Nuclear Fire 69
Poliamida
(Verified Heavy Molecule)
- Location
- Beyond the Stars
Trigger warning: the following chapter contains depictions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts. The respective section has been marked.
"Ah, Heavy Gear, I was expecting you."
Glenn Chambers' lips stretch back into a smile that shows too many teeth to be friendly. That's not a greeting I was expecting, but while my reaction is one of bafflement and even a bit of amusement, Taylor's one is of downright hostility. She jerks a nearby chair back and plops down on it looking already eager to leave.
"Of course you were," she deadpans. "We had an appointment."
There's a second chair at her side that I quickly occupy.
"There's no reason to be aggressive," Glenn says while slowly stroking the cat. "We're among friends here." He'll need far more than that if he hopes to convince her of that.
"Not the friendliest of receptions."
"What do you mean?" He gasps, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. "I even dressed up for the occasion and got a new haircut." He points down at his white shirt that's stretching under the pressure of his humanity. "Is it about Mr. Mittens?" He picks the cat up so we can stare into its expressionless eyes. "I apologize but I didn't want to leave him home alone. He's a sweetheart but can be a real menace if you leave him unsupervised."
Taylor taps a finger against her helmet, and if I know her as well as I believe I do she must be using all her willpower to not unleash the wasps on the man. "Are you going to tell us that the Dr. Claw impersonation was an accident?"
"First," he raises a finger, "Stavro did it before Claw. And second, you of all people should know that not everything on TV is to be believed. Considering some of the things they say about you."
"And all of them were false. But you?" She gestures at his entire getup. "No one does something this blatant without knowing what they are doing."
We should know. Masters of subtlety we are not.
"I'd even bet you pick a squeaky chair on purpose for the sound effect," I add, admittedly impressed by his dedication to the charade.
Far from getting angry at the accusations, the head of the Protectorate's PR department looks pleased with himself. "You'd be surprised how many people miss the obvious. They are too focused on the trees to pay attention to the forest."
Why do I feel like we're being tested?
From behind my visor, I stare right into his eyes, but his bubbly smile doesn't falter. I never fully grasped what this man's angle was in the original story, and meeting him in person hasn't made figuring that out any easier.
I wished Tattletale was here but she's in a meeting with the Mayor.
"Then I hope you don't mind when you piss off the next person that comes to talk to you," Taylor presses on.
"And I hope you don't get angry when people misinterpret your intentions."
Taylor remains perfectly still, but if this was a knife fight that would have been the moment that she got stabbed. We walked right into that one, didn't we?
The brief pause allows Glenn to slowly and deliberately set his cat on the ground so that Mr. Mittens can roam the room at his leisure.
"It's funny how one movie convinced people that all villains should own white cats," he continues. "It's incredibly silly when you think about it, isn't it? Why cats? My grandma owned one and she wasn't a supervillain. At least, as far as I knew." He then scratches his upper lip. "It's the same way how one crazy Austrian ruined Chaplin's mustache for generations to come. And it's a pity because I like the toothbrush style but if I walked outside with it I'd receive some judgemental stares."
Depending on where you lived, I'd say. After visiting the Graf Spee museum back home I started wearing a commemorative cap, but I stopped after far too many strangers congratulated me on the street.
"Where are you getting at with all this?" Taylor asks, her voice raspy with annoyance.
The chair creaks when Glenn leans back, looking like a mischievous little child. "Do any of you know what a symbol is?"
"A mark, color, or other object used to represent something else," I quickly reply, falling back to what I learned at University. "Generally an idea of great cultural significance."
"Correct! Here, have a gold star." From inside a pocket, he pulls out a painted piece of cardboard that he slides over the table in my direction. I look down at it before picking it up.
I never said no to a gold star and I won't start now.
His small gift delivered Glenn proceeds. "Now, second question: why was New Wave never popular among the Asian population?"
"Besides the fact that they were all blue-eyed blondes?" Taylor, allow me to remind you that you're also white.
So am I now that I think about it. At least, in this life.
"Yes, besides that." Glenn makes a pause aiming a finger at us, one at a time. "It was because of their uniforms. Many Asian cultures see white as the color of mourning, and when they saw New Wave flying around in their all-white colors that triggered a deep gut-reaction." Like it happened to far too many companies that thought it was a good idea to dress their workers and wrap their products in white. "It's the same way how here in the West black is the color associated with death and the unknown, red with blood and violence, and bugs with pestilence and sicknesses."
Now I feel personally attacked! He may not know that but it was I who designed our uniforms.
"They also look awesome," I argue back.
Glenn's belly trembles up and down as if remembering an old joke. "They very much do! Six in ten Wards want their first uniforms to be in red and black but few can pull those colors off."
"Like we can."
"The thing they don't understand," Glenn proceeds, acting as if he didn't hear me, "is that the symbols we present ourselves with are important. Just as much as the first impressions we give. I take it that the first impression you got of me wasn't the best."
And with that, we have traced a nice circle back to the start of this meeting.
"I believe that actions are more important than looks," Taylor objects.
"And yet the only action I took was saying hello!" Glenn giggles like a child. "Look, do you want a better example?" He pulls out a pen that he sets on the desk. "Let's take this person. Let's call him Josh. Josh is a grocery store owner." He then grabs a glue stick. "A hero approaches and tells him 'Josh, we'll protect you from villains, but if you help villains we'll send you to jail'." And finally, an eraser. "Then a villain approaches and tells him 'Hey, you, pay us if you don't want us to hurt you, and if the heroes come we'll beat them back'. Which side do you say he'll pick?"
"The one that he believes will keep its promise," Taylor answers without missing a beat.
"I knew you were a smart girl!" Glenn cheers, passing her another golden star that Taylor ignores. Then he straightens up, locks his shoulders, and suddenly he doesn't look as fat as he did a moment ago. "And that's where I come in. When you analyze the entirety of North America, you quickly realize how gargantuan the task of dealing with everything going wrong is. That's why we need people to talk to us, to call us when they see a villain. But they'll only do so if they believe in us. The job of the PR department is to keep the people hoping even when they don't see the heroes. One of the most valuable things the PRT has is the people's trust."
Those are some beautiful words but there's a problem there that Taylor is quick to point out: "That's something that you lost in this city."
"Oh, don't remind me," he says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "I was the guy working to give all this mess a positive spin. But considering that this city had to deal with Lung, the man who fought an Endbringer to a standstill, and Kaiser, who had the backing of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the world, I'd say we did fairly well."
"Also Coil, the villain who became a PRT Director," Taylor is quick to remind him. "Then we came around and fixed the entire problem for you."
That final point makes Glenn break down into laughter. "Girl, you have the next Eidolon here!" He says, gesturing at me. "The threat assessment department almost descended into civil war trying to assign him a ranking. It's unfair to criticize us when anyone with that level of firepower at their backs would have been able to do whatever they wanted." He gets himself back under control and with the back of his hand, he cleans the line of saliva that was falling down the corner of his mouth. "But, look, we're not here to start one of those 'vs' arguments that PHO likes so much. I believe that if there's something we can all agree on is that preventing a crime from ever taking place is far more effective than punishing the criminals."
I agree with him. At least in spirit. But again, he's missing something important here: we cheat, and we do it hard.
"The difference between you and us," I say, "is that we can be everywhere."
He smiles, and that's when I realize that he was counting on me to say it. "And that," he makes a pause, "is where you're wrong."
I don't like his tone at all. "Explain."
The severity of my demand does nothing to erase the smile of smug satisfaction on Chamber's face, who leans back on his chair, interlocking his finger over his belly. "Dragon has satellites powerful enough to read the newspaper someone left on a park bench," he says as if it's the most normal thing in the world, "and the Protectorate has a thinker-tank whose entire purpose is to predict the turns of the world. Heck, Alexandria could have paid this place a visit to root the Empire out. And yet, we don't let these resources cut loose. Why do you think we don't?"
Oh, he must believe himself to be so clever right now, waving those huge resources around without a care in the world and hoping to surprise us with them. But there's one important thing he ignores: all my knowledge.
The question that he just asked us is one that I asked myself many times in the past.
There's so much more the Protectorate could be doing, and yet the ridiculous restrictions they set on their heroes chain them down. Not only through the restrictions on the kind of weapon and equipment they can carry with them, but also with the way they use their powers. There are times when the Protectorate looks more concerned with reigning in the heroes than going after criminals.
I did reach a conclusion back in the day. Not a pretty one, of course.
Capes, heroes, villains. And me, too. We aren't 'normal'. We aren't even humans. We're walking catastrophes waiting to happen.
And like with so many other catastrophes, people's favorite way to deal with them is to ignore their existence.
"Because you don't care," I state, folding my arms.
For the first time during the conversation, the facade of passive self-centeredness cracks, and the smile disappears from Glenn Chamber's face, replaced by an expression of genuine confusion. "You're going to have to explain that one to me."
With pleasure.
"The job of the heroes is to defeat the villains. But the job of the Protectorate is to keep the heroes under control. And your job in particular," I gesture at him with a movement of my head, "is to make the public believe that. These 'meet and greets' you want us to take part in aren't just to present us as approachable, but also inoffensive."
Is with great pride that I see my accusation doing its job, with Chambers massaging the side of his head in small circles. "That's a very extreme claim. Did Tattletale tell you that?"
"My eyes did," I reply with a shrug. "Look at what your average hero could do. Miss Militia could summon a Davy Crockett and start launching nuclear bombs, Aegis could take a small army by himself, and don't get me started on what Vista could do." She's the kind of girl Lovecraft would have liked writing about. "But the public doesn't demand them be put in chains or killed for the 'greater good'." Like they do with everything that puts their monotonous lives in jeopardy. "If anything I don't believe many realize that heroes are even capable of that level of damage. Maybe because they believe that the Protectorate keeps them under control, but the Protectorate only works because it has the Triumvirate on top, and who controls those three?" Containment foam in the hands of normals also helps, but it was a tinker who created that in the first place. "Being a hero is not just about fighting crime but to bend the knee to the government, even against the hero's best interests. It's all to keep the illusion that the world is still under the control of normal people. To make those normals believe that they won't turn into collateral damage in some random battle that they can't either predict or influence."
Chambers remains silent with an index pressed against his lips while he looks me up and down. Maybe I managed to throw his game off, but admittedly I don't know how much of what he shows is real and how much is yet another facade. This man lives and breathes PR and everything he does, he does it with a clear objective.
After a moment, he finally speaks. "Give me a second, please." He then makes a call on his cellphone. "Hey, do you have a minute?" He asks the person on the other end of the line. "About the trip to Colorado, yes, that one, cancel it. I'll be staying in Brockton Bay longer than expected."
He puts the cell phone away and goes silent, hunkering down in deep thought. I wonder how many people managed to drag him out of his comfort zone in such a way. A pity that it took me all my best cards to do so.
With nothing else to say, I wait for him to continue.
So does Taylor, who seemed too intrigued by the discussion taking place in front of her. Like a mighty duel between someone with a silver tongue and someone with knowledge that not even the best precognitives have access to.
With his ideas apparently in order, Glenn takes a deep breath. "You don't believe that altruism is real, do you?"
Is that a trick question?
"Of course I believe it's real," I argue back. "I just don't believe that it's achievable when one party needs to be crippled for the sake of another."
He slowly shakes his head. "Even if it's voluntary? Is it so hard for you to believe that some heroes just want to serve their communities, and to do that they have to hold themselves back not to damage it?" A community that isn't willing to reciprocate to those who put their lives on the line. "And even then, would you say that keeping this 'illusion' as you called it is a bad thing? You said it yourself: if people like me hadn't stepped in to help the public embrace the concept of capes, and welcome them as their own, the age of heroes would have turned into a witch hunt. One with real witches that would have used their powers to fight back."
That--
I--
Damn, that's a good one. People are distrustful and prone to bursts of violence against those who are different. If the Protectorate hadn't defanged the heroes and convinced people that they were there to serve them and not rock the boat, things would have ended in a bloodbath.
I'm left without arguments, but thankfully for me, when I falter Taylor is there to carry the burden: "You mean a witch hunt like the one that the Empire tried to carry out? The one that we stopped?"
Take that! That's a great counter, but why then doesn't Glenn look affected by it?
"Yes, exactly like that," he replies, slowly returning to his jovial state. "And an example serves to illustrate my point."
Underneath my helmet, my eyebrows knit into a frown. "And that is…?"
"People go as far as they believe they can get away with, and there's a direct correlation between an aggression and its response. The Empire got overconfident, attacked you with excessive force, and you responded in kind."
Hot damn! You don't say!
"Of course we did," Taylor says in her emotionless tone. "If we had lost, they would have killed us."
To that, Glenn nodded sagely. "The Empire? Definitely. But then let's look at your battle against the Wards. They wouldn't have killed you, and yet you engaged them with extreme violence."
That's a matter of perspective.
"I wouldn't say 'extreme'," Taylor mumbles under her breath.
"Really? Because that battle left a couple of broken bones, Browbeat underneath a van, multiple insect bites and stings, and Shadowstalker without a toe. If not for Panacea she wouldn't have been able to walk properly again."
"She'd have deserved that."
"And then there's that attitude," Glenn says casually as he pulls out a photo that he sets on the desk. It seems to have been taken on a cell phone, but despite the low resolution the content is clear: a shifting mass of bugs, big enough to consume a whole street, with a pair of bright yellow eyes behind it.
"You have crafted a reputation, one of being decisive and ruthless against your enemies," Glenn explains while tapping the picture. "That's excellent. You can use such a reputation to end confrontations without fighting. But you don't do that. You could have threatened the Wards and used a show of force to force them to retreat, but instead of that you went for the kill." He leans back, bringing his hands together. "And do you know what I believe? I believe that you knew that. But it wouldn't have been enough. For you it isn't about just winning but also overwhelming your enemies, crushing their spirits, and proving that you aren't weak. You strike me as the kind of gal who gets what she wants by being more intimidating than anyone else and cowering them into submission."
I very slowly, trying to not attract any attention to myself, move my chair away from Taylor.
Is this what being near a volcano about to explode feels like?
"That was the only thing school taught me."
That's why it ended as it did.
"The same school that so tragically burnt down, correct?" Glenn says with a smile before dismissing that line of dialogue with a wave of his hand. "But that's not important. What is important is that you understand what an appropriate display of force is. If you respond to every problem with extreme violence, your opponents will do the same." Not if they are dead at that point. "Why do you think Purity isn't blasting buildings left and right every time the Empire suffers a setback?"
Except she did. In the original timeline, at least. It happened when she lost custody of her daughter -closer to a kidnapping really because Coil was involved- and tried to get her back by taking the city hostage. A perfectly reasonable response if you ask me, but I doubt that's what Chambers wants to hear.
"Because she never felt cornered," I conclude.
"Give your enemies a chance to retreat and they will flee instead of fighting to the death." He quotes from the Sun Tzu. "Yes, the PRT could deploy snipers to blow off the heads of villains, but how would they react? Heck, how would Heavy Gear have reacted if that was how the PRT dealt with every problem? Instead of meeting us at a table like you're doing right now, you'd have fought us with everything you got. And nobody would have liked that."
Not exactly true? But he doesn't know about Cauldron and all its underhanded deals. I admit that, after taking them out of the equation with Tattletale's help, I don't mind tolerating the rest of the organization. It's only when those nutjobs are in charge that I go full 'Murder, Death, Kill!'
Uh, I think I'm starting to see his point.
"The PRT in particular, wouldn't have liked that," Taylor grumbles, still unwilling to back down.
"Oh, really?" Glenn asks with a look of amusement on his face. "Whoever won any confrontation between you and the Protectorate, the ones to lose would have been the ordinary people you want to protect. They would have been the ones to suffer in the crossfire."
That's the sad reality of any war. The lesser men die in droves to satisfy the desires of those above them.
"Just like they were suffering under Kaiser and Lung," Taylor points out. "The villains who, by your own account, you could have defeated but didn't out of fear of being too violent."
"Did you know that the PRT and the Guild are currently working alongside the German Government to strike against the Gesellschaft?" Glenn quickly counters as if already planning where to take this conversation to. "If the Empire was still around, that operation would have starved them to death, cutting away their main source of funding. And did you know that Armsmaster was working on a Tranquilizer that could have countered Lung's regeneration? We aim for the solutions that cause the least amount of damage and casualties in the long run, that's why we go for a slower approach."
No, I don't accept that.
"Too slow," Taylor argues. "The Empire has been active since before I was born. People are still dying, still suffering."
She was suffering. So was Aisha. So were many others.
Isn't this the entire broken philosophy that justified Winslow's actions? They needed a Ward in their roster to keep the worst elements in check, so who cared if this nobody girl got screwed up in the process? Well, guess what, that nobody girl triggered and was not happy with the way she was treated.
"And is that the only comfort they get?" I ask, my knuckles cracking as I twist my fingers. "That a future that they may never see will be better? What happens when those like us show up? We are the ones who got tired of being sacrificed for the sake of others and who said that enough is enough."
Justice must prevail. By force, if needed. That's why I made sure to give Taylor all the power I could collect.
My breathing speeds up, and the armrests groan under the strength of my enhanced grip.
Chambers doesn't seem to care, though, and only spares me a glance before turning back to Taylor. "Come on, girl, you're a smart one. You can figure this out. Why are we all here? Why do we-" he gestures at himself, "-want to work alongside you?" He gestures at us.
I cock my head to one side trying to find the answer to that question, but I can't focus. All my thoughts have been dominated by images of punishments for those who offend us.
Because stuff like that is why I let others make the major decisions. I'm too unreliable when emotions go high.
"Because when the situation gets out of control," Taylor says, making a small pause to collect herself, "you send in the independents. The ones that can be violent without tainting the image of the Protectorate."
That--
That can work.
"Correct!" Glenn cheers. "I love working with smart people."
So that's how he plans to get his cake and eat it too. By getting a third party who does all the dirty work they are unwilling to.
But it's nowhere near as perfect as he may try to make us believe it is.
"And let's not forget that the independents can also become convenient scapegoats when something goes wrong," I quickly add.
Taylor pushes air out of her nose. "And it's not like you'd lift a finger to help us when it becomes inconvenient, like what happened to New Wave." Yes, that too.
"Oh, don't give me that look you two," Glenn shrugs. "That glass tower was one of New Wave's own making. The higher the standards you hold someone to, the more crushing the fall is, and New Wave itself was constantly pushing those standards higher."
"And you never bothered to stop them either because they served a purpose. A purpose you want us to serve too. You want us to become just another tool in your arsenal."
"No," he states, raising his voice for the first time during our conversation. "I don't doubt that many saw them like that, but it's not my case. I saw New Wave more like an event that the PRT could work around and use to our benefit. We let them do what they wanted because it got us what we wanted." He takes a deep breath, making it clear that he's about to deliver a long speech. "You see, with the passing years many people have come to see the Protectorate as too bureaucratic. Too focussed on procedures and maintaining a good image than fighting crime. That's a section of the market that we'll never be able to tap into, but that's where the likes of New Wave come into play. They weren't just heroes, they were a family, the everyday men, and women you share the bus with. And excellent business partners."
"And now you want the same from us," Taylor finishes the idea.
"I just want us to set some ground rules so we can work together. The balance we'll need to keep as partners will be very delicate. We need to give you enough freedom to make you effective-"
"And keep us happy," I quipped.
"-but at the same time, nothing that you do can be too controversial. Otherwise, the Protectorate's inaction will be put into question." He goes silent after that waiting for our reply.
This is it, I guess.
All his cards are on the table. Some of them I want to believe we managed to counter, some others we may have not.
Taylor and I exchange a glance.
Well, it's not like it really matters. We didn't come here to make friends. We didn't come here to forge bonds of trust either. You don't need those in business. Mutual interest will have to do.
"Mister Chambers," she says quietly but firmly while lying forward. "You ask a lot of us. What are you offering in exchange for playing this silly charade for you?"
If Danny was here I'm sure he'd be crying in pride at how much Taylor has grown.
Business isn't about pride or demanding things to be 'your way'.
That can wait for when we've amassed enough power to ensure we can't be destroyed.
Until then, we give away stuff that has no value to us in exchange for things that we do want.
Glenn's lips curl into a smile of satisfaction. "Just as a start, I can offer you classes on oratory and public speech dictated by yours truly. You can ask Clockblocker how I am. But if you're more interested in material gains, I can offer you a cut of the merchandise we will sell using your symbols. Including clothes, posters, and action figures that we will produce at zero cost for you."
'Zero cost', two of the most beautiful, yet dreadful, words in the English language when put together. The deal sounds too beautiful to be true, which means that it's probably laced in half a dozen legal traps. But that's nothing that throwing Tattletale and Danny at the problem shouldn't fix.
Suddenly the idea of high-quality PVC figurines of Heavy Gear crosses my head. Maybe even some limited metal editions, something that collectors would pay good money for.
I can already see a bright and profitable future where all the children of America have Heavy Gear merchandise in their bedrooms.
"Wouldn't it be bad if you start selling merchandise of such a violent independent group?"
"Oh, we have many subsidiaries that we don't publicize as being part of the Protectorate. Mind you, because your products won't be officially approved by us they'll be sold at a reduced price. But at a comparative quality, I assure you."
I have to give it to him, he does have this entire setup very well planned.
Taylor drums her fingers on the table before turning to me. "I'd ask you what you think but I'm fairly sure that he got you the moment he mentioned money."
"And you'd be correct!" I proclaim with a raised index. "In fact, I offer you one better, Mister Chambers: allow us to distribute your merchandise through our service." Always strive to advance your interests, in any aspect of life.
He folds his arms over his belly, giving me a look of amusement. "And why would I agree to that?"
I'm happy you asked that. "Because if everything goes according to plan, soon we'll have access to the European market." First England and Germany, and then the world. Just like Napoleon wanted. Hopefully, we don't end up like him. "Just imagine: children across the globe playing with their Protectorate-branded action figures, and going to sleep in their Protectorate-branded pajamas." I'm actually proud that I came up with that argument.
Glenn's face remains a mask of blank emotion except for a faint twitch on his eye.
I push on: "And all that without mentioning the opportunity for the Protectorate to become an international enterprise. Need a few extra heroes in a city on another continent? Hop through 3 of Heavy Gear's branded portals and bam, reinforcements! Gift Shop running low because a shipment got wrecked in a fight? Not a problem! Heavy Gear will be there for you! The opportunities are truly endless."
Niceties are fleeting, but self-interest? That's something I can trust.
It seems that my offer worked because Glenn chuckles to himself. "Why do you tempt me like that, you cruel devil? I'll talk to the heads of finance and production. That's all I can offer you right now."
"Good enough for me," I reply. "Also, no exclusivity deals when it comes to our products. I don't want us to accidentally lose control of our symbols and colors by accident. It'd be a pity to declare war on the United States just to get them back." That last thing I say looking at Glenn straight in the eyes.
"I assure you that no one wants that," he says with a smile, acting as if my subtle threat wasn't something worth worrying over. "So, do we have a deal?" He offers a hand.
Taylor looks down at it but doesn't shake it.
"No," she replies with a shrug. "You said that you'd be staying here for a bit longer, didn't you? We'll wait for Saturday and see how things develop from there."
As if we'd make any decision without our thinker and business expert at our side.
We don't want anyone to believe that we're easy, after all.
But if Glenn is disappointed by our refusal, he doesn't act like it. "Oh, well, you can't win them all." He shrugs. "You know? This was most definitely not how I was expecting this conversation to go."
"We have that effect on people," Taylor jokes around, visibly more relaxed now that the meeting is almost over. "What were you expecting?"
"Talks about the weather, the new trends, and slowly corrupting you into wanting to join the Protectorate."
"Yeah, I don't see that happening."
"Not with that attitude! And not before seeing these!"
From a drawer, he pulls out two drawings. High-quality ones. The first one is of an Egyptian princess in black and golden armor, with the word--
Are you fucking kidding me?
That image is labeled 'Khepri', the name that Taylor received after fusing with her Shard in the original timeline. Also, the name that, if I'm right, Glenn is offering her if she joins the Wards.
And if that's the case then the other drawing must be me: a silver and blue warrior that looks surprisingly similar to a Loremaster of Hoeth named Vault.
So, he knows about Warhammer. That's neat.
He may have even tried to get the rights to the elven god of smiths (the only thing of worth those pointy-ears ever produced), but when he failed he settled for a close second.
I admire his tenacity, these designs are admittedly amazing but there's a flagrant flaw with their plan that I'm more than happy to tell him.
"Sorry to tell you this but I'm a dwarf main." I feel a certain level of kinship with the bearded little guys, I also can't deal with shame in a way that isn't self-destructive.
Glenn snaps his fingers in fake exasperation. "Damn, there's always something."
"Also," I continue, "why do I have the impression that, if it was up to you, Ladybug would only use butterflies and I'd only build stun pistols?"
To my side I can feel the heat being radiated by Taylor's frustration.
"Because of marketability!" Chambers boasts, devoid of any sliver of shame. "Could you believe how many mothers would rise in arms if we presented a Ward engaging in deadly combat? No one wants to broadcast the corpse of a parahuman child on national TV. Well, some people do, those damn vultures, but you know what I mean."
Yes, I do. Not like that changes anything.
"We'll stay independent for now, thank you very much."
With that, I add another victory to my mental list. Another successful step on that long, perilous, and largely joyless path towards something resembling peace and tranquility. It's not much but it's at least something.
With the meeting declared officially over we head out, and on the way, Taylor affectionately pats my back.
That's greatly appreciated. I'm happy to see her slowly embracing her responsibilities. Few could accomplish that without being crushed by all the platters that they have to keep spinning.
It's all thanks to her ability to never back down and keep hoping for a chance of victory no matter the circumstances.
I envy people like that because I fear I'll never share that mentality. For me, it's too easy to simply give up. Then I start over when I can or abandon the game when I cannot.
That's why I'll keep helping her until I'm no longer able to. But when that day comes, there will be others to take my place.
Well, here it is.
On the afternoon of Thursday, I get called by the PRT to assist the final victims of the Leviathan battle. I don't know why they took this long to bring me on board again, but they were probably struggling with the mess I left behind after my talk to Panacea and my collaboration with Kid Win.
Their loss, really.
I was tempted not to come. I get why this is important, considering that this is the most visible scar that the battle left, and it will be a morale boost to announce it has been healed, but it still felt like too much of a bother.
In the end, Newt convinced me to come, something about interacting with more people as she claimed, and gave me the brilliant idea to extract some extra benefits out of this.
"Good afternoon," I greet Armsmaster and Dragon, who were already waiting for me. They don't answer immediately, their eyes instead darting to my companion.
"Who is she?" Armsmaster asks.
Before I can present her properly, Valerie takes a step forward. "I am!" She makes a pause with her hands at her waist. "The Electro-Nun!"
I encouraged her to craft her own uniform -unlike the other members of the team she has the skills to do so- but she hasn't gotten around to doing that yet and that's why she's dressed in simple overalls. The only piece of technology she carries with her is the modified welding mask that hides her identity. And her prosthetics, of course.
"She came up with that name all on her own," I add for the sake of my sanity. Or at least what remains of it.
She nods encouragingly at that. "Yes! Tech-Priest's my melon!"
"Mentor."
"That's what I said."
I wonder if she does that on purpose. Is she trying to get a reaction from me? Make me smile with her childish antics? Or make me groan at them?
Eh, it's not like it matters anywise. I must admit that I have found some joy fitting into the role of her teacher. It's nice to show someone the ropes and it fills me with pride when she finds her way out of the problems I set for her. Even more so when she does so in a way I wasn't expecting.
And talking about that--
With a wave of my hand, I gesture at her. "I brought her along so she could see what we have been working on. And to present her to you in case we end up working together on more projects." Children are like sponges at her age, after all, and the more she learns now the better future she will have.
Dragon's avatar displays a smirk of amusement at our presentation, but Armsmaster's expression remains unreadable. If anything, there seems to be a dash of frustration in the way the muscles of his chin keep trembling.
He turns to his partner. "Dragon, why don't you present her to Kid Win? I want to talk with Tech-Priest in private."
Underneath my mask, I roll my eyes. What now? Is he worried about our team getting a brand new tinker? That or he's jealous.
Yes, I'm sure it's jealousy. I'm well on my way to surpassing him at everything he has ever tried to accomplish. And with zero real effort on my part!
Dragon's avatar raises an eyebrow in confusion but doesn't complain. The quadcopter her monitor hangs from descends to be at Valerie's eye level and from one of its sides unfolds a mechanical arm for her to hold onto. "Hello, Electro-Nun. Do you mind if I call you Ely?"
Damn, why didn't I think about it? That's brilliant!
"I'll allow it!" Valerie announces and the two depart hand-on-pincer to meet Kid Win, who's on the back of the workshop working on his armor.
He perks up when Dragon calls his name, and I throw him a thumbs-up for his sacrifice distracting the curious child. I just hope that if they decide to work on anything potentially life-threatening, they call Nia first.
Now alone, Armsmaster walks up to me. He remains as imposing as always on his blue and silver armor, but if he hopes to be intimidating he's failing. The only thing this triggers is a deep sense of exhaustion. Seriously, what is his problem now? The only thing I hope is that he doesn't waste too much of my time.
Eh, if he proves to be too annoying I'll just turn the microphones of my armor off and tune into some music. That's one of the many advantages of wearing power armor.
From Armsmaster's right shoulder emerges an antenna and my eyebrows knit into a frown as I try to analyze what I'm looking at. It's an effect similar to what The Song is capable of. Right now we're effectively isolated from the outside world.
"I'll be straight with you," he tells me. "Is she human?"
What is she talking about? Of course she is--
Oh, come on! Why does everyone think I built her?
But it makes sense that he'd be this scared about the possibility. I already built several units capable of battling high-level capes, but one with tinker-like powers? That would be terrifying.
The PRT will throw a tantrum when they realize that the drones are well on their way to reaching that level.
Sucks to be them.
"We found her stealing some of my drones to tinker with," I explain. "We then brought her to our base, gave her some food, clean clothes, and here she is."
Armsmaster makes his best impression of a calculator as he presses his lips into a thin line, probably pondering if he should trust what his lie detector is telling him.
"Have you gotten in contact with her parents?"
I shake my head. "Both dead from what we managed to figure out. Killed by the Empire when they launched their attack against our territory. We've been searching for any live relatives but it hasn't been easy. She didn't have any documents with her and the neighborhood she used to live in ended underwater." That proved to be a big headache for Tattletale who has been working on that.
The antenna generating the bubble of silence retreats underneath Armsmaster's armor. "Call us if you need assistance with anything."
So you can give her the Wards' selling speech and steal her from us? Screw you!
No, no, calm down. That's the exhaustion speaking. That easily leads to anger I don't like getting angry. I get all stressed, my hands start trembling and my head starts throbbing. It's not worth it.
Unaware of the thoughts circling inside my head, Armsaster takes a step back and gestures for me to follow him to where Dragon and our apprentices are.
"Dragon insisted you be here for our last patient," he tells me on the way.
At least there's someone here who can be trusted not to be an awful person. At least not willingly. If it was up to the rest of the PRT I'm sure that--
Wait, did he say the last patient? Singular?
The worst cases were already handled, so the only thing left were minor injuries or mechanical alterations that were largely cosmetic. Why make such a huge deal of this final case, then? Why didn't they just squeeze him in any other day?
I seem to be missing some context here.
"Who is it?" I ask.
Dragon is the one to answer now that we're close enough for her to listen to our conversation. "Someone that you probably know very well."
I heavily doubt that. The only people I know are back home and they are fine. Then there's Missy, but she didn't receive any major injuries. Besides dying, of course.
My confusion must have gotten reflected in my body language because Dragon then adds: "Let me just bring him here."
Her quadcopter retreats, and in just a moment it's back with a young man in tow. He's dressed in casual clothes, and he must be a civilian because he isn't trying to hide his face. A surprisingly pale one now that I look at it, maybe a product of a healthy life indoors, but that's his only distinctive mark. I have no idea who this is.
He seems to know who I am, though. His eyes widen the moment they fall on me, and he speeds up to meet me with an extended hand.
"Tech-Priest!" He gasps. "We finally meet!"
I look at his hand, then at his face, then back at his hand which I finally shake.
"Hello. You."
I glance at Dragon. Can I get a clue here, please?
"Take your shirt off." Geeze, woman! Armsmaster's right there!
Whatever the case, the patient obeys and after unbuttoning his clothes he reveals the black carapace where his heart should be.
If this was somehow supposed to trigger a memory in me, I don't see how. It's just another prosthetic similar to dozens that we already treated. The only thing worthy of notice is that the surface is covered in small scratches that the self-repair system didn't bother to correct as they were minor, and the skin around the carapace has successfully welded into it.
Wait a minute--
This looks fairly old. Not made during the Leviathan battle but way before that.
I trail the edge of the implant with my fingertips, causing the patient to flinch in discomfort. Yes, I recognize that this is awkward but bear with me for a moment.
With my curiosity satisfied, I take a step back.
This implant is more than a month old. Now I know who this one is.
He had been diagnosed with a terminal heart defect that not even my technology at the time could fix. His only hope was a donor, but with the risk of him dying at any moment, Taylor and I decided to sacrifice one of our drones to give him a new heart.
"Our first implant," I proclaim, struggling to believe those words myself. "How have you been doing?"
He opens his mouth to speak but Armsmaster gets ahead of him. "We have been keeping him under observation to make sure his implant didn't malfunction." A huge waste of time because my technology doesn't malfunction. It may do unexpected things but that's a different topic. "Also to protect him in case a villain tried to steal it." That, on the other hand, is far more sensible.
"Sorry you got locked away because of me," I apologize scratching the back of my head.
"Are you kidding?" He bursts out. "Yes, the PRT took me away for my safety, but that beats being bound to a bed waiting to die. You saved my life. I can't thank you enough."
Underneath my helmet, I smile.
That's an interesting perspective of things. One that does manage to warm my chest. And now that he's about to get his mechanical parts safely removed and replaced by organic ones, this person will be able to return to his normal life as if nothing had happened.
Does he have a family waiting for him? Friends? Lovers? How many people would have been affected by his demise?
Far too often I fail to properly gauge the extension of the impacts I left on the world.
Someone pulling from my sleeve puts an end to my train of thoughts.
"You are a good person," Valerie tells me timidly, looking away from the assembled heroes.
Am I?
I only act when a problem is forced directly in front of my face, when I can't look away, I must confront it. At the end of the day, all I do is for the sake of my comfort. Otherwise, I could be doing more for the world. But I simply can't bring myself to care all that much.
"I'm not sure about that," I reply.
Then Armsmaster drags Kid Win with him as they lead the young man into the Flesh Canvas.
Yes, he is totally jealous of Valerie and me.
And while that midlife crisis is happening over there, I approach Dragon. "Thank you for letting me be here for this."
She didn't have to do it but still did, maybe even against the PRT's wishes. All because-- I don't know. Because she wanted to do something nice for me?
It was nice being told that I did something right.
"It's the least we could do," she tells me with a smile. "I assumed it'd be important for you, and the end of our collaboration should be celebrated. Not every day four hero groups band together to fix a problem."
Another choice of words that leaves me confused.
Sometimes it's easy to forget that Dragon isn't a member of the Protectorate but the Guild, but that still leaves us with only 3 groups: the Guild, the Protectorate, and us. Is she counting Kid Win and the Wards? No, that can't be it. Who am I forgetting?
Oh, right.
"What about Panacea?" I ask and in response, Dragon shakes her head.
"She was invited but her reply was -and I quote- 'I'll get there when I well *beep* want to'."
I heard that beep. Dragon built a self-censoring program into her voice processor. That's smart. Maybe I should build one of those. And then I could install it into Aisha's suit.
Amused by the mental picture, I almost miss the alert I receive of a flying object coming straight towards us.
For a week now I've been wondering how the New Wave debacle has been developing. Tabloids have most definitely not stopped talking about that mess, but that doesn't give me a clue on how they individually have been reacting to their unwanted new fame.
It seems that I'm about to receive a crash course on that.
There's a gust of wind when Glory Girl opens the skylight followed by my sensors alerting me of her empathic manipulation. Surprisingly enough -at least for me- she has ditched her hero costume and replaced it with a black hoodie and a pair of jeans. That's the kind of attire that Taylor would have used back when she was trying to go unnoticed in a crowd.
Her hair is also wet, and a bit of a wild mess, suggesting that she exited her place in a rush.
The flying brick scans the room, only pausing on me for the briefest of seconds. "Where is she?"
"Glory Girl!" There isn't any hint of affection or patience in Dragon's voice as she addressed our unexpected visitor. "Lower your aura immediately! You're in a medical facility."
Victoria closes her eyes and after a brief moment, my systems inform me that the outside interference has ceased. "There," she says through clenched teeth. "And I'll leave as soon as I have a word with Amy. You invited her to come, didn't you?"
How did she even know she'd be here?
Gallant. It must have been him.
"As I was telling Tech-Priest," Dragon replies, "Amy Dallon hasn't yet-"
Almost as if summoned by our conversation, a door slams open making us jump in surprise.
The first thing to cross the threshold is the black boot that kicked it open, followed right behind by a girl dressed entirely in all black from the neck to the tip of her toes. The only glimpse of skin I can see is her face, as she's wearing black gloves and leggings.
I have no idea who this is, and my sensors offer no help as they are going highwire trying to make heads or tails of her anatomy.
I immediately enter a defensive position, but I'm the only one to do so as my companions aren't alarmed by the sudden arrival. The only one to react in any meaningful way is Victoria who looks as if she had just seen a three-headed monkey.
"I'm back, bitches!" The stranger announces, making my confusion grow stronger and making Valerie scowl in incredulity and disgust at my side.
Who the heck--
Wait--
It cannot be--
"Happy that you could join us, Panacea," Dragon goes to receive her while Victoria flaps her mouth open and close trying to articulate words. Yeah, I share that feeling.
At the mention of her hero name, Amy snorts. "That's the name I had when I was in New Wave. I'm thinking about changing it. Maybe Dryad! Something with more punch, you know?"
She walks past Dragon and walks towards Glory Girl.
"Looking good, Vicky!" She greets her. "But do close your mouth, there are flies out there."
And leaving her still speechless sister behind, she walks towards me.
Crap.
"Tech-Priest!" The smile that she offers me is too feral to be comforting.
Taking a sonorous gulp, I ready myself for whatever may happen next.
Amy, or Dryad, or whatever her new name is, raises a single finger that she forces into my shoulder. She pushes it in with enough force to make me take a step back.
"What. A. Pleasure. To. See. You!" Each word is punctured by another poke, and another step that I'm forced to take back.
That brief exchange is quickly interrupted by Valerie who comes in my defense stepping between us. "Hey! What's the big idea?"
Fearing that her clenched fists are a sign that she's about to lunge at Amy, I hold her back gripping her wrist. "It's okay, Ely. Let it go." I kind of deserved that, after all.
"No, it's not okay!" She barks, staring at Amy with fire in her eyes. "Who does she think she is?"
"Only the greatest bio-manipulator in the world, you brat!" Amy replies unaware of the fact that the only reason why she still has that title is that I haven't put any effort into stealing it.
Okay, I should say something here. Valerie is under my care after all and she looks ready to attack Amy, not a battle she's in a position to win. And not just because all that the former New Wave cape would need to do is to touch her skin to drop her unconscious.
The real issue here is that I'm in full power armor, and yet Amy was strong enough to push me back with just a finger.
How?
It has to be about the strange reading my sensors are giving me. Nothing that I shouldn't be able to fix now that I know what I'm dealing with. Whatever it is, it has to be organic, so tapping into the biological aspect of my power I find--
Is that a Petunia?
Well, not anymore.
Amy's clothes aren't there just as a fashion statement, but also to hide the skin-tight mesh of plant matter that looks like the family-friendly version of something that I saw in all-too-many hentai.
I could spend hours looking at it.
For purely intellectual reasons, of course. What she did is slightly insane, and if I were a betting man I'd say that she gave that plant properties similar to those of Aegis and other biology-fueled capes. If I'm reading this right, she's bulletproof, and at the very least ten times stronger than a normal person.
And all that in, what? Less than a week?
Powers are bulshit.
"Can you stop staring at me like that?" She tells me. "It's creepy."
Oh, sorry, yes. It's not polite to burn someone with your stare like that, is it?
With a shrug of her shoulder, Amy turns around to address Victoria once again. "Almost as creepy as the fact that you managed to track me here."
Ha! Got you there.
"Amy, I--" Vicky mumbles, incapable of forming coherent words.
"Oh, so you can speak. Do tell me, was your boy-toy the one who told you where I'd be?"
I admit I kind of like this new Amy. She has redirected her aggression towards everything around her instead of mopping in her misery. An example that I hope to follow one day.
Vicky may not share my opinion as she turns a deep shade of red. "No, I-- I haven't spoken with Gallant in a while. We broke up. This time for real, I believe."
Damn, I hate to be wrong.
"Yeah, because I haven't heard that one before," Amy then throws a thumb in my direction. "Was it him, then?"
Come on! I didn't know I was supposed to come here until yesterday, much less that you'd be coming.
"No!" Vicky raises her voice, waving her hands in front of her. "It was--"
"It was me." A new voice joins us, one that belongs to a man who seems to be around Danny's age. A rough estimation on my part because the newcomer still has hair on his head.
"Dad?" Amy gasps in surprise. She then dashes towards him and I can barely hear her when she says: "I told you that I'm still not ready for this."
I'm reasonably sure that Amy didn't break into the Birdcage while we weren't looking and that the man there isn't Marquis coming back for his revenge, so that must be Mark Dallon.
"And you will never be if you keep evading it," he replies softly but firmly. "We both have been evading the problems that are in front of our faces for far too long, and for good or ill, we need to settle this. That's why I asked Victoria to meet us here."
Glory Girl folds her arms, looking unsure of what to make of this. She first looks at her adoptive sister and then at the man she thought was her father. "I still don't know how you figured out that I was staying at the shelter."
Shelter? What shelter? A lot has been going on around here for me to keep track of it all!
"Give me some credit," Mark laughs, scratching the back of his neck. "Some of my old street contacts are still out there."
Vicky lifts off, just enough so she doesn't have to touch the ground, and hovers close to Mark. "Yeah, I tend to forget that my old man was a superhero."
I need to do a double-take for that. I wasn't expecting Vicky to call him that.
And if I'm surprised, Mark is left downright dumbfounded.
"What?" She continues. "Surprised that I still see you like my father?" She aims a finger at Mark and another at Amy. "You're my family and nothing will change that. Not even the fact that I'm royally pissed at you both!" And that's as far as her patience went. "Seriously, what's wrong with you? Why didn't you talk to me? Why did you leave like that? It's as if you didn't trust me to handle it!"
Mark and Amy exchange an embarrassed look.
"I know that what we did was cowardly," he says. "We needed time to think and figure out what to do moving forward, but it wasn't fair for you. I'm sorry."
Amy looks at her own feet, then opens her mouth to speak but that's as far as Dragon allows them to go.
"Excuse me," She interrupts. "But this is not the place for you three to be having this conversation. We are in the process of treating a patient here."
Oh, yes. The guy must still be back there, all alone with Armsmaster.
I pity him.
"Of course, of course," Mark apologizes, coughing into his fist with a faint blush in his cheeks. "I should have thought this one through, shouldn't I?"
"Let's make that our family motto," Amy quips in.
"Come on, girls," he continues. "Let's go to the cafeteria. My treat."
With one arm he reaches for Amy, hugging her shoulders affectionately.
The other gets quickly busy when Glory Girl locks it with her own.
"Sounds good to me!" She cheers before turning back to me and locking me with her eyes. "And Tech-Priest, later you and I will have a talk."
Why did you have to ruin this beautiful, affectionate moment? But it was inevitable, wasn't it? I did play a major role in tearing her life apart and throwing it into chaos.
Seriously, she has been living in a shelter? I can't see her being happy about that. I wouldn't be at the very least.
Oh, well.
Maybe not fully healed, but at least getting to it, what remains of the New Wave family departs and something resembling peace returns to those of us that remain behind.
"I deeply apologize for that," Dragon says, her avatar scowling into a grimace of disappointment. "I should have put an end to that faster." Then her lips crack into a half-hearted smile. "And people ask me why I don't get out of my house!"
Dragon, the reason why you don't get out is that you're an AI chained to the draconian laws programmed into you by a paranoid man who died before reverting his mistake. Then your black box fell into the hands of an equally paranoid technophobe who I'll gladly torture into insanity before gifting him the sweet release of death, but only after he begs for it.
But I get what you mean. If New Wave was my only source of human interaction, I wouldn't want to get out of home either.
"I'm in a team full of superpowered teenage girls," I reply. "You have nothing to apologize for."
Carrying that piece of wisdom with her, Dragon departs to go check how Armsmaster and Kid Win are doing.
For my part, I keep thinking about the found family that just left us. They were wounded, manipulated, betrayed, and more, but they found within themselves the strength to keep going.
Few would have been able to do the same.
"Was that really Panacea?" Valerie whispers in a soft voice reminding me that she was still at my side. "She's awful. Nothing like I was told she'd be."
Oh, thank you, Valerie. I needed to laugh.
Amy has cut ties with everything that once hurt her, with an old life where her existence was misery, and embraced a new existence where she can express herself as she sees fit. There's no greater achievement, and her new self should be celebrated, not condemned.
That's the least that anyone should ask for.
"Are you kidding me?" I say out loud, maybe louder than I should have. "The Amy I knew was a broken husk too busy trying to live to the impossible expectations of someone who never truly loved her. She was nothing more than a mask who had convinced herself that she was okay with a situation that she hated! She's much better now than she ever was!"
I'm ready to continue my discourse when I realize that Valerie's looking at me with what can be taken as surprise and shock.
I fear that I may have been more forceful back there than I wanted.
Shit. I overdid it, didn't I?
Okay, I-- I guess I'll go take a break.
Twisting on my heels, I dart outside seeking fresh air.
Triggering scenes to follow
Up here, atop the hangar where the flesh canvas is installed, I let my thoughts drift away while I look far away at the waves crashing against the city further down the coastline.
I like the sound of water. It's relaxing and makes me want to go to sleep even when I should be working.
With my head clear, I can focus once again on a problem that very soon I'll need to tackle: World of Darkness.
I have everything I wanted from that tree. At least everything that I can realistically get with my limited timeframe. The only thing missing is the order to start building.
Why then, haven't I pressed that button already?
Instead of that, I keep going back to my master blueprint. I search for errors to polish, and when I don't find them I like to sit back and enjoy it the same way people enjoy a painting.
I'm not prideful enough to assume I won't have to make corrections further down the line but it will work. That's what matters, isn't it?
But I'm still afraid.
It's the strain of hooking this idea and bringing it down to earth. Just as if my dreams were whales and me a hunter.
When I finally do that and force them to take shape, I'll have to face them. I'll have to acknowledge the decisions I made and deal with their consequences. But as long as they remain in the realm of imagination they'll be forever perfect.
A happy dream will never end in dissatisfaction. Only reality can do that.
I'll eventually do this, if for no other reason that there's no viable alternative anymore. Until then, I'll relax and keep searching for problems that may not be there.
Thinking back about it, my power must have known exactly what it was doing when it forced a time limit on me. If I had eternal access to everything I could build, I'd never stop planning. I'd go over my plans over and over again, correcting every small issue, real or not, in search of that mythical 'perfection'.
But that would be a lie. Just an excuse to never risk an unwanted truth.
That's why, despite everything, I'm grateful for how my power works. Nothing like a good injection of fear and adrenaline to push you in motion, and to compensate for apathy and a total lack of drive.
Do I envy Kid Win and Valery?
I'm unsure if I know the answer to that.
They are down there at the workshop working on who knows what and seemingly having fun with it.
I do feel guilty, but that's part of the course for me and barely worth mentioning.
I told Valery that I'd help her, that I'd mentor her, and I even had some fun doing it! But in the end, I got so scared after one mistake that I dropped her on someone else's lap so I could wallow in my misery in peace.
Sometimes I hate myself. Most of the time.
And what's the natural response to things that you hate?
You destroy them.
A blip on my radar puts an end to that train of thought as I discover that I'm no longer alone on the rooftop.
"Did you think I had forgotten about you?" Victoria asks me, having finished her talk with her family.
This is someone that I wasn't looking forward to facing. Ready or not, it came the time to confront my choices.
"Not really," I reply with a shrug. "I was hoping you may have forgotten so we could delay this."
When in doubt: flee.
Who the fuck cares that it sounds cowardly? Sometimes the only thing you need to win is time to come up with a proper strategy, and that's what running away grants you.
And who knows, if you run for long enough your problems may forget that you exist or die of old age. That's one of the most tempting offers of immortality.
Vicky circles me, looking down at me as if judging my worth. "There are some things I want to ask you about."
With a raised palm I put any further comments on pause.
First things first: is anyone around? No. Good. I don't have The Song with me but no one should be able to hear us up here. Maybe Dragon, but according to my visor, none of her sensors are aimed at us. That will have to do.
"I suspected that this conversation would be coming."
Vicky raises a confused eyebrow at my reply. "You did?"
Of course, I did, you imbecile! This is about the mess I dragged you into, isn't it? Not like I actually prepared for this because I chose to pretend this meeting would never happen. Still, as I said, I'm good at working on my feet.
I take a deep breath trying to get my ideas in order. "I know I overstepped my bounds." That's a good way to start, right? Polite, direct, and mechanical. "I entered a private situation that I had no right to be part of and ended up hurting you in the process."
Before I can continue talking, Vicky stops me with a placating gesture. "Wait, slow down. What the heck are you talking about?"
Now it's my time to react in confusion. "Isn't this about Amy and the entire New Wave debacle?"
She scowls as if she had bitten something bitter. "No!" She yells. "This is--" She's about to keep yelling but interrupts herself and lowers her voice. "This is about Max Anders."
Him?!
An unexpected inside another one. Damn, now I need to rewrite my whole script!
"You know about that."
Vicky grimaces, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, I know that you're now working for the fucking Nazis."
No. I had more than enough of this within my team. I had more than enough of this inside my head. Yes, it was the wrong thing to do. Yes, we were a bunch of cowards for stopping the fight. But it was the option that we thought was the best at the time.
"He was never a Nazi to begin with," I say through clenched teeth. "He was just a rich asshole using the gang for his gain. And just look at the city!" I gesture at my back. "Gang violence is at an all-time low, and we are rebuilding it!"
Peace is worth it.
That's the only of any value, isn't it? To not be bothered by outside problems. To live a quiet and orderly life where I'm not bothered by the prospects of a chaotic future I have no control over.
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
"I don't fucking know!" I yell at her. "When I see the smile of that smug bastard on TV I wonder if we did the right thing. I want so much to just blow his head off!" And then I remember all the victims of the crossfire. All the children like Valerie that this confrontation left, and all those who would have been created if we hadn't stopped. "But far too many people had already died. We saw a chance to put an end to the violence and we took it."
Vicky shakes her head. "And all it took you was to let him get away with it."
If I was clenching my teeth any harder, they'd crack. "And what did you want us to do? Break into his house and capture him by threatening to kill his daughter?" The worst part was that it was a genuine idea brought forth at one point or another.
And while I'm basking in regrets and doubts, Vicky's expression turns serious as she analyzes me up and down.
Her eyes then widen in realization.
Oh, no.
"It was you," she says with finality. "You were the one who told Amy."
I don't even care anymore. I'm just tired.
"Yes, that was me."
So, what will happen now?
She could kill me. Easily, even. And yes, I died to Leviathan only to get better, but if Victoria's smart she'll drag me away first so Nia can't reach me.
It would be fun, hilarious even if after fighting Lung, the Empire, and then an Endbringer, it's Glory Girl the one who kills me. And for reasons that I find totally justifiable, as a nice change. I did destroy her illusion of a perfect family. I wonder if I'd done worse if our roles had been reversed.
Can't say I would complain.
Better to die at the hands of a friend than a stranger. That way it would at least feel as if my demise achieved something, giving someone I appreciate a semblance of satisfaction.
But the hit never lands.
Vicky just remains there staring at me with a dumbfounded expression on her face. And then, without saying a word, she flies away. She's so fast that she's nothing more than a faint line in my sensors before disappearing.
Well--
That was seriously fucking disappointing.
I wanted something, anything, that I could truly feel. A reminder that I'm here, even if it's through pain. I messed up and instead of a reaction, the only thing I'm left with is a pit in my stomach.
Look at me, I survived again! What a nice, little surprise. This deserves a fucking celebration!
Ha-
Haha.
It's the small joys of life. You fuck everything up and then there's no release, no punishment for your misdeeds nor great satisfaction for having gotten away with them.
It's just the emptiness of me being alone and pathetic.
Stupid. Stupid.
What a sad joke my life is.
My whole body is itchy. I can't scratch it. I tap my head with my knuckles but there's no sensation. Nothing.
I need to get out of this fucking armor!
No. Good sense needs to prevail. I need to keep my identity secret.
The mouthpiece will be enough. That and one of my gauntlets.
My fingers free, I place one between my teeth and bite down. Hard.
I don't let go until the itching and the trembling stop.
Okay, that should--
No, no, that's not enough!
And one more time for good measure--
There.
A shiver runs down my side, and the dark clouds abandon my head.
The void has been filled. At least for the time being.
I feel better now. Focussed. All those emotions I have no name for let go of me, and the screaming parliament of my mind goes silent.
And just in time because a ringing sound alerts me of an incoming phone call.
"Yes?" I ask in a serene tone. The years made a master at pretending that everything is fine.
"Tech-Priest?" A female voice replies. "I'm calling you from Director Renick's office. I'm to inform you that your monthly supply of materials has arrived."
It takes me a moment to get my lethargic brain back in motion again and to make that connection.
That's the budget we agreed on. The one the PRT authorized for allied tinkers. It's finally here. And if it does have all the materials they promised me, then that means--
It means--
That I have the perfect excuse. The final push that I needed to make this decision.
There's no point in delaying this any longer.
I'm here, I'm ready, I'm going to do it.
Why do I feel so cold?
It doesn't matter.
The way these 'donations' works is that I'm not allowed to build anything with it outside a Protectorate location. That's fine. I won't be coming home tonight, but as far as I'm concerned that's a benefit. For all of us.
Especially the girls.
I don't want to involve them in this.
Push down and push forwards.
"Please, inform Renick that I'll be staying the night here."
They'll surely put their security systems in place to make sure I don't do anything dangerous, but that's all stuff that I can deal with. An acceptable risk when the alternative is going back home and risking being found out.
Taking a deep breath, I look down at my finger and realize that it doesn't hurt anymore.
I'll make it so it can't hurt ever again.
Nuclear Fire 69
"Ah, Heavy Gear, I was expecting you."
Glenn Chambers' lips stretch back into a smile that shows too many teeth to be friendly. That's not a greeting I was expecting, but while my reaction is one of bafflement and even a bit of amusement, Taylor's one is of downright hostility. She jerks a nearby chair back and plops down on it looking already eager to leave.
"Of course you were," she deadpans. "We had an appointment."
There's a second chair at her side that I quickly occupy.
"There's no reason to be aggressive," Glenn says while slowly stroking the cat. "We're among friends here." He'll need far more than that if he hopes to convince her of that.
"Not the friendliest of receptions."
"What do you mean?" He gasps, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. "I even dressed up for the occasion and got a new haircut." He points down at his white shirt that's stretching under the pressure of his humanity. "Is it about Mr. Mittens?" He picks the cat up so we can stare into its expressionless eyes. "I apologize but I didn't want to leave him home alone. He's a sweetheart but can be a real menace if you leave him unsupervised."
Taylor taps a finger against her helmet, and if I know her as well as I believe I do she must be using all her willpower to not unleash the wasps on the man. "Are you going to tell us that the Dr. Claw impersonation was an accident?"
"First," he raises a finger, "Stavro did it before Claw. And second, you of all people should know that not everything on TV is to be believed. Considering some of the things they say about you."
"And all of them were false. But you?" She gestures at his entire getup. "No one does something this blatant without knowing what they are doing."
We should know. Masters of subtlety we are not.
"I'd even bet you pick a squeaky chair on purpose for the sound effect," I add, admittedly impressed by his dedication to the charade.
Far from getting angry at the accusations, the head of the Protectorate's PR department looks pleased with himself. "You'd be surprised how many people miss the obvious. They are too focused on the trees to pay attention to the forest."
Why do I feel like we're being tested?
From behind my visor, I stare right into his eyes, but his bubbly smile doesn't falter. I never fully grasped what this man's angle was in the original story, and meeting him in person hasn't made figuring that out any easier.
I wished Tattletale was here but she's in a meeting with the Mayor.
"Then I hope you don't mind when you piss off the next person that comes to talk to you," Taylor presses on.
"And I hope you don't get angry when people misinterpret your intentions."
Taylor remains perfectly still, but if this was a knife fight that would have been the moment that she got stabbed. We walked right into that one, didn't we?
The brief pause allows Glenn to slowly and deliberately set his cat on the ground so that Mr. Mittens can roam the room at his leisure.
"It's funny how one movie convinced people that all villains should own white cats," he continues. "It's incredibly silly when you think about it, isn't it? Why cats? My grandma owned one and she wasn't a supervillain. At least, as far as I knew." He then scratches his upper lip. "It's the same way how one crazy Austrian ruined Chaplin's mustache for generations to come. And it's a pity because I like the toothbrush style but if I walked outside with it I'd receive some judgemental stares."
Depending on where you lived, I'd say. After visiting the Graf Spee museum back home I started wearing a commemorative cap, but I stopped after far too many strangers congratulated me on the street.
"Where are you getting at with all this?" Taylor asks, her voice raspy with annoyance.
The chair creaks when Glenn leans back, looking like a mischievous little child. "Do any of you know what a symbol is?"
"A mark, color, or other object used to represent something else," I quickly reply, falling back to what I learned at University. "Generally an idea of great cultural significance."
"Correct! Here, have a gold star." From inside a pocket, he pulls out a painted piece of cardboard that he slides over the table in my direction. I look down at it before picking it up.
I never said no to a gold star and I won't start now.
His small gift delivered Glenn proceeds. "Now, second question: why was New Wave never popular among the Asian population?"
"Besides the fact that they were all blue-eyed blondes?" Taylor, allow me to remind you that you're also white.
So am I now that I think about it. At least, in this life.
"Yes, besides that." Glenn makes a pause aiming a finger at us, one at a time. "It was because of their uniforms. Many Asian cultures see white as the color of mourning, and when they saw New Wave flying around in their all-white colors that triggered a deep gut-reaction." Like it happened to far too many companies that thought it was a good idea to dress their workers and wrap their products in white. "It's the same way how here in the West black is the color associated with death and the unknown, red with blood and violence, and bugs with pestilence and sicknesses."
Now I feel personally attacked! He may not know that but it was I who designed our uniforms.
"They also look awesome," I argue back.
Glenn's belly trembles up and down as if remembering an old joke. "They very much do! Six in ten Wards want their first uniforms to be in red and black but few can pull those colors off."
"Like we can."
"The thing they don't understand," Glenn proceeds, acting as if he didn't hear me, "is that the symbols we present ourselves with are important. Just as much as the first impressions we give. I take it that the first impression you got of me wasn't the best."
And with that, we have traced a nice circle back to the start of this meeting.
"I believe that actions are more important than looks," Taylor objects.
"And yet the only action I took was saying hello!" Glenn giggles like a child. "Look, do you want a better example?" He pulls out a pen that he sets on the desk. "Let's take this person. Let's call him Josh. Josh is a grocery store owner." He then grabs a glue stick. "A hero approaches and tells him 'Josh, we'll protect you from villains, but if you help villains we'll send you to jail'." And finally, an eraser. "Then a villain approaches and tells him 'Hey, you, pay us if you don't want us to hurt you, and if the heroes come we'll beat them back'. Which side do you say he'll pick?"
"The one that he believes will keep its promise," Taylor answers without missing a beat.
"I knew you were a smart girl!" Glenn cheers, passing her another golden star that Taylor ignores. Then he straightens up, locks his shoulders, and suddenly he doesn't look as fat as he did a moment ago. "And that's where I come in. When you analyze the entirety of North America, you quickly realize how gargantuan the task of dealing with everything going wrong is. That's why we need people to talk to us, to call us when they see a villain. But they'll only do so if they believe in us. The job of the PR department is to keep the people hoping even when they don't see the heroes. One of the most valuable things the PRT has is the people's trust."
Those are some beautiful words but there's a problem there that Taylor is quick to point out: "That's something that you lost in this city."
"Oh, don't remind me," he says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "I was the guy working to give all this mess a positive spin. But considering that this city had to deal with Lung, the man who fought an Endbringer to a standstill, and Kaiser, who had the backing of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the world, I'd say we did fairly well."
"Also Coil, the villain who became a PRT Director," Taylor is quick to remind him. "Then we came around and fixed the entire problem for you."
That final point makes Glenn break down into laughter. "Girl, you have the next Eidolon here!" He says, gesturing at me. "The threat assessment department almost descended into civil war trying to assign him a ranking. It's unfair to criticize us when anyone with that level of firepower at their backs would have been able to do whatever they wanted." He gets himself back under control and with the back of his hand, he cleans the line of saliva that was falling down the corner of his mouth. "But, look, we're not here to start one of those 'vs' arguments that PHO likes so much. I believe that if there's something we can all agree on is that preventing a crime from ever taking place is far more effective than punishing the criminals."
I agree with him. At least in spirit. But again, he's missing something important here: we cheat, and we do it hard.
"The difference between you and us," I say, "is that we can be everywhere."
He smiles, and that's when I realize that he was counting on me to say it. "And that," he makes a pause, "is where you're wrong."
I don't like his tone at all. "Explain."
The severity of my demand does nothing to erase the smile of smug satisfaction on Chamber's face, who leans back on his chair, interlocking his finger over his belly. "Dragon has satellites powerful enough to read the newspaper someone left on a park bench," he says as if it's the most normal thing in the world, "and the Protectorate has a thinker-tank whose entire purpose is to predict the turns of the world. Heck, Alexandria could have paid this place a visit to root the Empire out. And yet, we don't let these resources cut loose. Why do you think we don't?"
Oh, he must believe himself to be so clever right now, waving those huge resources around without a care in the world and hoping to surprise us with them. But there's one important thing he ignores: all my knowledge.
The question that he just asked us is one that I asked myself many times in the past.
There's so much more the Protectorate could be doing, and yet the ridiculous restrictions they set on their heroes chain them down. Not only through the restrictions on the kind of weapon and equipment they can carry with them, but also with the way they use their powers. There are times when the Protectorate looks more concerned with reigning in the heroes than going after criminals.
I did reach a conclusion back in the day. Not a pretty one, of course.
Capes, heroes, villains. And me, too. We aren't 'normal'. We aren't even humans. We're walking catastrophes waiting to happen.
And like with so many other catastrophes, people's favorite way to deal with them is to ignore their existence.
"Because you don't care," I state, folding my arms.
For the first time during the conversation, the facade of passive self-centeredness cracks, and the smile disappears from Glenn Chamber's face, replaced by an expression of genuine confusion. "You're going to have to explain that one to me."
With pleasure.
"The job of the heroes is to defeat the villains. But the job of the Protectorate is to keep the heroes under control. And your job in particular," I gesture at him with a movement of my head, "is to make the public believe that. These 'meet and greets' you want us to take part in aren't just to present us as approachable, but also inoffensive."
Is with great pride that I see my accusation doing its job, with Chambers massaging the side of his head in small circles. "That's a very extreme claim. Did Tattletale tell you that?"
"My eyes did," I reply with a shrug. "Look at what your average hero could do. Miss Militia could summon a Davy Crockett and start launching nuclear bombs, Aegis could take a small army by himself, and don't get me started on what Vista could do." She's the kind of girl Lovecraft would have liked writing about. "But the public doesn't demand them be put in chains or killed for the 'greater good'." Like they do with everything that puts their monotonous lives in jeopardy. "If anything I don't believe many realize that heroes are even capable of that level of damage. Maybe because they believe that the Protectorate keeps them under control, but the Protectorate only works because it has the Triumvirate on top, and who controls those three?" Containment foam in the hands of normals also helps, but it was a tinker who created that in the first place. "Being a hero is not just about fighting crime but to bend the knee to the government, even against the hero's best interests. It's all to keep the illusion that the world is still under the control of normal people. To make those normals believe that they won't turn into collateral damage in some random battle that they can't either predict or influence."
Chambers remains silent with an index pressed against his lips while he looks me up and down. Maybe I managed to throw his game off, but admittedly I don't know how much of what he shows is real and how much is yet another facade. This man lives and breathes PR and everything he does, he does it with a clear objective.
After a moment, he finally speaks. "Give me a second, please." He then makes a call on his cellphone. "Hey, do you have a minute?" He asks the person on the other end of the line. "About the trip to Colorado, yes, that one, cancel it. I'll be staying in Brockton Bay longer than expected."
He puts the cell phone away and goes silent, hunkering down in deep thought. I wonder how many people managed to drag him out of his comfort zone in such a way. A pity that it took me all my best cards to do so.
With nothing else to say, I wait for him to continue.
So does Taylor, who seemed too intrigued by the discussion taking place in front of her. Like a mighty duel between someone with a silver tongue and someone with knowledge that not even the best precognitives have access to.
With his ideas apparently in order, Glenn takes a deep breath. "You don't believe that altruism is real, do you?"
Is that a trick question?
"Of course I believe it's real," I argue back. "I just don't believe that it's achievable when one party needs to be crippled for the sake of another."
He slowly shakes his head. "Even if it's voluntary? Is it so hard for you to believe that some heroes just want to serve their communities, and to do that they have to hold themselves back not to damage it?" A community that isn't willing to reciprocate to those who put their lives on the line. "And even then, would you say that keeping this 'illusion' as you called it is a bad thing? You said it yourself: if people like me hadn't stepped in to help the public embrace the concept of capes, and welcome them as their own, the age of heroes would have turned into a witch hunt. One with real witches that would have used their powers to fight back."
That--
I--
Damn, that's a good one. People are distrustful and prone to bursts of violence against those who are different. If the Protectorate hadn't defanged the heroes and convinced people that they were there to serve them and not rock the boat, things would have ended in a bloodbath.
I'm left without arguments, but thankfully for me, when I falter Taylor is there to carry the burden: "You mean a witch hunt like the one that the Empire tried to carry out? The one that we stopped?"
Take that! That's a great counter, but why then doesn't Glenn look affected by it?
"Yes, exactly like that," he replies, slowly returning to his jovial state. "And an example serves to illustrate my point."
Underneath my helmet, my eyebrows knit into a frown. "And that is…?"
"People go as far as they believe they can get away with, and there's a direct correlation between an aggression and its response. The Empire got overconfident, attacked you with excessive force, and you responded in kind."
Hot damn! You don't say!
"Of course we did," Taylor says in her emotionless tone. "If we had lost, they would have killed us."
To that, Glenn nodded sagely. "The Empire? Definitely. But then let's look at your battle against the Wards. They wouldn't have killed you, and yet you engaged them with extreme violence."
That's a matter of perspective.
"I wouldn't say 'extreme'," Taylor mumbles under her breath.
"Really? Because that battle left a couple of broken bones, Browbeat underneath a van, multiple insect bites and stings, and Shadowstalker without a toe. If not for Panacea she wouldn't have been able to walk properly again."
"She'd have deserved that."
"And then there's that attitude," Glenn says casually as he pulls out a photo that he sets on the desk. It seems to have been taken on a cell phone, but despite the low resolution the content is clear: a shifting mass of bugs, big enough to consume a whole street, with a pair of bright yellow eyes behind it.
"You have crafted a reputation, one of being decisive and ruthless against your enemies," Glenn explains while tapping the picture. "That's excellent. You can use such a reputation to end confrontations without fighting. But you don't do that. You could have threatened the Wards and used a show of force to force them to retreat, but instead of that you went for the kill." He leans back, bringing his hands together. "And do you know what I believe? I believe that you knew that. But it wouldn't have been enough. For you it isn't about just winning but also overwhelming your enemies, crushing their spirits, and proving that you aren't weak. You strike me as the kind of gal who gets what she wants by being more intimidating than anyone else and cowering them into submission."
I very slowly, trying to not attract any attention to myself, move my chair away from Taylor.
Is this what being near a volcano about to explode feels like?
"That was the only thing school taught me."
That's why it ended as it did.
"The same school that so tragically burnt down, correct?" Glenn says with a smile before dismissing that line of dialogue with a wave of his hand. "But that's not important. What is important is that you understand what an appropriate display of force is. If you respond to every problem with extreme violence, your opponents will do the same." Not if they are dead at that point. "Why do you think Purity isn't blasting buildings left and right every time the Empire suffers a setback?"
Except she did. In the original timeline, at least. It happened when she lost custody of her daughter -closer to a kidnapping really because Coil was involved- and tried to get her back by taking the city hostage. A perfectly reasonable response if you ask me, but I doubt that's what Chambers wants to hear.
"Because she never felt cornered," I conclude.
"Give your enemies a chance to retreat and they will flee instead of fighting to the death." He quotes from the Sun Tzu. "Yes, the PRT could deploy snipers to blow off the heads of villains, but how would they react? Heck, how would Heavy Gear have reacted if that was how the PRT dealt with every problem? Instead of meeting us at a table like you're doing right now, you'd have fought us with everything you got. And nobody would have liked that."
Not exactly true? But he doesn't know about Cauldron and all its underhanded deals. I admit that, after taking them out of the equation with Tattletale's help, I don't mind tolerating the rest of the organization. It's only when those nutjobs are in charge that I go full 'Murder, Death, Kill!'
Uh, I think I'm starting to see his point.
"The PRT in particular, wouldn't have liked that," Taylor grumbles, still unwilling to back down.
"Oh, really?" Glenn asks with a look of amusement on his face. "Whoever won any confrontation between you and the Protectorate, the ones to lose would have been the ordinary people you want to protect. They would have been the ones to suffer in the crossfire."
That's the sad reality of any war. The lesser men die in droves to satisfy the desires of those above them.
"Just like they were suffering under Kaiser and Lung," Taylor points out. "The villains who, by your own account, you could have defeated but didn't out of fear of being too violent."
"Did you know that the PRT and the Guild are currently working alongside the German Government to strike against the Gesellschaft?" Glenn quickly counters as if already planning where to take this conversation to. "If the Empire was still around, that operation would have starved them to death, cutting away their main source of funding. And did you know that Armsmaster was working on a Tranquilizer that could have countered Lung's regeneration? We aim for the solutions that cause the least amount of damage and casualties in the long run, that's why we go for a slower approach."
No, I don't accept that.
"Too slow," Taylor argues. "The Empire has been active since before I was born. People are still dying, still suffering."
She was suffering. So was Aisha. So were many others.
Isn't this the entire broken philosophy that justified Winslow's actions? They needed a Ward in their roster to keep the worst elements in check, so who cared if this nobody girl got screwed up in the process? Well, guess what, that nobody girl triggered and was not happy with the way she was treated.
"And is that the only comfort they get?" I ask, my knuckles cracking as I twist my fingers. "That a future that they may never see will be better? What happens when those like us show up? We are the ones who got tired of being sacrificed for the sake of others and who said that enough is enough."
Justice must prevail. By force, if needed. That's why I made sure to give Taylor all the power I could collect.
My breathing speeds up, and the armrests groan under the strength of my enhanced grip.
Chambers doesn't seem to care, though, and only spares me a glance before turning back to Taylor. "Come on, girl, you're a smart one. You can figure this out. Why are we all here? Why do we-" he gestures at himself, "-want to work alongside you?" He gestures at us.
I cock my head to one side trying to find the answer to that question, but I can't focus. All my thoughts have been dominated by images of punishments for those who offend us.
Because stuff like that is why I let others make the major decisions. I'm too unreliable when emotions go high.
"Because when the situation gets out of control," Taylor says, making a small pause to collect herself, "you send in the independents. The ones that can be violent without tainting the image of the Protectorate."
That--
That can work.
"Correct!" Glenn cheers. "I love working with smart people."
So that's how he plans to get his cake and eat it too. By getting a third party who does all the dirty work they are unwilling to.
But it's nowhere near as perfect as he may try to make us believe it is.
"And let's not forget that the independents can also become convenient scapegoats when something goes wrong," I quickly add.
Taylor pushes air out of her nose. "And it's not like you'd lift a finger to help us when it becomes inconvenient, like what happened to New Wave." Yes, that too.
"Oh, don't give me that look you two," Glenn shrugs. "That glass tower was one of New Wave's own making. The higher the standards you hold someone to, the more crushing the fall is, and New Wave itself was constantly pushing those standards higher."
"And you never bothered to stop them either because they served a purpose. A purpose you want us to serve too. You want us to become just another tool in your arsenal."
"No," he states, raising his voice for the first time during our conversation. "I don't doubt that many saw them like that, but it's not my case. I saw New Wave more like an event that the PRT could work around and use to our benefit. We let them do what they wanted because it got us what we wanted." He takes a deep breath, making it clear that he's about to deliver a long speech. "You see, with the passing years many people have come to see the Protectorate as too bureaucratic. Too focussed on procedures and maintaining a good image than fighting crime. That's a section of the market that we'll never be able to tap into, but that's where the likes of New Wave come into play. They weren't just heroes, they were a family, the everyday men, and women you share the bus with. And excellent business partners."
"And now you want the same from us," Taylor finishes the idea.
"I just want us to set some ground rules so we can work together. The balance we'll need to keep as partners will be very delicate. We need to give you enough freedom to make you effective-"
"And keep us happy," I quipped.
"-but at the same time, nothing that you do can be too controversial. Otherwise, the Protectorate's inaction will be put into question." He goes silent after that waiting for our reply.
This is it, I guess.
All his cards are on the table. Some of them I want to believe we managed to counter, some others we may have not.
Taylor and I exchange a glance.
Well, it's not like it really matters. We didn't come here to make friends. We didn't come here to forge bonds of trust either. You don't need those in business. Mutual interest will have to do.
"Mister Chambers," she says quietly but firmly while lying forward. "You ask a lot of us. What are you offering in exchange for playing this silly charade for you?"
If Danny was here I'm sure he'd be crying in pride at how much Taylor has grown.
Business isn't about pride or demanding things to be 'your way'.
That can wait for when we've amassed enough power to ensure we can't be destroyed.
Until then, we give away stuff that has no value to us in exchange for things that we do want.
Glenn's lips curl into a smile of satisfaction. "Just as a start, I can offer you classes on oratory and public speech dictated by yours truly. You can ask Clockblocker how I am. But if you're more interested in material gains, I can offer you a cut of the merchandise we will sell using your symbols. Including clothes, posters, and action figures that we will produce at zero cost for you."
'Zero cost', two of the most beautiful, yet dreadful, words in the English language when put together. The deal sounds too beautiful to be true, which means that it's probably laced in half a dozen legal traps. But that's nothing that throwing Tattletale and Danny at the problem shouldn't fix.
Suddenly the idea of high-quality PVC figurines of Heavy Gear crosses my head. Maybe even some limited metal editions, something that collectors would pay good money for.
I can already see a bright and profitable future where all the children of America have Heavy Gear merchandise in their bedrooms.
"Wouldn't it be bad if you start selling merchandise of such a violent independent group?"
"Oh, we have many subsidiaries that we don't publicize as being part of the Protectorate. Mind you, because your products won't be officially approved by us they'll be sold at a reduced price. But at a comparative quality, I assure you."
I have to give it to him, he does have this entire setup very well planned.
Taylor drums her fingers on the table before turning to me. "I'd ask you what you think but I'm fairly sure that he got you the moment he mentioned money."
"And you'd be correct!" I proclaim with a raised index. "In fact, I offer you one better, Mister Chambers: allow us to distribute your merchandise through our service." Always strive to advance your interests, in any aspect of life.
He folds his arms over his belly, giving me a look of amusement. "And why would I agree to that?"
I'm happy you asked that. "Because if everything goes according to plan, soon we'll have access to the European market." First England and Germany, and then the world. Just like Napoleon wanted. Hopefully, we don't end up like him. "Just imagine: children across the globe playing with their Protectorate-branded action figures, and going to sleep in their Protectorate-branded pajamas." I'm actually proud that I came up with that argument.
Glenn's face remains a mask of blank emotion except for a faint twitch on his eye.
I push on: "And all that without mentioning the opportunity for the Protectorate to become an international enterprise. Need a few extra heroes in a city on another continent? Hop through 3 of Heavy Gear's branded portals and bam, reinforcements! Gift Shop running low because a shipment got wrecked in a fight? Not a problem! Heavy Gear will be there for you! The opportunities are truly endless."
Niceties are fleeting, but self-interest? That's something I can trust.
It seems that my offer worked because Glenn chuckles to himself. "Why do you tempt me like that, you cruel devil? I'll talk to the heads of finance and production. That's all I can offer you right now."
"Good enough for me," I reply. "Also, no exclusivity deals when it comes to our products. I don't want us to accidentally lose control of our symbols and colors by accident. It'd be a pity to declare war on the United States just to get them back." That last thing I say looking at Glenn straight in the eyes.
"I assure you that no one wants that," he says with a smile, acting as if my subtle threat wasn't something worth worrying over. "So, do we have a deal?" He offers a hand.
Taylor looks down at it but doesn't shake it.
"No," she replies with a shrug. "You said that you'd be staying here for a bit longer, didn't you? We'll wait for Saturday and see how things develop from there."
As if we'd make any decision without our thinker and business expert at our side.
We don't want anyone to believe that we're easy, after all.
But if Glenn is disappointed by our refusal, he doesn't act like it. "Oh, well, you can't win them all." He shrugs. "You know? This was most definitely not how I was expecting this conversation to go."
"We have that effect on people," Taylor jokes around, visibly more relaxed now that the meeting is almost over. "What were you expecting?"
"Talks about the weather, the new trends, and slowly corrupting you into wanting to join the Protectorate."
"Yeah, I don't see that happening."
"Not with that attitude! And not before seeing these!"
From a drawer, he pulls out two drawings. High-quality ones. The first one is of an Egyptian princess in black and golden armor, with the word--
Are you fucking kidding me?
That image is labeled 'Khepri', the name that Taylor received after fusing with her Shard in the original timeline. Also, the name that, if I'm right, Glenn is offering her if she joins the Wards.
And if that's the case then the other drawing must be me: a silver and blue warrior that looks surprisingly similar to a Loremaster of Hoeth named Vault.
So, he knows about Warhammer. That's neat.
He may have even tried to get the rights to the elven god of smiths (the only thing of worth those pointy-ears ever produced), but when he failed he settled for a close second.
I admire his tenacity, these designs are admittedly amazing but there's a flagrant flaw with their plan that I'm more than happy to tell him.
"Sorry to tell you this but I'm a dwarf main." I feel a certain level of kinship with the bearded little guys, I also can't deal with shame in a way that isn't self-destructive.
Glenn snaps his fingers in fake exasperation. "Damn, there's always something."
"Also," I continue, "why do I have the impression that, if it was up to you, Ladybug would only use butterflies and I'd only build stun pistols?"
To my side I can feel the heat being radiated by Taylor's frustration.
"Because of marketability!" Chambers boasts, devoid of any sliver of shame. "Could you believe how many mothers would rise in arms if we presented a Ward engaging in deadly combat? No one wants to broadcast the corpse of a parahuman child on national TV. Well, some people do, those damn vultures, but you know what I mean."
Yes, I do. Not like that changes anything.
"We'll stay independent for now, thank you very much."
With that, I add another victory to my mental list. Another successful step on that long, perilous, and largely joyless path towards something resembling peace and tranquility. It's not much but it's at least something.
With the meeting declared officially over we head out, and on the way, Taylor affectionately pats my back.
That's greatly appreciated. I'm happy to see her slowly embracing her responsibilities. Few could accomplish that without being crushed by all the platters that they have to keep spinning.
It's all thanks to her ability to never back down and keep hoping for a chance of victory no matter the circumstances.
I envy people like that because I fear I'll never share that mentality. For me, it's too easy to simply give up. Then I start over when I can or abandon the game when I cannot.
That's why I'll keep helping her until I'm no longer able to. But when that day comes, there will be others to take my place.
Well, here it is.
On the afternoon of Thursday, I get called by the PRT to assist the final victims of the Leviathan battle. I don't know why they took this long to bring me on board again, but they were probably struggling with the mess I left behind after my talk to Panacea and my collaboration with Kid Win.
Their loss, really.
I was tempted not to come. I get why this is important, considering that this is the most visible scar that the battle left, and it will be a morale boost to announce it has been healed, but it still felt like too much of a bother.
In the end, Newt convinced me to come, something about interacting with more people as she claimed, and gave me the brilliant idea to extract some extra benefits out of this.
"Good afternoon," I greet Armsmaster and Dragon, who were already waiting for me. They don't answer immediately, their eyes instead darting to my companion.
"Who is she?" Armsmaster asks.
Before I can present her properly, Valerie takes a step forward. "I am!" She makes a pause with her hands at her waist. "The Electro-Nun!"
I encouraged her to craft her own uniform -unlike the other members of the team she has the skills to do so- but she hasn't gotten around to doing that yet and that's why she's dressed in simple overalls. The only piece of technology she carries with her is the modified welding mask that hides her identity. And her prosthetics, of course.
"She came up with that name all on her own," I add for the sake of my sanity. Or at least what remains of it.
She nods encouragingly at that. "Yes! Tech-Priest's my melon!"
"Mentor."
"That's what I said."
I wonder if she does that on purpose. Is she trying to get a reaction from me? Make me smile with her childish antics? Or make me groan at them?
Eh, it's not like it matters anywise. I must admit that I have found some joy fitting into the role of her teacher. It's nice to show someone the ropes and it fills me with pride when she finds her way out of the problems I set for her. Even more so when she does so in a way I wasn't expecting.
And talking about that--
With a wave of my hand, I gesture at her. "I brought her along so she could see what we have been working on. And to present her to you in case we end up working together on more projects." Children are like sponges at her age, after all, and the more she learns now the better future she will have.
Dragon's avatar displays a smirk of amusement at our presentation, but Armsmaster's expression remains unreadable. If anything, there seems to be a dash of frustration in the way the muscles of his chin keep trembling.
He turns to his partner. "Dragon, why don't you present her to Kid Win? I want to talk with Tech-Priest in private."
Underneath my mask, I roll my eyes. What now? Is he worried about our team getting a brand new tinker? That or he's jealous.
Yes, I'm sure it's jealousy. I'm well on my way to surpassing him at everything he has ever tried to accomplish. And with zero real effort on my part!
Dragon's avatar raises an eyebrow in confusion but doesn't complain. The quadcopter her monitor hangs from descends to be at Valerie's eye level and from one of its sides unfolds a mechanical arm for her to hold onto. "Hello, Electro-Nun. Do you mind if I call you Ely?"
Damn, why didn't I think about it? That's brilliant!
"I'll allow it!" Valerie announces and the two depart hand-on-pincer to meet Kid Win, who's on the back of the workshop working on his armor.
He perks up when Dragon calls his name, and I throw him a thumbs-up for his sacrifice distracting the curious child. I just hope that if they decide to work on anything potentially life-threatening, they call Nia first.
Now alone, Armsmaster walks up to me. He remains as imposing as always on his blue and silver armor, but if he hopes to be intimidating he's failing. The only thing this triggers is a deep sense of exhaustion. Seriously, what is his problem now? The only thing I hope is that he doesn't waste too much of my time.
Eh, if he proves to be too annoying I'll just turn the microphones of my armor off and tune into some music. That's one of the many advantages of wearing power armor.
From Armsmaster's right shoulder emerges an antenna and my eyebrows knit into a frown as I try to analyze what I'm looking at. It's an effect similar to what The Song is capable of. Right now we're effectively isolated from the outside world.
"I'll be straight with you," he tells me. "Is she human?"
What is she talking about? Of course she is--
Oh, come on! Why does everyone think I built her?
But it makes sense that he'd be this scared about the possibility. I already built several units capable of battling high-level capes, but one with tinker-like powers? That would be terrifying.
The PRT will throw a tantrum when they realize that the drones are well on their way to reaching that level.
Sucks to be them.
"We found her stealing some of my drones to tinker with," I explain. "We then brought her to our base, gave her some food, clean clothes, and here she is."
Armsmaster makes his best impression of a calculator as he presses his lips into a thin line, probably pondering if he should trust what his lie detector is telling him.
"Have you gotten in contact with her parents?"
I shake my head. "Both dead from what we managed to figure out. Killed by the Empire when they launched their attack against our territory. We've been searching for any live relatives but it hasn't been easy. She didn't have any documents with her and the neighborhood she used to live in ended underwater." That proved to be a big headache for Tattletale who has been working on that.
The antenna generating the bubble of silence retreats underneath Armsmaster's armor. "Call us if you need assistance with anything."
So you can give her the Wards' selling speech and steal her from us? Screw you!
No, no, calm down. That's the exhaustion speaking. That easily leads to anger I don't like getting angry. I get all stressed, my hands start trembling and my head starts throbbing. It's not worth it.
Unaware of the thoughts circling inside my head, Armsaster takes a step back and gestures for me to follow him to where Dragon and our apprentices are.
"Dragon insisted you be here for our last patient," he tells me on the way.
At least there's someone here who can be trusted not to be an awful person. At least not willingly. If it was up to the rest of the PRT I'm sure that--
Wait, did he say the last patient? Singular?
The worst cases were already handled, so the only thing left were minor injuries or mechanical alterations that were largely cosmetic. Why make such a huge deal of this final case, then? Why didn't they just squeeze him in any other day?
I seem to be missing some context here.
"Who is it?" I ask.
Dragon is the one to answer now that we're close enough for her to listen to our conversation. "Someone that you probably know very well."
I heavily doubt that. The only people I know are back home and they are fine. Then there's Missy, but she didn't receive any major injuries. Besides dying, of course.
My confusion must have gotten reflected in my body language because Dragon then adds: "Let me just bring him here."
Her quadcopter retreats, and in just a moment it's back with a young man in tow. He's dressed in casual clothes, and he must be a civilian because he isn't trying to hide his face. A surprisingly pale one now that I look at it, maybe a product of a healthy life indoors, but that's his only distinctive mark. I have no idea who this is.
He seems to know who I am, though. His eyes widen the moment they fall on me, and he speeds up to meet me with an extended hand.
"Tech-Priest!" He gasps. "We finally meet!"
I look at his hand, then at his face, then back at his hand which I finally shake.
"Hello. You."
I glance at Dragon. Can I get a clue here, please?
"Take your shirt off." Geeze, woman! Armsmaster's right there!
Whatever the case, the patient obeys and after unbuttoning his clothes he reveals the black carapace where his heart should be.
If this was somehow supposed to trigger a memory in me, I don't see how. It's just another prosthetic similar to dozens that we already treated. The only thing worthy of notice is that the surface is covered in small scratches that the self-repair system didn't bother to correct as they were minor, and the skin around the carapace has successfully welded into it.
Wait a minute--
This looks fairly old. Not made during the Leviathan battle but way before that.
I trail the edge of the implant with my fingertips, causing the patient to flinch in discomfort. Yes, I recognize that this is awkward but bear with me for a moment.
With my curiosity satisfied, I take a step back.
This implant is more than a month old. Now I know who this one is.
He had been diagnosed with a terminal heart defect that not even my technology at the time could fix. His only hope was a donor, but with the risk of him dying at any moment, Taylor and I decided to sacrifice one of our drones to give him a new heart.
"Our first implant," I proclaim, struggling to believe those words myself. "How have you been doing?"
He opens his mouth to speak but Armsmaster gets ahead of him. "We have been keeping him under observation to make sure his implant didn't malfunction." A huge waste of time because my technology doesn't malfunction. It may do unexpected things but that's a different topic. "Also to protect him in case a villain tried to steal it." That, on the other hand, is far more sensible.
"Sorry you got locked away because of me," I apologize scratching the back of my head.
"Are you kidding?" He bursts out. "Yes, the PRT took me away for my safety, but that beats being bound to a bed waiting to die. You saved my life. I can't thank you enough."
Underneath my helmet, I smile.
That's an interesting perspective of things. One that does manage to warm my chest. And now that he's about to get his mechanical parts safely removed and replaced by organic ones, this person will be able to return to his normal life as if nothing had happened.
Does he have a family waiting for him? Friends? Lovers? How many people would have been affected by his demise?
Far too often I fail to properly gauge the extension of the impacts I left on the world.
Someone pulling from my sleeve puts an end to my train of thoughts.
"You are a good person," Valerie tells me timidly, looking away from the assembled heroes.
Am I?
I only act when a problem is forced directly in front of my face, when I can't look away, I must confront it. At the end of the day, all I do is for the sake of my comfort. Otherwise, I could be doing more for the world. But I simply can't bring myself to care all that much.
"I'm not sure about that," I reply.
Then Armsmaster drags Kid Win with him as they lead the young man into the Flesh Canvas.
Yes, he is totally jealous of Valerie and me.
And while that midlife crisis is happening over there, I approach Dragon. "Thank you for letting me be here for this."
She didn't have to do it but still did, maybe even against the PRT's wishes. All because-- I don't know. Because she wanted to do something nice for me?
It was nice being told that I did something right.
"It's the least we could do," she tells me with a smile. "I assumed it'd be important for you, and the end of our collaboration should be celebrated. Not every day four hero groups band together to fix a problem."
Another choice of words that leaves me confused.
Sometimes it's easy to forget that Dragon isn't a member of the Protectorate but the Guild, but that still leaves us with only 3 groups: the Guild, the Protectorate, and us. Is she counting Kid Win and the Wards? No, that can't be it. Who am I forgetting?
Oh, right.
"What about Panacea?" I ask and in response, Dragon shakes her head.
"She was invited but her reply was -and I quote- 'I'll get there when I well *beep* want to'."
I heard that beep. Dragon built a self-censoring program into her voice processor. That's smart. Maybe I should build one of those. And then I could install it into Aisha's suit.
Amused by the mental picture, I almost miss the alert I receive of a flying object coming straight towards us.
For a week now I've been wondering how the New Wave debacle has been developing. Tabloids have most definitely not stopped talking about that mess, but that doesn't give me a clue on how they individually have been reacting to their unwanted new fame.
It seems that I'm about to receive a crash course on that.
There's a gust of wind when Glory Girl opens the skylight followed by my sensors alerting me of her empathic manipulation. Surprisingly enough -at least for me- she has ditched her hero costume and replaced it with a black hoodie and a pair of jeans. That's the kind of attire that Taylor would have used back when she was trying to go unnoticed in a crowd.
Her hair is also wet, and a bit of a wild mess, suggesting that she exited her place in a rush.
The flying brick scans the room, only pausing on me for the briefest of seconds. "Where is she?"
"Glory Girl!" There isn't any hint of affection or patience in Dragon's voice as she addressed our unexpected visitor. "Lower your aura immediately! You're in a medical facility."
Victoria closes her eyes and after a brief moment, my systems inform me that the outside interference has ceased. "There," she says through clenched teeth. "And I'll leave as soon as I have a word with Amy. You invited her to come, didn't you?"
How did she even know she'd be here?
Gallant. It must have been him.
"As I was telling Tech-Priest," Dragon replies, "Amy Dallon hasn't yet-"
Almost as if summoned by our conversation, a door slams open making us jump in surprise.
The first thing to cross the threshold is the black boot that kicked it open, followed right behind by a girl dressed entirely in all black from the neck to the tip of her toes. The only glimpse of skin I can see is her face, as she's wearing black gloves and leggings.
I have no idea who this is, and my sensors offer no help as they are going highwire trying to make heads or tails of her anatomy.
I immediately enter a defensive position, but I'm the only one to do so as my companions aren't alarmed by the sudden arrival. The only one to react in any meaningful way is Victoria who looks as if she had just seen a three-headed monkey.
"I'm back, bitches!" The stranger announces, making my confusion grow stronger and making Valerie scowl in incredulity and disgust at my side.
Who the heck--
Wait--
It cannot be--
"Happy that you could join us, Panacea," Dragon goes to receive her while Victoria flaps her mouth open and close trying to articulate words. Yeah, I share that feeling.
At the mention of her hero name, Amy snorts. "That's the name I had when I was in New Wave. I'm thinking about changing it. Maybe Dryad! Something with more punch, you know?"
She walks past Dragon and walks towards Glory Girl.
"Looking good, Vicky!" She greets her. "But do close your mouth, there are flies out there."
And leaving her still speechless sister behind, she walks towards me.
Crap.
"Tech-Priest!" The smile that she offers me is too feral to be comforting.
Taking a sonorous gulp, I ready myself for whatever may happen next.
Amy, or Dryad, or whatever her new name is, raises a single finger that she forces into my shoulder. She pushes it in with enough force to make me take a step back.
"What. A. Pleasure. To. See. You!" Each word is punctured by another poke, and another step that I'm forced to take back.
That brief exchange is quickly interrupted by Valerie who comes in my defense stepping between us. "Hey! What's the big idea?"
Fearing that her clenched fists are a sign that she's about to lunge at Amy, I hold her back gripping her wrist. "It's okay, Ely. Let it go." I kind of deserved that, after all.
"No, it's not okay!" She barks, staring at Amy with fire in her eyes. "Who does she think she is?"
"Only the greatest bio-manipulator in the world, you brat!" Amy replies unaware of the fact that the only reason why she still has that title is that I haven't put any effort into stealing it.
Okay, I should say something here. Valerie is under my care after all and she looks ready to attack Amy, not a battle she's in a position to win. And not just because all that the former New Wave cape would need to do is to touch her skin to drop her unconscious.
The real issue here is that I'm in full power armor, and yet Amy was strong enough to push me back with just a finger.
How?
It has to be about the strange reading my sensors are giving me. Nothing that I shouldn't be able to fix now that I know what I'm dealing with. Whatever it is, it has to be organic, so tapping into the biological aspect of my power I find--
Is that a Petunia?
Well, not anymore.
Amy's clothes aren't there just as a fashion statement, but also to hide the skin-tight mesh of plant matter that looks like the family-friendly version of something that I saw in all-too-many hentai.
I could spend hours looking at it.
For purely intellectual reasons, of course. What she did is slightly insane, and if I were a betting man I'd say that she gave that plant properties similar to those of Aegis and other biology-fueled capes. If I'm reading this right, she's bulletproof, and at the very least ten times stronger than a normal person.
And all that in, what? Less than a week?
Powers are bulshit.
"Can you stop staring at me like that?" She tells me. "It's creepy."
Oh, sorry, yes. It's not polite to burn someone with your stare like that, is it?
With a shrug of her shoulder, Amy turns around to address Victoria once again. "Almost as creepy as the fact that you managed to track me here."
Ha! Got you there.
"Amy, I--" Vicky mumbles, incapable of forming coherent words.
"Oh, so you can speak. Do tell me, was your boy-toy the one who told you where I'd be?"
I admit I kind of like this new Amy. She has redirected her aggression towards everything around her instead of mopping in her misery. An example that I hope to follow one day.
Vicky may not share my opinion as she turns a deep shade of red. "No, I-- I haven't spoken with Gallant in a while. We broke up. This time for real, I believe."
Damn, I hate to be wrong.
"Yeah, because I haven't heard that one before," Amy then throws a thumb in my direction. "Was it him, then?"
Come on! I didn't know I was supposed to come here until yesterday, much less that you'd be coming.
"No!" Vicky raises her voice, waving her hands in front of her. "It was--"
"It was me." A new voice joins us, one that belongs to a man who seems to be around Danny's age. A rough estimation on my part because the newcomer still has hair on his head.
"Dad?" Amy gasps in surprise. She then dashes towards him and I can barely hear her when she says: "I told you that I'm still not ready for this."
I'm reasonably sure that Amy didn't break into the Birdcage while we weren't looking and that the man there isn't Marquis coming back for his revenge, so that must be Mark Dallon.
"And you will never be if you keep evading it," he replies softly but firmly. "We both have been evading the problems that are in front of our faces for far too long, and for good or ill, we need to settle this. That's why I asked Victoria to meet us here."
Glory Girl folds her arms, looking unsure of what to make of this. She first looks at her adoptive sister and then at the man she thought was her father. "I still don't know how you figured out that I was staying at the shelter."
Shelter? What shelter? A lot has been going on around here for me to keep track of it all!
"Give me some credit," Mark laughs, scratching the back of his neck. "Some of my old street contacts are still out there."
Vicky lifts off, just enough so she doesn't have to touch the ground, and hovers close to Mark. "Yeah, I tend to forget that my old man was a superhero."
I need to do a double-take for that. I wasn't expecting Vicky to call him that.
And if I'm surprised, Mark is left downright dumbfounded.
"What?" She continues. "Surprised that I still see you like my father?" She aims a finger at Mark and another at Amy. "You're my family and nothing will change that. Not even the fact that I'm royally pissed at you both!" And that's as far as her patience went. "Seriously, what's wrong with you? Why didn't you talk to me? Why did you leave like that? It's as if you didn't trust me to handle it!"
Mark and Amy exchange an embarrassed look.
"I know that what we did was cowardly," he says. "We needed time to think and figure out what to do moving forward, but it wasn't fair for you. I'm sorry."
Amy looks at her own feet, then opens her mouth to speak but that's as far as Dragon allows them to go.
"Excuse me," She interrupts. "But this is not the place for you three to be having this conversation. We are in the process of treating a patient here."
Oh, yes. The guy must still be back there, all alone with Armsmaster.
I pity him.
"Of course, of course," Mark apologizes, coughing into his fist with a faint blush in his cheeks. "I should have thought this one through, shouldn't I?"
"Let's make that our family motto," Amy quips in.
"Come on, girls," he continues. "Let's go to the cafeteria. My treat."
With one arm he reaches for Amy, hugging her shoulders affectionately.
The other gets quickly busy when Glory Girl locks it with her own.
"Sounds good to me!" She cheers before turning back to me and locking me with her eyes. "And Tech-Priest, later you and I will have a talk."
Why did you have to ruin this beautiful, affectionate moment? But it was inevitable, wasn't it? I did play a major role in tearing her life apart and throwing it into chaos.
Seriously, she has been living in a shelter? I can't see her being happy about that. I wouldn't be at the very least.
Oh, well.
Maybe not fully healed, but at least getting to it, what remains of the New Wave family departs and something resembling peace returns to those of us that remain behind.
"I deeply apologize for that," Dragon says, her avatar scowling into a grimace of disappointment. "I should have put an end to that faster." Then her lips crack into a half-hearted smile. "And people ask me why I don't get out of my house!"
Dragon, the reason why you don't get out is that you're an AI chained to the draconian laws programmed into you by a paranoid man who died before reverting his mistake. Then your black box fell into the hands of an equally paranoid technophobe who I'll gladly torture into insanity before gifting him the sweet release of death, but only after he begs for it.
But I get what you mean. If New Wave was my only source of human interaction, I wouldn't want to get out of home either.
"I'm in a team full of superpowered teenage girls," I reply. "You have nothing to apologize for."
Carrying that piece of wisdom with her, Dragon departs to go check how Armsmaster and Kid Win are doing.
For my part, I keep thinking about the found family that just left us. They were wounded, manipulated, betrayed, and more, but they found within themselves the strength to keep going.
Few would have been able to do the same.
"Was that really Panacea?" Valerie whispers in a soft voice reminding me that she was still at my side. "She's awful. Nothing like I was told she'd be."
Oh, thank you, Valerie. I needed to laugh.
Amy has cut ties with everything that once hurt her, with an old life where her existence was misery, and embraced a new existence where she can express herself as she sees fit. There's no greater achievement, and her new self should be celebrated, not condemned.
That's the least that anyone should ask for.
"Are you kidding me?" I say out loud, maybe louder than I should have. "The Amy I knew was a broken husk too busy trying to live to the impossible expectations of someone who never truly loved her. She was nothing more than a mask who had convinced herself that she was okay with a situation that she hated! She's much better now than she ever was!"
I'm ready to continue my discourse when I realize that Valerie's looking at me with what can be taken as surprise and shock.
I fear that I may have been more forceful back there than I wanted.
Shit. I overdid it, didn't I?
Okay, I-- I guess I'll go take a break.
Twisting on my heels, I dart outside seeking fresh air.
Triggering scenes to follow
Up here, atop the hangar where the flesh canvas is installed, I let my thoughts drift away while I look far away at the waves crashing against the city further down the coastline.
I like the sound of water. It's relaxing and makes me want to go to sleep even when I should be working.
With my head clear, I can focus once again on a problem that very soon I'll need to tackle: World of Darkness.
I have everything I wanted from that tree. At least everything that I can realistically get with my limited timeframe. The only thing missing is the order to start building.
Why then, haven't I pressed that button already?
Instead of that, I keep going back to my master blueprint. I search for errors to polish, and when I don't find them I like to sit back and enjoy it the same way people enjoy a painting.
I'm not prideful enough to assume I won't have to make corrections further down the line but it will work. That's what matters, isn't it?
But I'm still afraid.
It's the strain of hooking this idea and bringing it down to earth. Just as if my dreams were whales and me a hunter.
When I finally do that and force them to take shape, I'll have to face them. I'll have to acknowledge the decisions I made and deal with their consequences. But as long as they remain in the realm of imagination they'll be forever perfect.
A happy dream will never end in dissatisfaction. Only reality can do that.
I'll eventually do this, if for no other reason that there's no viable alternative anymore. Until then, I'll relax and keep searching for problems that may not be there.
Thinking back about it, my power must have known exactly what it was doing when it forced a time limit on me. If I had eternal access to everything I could build, I'd never stop planning. I'd go over my plans over and over again, correcting every small issue, real or not, in search of that mythical 'perfection'.
But that would be a lie. Just an excuse to never risk an unwanted truth.
That's why, despite everything, I'm grateful for how my power works. Nothing like a good injection of fear and adrenaline to push you in motion, and to compensate for apathy and a total lack of drive.
Do I envy Kid Win and Valery?
I'm unsure if I know the answer to that.
They are down there at the workshop working on who knows what and seemingly having fun with it.
I do feel guilty, but that's part of the course for me and barely worth mentioning.
I told Valery that I'd help her, that I'd mentor her, and I even had some fun doing it! But in the end, I got so scared after one mistake that I dropped her on someone else's lap so I could wallow in my misery in peace.
Sometimes I hate myself. Most of the time.
And what's the natural response to things that you hate?
You destroy them.
A blip on my radar puts an end to that train of thought as I discover that I'm no longer alone on the rooftop.
"Did you think I had forgotten about you?" Victoria asks me, having finished her talk with her family.
This is someone that I wasn't looking forward to facing. Ready or not, it came the time to confront my choices.
"Not really," I reply with a shrug. "I was hoping you may have forgotten so we could delay this."
When in doubt: flee.
Who the fuck cares that it sounds cowardly? Sometimes the only thing you need to win is time to come up with a proper strategy, and that's what running away grants you.
And who knows, if you run for long enough your problems may forget that you exist or die of old age. That's one of the most tempting offers of immortality.
Vicky circles me, looking down at me as if judging my worth. "There are some things I want to ask you about."
With a raised palm I put any further comments on pause.
First things first: is anyone around? No. Good. I don't have The Song with me but no one should be able to hear us up here. Maybe Dragon, but according to my visor, none of her sensors are aimed at us. That will have to do.
"I suspected that this conversation would be coming."
Vicky raises a confused eyebrow at my reply. "You did?"
Of course, I did, you imbecile! This is about the mess I dragged you into, isn't it? Not like I actually prepared for this because I chose to pretend this meeting would never happen. Still, as I said, I'm good at working on my feet.
I take a deep breath trying to get my ideas in order. "I know I overstepped my bounds." That's a good way to start, right? Polite, direct, and mechanical. "I entered a private situation that I had no right to be part of and ended up hurting you in the process."
Before I can continue talking, Vicky stops me with a placating gesture. "Wait, slow down. What the heck are you talking about?"
Now it's my time to react in confusion. "Isn't this about Amy and the entire New Wave debacle?"
She scowls as if she had bitten something bitter. "No!" She yells. "This is--" She's about to keep yelling but interrupts herself and lowers her voice. "This is about Max Anders."
Him?!
An unexpected inside another one. Damn, now I need to rewrite my whole script!
"You know about that."
Vicky grimaces, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, I know that you're now working for the fucking Nazis."
No. I had more than enough of this within my team. I had more than enough of this inside my head. Yes, it was the wrong thing to do. Yes, we were a bunch of cowards for stopping the fight. But it was the option that we thought was the best at the time.
"He was never a Nazi to begin with," I say through clenched teeth. "He was just a rich asshole using the gang for his gain. And just look at the city!" I gesture at my back. "Gang violence is at an all-time low, and we are rebuilding it!"
Peace is worth it.
That's the only of any value, isn't it? To not be bothered by outside problems. To live a quiet and orderly life where I'm not bothered by the prospects of a chaotic future I have no control over.
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
"I don't fucking know!" I yell at her. "When I see the smile of that smug bastard on TV I wonder if we did the right thing. I want so much to just blow his head off!" And then I remember all the victims of the crossfire. All the children like Valerie that this confrontation left, and all those who would have been created if we hadn't stopped. "But far too many people had already died. We saw a chance to put an end to the violence and we took it."
Vicky shakes her head. "And all it took you was to let him get away with it."
If I was clenching my teeth any harder, they'd crack. "And what did you want us to do? Break into his house and capture him by threatening to kill his daughter?" The worst part was that it was a genuine idea brought forth at one point or another.
And while I'm basking in regrets and doubts, Vicky's expression turns serious as she analyzes me up and down.
Her eyes then widen in realization.
Oh, no.
"It was you," she says with finality. "You were the one who told Amy."
I don't even care anymore. I'm just tired.
"Yes, that was me."
So, what will happen now?
She could kill me. Easily, even. And yes, I died to Leviathan only to get better, but if Victoria's smart she'll drag me away first so Nia can't reach me.
It would be fun, hilarious even if after fighting Lung, the Empire, and then an Endbringer, it's Glory Girl the one who kills me. And for reasons that I find totally justifiable, as a nice change. I did destroy her illusion of a perfect family. I wonder if I'd done worse if our roles had been reversed.
Can't say I would complain.
Better to die at the hands of a friend than a stranger. That way it would at least feel as if my demise achieved something, giving someone I appreciate a semblance of satisfaction.
But the hit never lands.
Vicky just remains there staring at me with a dumbfounded expression on her face. And then, without saying a word, she flies away. She's so fast that she's nothing more than a faint line in my sensors before disappearing.
Well--
That was seriously fucking disappointing.
I wanted something, anything, that I could truly feel. A reminder that I'm here, even if it's through pain. I messed up and instead of a reaction, the only thing I'm left with is a pit in my stomach.
Look at me, I survived again! What a nice, little surprise. This deserves a fucking celebration!
Ha-
Haha.
It's the small joys of life. You fuck everything up and then there's no release, no punishment for your misdeeds nor great satisfaction for having gotten away with them.
It's just the emptiness of me being alone and pathetic.
Stupid. Stupid.
What a sad joke my life is.
My whole body is itchy. I can't scratch it. I tap my head with my knuckles but there's no sensation. Nothing.
I need to get out of this fucking armor!
No. Good sense needs to prevail. I need to keep my identity secret.
The mouthpiece will be enough. That and one of my gauntlets.
My fingers free, I place one between my teeth and bite down. Hard.
I don't let go until the itching and the trembling stop.
Okay, that should--
No, no, that's not enough!
And one more time for good measure--
There.
A shiver runs down my side, and the dark clouds abandon my head.
The void has been filled. At least for the time being.
I feel better now. Focussed. All those emotions I have no name for let go of me, and the screaming parliament of my mind goes silent.
And just in time because a ringing sound alerts me of an incoming phone call.
"Yes?" I ask in a serene tone. The years made a master at pretending that everything is fine.
"Tech-Priest?" A female voice replies. "I'm calling you from Director Renick's office. I'm to inform you that your monthly supply of materials has arrived."
It takes me a moment to get my lethargic brain back in motion again and to make that connection.
That's the budget we agreed on. The one the PRT authorized for allied tinkers. It's finally here. And if it does have all the materials they promised me, then that means--
It means--
That I have the perfect excuse. The final push that I needed to make this decision.
There's no point in delaying this any longer.
I'm here, I'm ready, I'm going to do it.
Why do I feel so cold?
It doesn't matter.
The way these 'donations' works is that I'm not allowed to build anything with it outside a Protectorate location. That's fine. I won't be coming home tonight, but as far as I'm concerned that's a benefit. For all of us.
Especially the girls.
I don't want to involve them in this.
Push down and push forwards.
"Please, inform Renick that I'll be staying the night here."
They'll surely put their security systems in place to make sure I don't do anything dangerous, but that's all stuff that I can deal with. An acceptable risk when the alternative is going back home and risking being found out.
Taking a deep breath, I look down at my finger and realize that it doesn't hurt anymore.
I'll make it so it can't hurt ever again.
…
