'm worried about! Think about it, both the PRT and the Protectorate have the same letters at the start of their names…"

Martin looked confused for a moment, before he started laughing. "Oh man, that's horrible, true… but horrible."

I looked up for a moment as the rusted metal sign for the Bayside Motel came into view.

"I was serious about you calling Skidmark, but give me about an hour before you do."

Martin took a drag of his cigarette, before he looked at me curiously. "Okay Johnny, but, why'd ya need an hour?"

"Because I need to figure out a costume." I said with a grin as we walked into the motel parking lot.

___________________________________

Once I had the door to my motel room shut behind me, I slumped against it with a sigh.

Damn, I felt like an idiot. The start of my first full day in this world and someone already knows I have powers! What the hell? Get powers, pick up idiot ball...

A step through the mental doorway to my memory palace and a quick check of my memories for that morning showed me that Martin hadn't lied.

My body was slowly optimizing itself. checking my power informed me that the process would be finished sometime this afternoon!

If I hadn't rushed out this morning, I wouldn't have been outed as a parahuman. No use crying over spilt milk, and it's definitely time to create some of the powers that I'm gonna need.

I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing, and attempted to visualize my reservoir of power.

Looking inside myself at the seventeen potentials just waiting to be used, I called one charge to my palm and held it carefully as I considered what to do.

I needed a certain level of showmanship to deal with the gangs in Brockton Bay, and what would be better than something visual when I change a parahuman's power?

But what kind of visual? Anything like a beam would call to mind an attack, which would only give those looking to start something an excuse.

Whatever visual I end up using should be something immediately recognizable to the public, but non-threatening in form.

Huh, it may be a little artsy, but I've got an idea…

Spinning up the charge in my hand , I carefully formed a mental image of the power I am trying to create, and then further refine it with slowly defining thoughts. At least that's the easiest way that I can think of to describe the process even to myself.

The power I was creating should allow me to manifest a sphere of light, color, and energy representing whatever power I was working on at the moment. A layered faberge-egg of holographic three dimensional hardlight, it would show the changes to the parts of whichever power that I would be working on.

I felt the power snap into being within me, with a simple mental 'switch' controlling its manifestation.

There we go, something showy to give other parahumans a sense of control over the whole power modification process. This power would also tie in well with the next one I had in mind.

I needed something to market to the public, some way to represent what I would be selling… And if Cauldron could get away with it, why couldn't I?

I pulled up another charge from the pool of power with me. Hmmm… Let's see how this looks. An easy effort of will to activate the 'power manifestation' power I had just created filled my palm with a globe of brightly flowing golden light.

I sat there for a moment, just staring at the golden glow of potential power that rested in my hand, it was almost hypnotic to finally have a visual display of it. If I find this fascinating, I can just imagine how others are going to react!

Okay, enough staring at the glowy ball, time to get back to work. I switch off the display power and focus on what I need.

The ability to create a stoppered, wide based, octagonal vial containing a faintly glowing fluid. The color of the fluid and it's glow will be chosen at The time of its creation. The fluid itself will defy all scientific analysis, will 'keep' indefinitely so long as the stopper is not removed, and will act as a transfer medium for powers if ingested.

The powers a vial will grant are from a database of templates, each vial only grants one power, but all vial powers are compatible with each other. They will also be compatible with shard based powers.

I'm taking my time with this power, eliminating the possibility of rejection or reaction beyond just granting abilities and powers.

As I finish designing the power and feel it 'click' into place, I noticed that not only was the powers archive empty, I could feel that it was also limited in the complexity, and for no better term, 'oomph' of the powers the archive could handle.

Yeah… Nope. I pulled up another charge and layered it into my 'vial' power, I focused on increasing the scope and utility of the archive of power templates. A bit of last second inspiration struck, so I tied the powers archive into my memory palace. I liked the idea of being able to walk through and look at the power templates I would be making.

Each power template would have a cost in charges to create, but once that was done I would be able to create an unlimited number of vials that would grant the power the templates hold.

Cauldron, without space whale necropsy.

I was chuckling to myself at the thought of using that as an advertising blurb, or worse yet: ~"You have our guarantee, there's no possibility, of case fifty-three!"~ as a jingle for a tv commercial, when I felt something odd.

It was almost like proprioception, but this wasn't my body I was sensing. This was at a distance, a sense of light, energy, and information from two sources.

Huh… Vectored Inertia Field and Technological Specialization: Vehicular, must be Skidmark and Squeeler.

Oh shit! It's Skidmark and Squeeler! They're early and I don't have a costume!

My eyes dart to the alarm clock on the nightstand and… Okay, maybe I just lost track of time, but I still don't have a fucking costume!

Grabbing the plastic shopping bags from where they sat beside the door, I emptied them out and weighed my options.

Sure I could make a bandana out of one of the t-shirts, but I wanted to make a good first impression.

Several seconds of heavy thought later, I spun up a charge to create a power that would allow me to permanently transfigure clothing. The clothing created would be perfectly fitted, with the cut, style, material, and function decided by the users mental image.

Wait a minute… I might have giggled a bit when I added in a ranged option, along with the ability to change hair style, length, and color.

I was going to get so much mileage out of this power!

I held my leg out a little and called out "Clothes Beam!" as I shot myself in the foot.

The full body squirm of the transfiguration was worth it when I looked in the mirror. I had decided on a black silk business suit with a red silk tie, dress shoes and a black domino mask to obscure my features.

They say clothes make the man, here's hoping I at least look professional.

I gathered my confidence, straightened my shoulders and couldn't help but grin as I walked towards the door to the room.

Here's hoping Martin is prepared for his debut as a parahuman, because it's showtime!

 

[Hopelesslylost]

Broker Ch. 6- Meth Heads in the Mist.



Meeting the two villains as they walked up to Martin's motel room door, I was struck by a realization.

I needed to throw out everything I remembered from what I had read, both the canon and fan fiction works. I would need to deal with these people as individuals, and not as everyone's favorite love-to-hate one dimensional characters.

Squeeler, Squeeler drew the eye. She could have been gorgeous, at one time. There were still hidden remnants of beauty in the woman's appearance. She was pretty in a tired sort of way now, although this was almost eclipsed by the marks left by a harsh life and drug use.

Her clothes were a mix of trailer trash Barbie and a NASCAR pinup. Squeeler wore a pair of scuffed up work boots, a tightly cinched toolbelt, and a set of what at one point, might have been called cover-alls.

She wore the cover-not-at-alls unzipped low enough that it was obvious she didn't have anything on underneath it. Squeeler had cut the arms and legs out of the suit, the legs were cut high enough to show of a tattoo of a pair of crossed wrenches over a camshaft, just below her hip on her left leg.

Skidmark, while definitely not as visually appealing, also wasn't what I'd been expecting. Canon and fanon had led me to expect a burnt out druggie, the worst of the worst stereotypes.

Don't get me wrong, my first impression of the man wasn't much different.

An African American man with the worst case of meth mouth green teeth I've ever seen, stretched behind peeling, chapped lips. Skidmark's skin tone looked like cigarette ashes over cracked linoleum.

He was wearing ratty looking blue jeans, a stained, grunge white wife beater under a black leather long coat, and finally, a ragged edged, faded black domino mask.

It was his eyes that gave the game away. I was expecting the glazed look of the perpetually stoned, or the jittery, darting predatory gaze of a junkie looking to score his next fix.

I wasn't expecting the laser-like focused intensity to the assessing once over Skidmark gave me, before he spoke.

"Ain't you one shit-slick lookin' motherfucker."

Martin stuck his head out if the open door to his motel room at the sound of Skidmark's voice.

"Marty, if this is the little lost puppy fucker you were talkin about, I can't wait to see what you call prime meat!" Skidmark said with a laugh as Martin took in your appearance with a startled look.

"Joh-" Martin starts to ask something in a questioning tone, before Skidmark interrupts him with a glare and a pointed finger.

"uhnt-uh Marty!" Skidmark said. "Only name Mr.Shit-slick knows me by is Skidmark, so let's not get civilian names involved, it's just common motherfuckin courtesy with capes!"

Martin gave the universal 'my bad' head tilt and shrug, before he looked over at me and spoke. "You come up with a name yet?"

I didn't even try to stop the Cheshire cat style grin from crossing my face as I replied. "Oh yes indeed, I'm basing it on my powers, so I'm gonna go by 'Broker' for my cape name.

Squeeler snorted a laugh and smirked. "Ya know the PRT's gonna come down on ya like a ton of fuckin bricks if ya fuck with the stock market!" She said in a high, accented voice.

"I'm not going to touch the stock market, I'm going to give people hopes and dreams," I chuckled a little darkly before continuing. "I'm going to give them wonders… For a price!" I finish speaking with my head tilted back and my arms out in a showman's pose.

There was silence for a moment, before Skidmark snorted. "So, 'Broker'," The Merchant cape did the 'air quotes' gesture with his middle fingers. "You sure you don't wanna join up?" He asked with a methhead green grin. "Cause what you just said, that was some fuckin Merchant shit right there!"

I shook my head and grinned at his words. "You don't want me in the Merchants, because when everyone figures out what I can do, it'll draw too much heat."

"Just what can ya do?" Squeeler asked.

"It's pretty simple, I'm the Trumps Trump." I said as I looked over at where the NASCAR fan's wet dream of a tinker stood with her hips cocked and a challenge in her eyes.

"I can see powers, how they work, how they affect who has them, I can change them." I looked at Skidmark and Martin with a grin. "I can create and give people new powers," I can feel the grin on my face twisting into a smirk. "And if someone presses the issue… Remove them."

"Fuckin Fucking Fucksticks! You're right, I don't want you in the Merchants, fucking hell, I don't want you in this city!" Skidmark's expression gets serious. "This is too big, how much for you to get gone?"

"Can't, one of the Thinker powers I created this morning lets me know where I need to be for the best outcome." I said with a smile.

Skidmark looked at me for a moment, before turning around and pacing away with a frustrated look on his face. I could barely make out a few of the words he was mumbling as he paced. Something about donkeys, a vacuum cleaner, and Eidolon.

After almost a minute of pacing and muttering to himself, the Merchant leader whipped around to face where Squeeler, Martin, and myself were standing.

"Alright! Let's get down to the brass busted balls of this shit! What the fuck can you do for the Merchants?" Skidmark burst out in a belligerent tone.

I looked at him, my expression was serious as I spoke. "For one, I can get rid of your power induced tourette syndrome you've got going, I can see it's tied into your power's conflict drive."

The open mouthed look of shock on Skidmark's face: Priceless!

"I'd only charge… Say ten grand for that, but let's get to the meat of the matter." I replied, before looking over at Martin and asking a question.

"Martin, you said that you dealt poison, how'd you like to make a product that not only won't kill off your customers, but leave them better off having taken it?" I asked with a grin that would make the devil proud.

"Making it! Ya gonna make him a chem tinker?" Squeeler asked before Martin could reply to my question.

I noted the excited tone of her voice, before I shook my head. "I'm thinking Shaker for this one, tinker chems can be copied, and this is going to be something exclusive."

"woah man what exactly are you talkin about?" Martin asked in a slightly panicked voice.

I looked at the three merchants standing in the motel parking lot with me and shook my head with a grin. "It'd be easier to show you, but not out here."

I stepped over to the door to my motel room, opened it, and waved for them to come inside

Skidmark flopped down to sit on the bed, a thoughtful look on his face. Squeeler sat down next to him, before cuddling into the Merchant leader's side. I waited for Martin to have a seat on one of the rolling chairs by the table, before I shut the door and sat down in the other rolling chair.

I looked at the three merchants merchants in the room with me, then grinned as I spun up a charge and activated the visual display.

"This, this is what it's all about." I said as the room was doused in golden light from the sphere of untapped potential that formed in my hand.

"And it can be yours… for the right price." I knew the expression on my face as I said this was a grin to shame the devil.

 

[Hopelesslylost]

Broker Chapter 7: WTF happened to canon!


"Martin, my friend… I call this one Sunshine. " I can't help but smile smugly at the wide eyed and wondering looks on the lit up faces of the three people in the room with me..

I can't stop myself from chuckling at the "So pretty…" that Squeeler lets out in a quiet sigh.

"Indeed it is!" I say in my best 'showman' voice, lengthening the vowels and deepening my tone just a little. My words seem to startle the three Merchants out of a slight daze.

Giving a quick shake of his head, Skidmark meets my eyes over the glowing ball of golden light in my hands. He seems to hesitate a moment before he speaks.

"Yeah, it's pretty, but what do- the fuck does it do?" Watching Skidmark's eyes, I can see the frustration in them. Apparently he tried not to swear just now, and it didn't work.

Giving the Merchant leader a slight nod, I replied.

"This will give Martin here…" I pointed at him, before giving him a shark-like grin at the nervous look on his face. "The ability to create a thousand capsules of 'Sunshine' a day."

I settled back into the rolling chair before continuing.

"These jell caps will give anyone who takes them a nice, calm, thirty minute high." The globe in my hand swirls and mixes a tiny amount of white, cloudy light in amongst the gold.

Squeeler looks from the globe in my hands, over to where Skidmark has leaned back with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Why'd it change like that?" She asked, while pointing at where the cloud-like white glow has swirled into the gold of the energy ball.

Meeting the Merchant tinker's eyes I couldn't help smiling a little at the curious look she had on her face before I answered her question.

"Because I'm building the power for Martin as we speak." Speaking of which, let's get back to defining, refining, and creating. Concentrating on the power in my hands, I began to change it, adding more details and options with a thought.

"So, let's make Sunshine here as addictive as caffeine…" A viscous swirl of purple light boils and writhes across the left half of the gold and white globe.

"Make it un-analyzable, and unable to be replicated…" Twists and lightning bolts of actinic blue light crash through and join the multihued light in my palm.

Looking at the three Merchants in front of me, I can feel the grin on my face reach almost Cheshire-like proportions.

Watching them slowly lean forward as my words roll over them, seeing their eyes following the changes in shape, color, and purpose taking place in the palm of my hand, I can't help but feel a little bit of smug satisfaction at how everything is going so far.

"Now it's time for the fun part, adding the side effects!" The scowling look on Martin's face as my words register with him, this was not the reaction I had expected.

Martin startles me into jumping in my seat slightly as he slams out the cigarette he had been smoking on the table, scattering a burst of embers across it.

"Wait a just a fuckin minute, Johnny, I thought you said it wouldn't be poison!" His voice is an angry, indignant tone forced through gritted teeth. Martin's eyes hold a look that is almost painful to meet with the amount sudden anger in their depths.

Skidmark shakes his head and sighs, seemingly calm and almost resigned as he speaks. "Always… Always some fucking thing, or some fucking body, fucking something up for us Merchants."

His words draw my attention away from Martin. what I can see of the Merchant leader's expression holds all of the blankness of a warship's steel hull, cold, implacable, and hard to contemplate the sheer amount of fury held within.

"So what's it going to be this time, huh motherfucker?" His words fall out of a green toothed sneer, spat at a machine gun's pace. "We going to lose what, hair, skin, bleed out the fuckin ass and eyes!"

Skidmark slams his hands against his legs and bursts to his feet. "Turn our fuckin teeth to powder this time, make one of us blind!" He steps towards me with a sudden twitching jerk. "I ain't gonna have it motherfucker!"

As Skidmark takes another jerking step forward, I rapidly look over to Squeeler for any kind of help... and I'm faced with the realization that I have just said something to set off all three of them, if the angry thinning of her lips and the set of Squeeler's shoulders is anything to go by.

I don't want this. I just met these people and I actually find myself panicking inside at the thought of them being this angry with me. That I could lose any chance of… I'm really not sure, maybe them respecting me? Fuck, I'm confused.

"Woah! Hold up, I think you're taking this the wro-" I try to get out before Skidmark cuts me off.

"We get enough of this shit from every other mother fuckin asswipe out there that thinks it's okay to try to kill us with the shit they sell!... it's okay though, because we're just the fuckin Merchants." The last words are said with a rage filled sneer.
.
Jerking back in my seat, I whip my head around, looking between the three now hostile Merchants in the room with me.

"For fucks sake! I was just talking about making their piss glow!" I blurt out in a panicked voice as I run my hands over my face in frustration. .

The room goes quiet at my sudden outburst, and looking up at the others in the room with me, I'm struck by another fact of the situation I'm in. I don't know these people, not really… and more importantly, they don't know me!

Skidmark, his head tilted slightly to the side, has an obvious 'dafuck' look on his face, even with his domino mask on.

He takes a step back before plopping down beside Squeeler on the bed she's sitting on. The Merchant leader sighs and throws his arm around the blonde woman's waist. Her shoulders relax as she lets out a sudden snorting giggle. "Make their piss glow?"

"Yeah." I replied to the now giggly tinker, before looking over at Martin, who is currently rubbing his closed eyes with the fingers of his right hand.

"Sorry Johnny, didn't mean to snap at yah, but if you knew all the shit people have pulled…" Martin's voice trails off, sounding a little thick, almost gruff as he fumbles in his jacket pocket for his smokes and lighter.

Just how different is this particular world from canon? Just how shitty do the Merchants have it?

Skidmark lets out a deep breath, before shaking his head and looking up at me. "Really kid?" He pauses. "Glowin piss?"

"Yeah." My smile feels a little shaky as I reply.

Skidmark lets his head drop back and stares at the bare bulb of the overhead light as Martin lights his cigarette. He's quiet for a moment before he speaks.

"I forgot for a moment, kid, that you ain't from this fucking shithole city.." Skidmark smile is an ugly thing of green, rotted teeth, but it's still a smile.

"Last couple of batches of tinker drugs, they were real fucking bad, and nothing that didn't show up until yah been dosing up for a while." He sighs and shrugs his shoulders as he speaks, his lips twisting into a sneer before he continues on.

"I've fuckin had it with motherfuckers trying to kill my people with what they pass through this shithole; s'why I've had Martin here cooking, that way I know what's in the product my people take and what my people sling." There's a determination in Skidmark's eyes that I would never have expected from cannon.

"Okay, I can respect that, and I've got a simple solution to the whole trusting the product issue." I replied while meeting Skidmark's gaze. "I'll take the first dose, simple as that!"

Wait a minute, did I just agree to party with the Merchants? Why do I have a bad feeling about this!

 

[Hopelesslylost]

Broker Chapter 8: Always Read the Fine Print.



I look down at the swirling ball of light and power in my hand for a moment, before I shake my head ruefully and chuckle as I look at the three Merchants in the room.

"Got a bit of ahead of myself there, didn't even think about shelf life, or any other benefits for that matter."

Squeeler's expression conveys curiosity, even with the domino mask, as she tilts her blonde head slightly before speaking. "So, what'd ya mean by other benefits, it gets ya high don't it?"

Looking at Martin's and Skidmark's expressions before I replied to the female tinker's question, apparently they were both curious about what I meant.

"Oh it'll get you high, the problem is that the manifestation time is currently set at a default of thirty seconds." I paused for a moment before continuing as Skidmark started laughing, followed quickly by Martin.

"The capsule would appear, then vanish thirty seconds later, which would mean Martin would end up having to do a communion wafer routine every time someone bought a dose!"

Martin goes wide eyed and starts to sputter and cough before dropping his cigarette. "Nope, that shit ain't gonna work Johnny!"

Skidmark gives Martin a glare as he spoke, before looking over at me and sighing. "Well fuck, Johnny, since Marty boy can't keep his fuckin yap shut, the names Adam, and this here's Sherrel." He jerks his thumb over towards Squeeler as he says this.

It's hilarious watching Martin facepalm when Skidmark pulls his domino mask off and tosses it over his shoulder, this causes Squeeler, aka Sherrel, to fall off the bed laughing.

I find it amazing just how much a simple domino mask can change the shape of someone's face. Adam's facial features are very different in obvious ways from Skidmark's, higher cheekbones being what stand out the most.

"Adam, Sherrel, pleasure to meet you, my name's Johnny." I say as dryly as I can, before I can't hold it in any more and start to chuckle.

"Okay… Okay, now where were we?" I said as I looked back down to the glowing manifestation of power in my hand. "Oh yeah, shelf life, let's see… I think five hundred years should do the trick." A few seconds of concentrating after I finished speaking and starburst lines of crystal clear energy bloom through the golden globe in my hand, seeming to bring stability and balance to the randomly flowing swirls of energy.

After a few seconds of looking over the changes to the soon to be power, I sigh before speaking again. "I also forgot about having it restore the brain's ability to produce and absorb dopamine and oxytocin, and restore chemical balances in the brain, I'm gonna have it do that one slowly though." A moment of concentration later and a light green, almost fractal fern leaf pattern twists through the energy.

Martin gets a thoughtful look on his face as he taps the butt of his unlit cigarette against the pack on the table. " you weren't joking about not selling poison anymore were you, Johnny?"

"Nope, Martin, I wasn't joking at all." I reply in a serious tone, before glancing down at the globe of glowing power.

I raise my eyes from where the sphere rests in my hand and look around the room at the three Merchants. "Now just the glowy piss left to take care of... I'm thinking having it last an hour after dosing will be long enough, have the colors randomize per dose, and cause your breath to smell like mint."

Squeeler, who was still sprawled at the foot of the bed had been getting her giggle fit under some semblance of control, manages to grasp out a question. "The piss… like mint... or the pill?" Before she's off to giggling uncontrollably again.

Adam's face splits into a bright eyed, manic grin as he whips his head towards me. "How about fuckin both?"

Martin's wide eyed and sputtering a laugh at this, before fumbling his lighter and dropping it onto the table with a clatter.

"Sure, that's easy enough to do." I replied while shrugging my shoulders and concentrating on the developing power. Orange and cream colored clouds bloom along the bottom half of the sphere, blending in a balance with the other shapes and flows of color.

I wait a few minutes for everyone to get the laughter out of their systems, before I turn towards Martin and grin.

"I think it's done… So how's it sound so far, do you like the idea of a product that gets you high, has novelty appeal, and fixes chemical imbalances in the brain?" I ask him in my 'showman's' voice, before snapping my fingers and collapsing the multicolored ball of light and power into an octagonal sided crystal bottle that rests in the palm of my hand, the liquid inside shining and shimmering with all the colors it held when it was a sphere of energy.

"Now that, motherfucker!" Adam exclaims loudly, his eyes fixed on the glowing bottle that I set on the table with a tap. "That is how you sell fuckin product!"

The Merchant leader bounces to his feet with a manic smile and wild eyes. "You said thirty grand for this, right?" He exclaimed while pointing at the glowing bottle.

"And ten grand for getting rid of the fu-jizz monkey fuck-tourettes!" Skidmark's, not Adam at this moment, but Skidmark's eyes blaze and his face twists into a frustrated snarl, as he spits out words that are not under his control.

This seems to be one of those 'I never noticed until you said something!' situations.

"So do we have a deal" I ask as I hold out my hand for him to shake.

"Damn right we do!" Skidmark says as he grabs my hand to shake it vigorously.

I grin like a demon and rip the power out of the Merchant leader, my face lighting up by the twisting purple glow of his manifested power forming a sphere in my other hand.