Drip [Worm AU | Alt-Power]
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HoldMyFOOF
Up to No Good
"I need a T-1000 chassis"
"I need some liquid that turns into an subatomic-scale 3D printer capable of using liquid quantum foam as building material."
"I need liquid quantum foam, hereafter known as matter sauce."
"I need some liquid that turns into an subatomic-scale 3D printer capable of using liquid quantum foam as building material."
"I need liquid quantum foam, hereafter known as matter sauce."
- Location
- Existance
The writing is good and the story seems interesting.
It's a little early to tell, but be careful you don't keep just repeating canon. So far everything has been very formulaic and by the books, which is going to get old fast if you keep it up.
Good luck with this!
It's a little early to tell, but be careful you don't keep just repeating canon. So far everything has been very formulaic and by the books, which is going to get old fast if you keep it up.
Good luck with this!
Faucet 1.4
- Location
- USA
After changing back into my civilian clothes, I hurried out to find a phone. It was the middle of the day, and the boardwalk was crowded with tourists, shopping and gawking at the PHQ. Fortunately, despite the relentless advance of the cell phone, Brockton Bay still maintained payphones scattered throughout the city, and finding one was not very difficult.
Pulling out some change, I dialed the number Armsmaster had given me. I was sweating, despite the pleasant sea breeze. The phone rang twice, and then I heard a female voice. "This is Armsmaster's office. How may I help you?"
"I need - I need to speak to Armsmaster, please. It's important."
"Armsmaster is busy right now. May I know what this is about?"
"It's about the fight with Lung last night. I was there, I spoke with him. I need to talk with him about the criminals that I - that were captured."
"Oh. I'll put you right through, then." she said, more rapidly. Not a good sign.
"Hello?" It was Armsmaster's voice, more gruff than it had been the night before. He sounded stressed. "Who is this?"
"It's me - um, the new hero? From last night?"
Why was I phrasing everything as a question? I mentally kicked myself.
His voice grew angrier. "Bio-you again? I was just wondering how to get in touch with you. What the - what the hell did you hit them with?"
Shit. "Um - what - how is - how are they?"
"Answer the damn question!" he roared. I flinched, and looked around to make sure nobody had heard him. The phone booth was enclosed, fortunately.
Unfortunately, I didn't actually know the answer. "I'm - um, I'm not really...sure."
Silence for a few seconds. "You want to know how they are? Lung is fine. He woke up a few hours after we got back. He's in a PRT confinement cell right now."
Right. Well, that was a relief. But why -
"The ABB gang members are comatose."
Oh.
"And so is one of our agents. He accidentally touched some of whatever the hell it was that you were throwing around!"
No no no...
"We had to declare the area a biohazard. What the hell were you thinking?"
"Please," I said, reeling, "it was an accident! I didn't mean-"
"You accidentally put nineteen people in a coma? Do you even test your poisons before deploying them in the field?"
How could I tell him that I didn't even know what antilung was? That I didn't know the dosage, the side effects - anything? That I had just grabbed for something convenient and taken for granted that it would work the way I thought it would? I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out of my mouth. I realized that I was crying.
He must have heard it, but he didn't seem to care. "Here's what's going to happen. You are going to come down to PRT building right now and make this right. Bring the antidote that I hope to hell you prepared beforehand and fix this. Because there will be consequences if you do not - am I clear?"
Somehow, I managed to give a small noise that he evidently took as assent, because he hung up. I sagged back against the phone booth, my face wet and my nose runny. What had I done? Putting thugs in a coma - sure they had been trying to kill me, but...
And a PRT agent. One of the good guys, victim to my recklessness, my thoughtlessness, my stupidity.
The thought of facing Armsmaster in person at the PHQ filled me with dread, and for a moment I considered not going. I could go home, dispose of my costume, and never go out again. Armsmaster didn't know who I was, didn't know anything about me. I could abandon my hero persona and return to my normal life. I could even keep using my power for my own benefit - hell, I could make up an entirely new hero persona; it wasn't as though anybody knew what my power was. I hadn't even figured out all the nuances myself.
But I could never live with myself if I did. What I had done to the thugs was wrong, and it felt even worse because I knew that an innocent person was suffering for my mistakes. Feeling a horrible lurching in my stomach, I staggered out of the phone booth and made it to the edge of the boardwalk just in time to vomit over the side, into the bay. Some tourists gave me disgusted looks and made a wide detour around me.
No, I had to go. And I had to go now, to see if I could do anything to help.
The PRT headquarters was downtown, South of the boardwalk. Where the Protectorate headquarters was a glorious reminder of the power of the power and technology they wielded, the PRT building was much more mundane. No forcefield, no floating base, just a large building in the middle of downtown with barred windows and the PRT logo on the outside. Also a helipad. And an attached hospital.
It was a lot like a police station, really, just with a larger budget.
I took a bus to get there. It dropped me off a block away from the building, and it was at that point that I realized I had a problem; I wasn't in costume. I needed to preserve my secret identity, but if I entered the building without a costume, I was sure they would figure it out. They probably had cameras, and it wasn't as though I could ask for a private place to change.
Actually - did they have something like that? Some room where people could change into their costumes without revealing their identities? Something to look into later. In the meantime, I needed a place to change. There were plenty of stores around, but it would be pretty obvious if I entered a bathroom as a civilian and left as a cape. How did other capes handle this? Did they just walk around in public in their costumes?
Well, yes, they did. All the time. In fact, I could probably have traveled all the way downtown in my cape persona. Except...
My costume was terrible. It was a hoodie with a mask. Yes, the hoodie was infused with nanotech liquid armor, but you couldn't see that. It just looked like a hoodie. It hadn't been an issue when I was drugging thugs at night, but to be seen in broad daylight wearing that would be...embarrassing.
I had a duty though. A duty to the people I had harmed. I would just have to push through my shyness, my fear of ridicule.
I found a dark alleyway a block and a half from the PRT building. Capes changed in alleys, right? I checked to make sure there were no homeless people, then changed into my costume behind a dumpster. It was less gross than I expected, mostly because it hadn't rained lately, so the ground was dry. One benefit of having such a crappy costume was that it was very easy to put on, and I soon assumed my costumed persona.
I started off for the PRT building. As I walked, I tried to ignore the stares of the people around me as I focused my power on one of the bottles in my belt. I needed an antidote. As nervous as I was about using my power to innovate, I didn't really have much choice.
Give me an antidote to antilung.
Ow.
Give me an antidote to the substance that I used on Lung, that put all those people in a coma.
Ow.
Give me something that will heal a coma.
Ow ow ow.
Each spike of pain seemed worse, somehow, than the last. My head was beginning to throb, but I kept trying. Maybe there wasn't anything generic, but something personalized might work?
Give me something that will heal the PRT agent that I put in a coma.
To my surprise, I felt my power react. Glancing down at the bottle I was holding, I saw it filling with a greenish semi-transparent metallic-looking liquid. After about two seconds, however, it stopped, and my head flared with pain again.
That's new. Frustrating. Is there a limit on how much of this I can make? There was still so much I didn't understand about the limits of my power. Still, it was a start. Although -
Give me something that will heal the PRT agent that I put in a coma and won't have any side effects.
Ow!
I felt dizzy. I heard a honking of horns, and realized that I had crossed the street right in front of traffic, to a red light. A driver was saying something angry sounding. "S-sorry," I mumbled, and half-walked, half-stumbled to the sidewalk. I was in front of the PRT building now, and all I had were two ounces of a liquid which - if I understood my power's reactions - would heal the PRT agent, but not without side effects. Or maybe there was just some arbitrary limit on how much I could make.
Surely not being in a coma is worth a little unpleasantness? I considered trying to get some more information about the medicine, but my head was throbbing and I needed it to be clear when I met with Armsmaster. Maybe I can use my power? Find something to make the pain go away?
No. That was a bad idea. My trust in the products of my abilities was deteriorating rapidly, and I didn't want to risk medicine with unknown effects.
What about something you already know?
I sipped some Tylenol, and headed into the building.
Unsurprisingly, I was stopped just inside the door by a uniformed PRT agent. "Affiliation?" she asked me.
"I'm new," I said. "I, um, don't have a name yet. But Armsmaster told me to come here."
She frowned. "I'll page him. Give me a second."
Within thirty seconds, Armsmaster was striding across the room. He looked angry, but still less than I had imagined from our conversation on the phone.
"Did you bring the antidote?"
"About that - could we maybe talk somewhere else?"
He paused for a moment. "Ok. Follow me."
He led me down a corridor to a door that opened into a small room with a table and mirrors on the wall. One way glass. An interrogation room.
"Um-"
"Sit down and talk."
"Am I..." I couldn't say it.
"Are you what?"
"Am I under arrest?"
He stared at me for a moment, then folded his hands in front of him. "No. Not yet, anyways. You used excessive force on some gangsters, but they were armed and threatening violence. You didn't intentionally harm the PRT officer. More problematic is your reckless endangerment of others, using chemicals that appear to be ludicrously dangerous. Putting nineteen people into a coma is...not something we take lightly."
"First," he said, "I would like an antidote. Do you have one?"
I shrunk under his stare. "Um, maybe, but..."
"But what?" He tapped his fingers on the table.
I pulled out the bottle with the tiny amount of metallic green liquid at the bottom. "I think - no, I'm pretty sure this will bring the agent out of his coma. But it might - it probably has side effects."
He took the bottle. "You seem disturbingly uncertain. What sort of side effects?"
"I don't know"
"What is it?"
I looked down. "I don't - I don't really know.
He looked incredulous. "You don't know? I ask you for a cure, and you give me some random, untested drug you know nothing about? What makes you think it will work?"
"My...power told me."
He was silent, and I realized he was waiting for me to continue.
"I'm not really a tinker. I just sort of - touch containers, and fill them. With whatever I want. Water, apple juice, battery acid...anything."
His mouth curled in what looked like - annoyance?
"The thing is, I can also ask for things. Liquids I don't know about. Like a liquid to knock out Lung. Or heal a PRT agent."
His eyes widened a bit, but he gestured for me to continue.
"But it seems like when I ask it to solve problems for me, I don't get what I really wanted. I get substances that satisfy the conditions I stated, but have unexpected side effects. I asked it to heal the PRT agent that got injured, and it gave me that."
Armsmaster leaned back in his chair. "That's...a useful power. But dangerous. Very dangerous. What you did was reckless and stupid. I hope you understand that."
I nodded. "I do. I, um, only figured out that I could do that recently. Before that I was just asking for specific liquids I already knew about, and that always turned out fine, so-" I fell silent. I was babbling.
"Your inexperience does not excuse your carelessness," said Armsmaster, "but I think certain allowances can be made, under the circumstances. You will still need to make amends, but I think we can avoid criminal charges."
I breathed a sigh of relief. Ashamed though I was to admit it to myself, part of my anxiety had been from the threat of institutional retribution against me, rather than for the suffering I had caused. Though I still felt pretty bad about that as well.
"However," said Armsmaster, "as you have so clearly shown, your power is dangerous if not properly managed. Not just to others, but to you as well. You need others to help you use it properly. Otherwise, you may end up in serious trouble again, and next time your mistakes may have very real consequences.
"I insist - and I very strongly recommend - that you join the Wards program."
Pulling out some change, I dialed the number Armsmaster had given me. I was sweating, despite the pleasant sea breeze. The phone rang twice, and then I heard a female voice. "This is Armsmaster's office. How may I help you?"
"I need - I need to speak to Armsmaster, please. It's important."
"Armsmaster is busy right now. May I know what this is about?"
"It's about the fight with Lung last night. I was there, I spoke with him. I need to talk with him about the criminals that I - that were captured."
"Oh. I'll put you right through, then." she said, more rapidly. Not a good sign.
"Hello?" It was Armsmaster's voice, more gruff than it had been the night before. He sounded stressed. "Who is this?"
"It's me - um, the new hero? From last night?"
Why was I phrasing everything as a question? I mentally kicked myself.
His voice grew angrier. "Bio-you again? I was just wondering how to get in touch with you. What the - what the hell did you hit them with?"
Shit. "Um - what - how is - how are they?"
"Answer the damn question!" he roared. I flinched, and looked around to make sure nobody had heard him. The phone booth was enclosed, fortunately.
Unfortunately, I didn't actually know the answer. "I'm - um, I'm not really...sure."
Silence for a few seconds. "You want to know how they are? Lung is fine. He woke up a few hours after we got back. He's in a PRT confinement cell right now."
Right. Well, that was a relief. But why -
"The ABB gang members are comatose."
Oh.
"And so is one of our agents. He accidentally touched some of whatever the hell it was that you were throwing around!"
No no no...
"We had to declare the area a biohazard. What the hell were you thinking?"
"Please," I said, reeling, "it was an accident! I didn't mean-"
"You accidentally put nineteen people in a coma? Do you even test your poisons before deploying them in the field?"
How could I tell him that I didn't even know what antilung was? That I didn't know the dosage, the side effects - anything? That I had just grabbed for something convenient and taken for granted that it would work the way I thought it would? I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out of my mouth. I realized that I was crying.
He must have heard it, but he didn't seem to care. "Here's what's going to happen. You are going to come down to PRT building right now and make this right. Bring the antidote that I hope to hell you prepared beforehand and fix this. Because there will be consequences if you do not - am I clear?"
Somehow, I managed to give a small noise that he evidently took as assent, because he hung up. I sagged back against the phone booth, my face wet and my nose runny. What had I done? Putting thugs in a coma - sure they had been trying to kill me, but...
And a PRT agent. One of the good guys, victim to my recklessness, my thoughtlessness, my stupidity.
The thought of facing Armsmaster in person at the PHQ filled me with dread, and for a moment I considered not going. I could go home, dispose of my costume, and never go out again. Armsmaster didn't know who I was, didn't know anything about me. I could abandon my hero persona and return to my normal life. I could even keep using my power for my own benefit - hell, I could make up an entirely new hero persona; it wasn't as though anybody knew what my power was. I hadn't even figured out all the nuances myself.
But I could never live with myself if I did. What I had done to the thugs was wrong, and it felt even worse because I knew that an innocent person was suffering for my mistakes. Feeling a horrible lurching in my stomach, I staggered out of the phone booth and made it to the edge of the boardwalk just in time to vomit over the side, into the bay. Some tourists gave me disgusted looks and made a wide detour around me.
No, I had to go. And I had to go now, to see if I could do anything to help.
The PRT headquarters was downtown, South of the boardwalk. Where the Protectorate headquarters was a glorious reminder of the power of the power and technology they wielded, the PRT building was much more mundane. No forcefield, no floating base, just a large building in the middle of downtown with barred windows and the PRT logo on the outside. Also a helipad. And an attached hospital.
It was a lot like a police station, really, just with a larger budget.
I took a bus to get there. It dropped me off a block away from the building, and it was at that point that I realized I had a problem; I wasn't in costume. I needed to preserve my secret identity, but if I entered the building without a costume, I was sure they would figure it out. They probably had cameras, and it wasn't as though I could ask for a private place to change.
Actually - did they have something like that? Some room where people could change into their costumes without revealing their identities? Something to look into later. In the meantime, I needed a place to change. There were plenty of stores around, but it would be pretty obvious if I entered a bathroom as a civilian and left as a cape. How did other capes handle this? Did they just walk around in public in their costumes?
Well, yes, they did. All the time. In fact, I could probably have traveled all the way downtown in my cape persona. Except...
My costume was terrible. It was a hoodie with a mask. Yes, the hoodie was infused with nanotech liquid armor, but you couldn't see that. It just looked like a hoodie. It hadn't been an issue when I was drugging thugs at night, but to be seen in broad daylight wearing that would be...embarrassing.
I had a duty though. A duty to the people I had harmed. I would just have to push through my shyness, my fear of ridicule.
I found a dark alleyway a block and a half from the PRT building. Capes changed in alleys, right? I checked to make sure there were no homeless people, then changed into my costume behind a dumpster. It was less gross than I expected, mostly because it hadn't rained lately, so the ground was dry. One benefit of having such a crappy costume was that it was very easy to put on, and I soon assumed my costumed persona.
I started off for the PRT building. As I walked, I tried to ignore the stares of the people around me as I focused my power on one of the bottles in my belt. I needed an antidote. As nervous as I was about using my power to innovate, I didn't really have much choice.
Give me an antidote to antilung.
Ow.
Give me an antidote to the substance that I used on Lung, that put all those people in a coma.
Ow.
Give me something that will heal a coma.
Ow ow ow.
Each spike of pain seemed worse, somehow, than the last. My head was beginning to throb, but I kept trying. Maybe there wasn't anything generic, but something personalized might work?
Give me something that will heal the PRT agent that I put in a coma.
To my surprise, I felt my power react. Glancing down at the bottle I was holding, I saw it filling with a greenish semi-transparent metallic-looking liquid. After about two seconds, however, it stopped, and my head flared with pain again.
That's new. Frustrating. Is there a limit on how much of this I can make? There was still so much I didn't understand about the limits of my power. Still, it was a start. Although -
Give me something that will heal the PRT agent that I put in a coma and won't have any side effects.
Ow!
I felt dizzy. I heard a honking of horns, and realized that I had crossed the street right in front of traffic, to a red light. A driver was saying something angry sounding. "S-sorry," I mumbled, and half-walked, half-stumbled to the sidewalk. I was in front of the PRT building now, and all I had were two ounces of a liquid which - if I understood my power's reactions - would heal the PRT agent, but not without side effects. Or maybe there was just some arbitrary limit on how much I could make.
Surely not being in a coma is worth a little unpleasantness? I considered trying to get some more information about the medicine, but my head was throbbing and I needed it to be clear when I met with Armsmaster. Maybe I can use my power? Find something to make the pain go away?
No. That was a bad idea. My trust in the products of my abilities was deteriorating rapidly, and I didn't want to risk medicine with unknown effects.
What about something you already know?
I sipped some Tylenol, and headed into the building.
Unsurprisingly, I was stopped just inside the door by a uniformed PRT agent. "Affiliation?" she asked me.
"I'm new," I said. "I, um, don't have a name yet. But Armsmaster told me to come here."
She frowned. "I'll page him. Give me a second."
Within thirty seconds, Armsmaster was striding across the room. He looked angry, but still less than I had imagined from our conversation on the phone.
"Did you bring the antidote?"
"About that - could we maybe talk somewhere else?"
He paused for a moment. "Ok. Follow me."
He led me down a corridor to a door that opened into a small room with a table and mirrors on the wall. One way glass. An interrogation room.
"Um-"
"Sit down and talk."
"Am I..." I couldn't say it.
"Are you what?"
"Am I under arrest?"
He stared at me for a moment, then folded his hands in front of him. "No. Not yet, anyways. You used excessive force on some gangsters, but they were armed and threatening violence. You didn't intentionally harm the PRT officer. More problematic is your reckless endangerment of others, using chemicals that appear to be ludicrously dangerous. Putting nineteen people into a coma is...not something we take lightly."
"First," he said, "I would like an antidote. Do you have one?"
I shrunk under his stare. "Um, maybe, but..."
"But what?" He tapped his fingers on the table.
I pulled out the bottle with the tiny amount of metallic green liquid at the bottom. "I think - no, I'm pretty sure this will bring the agent out of his coma. But it might - it probably has side effects."
He took the bottle. "You seem disturbingly uncertain. What sort of side effects?"
"I don't know"
"What is it?"
I looked down. "I don't - I don't really know.
He looked incredulous. "You don't know? I ask you for a cure, and you give me some random, untested drug you know nothing about? What makes you think it will work?"
"My...power told me."
He was silent, and I realized he was waiting for me to continue.
"I'm not really a tinker. I just sort of - touch containers, and fill them. With whatever I want. Water, apple juice, battery acid...anything."
His mouth curled in what looked like - annoyance?
"The thing is, I can also ask for things. Liquids I don't know about. Like a liquid to knock out Lung. Or heal a PRT agent."
His eyes widened a bit, but he gestured for me to continue.
"But it seems like when I ask it to solve problems for me, I don't get what I really wanted. I get substances that satisfy the conditions I stated, but have unexpected side effects. I asked it to heal the PRT agent that got injured, and it gave me that."
Armsmaster leaned back in his chair. "That's...a useful power. But dangerous. Very dangerous. What you did was reckless and stupid. I hope you understand that."
I nodded. "I do. I, um, only figured out that I could do that recently. Before that I was just asking for specific liquids I already knew about, and that always turned out fine, so-" I fell silent. I was babbling.
"Your inexperience does not excuse your carelessness," said Armsmaster, "but I think certain allowances can be made, under the circumstances. You will still need to make amends, but I think we can avoid criminal charges."
I breathed a sigh of relief. Ashamed though I was to admit it to myself, part of my anxiety had been from the threat of institutional retribution against me, rather than for the suffering I had caused. Though I still felt pretty bad about that as well.
"However," said Armsmaster, "as you have so clearly shown, your power is dangerous if not properly managed. Not just to others, but to you as well. You need others to help you use it properly. Otherwise, you may end up in serious trouble again, and next time your mistakes may have very real consequences.
"I insist - and I very strongly recommend - that you join the Wards program."
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
Thanks!
I'm trying to speed through canon as much as possible, which is why some of the scenes like the school scene are a bit rushed. I wanted the main divergence point to be the fight with Lung. I can't justify too many butterflies early on, but it should start diverging pretty quickly from here on out, especially without the Undersiders relationship.
- Location
- Germany
Wooh! She didn't kill him!
Oops, maybe not as good
Even worse, Taylor really fucked up here.
But Sir, I created it literally while fighting him...
He's unhappy she's not a Tinker but more like Dauntless.
Pretty enjoyable chapter
Arthur Hansen
Author of no Authority.
- Location
- Utah, behind the Zion Curtain.
This is sorta backwards. Wouldn't he recommend and then insist?
- Location
- USA
He can't actually force her to join. The "recommendation" is more of a subtle threat to do what he says.
Not quite, she asked for
For all we know the agent might have tapeworms and the liquid she received will heal him of that but not anything else.
I mean, I assume Panacea has been to see them so it's unlikely, but still...
Interesting fic and power, especially how it Taylor's power is starting to show its limitations and quirks. It definitely helps the power not be a complete OP mess and is making some useful conflict to move the story along.
Armsmaster feels pretty much in the right here. I mean, Taylor's power IS dangerous and she could use help learning how to use it safely. Even if you disregard what happened to Lung and the gang members, an innocent PRT agent got put in a coma by it. It's not entirely Taylor's fault, but the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and Taylor's are right there in the asphalt. As always, just a shame about the Sophia situation.
Armsmaster feels pretty much in the right here. I mean, Taylor's power IS dangerous and she could use help learning how to use it safely. Even if you disregard what happened to Lung and the gang members, an innocent PRT agent got put in a coma by it. It's not entirely Taylor's fault, but the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and Taylor's are right there in the asphalt. As always, just a shame about the Sophia situation.
Faucet 1.5
- Location
- USA
The small hospital attached to the PRT building was there to prevent injured heroes from being mobbed by the media as they left, Armsmaster explained to me. Having medical staff so close to the PRT also seemed like a good idea in general, given how dangerous some parahumans were. The gang members were restrained in a ward in the basement of the building, cuffed to their beds. Eighteen bodies, breathing softly but otherwise still as the machines beeped out background music.
Somehow, seeing their faces in person didn't make me feel as bad as the abstract idea of injuring them had. Most of them looked like pretty stereotypical thugs - musclebound, tattooed, close cropped hair - but some of them looked pretty normal. Some of them looked not much older than I was. Was I a bad person for not feeling worse than I did about them?
Seeing the agent I had harmed - however indirectly - was much worse than hearing about it. He was on the second floor of the building.
"Um, did he have...I mean, does he have a family?"
"Divorced, no kids," said Armsmaster. "His ex-wife has been informed, but they apparently weren't on the best of terms. Father deceased, no siblings, but still has a good relationship with his mother. And with his friends at work, by all accounts."
I nodded, swallowing. It didn't really make things any better, but I was glad that at least I hadn't orphaned anybody. Or are they orphans if the parent is still technically alive? Though it would be moot if I could heal him.
"Um - are you going to try the cure I gave you?"
Armsmaster shook his head. "As you admitted, you have no idea what this does," he said, raising the bottle. "We are not in the habit of using untested medical tinkertech on our employees - or anybody else, for that matter."
"It isn't really -"
"I know you aren't a tinker, but the same principle applies here. We'll have our thinkers analyze it. If it turns out to be safe to use, we'll make use of it. Actually...can you produce some more? This isn't a very large sample."
"Sure," I said. My head was still throbbing a little bit, but I touched the bottle and focused. Armsmaster watched, with interest.
Give me more of this liquid.
I leaned on the wall for support as a wave of pain washed over my head.
"What-"
"It's fine," I gasped. "Power related stuff. Let me try again -"
Touching the bottle again, I tried a different request.
Give me something that will heal this PRT agent's coma.
This time, my power did react - but only for about two seconds. After doubling the quantity of liquid, another spike of pain hit me and I went down on my knees, the room spinning. What was going on? Armsmaster was saying something. Belatedly, I listened.
"- need a doctor in here! Please -"
"I'm fine," I said, though I didn't feel it.
"You don't look fine," he said, but he waved away an approaching nurse. "What was that?"
"Sometimes my power doesn't work," I said "and sometimes it only works for a few seconds. I haven't figured out why. It hurts, but I, uh, don't think it harms me permanently."
"You think?"
"I don't really know. Um, like I said, I haven't been using it like that very long."
"I see. Well, please don't do that again until you figure out more." He looked at the bottle. "It's different."
It was. The new cure I had made was orange in color, though it still had the metallic sheen. It was also in a separate layer from the green liquid, like oil and water.
"I really - I don't know."
"We'll evaluate it." He stored the bottle in a pocket of his armor. "If it checks out, we may request more."
"Um, I was wondering - you have a healer, right?" I had heard of Brockton Bay's world-famous healer - her identity wasn't even a secret.
"She isn't a member of the Protectorate, but Panacea does provide us with assistance."
"Then can't she-"
"She can't heal brains," said Armsmaster. "We haven't called her in yet today, but we don't expect that she will be able to help. From what our doctors have found, your poison appears to be a potent neurotoxin."
I nodded, my heart sinking again.
"We have some paperwork for you to fill out," he said, after a moment. "Please follow me."
As apprehensive as I was about the idea of having to deal with superpowered teenagers on a daily basis, I knew that Armsmaster was right. I had already crossed the line as an independent hero, even if the PRT was willing to overlook it, and I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't make similar mistakes on my next night out. Given the unpredictability of my power, continuing on as I had been would likely end up with me dead, horribly injured, or branded a villain. And I could see the value of allies to protect me and make more effective use of my creations. Joining the Wards made sense.
But...
"I need to reveal my identity and get my guardian's signature? I thought the Protectorate hides heroes' secret identities?"
"Your identity will be revealed to the PRT, but not to your fellow heroes unless you want it to be," said John, the mild-mannered PRT agent assigned to me. Armsmaster had left me with him to go off and do...hero stuff, I assumed. John was clearly not one of their field agents, being older and a little on the heavier side. He cleared his throat every minute or so, which was a little annoying. "Since you are -ahem- a minor, your parent or guardian's signature is legally required, as it would be for joining any other organization."
The idea of telling dad I was a cape...it was difficult. I had been putting off telling him for months, procrastinating even as I assured myself that I would tell him eventually. Next month, or after I captured a really bad villain - Can't use that one anymore, I guess - or after I was a world-renowned, beloved hero. There was always a logical time to tell him, and it was never the present.
It didn't help that we had grown so distant from each other. Ever since Mom's death, we just - didn't seem to connect. I knew he cared about me, cared about how I was doing. I knew he would be worried if he knew I was a cape. I couldn't help but want to partition the two parts of my life - well, three parts, including school, but that was a different issue. I couldn't let my cowardice stop me, though. I would just have to get over it.
"It says here that Wards get - $50000 per year as a trust? And a salary?"
John nodded. "Minimum wage, but for doing things which - I assume - you'd be doing anyway as an independent. You also -" he reached out and turned the page, pointing, "- get a generous tinkering budget to be spent on the materials and equipment you need."
A tinkering budget. Now that I thought about it, it didn't seem as unnecessary as I had first thought. True, I didn't need anybody to provide me with chemicals and formulas, but some materials did not exist in a useful liquid state. Such as Kevlar, the missing component in my nanotech liquid armor. It might be possible to make Kevlar with my power, but buying it would be much, much easier. I could probably justify spending the budget on more useful means of distribution, as well.
Wait. The next line -
"I can sell my creations?"
He nodded. "The PRT will buy any useful products you create at -ahem- a reasonable market rate. Some of the proceeds will fund your equipment, and the rest will go into your trust fund."
"I thought there were laws against capes competing with, uh, non-capes?" I knew that the Dockworkers Union was not allowed to hire strong capes as laborers, and I had read that the government cracked down hard on parahumans using their powers to game the markets. There was a law against it.
"Those laws pertain to areas where parahumans are in direct and unfair competition with non-parahuman employees. Parahumans are not universally banned from using their powers to make an honest profit, however. Have you head of the rogue Parian?"
The name was...vaguely familiar. It had come up during my research. I shook my head.
"She controls string and fabric, sells her services to stores downtown making animated promotional characters. Makes a profit, and doesn't compete with anybody because she provides -ahem- a unique service."
"So if I used my powers to mass-produce molten gold-"
He winced. "Not a great example. I think the government might take, ah, a dim view of that."
"Ok, sure. No gold. But expensive medicines, rare poisons, stuff like that?"
He nodded. "Sure, you could probably sell those sorts of things. And I'm not saying no gold, just that you shouldn't mass-produce it, or other precious metals. Nothing that could disrupt commodities markets."
That was good to know. As a Ward, I could use my power to make money without getting arrested. I wouldn't be able to access any of it until I turned eighteen, but I doubted I would have much use for it before then. Why did people turn villain at all, if making money was so easy as a hero?
Of course, it was only easy with my power. I supposed somebody who turned into a fire-breathing rage dragon had fewer options for profit. I went back to reading.
"It says here that I'm required to attend school and maintain satisfactory grades?"
"That's right. Your Wards activities can't interfere with your schoolwork, though there are some allowances for leaving school early for Wards-related activities or emergencies."
"Um-" I found myself tongue-tied. "There might be a little bit of a problem there..."
"With that requirement in particular?"
"It's just - I'm not having...a great time at school. There are these bullies, and my grades have kind of been dropping for a while. Um. It's - it's really difficult...to deal with."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Have you -ahem- reported their behavior to the teachers?"
Of course I have. Do you think I'm an idiot? "Yes, but they - they never do anything. No matter what happens. They always just say there isn't enough evidence, or come up with some other excuse."
He frowned. "That is...unfortunate, but we don't really have authority over schools. We can send them a recommendation, however. Tell them to keep an eye out for you. Perhaps even let them know about your status as a Ward, if you consent. Would that be acceptable?"
Would it? On one hand, the idea that the school would treat me differently just because I was a Ward rankled. On the other, if it would stop the bullying I didn't care that much about the why. Of course, Winslow was a hell even without the bullies, and every day I went I was painfully reminded that I could have gone to Arcadia...
"Um, would it be possible to...to transfer to Arcadia? I'm at Winslow right now, and - I mean, I've heard that all the Wards go to Arcadia, so - um..."
He looked - unhappy. "I'm afraid I don't think that will be possible, at least not right now. It is the middle of the semester, and Arcadia is -ahem-full. The waiting list is full too. And if your grades are poor - yes, I know it's because of the bullying, but it still makes things difficult. We might be able to arrange a transfer for next spring, though. If you can improve your grades."
I nodded. I felt a small lump in my throat forming. I should have expected as much, but for a moment I had let myself hope - but it wasn't a complete loss. If I could survive one more semester with Emma, Sophia, and Madison, I could be done with them forever. And if the PRT could persuade the school to stop the bullying...
"Um, please tell them, then. Winslow, I mean. They can't tell anybody else, right?"
He nodded. "Revealing your status as a cape would be a serious violation of the law, so no, they will not be able to tell anybody."
"Ok. Um - can I take these papers with me? I need to look over them some more and get my Dad's signature."
"You may. Just bring them back here when you are done."
"Thank you."
"Always happy to be -ahem- of service. Congratulations on your decision to join the Wards."
I shook his hand. He showed me to the door.
Somehow, seeing their faces in person didn't make me feel as bad as the abstract idea of injuring them had. Most of them looked like pretty stereotypical thugs - musclebound, tattooed, close cropped hair - but some of them looked pretty normal. Some of them looked not much older than I was. Was I a bad person for not feeling worse than I did about them?
Seeing the agent I had harmed - however indirectly - was much worse than hearing about it. He was on the second floor of the building.
"Um, did he have...I mean, does he have a family?"
"Divorced, no kids," said Armsmaster. "His ex-wife has been informed, but they apparently weren't on the best of terms. Father deceased, no siblings, but still has a good relationship with his mother. And with his friends at work, by all accounts."
I nodded, swallowing. It didn't really make things any better, but I was glad that at least I hadn't orphaned anybody. Or are they orphans if the parent is still technically alive? Though it would be moot if I could heal him.
"Um - are you going to try the cure I gave you?"
Armsmaster shook his head. "As you admitted, you have no idea what this does," he said, raising the bottle. "We are not in the habit of using untested medical tinkertech on our employees - or anybody else, for that matter."
"It isn't really -"
"I know you aren't a tinker, but the same principle applies here. We'll have our thinkers analyze it. If it turns out to be safe to use, we'll make use of it. Actually...can you produce some more? This isn't a very large sample."
"Sure," I said. My head was still throbbing a little bit, but I touched the bottle and focused. Armsmaster watched, with interest.
Give me more of this liquid.
I leaned on the wall for support as a wave of pain washed over my head.
"What-"
"It's fine," I gasped. "Power related stuff. Let me try again -"
Touching the bottle again, I tried a different request.
Give me something that will heal this PRT agent's coma.
This time, my power did react - but only for about two seconds. After doubling the quantity of liquid, another spike of pain hit me and I went down on my knees, the room spinning. What was going on? Armsmaster was saying something. Belatedly, I listened.
"- need a doctor in here! Please -"
"I'm fine," I said, though I didn't feel it.
"You don't look fine," he said, but he waved away an approaching nurse. "What was that?"
"Sometimes my power doesn't work," I said "and sometimes it only works for a few seconds. I haven't figured out why. It hurts, but I, uh, don't think it harms me permanently."
"You think?"
"I don't really know. Um, like I said, I haven't been using it like that very long."
"I see. Well, please don't do that again until you figure out more." He looked at the bottle. "It's different."
It was. The new cure I had made was orange in color, though it still had the metallic sheen. It was also in a separate layer from the green liquid, like oil and water.
"I really - I don't know."
"We'll evaluate it." He stored the bottle in a pocket of his armor. "If it checks out, we may request more."
"Um, I was wondering - you have a healer, right?" I had heard of Brockton Bay's world-famous healer - her identity wasn't even a secret.
"She isn't a member of the Protectorate, but Panacea does provide us with assistance."
"Then can't she-"
"She can't heal brains," said Armsmaster. "We haven't called her in yet today, but we don't expect that she will be able to help. From what our doctors have found, your poison appears to be a potent neurotoxin."
I nodded, my heart sinking again.
"We have some paperwork for you to fill out," he said, after a moment. "Please follow me."
As apprehensive as I was about the idea of having to deal with superpowered teenagers on a daily basis, I knew that Armsmaster was right. I had already crossed the line as an independent hero, even if the PRT was willing to overlook it, and I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't make similar mistakes on my next night out. Given the unpredictability of my power, continuing on as I had been would likely end up with me dead, horribly injured, or branded a villain. And I could see the value of allies to protect me and make more effective use of my creations. Joining the Wards made sense.
But...
"I need to reveal my identity and get my guardian's signature? I thought the Protectorate hides heroes' secret identities?"
"Your identity will be revealed to the PRT, but not to your fellow heroes unless you want it to be," said John, the mild-mannered PRT agent assigned to me. Armsmaster had left me with him to go off and do...hero stuff, I assumed. John was clearly not one of their field agents, being older and a little on the heavier side. He cleared his throat every minute or so, which was a little annoying. "Since you are -ahem- a minor, your parent or guardian's signature is legally required, as it would be for joining any other organization."
The idea of telling dad I was a cape...it was difficult. I had been putting off telling him for months, procrastinating even as I assured myself that I would tell him eventually. Next month, or after I captured a really bad villain - Can't use that one anymore, I guess - or after I was a world-renowned, beloved hero. There was always a logical time to tell him, and it was never the present.
It didn't help that we had grown so distant from each other. Ever since Mom's death, we just - didn't seem to connect. I knew he cared about me, cared about how I was doing. I knew he would be worried if he knew I was a cape. I couldn't help but want to partition the two parts of my life - well, three parts, including school, but that was a different issue. I couldn't let my cowardice stop me, though. I would just have to get over it.
"It says here that Wards get - $50000 per year as a trust? And a salary?"
John nodded. "Minimum wage, but for doing things which - I assume - you'd be doing anyway as an independent. You also -" he reached out and turned the page, pointing, "- get a generous tinkering budget to be spent on the materials and equipment you need."
A tinkering budget. Now that I thought about it, it didn't seem as unnecessary as I had first thought. True, I didn't need anybody to provide me with chemicals and formulas, but some materials did not exist in a useful liquid state. Such as Kevlar, the missing component in my nanotech liquid armor. It might be possible to make Kevlar with my power, but buying it would be much, much easier. I could probably justify spending the budget on more useful means of distribution, as well.
Wait. The next line -
"I can sell my creations?"
He nodded. "The PRT will buy any useful products you create at -ahem- a reasonable market rate. Some of the proceeds will fund your equipment, and the rest will go into your trust fund."
"I thought there were laws against capes competing with, uh, non-capes?" I knew that the Dockworkers Union was not allowed to hire strong capes as laborers, and I had read that the government cracked down hard on parahumans using their powers to game the markets. There was a law against it.
"Those laws pertain to areas where parahumans are in direct and unfair competition with non-parahuman employees. Parahumans are not universally banned from using their powers to make an honest profit, however. Have you head of the rogue Parian?"
The name was...vaguely familiar. It had come up during my research. I shook my head.
"She controls string and fabric, sells her services to stores downtown making animated promotional characters. Makes a profit, and doesn't compete with anybody because she provides -ahem- a unique service."
"So if I used my powers to mass-produce molten gold-"
He winced. "Not a great example. I think the government might take, ah, a dim view of that."
"Ok, sure. No gold. But expensive medicines, rare poisons, stuff like that?"
He nodded. "Sure, you could probably sell those sorts of things. And I'm not saying no gold, just that you shouldn't mass-produce it, or other precious metals. Nothing that could disrupt commodities markets."
That was good to know. As a Ward, I could use my power to make money without getting arrested. I wouldn't be able to access any of it until I turned eighteen, but I doubted I would have much use for it before then. Why did people turn villain at all, if making money was so easy as a hero?
Of course, it was only easy with my power. I supposed somebody who turned into a fire-breathing rage dragon had fewer options for profit. I went back to reading.
"It says here that I'm required to attend school and maintain satisfactory grades?"
"That's right. Your Wards activities can't interfere with your schoolwork, though there are some allowances for leaving school early for Wards-related activities or emergencies."
"Um-" I found myself tongue-tied. "There might be a little bit of a problem there..."
"With that requirement in particular?"
"It's just - I'm not having...a great time at school. There are these bullies, and my grades have kind of been dropping for a while. Um. It's - it's really difficult...to deal with."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Have you -ahem- reported their behavior to the teachers?"
Of course I have. Do you think I'm an idiot? "Yes, but they - they never do anything. No matter what happens. They always just say there isn't enough evidence, or come up with some other excuse."
He frowned. "That is...unfortunate, but we don't really have authority over schools. We can send them a recommendation, however. Tell them to keep an eye out for you. Perhaps even let them know about your status as a Ward, if you consent. Would that be acceptable?"
Would it? On one hand, the idea that the school would treat me differently just because I was a Ward rankled. On the other, if it would stop the bullying I didn't care that much about the why. Of course, Winslow was a hell even without the bullies, and every day I went I was painfully reminded that I could have gone to Arcadia...
"Um, would it be possible to...to transfer to Arcadia? I'm at Winslow right now, and - I mean, I've heard that all the Wards go to Arcadia, so - um..."
He looked - unhappy. "I'm afraid I don't think that will be possible, at least not right now. It is the middle of the semester, and Arcadia is -ahem-full. The waiting list is full too. And if your grades are poor - yes, I know it's because of the bullying, but it still makes things difficult. We might be able to arrange a transfer for next spring, though. If you can improve your grades."
I nodded. I felt a small lump in my throat forming. I should have expected as much, but for a moment I had let myself hope - but it wasn't a complete loss. If I could survive one more semester with Emma, Sophia, and Madison, I could be done with them forever. And if the PRT could persuade the school to stop the bullying...
"Um, please tell them, then. Winslow, I mean. They can't tell anybody else, right?"
He nodded. "Revealing your status as a cape would be a serious violation of the law, so no, they will not be able to tell anybody."
"Ok. Um - can I take these papers with me? I need to look over them some more and get my Dad's signature."
"You may. Just bring them back here when you are done."
"Thank you."
"Always happy to be -ahem- of service. Congratulations on your decision to join the Wards."
I shook his hand. He showed me to the door.
- Location
- UK
It seems strange that Taylor's power can't recreate a liquid it made earlier, but can create a liquid that does the same thing but is different. After the first liquid has been used up, will her power be able to create more of it, or is that liquid permanently gone? Or is it some other effect that means she can't recreate it, like a certain amount of exotic liquids a day?
Either way, it's an interesting limitation. Certainly makes her alot less powerful, since she can't just say, "Give me a liquid that will solve x problem.", whenever something goes wrong.
Looking forward to how you have Taylor interact with Sophia. Will her capture of Lung be known to the other Wards and Protectorate members other than Armsmaster, or will it have been kept a secret from them too? It will certainly affect how they interact with Taylor. Presuming, that is, that nothing happens to prevent her from joining the Wards.
Either way, it's an interesting limitation. Certainly makes her alot less powerful, since she can't just say, "Give me a liquid that will solve x problem.", whenever something goes wrong.
Looking forward to how you have Taylor interact with Sophia. Will her capture of Lung be known to the other Wards and Protectorate members other than Armsmaster, or will it have been kept a secret from them too? It will certainly affect how they interact with Taylor. Presuming, that is, that nothing happens to prevent her from joining the Wards.
hghwolf
Bird of contempt
So this is all going to end in tears. If not when Taylor realizes the torture campaign against her happened with implicit approval of the authorities, then when Armsmaster realizes that he`s taken the rap for sending almost twenty people into a coma. Or when DANNY realizes how heavy the hand of Armsmaster was here.
Although it`s pretty contrived that Taylor only discovered a limitation to her fluid creation the moment it became drama relevant. What next, sudden Danny death to leave Taylor utterly alone and without support ?
Although it`s pretty contrived that Taylor only discovered a limitation to her fluid creation the moment it became drama relevant. What next, sudden Danny death to leave Taylor utterly alone and without support ?
- Location
- Germany
I'm just imagining the dilemma Blackwell will face when she tries to keep two wards in her school who hate eachother without revealing who they are to the other (assuming Taylor doesn't reveal her identity to the wards)
ScottotheUnwise
Verified Crack (fic) Dealer
- Location
- Mulberry, Fl
Or she could go Rogue and work in Fugly Bob's as "Local Flavor" and have Clockblocker immediately rename her "Condiment Girl"!
- Location
- Canada
I find this to be entirely ridiculous. The PRT officer should be aware of what is required for a Trigger event, which often (but not always) requires illegal action on the perpetrators. Asking if any illegal acts have been committed, advising her to get a lawyer, or supplying her with one, to ensure the school isn't breaking any laws or her rights - or to work on getting her out of there.
I really don't understand why they'd basically saying she has no choice but to return to an abusive environment where the abuse has explicit approval of the administration. And then getting her to agree to be outed to the authorities who've failed her time and time again.
If I recall correctly, she created several doses of antilung. She can't create more of the liquid which she was only able to initially create 2s (2.25 oz) of liquid. To me, that means that there are some liquids she has a limit of 2.25 oz, perhaps with a cooldown before getting more.
I would assume that in an effort to promote conflict, healing liquids are limited, and harmful or neutral liquids are unlimited. Of course, it's possible to use one such liquid for a different reason so it's possible that it's only when she doesn't specify exactly what she wants that there's a limitation.
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- Location
- The City
It could also be that she has to use the liquid she made before she can make another one. A limit on volume or supply.
And unfortunatly, this Taylor is apparrently wearing a backpack full of idiot balls. While I understand her feeling guilty, Taylor is one of the smartest characters in worm.
But apparently not this Taylor. Where is the planning ahead she is known for? The pragmatism?
The 'standard' Taylor from worm spent months figuring out how to twibk her powers. Enough so that, without exotic bugs, she was able to best Lung.
Is frankly unbelievable to me that Taylor would not have already come up with a concoction she was pretty sure would work to stop parahumans. As well as a counter agent for it.
The concept is interesting, but the idiot balls Taylor is juggling break my SoD.
And unfortunatly, this Taylor is apparrently wearing a backpack full of idiot balls. While I understand her feeling guilty, Taylor is one of the smartest characters in worm.
But apparently not this Taylor. Where is the planning ahead she is known for? The pragmatism?
The 'standard' Taylor from worm spent months figuring out how to twibk her powers. Enough so that, without exotic bugs, she was able to best Lung.
Is frankly unbelievable to me that Taylor would not have already come up with a concoction she was pretty sure would work to stop parahumans. As well as a counter agent for it.
The concept is interesting, but the idiot balls Taylor is juggling break my SoD.
- Location
- Idaho Falls, ID
Eh. Taylor isn't that out of character here imo. The immaturity and badly optimized power usage can be chalked up to author fiat, otherwise known as the 'all fanfictions are AU' effect.
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hghwolf
Bird of contempt
Author fiat is all well and good but unless the author shows WHY a character, whose only known difference from canon at story start is a different power, acts significantly differently to how that character acts in canon - not specific actions but overall behaviour and personality - then that`s... well it`s not good, is it ? Obviously a certain level of differing behaviour is acceptable, but if Darth Vader suddenly founds a Tusken Raider orphanage from nowhere no amount of Author Fiat can unsnap the disbelief suspenders.
It`s fine to have Taylor be this way but there have to be reasonable, logical, apparent in-story reasons for it, and without those it comes off as horribbly out of character.
- Location
- USA
There is a simple explanation behind the limits she has encountered so far, I assure you.
Taylor thinks so too.
That's fair. My thinking was that the officer is hearing about this for the first time, and Taylor didn't get into specifics, so he wouldn't understand how bad it was. But you are right; "new cape" + "bullying" should make a PRT officer think "trigger condition." Maybe he'll realize it later, after she has left.
As for the school authorities - yeah, I forgot about how frustrated she was with them while writing that part. I was thinking that she wants them to listen more than she distrusts them, but they have failed her time and time again, so maybe it is not realistic that she would agree so readily to be outed to them. I would rather not edit established events in posted chapters, so I'll try to work in some post-rationalization of that in future chapters, because she should be hesitant.
hghwolf
Bird of contempt
Well we don`t know those, so until, and kind of even when, those become clear and manifest it STILL reads as dramatic contrivance. It`s not like they have to be on the nose, but some foreshadowing, a moment you can later look at and go 'huh', or a few lines where Taylor notes what experiments she`s done and what limits she`s found, even if those are not the true limits of her power, would seriously help the narrative. Same with her 'Armsmaster knows best, I`m just a dumb little schoolgirl' thing.
SOMETHING that explains why she picked up all those idiot and OOC balls.
ScottotheUnwise
Verified Crack (fic) Dealer
- Location
- Mulberry, Fl
Canon Taylor also started out with a whole bag o idiot balls, so this isn't that surprising. CT gave up on telling authorities, held back from telling Danny, sought out combat when her power is just bugs --and did not back off when Lung was in her sights. You might say every time she escalated was a reason to drop another idiot ball.
Folks might be comparing 'new to this', shy, self conscious Taylor with jaded Undersiders as my backup, passle of friends Taylor. Let her shed a few more IB as she escalates--and makes some real friends.
As for the power:She has a hard limit of 2 oz and just tried to make more <bzzt>. Then she tried to make an alternate and got a sample. Use the 2 oz and test again. For all they know, a little dab will do ya. That migjt be enough to wak 200 people and the water balloon might be enough to put 500 people out...
Folks might be comparing 'new to this', shy, self conscious Taylor with jaded Undersiders as my backup, passle of friends Taylor. Let her shed a few more IB as she escalates--and makes some real friends.
As for the power:She has a hard limit of 2 oz and just tried to make more <bzzt>. Then she tried to make an alternate and got a sample. Use the 2 oz and test again. For all they know, a little dab will do ya. That migjt be enough to wak 200 people and the water balloon might be enough to put 500 people out...
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ScottotheUnwise
Verified Crack (fic) Dealer
- Location
- Mulberry, Fl
Simple test. Have Panacea monitoring her as she gets swabbed with recocered knock juice. Then swab with wakeup juice, also monitored. Single sample test with no third party jeopardy.