As you may have guessed, this is a Celestial Forge story, based in Worm. Highly original, I know. However, I'll take a moment to introduce you to some of the things that are important to note about this story, first narratively, then important Celestial Forge changes I've made!
The main character of this story is an SI/OC. I believe, anyway, those tags are weird. He's the Earth Bet version of myself, with some other differences thrown in. I, myself, have struggled since my early teen years with chronic health issues, and I will try to accurately portray an extension of that here, but do keep in mind that the way main character feels is a version of myself that had things go wrong in ways they did not for me, and is vastly worse off for it, though not entirely out of the same ballpark. But he got superpowers, so he's the real winner.
Now, for the Celestial Forge integration. It's impossible to remain consistent over 1300+ perks with 200,000+ words, so instead I made the sweeping changes I felt comfortable with, removed some examples of what I didn't want, and will do the rest as we go. For example, I removed both the Assistants and Resources domains, as I don't like either in other stories. Something that may be a controversial change is the total removal of the Celestial Warehouse, including the facilities from the Celestial Forge. Instead schematics will be given to the character for him to build if he so pleases and the the Tools domain operates similarly. I'm intending to remove most instances of the Forge giving items, tech, etc to instead force him to build those things and make choices in how to progress, and also where.
I'll have an information post with bullet points of the general guidelines I'm trying to stay near or within to make it a little clearer, but it should be fairly straightforward in the end.
Note: This chapter is written on the rules of 100CP per 1000 words, and I feel that made things messy. Will be changing to 100CP per 2000 words next chapter.
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1: The End is Nigh
The harsh, buzzsaw-like sound of my alarm clock tore me from my dead sleep, the cheap plastic rattling against the fake wood backing of my bookshelves.
It was a horribly effective noise, one that served to wake me from my sleep fully almost no matter how little sleep I'd gotten, or how tired I was. It was a tactic I'd been using for years by this point, and one that gave me any semblance of a normal life, but it didn't change how frustrating it could feel sometimes.
I groaned involuntarily as I sat up in my bed, pushing against the thin mattress as I shimmied my way up into a sitting position, pressing my back against my pillows. It took a bit of effort to get there, like most mornings but worse today, but every second I took to steady myself was another that I had to listen to that sound.
Over and over, unrelentingly piercing, set to both maximum volume and the most annoying pre-set—both aggressive vibration and a high-pitched whine. The tinny sound even dipped off-key at the end of each burst of the soul-gnawing sound, at different rates each and every time.
I growled at the familiar feeling of frustration crawling up my spine and before I knew it, I was swinging my legs over the side of my bed, carefully pulling myself to my feet with the post of my bedhead. Moments later, my hand came down on the large 'STOP' button on the alarm clock's top with an unsatisfyingly mushy click.
Quickly, I reached out to grab the side of the bookshelf, steadying myself as I felt the heat rise in my face and my vision rapidly dissolved into bright static, then into darkness as the sensation flushed across my head and in my mind. A split second later I regained full consciousness, breathing heavily and closing my eyes tight to ignore the discomfort of my slowly returning vision.
I wobbled a little, the vertigo making me flinch back and press my chest against the shelves to reset my stance, before eventually setting off towards the pile of clothes that never seemed to make it out of the washing basket. Picking out the only pair of jeans that still fit me—even with new notches cut into my belt—and a hoodie and tee that wasn't totally destroyed by the washers at the laundromats near my place.
Sitting on the edge of my bed and pulling on my clothes, I felt my eyes drawing closed, the wooziness of poor sleep and the moment of excitement making my eyes feel like they were weighted with metal balls, dragging me back to the bed where I could sleep.
But I couldn't. Not today, anyway. Any other day of the week was fine, and I had no doubt I'd be unplugging that alarm for tomorrow's 'sleep in', even if it'd make me feel terrible in the long run. No, this was the one thing I could still do, and I'd do it regardless of how shit I felt.
I pushed myself up with half a sigh, and half a groan, and made my way over to my bare kitchen, milled around while my brain re-remembered what I was standing there for, grabbed the cereal box, poured myself a bowl—no milk left, hadn't bought any for weeks—and then sat on one of the many short plastic stools around the three-room apartment. One for the kitchen, two in the bathroom—one in the shower and the other in front of vanity, and a final stool in the lounge for emergencies and to use if I needed to do something that required more floorspace than what I filled elsewhere in the house by literally just standing.
Stools were good. Stools are your friend.
I mechanically swallowed down mouthful after mouthful of the dry, sticky, and punishingly bland cereal until I finally had as much of it down as I could stomach, the pain ripping through my gut making my teeth clench. I wrestled every morning with just putting some water in the cereal, maybe make it slightly more edible than sawdust, but I didn't trust the tap to give me clean water—it came out black, brown, or with bits in it on a semi-frequent basis, and I couldn't afford to throw a whole bowl of cereal out because of it.
Without letting myself slow down, I moved to the bathroom. Feeling bad enough about not showering, I tried my best to wash with just a cloth and a little hand soap, hoping it'd give my deodorant the edge over the few days of smell. I nabbed my toothbrush, a poor, worn thing that had its bristles flaring outward sharply—apparently a sign that I brushed too hard, if a half-remembered conversation was serving me right.
I sat on the stool in front of my bathroom's miniature vanity, trying not to notice the grime that surrounded it but, in doing so, noticed something worse.
Looking at myself in the mirror nowadays was unpleasant. I'd never been that way and had only ever been all that self-conscious a few times in my life—one of them being when my dentist had suggested entirely cosmetic, corrective surgery for my bottom jaw, as it protruded just enough that I could sneak the tip of my tongue through the gap it made in my bite. I'd been more offended by that than I think I've ever told anyone. My jaw was fine, and I knew it, I certainly didn't need to break it in multiple places, thank you.
Now, though? I looked at my sallow, sunken features, the skin of my face somehow both pulled taut and hanging loosely from what may as well have been only my skull, even with the aid of a light beard that I hadn't been able to shave in far too long. My once rich brown hair, cut haphazardly by my own hand, looked dirty and greasy in a way it never had even during the worst times, its length only a fraction of what it'd been before I'd had to cut it for necessity. My blue eyes now just looked like black pits under the harshness of my brow and the flickering, but still bright, bathroom light.
"I need some corrective anything on all of this," I snorted through the foam of the terrible tasting cheap toothpaste, before spitting and running the slightly-too-grey water that I didn't have the guts to put in my mouth.
I sighed as I took one last look at the creature in the mirror, wearing a hoodie and jeans that had once fitted me comfortably, but makes it look like a gaunt child dressing in discarded clothes. I pulled up the collar of the jumper slightly, covering the scarily defined collar bone and the hint of ribs pressing through skin, and moved away to leave the thing in the mirror where it belonged.
Alone in the dark.
I grabbed my keys, wallet, and my dinky little flip phone from the kitchen bench on my way past toward the door, reading to get my day going at last, which is when my foot slipped against something on the poorly maintained linoleum floor, making me frantically reach towards the door to steady myself. I only partially succeeded, only able to lamely hug the doorframe and use the friction of my hands and forehead to slow my descent to an embarrassing slide.
I quickly made it back into a crouch before I glared back at whatever had caused my fall and—
"Fuck." I whispered, my breath leaving me like a popped balloon.
I picked up the letter that'd been slipped under my front door, staring at the words scrawled in bright red.
'OUTSTANDING RENT: 3 MONTHS.'
I opened the letter carefully, as if I were defusing a bomb, and read the contents. It was essentially what I'd expected, really, and it only solidified the fact that there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
I resisted the urge to stuff the letter in the bin in sheer frustration, instead just slipping it back into the carefully opened envelope and placed it on the table. I'd have to worry about it later, today wasn't an option.
With forcefully deep breaths I tried to enforce calm, drawing on all the will I could muster to settle myself into something other than an adrenalin fuelled cardiovascular frenzy before the following state of unconscious. It only worked somewhat, but my eyes caught on the lone piece of furniture directly near the entryway, a hatstand upon which two hats hung next to each other. One was a dark brown, wide brimmed hat that was my father's—an apparently popular Australian brand he had purchased when visiting far extended family he'd contacted. The other was a gentle pink colour, a red fabric flower on the side, a thick ribbon of the same rich red wrapped around the base before giving way to a wide, circular brim—my mother's. Of course, the one time they go away on holiday for a weekend, they leave the hats they love behind. With a wry chuckle, I find myself surprisingly calm, so onwards I went.
The door opened with an extremely loud creaking noise, echoing mockingly in the concrete stairwell that every apartment in the building faced into—a horribly depressing design. I walked through the doorway quickly, the loud slam following only moments behind, as though the fucked-up door was an ambush predator, biding its time until the moment I walked a little too slow and ended up with a finger caught in it when it slammed like that.
I made solid time down the seemingly infinite square spiral of concrete stairs and freezing cold metal handrail, my mouth already sticking to itself with the dryness of exertion, but my breathing was still relatively even at least.
As I turned at the corner of the handrail, I came to see the final flight of steps, my rapidly beating heart sighing mercifully at the end, only smothered by the knowledge that I still lived at the top of the damn building, and I'd need to get back up there, even if it was just to get my things and leave for God knows where.
What halted my far more graceful descent slightly, however, was the opening of the door on the bottom floor, revealing a peek into a much nicer apartment than my own at the top of the concrete steps—supposedly they were all built exactly the same, not that I'm sure I believe it. Though it wasn't the homey apartment that slowed me, it was the distraught looking little old lady standing in the doorway.
"James, I–" She began, her wrinkled features drawn with anxious sorrow, but held up a hand in plea for a pause.
The small mercy granted, I took the last few steps down before sitting myself on those steps at roughly eye height with the small woman, legs pulled close to me and on the highest step I could get them on, rhythmically pumping what might pass for the muscles in my calves and thighs to attempt to keep the blood flowing.
"Joy," I said softly, giving her my best smile, "you don't need to apologise. You really stuck your neck out for me on this. You couldn't have done it forever, you know?"
Joyce—though she insisted vehemently on Joy because 'God knows we all need a little more of it!'—shuffled over in that slightly pained way she'd adopted ever since she'd had that hip surgery a year or two ago.
"Oh love, I'm sorry." She whispered, placing an old but gentle hand on my knee, "I'm not a fool; you weren't conning a little old lady into giving you an apartment for free, James. You are such a brilliant young man, and I couldn't just stand by as everyone let all that you could be go to waste."
A spike of emotion speared my heart, my muscles holding rictus tense for just a moment before I covered her hand with my own, fingers spindly and delicate looking against even an old woman's.
"I wish I could've lived up to those hopes, Joy." My smile was as fragile as the thinnest sheet of ice, cracking and malforming under its own weight in moments.
Joy's eyes hardened, "Don't you dare talk like that, James. My son-in-law might own my apartment and the whole rest of the building, but I'm not afraid to say that he's a right bastard with eyes that couldn't see past the lenses of those fancy-pants sunglasses of his if he damn well tried." She huffed, exasperated, sorrowful, and as furious as someone as close to a divine being could stand to be. "Don't give up hope just yet, Jamie-boy. I'll admit that I don't know how or when, but you'll make it wherever you need to go. Just, please… remember that you'll always live up to my hopes of you—just by fighting on as you have—because you're still here. Understood?"
I chuckled wryly, nodding gently as she pressed her hand to the side of my face, a worried smile flitting across her face before she sent me off into the streets of Brockton Bay, disappearing back into her homey apartment with the promise of stopping by for tea before I go back up later that day.
The streets of Brockton Bay, especially in January, were pretty fucking cold. Not as cold as somewhere that got massive snowfall, but Brockton had its moments, especially being right next to open ocean. Thankfully, I operated slightly better in the cold, not that it ever got all that hot here anyways.
Stuffing my hands in my pockets to get away from the temperatures that were toying with the idea of freezing some water, I moved as quickly as I could get away with, aiming for the bus stop only a ten-minute walk from the apartment building. It was a brutal walk, though, up a slight incline and over uneven pathing and just a little too close to where the shady parts of town start to be a real threat.
It wasn't exactly early in the morning, but it was still fairly dark and with the light mist seemingly hanging in the air, you could probably be convinced it was in the hours after midnight, but it'd be thirty minutes and the sun would warm the sky enough to become an invigoratingly pleasant tone of grey. How lovely.
Stifling my heavy breathing by bringing up the collar of my hoodie, I turned the corner to see the bus stop's metal seat already occupied by three people, leaving no room for me to sit. I just about groaned to myself, debating sitting on the concrete instead, but I wasn't sure I could come back from that if I stopped now, the exhaustion already beginning to suffuse my lungs and my chest—my stomach only having increased its protest at my eating literally any food whatsoever since I last checked in on it.
I awkwardly leaned up against the one part of the mostly metal structure that wasn't absolutely covered in graffiti in gang colours, all constantly being covered over in what was essentially the fastest moving game of king of the hill Brockton had to offer. Everyone took the bus, at some point or another, and one of those people were bound to be a Nazifucker, Yakuza-Triad wannabe, or literally any druggie, and all of them would probably take the moment to colour over another gang's colours in a space that was technically common ground. Out of sheer spite, if nothing else. I also didn't trust that all of those markings were just paint, either. Bus stops are gross, dude.
My attempt at distracting myself from my mounting pain and exhaustion seemed to work, as when the bus idled up eight minutes behind schedule, I was first in and netted myself a decent seat that I all but collapsed straight into. It was then that my body, kindly, reminded me of how many types of pain I was in, and how much worse I'd just voluntarily made it.
I choked down my discomfort, ignoring the burning in my legs and lungs, the frantic beat of my heart, and the kicked-in-the-balls level of constant pain sadistically residing in my gut. I had coped with this every time I'd gone out for this, it was nothing new, but that only made it a very special kind of torture.
The kind you underwent with a reluctant willingness.
Thankfully, no one insane showed up on the bus, a fairly common occurrence for the line that went straight through one of the areas the Merchants laid claim to and actually still held—astonishing, I know—but maybe I just didn't notice the crazy because I was relying on everyone else's reactive screaming to clearly insane individuals, and they might all just be insane themselves.
I was certainly going insane from this pain.
I think a tall blonde woman gave me a look of disgust when she passed by my seat, which is how I ended up with the realisation as to why no one had taken the perfectly open seat next to me when the only seats left were terrible ones.
They thought I was the insane one. Probably a druggie on a high, or coming off one, or something.
Wow, now ain't that a real fucking confidence booster.
Whatever, I just had to survive the trip. I still had to walk after this, too.
Eventually the bus came to my stop, and I stumbled out of the vehicle, desperately trying to neither drunk nor high and doing an exceptionally terrible job of it. Thus began the hardest part of the journey, which ironically commenced in the safest area I've travelled through today.
The steep uphill walk, then downhill walk that I essentially have no choice but to take. Why the most annoying hill in Brockton had to be on the only reasonable path to take was beyond me, but apparently there was a God who hated me, or a city planner. Or a lack of either, maybe.
I turned my mind off and began to walk, letting myself just suffer.
It was about halfway through the walk, still facing the uphill, that something caught my eye in the sky overtop the skyscrapers, moving in from further toward the nicer parts of town. A few seconds of observation would tell just about anyone that the weird bird they thought they saw was, surprisingly, not a bird at all and was instead an independently flying human being.
You'd never gotten used to it, and you grew up with Lady Photon making a mess of people's day, floating around like nobody's business. It wasn't any different with Glory Girl, defying known physics with a side of teenage recklessness. Honestly, people gave the girl so much shit for breaking stuff all the time, apparently having to call out her sister to heal up some thugs—at least in the rumours, but also pretend that Lady Photon, Brandish, Manpower, and Flashbang didn't royally screw so many pooches when they went for Marquis' throat, and tried to go on a one team rampage?
But seeing Glory Girl flying through the sky like a bumblebee on meth did mean something; something very– no, crucially important.
I was late.
I had made it, in the end. Not that it made the waves of nausea, piercing muscle pain, excruciating stomach pain, or the constantly teetering on the brink of passing out any better. But it did mean that I could sit down.
After I check in.
I walked through the set of two doors as they automatically opened, entering the large and mercifully warm waiting area, already fairly populated despite the early-ish hour. I beelined to the reception, as I had done so before every weekend for months. The receptionist wasn't one I recognised, which wasn't too uncommon, but I was really hoping one of the ones I already knew well enough could've made life easier right about now.
"How can I help you today sir?" She asked me, black hair bobbing slightly as she looked up at me with an expression that said she'd rather be anywhere but here.
"Hi, I'm just here to be put on the wait list for parahuman healing, please." I said politely while strangling the urge to lay down on the hospital's blue plasticky floor and curl up into a ball as best I can.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly not surprised by the request, but gave me a once over in a way that only someone who wanted you to know would, "The waitlist for parahuman healing is long, and there are many who are in critical condition that take precedence over anything non-life threatening. If you would like, I can have you admitted to emergency where they can take care of–"
I held a hand up to stop her, a polite gesture I didn't feel, only stopping her in case she sent that judgement down the wrong path. I really couldn't deal with that right now.
"Unfortunately, my condition isn't exactly curable, at least not by modern medicine. I'm aware that I'm unlikely to be seen by Panacea today—I've been coming for something like the last six months." I said, my smile pained for more than just the physical pain I was enduring.
The receptionist, that I'd internally vowed to never get the name of, gave the impression of a barely repressed sigh before pulling out a sheet of paper and began filling in fields.
"Full name?" She asked drolly.
"James William Parker." I returned, hoping she'd just get a move on.
"Date of Birth?"
"The eighth of January, nineteen-eighty-eight."
She stopped, double checked what she'd written down, then back up at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Happy birthday to me, I guess?" I shrugged and she just nodded in response.
"Condition or reason for requesting parahuman medical aid?" She continued.
"Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, along with some type of hypotension disorder they don't know what to do with."
She didn't look up from the page, but I could feel the slight dubiousness in her. It was obvious when you got used to the experience, but the most telling sign was the mouthed words on her lips.
'Yuppie Flu.'
It was the punch to the gut that I didn't need right now. I finished out the questioning meekly, then slowly moving the furthest away from anyone else that I could and slumping into an available chair, all but curling in on myself.
No one had pulled that on me in years, not anyone in the medical profession or adjacent anyway. Not since my mother and I were laughed out the door of a family doctor at fourteen. We'd had to forge our own way through the system from then on, with not enough money, not enough time, and all too many doctors willing to tell us we were a pair of attention seeking hypochondriacs.
It'd taken years of fighting, of knowing beyond the pale that something was deeply wrong, and living a life spent asleep eighty percent of the time and in pain the rest. But finally I'd gotten that diagnosis, what some schmuck with an article had called the 'Yuppie Flu', following a couple of psychiatrists and a couple of psychologists who had decided that it was just a bunch of rich, affluent, slackers having what amounted to nervous breakdown.
Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. That was what it was called, even if the diagnosis didn't give me a cure, it gave me something other than 'It's all in your head'.
Then that very same doctor who'd given me the diagnosis had told me to "just go home and live life."
I had been bedridden with pain for a week. What life?
I had dropped out of highschool at fourteen, unable to do any work, and with no diagnosis to say why I couldn't. What life?
I was too sick to work, but even with a diagnosis, I couldn't get disability support. What life?
I came to a hospital every Saturday for months and waited in the emergency room waiting area for as long as Panacea was in the building, just for the vague chance that I might just be lucky enough that some poor sucker died before she got to them and gave me the one open slot I needed.
Because I'd lost almost seventy pounds when I last looked healthy at two hundred.
Because I can't leave my apartment for four days after I go out once.
Because I can't stand in one spot without having to stop myself from fainting.
Because I need money and I can't do anything other than wake up and go to sleep.
Because before ten days are up and I'm asked to pay up, I need to find a way out of my apartment, some other place to live, hopefully before Joyce's son-in-law realises that it's not three months rent overdue, it's eighteen.
I forced myself to take deep breaths, seemingly the only thing between me and total insanity. It lurked just on the horizon of my thoughts, an insidious and dangerous cloud of inky black that blots everything else in the sky, leaving you with nothing but a twisted mind, broken in indescribable ways.
Dread had long since filled me, the cold sweat soaking through my shirt and into my jumper. I couldn't tell how long it'd been anymore, I don't know when the last time I checked even was. I knew I was in a hell of a lot of pain—though that was a pretty normal occurrence when I was here. I hated hospitals, and the anxiety of just being here at all sent everything into an absolute tizzy. I'd tried to get along with all the other 'Panacea-chasers' as people like us were so classified, usually a group of oldies that were seriously ill, just not seriously ill enough to die. I'd tried, but I was always in so much pain while here that even thinking of attempting conversation with a single person was excruciating, let alone oldies who honestly treated it more like an afternoon tea club.
Faintly I was aware of something on the very edge of my periphery, it was fairly incessant. A noise. I desperately clawed my way back to a semblance of cognizance and–
"Parker! James Parker." A woman dressed in plain blue scrubs yelled, looking at a clipboard she was holding before flipping up a sheet of paper with a perplexed expression.
'She's calling for me.' I realised, just as the woman turned to walk away.
"Uh, wait! I'm James Parker?" I asked, like an idiot, while I frantically disentangled my limbs from my awkward sitting position and got to my feet so fast, I was sure I was going to pass out, but held on with just a moment of unconscious.
The woman turned, looking at me for a second with a befuddled expression, as I just stood there unsure what I was even meant to be doing or saying.
"Well," she said slowly, "come along then." Then continued in the direction she had already been walking.
I just about shrivelled up in my own skin with my objective stupidity, but swallowed it and hustled after her, my body suddenly forgetting any pain with a rush of adrenalin so massive it began to worry me. Mostly because my heart was being so hard and fast that I could feel it in my entire body, almost as though my bones were being vibrated in my flesh along with the beat of my heart.
We passed through to where the emergency wards were, a place I'd ended up plenty of times and never found any worthwhile help in—but I couldn't find that with a specialist either. Quickly we passed by what seemed like an administrative area, probably for the doctors and nurses to desperately ask google for answers, and then into a very quiet area with a small waiting area for itself and a line of doors that seemed to be personal offices or consulting rooms.
When we made it to a door that read 'Dr. Stephanie Michaels – Lead Intensive Care Specialist' we stopped, and she turned to me with a professional smile.
"Okay, James. My name is Dr. Michaels, or just Stephanie, and I'm taking initiative on getting Panacea some time off after going through my ward and healing some of my patients who were, quite frankly, almost certain to pass in a few hours." The smile turned into a bit of a grimace, before gaining a more genuine pep in her voice, "I hope you don't mind me grabbing you to give her an easier job to do for a while?"
"No, no, not at all." I stammered out. Why the hell would I ever be not okay with that?
"That's great!" She said, a friendly grin spreading across her face, "Then I'll just have to give you a few quick rules before you go on in there, okay?" I only barely got a nod in before she continued. "Awesome, so when you go in there, it'd be great if you just sit down in the large chair in the back corner of the room and I'll have a quick word with Panacea before she can get to you herself. She will ask you for your permission in healing you, and you must verbally confirm your consent as well as a consent via your signature, which you've already given. Now, please do not ask for any 'modifications' to your body other than having what ails you corrected, and try not to disturb her while she is working on you, it should be harmless, but treat it like getting an x-ray or CAT scan, alright?"
I floundered for a moment, drowning in the barrage for words, before just nodding with as much confidence as possible. It was a very shaky nod.
She grinned and turned, opening the door and ushering me inside with a deft hand. I made a beeline for the chair she told me to take, sitting in the large, leathery monstrosity that was probably more expensive than was comfortable, and it was really damn comfortable.
I then swept my gaze across the books and paper filled office before my eyes snapped to the short form of a young woman in a white robe with multiple red crosses and imagery alluding to her healer status, as well as a large red scarf wrapped around her neck loosely, leaving her face entirely unguarded as she spoke with Stephanie.
That was Panacea. Like, actually Panacea. I'd only ever seen her this close before, when she had rushed out into the emergency area when someone had gone into cardiac arrest and passed out in the middle of the floor while talking to the receptionist. I'd been right there, it'd been so tempting to ask her to heal me in that moment, but I didn't.
And now I was here.
"Alright, so." Panacea—Amy Dallon as her real name was public information—said with a somewhat bland tone, "Can I assume you understand what I'm able to do?" She asked, looking to me with barely hidden impatience.
"You can scan people, heal almost anything. Except brains." I said quickly, hopefully not too quickly, but I could still feel my heartbeat in my bones, so I might very well be past the point of no return there.
Panacea grimaced minutely, "Yeah, no brains. So, I'm going to put my hand on your arm, I need to touch your skin, and then do a full scan of your body. Can I use my parahuman power to scan you?"
"Yes" I confirmed, voice warbling so severely that it was unable to be missed, but I couldn't possibly care less, already rolling up the sleeve of my jumper and placing it on the arm of the leather chair where she could easily reach, my hands shaking so badly my arm was actually quivering in place on the leather surface.
I looked her dead in the eyes, her own brown meeting my blue, and nodded, ready.
She placed a hand on my skin and closed her eyes.
One second passed. Two. Ten. Thirty.
After a minute, she opened her eyes and I recognised something in them.
An expression, a feeling that wasn't quite coming through, my brow scrunching until she looked away from my eyes and spoke.
"I'm sorry, it's in your brain." She said, her face contorted with… guilt.
I couldn't speak.
"Your chronic condition was initially caused by an onset illness, likely a case of glandular fever or a serious infection."
I couldn't breathe.
"This, along with the loss in muscle tone that you sustained while initially bedridden, created a sort of feedback loop with your brain."
I couldn't move.
"Essentially, you produce an excessive amount of adrenalin, approximately twice as much, and your brain is constantly in a state where it believes you are losing blood, or in imminent danger, leading to that already excessive production to be triggered multiple times in short succession to mundane actions, like standing still in one spot."
What is happening?
"This all happens in the brain, and I can't do brains. The only other option would be to completely rebuild your body from the ground up, but you are both tall and predisposed to this outcome in multiple ways. As it stands, you're underweight by a massive margin, and I'd need to add all that weight back on you to be healthy, as well as a great deal of it being muscular."
Wasn't this supposed to be a chance?
"And at that point, instead of healing you, I would be totally reworking your body into something completely different. You would be a tinker's project, and I'm not willing to do that to someone."
My mind offered me no answers.
"…I'm sorry, James." Panacea finished, her voice quiet and her expression contorted into a mask of guilt and conflict.
I smiled.
"It's okay." I said.
She looked at me, searching my face for something.
"You can't fix everything, and even if you could, sometimes it's just not worth it." I said softly, "You took the time from your day to see me. Even if it ended without a solution, I can't thank you enough."
I stood, Panacea flinched back minutely before standing herself, looking at me with worry, guilt, and fear.
Fear for what?
"But I didn't–" She began, I held up a hand to stop her.
"No, you didn't. I'm not healed. But that's not your fault. You aren't a God, and clearly don't want to try playing at one either." I said, smiling faintly, "You are a lot of people's last hopes, and that pressure must be unimaginable. Maybe your real superpower is resilience, and the healing just tagged along for the ride."
I stuck out my hand for a handshake.
After a moment's pause, Panacea snorted softly, "Stubbornness, my sister would say." She said, taking my hand tentatively before I wrapped it in my much larger hand and shook it firmly as I could.
"Well, it looks like we have two sisters that need to tone down their powers and not just one, hm?" I joked back.
When I released her hand, she looked faintly stricken, staring into elsewhere, but I moved to Stephanie, whose face was one of regret for a situation she couldn't possibly have changed anything about.
"Thank you for this chance, Stephanie." I reached out my hand.
"I'm sorry we couldn't do anything, James." She said, her lip almost but not quite quivering as she took my hand and shook it firmly herself.
"It's okay. You're a wonderful doctor, Stephanie, I'm glad your patients have you there for them." I said.
She smiled warmly and let go of my hand.
I turned to the door, opening it, and addressed the room a final time.
"Again, thank you for this, both of you." I said, smiling, "Maybe we'll meet again one day. So I'll see you then."
Without waiting for a reply, I left the room, the door closing behind me.
The smile left my face, leaving nothing but blankness.
I was cold. Too cold. It felt like all heat had been sucked from my body, leaving me as cold as the air that surrounded me.
I was outside.
When did I get outside?
I walked.
Why am I on the ground?
I passed out.
What's that sound?
It's my heartbeat. It's louder than I've ever heard it.
What do I do now?
No answer came.
Wasn't that my chance?
Nothing.
How do I live like this?
Nothing.
Why won't they give me the chance to show them that I'm smart enough, that I've got what it takes?
'Application for Deadline Extension – Denied: Due to a lack of supporting medical evidence…'
Why don't they realise; I can't work because I don't have food to get better, that I need the help?
'Sir, I told you the last time you called, your application for a disability pension has been denied. You need to wait a standard period of…'
How am I supposed to be able to live without anyone to help me? With no one who can help me?
'Is this James Parker? This is Officer Timothy Grant from the Boston PRT calling to inform you that there was a major conflict between local and out-of-state villainous parahumans. Your parents were caught in the attack of a villain named Damsel of Distress…'
I gasped for breath, trying vainly to calm myself.
Slowly,
I had no more money, it was all spent.
Softly,
There was no more food, only crumbs left.
This is how,
I had no home to go back to, only a place I have to leave.
All hope crumbles.
I'm going to die.
And then the sky shattered like a pane of glass, filling my mind with stars.
---
"James!"
I snapped awake with a startled gasp, breathing heavily, and immensely confused. To my right, with her hand on the same arm she had checked me with what felt like only minutes ago was Panacea, staring at me with an expression of shock and something else.
"What happened?" I murmured, the words coming together strangely in my mouth
"It seems you had a seizure, you were inconsistent in your responsiveness for a while there." Another familiar voice piped up as Stephanie moved to crouch beside Panacea with a serious and concerned expression written on her features.
"A seizure?" I said, confused. I'd never had a seizure before, I don't even know what makes a seizure happen.
"You're a lucky duck that you had one right out here. Even so, you're pretty lucky that you didn't hit your head on the way down." Stephanie continued while she seemed to signal to someone out of my view.
"I think I passed out before." I said, sounding like my tongue was numb in my mouth, "Before the seizure."
She frowned, Panacea doing the same, but not meeting the doctor's eyes when she looked to the healer for any clue. She let it drop, releasing the young woman from her scrutiny and just clicking her tongue.
"Damn, knew I should've kept him in my office, not matter how fine he looked. Jesus Steph." She grumbled under her breath, though just loud enough that I was likely the only person to hear it, owed to my strange position.
"Not your fault." I grumbled, trying to pull together something more eloquent and failing. Why did my eloquence work when I was having a truly life shatteringly bad panic attack, or about to have one, and now that I'm actually awake and thinking in more than single sentences I can't speak for shit?
"Oh shush, you." Steph said, in a tone that implied very heavily that this was her 'I'm at work' way of saying, 'Shut the fuck up, idiot.'
"Let's get him into a room for now, I'll patch up what's left to do there while he lays down on something that isn't concrete." Panacea said, cutting in with a sharply commanding voice. A bit of a surprise from someone that felt the way that Panacea did. She wasn't the soft type, definitely the sort to be snarky, but commanding didn't really seem like a fit for her.
Until I realised, you know, the girl six years younger than me has probably gotten an emergency call to help with the damage left after every parahuman conflict in Brockton, not to mention the time she's spent in the hospitals working emergency, since she ended up with the power to heal just about anything.
'Just not me.'
I shook away the dark thoughts, or at least I tried to with very little success. I still really didn't know how to feel about the whole thing. Of course, it made me feel beyond terrible—I had been holding out the slightest hope that Panacea might be able to get around to me just once, and it'd taken months of sitting there from the moment she arrived in the morning, till the middle of the night when she left. I had given myself the maximum possible chance of being seen by her, outside of stuff like somehow manipulating my way into getting an audience with one of the handful of what could be considered 'true healers' on the entire planet, even if many didn't seem to notice just how amazing that was, those in the communities I frequented sure knew.
Don't know how I'd have swung that one.
Either way, it didn't matter now; I'd been seen, and it'd done me no good. And that really had torn me to pieces. But it was the culmination of it all that sent me off the deep end, the still threatened me from the corners of my shaky awareness. It was the years and years of misfortune and a gradually declining likelihood of ever climbing back out of that hole.
It was when they loaded me onto a stretcher that I first was struck by something weird.
No, not just weird, bizarre in the truest sense of the word.
For just a moment I could feel my mind open to something, a connection which—however solid the means it uses to do so—could not be sustained indefinitely. And so, a compromise was made, where one could gain fragments of the greater whole.
But defining it as such would be so hilariously reductive that you'd either have to be a comedian or just a fool.
No, what my mind opened up to was shockingly familiar, a universe full of stars, practically an infinite amount, each representing their own part, their own fractional element of something they belonged to—a world, a power, a person, a thing, a concept, a skill, but that wasn't what was important here.
There was something much greater among these stars, and I felt whatever it was that I was connected with it agree in an intrinsic and wordless way, the infinite universe of stars disappearing to only contain a fraction of that infinity, but a specific one. One with purpose, one with power.
To Craft. To Make. To Create. To Learn. To Advance. To Know. To Understand. All of it bled through the connection like wildfire through my veins, a small taste of what the rapidly whittling constellations of stars represented.
Until, at last, we were left with ten major Constellations, some of those broken into smaller parts, with few clusters of stars that represented great power within them. I stared dumbly at what I was not-seeing—merely a clear understanding of what is passed through the connection. I heard yelling from around me again, but my mind was focused, and the galaxy came to life and began to spin, twist, and move in esoteric ways I'm not sure my mind can comprehend.
Yet. Comprehend yet.
I watched carefully for any pattern, any control I could leverage, but I felt the small amount of power I'd gained being thrust forth into mass of swirling stars and found its target.
I pulled, and pulled harder, leveraging everything I could as the connection struggled under the weight of what my meagre power had attached itself to, and as my bounty surfaced into me from my connection, I realised it for what it was.
It was one of the small few that could be called their own miniature constellation, a focal point for which other, related stars can easily gravitate towards, giving those few with the luck for their powers to find it a reward few of the singular star could supply.
This was a monster; one surrounded by five others, and I could feel the power bleed from my stores as the connection closed behind it. An indefinable amount of power—I couldn't know just how much I had, or how much I'd used, but it didn't change that I knew it was a lot, one with few equals.
"James? Can you hear me, James?" Stephanie's voice called, loud and clear in my ear, flashing a bright light in my eye, making me shut it tight and flinch back, "Woah, hey, you're still on the stretcher, we're just going to get you to the bed quickly, alright?"
Disoriented, I just nodded as I tried to come to grips with what I'd just experienced. I was moved from the hard plastic stretcher into a relatively soft bed that I knew I couldn't afford to stay in but wasn't sure if I could care right now either. I felt Panacea's hand clamp down on my arm once again, having left it while I was being transferred, and I could distinctly feel the hard flinch on my arm a moment after she'd made contact.
"Talk to me James, can you tell me what's going on?" Stephanie asked, cutting into my thoughts.
"Uh, yeah, sorry I just kinda got stuck in my own head for a bit?" I offered, and she didn't look at all pleased, nearing an almost frantic concern.
"It's not a recurrence of the seizure, I checked." Panacea cut in before Stephanie could start down the wrong path.
"Then what's going on?" Stephanie asked, somewhat exasperated, a handful of nurses standing nearby ready for something to happen and an order to be called on a moment's notice.
"I think that James has had a very big day, and that his body and mind will probably be kicking him for days to come. Right now, all he needs is some decent rest." Panacea said, a certain definitiveness in her voice that just about demanded that what she said be taken as truth.
Stephanie seemed reluctant before caving into the supernatural healer and shooing the nurses away and checking at her watch.
"Alright then, I'll trust you on this. If anything changes, bring me in on this. I know it's not my field, but like hell I'm not going to ditch a stupid meeting to come help, you hear?" She said, flicking her eyes between both myself and Panacea before turning on her heel and walked out at a brisk pace, still managing to close the door behind her quietly.
Silence reigned in the room for a moment, before Panacea's hand left my forearm and she addressed me head on, cutting through the sudden awkward air.
"Okay, so. I am obligated to inform you that you have gained a parahuman power, something I am able to detect due to the structures in your brain being different five minutes prior to you passing out and presumably triggering around then." She said, her voice even and calm. Practiced, even.
"Oh yeah," I squeaked pathetically, but just too stunned to care, "I think I figured that much out."
"I could see your Corona Pollentia light up like a fireworks display." She snorted—and while she might not be asking, there was an implied question I was free to answer.
"Well, I guess that's what happens when you learn how to do magic." I answered.
"Wha–"
My mind zoned out, cutting my attention from the conversation, feeling the connection reopen and push forth into the swirling array of stars and come back with something more fitting than I could've possibly orchestrated on me own. A snort forced itself from my nose as I started to laugh, already feeling Panacea's hand clenching around my disastrously thin forearm.
"What? What now?" She asked, enough concern mixed with frustration that I stifled my laughter to call for peace.
"No, no don't worry. I, uh, admit that I don't really know what the hell is going on right now, of if this is some kind of fucked up dream, but I'll at least try to explain." I said, finally getting rid of the last of my laughter, seriousness touching my features as I gave her as hard a look as I could manage, "That is, if you are going to be discreet about it. I feel I can trust that much in you, but I know that doesn't apply to everyone."
Panacea met my gaze and, with a faintly conflicted look, she nodded, "That's fine. I don't really report to anyone, and no one can force me to give information about another cape, especially when it's involving their civilian identity. I'll keep anything you tell me to myself, unless you otherwise ask me to, yeah?"
"Sounds good." I said, already smirking at the internal joke of an occurrence I was about to try and portray for Panacea. What a damn day.
"So, I guess I got powers after I walked outside. I don't remember walking there, or passing out and falling, but I remember the moment I got them and everything opened up to me." I began, my words filled with a gentle awe, "I feel them as little stars, nodes maybe, in a grander constellation. There are a lot of them, and I can't tell how they're organised, but I connected to my first star on the stretched—a huge group of them."
I paused for a moment, digging through my mind as I tried to find words to accurately portray the insanity I've had pushed into my mind, "Right, so each of the five stars gave me the knowledge necessary to build one item, I don't know why it did it that way, but I now know how to make a pocket watch that is nearly indestructible and also can slow down and speed up time for the user."
Panacea's eyes went as wide as saucers, not even trying to school her expression, "Do you mind if I use my power to confirm that you at least believe what you say to be true?"
"Go ahead." I granted easily, and she wasted no time gripping my arm once again.
"Can you confirm that you can build, or know how to build, a watch that can locally manipulate time, or manipulate time for its user?"
"It's a little more complicated than just local time manipulation, to be honest. Like, you could use it to get a meeting done really fast, but you operate just as well as you would at normal speed, but slowing time isn't the same, you have more time to think and act, but I don't think its infinite." I mused. Despite the knowledge of how to build it, and all the strange, esoteric 'spells' and truly baffling 'recipe' lists for 'contingent alchemical brews to further enhance the requisite spell matrixes', it still didn't make all that much sense without so much of the context I'd need.
Panacea gaped, her mouth open in complete astonishment, "You mean, just like that, you can build tinker tech that could speed up and slow down time?"
"Ah, well, no." I grimaced, trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn't just confuse her further, "I can't really build any of that because I, uh, don't have a wand."
"A what?" She asked, hand clenching tighter.
"A wand." I repeated, "And yes, an actual wand, as far as the schematics and notes I have in my head are concerned. I honestly couldn't tell if it was technological in nature or supposed to actually be magical. But then I got a second star, just a minute ago."
"Right." She prompted, drawing out the word with a little pained scepticism.
"It gave me actual, real knowledge and skill with magic. And I have no idea how to feel about it." I said, keeping my face totally, dead straight.
I could see her expression warp in disbelief, but her hand—seemingly ever tightening—stayed put on my forearm, brow furrowed in a desperate search for something in me that proved myself a liar, I assume.
"How can you believe that?" She asked carefully, "I know there are a few capes that believe their powers are magical—some because they think it's funny to piss the Tinkers off, or because they say that powers may as well be, but… really?"
"Yeah, really." I said, but quickly shaking my head as she came in for a retort, "Look, Panacea, we don't know each other very well, if at all. We only met, like, half an hour to an hour ago at most—I won't be able to definitively convince you of magic being real, not right now, but I can tell you something."
"What's that?" She asked, becoming a little guarded, maybe expecting an attack on her over some supposed difference of belief.
"Your power?" I began, "It's not magical. At all, if I'm right."
She did a double take, "I thought you–"
"No, I don't think powers are magic—or at least, I don't because I can see that what your power does doesn't even touch life energies at all, and if it had any ability to tap into it, there's essentially no way I wouldn't be able to tell with it doing something to me. I just know that to be the case, not sure why yet." I stressed, keeping my tone neutral as possible, "Whatever it's doing, it hasn't touched any magic I'm aware–"
The connection sparked, dragging my attention to it, a jarring experience to say the least. I prepared for something to grab upon the connection, like a fish to a hook, but nothing came, and eventually the power fizzled, returning to me for next time.
"Did it happen again?" Panacea asked insistently as I became aware of myself again.
"Hm?" I responded intelligently, before catching on, "Oh, no. Well, yes, the weird connection thing happened again, but it didn't connect with anything this time. Didn't know it could do that."
The curly haired brunette quirked an eyebrow with a grimace, "That seems… really random? Like, how can you rely on it to give you something useful to build in combat, or in an Endbringer battle if you don't have any control?"
"Build in combat…?" I asked back, a little thrown off course, "Am I missing something?"
She rolled her eyes, "Like, sure you have this weird magic stuff now, and the watch is super cool and just amazingly useful, but you said it yourself, you couldn't even understand what was going on with it until you got something else you could use to interpret some of it. But what do you do if those get replaced by something else, or you get a really powerful schematic that you can't find a star that has the skills to build it?"
"What do you mean?" I said, drawing my eyebrows together, "I don't lose anything. I keep everything, it's my knowledge now."
"But I thought–" Panacea started, then interrupted herself, then tried again "But I've never even heard of someone talking about a multi-power cape like that, aside from maybe the Butcher. But a Tinker? That's totally insane, that can't possibly be real, if that were a real power you'd be…"
She trailed off, and it was then that I caught on to her train of thought.
Whatever my power was, weak was a descriptor that couldn't exist in the relative dimensions near it. If what I'd seen of the stars so far was at all consistent with anything else on offer, like I instinctively knew they were?
"Holy shit." I breathed, eyes widening to match hers, staring at each other stupidly while she gripped my arm so tight that my hand was going numb, "Arm." I mumbled absently and she let up immediately, taking her hand away and stuffing it in her pocket.
"Uh, yeah," she mumbled, just as absently, "sorry."
I waved it off, still reeling, and becoming progressively more terrified of just what the implications of having a power like this could be. If Eidolon could be so powerful with three powers, what could twenty do? Fifty? One hundred?
In a matter of seconds, this had gone from being amused over my power which, frankly, I was taking way better than expected, all the way into the implications this power could have on maybe a national level.
Maybe even worldwide.
I stuffed those thoughts down, for now. They didn't help me. They didn't serve to better my thinking right now, right this second. I needed to think as clearly as possible about my next moves, because I was beginning to realise just how much immediate danger I was in if I didn't act fast.
But acting fast didn't inherently mean a better outcome. The wrong kneejerk response could land me in hot water. I was always pretty shitty at knowing cape related facts, I was a total nerd, just in a different way. Now I could only rue my former self for not having an obsessive interest over powers and dangerous capes. I knew nothing, and that put me in a desperately rough position.
What I did know, was that getting found by a gang at any point while I was starting up with building things was potentially a worst-case scenario. Only made worse if they have one of the master types, not the ones that make minions out of thin air, or control rabbits or something, but a real Heartbreaker type. If one of them were to enslave me now, would I ever get free if the only way for me to win is to build my own solution, when I may have been put under express orders to not do so or further entrench my own servitude with whatever I can come up with?
Then a gang might just end up with exclusive access to a an extremely powerful Tinker. Or, at worst, a really esoteric, mildly strong one. And that was more than bad enough.
And for what? What would be the upside?
Creative freedom?
Well, actual freedom, honestly. The moment someone with even a lick of sense, like Panacea, looked at my power down the barrel and considered the trend I was beginning to follow, someone would want me locked in a little box to be poked in special and different ways until they figured out how to make it happen on command—or just lock me in a workshop with some sort of leverage hanging over me.
I sighed powerfully, spindly fingers scratching at the back of my head roughly, my dirty hair itching like mad.
"Hey look," I said, breaking the long silence that had developed, both of us staring of into space thinking about something, but she quickly emerged from her mind and looked to me, "I know this probably is a question you get a lot but–"
"What should you do?" She finished for me, the sullen thoughtfulness gone, in its place an amused expression grew.
"Yeah, basically. I really don't want to make an ass of myself by not asking now and then having to try to be 'subtle' in every way that makes me look like a parahuman trying to be subtle." I said flatly, eliciting a shockingly girly snort from the healer, genuine amusement playing on her features in a way that made her seem so much younger than she usually felt.
"Oh shit–" I got out before my mind was sucked back into my thoughts, feeling my power extend once again and grabbing something from the same constellation I missed in last time.
I felt the star be pulled into my mind, and immediately I felt my chest shudder with a gasp; I felt a new power spring anew withing me.
This one wasn't like the last ones, where the first had 'merely' been glorified instructions and admittedly interesting knowledge to a handful of items that were all fairly impressive in their own ways. The second has been the skill to intertwine magic and tech together, which gave me some sort of knowledge with both, but not the sort that was immediately apparent. I'd never crafted something before in my life, and I felt like my inherited skills were seeking for something that wasn't quite there yet, stumping me in a way that probably only knowing something without truly knowing what you know
This, though, this changed all of that.
Life.
I've always known it was there—obviously. If something lives, it has its own power unto itself. It is more than something dead, or something inanimate. It possesses a certain vitality inherent to the living. It was something so clear that to state it was redundant. Only now I knew it in yet another form.
I'm now suffused with it entirely, my prior knowledge of its existence and potential or theoretical understanding of its use wasn't enough to make real, practical examples of the energies and magics intertwined with life. With something like the skills I'd gained, being able to determine that Panacea's powers weren't magical by no apparent use of life energy was fundamentally simple, like telling between someone painting with red apart from someone drawing with a red pencil—baffling that you'd need to even be asked. It couldn't be called a usage of life energies or magics in any significant way.
Simply, I couldn't use life magics quite yet, not the way that I wish I could—only in the most mundane of ways, by just its rich presence within me. But I would be able to work up to more, to utilise it the way someone like myself could only dream of. Once I puzzled out any real degree of manipulation of these sources of magics and energies, I could begin work with it.
It was in everything I was, after all, even inside every other magic and object I made. The very essence of life, it seems, had made itself a home within me.
I laughed—a wet sound, a sob caught somewhere in my throat—and for the first time in years…
I smiled a real smile.
"Hey Panacea," I asked, wiping at the traitorously forming tears, "how would you feel about having an apprentice?"
==== Perks Gained this Chapter ====
Magical Items (Make A Wish) (1000CP)
You gain a detailed blueprint and design theory of that item, whether it be spell matrices of a spell, charms and engineering required for some magi-tech, or the ingredients and method required for a potion, post jump these blueprints and formulas change to the native settings resources
Reaper Sword (100CP)
A Scythe that can turn into a sword Used by Mr. Black, this sword is always sharp and has increased damage for what it should actually inflict, has an aura of despair and dread when unsheathed and it also glows a creepy green light at will, lastly it is powered by a particular dark magic, it leaches ambient life energy from the surroundings, scaring local wildlife and withering plant-life and the land when unsheathed.
Steel Ride (100CP)
A Bike used by Mr. Black, it can shrink to pocket-size, drop oil slicks, shoot spells, fly, change license plates, and even has a pooka - a ghost horse - bound to it so that it never needs fuel, can act by itself if needed, and occasionally project the image of the pooka itself.
Blend In Bracelet (200CP)
Used by Mr. Black, this bracelet creates a powerful SEP field around the user and it will help the user remain unnoticed unless they commit an aggressive or incredibly strange act. If used in the lowest setting, the bracelets allow the user to be perceived as a whole, but appearance or other discerning characteristics except gender are hidden.
Watch Of Time (200CP)
Created by Henchgirl and Professor and Used by Mr. Black, this watch is indestructible, weather-proof, fire-proof, water-proof and shock-proof, safe to say there is very little that can destroy this watch, it also has intimate relations with time, if you turn it's knob clockwise time will move forward, to better deal with paperwork and boring meetings, turn the knob anti-clockwise to slow down time, to better enjoy your fleeting vacation.
Fidelius Coat (400CP)
Used by Mr. Black, this coat transforms to best suit the outfit wore by the user, this coat is used as a improved version of invisibility cloak, It has a modified version of the fidelius charm that has a parasitic effect on one's magical reserves, when activated the user can disappear and cannot be detected by any known magical effects or abilities. User is not actually invisible, he just can't be seen or detected by any magical or technological effect. It has additional abilities due to being made of Dementors, Lethifold, Nundu and various other creatures. The abilities include being able to emit an aura similar to dementors and an aura of hopelessness, it is also spell resistant and has many yet to be discovered powers.
A/N: As an aside, this perk actually comes from a fanfic, one of a handful I've found in the CF doc. I'm personally not all that sure how I feel about those sorts of things. It's not as if there aren't horribly broken things in cannon, original works, but fanfics tend to break soft systems like Harry Potter's over their knee, the result of which you see here. Also the Watch of Time is really ambiguous for some reason, where in the fanfic itself it allowed going back in time, so it's inconsistent too. Also the fanfic is very 2005 and probably written by someone of the age you'd roughly expect a HP fan be at that point. It's basically a part of the internet's quirky history at this point.
-Magitek Mastery (Final Fantasy VI) (600CP)
In essence, magitek is simply the use of magical energies as a power and fuel source for technology. Your understanding of that outstrips anyone else, and you can now apply this principle to any technology you own.
By altering your devices to use something magical in nature, such as a magicite stone, an enchanted item, or just raw magical energy, you can enhance it in every single way and give it unique properties. A suit of armor would become much harder, lighter, and more agile than before, perhaps even boosting the physical abilities of the wearer in line with the magical power source.
From there, the armor could make more esoteric uses of the magic, such as casting spells on its own based around the sort of magic infused into it automatically or at the wearer's prompting. This isn't some measly effect restricted to the mundane or basic, no, magic can be infused into any sort of technological device to enhance its functionality and give it a partially magical nature and powers.
Even life may be infused with magitek technology like this, not only as cybernetics but directly as well. In this situation, it behaves a bit differently. The magic integrates itself into their body, becoming a natural part of them, allowing them access to that magic system and enhancing them physically, but they must grow into it. They start at a much weaker level, where they have to practice and develop their connection to this magic to realize it fully.
There's no upper limit to them beyond what the magic's system is capable of, but it can take time, and you can instead choose to infuse living things with a larger amount of magic to grant them greater magical ability much more quickly. Unfortunately, this can have dangerous side effects, as giving them too much to handle at once can lead to mental instability or even insanity, the severity rapidly scaling upwards the more initial energy put in.
A/N: There are so many terribly formatted and written perks in the CF doc. I debate just rewriting every perk I do end up with just so they are readable. This one isn't too bad, I can't figure out how you're supposed to tab indent on the editor here. Shame.
-Renewal (Age of Wonders ll) (400CP)
Wounds can be mended, cities can be rebuilt. Even the lands tainted by death magics or burnt by fire can be restored, seeded with crops and forests until life flourishes anew. Life magic embodies this ideal, holding the power to endure, to undo all harms and ease all woes. Your spells and abilities are infused with this power, and it is impossible to corrupt or twist them against their purpose. Furthermore, although your magics are now more difficult to suppress or destroy, if your enchantments are only partially broken they will slowly restore themselves to their full potential, their own magical natures healing as surely as more physical wounds.
If you would believe it, the first perk was not actually the first perk! Not that the first, first perk was bad, but because it was too good! Kinda...
-Relic of the Future (I Saved Too Many Girls And Caused The Apocalypse) (600CP)
The lost technology that allowed Atlantis to maintain itself for as long as it did. These are the notes and blueprints revealing the secret of the 'space-time stitching' technology. Once everything is properly set, it can send back the user in time, much like the 'save' function in a game. It can't go before the machine itself was activated, nor it stops the user from getting older as they experience those futures.
This perk might not cost a lot, in comparison to the second, first perk I ended up rolling, and is arguably better in almost every way due to the sheer, insane utility of the thing. With it, you'd probably send Earth Bet as mad as a anthill on the warpath, with all the ways that it'd screw with thinker abilities and precognitives alone. It'd royally upturn their theoretical wargames, battled between theoretical minds, deciding the fate of the future in virtualised realities that aren't full, complete simulations...
But it would also be a very different story than I want to write. To have an ability like that and not use it as an integral method to your madness would just cheapen any conflict, loss, or suboptimal outcomes the character could experience. So I cut that one with a heavy heart. No matter!
Additionally, the perk is from a light novel/manga that hasn't been fully translated into English, and the characters have yet to encounter this 'Atlantis' beyond a mention or two on the English wiki for it. Can't find the original jump doc either, so welp!
A/N: That's a decent sized chapter, ey? Most of it was spent without the Forge, but ey, what can you do? You gatta get there somehow. Hopefully James' trigger felt somewhat poignant emotionally/conceptually and not just edgy or what have you, the vast majority of this chapter was written while I was pulling an all-nighter so I'm not sure I can gauge that at all anymore!
I'll post up an informational with other stuff about the guidelines I'm using for CF, but something I'll mention here is that I know that the specific perks have fairly extrapolatable language that could allow for James to use mana/energy of some type, but James is not hyper- or omni-competent, he does not get a handy perk summary and instead has a vauge understanding of what he now understands but must figure the rest out himself to a degree, and he also doesn't know what he doesn't know until he finds that he does. I.e. that he could tell Panacea wasn't messing with his life energy, thus either enacts the ability via another source or that its not a magic he knows of yet.
Skills wise, [Magitek Mastery] is pretty dope, great for padding lacking technological skill with raw magic, and with [Renewal], essentially an internal font of specifically life magics, the risk of using life energies as a fuel is reduces, though James may want that for other things!
Amazing as always, and it's good to have one more Celestial Forge fic trying to focus on, you know, actually crafting and tinkering instead of just receiving power after power and gift after gift in a way that makes steamrolling your problems away the only logical solution.
This was a pretty insane start for a story. I'm excited to see what's coming. I have no idea what a celestial forge is, but it seems like an interesting concept. Watched.
Amazing as always, and it's good to have one more Celestial Forge fic trying to focus on, you know, actually crafting and tinkering instead of just receiving power after power and gift after gift in a way that makes steamrolling your problems away the only logical solution.
It's something I'll try my best to somewhat satisfyingly provide, but the Forge is truly pretty ridiculous, so we'll have to see! As the name of the story implies (to a degree) part of the goal will be to make change in ways that service more than just the main character and those near to him. He's going to end up with a whole lot of smarts and knowledge, he's got to use it somehow!
This was a pretty insane start for a story. I'm excited to see what's coming. I have no idea what a celestial forge is, but it seems like an interesting concept. Watched.
Thanks! Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself so far. I'm still working to put up an informational post for the story, and I'll try to cover the Forge in detail there, but think of it as a huge-ass repository of somewhat crafting related knowledge, skills, and abilities that are randomly rolled each 2000 word interval (was 1000 words for the first chapter but I changed it). You gain 100CP for 2000 words, and an immediate roll happens alongside. If you don't get anything from that roll (read: you rolled something you didn't have CP for) then you make no connection and you bank the CP and try again next time!
That trigger fits the theme of the Celestial Forge so well. An an unsolvable long term problem that finally comes to climax leading to a Tinker trigger, and then the problem is a biology that is in a constant state of danger and trauma, leading to a trigger that doesn't end. Just constantly triggering.
That trigger fits the theme of the Celestial Forge so well. An an unsolvable long term problem that finally comes to climax leading to a Tinker trigger, and then the problem is a biology that is in a constant state of danger and trauma, leading to a trigger that doesn't end. Just constantly triggering.
Hey, that's pretty good! I'll be honest, I didn't think of that specific interpretation, but I'll say that I did think it was somewhat appropriate given the general conditionals on Tinker triggers. The constant triggering thing is a cool idea--I pity the character that actually would have to deal with that in the genuine Worm setting though, Shard reinforced trauma is a bitch, and imagine being a puppet to that many Shards? God damn.
I'm glad you thought the trigger was neat, though. Baring the soul a little, that is what I believe would make me trigger were I to be on Earth Bet, much of the sequence was based on taking the things that I personally dread and taking them to ten. The lack of a support structure that could enable me to be significantly unwell for periods as long as a month or more, the lack of ability to get government assistance, the degeneration of my physical state due to compounding periods of illness and being bedridden, the difficulty of university with inconsistent health, the fear of being unable to work regardless of university qualifications I've worked for; all of this is basically what keeps me up at night.
Taken to the extremes that James is facing is the worst possible scenario, I'd say. Life isn't easy, but thankfully I'm not anywhere near where James has found himself.
Well, if you're not familiar with the rules or other stories being made with the Celestial Forge (CF) as a pivotal element, you're probably pretty confused by some of the mechanics of this story of mine, so this is a post to help you understand what is going on step by step!
The Celestial Forge is a massive list of perks, collated with the general theme of Crafting/Building/Forging/Creation that have been written based on technology, skills, structures, or abilities that can be found in other fictional media. For example, Alchemy is a large section in CF, and it contains perks that enable the use of, and provides knowledge of, both the Harry Potter form of Alchemy as well as the Full Metal Alchemist form of Alchemy.
At current, the Celestial Forge v3 (Reddit) (Google Doc) lists over 1500+ perks in 220,000+ words, so it's massive in many respects. It consists of 12 major categories at base, but in my modified version I have 10. The perks you will see at the bottom of each chapter, and in a separate perk list, are all available in this google doc, though I may choose to modify the perk with new wording, removal of some aspects, etc.
The most popular instance of CF's usage (and likely the reason for much of the concept's popularity) is likely Brockton's Celestial Forge by LordRoustabout (SV Thread), which now consists of 1.6 million+ words to date. You guys on SV probably know about it, since it is hosted here, but this is being cross-posted, so shhh I'm being thorough!
A primer of the general rules of CF is that upon writing a certain amount of words, that being 2,000 words in this story's case, 100CP is generated (Celestial Points, Character Points, it's not important). CP is the 'currency' with which perks are bought, and the price of each perk gained will be listed with the perk description. When this currency is generated, immediately afterwards a roll is forced, which I first roll between the categories, then a subcategory if required, and finally the perk roll itself. Upon rolling this perk, if I can afford it with the current CP balance I have, then I must purchase it. If I do not have the required amount, then the perk passes and no CP is expended, leaving it to build over time. I do not have a choice of what specific perks I get, but I will veto or remove perks for certain reasons to be described elsewhere.
The Celestial Forge, you will find, is completely and totally busted strong. There is no effective way to nerf it, with so many different ways it achieves power, but we can shape it to better represent how we want it to influence our stories. Another informational post will be made that describes the guidelines that I am using to select for perks, ways it influences the story, and more. They are guidelines, as holding true consistency isn't exactly reasonable here, but it's what I'll try to do.
Hope this clears up the Celestial Forge for any who weren't confident in their understanding, and if anything else is unclear, I will do my best to update this post to rectify that so it can be linked to those not in the know.
You gain a detailed blueprint and design theory of that item, whether it be spell matrices of a spell, charms and engineering required for some magi-tech, or the ingredients and method required for a potion, post jump these blueprints and formulas change to the native settings resources
Reaper Sword (100CP)
A Scythe that can turn into a sword Used by Mr. Black, this sword is always sharp and has increased damage for what it should actually inflict, has an aura of despair and dread when unsheathed and it also glows a creepy green light at will, lastly it is powered by a particular dark magic, it leaches ambient life energy from the surroundings, scaring local wildlife and withering plant-life and the land when unsheathed.
Steel Ride (100CP)
A Bike used by Mr. Black, it can shrink to pocket-size, drop oil slicks, shoot spells, fly, change license plates, and even has a pooka - a ghost horse - bound to it so that it never needs fuel, can act by itself if needed, and occasionally project the image of the pooka itself.
Blend In Bracelet (200CP)
Used by Mr. Black, this bracelet creates a powerful SEP field around the user and it will help the user remain unnoticed unless they commit an aggressive or incredibly strange act. If used in the lowest setting, the bracelets allow the user to be perceived as a whole, but appearance or other discerning characteristics except gender are hidden.
Watch Of Time (200CP)
Created by Henchgirl and Professor and Used by Mr. Black, this watch is indestructible, weather-proof, fire-proof, water-proof and shock-proof, safe to say there is very little that can destroy this watch, it also has intimate relations with time, if you turn it's knob clockwise time will move forward, to better deal with paperwork and boring meetings, turn the knob anti-clockwise to slow down time, to better enjoy your fleeting vacation.
Fidelius Coat (400CP)
Used by Mr. Black, this coat transforms to best suit the outfit wore by the user, this coat is used as a improved version of invisibility cloak, It has a modified version of the fidelius charm that has a parasitic effect on one's magical reserves, when activated the user can disappear and cannot be detected by any known magical effects or abilities. User is not actually invisible, he just can't be seen or detected by any magical or technological effect. It has additional abilities due to being made of Dementors, Lethifold, Nundu and various other creatures. The abilities include being able to emit an aura similar to dementors and an aura of hopelessness, it is also spell resistant and has many yet to be discovered powers.
-Magitek Mastery (Final Fantasy VI) (600CP)
In essence, magitek is simply the use of magical energies as a power and fuel source for technology. Your understanding of that outstrips anyone else, and you can now apply this principle to any technology you own.
By altering your devices to use something magical in nature, such as a magicite stone, an enchanted item, or just raw magical energy, you can enhance it in every single way and give it unique properties. A suit of armor would become much harder, lighter, and more agile than before, perhaps even boosting the physical abilities of the wearer in line with the magical power source.
From there, the armor could make more esoteric uses of the magic, such as casting spells on its own based around the sort of magic infused into it automatically or at the wearer's prompting. This isn't some measly effect restricted to the mundane or basic, no, magic can be infused into any sort of technological device to enhance its functionality and give it a partially magical nature and powers.
Even life may be infused with magitek technology like this, not only as cybernetics but directly as well. In this situation, it behaves a bit differently. The magic integrates itself into their body, becoming a natural part of them, allowing them access to that magic system and enhancing them physically, but they must grow into it. They start at a much weaker level, where they have to practice and develop their connection to this magic to realize it fully.
There's no upper limit to them beyond what the magic's system is capable of, but it can take time, and you can instead choose to infuse living things with a larger amount of magic to grant them greater magical ability much more quickly. Unfortunately, this can have dangerous side effects, as giving them too much to handle at once can lead to mental instability or even insanity, the severity rapidly scaling upwards the more initial energy put in.
-Renewal (Age of Wonders ll) (400CP)
Wounds can be mended, cities can be rebuilt. Even the lands tainted by death magics or burnt by fire can be restored, seeded with crops and forests until life flourishes anew. Life magic embodies this ideal, holding the power to endure, to undo all harms and ease all woes. Your spells and abilities are infused with this power, and it is impossible to corrupt or twist them against their purpose. Furthermore, although your magics are now more difficult to suppress or destroy, if your enchantments are only partially broken they will slowly restore themselves to their full potential, their own magical natures healing as surely as more physical wounds.
=== CH2 ====
-Fantasian (Sorcerer's Apprentice) (300CP)
Unlike a certain mouse, you maintain impeccable control over any animated objects you create. While it's not like they're truly incapable of overdoing tasks you set, they'll definitely check in with you before doing anything drastic. Constructs with animal intelligence will also quickly and correctly interpret any hand signals you attempt to send, no matter how clumsy. This has some reverse application to non magical applications, like machinery.
=== CH3 ====
-Neoalchemist (The Glass Scientists) (200CP)
Invisibility serums, subtle poisons, superspeed formulae, if the Victorians ever imagined it could be done with chemistry, you can do it.
-Cracked Desktop CM Schematics (Eclipse Phase) (400CP)
Complete schematics and documentation for a desktop cornucopia machine, about the size of a large photocopier, with all safety and copyright limiters removed by default. It can make almost anything you have the blueprints and correct feedstock for. It can't make antimatter or anything that requires nanotech more advanced than this setting has, which extends to femotech and picotech. If you are trying to make something bigger than the CM itself, you may need it to print smaller parts you then assemble.
-Toggle (Young Justice) (100CP)
Toggle allows its user to forgo learning to control their powers by simply allowing them to turn their powers off when they aren't needed. This can be done per power, so there isn't a need to go without the ability to teleport because you don't want to use your super strength. Also works on out of Jump powers. You can think of this like a dial. It can be on, or full power, as well as off, or no power, and anywhere in between those two states.
Ok, thing with health problems hit the bull's-eye. So accurate to a degree of little worry. I know exactly how it feels like and sympathize MC.
Tweaks for Celestial Forge - I like them. It's a power to make things - not get it from nowhere! Assistants just create more annoying character bloat! So yeah, it is definetly coincides with my opinion on the topic. However, how MC going to get some materials, which cannot be found on this Earth? Fictional things needed for craft. Will he get instructions on how to build machines for exotic matter creation or something else to solve material problem?
Celestial Forge Changes and Guidelines - The Boring Intent Manifesto for Nerds
So, there are a lot of Celestial Forge (CF) stories out there, and you might've read a few. This probably means you're noticing differences between them and how it's playing out in my story. That's because I've made quite a few changes to the Celestial Forge based on the way I want it to interact and play with the narrative. This is not perfect, and will never be perfect, but I am going to do my best to list the changes made and my reasoning behind them, as well as general guidelines I'm trying to work with.
Note: This story uses a personally modified version of the Celestial Forge v3 (Reddit) (Google Doc).
Changes to the Celestial Forge:
The Assistants and Resources category have been completely removed
The Celestial Warehouse (the ability to open a subspace area with a key) has been completely removed
No items of any worth, technologically or otherwise, will be provided by the CF
This does not include items that have no value but the information they hold (i.e. books)
The Tools and Facilities categories now give schematics for their perks, rather than the item or structure itself
Any knowledge or information those items or structures contained will instead be granted immediately, unless it would've been restricted or conditional to obtain it, in which case the character must build the structure or satisfy the requirements to obtain it
Perks that rely entirely upon the CF to back them ([Blank Mind II], [Mind Resistance III], etc) are at least vetted before acquisition
Many have been removed, but there are many that remain especially in Protection, Time, Skill, Crafting, and Quality categories
Fiat (or Forge-backed) effects, (such as items being indestructible, self-repairing, etc) are mostly ignored unless the crafted item itself is intended to have held that capability, in which case it will retain such an effect
When an acquired perk grants knowledge, skills, abilities, etc, they do not necessarily grant the character the practical understanding of the knowledge has been granted, or a full and comprehensive understanding of what they can now do with said abilities
Perks that are derived from fan fiction will be scrutinized prior to acquisition
Perks that deviate too far from the thematic of crafting/creating/building/etc will be removed
Perks that are particularly egregious for any particular reason (absurdity, relevance, power imbalance, alters the story undesirably, or I just particularly dislike it) will be removed
Phew! That was a lot; I was starting to feel like a lawyer there for a second.
Now, that mass of rules may seem really strict and potentially insane and, yeah kinda, but also not as much as you think. Keep in mind that a lot of this is really up to my discretion on how to 'enforce' them. This is something that I'm writing and considering a narrative for, so it's important to me to stop something truly absurd to be rolled that completely alters the way the story is written are pretty much a no-go for me. For example the perk [Relic from the Future] was the first perk in the story that I rolled, but decided to remove due to it being an actual, craftable save game/load game button, which would make the story, essentially, about save-scumming to victory and negate any real loss.
So, I'll quickly go through most of the points in a more casual/explanatory way here, for those that want to see my thinking on why I chose to do X or Y:
Honestly, I quite disliked the Assistants and Resources perks in other CF stories. The assistants always felt strange and out of place for me, regardless of their relevance to crafting, and I don't have the confidence to write characters from settings I don't know or understand that well enough for a story I'd like character to be an important part in. Resources just always cheapened things for me, and always ended up feeling like a win-button for having to actually acquire a huge amount of materials for massive projects instead of CF just handing it to you with "Unlimited" written on the tin.
Likely the most controversial part of my choices here, but I think it makes sense. In other CF-centred fiction, I find that the Warehouse essentially becomes the setting for the entire story. My main inspiration for this choice is actually daddy Brockton's Celestial Forge itself. I like the story, and I enjoy it for a whole host of reasons, but the story essentially never leaves the Warehouse outside of an external event that the main character feels he has to intervene in, or we actually just cut to another PoV. So, in my opinion, the Warehouse feels like it kills any connection that the story has to the world beyond that subdimension, and negates all risks or threats to the character or anyone inside by being there, which makes it impossibly stupid to not use if you have it. Plus, it adds the challenge of being stuck to the real world for the most part, trying to get things done without limitless, conveniently prepared space to do so. It adds interesting problems and conflicts as well as maintains old ones that having the Warehouse would thoroughly, if not entirely, negate.
CF, to me, is about making things, whatever they may be. This negates that for me, where you just get handed highly advanced technology, magic items, magitech, without working for it at all, then use another granted item to scan, then build and replicate en masse in a granted factory, to equip androids that were fabricated in a granted factory, so on and so forth. I just don't feel like it has the same oomf as some borderline hobo desperately trying to collect weird-ass items for his magical ritual that would help him create something so he doesn't have to run around like an idiot the second time, but he still has to do it the first time to get there. It doesn't matter the crafting skills and knowledge the character gets if it just appears in his pocket. It'd be best if this creates situations where the character has the skills, or thinks he does, and knows roughly where he wants to go, but needs to find a way to get there by putting in the elbow grease to iterate on an idea, test theories, innovate, expand, and generate whole new uses for his skills and knowledge. But practically worthless items that contain information or knowledge is fine by me. At that point it's just about the flavour of the thing, if nothing else. Why the hell not?
This essentially runs by the same logic as #3. Also there were a lot of weird fiat-backed items in tools that say something like "You can literally anything with this toolbox" or something along those lines. Or even just totally deviate from what is reasonable by the standards of the works they are derived from.
Another controversial one, I think. I get that Worm is dangerous without the blanket of being essentially immune to thinker/precog/trump types, but that's part of the point with this, honestly. There are still perks in CF that negate, mitigate, or even actively combat those types of powers, and I won't be removing those, but the perks that totally no-sell the dangers of a setting with no backing outside of 'Because the Forge said so' is just the CF solving all the character's problems, when the solution should've been an ingenious piece of tech, or magic, or what have you. Because that pays tribute to the threat those that it's negating pose. If something should completely negate Contessa or the Simurgh, then I think it should be something at least somewhat fought for. As well as this, I am ruling that the characters progression via CF cannot be pathed or understood by pure precognitive efforts--the Celestial Forge is a power of a magnitude that totally dwarfs an Entity, it doesn't even need to try to hide itself from them. As such, Contessa cannot see what will continue to happen with the addition of new perks, the same going for Coil. They can see based on what he can do and what their shards understand or can quantify/estimate, otherwise giving somewhat indistinct results.
Found this to be cheap as well. What use narratively is a precious item, one which could totally change the way the game is played, if it cannot be lost, stolen, destroyed, etc, if the character doesn't get the chance to do their best to guard the thing, or lets them slack on the basics. Same reasoning as above, really.
This one is mostly for the sake of a more genuine feeling progression. The character will almost always come to understand the extent of what is granted by any given perk, especially as he becomes far more intelligent and gains access to the ways to internally understand and categorise information and his own capabilities, but until that point, he's just your average guy with a scary amount of potential. In mirroring my own base intelligence, set your frame of reference against a person you know with half-decent common sense and the ability to get around a 70%-80% on any university assignment that has been adequately studied and prepared for. Not amazing, not hyper- or omni-competent, not even close to exceptional, just has a pretty good wrinkly pink organ in their head and decent education. He has to do something to integrate it into his practical knowledge, or his world view. Seeing, or doing, is believing. Soon enough, he'll probably be capable of claiming to be the smartest man who has ever, or will ever live. Besides, I feel that the character themselves getting the literal text of the perk always is too meta, and I can't describe the effect I feel that it has on the story, but that's personal preference anyways so yup!
Perks from fanfic feel weird, and don't always make a lot of sense in reference with the cannon. Also they tend to be kinda stupid strong, or just plain eyebrow raising. Nothing super important here.
I like the thematic of CF, but it's absolutely being put together as more of a playbox by those that contribute and have a say in what gets added. I want it to serve a different purpose than they want it to serve, and so I'll just make sure I'm whittling out the system I want in one that's already mostly okay by me.
This final point is the culmination of all that you can find above, and also just a straight veto card from me. I'll try not to abuse that power with saltiness, but in the end it'll be somewhat of a gut feeling. For example, I removed a handful of Super Mario perks that I just found extremely off putting, where you would first grow items like plants, then 'lovingly' raise those items into related, sentient/sapient beings, to then actually breed together to create more. I, uh, yeah nah, not my cuppa mate. Another example can be seen just above the start of the list with the first, first perk I rolled that was a magitech save/load system that I chose to veto and remove for the sake of narrative and my own enjoyment.
Anyways, this is the last of the informational posts that I promised to set up: sorry for those who may have been dropping in looking for a chapter while I posted these. Better to get it all out of the way now so I can just easily edit them to add or change things later on anyways.
Thank you for reading the write up, any questions just ask, I'll do my best to get to ya!
Ok, thing with health problems hit the bull's-eye. So accurate to a degree of little worry. I know exactly how it feels like and sympathize MC.
Tweaks for Celestial Forge - I like them. It's a power to make things - not get it from nowhere! Assistants just create more annoying character bloat! So yeah, it is definetly coincides with my opinion on the topic. However, how MC going to get some materials, which cannot be found on this Earth? Fictional things needed for craft. Will he get instructions on how to build machines for exotic matter creation or something else to solve material problem?
Yup, having shitty health is particularly unfun, I'm only glad that I don't reflect my alternate self in all his woes. Hopefully he'll find some good ways to get around it!
As for the materials, I'll have to come up for good ways to do so. My intention is to either use a multitude of methods to engineer a know unobtainable resource, or use some other methodology. This could include alchemy, technology, magic, etc. If there was to be a material that was to stand out as completely unobtainable outside of one specific means that the character is unable to access for some reason, then I will engineer a meta solution to the issue in a way I feel works best. Though I may also decide to break the rules of the unobtainable material to apply the first method.
The same goes for tech that is unbuildable without extremely specific knowledge/skill that I cannot rely on rolling. I'll have the character attempt to create a solution with what he knows, and see what happens. He'll probably fail a bunch, but it's the CF! Who knows what might happen.
Well I'll be, someone also had the same idea of a warehouse-less CF story. Also seem to have similar ideas to on the instant gain perks. Excited to see how your story goes.
After that star had hit me, I'd found myself very emotional. Life magics were… special to me. They held a spot in my heart the same way that I held an admiration and respect for those who had powers to heal.
I'd tried to explain myself to Panacea, who looked increasingly confused with those explanations, and eventually we cast off the topic to return to the grander question. That being, 'What the hell do I do now?'
The way I saw it, there were a handful of options, and some of them were so obviously stupid that I'm not sure you'd be called a functioning human being to take it, in my situation.
Number one and number two on the stupid meter was: make a gang and join a gang. Sure, it worked for Lung, Kaiser, and… who was the last guy again? Anyway, the guy that runs the Merchants with his Tinker. They were shining examples, if you could call them that, of how being strong and building a strong power structure underneath you through ideology, being fucking terrifying and Asian, and drugs, respectfully. The problem was that they caused problems. They were horrific in all of their own uniquely flavourful ways. If I make a gang, I don't know what I'd even build it on that I was willing to do for one, but the second was that as soon as people realised how powerful a Tinker I could theoretically become, they'd want to evaporate my innards as soon as reasonably possible. Joining a gang sounded like a great way to end up in Lung's basement as the 'special exception' to the Asian's only rule.
So now that I've absolutely made it obvious to myself that gang = stupid, let us move to what could even be considered reasonable, shall we?
Independent teams, like New Wave, were a possibility. Not sure if I'd be game to go with New Wave, but if I'm honest I don't have a life to lose by doing it. I'd probably hate myself down the line though, and when I asked about what New Wave's stance on people joining up was, she looked uncomfortable in a way I can only describe as powerfully and shook her head lightly with absolutely no elaboration. Trouble in paradise, it seems. That left a few others but mostly out of Brockton, and if I wanted to build something for myself here in Brockton, which I think I wanted to do, then I'd have to put together a team myself or find someone already doing as much. I know no way of doing that, and I'm not sure I could join a team that hasn't done anything or has no reputation with members that were the same. It sounds rife for someone being off their rocker and killing someone, then the team falling apart in shame and or ending up being a front for a major criminal gang anyway.
Or just a corporate group, which it probably as bad as being a criminal front. Any attempts of corporate heroes were always so painful to me for some reason. I think I'd hate life like that, a face on a poster, or with my face looking as it did right now, probably hidden in the back with a full-face mask for 'mystique'. God just thinking about being a money maker for a corporation just destroyed what felt like the whole point of actually being a hero. They didn't want what was best, they wanted what made them money. There was no way that wouldn't affect the way the team operated and what they did do.
Now, I could go out on my own, but I don't think that's a good idea. I could swing it, but I'd have to be dead silent until I was strong enough to be a monolith, shrugging off anything and everything. I wasn't that, and I couldn't reasonably expect that of myself, even with life magics slowly but surely making me just that little bit healthier.
Then a rogue or mercenary, tinkers were a pretty popular choice for this. I checked on my shitty little phone screen with a shitty little web browser. I had debated not web searching at all, in case they were tracking web data, but then I realised how many people probably search for the publicly available information on this stuff and threw caution to the wind. Tinkers quite often became rogues because of the money it promised, even though the danger was quite a lot higher. The PRT had their usual cherrypicked statistics everywhere, but they weren't lying, Tinkers were usually in the most danger when it came to independents and rogues and were much safer and less dead with the PRT. Even those that joined rogue groups like Toybox, but they also had to sell to people that I was not interested in selling my discarded toenail clippings to, let alone tinker tech. I'm pretty sure I could make some things that would sell, fairly soon, if I gained another star or two, or maybe even with just a bit of life energy in something… but anyway, I think it fell to the same issue as going out on my own.
In the end, it all came down to one thing.
A support structure.
Honestly, I was a little bitter about it. More than a little.
I'm not going to be a total asshat about this, because I'm not a fool, I know how to logically separate the government from the people who work within it, or from one department and another, but emotions weren't logical.
I fucking hated the idea that I will only get the support I always needed as soon as I get fucking superpowers worth a damn. I hated it. I had been rejected for a disability support pension every single time I could apply since my parents were killed. I don't even know how many times that is anymore.
I all but screamed at the government to help me, and I got fucking shafted to where, if I hadn't got a power on this very day, I would've died, I'm sure of it. I was only one of thousands, millions, that went desperately without the support they needed, and their deaths, their suffering and torture was a crime on their hands that I don't know how much repentance it'd take from them for me to not be absolutely, murderously fucking furious.
But what happened if I got sick while I was an independent, or a rogue? If I needed to lay in bed and do absolutely fuck all for a week? Would teammates accept that, or would they leave me because they saw money or glory elsewhere? Would that time be when I was needed, and tanked my own reputation to where I'd burned my image?
Could I keep on living alone?
The final option was to join the Protectorate.
It was the option I didn't want to consider out of sheer fucking spite.
But I couldn't do that to myself. Not now. Not when I've been given the chance I'd been begging for with my everything to have. 'Just one chance.' I'd said that to myself so many times that it'd practically become a religion unto its own. I'd believed in it with everything I had in me, that if I someone gave me just one chance, I'd see it through no matter what.
It was a mentality absolutely ripe for abuse. I'd seen it. I've spent my fair share of time in the communities online for people with various shapes and sizes of disabilities. I know the stories of absolutely abhorrent abuses of trust, of love, of kindness and compassion done to those who had believed that if someone just gave them the chance to show they were worthy of being loved that they'd love them back. Anyone. Even the monsters.
I've never cared enough, and I'm glad for it in ways I can't possibly describe.
But I'd traded it for this… this burning distaste for those that were supposed to give aid but withheld it. That were useless in the face of what they were there to defend against.
I'd lived in Brockton my whole life, it was impossible to not hear every way that the PRT and Protectorate were doing things wrong and were a useless, waste of space, PR machine used to make you think you were safe when you walked down streets covered in gang colours.
I was also smart enough to know when someone was just angry and exhausted. At the moment, I was all of those things plus in pain. Apparently getting a power was a 'big deal' by my body's standards, so I currently found myself laying flat and unmoving on my hospital bed that no one had told me to get out of yet like someone had doubled gravity for me.
Which just so happened to be the perfect time for my mind to get sucked inwards, full attention on the stream of energy being sent forth into the mess of stars, seeking its target. I watched intently, but the energy fizzled, finding nothing and returning to me.
Seems I was running low on the stuff? That made some sort of sense, I guess, with how much I'd reeled in today. Bit of a bummer, I'll admit, but it still seemed to be happening at a fairly frequent pace, if nothing else. But I was distractingly myself from the conversation my brain didn't want me to have with myself.
I was angry, exhausted, in pain, and coming to the realisation that I didn't have an apartment to go back to, no obvious place I could go and live in the meantime other than a shelter, maybe. I had no support, no money, no food, no health to sacrifice, no qualifications to leverage, no nothing.
Except a power.
A power I could do things with. I'd not been kidding when I'd asked if Panacea had wanted an apprentice. Life magic was no joke, I could feel it thrumming inside of me, slowly giving me the health back that I'd lost just by being present at all. I didn't know how to do with it what she could, yet, but working with her could help and if not, when I found a way to use it to really heal someone, I'd work with her then anyway. To be able to heal at all was a monstrously desirable power, let alone on Panacea's level.
A power that kept having more and more added to it. Nonsensical? Sure! I knew some really specific things about how to make a sword that could also be a scythe that also did way too many other things, one of which was drain life from things in its surroundings when the blade was drawn. I didn't really like that, it made me viscerally uncomfortable, even if the effect was very minimal.
How it did it was interesting, though. The blade itself was actually fairly mundane, only a few methods in the forging process that were clearly influenced by magic, mostly for priming the blade to be receptive and more accommodating to later infusions of magic to create the enchantments that did the real heavy lifting. Alongside the fact that the blade was the battery for the magic, where life itself was the energy, it fed upon in its surroundings, enough to make grass wilt and spook animals, maybe kill some bugs, and pushed all that energy into the blade to keep it powered forever.
If I could get ways to build these sorts of things, figure out how to forge something worth a damn, put together something electrical, I could infuse it with magic easily, I knew I could do it, I just needed to have something to work on to really get it down.
If I could do that? I was on my way to owning some very impressive items, things that could keep me safe, keep others safe.
And it would keep getting stronger. Just like that.
It was a power that was so valuable it was potentially beyond words. If I wasn't careful, I'd be eaten alive, Protectorate or no. One day things would be fine, the next I was being transferred and then I was in a pretty looking cell being tested and interrogated to uncover my power's secrets.
But outside of the Protectorate was worse. Way, way worse.
It came down to a gamble. A gamble on one thing and one thing only.
How much someone wanted me.
It felt weird thinking about it like that, but it was true. Brockton Bay had a few pretty powerful capes on the side of the angels. You had Dauntless and Armsmaster, pretty distinguished figures, both of them powerful and one slowly rising to the top a day at a time. You had Miss Militia, who seemed competent and overall effective, and Assault and Battery, however goofy the names, were pretty effective also, as well as surprisingly powerful, just more quietly than the heavy hitters they had. Also the ward that became Protectorate, but I'm blanking on his name.
The brain fog was getting worse, and I was struggling to keep on track, pain and frustration at the situation that still wasn't solved, but at least seemed to have some way forwards. A chance that I'd promised myself that I'd take, even if I didn't exactly like it.
My bet was that the Protectorate wanted more people, because as things stood, they couldn't win, but they sure as hell could lose.
My bet is that they'll want to keep another Dauntless, a maybe over what they're getting, which is nothing. They don't have enough people and they know it, it's why they play it safe and tactical. I'm no genius when it comes to capes, and I'll be the first to admit that I've been wilfully ignorant of much of the issues the world has and the conflicts between capes, but it's obvious that Brockton is more rough and tumble than most of America.
They're hurting for power, against absolute fucking monsters like Lung, the asshole who gets angry and becomes a dragon on the off occasion that he feels like doing anything but prostitute out some women who are of questionable legality in many senses of the word. Against Kaiser the Very Good Supremacist, who ran his group of little Nazi dickheads with a genuineness that was so obviously false that I seriously didn't know how he ever convinced someone he actually believed in any of that horse shit, but it probably has something with the swords he can make from seemingly nowhere. Against Skidmark, because while his name is stupid, and he might be, he has just about anyone down on their luck in Brockton on drugs, and he's certainly making money on it.
They're dangerous, they control dangerous people, they control the ebbs and flows in this city down to the route people take to work, because there's no way a Protectorate cape is getting to you before the rest of the gang chase you down and make sure you're dead.
The protectorate, in a way, need me just as much as I need it. I'm not prime material yet, but if they gamble on me like I'll gamble on them?
I think we'll both see out bets pay off, even if it takes strangling the shit out of my pride to do it.
I took in a deep breath, then released, somehow sinking further into my hospital bed, reluctantly admitting that it's more comfortable than my own—which was desperately sad in a way I hadn't expected to deal with.
"Ah shit." I whispered out loud, struggling to move my hand into my pocket and grab my phone, remembering something.
It was getting to the point where afternoon was going to become evening, and I still couldn't move myself from the bed, despite my reluctance to stay. They'd probably charge me for taking up a bed, and that'd sting, but if I'm going to the Protectorate anyways, it cannot be worse than the debt I was already in.
Having wrestled my phone from my pocket, I dug through my contacts list and hit call when I found who I wanted.
It rang three times before there was a click and an aged voice called from the other side.
"Hello, Joy speaking!" She said just a little too loudly, as she'd always been worried that she wouldn't be heard on the little microphones her home phone had.
"Hey Joy, it's James." I greeted back with a smile, inwardly relaxing a little with the older woman's presence somehow seeping through the phone in just a moment.
"James! You don't call me very often, did something happen?" She asked worryingly.
"Ah, yeah, a little bit but I'm okay now. I think I'm going to be staying here tonight, but they haven't sent anyone in to see me or anything so for the moment I'm almost too scared to ask."
"Hoping they won't charge you if they don't notice you?" She asked wryly, smile on her lips.
"Caught me red handed." I said with a grin, then felt it dim a little, "So I saw Panacea today."
"Saw as in you were treated by her, or as in you saw her walk past you?" She asked, and I could hear the faint hope in her voice.
"The first." I said, but quickly following with the result, "She, well… she couldn't do anything for me. The issue is in my brain, an overproduction of adrenalin and it constantly firing away."
Silence held over the call, then a painful sigh, a sadness so deep in her tone it caught me off guard.
"I'm so sorry James, I know you held on to that hope like it was everything to you." She said, almost whispering, and she was right. It was everything to me, and that it didn't pan out broke me inside in a way I'm not sure will ever mend back the way it was, but I gained another hope.
"It's okay, she helped me a little bit, enough that maybe…" I licked my lips, dryness settling in, "I don't know. Maybe things will get better, I don't know. But I'll try. It might just be a real chance."
"Treatment?" She asked, her tone even. She knew there was something up, and I wasn't going to lie to the woman even if it wasn't smart. She'd held off my rent by playing with the numbers in the books she did for the building for eighteen whole months. I would've been homeless and probably dead right now otherwise.
"In a sense, yeah. I think I'll get better, health wise." I admitted freely, "But there's something else, an opportunity she made me aware of. I'm going to try my best, it might not work out, or go the way I want, but it's safer than what my life looks like if I don't at least try."
I could just about hear the cogs turning in her head, and heard another sigh, one of exasperation.
"Alright, I trust you've got a good enough head on your shoulders that you won't do anything too silly?" She said, tone faintly chiding.
"I'm picking the best option I can." I said honesty and amusement playing off my grin.
"Alright then, so I take it you're missing tea with me tonight, hm?" She said archly, feigning offense.
"Unfortunately, dear Joy." I sighed exaggeratedly, eliciting a cackle from the woman.
"Good then I won't stay up, you get yourself some rest too, not much else you could be doing!" She commanded.
"I will. Thank you, Joy. For everything." I said softly.
"It was nothing, dear. Just doing what I could when I knew it was right." She stubbornly returned.
"Oh shush, you old bat," I laughed, "alright I'll leave you to your knitting."
"Jackass, actually. Those boys are insane, and I fear for their mother's hearts, but God is it hilarious." She cackled loudly, "Go sleep, kiddo, call me if you need me to send for a taxi to pick you up alright?"
"Yes, yes, thank you Joyce." I returned with false heat.
"It's Joy, dear." She said before the line immediately went dead before I had the chance to reply.
You really couldn't come out of a conversation with the woman on top. She'd always win somehow, and it was endlessly amusing to try to finally get one over on her. That'd be the day, hey?
I didn't put my phone away just yet, slowly navigating into the browser and waiting for the painfully slow internet to load, I decided to try and see whether the shitty waste of plastic could get me into a few of the communities I frequented, mostly on a forum which served as a gathering space for those with what ranged from minor health troubles to those who were looking down the barrel of terminal illness.
But I was stopped, pulled from whatever I'd been thinking to attend my accumulated power reaching out only to fizzle once again. I rolled my eyes, finding myself annoyed by the frequent and sudden distractions from whatever I was doing or thinking. It was worse that the instances of my power becoming active seemed to completely halt anything my brain was attending to, and I couldn't help but feel like that would very quickly become a noticeable thing others could exploit.
Regardless of the interruption, just rubbing my eyes wearily as I regained my thought process, I continued my expedition into the internet with the limited means I had, hoping that I'd at least be able to load a decently complex webpage.
After some struggling with the navigation, I had to actively muffle my surprise when the forum actually loaded on the tiny little screen. Sure, it was totally all over the place, with elements of the site clearly not designed to be considerate to the severe size limitation on the poor device, but I had to give the phone some credit for being able to load it and actually have enough functionality to navigate a website that was less than compatible.
Moments later I was signed into my personal account 'Tired', the name of which I was still surprised that I'd managed to nab even if I'd been among the first few waves of the site's userbase. Admittedly, I'd been so deep in a crash after a doctors visit that I'm pretty sure that the word 'tired' was the only coherent thought in my head at the time, I likely wouldn't have bothered trying it otherwise.
As I came online, I found myself with a new message, one sent only a few hours ago. It was from the person that I counted as the only real reason had stayed on the site at all, given my relative lack of interaction despite being known to the old guard of the site and what amounted to a good rep with essentially everyone that ran the site and the moderation staff.
I struggled with getting the browser's cursor to find the button for my inbox, then double clicking it before it tried to open the pop out that I had decided was likely to be a massive pain in the ass on the phone. I then hit, by far, the most active chat in my inbox, and probably one of the most extensive private message chains on the forum as a whole.
Sve1te: yo i kno ur at the hosp rn but i hope ur day goes good!
I snorted slightly at the wilful use of contractions and abbreviations, something she absolutely did to mess with me, at least with how extensively she did it. Svelte—I had asked to confirm that she had indeed meant that particular word but it was taken by a now long dead account—and I had been talking for years now, since It'd been recommended to me by a doctor, honestly probably the best of the ones I'd seen, to seek out communities that I could feel more comfortable discussing health issues in and seek support from in the form of advice or even just moral support.
I'd taken her advice, though only after I'd started feeling the loss and hopelessness begin to kill me. In the end, it hadn't been the community that had helped me, or even one of the group of founders that had also been diagnosed with CFS just the same, but instead it'd been Svelte.
I was always pretty terrible with including myself in communities. Sometimes I would entrench myself deeply into a community, but only in extreme rarity. The rest of the time, I'd be more like a vagrant ghost, my name only ever really noticeable in the list of active users that sometimes, rarely, people made a joke of it being good luck. It was a funny inside joke for those who were in on it, and very confusing for anyone newer to the forum than the maybe hundred or so consistent users it once was, instead of the thousands it serviced now.
But the only reason I ever browsed the forum at all was because that was where Svelte was, and she was a friend that I had no qualms using a forum I didn't particularly care for to contact.
In a way, I was like the popular kid's childhood friend. Back a few years ago, I'd been in so deep that I had just allowed myself to wholly commit my energy to the site, being hyper active and serving as what may as well have been a community manager, having a list of hundreds of direct messages to accounts that had been newly made to offer words of welcome and promises of assistance if it was ever needed.
Svelte had been just one of the many at the time. I'd spent hours on hours replying to various people, offering my best guidance or just pleasant company, but Svelte was the one that stuck around. She posted in just about any thread that was made, became at least acquaintances with just about everyone in the community, was the person that everyone wanted to banter with, but I was just the person to message her first. Grandfathered in, I suppose.
Tired: Still at the hospital but I managed to get on here on my flip phone. Didn't even know it was possible, but apparently even bargain bin flip phones can load forums now.
I sent the message through, resting my fingers from the typing method that mobile phones used, having never really gotten used to it since I didn't exactly have anyone to text. Thinking on it, I'm not sure I've ever texted someone. That's probably kinda sad, isn't it? Before I could continue to type out what I wanted to say, Svelte had already sent a reply, a response time that had always impressed me.
Sve1te: ooooh awsm! then we can talk wen ur at the hosp now?
I huffed, eyebrow raised. I'd usually give her a hard time about being shamelessly demanding, a very frequent topic of argument being what constituted 'demanding' or 'clingy' when both of you sometimes passed hundreds of messages between one another in a day. But, even with the classic opportunity to follow straight down the old, worn path, I decided against it and instead chose to rip off the band aid.
Tired: Well, after tonight I won't be hanging around hospitals on Saturdays anymore.
On pure instinct I sent the far too vague message, quickly followed by the instinct to slam my head into the nearest hard surface. I tried, but I knew there was no way for me to get out what else I wanted to say before Svelte managed to start freaking out.
Sve1te: omg wht hppnd? did u get shot or smth? r u dying?
I just sighed, rubbing a little too viciously at my face before getting out the most effective answer I could.
Tired: No.
Sve1te: thn wat?
I started to construct my answer, trying to alleviate the quick-to-worry girl on the other side of the conversation. It was easy to forget sometimes that she was young, though she was just as cautious with her age as she was with any of her information. But I'd been talking with her for years, and no matter how much she tried to imply a few extra years on her age, I wasn't convinced.
Tired: I got seen by Panacea. Thought my chance had come. It's an adrenalin overproduction issue with lots of other stuff. She said she wasn't comfortable with changing my body the way she'd need to, and she can't do brains. So it's a wash.
I sent the message, and I already regretted the tone of the message. I'd tried so sound more okay than that, but that message made me sound anything but. It was too cold for how I usually wrote, too guarded. Svelte would notice, like she always did, which she very often interpreted as due to a fault on her part. This time, though, I doubted she could blame it on herself, the cause clearly laying elsewhere.
There came no response.
I waited a minute, refreshed the page, checked that I was still getting signal, but even then, I almost couldn't believe it.
Svelte hadn't responded. She wasn't still in the private message, her name no longer showing at the bottom of the viewing users.
Never once had that happened. It had always, always fallen to me to break off the conversation in lieu of sleep or anything else. My internet would go out, and I'd return to ten messages asking what'd happened every single time. Whatever her internet connection was, it was better than anything I could get in Brockton, with consistency that had never once broken on her, nor had her computer ever crashed on her.
I pushed down the catastrophising part of myself, hiding away the worry under the blanket of whatever logic I could convince myself with.
It could absolutely be due to her internet or power shutting off, or computer dying, even if it had actually never happened before, there was always the chance. No system was perfect, and failures were inevitable. But my worry wasn't that she'd had some resource cut at an inconvenient moment, but instead that she was taking the news hard for me.
Svelte was nothing if not absolutely and painfully empathetic. I couldn't possibly count the amount of times I'd had to intervene on her behalf to stop a conversation she was having with someone else, actually trusting me to the extent that she'd let me log into her account to block someone that was acting disgracefully, or to help mediate on her behalf.
She had the tendency to get drawn into the other person's woes. She almost seemed to magnetize to the pain of others, gleefully taking on any and all of the pain the other person was feeling at the cost of her own mental state. I tried to keep my amateur psychology and philosophising to myself, outside of the conversations we had about that stuff on a fairly frequent basis, but my gut told me that she was punishing herself, thinking that she'd rather take on everything someone else was being tortured with because she deserved it more than them.
I don't know what she could've possibly done to feel like she deserved that kind of pain. But I still felt the gnawing guilt from when I'd first been talking to her, the first time I realised that Svelte was willing to take all my pain from me with a smile and abused it.
A few hours ago I'd have told anyone who asked that my darkest moment was almost four years ago, after the shock and horror of their deaths had boiled away, leaving nothing but the writhing anger burning in my veins and the cloying depression filling my lungs. No matter how well I'd hid it in my interactions with people online, playing the pleasant and affable acquaintance, Svelte had uncovered it like only she could, and started syphoning it from me with reckless abandon.
I still hate that, in retrospect, I could see that I knew what she was doing, but I just didn't care. Absorbed by my own infatuation with my emotions that I almost took pleasure in seeing someone else hurt with me. It disgusted me in a way that I could never apologize for, regardless of any attempt I had since made. That I could've been so callous to burden someone else with my own pain and watch on in some sadistic sort of enjoyment as she had begun to come apart at the seams.
I can't remember, really, what I'd done to make that stop. It'd been a wakeup call of truly monumental proportions when I realised that I was genuinely beginning to fear that she might send a message with 'goodbye' at its end, and she'd be lost in the most final of ways.
If that had been what she'd drawn from me in my darkest moment then, what would she draw from me in this strange, conflicting reality that I now exist in; On a day that is split with contradiction?
The same day that I sat at the deepest, darkest hole I'd ever found myself in, longing desperately for the distant sky, only to realise that the hole was the grave where I would forever remain. The same day that a hand was offered with the promise of seeing that sky once more, if only I used the tools it gave to climb.
As if in answer to my referencing it, my whisked me away once again as my power extended itself into the swirling array, this time easily connecting with a star and with it, a strange surety flooding into me a moment later.
I couldn't tell exactly, not really, but I was granted the confidence that whatever I made would hold responsibility to the word I'd given it. It was no tech, nor strange knowledge, just an inherited confidence from somewhere else, that there would be no mishaps in communication.
I snorted dryly. I could only wonder if my power, whatever it was, had granted me that just to insinuate that very thought. I guess it didn't really matter, in the end. I'd taken from it what I'd needed to hear anyway.
Svelte hadn't returned my message, and I had a feeling that one wasn't coming through for a while. Eventually I just flipped my phone closed and stuffed it back into my pocket alongside the stiff piece of card that Panacea had given me before she'd left to get back to work. I paused myself for a moment before pulling it from my pocket, looking down at the small rectangle the same way I had after she'd left the room.
The slightly dumbfounded disbelief wormed its way back onto my face before I caught and smothered it.
It was, well… Panacea's business card. I hadn't known she'd even had any. Didn't know why she had any, in fact. I would've asked, but it felt a little rude when she was giving me a card with what was apparently her actual phone number, not the New Wave answering machine that cycled through greetings and requests to leave a message from the various members. I felt extremely uncomfortable with now having a direct line to Panacea after all this time knowing her as an illusive and incomprehensibly rare person to encounter.
I'd punched the number into my phone just as well, but you couldn't make me use it unless I was dying from something particularly horrible. Or someone else was, I suppose.
What I suspect Panacea had really intended to be of value to me was the scrawled number on the back of the card, one with no name that she'd given to it, just that I shouldn't call it before tomorrow, definitely not in the hospital, and only if I'd chosen to go to with the Protectorate. She'd recommended that I be professional and introduce myself as someone that she'd told to call.
I was sceptical, since she'd acted so cagey about who was on the other end of that number, but she'd been adamant. I could only suspect someone that was higher ranking there, as I'd bet this number didn't match any of the publicly available lines the PRT and Protectorate had on their respective sites. I'd essentially ruled out my other options as far as going out on my own or joining some independent team of rogues or heroes—or villains, I guess, since I did entertain the idea of attempting to join Toybox for about a second.
Truth was, I was still scared of making that jump. The number, of which I had also copied meticulously into my phone, double checking twice for thoroughness, was burning a hole in the back of my brain. Panacea had given it to me to make my life easier and calling it would probably jump be forwards past the awkward part of being accepted as someone that actually was a parahuman, who was actually intending on being a Protectorate cape. I could only imagine the mess I'd be throwing myself into by showing up in jeans and a hoodie, standing around awkwardly until you can convince some front desk employee that you're the parahuman that called earlier to ask what the hell you need to do to not be shot on sight.
Maybe I was playing it up in my head a bit, they probably had a solid induction system. But I had no doubt that they would make you sweat in an empty meeting room for hours before someone in a suit alongside two PRT troopers would spend another few hours scaring the ever-loving shit out of you with legalese and a winning lawyer smile.
This call would probably be backed by Panacea's word, or something. They don't need to verify I am a legitimate parahuman if Panacea had directly confirmed that fact for herself, though they'd probably verify it anyways. Point is; they won't need to run scare tactics so they don't end up paying to verify some idiot who thought fucking with the PRT or Protectorate's time was even a remotely good idea.
The least amount of scare tactics I have to have involved in my life is the way to go for me.
So why did it feel like I was holding onto a number that, when rung, would remotely blow up something important?
I'm on edge, nervous more so than when I was just thinking it all through. Now that I've actually made the choice, it just seems harder for some arcane reason. Maybe it just comes down the walking the walk or putting my—thankfully proverbial—money where my mouth is.
How many parahumans reach this point, where their entire future hinges on a single phone call to the local Protectorate? Where the difference between hero and villain begins with whether you have confidence you'll even be allowed through the front doors of the place? That they won't greet you with a face-full of containment foam and the muzzle of a rifle on your back?
Brockton locals sometimes seem to think that the PRT and Protectorate are just pushovers, smiling faces giving speeches at events, Wards showing up at high schools to do talks on not doing drugs, even though they themselves were the target demographic. They didn't seem to get that the cultivated that image of approachability so you didn't kill yourself trying to run away from the guys trying to help you in a bad situation.
But that scared me more, somehow. I was playing dangerously close to believing my own bullshit and I knew it, as though I were uniquely capable of seeing beneath the act the Protectorate capes put on for public appearances, but maybe I knew just enough that I could recognise how much I didn't know. Regardless of my ego wanting me to deny it, I was still scared of the unknown.
The central piece of information that I felt I knew, and potentially what made me hesitant to go through with it all, was that parahumans were probably all a little broken inside.
Oh sure, the Protectorate has said for years that you're 'capable of gaining a parahuman power through transcending emotionally' or some such, trying to sell the idea that you can gain powers positively, and I used to believe that to a certain degree. Now, though, I'm not sure I can believe that line, not after today.
I hummed as I shifted myself down further in the bed and covering myself more fully with my blanket, and letting my thoughts cycle through my mind over and over, losing their precise definition and instead becoming a rapidly diminishing slurry of thought that ultimately ended in–
My eyes snapped open, hearing a rustling sound as the curtain right next to me opened, allowing dim light from the previously obscured hallway to bleed in and bring my room up a few shades lighter than pitch. I squinted, my poor eyesight only compounded by the darkness, but I managed to match the general figure to someone I knew.
"Dr. Michaels?" I grumbled, trying to sit myself up in my bed but finding the underside of a hangover desk with my knees, very nearly knocking the thing over in a jolt of surprise, only avoided by the doctor's quick reflexes in lunging forwards and steadying it.
"Damn, hoped I wouldn't wake you up." Stephanie muttered in the dark as she found a light and turned the knob, increasing the light in the room to just enough that I could see, but not so much that it gave me a headache or forced me to close my eyes.
"No, no. It's totally fine, I was actually wondering when someone would come by anyway." I said more clearly, trying to get rid of the slur of only just waking and shaking off the exhaustion.
Stephanie, an actually fairly tall woman now that I have time to really notice it, turned and gave me a questioning eyebrow raise.
"James, they did come by. Multiple times. Why do you think you have your dinner sitting on that table you nearly knocked over?" She asked, her tone light, but even in the dark I knew she was searching for something in my face or the way I responded to her question. Doctor things, I suppose.
"Oh shit, really?" I groaned out, putting a hand over my face.
"Yes really, I read the report myself. Mostly coherent with some drowsiness, seemed determined to get back to sleep. If I'm remembering it correctly." She said matter-of-factly.
"God damn, I hope I didn't say anything too horrifically stupid. I usually don't, but sometimes I tell people to fuck off." I bemoaned, eventually getting around to actually answering her question, "When I'm particularly tired or screwed up, I'll sometimes be woken up by someone and then immediately go back to sleep after—but I never remember doing it. Honestly think I just say anything that would make the person go away, even if I seem coherent."
"Huh," Stephanie responded, a curious expression upon her gentle but tired features, "almost like sleep walking, in a way. You regain some level of consciousness, but not all the way there, or just so tired that you can't tell the difference between a regular wake in a sleeping pattern and the interruption."
She gently rolled the table out of the way, pushing it to one side, letting me get a good look at the tray of various snacks and parts of a meal. I grimaced, stuck between the gnaw of hunger and the creeping fear of inconsistent meals mixed with the dread of the pain eating brought me and discontent of my extremely risk-averse palette eyeing the food on offer with distaste.
Stephanie sat in a chair positioned near the side of the bed, against the wall, continuing the starkly casual nature of the visit when contrasted with how she'd addressed me when meeting with Panacea or afterwards with the 'seizure'.
"So, what rates the visit, Doc?" I asked, hiding my tentativeness behind a poorly constructed casual mask. She grinned in that peppy way of hers that seemed like it wasn't just a manufactured part of her work persona, though significantly sharper with humour than the spotlessness of professionalism and bedside manners.
"Well, seeing as you had 'a big day' I just came down to check on you at the end of my shift. I thought they might have you hooked up to a couple machines down here, but they tend to leave Panacea's patients alone after she's done with them." She said, a little note of spitefulness working into her voice almost forcing an instinctual raise my brow. She rolled her deep brown eyes and sighed, working her fingers into her temples in circles.
"I don't understand it, they've just become complacent in Panacea fixing up every issue and leaving everyone a very tired but perfectly healthy person. They seem to forget that there's people she can't heal." The last of her words came out as more of a hiss than anything, anger mixed with a particular affront to what was maybe her pride as a doctor.
"I guess it makes sense." I worked out in a voice almost clear of drowsiness, "Communities I'm in think something similar, in a way. There are only a few people in the world who can heal anything like Panacea can, and they're borderline deified. We slowly come to think of Panacea and her peers as anything other than her namesake, and when the limitations stare you right in the face, it can be… confronting."
A grimace flashed across her expression, but she managed to hide it away before I could identify the expression–
This time I caught the feeling just before it pulled me inwards, actively working to resist the pull to stay in the moment, but despite the extra moment I bought myself, I ended up back inside my mind sighing as I watched the meagre power reach out again and I could see it reaching for somewhere that I instinctively knew was too far off for what I currently had to work with. Rolling my metaphorical eyes, I forcibly returned myself to the moment to catch Stephanie giving me an odd look, seemingly poised to pounce from her seat and check me over.
I held up a hand in surrender, "Just a dizzy spell, I swear." I answered her unspoken question, and while it didn't seem to mollify her, she decided to accept it for the time being.
"Well then," she continued, passing over the conversation that could've arisen, "as I'm already here, I can check you over, do some quick testing to confirm you're stable, and determine if you're fit for release. So I can do that for you now, or you can wait until morning and the nurses come by, and for whichever doctor signs off on you leaving to do that."
"Now please." I answered, a little too fast to be inconspicuous, getting a raised brow for my troubles.
"That eager to get away from me, huh?" She said with a tone filled with light banter, forcing a snort from me.
"Nah, just that this is actually the first time I've ever slept a solid amount of hours in a hospital, and it was only because I was so destroyed that I managed it." I answered honestly, giving a smile that was shakier than I would've liked it to be, "Now that I'm awake again I'm getting the idea that I'm not going to get anymore sleep."
A wince of sympathy, "I've never been able to sleep all that well in the hospital either, even in the beds we crash in if shifts go long. It's always torture, especially when I'm the patient."
She started running through a battery of quick tests, putting on a finger sensor and a pressure cuff before running the machine, puffing the cuff to an almost a painful tightness and lessening it at a consistent interval until I could feel my heartbeat in my arm. It always made me shiver inside, no matter how many times they'd run the simple test on me.
"Alright, do you think we could do that standing too?" She asked politely and I just nodded, struggling to get myself in position to swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. After a moment of pause, I forcibly push myself from the confines of the hospital bed and try to stand as best I can, though still wobbling enough that Stephanie placed a hand on the side of my arm to stabilize me.
"Okay, time to run this again, just try to stand still for me if you can?" She requested rhetorically, and I just closed my eyes and prepared for the dual unpleasantness of both standing still and the pressure cuff at once.
The pressure cuff test really only lasts for ten seconds, maybe fifteen or so, but time seemed to dilate cruelly at moments like these. Each second stretched out to an eternity of discomfort, which was only disturbed as the pressure cuff released some of its tightness and the rapidly thumping heartbeat became all too noticeable.
"Holy shit," Stephanie hissed under her breath as she places her hands on my sides and looked away from the monitor displaying the results of the test, screen facing away from me, "let's sit you back down for a second, shall we?"
"What's up?" I said wearily as I gratefully did as she asked, wilfully ignoring her hands on my sides, it was neither the time nor place to get caught tripping over myself thinking like a teenager.
"What's up is your heartrate." She said, humour covering the concern as she eyed the readout with precise eyes, "What's not is your blood pressure."
"Ah yeah," I said, moving my muscles a bit in a rhythmic pattern that I'd found helped fight away the faintness looming at the edges of my consciousness, "the specialist I went to years ago just called it a minor blood pressure disorder, he wanted to follow up with tests but…" I shrugged helplessly, the only way I could communicate how out of my hands it'd been by that point.
"Minor?" She said with faint incredulity, "If a patient of mine's blood pressure crashed like that and their heartrate went through the roof, I'd think they were bleeding internally."
I could only offer a tired smile and a shrug, provoking a glare and an aggravated sigh from the seemingly very accomplished doctor. Sure, she was absolutely older that I was by at least a handful of years, but in no world did she look it—One of those people that could probably pass as a teenager until they hit their fifties, I suspect—but to have a head doctor have a little meltdown over my test results was gratifying in a way. To have what I'm dealing with be seriously compared with bleeding out was almost amusing, watching the highly trained medical practitioner sweat over something I've just pushed through each and every time I've stood up for years.
"Wipe that smirk off your face, mister." She growled in a tone that made me clamp up more effectively than any threat ever could've, only to be paired with a set of scathing brown eyes. "I don't know why people haven't seriously brought this into question before, because when you stand up your readings are telling me that your heart is pumping as harder than I've seen from professional athletes performing at world class level."
"I couldn't chase another diagnosis." I said in the end, a resigned expression meeting Stephanie's exasperation.
"Alright, alright," she sighed defeatedly, "so that's normal?"
"A little worse than usual, but I am usually fucked after taking the bus and walking to the hospital." I shrugged.
"Walking?" She hissed incredulously, "No car, or no one to drive you? Not even a wheelchair?"
I just shook my head, and the woman actually whimpered pressing the balls of her palms against her eyes a little too hard to be comfortable.
"That's just pure insanity." She moaned out, almost melodramatic at this point, but didn't leave time for me to respond, "There's no way I'm letting you go anywhere if you're going to actually try to walk home at two in the morning, James Parker." She accused, pointing a slender finger at me with steel in her eyes.
Shit. Spending the hours and hours it'd take for morning to come, then waiting for the damn doctor to sign a piece of paper before going home would be torture.
"Damn, alright then," I said with a dry laugh, "I'll stick here for now, I guess. I don't really have anyone I can call at two in the morning to give me a ride."
Stephanie nodded succinctly before beginning to pack away the things she'd pulled out of drawers in the walls and set the place back to the orderly state it was in prior to her arrival. I watched as she did it, honestly too exhausted and brain-dead to even think of how intently I was watching her work and just how far below polite I was being because of it. Instead I ended up following her with my eyes the entire time, stuck in some sort of trance of concentrated stupid as I watched her hands organise the equipment a specific way, gliding across her form as she crouched to pack a larger box away. That trance ended only as her eyes met my own with a peaked eyebrow.
With the abrupt realisation that I'd been intently staring at, well, her everything in total silence for God knows how long, I could only screw my eyes shut hoping that some deity could smite me for crimes against intelligence before I had to acknowledge my transgressions in full.
"So," Stephanie's voice rang out, cutting through my desperate plea for particularly violent divine intervention, "I was wondering if you'd rather be driven home than wait?"
Hesitantly I opened my eyes to realise that Stephanie was pointedly ignoring the awkwardness, so I grabbed that rope with both hands and desperately tried to push the practically radiant flush I could feel burning across my face.
"Well, I mean," I stumbled for a second, not missing the subtle flash of amusement in her face, "Uh, yeah, I would. Just the only person I could get to help me out would literally be an old lady who I'd just be mooching the price of a taxi from. I'm not waking her up for that."
Stephanie's expression softened a bit, laughing lightly and shaking her head, "James, I'm asking if you'd like a lift home."
My brain bluescreened and reset so quickly that I actually jolted, "That, uh, doesn't really sound like something doctors do?" I said cautiously and with no little amount of bewilderment.
"Well I can't say I've ever seen anyone else do it before, no." She agreed with wry amusement, "But what the hell, y'know? Besides, it's not like the board could be bothered to take issue with it. Where the hell else are they going to find another Head of ICU in Brockton? They'd have to import from Boston and paying someone to come to Brockton is nigh on impossible."
The mental image of the hospital desperately begging some doctor in Boston to come to Brockton for what was probably less money was ridiculous enough that I barely even noticed myself laughing before Stephanie began laughing herself while trying and failing to tell me to be quieter.
Between the attempts at stifling the noise and the feedback loop of contagious laughter, one of us breaking just as we both got under control, it was nearly five full minutes later when we managed to wrestle control of our diaphragms back without bursting back into laughter like sleep deprived idiots.
Nothing smart ever happens after two in the morning, truly.
"I mean, alright?" I said eventually, "If you're offering and it won't take you too far out of your way or anything."
"Good!" Stephanie said quickly, locking in my own answer without giving me more conversation time to walk it back on principle, "I'll go get your forms filled, then you'll be good to go."
She started to stride out of the room with a quick step, but I stopped her with a last question,
"Uh, what about payment and all that?" I grimaced. It made me feel like the kid in class that reminded the teacher about homework, but it was better to rip the band aid off.
"Panacea has a certain amount of personal patients she can allocate per month as her payment for work," Stephanie replied, slight distaste in her tone, "they aren't charged as an act of charity from the hospital on her behalf."
I swallowed, meeting Stephanie's gaze, "Oh, alright. I'll, uh, have to say thank you at some point."
She smirked, sadistic glee twinkling in her eyes, "Oh she'd hate that. Make sure I'm there, please and thank you?" She walked away with a slightly menacing giggle, leaving me alone in my room again, waiting patiently for her to collect me like a child in kindergarten.
I grimaced at the pulling feeling once again, just giving into it this time and waiting for it to do its thing, the power extending and–
I actually giggled as I caught a flash of the massive star it was trying to head towards, not even letting the process finish before I forced myself back to the dimly lit room, smirking at how ambitious my power seemed to be—going for the biggest stars it could with reckless abandon.
I tried to keep myself calm in the time I waited, but there was a pure discomfort in waiting for a doctor or nurse to return with your ticket out of the hospital. No matter how many times I'd been there, the discomfort only ever seemed to compile with each time I'd gone.
After almost twenty minutes, which had stretched into a lifetime somehow, the door opened to reveal Stephanie's form, behind her in the hallway was a nurse, walking away and only briefly glancing back with a befuddled expression.
"Time to bust you out, big guy." She said with a grin, pushing forwards what I only now noticed was a wheelchair in front of her.
I huffed, rolling my eyes with the cheesy joke, and forcing myself off the bed to flop into the stiff seat of the wheelchair as gently as I could manage. I wasn't exactly a heavy man, not anymore anyways. I knew—well, knew of—five-foot-tall women who easily weighed more than me, which tended to absolutely blow my mind.
Regardless of my drop in weight, my height, standing at exactly—and I mean exactly—six foot four inches meant that I looked a little ridiculous in the wheelchair, which'd been clearly sized for people that didn't stand nearing to two standard deviations above the average guy. Not that I was really all that tall in comparison to the monsters out there, but I very nearly made this thing look like a fisher-price car with how my knees were high enough that it actually helped my blood flow rather than hurt it. Small mercies.
Moments later we were in an elevator alone, just relaxing in silence on the journey, travelling down into the employee carpark below and then being pushed a conveniently short distance to her own labelled and named parking space—perks of being a head of department.
"Okay!" She chirped with an energy that managed to physically drain me just hearing it, "I'll have to put you in the car and then head back to put away this wheelchair. Should only take a minute."
My answer was lost when there was a jingle of keys and the car's lights flashed bright enough to recognise the outline of a very expensive car. She opened the door, a light warming to where I could see the lavish leather interior and had to stop myself gawking at it. Wordlessly, she helped me into the passenger side seat with a seriously impressive lift and gave me a grin.
"You want me to turn on the heat for you?" She asked, then consulted my dumbfounded and confused expression—a good part of which being that I was delving deep into the level of exhaustion and pain where I was no longer capable of making my own choices—and quickly concluding on what I needed for me.
She went around the other side of the car after closing my side's door, opened the driver's side and stuck the key into the ignition and let the car rumble to life, twisting a dial quickly and allowing a rapidly warming breeze rush through the vents.
"See you in a second!" She said, then closing the door behind herself and leaving me inside of a luxury car that must've been worth upwards of a hundred thousand dollars, on my own, with the keys in the ignition!
All of a sudden, I was absolutely mortally terrified. I was in a car worth more than I could even begin to comprehend, the interior of which was absolutely coated in leather upholstery that looked ridiculously expensive. Before I knew it, I was siting painfully straight and shifted forwards so as to not touch the comfortable leather back of the chair, mortified that I might get the admittedly lovely and warm car even the slightest bit dirty.
I couldn't pay for a single panel of the leather that made up this chair, let alone anything else. Somewhere deep in my irrational mind, I knew that I was being ridiculous, that I couldn't fuck up a seat by sitting in it, but the fact she'd left the keys in the car with a total fucking stranger made me feel like there was an officer of some sort watching me with a pair of binoculars behind the tinted glass of one of the cars around us.
Abruptly the driver's side door opened, light filing the cab as Stephanie hauled herself into the car gracelessly and closed the door to leave us alone in the car together.
"God that was a long day." she groaned into her hands while scrubbing at her face. Notably, Stephanie was now out of her scrubs, assumably inside the backpack she carelessly threw into the backseat and scrubbing her fingers through her blonde hair, now out of its professional bun.
I was going to blame the way my stomach dropped as she all but moaned with the release of tension on her scalp along with the absolutely heavenly feeling of a scalp massage, a phenomenon I was more than familiar with since I'd once had hair almost twice as long as Stephanie's, which fell to the shoulders of her cute and very comfortable looking jumper—not to mention that my hair was very obviously thicker than her own, almost dense enough to give curls a run for their money.
After a while of forcing my eyes to stare with extreme intensity at a glovebox, I caught the flicker of an amused gaze out of the corner of my eye, then turning fully to see Stephanie looking like she was about to burst out laughing.
"Why–" she began, but broke with a bark of laughter before giving it another go, "Why the hell are you sitting like that?"
I swallowed heavily, vainly attempting to hold the flush of embarrassment and sheer discomfort off my face, "Uh, I… don't want to break anything?"
She stared at me dumbly, "It's a car."
"An expensive one." I returned.
Stephanie rolled her eyes and moved to click in her seatbelt before starting the car in truth, "You better sit back into your seat, put on your seatbelt, and lean it back at least a little or you're going to make yourself pass out, and if that happens, I'll put you back in the hospital." She threatened without heat.
I did as she asked, easing a little bit as though you'd been absolved of the consequences of any immediate damage you could cause by doing the specific mentioned actions. After leaning back the seat to where I was nearly laying down, I finally realised how much pain I was in like a hammer to the face.
I let out an audible groan while Stephanie began to ease the car out of the parking space, making her almost slam to a stop, pulling up the handbrake before looking at me with the piercing concern I'd seen in her expression when I'd woken from my 'seizure'.
"I'm fine, I swear." I said with gritted teeth that hurt from the sheer force of biting back the pain, "Relaxing after a tense situation really hurts my stomach."
She looked hesitant, but her expression softened as let down the handbrake and began reversing out again.
"Was being left alone in my car really that tense?" She asked, a mix of amusement and poorly hidden guilt making me snort, even through the pain.
"You left me in your luxury car with the keys still inside, Doc." I said gently, trying my best to not sound like I was chiding her, "This car is, like, worth life changing money even just selling it to be chopped up for whoever wants the nice bits. Not to mention whatever else is in here too." I saw her gaze flick towards the glovebox, realising that she probably had something valuable or dangerous in there before I tried to thoroughly repress the memory into the ground.
"Oh come on, Parker!" She said, calling me by my last name in a way I hadn't since elementary school when I'd ended up with three other boys named James in one class, "I'm wealthy, not stupid. You couldn't've gotten out with the car anyway since there is an employee key to tag in and out."
She gave me a silly look, something like smug pride mixed with a competitive streak. I rolled my eyes at her, working against the pain to do so, and only a few moments later we were pulled up next to an interface with a scanner just below it, encased in a black metal shroud. I watched as Stephanie reached for her shirt pocket, frowned, her pants pockets, back pockets, and then within a moment of silence I watched her reach up and flip out the also leather upholstered sun visor and have a plastic card attached to a lanyard fall into her lap.
I looked from it, then up to her face which remained stonily still as she grabbed the plastic card from her lap, wait for the window to automatically wind down, reach out of the car window, eliciting a shrill noise from the machine, and then watch the large metal grid gate flip up and out of the way.
Stephanie wound up her window and drove out of the carpark and onto the side road it led onto in complete silence while I stared directly at her with complete incredulity. Even in the darkness permeating the cab I could see the embarrassed flush cover her neck, across her cheeks and leaving her ears burning in a way that looked absolutely stunning, but also…
"Huh." I said flatly, staring right at her with zero inflection.
I broke first. Somehow, through the terrible pain in my gut, I managed to just about howl with laughter at the sheer absurdity of what I'd witnessed.
"Oh shut up!" Stephanie yelled with a sour look, "My dad used to do it with truck keys and–"
I was doubled over in both pain and total hysterics, my world going bleary with the tears in my eyes as I tightly clutched my stomach and involuntary laughter burst forth with total abandon to my physical state.
Through the bleariness I managed to see Stephanie's shoulders shaking before she pulled up at the side of the road and knocked her head against the steering wheel over and over while she began to laugh just as hard as I was.
I couldn't tell anyone how long we ended up spending there on the side of that street, but I remember seeing at least two cars passing from the hospital's carpark pass by in that time. We had quickly become a total mess of laughter, tears, desperately trying to breathe, and half-serious warnings about having to puke.
"Oh my fucking God." I said, laughter bubbling from my lips even as I said the words, "I am in so much fucking pain, I hate you so much."
We continued in another short burst of hysterics, and I finally managed to calm myself down enough to resist the contagious giggling still coming from Stephanie. I looked towards her, a risky move for the sake of my sanity, and found her even more red than before positively glowing with embarrassment.
"I was trying so hard to–" she interrupted herself with a giggle, wiping futilely at the tears still running down her cheeks, "Trying so hard to look cool!" And then burst into yet another round of laughter, which your body forced you to join despite sounding like a strangled cat.
"Oh please stop, no more." I pleaded with her, more than just a little desperate, only making her laugh harder and clinging to my own self-control when suddenly–
I was inside my mind, free of the psychological torture of Stephanie's giggling. Huh, well that's a handy side effect of my power. It came close to getting a star this time, but it was surprisingly more useful as a reprieve from the pain and the hysterics.
Thanks power, you're pretty neat.
Returning back to the real world, I could hear Stephanie's giggles finally coming to their end, still trying to catch her breath from the protracted laughing session.
"Damn, is this what working at a hospital does to you?" I asked, able to restrict myself to just a half-formed shit eating grin.
She let out a small peal of giggles, "Yup! Honestly sometimes I leave totally delirious and don't even know how I got home. Thought it'd get better when I ended up as a department lead but nope, it got worse!"
"Christ," I said, leaning back into the seat and taking in long, even breaths to mitigate the pain, "you might wanna start moving before all the rest of your co-workers pass by the car and see the two of us laughing like idiots. Don't want people thinking you're tight with Merchants."
She gave me an affronted look, even as she shifted into gear and started to move out.
"Oh don't give me that." I said with an eyeroll, "Just this morning people weren't sitting next to me on the bus because I look like a skeleton with skin and was in pain, so I looked high or that I was withdrawing, or something. Imagine your boss rolling by your window watching you giggle uncontrollably with what looks like a gaunt homeless guy on the side of a street at half past two in the morning, Doc."
"Wha– really?" She said flabbergasted, "People think you're a Merchant? You're gaunt, sure, but you don't have the skin sores, or even remotely act or look the same as someone addicted to heroin or cocaine."
I just gave her an amused eyebrow raise and a smirk, "I'm wealthy, not stupid!" I said in a goofy voice, immediately making her flush, but before the laughing could begin once more, I continued, "You're thinking about it too much. You've probably seen, what, hundreds of addicts dying from their poison of choice?"
"Thousands, more like." She said in rueful agreement.
"You could probably sniff an addict apart from just about anyone, at this point. Everyone else though, they just see what they see and label it the best they can. So, they see a skin and bones white guy, slouching in his seat, shitty jeans and hoodie, looking like death, and think of an addict." I shrug, leaving us in silence again as we pulled towards one of the main roads that criss-crossed Brockton.
"Alright, which way?" She said as she was confronted with the choice, and I pointed towards the hill I'd walked up and down the morning before. She moved onto it quickly as the lights changed, then gave me an incredulous look once we were just driving straight again, "Are you fucking with me right now? There's no bus that goes over this hill."
"I walk it, yeah." I said, grinning at her expression caught between stupefaction and intent to murder, "It's pretty rough."
"'Pretty rough', he says," she mocked in a similar goofy voice, before settling back into silence.
It gave me time enough to wonder just why she was doing this for me. Sure, I think we had a half decent interaction, but that was kinda like having a good thee exchanges with your waiter or barista. It was mostly professionalism, mixed with partly good humour and actual genuine conversation, but still cultivated professionalism above all.
But she'd just offered me a ride with seemingly no qualms, not even really considering that I'd try and steal her shit and run with it, even if she'd tried to justify it later. I couldn't tell if she was just a bleeding heart, too giving, too trustful for her own good, or if she had just genuinely done it on a flight of fancy, total spontaneity.
The car trip was done in silence, both of us tired with the events of our days, and also the insane bout of laughter. I directed her as best I could, sometimes having to sit up to orient myself, but as we continued to venture forth into the parts of town that she'd probably visited or been near, but clearly never lived in, I started to feel a discomfort deep in my chest that only grew as we got closer to where I lived.
Or where I was living for the next few days, anyway. After that I was gone.
Slowly we made it to the road the apartment building was on then, as we drew closer, I heard Stephanie click her tongue sharply.
"James, you better not tell me you live at the top of that apartment building." She said, prompting me to sit my seat up and look at the very grey concrete box of a building I called home, or at least the apartment at the top of it.
Apparently, I took too long in considering what I should even respond with, as Stephanie turned on me with glaring eyes, "James, what the fuck!"
"Hey, it's fine!" I defended, hands up like she was pointing a gun at me, "I can make it up there just fine, I've done it every Saturday for months, I think I'll be alright."
Her glower didn't lessen at all as she pulled up outside of the building, making me realise just how much her car stood out in comparison to the rest of the environment. This area wasn't any specific gang's territory, but the Merchants like to claim it as theirs every now and then until Lung growls a bit and sends them running with new brown underwear.
"What, do you get up there by crawling?" She probed, poking my sternum and making me rub at it in reaction.
"I mean… sometimes?"
Yeah, that was real convincing, James. Good one, James. You're a fucking moron, James.
"I'm helping you up there." She said adamantly, unbuckling herself in a moment.
"Wait, what?" I countered just as fast, "I can get up there fine, there's no issues."
"I've seen your heart rate when you stand up, I don't need a heartrate monitor to interpret what it'd be like going up that many flights of stairs, James." She said lightly, distracted by pulling her hair up into a ponytail before turning and giving me a sharp look and a grin, "Wealthy, not stupid, remember?"
I snorted and made to continue the argument, but I looked at her face and saw one of utter seriousness and sincerity, making my arguments sputter and subsequently die.
"Please, James. Just let me do this for you, okay? It's the least I could do, after… everything that's happened to you today." She finished out, puppy dog eyes not hiding the pause before she'd finished the sentence.
Regardless of anything I'd tell someone, I've always been an overthinker. Most of the time, it caused more emotional pain than it was worth. But sometimes, very rarely, it paid dividends.
Looking deeply into Stephanie's eyes, I tried to understand just why the hell an actual doctor, the Head of ICU no less, would go so far out of her way to help me. It was unmistakeable, you could see it clearly in her expression, genuine worry. But she had so many patients, she was an intensive care specialist, I'd seen the documentaries on what their average patient looked like, and their outcome.
So it was something else, then. It wasn't because I was sick, because as fucked as I was, a doctor wouldn't randomly become any more worried about me than any other patient they had. We had only talked for a few sentences prior to her showing up in my room at two in the morning, fussing over me, and then offering to drive me home with no prompting.
She was a good person, I was sure of that much, but that wasn't being a good person, who was going out of their way to the extreme to cater to one specific person. What would make her feel like she had to help me–
Guilt. The same guilt I'd seen in Panacea's eyes when I'd woken up on the ground.
It wasn't the guilt I'd seen before that, the guilt they felt at even offering me the chance when it'd failed to pan out. But they both had probably tried and failed with so many other patients as well, why would that make me uniquely stand out in their guilt?
And I came to the realisation that there was only one answer.
She knew.
I gave her a weak, tired, broken smile, "Okay. Just, please don't park on the street. Go around the side of the building, there's a carpark that's mine but I don't use. Merchant's will jack your car to take to their tinker around here."
She breathed a sigh of relief, apparently glad I'd agreed to be helped, and followed my directions around the back and into the unused carpark at the end of the row. Moments later we were out and walking towards the front door, Stephanie's hand placed on my arm in a way that I knew was for stabilisation but made me feel so uncomfortably conflicted.
Not necessarily because she was an attractive woman a few years my senior, incredibly qualified, smart, funny, obviously good hearted, and all of the other qualities you could list. No, instead it was for a drastically more embarrassing reason. It was because she's the only person remotely close to my own age in I've-forgotten-how-many years to make willing physical contact with me at all.
As we moved into the stairwell I noticed her slightly daunted look at them, but we took a breath in and began the climb all the same. I distracted myself from the pain and the exhaustion with my thoughts, which was only really opting in for subjectively different torture rather than any actual escapism.
Stephanie had well and truly lodged herself under my arm, essentially doing more than half the work by this point. It became abundantly obvious that she was even stronger than I'd thought she was. I stopped my exhausted mind from doing something as stupid as trying to check out her legs to see if I could see the muscle. Totally academic the interest may be, but there was no way it would be seen as anything other than trying to perv on the ass of the girl who is basically carrying me up the stairs.
"One sec." I breathed, stopping my movements as I felt the pull on my mind, bringing me back to that familiar array of stars. Again my power was too greedy and came back with nothing.
"You alright?" Stephanie wheezed, trying to regain her own breath as well.
"Yeah, dizzy spell." I said, and subtly moved to continue our trek upwards.
I couldn't even remember how far we'd ended up walking by this point, if I were being perfectly honest, and I kept forgetting to check the doors we passed for their number. I felt like I was eternally stuck ascending that set of stairs, finding a rhythm with which to best bear the pain. Eventually, however, we came to the end of a set of stairs and there was no new set to turn and walk up.
I almost made us trip when trying to turn around the non-existent corner, making Stephanie yelp with fright as she was pushed up against the cold metal handrail, the only thing between her and a drop all the way down to the ground floor.
"Sorry, sorry." I fumbled out, pulling her back as best I could, moving towards the door and rummaging in my pocket to grab my keys and unlock and move into my home.
As we moved a few steps in, I realised something terrible.
There was someone else in my apartment.
No, not some masked intruder, but Stephanie was in my apartment.
I could feel her stop beneath my arm, then her muscles stiffen slightly, and with that a hot poker went through my heart.
"Let's get you into your bed, shall we?" She whispered, forcefully breaking the silence to mask her own discovery of my uncomfortable reality.
I was only able to grunt in response, stumbling toward the door leading to my room, the only obvious choice since the door to the bathroom was open. She struggled to get me the last couple of steps, my body prematurely giving out on me as the exhaustion and pain hit me all at once and being even remotely upright became a form of terrible torture. In the end I made it only my bed by being hauled onto it one limb at a time, then rolled over onto my front.
I realised that the only thing keeping me from passing out from the sheer exertion of energy was the life magic that thrummed through my body, doing its best to piece back together what seemed more and more like a ship full of rotting wood.
My mouth was dry, my tongue and lips sticking to each other and becoming scaly, something that Stephanie somehow noticed.
"Do you want a cup of water?" She asked, her own breaths still coming heavy but already recovering somewhat from the struggle up the stairs.
"No." I rasped out, then trying to clear out my throat and somehow made it worse, "The water has stuff in it. It's brown sometimes."
Even in the dark of my room I could see the warped expression of revulsion at that, and I just felt shame.
"How do you get water up here then?" She asked, politely schooling her features as she turned on the bedside lamp, the bulb having slowly dimmed over time.
"Water bottles, usually. Been a while though." I said with a shrug. I sometimes got desperate enough to drink from the taps, but Joy usually gave me water bottles when I needed them, I'd just run out early this time.
She didn't make any particular expression at that, but I could see the muscle in her cheek clench as she shrugged off her backpack– Hold on, why did she bring her backpack? All questions were lost when she pulled out a large metal water bottle, clearly still full enough of water that it made my flimsy side table wobble strangely as the bottle settled on its surface.
She zipped up her bag and put it on the floor, then unscrewing the water bottle's top and helping me drink from it. I drank greedily, having not managed to have a go at the free water the emergency room always offered, a bit of a life saver in the rough patches. After a few large swallows, I'd had enough and did my best to motion for her to put it away, even if said motion was aborted halfway.
"Thanks." I said softly, and despite that it may as well have been a yell for how dead silent the room was.
"No, it's okay, James." She said, but I gave her I chiding look, asking her not to treat me like I was a child, and she could only look away, "Really."
It was exceptionally unconvincing.
The silence dragged on, Stephanie only moving to sit on the side of the cramped bed where my feet hung from the end if I stretched out. There was no darkness in the room anymore to hide her expressions of mild horror, guilt, and conflict. Shame only further welled in me. It was one thing to know your living status to be poor, or even horrible, but to see someone else witness it and come away looking like they'd seen a crime scene just felt awful.
But either way, I was the one to crack the silence.
"So how'd you figure it out?" I asked gently, but it made her flinch like I'd slapped her, nonetheless.
"What do you mean?" She asked futilely, but she'd always made eye contact in conversation before, and she wasn't now.
"You're not looking at me." I said, making her flick her eyes towards mine, and I could only wonder what she saw in them that made her form almost crumple like a paper bag. Like she'd just had her spine ripped out of her back.
"When she said you'd had a 'big day'." She whispered, her tone wet.
"A codeword?" I guessed, but Stephanie snorted then wiped at her nose with a piece of tissue from her pocket.
"No, not unless you count it as a codeword for 'fuck off, I'm dealing with it'. She almost never does that, and she told me about parahumans one day ages ago, just in conversation. I figured it out after a while."
"So she didn't tell you anything?" I said, not really expecting an answer in the positive, but prepared for it.
"Hah!" She laughed humourlessly, "God you'd have more chance of getting a confession from the damn bed you were sleeping on than her. You said it yourself, her real power is stubbornness, and she absolutely needs to learn to tone it down."
I let out a weak huff, a pale imitation of the roaring laughter we'd shared only so long ago.
"I'm sorry." She said, but the wetness in her tone and the tortured emotion made your spine tingle with the discomfort of being that close to such raw emotion, setting me on edge.
"Why?" I asked, neutrally, toneless even.
"We were your trigger, weren't we?" She sobbed, but she already knew that she was right. I didn't know exactly what a trigger was, but I didn't need to be Einstein to guess.
"I got my powers after I left, yes." I said softly, and even though she'd expected it, she sobbed with a sudden violence that made me feel like I'd just stabbed her.
"Then why are you so–!" She gestured at me with an emotion stuck between frantic anxiety and distraught anger, "okay with me, with her, with us?"
I tired to parse what the garbled sentence was supposed to mean, but looking into her wide brown eyes and seeing a sea of guilt and pain at doing something terrible to someone when you didn't mean to, didn't want to—I decided to answer as best as I could to the question I thought was being asked.
"Truthfully, I'm not." I said slowly, deliberately, and the visceral pain that marred her features for a moment only halted as I continued, "Did you know that Panacea gave me her personal number? On a card with the number to a mystery Protectorate contact I'm meant to talk to tomorrow after she's had a chance to talk to them first. I had no idea why she was offering me so much help when I was just another parahuman, but now I guess I know."
I could get it, I guess. If a normal trigger event was as terrible as mine was emotionally or, God forbid, worse? Then what would it be like to know you were the cause of it? I'm not sure, now that I've experienced it, that I'd ever forgive myself for doing that to someone.
"I have her number in my phone now, and the first thing I thought when I realised, I could actually call it, was how extremely uncomfortable it made me. I spent months and months waiting in that emergency room on a Saturday, hoping beyond hope that my name would be called. It was the only chance I didn't give up on, that I would've given myself just one more shot at if it meant I didn't make it home that night." I said softly, my eyes moving up to meet hers.
Her eyes were disturbingly wide, her mouth opened in the small display of pure, uncontrolled shock that was unmistakeably genuine.
"You were…" She trailed off unable to find the words, and I looked away from her eyes, shame bubbling up inside me at the admission, at the reasoning behind it all.
"There's no food. You can go check, there's nothing left in the cupboards or the pantry. Nothing except for a box of cereal that I ran out of this morning." I struggled to swallow down the sob that wanted to tear itself from me, shame building like burning bile in my throat.
"I don't have money, and I can't make more. Most of it went into a degree that I completed three quarters of and was then failed an entire semester worth of subjects. Money I couldn't lose. I've applied for a disability support pension since I my parents were killed, but I was rejected every time." I laughed cruelly to hide the desperate urge to vomit, the shame burning so hot that I began to rub at my chest to attempt at soothing it.
"My health got worse, one outing meant four in bed. There was no work I could do, I can't stand up. There were no treatments. There was no support. I couldn't pay rent. The old lady on the first floor does the books for the landlord and started faking that I'd paid. I thought I'd find a way to pay it in the next month, to find some reprieve, but it's been nineteen and I can't pay anything.
"So now this place is only my home for little more than a week. What happens when I have no home too?" I said finally, staring at her with dead eyes, the searing pain in my chest becoming so severe that I couldn't bear it, and let out a pained sob.
"It wasn't your fault," I struggled out between sobs, "I was already going to die."
I felt arms wrap around me, the pain in my chest becoming unbearable with the pressure, ruthlessly forcing it out of me in an explosion of raw emotion as I, for the first time in four years, mourned the death of the life I'd once had.
==== Perks Gained this Chapter ====
Unlike a certain mouse, you maintain impeccable control over any animated objects you create. While it's not like they're truly incapable of overdoing tasks you set, they'll definitely check in with you before doing anything drastic. Constructs with animal intelligence will also quickly and correctly interpret any hand signals you attempt to send, no matter how clumsy. This has some reverse application to non magical applications, like machinery.
A/N: Yup, that's actually it for almost 16k words haha. I'm cursed with rolling perks at 400+CP, it's stupid. Anyway, sorry for yet another heavy chapter, I hope it felt fairly natural and the explanation felt somewhat reasonable! I actually intended to get in the first part of 'tomorrow' in there too, but this chapter was already running thousands of words over what I'd projected, so I cut it where it felt good. With this being a transitionary chapter, the next will get into some of the meatiness of James' struggles with the more parahuman shaped problems in his life. (Sorry if my word choices are a bit all over the place this chapter, I was so tired I started second guessing the tenses I was using and got myself very confused. I might have to go re-edit it later to check I've not gone totally bonkers.)
Hope we'll start rolling something less expensive soon, James needs to be able to craft something! Anything? ...please?
Nice chapter though. Struggle, emotions and new acquaintances. "I was already going to die." - gave me a goosebumps. I am a little bit worried about, what he will do next. Without support, he won't get far. So do you have to decide on a team or come up with some kind of business strategy to get rich? Unpleasant situation
Nice chapter though. Struggle, emotions and new acquaintances. "I was already going to die." - gave me a goosebumps. I am a little bit worried about, what he will do next. Without support, he won't get far. So do you have to decide on a team or come up with some kind of business strategy to get rich? Unpleasant situation
I like this fic. The indifference of the support services is sadly typical. They treat the most vulnerable with contempt seeking the most inane of bureaucratic loop holes to deny people the help they need. Forcing them to jump through hoop after hoop all so the government can cut costs while saying that they have methods to help the most vulnerable in society.
This is GREAT! I frckn LOVE it. The Struggle of it all, being under so much pressure for such a long time and then all of it coming down at once when all hope is lost, triggering a Tinker power... Very believable. I have loved every sentence of inner monologue with excellent dialogues and believable interactions. However, the best of them all is nerfed CF!!! So frckn glad you are not rolling Assistants like I can't really stand them I love cf stories but one of them summoned 11 scientists or smth and I was just like. NO, we aren't doing this that shit stinks...... Having no warehouse is somewhat great it adds a lot of challenges. I also lowkey hope you dismissed the perks that make you a werewolf or a cat person or stuff like that because all those perks feel like they taint the 'perfection' that is Celestial Forge if you know what I mean. That's all I want to say for now. Thanks for the chapter!
I like this fic. The indifference of the support services is sadly typical. They treat the most vulnerable with contempt seeking the most inane of bureaucratic loop holes to deny people the help they need. Forcing them to jump through hoop after hoop all so the government can cut costs while saying that they have methods to help the most vulnerable in society.
Yeah, it can be a very rough system for some, especially where a condition is not officially recognised as a significant disability. Personally I'm lucky that I don't need to rely on a lot of those things to be okay, but James' situation, by necessity, was crafted to be the worst it could possibly be to make the trigger a believable event. I'm not sure I could do a truly crystal-clear representation of the failings in the systems that are meant to support those in need, especially not in America as I am Australian, but hopefully it stays reasonable enough with a broad-brush approach haha.
This is GREAT! I frckn LOVE it. The Struggle of it all, being under so much pressure for such a long time and then all of it coming down at once when all hope is lost, triggering a Tinker power... Very believable. I have loved every sentence of inner monologue with excellent dialogues and believable interactions. However, the best of them all is nerfed CF!!! So frckn glad you are not rolling Assistants like I can't really stand them I love cf stories but one of them summoned 11 scientists or smth and I was just like. NO, we aren't doing this that shit stinks...... Having no warehouse is somewhat great it adds a lot of challenges. I also lowkey hope you dismissed the perks that make you a werewolf or a cat person or stuff like that because all those perks feel like they taint the 'perfection' that is Celestial Forge if you know what I mean. That's all I want to say for now. Thanks for the chapter!
Yeah, there are lots of things in the CF that I'm not entirely sure on, but I'll mostly be playing it by ear and if I feel it fits, then I'll be happy with it. Some perks that allow for weird instantaneous body enhancements like the werewolf stuff and some of the others have been altered or removed, and I'll pick and choose in any other case anyways haha. Thank you for the lovely comment, hope you enjoy what is to come!
So, did the Celestial Forge cure his illness? Because if not, I don't see how knowledge is going to help him if he sleeps twenty hours a day and can barely walk through the pain and fatigue.
His illness is not cured, but one of his first perks imbues him with life energy, that's slowly bolstering his health. He will eventually cure himself even without other perks. Although it would be hilarious if he rolled Cyborg Hindu God Body or some other crazy perk that removes his illness.
