Magical Girl Escalation Taylor (Worm/Nanoha)

[Silently Watches]

[] Long Live the King


Heatwave 9.5

Saturday, June 4

You take a breath. Hold it. Let it out. "I can do this. I can do this. Oh, I can't do this, Sam!"

"Yes, you can." Your favorite raccoon-woman grabs your shoulders and turns you around to face the door again. "You're Danny's daughter, and you are just as invested in cleaning up the streets as they are. They'll listen to you."

"I don't think it's that easy. In their minds, I'm still a cape. I told you what Tim said. If it isn't Dad, they don't want a cape leading them."

Her hands tighten. "If they don't want to listen, them make them. You withstood Alexandria's interrogations. You destroyed Typhon. You smacked down the Dragonslayers. You faced the Simurgh without flinching. You have nothing to fear from the people who are your own allies."

She is right, you tell yourself in hopes that thinking it loudly enough will let you believe it. You saved their butts on their very first foray into heroing, and you've been just a phone call away for all the rest. Tim trusts you enough to decide whether or not to bring villains into the fold, Lacey trusts you enough to lie to her own husband for you. Who's to say the rest don't feel the same way?

Another deep breath, and you dismiss your staff and Barrier Jacket. Appearing just like them may help keep tempers down, but your costume is just that. A costume. Taylor Hebert, Calamity Witch; you're one and the same, and skirts and jackets and witch's hat don't change that. And just like your alter ego, you'll bring fire and fury if they dismiss you.
"You want a piece of this? Come and get it, you Belkan fucks. Hope you like it hot!"
The doors to the office building the team has claimed as their headquarters opens before you, and you make your way to the cleared central room where everyone gathers for the big group meetings. The Privateers and dedicated auxiliary members – i.e., the wives in the know, Lacey included – are already assembled, but your arrival goes unnoticed due to the debate raging fiercely in the middle of the room.

"You understand what you're calling for, don't you?" asks Alexander, he and his opponent already on their feet. His deep voice booms throughout the room. "Break out the suits, break out the guns, and let God sort them out? We can't claim to be on the side of angels when all we leave behind is slaughter."

"And you're saying, what? We let these gangbanger bastards keep stomping people down? Put their boots on our necks and beg 'em not to step too hard? Fuck that!" Ramirez shouts, slicing his hand through the air. "You lived in Brockton Bay same as me. Same as all of us! You saw how things went. The cops can't stop the villains, and the 'heroes' won't stop the villains, and what happened then? They just kept doing whatever they want. If we want to stop them at all, we need to hit them hard and hit them now!"

"Yeah, because that worked out so well last time." Your voice rings out and cuts into the argument. "Think back to the gang war we just had to deal with. The gang war you helped start. Do you really want to kick that off again?" Your eyes flick up to meet Tim's. «Tim, gimme a summary. Ten words or less.»

«Break the villains whatever it takes, even by killing them.»

«Ten words exactly,» praises Samantha. «Not bad.»

"We didn't start it," Ramirez shoots back with an angry flush. "The Maras did. Us hitting Winter Hill wasn't even a drop in the bucket compared to what they did."

"But that was the plan, wasn't it? That's what you told me and Sam and Kurt. Piss Winter Hill off, send them at the Maras, and then let them both fight it out and screw everybody stuck in the middle." You scoff in disgust. "Great plan. Definitely something to brag to the grandkids about."

"It worked, though, didn't it? The Maras are gone. That leaves just Winter Hill and Fairyland and then the random independents to deal with."

"Sure, sure." You nod as though in total agreement, and you can see from the various expressions in front of you that they know it's a set up. "Winter Hill, Fairyland, the independents. Oh, and all the villains from the rest of the Northeast who have started pouring in to take the Maras' place. Boston, New York, Chicago. There's a big empty spot in the city's underworld, and they all want it for themselves."

Kurt stands, and for a moment you think he intends to side with you on this matter. "While the new villains coming in are a problem, they aren't established like the others are. They don't have lairs set up, connections and agents hidden among the populace. They'll be easier to root up and kick out."

A nasty, terrible thought runs through your head, and you weigh the choice to say it in your head for a long moment. "You and what army?" you finally ask. A ripple of something passes through the group, and you sweep your arm to include everyone. "There are only twenty of us. Philadelphia is a city of one and a half million people. How do you possibly expect to keep every villain who sets their sights on this city from sneaking in and setting up shop?"

"At least we're trying to stop the villains, not acting all buddy-buddy with them."

Slowly turning, you meet Ramirez's glare with your own. "What?"

"You heard me. You wanna get mad at us for what we do when we try to stop the villains? Then you better not be working alongside them. It wasn't you who stopped the Maras. It wasn't the Protectorate. Not alone, anyway. You had to get help from the criminals you say you're trying to stop."

What is he trying to say? That because you accepted the offer of villains to help stop a murderous gang, all your actions before and after are suspect? "We fixed the mess you helped cause, and I'm the one you're trying to blame?" Not to mention the fact that they also helped defeat Typhon and his Beasts, but you stop yourself before you can add that to the fire.

After all, you were not that deep in the storm sewers to kill Typhon. You were there to save Mishmash and Solaire, a hero and a villain.

"We screwed up, yeah. I'm not gonna argue that." Any shame on Ramirez's face fades as he continues, "But even though we made a mistake, at least we didn't side with villains and criminals. You did, the Protectorate did, and when you did that, you showed everyone that you're okay with what they do as long as they play by the rules of this game you capes play with other people's lives. If you're part of the problem, you can't be part of the solution."

"Do you really want to talk about playing with people's lives after the shit you pulled?"

"I already said we messed up. We're not going to make that mistake again. But we also aren't going to throw away our morals whenever it's convenient to do so," he says, jutting out his jaw in defiance.

"Danny would be ashamed."

You don't know who said that, and while you immediately turn your eyes to the left, the direction the voice came from, it is too late. Everyone else heard it too, and now the room has erupted into a vicious argument. Every Privateer has their own opinion and wants it to be heard right now. The volume starts rising, slowly but surely, and any chance of restoring peace is gone unless you want to start blowing up Flare Shooters overhead.

«What I said about making them listen?» Samantha projects to you. «I take it back. Tempers are running way too hot for that to work, thanks to Ramirez stirring everyone up. No one's going to listen to anybody else until they've all had a chance to cool down. We're leaving. Now. Before someone else says something that makes you or me want to break them in half.»


Eeeks, that's not so grand. The fact that your interactions with the team has been minimal to nonexistent in the past means you don't have a lot of influence over them to work with. As for the rest… well, I gave plenty of hints last arc about the rise of a more aggressive and less tolerant faction of the Privateers.

On that pleasant note, show us next week's activities, Vanna.

• Tickets to Gangland, Part 2 – The immigrant gang issues are worse than you first thought, to the point there are rumors that the Protectorate is calling in reinforcements. Lo and behold, they're soon to hold a press conference. Check it out and see if it's anyone you know.
• Close Encounters of the Third Kind – The Enforcers captured you then let you go with an apology, but you have to wonder just what in the world was really going on. Call up your friend the Admiral and grill him for a little more detail.
• Long Live the King, Part 2 – Hooray for internal power struggles! Right? …No? Okay. You don't have the political capital to sway this situation on your own, but everyone says what matters isn't what you know but who you know. Get Kurt, Alexander, and some others behind closed doors and see if that helps.
• Looking for Trouble – Go on patrol and maybe befriend someone. Or Befriend someone. Same thing, right?

Remember how I said there might be two social slots? At the time, I had kinda forgotten just how many things need to be/could be done this arc and that have been put off for a real long time. So…

• Social – This can be hanging out, exploring other worlds, training, whatever.
• Social – This can be hanging out, exploring other worlds, training, whatever.

Don't worry about putting numbers by your social votes. The two most popular choices will be the winners.

Voting starts in 24 hours.

 

[Silently Watches]

IMPORTANT! READ THIS!

After the mess that was sorting through these votes, I have realized that there needs to be a set of rules on how to vote. I am NOT spending a full 45 minutes figuring out what activities won again when it should take less than a minute.

As such, here are THE RULES.

WEEKLY ACTIVITY VOTES

RULE #1: Each main activity must be its own PARENT VOTE. That means no hyphen before the bracket. NO PLAN VOTING for activities!

RULE #2: Each main activity vote must be COPY AND PASTE from the relevant post opening the voting. No rewriting an activity vote to include additional details. No paragraphs as main votes. If it's more than a sentence or two, it's too long.

RULE #3: Additional details that are not mentioned in the main vote should instead be subvotes attached to the main vote.

RULE #4: If your vote violates any of these rules, it WILL NOT BE COUNTED. Yes, your right to vote is now dependent on your ability to follow simple directions.

TIM'S BUILD VOTES

Tim's build votes ARE in plan format. He has 4 build slots per week on his own. Some of his projects take more than one slot, and this should be accounted for in his vote. You also have the choice to vote on what skill(s) he learns with his accumulated Tech Points that should be included in this vote, and yes, you can use Tech Points learned with the projects of that vote to pay for the skill at the end.

[] Plan Example
-[] Project 1 (1 slot)
-[] Project 2 (2 slots)
-[] Project 3 (1 slot)
-[] BUY skill

To keep track of big suggestions for things he can build, either from you the players or other characters, I will provide a list of pre-generated options with a count of how many build slots they require and how many tech points they give.

When you add Guardian Beasts of the Gear or other characters with the Magic Hands skill, things get a little more complicated. For the sake of ease, I assume that most of the time you will want Firefly and Nostromo to help Tim out, meaning on a weekly basis he effectively has 6 slots, not 4. If there are things you want to build that one of them can build on their own, I will let you know and include them in the generated list as costing 0.5 slots and giving 0 tech points (because if Tim isn't building something, why should he get the points?).

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Close Encounters of the Third Kind
-[] Guest starring Dragon


Heatwave 9.6

Monday, June 6

"Miss Hebert? Miss Bushman?"

You look up from your quiet conversation with Samantha to find a woman in a nice blouse and slacks walking up to you. She gives you a small smile. "Good morning. I'm Nancy Kess, the nurse practitioner here at Three Oaks. How are you doing?"

"We're fine," Samantha says, rising to her feet and rearranging the long skirt she wears to hide her tail. Between that and the bandana wrapped around her head to hide her raccoon ears, no one would be able to guess that she is anything but a normal woman. "How is Danny?"

Kess's smile fades, and she turns with her arm spread toward you. "Let's take a walk."

"Physically, Danny is doing extremely well," she says once the three of you have left the front desk and entered the small lawn that sits in the middle of the fenced-in facility. "His time in the ICU following his car accident did not leave him as weak as I normally would have expected. Even with the difficulties we have had convincing him to work with the therapists, he is recovering quickly."

"So he can come home soon?"

Samantha puts her hand on your shoulder, and her voice is firm, almost hard, when she says, "You said that's how he's doing physically. What else is going on?"

The nurse sighs. "Yes, that is his physical recovery. Mentally is a very different story. Have you ever heard of anterograde amnesia?" You shake your head. "It is the inability of the mind to hold onto information and form new memories. This disorder covers a wide spectrum of severity. In some people it is very mild and easily worked around. In others, it can be almost totally debilitating.

"You are aware that when he regained consciousness, he thought it was 2005, yes?"

"I was there the first day he woke up," you say in a worried voice. No, not worried; terrified. "He… He didn't recognize me. He thought I was still nine years old."

The sympathetic expression on Kess's face all but confirms your worst fears. "Unfortunately, Danny's amnesia is one of the most severe cases I have ever taken care of personally. He has some difficulties with his memories during the day, but it is at night that the worst effect becomes apparent. Every morning he wakes up convinced that it is June first of 2005. We have been working on different strategies to convince him of the truth of his situation, and we have had some…"

Her voice devolves into a meaningless drone. You know what she's doing her best not to say. Your dad is stuck in 2005, and they can't get him out of it. He'll never get better, no matter how much optimism the nurse is peddling. He'll never recognize you.

Danny Hebert may still live, but your dad might as well be gone forever.

Samantha gives you a hug and pushes you back towards the front office, and you take the escape she offers. Your Guardian Beast will check on him and make sure he's healthy and that his power is either still dormant or at least not causing problems. She will take that burden from your shoulders, and you project a burst of gratitude and relief towards her.

You don't think you can handle seeing him again. Not like this.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx​

Perfect Storm answers the video stream as soon as the link hits your inbox, and the holographic screen appears next to you. "Hey, Dragon."

"Hello, Taylor," the heroine says slowly, no doubt a little confused about how flagrantly you are disregarding the normal hero rules and wearing casual clothes. It isn't like she doesn't already know what you look like, though, and considering the conversation you're about to have, wearing your Barrier Jacket would probably be counterproductive. "I take it you are contacting the TSAB again?"

"Yeah, I have some things I want to talk about." You look over at her screen. "Remember the team the admiral said he was sending here? I ran into them a couple of weeks back."

"Oh? Was it a productive meeting?"

"Considering they tried to kill me? I'm going to say no."

Dragon's avatar freezes for a moment before displaying a slow blink. "Excuse me?"

A nod of your head is all the answer you give for a moment. "But, and this is the weird part, once I woke up from the attack they apologized to me, made sure Samantha and I were healed, and let us go. It was… odd." Yes, that was certainly one word for it. Dragon is scowling now, and you tell her, "They gave me an explanation for why they did what they did, and at the time it made sense, but I want some confirmation. I'd also appreciate it if you would let me know your own opinion of the matter."

That was only part of the reason you called her, but she does not need to know the other half. After getting the terrible news about your dad, you almost called off making this call in the first place, but this has been burning in the back of your mind for a while now, and you want it to be over and done with. You can't be sure how well you'll be able to spot any doublespeak or games with your current mindset, though, so in addition to supplying moral support Dragon can keep you from missing anything underhanded.

You hope she won't need to do that. With all the mess regarding the villains being half-decent people and the Privateers going off the deep end, it would be nice to have someone who just said what they meant and stood by it.

A flip of the switch sends power to the radio, and the familiar screen pops into existence. "TSAB Enforcer Command," a blonde girl chirps.

A blink, and you push away the questions about why a girl who looks like she's at most thirteen is answering the phone. Bring your daughter to work day, maybe? "This is Taylor of Earth Bet. I need to speak with Admiral Tucson."

She nods and taps something on her desk. "The admiral mentioned before that you were to be patched through to him if you called. It looks like he was scheduled to finish a conference call about ten minutes ago, so he should be free by now. Give me a moment."

Her image is replaced by a slowly twisting logo for several seconds before the live feed returns. This time it is a familiar middle-aged man looking back at you. "Miss Taylor. Miss Dragon. Good morning to both of you."

It is already the early afternoon here in Philly, but expecting Enforcer Command to operate on local time is more that a little silly. You should be glad their clocks aren't set to China time, or you never would have been able to reach somebody the first time you called. "Hello to you too, Admiral."

You are unsure how to open the conversation about the Enforcers and their actions against you, but Tucson certainly isn't. Before you can say anything else at all, he is already talking. "I heard about what happened from Commander Erga and Lieutenant Commander Lanster. Miss Taylor, you have my personal apologies, as well as the regret of the Enforcers as an organization. That never should have happened, and I'm sorry that it did."

"Why did it happen, then?" Dragon demands, and your eyes turn in her direction before you force them back to Tucson's face. You didn't think she would be happy about the Enforcers' actions, but you were not expecting the cold anger you can hear in her voice. "To say that such behavior concerns me is a terrible understatement."

"I understand that quite well, Miss Dragon. I would be happy to explain the circumstances that led to this mistake, but the full explanation requires some context."

Dragon thinks over the matter for a moment before giving him a nod, and when he switches his gaze back to you you signal your acceptance as well.

"What you need to understand is that the Enforcers, while a peacekeeping organization, were born as a result of much darker eras. A little over a thousand years ago marks the end of the Warring Ages, a massive war between interdimensional empires that lasted for at least one millennium on its own and more likely multiple." He flicks his eyes meaningfully to your chest where Perfect Storm hangs. "I expect your Device can give you more information about that time period than I can if you are curious. After that, there were a few generations of relative peace under the unified Belkan Empire, but even that was torn apart by bloody civil war. It took centuries for the Empire to collapse completely, and after that it was another twenty years before enough worlds could stabilize their own governments enough to attempt more than token communications with their neighbors. Diplomacy was chosen as the new means by which to create unity, and the TSAB was formed to bring the Dimensional Sea together in a peaceful cooperative, one where each world has both its own liberty and a stake in the wider society.

"Unfortunately, products of the millennia of war are still out there, floating innocently in space. Ancient superweapons, machines designed for the explicit purpose of wiping out life wherever they were activated. We call these magical artifacts 'Lost Logia', and it was the first duty of the Enforcers to find and suppress these weapons before they could be accidentally or intentionally reactivated.

"Just over seven months ago, archeologists exploring a desolate region of the Sea called the Barren Sector reported finding an elaborate and ancient artifact. They initially contacted the TSAB to come and retrieve it, but…" Tucson shakes his head. "We can't say for sure what happened next. Maybe the artifact was set to reactivate when it was found. Maybe the scientists connected it to a power source to better study it and turned it on. We don't know. A small escort ship made it to the planet, and then contact was lost. A second, larger ship was sent out under the assumption that there had been a natural disaster, or perhaps that pirates had located the ships and attacked. It too went dark.

"It was only when the frigate on which Enforcer Lanster was stationed arrived on the scene that we learned anything about the situation. The artifact had indeed activated, and it had turned on the crews. Some were dead, but the majority had been enslaved and altered on a genetic and magical level, their memories and personalities erased to transform them into loyal soldiers for the Lost Logia's purposes. Between the archeologists, the two retrieval ships, and the sailors on the frigate, some five hundred people died before the Lost Logia could be contained, and the only reason that number wasn't higher was because there was no one left for it to attack."

He looks away for a moment before meeting your eyes with his own steely gaze. "After reviewing what information there was, it was determined that the Assimilation Engine deserved to be classified at the highest threat level we have for Lost Logia, Class 1. I will not go into the details of the criteria that make up the classification scheme, but at their core Class 1 Lost Logia are those devices that, if misused, would cause an extinction event that would spread to multiple nearby worlds. Tens of billions of people dead."

Silence reigns in the room before Dragon finally breaks it. "As interesting as that is, how does this excuse your soldiers attacking Taylor?"

"I didn't get around to telling her that part yet," you tell the admiral with an embarrassed grimace. "Dragon, this 'Assimilation Engine' they're talking about? Its real name is Immortal Assimilation Engine. We know it better as Perfect Storm, my Intelligent Device."

"None of us – not my men, not myself, not even you – had any reason to think the Lost Logia we were hunting had fallen into your hands and was operating in a docile manner. When it gave you its bombardment system, you took on the exact same Barrier Jacket as every other bombardment-type mage it had created. Since Lieutenant Commander Lanster had fought many of those mages the last time it was active, she recognized your appearance immediately and assumed you were also a victim of its conversion process. Attempts to communicate peacefully with converted mages had all failed, and rather than risk the entire team's elimination, Commander Erga approved the use of full force from the outset to capture the mage in question and attempt to interrogate her for information that would make it easier to stop the Lost Logia before it could kill any more people." His smile is completely empty of any kind of humor or amusement. "Obviously, the situation was more complicated than it first seemed."

"All of the converted mages had the same appearance? Without exception? And none of them until Taylor were able to be reasoned with?" Tucson nods, and the world's greatest Tinker shuts her digital eyes with a sigh before looking meaningfully at you. "I wish the Simurgh were so considerate."

"Ziz-bombs were where my mind went when they were explaining this the first time, too."

"When last we spoke, Admiral, I know we very briefly touched on the Endbringers, specifically the one called the Simurgh that is capable of driving her victims insane and twisting them into her weapons. The initial response to her victims once the danger was known was to kill them before they could cause more destruction, and even though we now have containment protocols for civilians in the cities where she attacks, the parahumans who gather to fight her off are also in danger of being compromised. Any parahuman who spends longer than a set length of time in her area of effect is therefore executed before they can pose a risk to other combatants or civilians and create greater casualties. It is not a decision we make lightly, but the risks of inaction were deemed to be far worse. As the person who designed and built the devices we use to perform such terminations, I understand and can sympathize with the position your men found themselves in. Being forced to kill people you know are innocent victims…" Dragon shakes her head. "It is a terrible thing all around."

"There's one thing that's been bothering me for a while," you say after a moment's pause. "You and the Enforcers both. You've been so upfront about the fact you screwed up. The first thing they did once they knew I was a regular mage was apologize, and then you did the same thing right from the start. Why? Aren't military organizations supposed to keep their mistakes under wraps?"

Tucson stares nonplussed at you for a long minute. A slight pursing of his lips, and he says, "I cannot speak for other organizations, but I apologized because the men under my command made a mistake that put your life in danger for what turned out to be no reason. Pretending it didn't happen is neither practical nor, in my opinion, ethical. Our first face-to-face meeting with you should have been a pleasant and mutually beneficial encounter. Instead, it was an utter fiasco that pains me on a professional and personal level."

"Professional I can understand," Dragon says. "These are soldiers under your command, and their actions, whether justified or not, now reflect badly on the Enforcers as a whole. But why would you be personally invested?"

"I'm invested because these are my people. That is not just in the sense that I am their commanding officer, but I'm one of them. I joined the Enforcers only a couple of years after I enlisted in the Navy. My entire career has been spent working through the ranks. I've seen with my own eyes the good that we do and the consequences that occur in our absence." He shakes his head. "How could I not be personally invested in my subordinates' actions? Their successes and failures reflect on our organization as a whole, and no law-abiding individual should ever have reason to view us with distrust."

You watch him, weighing his claims and comparing them to the actions of the Enforcers who attacked you and then let you go. Finally you ask the question that has been weighing on your mind for weeks. "After everything that's happened, how do I know I can trust you?"

Dragon glances between the two of you but keeps her option to herself.

"I know this is not a helpful answer, but ultimately you are the only person who can make that decision. If you don't feel you can trust us, how would anything I say in our favor sway you?" He gives you a shrug. "Obviously I want you to do so. Now that we know the truth about your Device and the Assimilation Engine's status, I can assure you that this mistake will not happen again. All we want for our relationship now is to offer you the chance to be part of a wider society you never knew existed. Whether you are willing to give us that second chance is a choice you will have to make for yourself."

The conversation peters out quickly after that, with Tucson asking a few questions of Dragon about the information she had included in the initial briefing packet before he is called away to a meeting of some kind. You break the connection and flop against the side of your bed. "What am I going to do?"

A sigh drags your attention back to Dragon's screen. "I wasn't there for the fight in question, so I can only speak based on what you and the admiral have said, but if what he said about you looking just like those converted mages was true, I can understand why the team you encountered would choose to shoot first and ask questions later. It sounded like they had already given the Immortal Assimilation Engine's victims the benefit of the doubt, and it blew up in their faces." Giving you a sad look, she asks, "You joined the response to the breakout from Brockton Bay if I remember right, didn't you?"

"I did." You have a good idea where she is going with this, much as you dislike the reminder. "The second day I joined the fight against what was left of the Empire. When they ambushed us… I didn't have a choice. None of us did." A dark chuckle slips through your lips as your head falls backwards. "Kaiser and the rest of his followers were too dangerous to be left alive. If we didn't kill them, their part in the Simurgh's plot would have killed hundreds or thousands more. We couldn't let that happen."

She does not elaborate on her point, but the damning thing is that she doesn't have to. "Are you free tomorrow?" you ask to change the subject.

"I think I can find some time. Why?"

"Just thought it was high time we head to the Dragonslayers' base and look through their stuff." Her expression perks up. "Tim told me you two have already talked about different ways to work around the limits your creator gave you. Maybe they had something that can make that task easier."

"Taylor, for this sort of adventure, nothing could stop me from tagging along."


For those of you who want nothing to do with the TSAB, bringing in the hero who builds the explosive armbands that kill capes for Ziz overexposure probably wasn't the best idea. About the only characters who might be more sympathetic to the Enforcers' position would be the Triumvirate due to their history with Cauldron.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Social – Dragon
-[] Exploring the Dragonslayers' base


Heatwave 9.7

Tuesday, June 7

Orange light fades around you, and you, Samantha, and Tim all take a step apart and look around the darkened lair. You pull up an email link while the others look for a light switch, and the massive room is well-lit when Dragon's avatar appears on the hologram. "Welcome to the former lair of Saint and the other Dragonslayers," you tell her with a cheeky smile.

"Do you know how long I have waited for this moment?" the heroine asks. "Five years. He has been exploiting my weaknesses and interfering with everything I do for five years. And now he's behind bars, incapable of causing any more trouble. I don't remember if I thanked you for capturing him, Taylor, but thank you. Truly."

"Oh, you don't need to thank me for that. After they attacked us on the ship? Crushing them was a pleasure."

"Before we look at anything else," she says after a moment, "could we find the Sybaris? I need to see what they did to it."

You grimace. You had found Dragon's latest design in their base, and you doubt she will like what there is to see. "Are you sure? They… They did a number on it."

"I wish I could say that was a surprise, but it really isn't. Nonetheless, I have to see it. Better to see it destroyed than imagine how they've adapted it into another suit with which to fight me."

If she insists on seeing it that much, then see it she will. You walk over to what is left of the ship, and a sigh escapes her when her gaze falls upon the half-disassembled ship. "For all that he has been fighting me, I still have no idea just why he hates me so much. Watching footage of their fights against other capes and comparing it to what they did with me, it always seemed very personal. The fact that they tear apart my suits to make their own doesn't help the issue."

"Is there any way we can salvage it?" Dragon is fully capable of building new suits, you know this, but resources aren't the problem here. You are more focused on the idea that maybe what Dragon needs to get out from under Saint's looming shadow is to rescue and restore one of the craft they had previously stollen from her.

She shakes her head. "The ship itself? Probably not, at least not within a reasonable amount of time. That is one of the downsides of automating most of my production steps. it saves on time, but repurposing them for a new purpose is an entirely different story. The only part of the ship you should worry about saving are the reconnaissance drones. It looks like that is what that pyramid of cylinders is." She shakes her head. "Otherwise, I would be better served making a new suit from scratch. It won't be the first time I've had to do that."

It takes a little searching, but soon enough you find a plastic bag you can dump all the drones into. Tying the neck into a knot, you heft it via telekinesis and set it bobbing along behind you while you walk over to where Tim is poking around the rack of Dragonsuits. "Find anything interesting?"

"Eh." He stands straight and shrugs, the screens at his side fading away. "They're impressive for what they are, functional power armor kitbashed together by people without magic or Tinker abilities showing them how to do it, but beyond that? Nothing Dragon or I or most other Tinkers couldn't do if we wanted to, and without worrying that it would fall apart on us. They have a few neat quirks, like the method they use to disperse energy-based attacks, but not much else. The most interesting part isn't even the armor itself but how it is designed to fold onto the pilot. It gives me ideas for how I can adapt some of the mechashift principles I've read about into the next set of armor I build."

His face falls then, no doubt thinking about how the Privateers are behaving now and whether he'll have to refuse to build another suit. "Mechashift?" you ask, more to distract him from that line of thought than because you're that interested.

It works. "It's the name of a build system I was reading about in Sextant's historical files. They were a mass-magic hybrid weapon that originated on the world of Ozpin. Guns that fired lasers or enchanted projectiles, but when the people carrying them got into close range, they transformed into melee weapons. It was apparently a necessity there because kind of like Earth, not everyone had magic, but anybody can learn how to use a gun or a sword. If I use a similar mechanic in armor, I can have it be in three or four parts that unfold into the full suit."

"Hey, guys," Samantha calls out, "didn't we come here to take a look at Saint's computer? It's over here, not where you are."

The raccoon woman taps her foot in faux impatience when the two of you plus Dragon meander your way over. You reach out to flick her nose, which sends her scurrying away in pet form. Tim does the responsible thing and opens a holographic screen that expands into a cube. A red dot lights up in the middle, and that is the signal for all its siblings to show up to the party to. Lines crisscross between them, and by the time the entire diagram is filled up, you have a headache just looking at it.

"What is that?" Dragon asks, apparently less discomforted with the nonsensical map than you are.

"I told Sextant to map out the computer system, but I think I forgot to account for the interconnections. Give me a minute." He plays with the diagram, causing lines to vanish and return at random, but then it resolves into a cluster of dots with the lines only moving from those dots at the edge towards some closer in and ending at the largest light in the middle. "Let's add labels, and done."

Something warm and furry lands on your upper back and knocks off your hat when it takes its place on top of your head. Dragon and Tim, the traitors, laugh at your yelp of surprise. «Why did you map it out like this?»

"After Taylor description of the interface, I decided it would be easier than trying to learn whatever arrangement Saint put together. Not to mention, this gives us names to match with the programs. For instance…" He taps one of the lights at the edge. "Moneybags."

The four black computer screens light up, and the overlapping windows they show resort themselves. "JP Morgan. Royal Bank of Canada. Deutsche Bank. Mizuho Financial. Industrial Bank of China?"

"Looks like the Dragonslayers were busy boys. They were tracking the financial activities of different cape groups all over the world." He whistles. "And not little groups, either. The PRT. The Guild. The Suits. Looks like even the Yàngbǎn. I don't know for sure whether they were pilfering money from those transactions, but just the information alone could be worth millions to the right people."

"What other programs do they have?" you wonder.

"Let's look. Butterfly Wings." A map of the world replaces the bank accounts, different colors smeared all over it. "No clue. Major Threats." Now there are clusters of text boxes and graphs, each group arranged around still images or video files. The three central groups feature the familiar visages of the Endbringers.

"This is my S-class tracking system." Dragon's voice is flat, and considering her nature, you wonder if it is her attempt at sounding calm or if she simply is not running whatever subroutine she uses to inject emotion into her voice. "Everything I know about their movements and actions is right here."

She doesn't know. You look over at her screen and then back at the box of lights. Near the node labeled Major Threats is another with the not at all ominous name of Wide Eyes. You tap it.

What fills the combined screen is a picture of the computer setup, complete with a smaller picture of the computer with an even smaller picture of the computer, on to infinity.

Tim turns to stare at Dragon, and you join him after a moment's hesitation. She blinks three times silently at the screen, and when she speaks again, her voice has lost any semblance of emotion. "They were watching my every move. For years. Everything I did, everyone I talked to, they saw through my own eyes.

"I think I understand now what it means to feel violated."

You look back at the computer map, anxious to find anything to distract her from this revelation. You had already suspected something like this, which you confirmed when the Dragonslayers moved after the building where you had told Dragon and only Dragon you moved the Agharti's radio, but that isn't what she needs to hear now. Skimming through the labels, you find one that sticks out. Most of them sound like joking nicknames, but this label is a single word you have never seen before. "Ascalon?"

The screen changes again.

Confirm?
{ Y / N }​

Everyone freezes. Taking a breath, Tim reaches out slowly to press the 'N' key on the keyboard. The screen returns to the same collection of random tabs and text boxes that was visible before he started playing with the different program modules.

«…What was that?»

"That is a very good question, Sam. Let's find out."

Your worry that he is about to pull up the dialogue box again proves to be unfounded. He flicks a finger within his diagram, and a second screen appears and fills with what even a blind man would be able to tell is computer code. "Huh," he says after scrolling through for a few seconds. "Dragon, what do you think?"

"I can't see it."

He enlarges the screen and turns it more towards her, but she shakes her head. "No, you don't understand. I can see your projection just fine. I can't read anything on it."

"How is that possible?" you ask.

"I don't know."

Tim looks a little closer at the code, muttering to himself as he moves back and forth through it. "It's a unique coding language. I don't think I've seen anything like it before. But, and this is a big but, if I'm reading it right, it looks like it's designed to track down and completely erase another program. Something called Emulation Model version 2.1."

"…Did you say Emulation Model 2.1?"

"Dragon," you say when the hero's avatar looks like she's one wrong word from bursting into tears, "what's wrong?"

"Dragon wasn't my original name. My father, Andrew Richter, created me in an attempt to make the most humanlike artificial intelligence he could. When Leviathan sank Newfoundland, that was my most recent upgrade. Version 2.1." She blinks rapidly. "He built this to kill me. Why? I hadn't done anything. Literally nothing! I couldn't even leave his lab until the island was sunk!"

"Tim, get rid of it. Now!"

He fiddles with the code screen for a moment before he moves towards the computer setup. "It's not a program in the main computer. It looks like it's a peripheral add-on…" His biceps bulge when he rips away one of the screens, and he digs around in the mess of wires that is revealed before pulling out a metal box the size of a toaster. "Here!"

A white-hot Flare Shooter forms in your hand. Hot enough to melt steel, hot enough to melt delicate circuits and computer chips.

"Stop! Wait."

"What are you talking about?" You turn around to stare at Dragon's screen. "You and Tim just said this would kill you. If it's that dangerous, let's just destroy it, and then you won't have to worry about it anymore."

"I realize that, but…" Her avatar fragments a time or two before she speaks with more confidence. "It might also hold the answer to a question I've been asking myself for a while now. We can take it to my main fabrication plant, where I keep my server. It will be safe there, and I can work with it on my own time."

«And the rest of this place? You can't take everything back with you,» Samantha points out.

"Nor do I want to. It should all be put to the torch."

That much you can do. A swing of your staff, and Flare Shooters burn through the front door of the base. All three of you can fly, though Tim is a little unsteady since he flies so rarely, and Dragon's screen drifts along behind you. You do a quick double check. You have the bag filled with the drones, Tim has the Ascalon module, Samantha is in human form rather than perched on your head. Everything's good.

"Would you mind if I do the honors?" you ask Dragon.

"Not at all. Raze it to the ground."

Easier done than said, almost. Fire gathers at the tip of Perfect Storm, and the four of you watch as a beam of nuclear fire scorches the very air and rips through the lair. The portion of the roof that is not immediately destroyed melts under the heat billowing up from inside and crumbles. The walls collapse. If the outside of the building is destroyed this quickly, there is no way the computer system could have possibly survived.

No one will spy on Dragon again.

"If you give me the coordinates of your plant, I can bring everything to you," Tim says to the other heroine. He takes the drone bag and descends to the ground. A casting triangle spins into place below him, and then he vanishes in a burst of deep green light.

Samantha nudges you. "That's our signal to leave, too, don't you think?"

"Yeah. We probably should." You glance at the molten building again with a smile. "I think Smokey Bear might get mad at us if we tried to help anymore around here."


+1 Inspiration to Subdermal Voltaic Lattice (2 points).

There goes the last external limitation on Dragon's activities. It doesn't free her completely since she still has her own internal restrictions, but now even if Saint managed to get free (which I didn't have planned), there's nothing he can do to get in her way.

Finally you get a vote, and appropriately it is Tim's build schedule for the week. Remember that he has four time slots to use. The vote will open in 24 hours.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Tickets to Gangland, Part 2
-[] Ambush Vista


Heatwave 9.8

Thursday, June 9

"I can't decide if the PRT moved quickly or slowly with this."

Samantha slows down and spins around, drifting backwards through the air. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, sure, they didn't have absolutely confirmation that villains from other cities were invading until a week ago, so I can't hold the time before that against them. It's what they've done since that has me on the fence." You wave at the crowd on the ground not too far from where the pair of you float. It isn't just civilians there, either; there are a few local heroes in costume scattered around, too. "Setting up a full press conference like this in a week is probably pretty quick, I would think. But wouldn't it be faster just to pull in the heroes they're about to introduce and tell them what's going instead of making this into a three-ring circus?"

"Maybe they want to do it this way so the independent heroes don't assume they're new villains? Or make the villains who know about them quiver in their boots?" It's clear she is fishing for a reason that doesn't make this one giant waste of time, and she helplessly shrugs when you shoot her an unimpressed look.

The Protectorate is moving some of their capes around to deal with this chaos. That's the only part that matters in the end, you suppose. It helps that you recognize a few of the capes onstage— "Sam, get back here!"

The irrepressible Guardian Beast darts away and shifts into her unremarkable raccoon form. She is not capable of true flight like that, but with all the momentum she had just built up, a controlled fall is well within her skills. It just so happens that said controlled fall is taking her towards a pair of Wards, one of whom is extremely familiar. Before she hits the ground, she is back in human form and grabbing the young teen in both arms.

"Gahh! Lemme go!"

"Don't complain too much," you tell Vista as you land beside her. "It's better than being picked up in her mouth again." Turning to the other Ward, you hold out a hand. "Calamity Witch, and this is my partner Samantha. I don't think I've had the opportunity to meet you before."

The boy grasps your hand in his own dark glove, its color a contrast to his pale grey bodysuit. "Flambé. Nice to meet you."

Ah, now you recognize him. He's the Ward who creates and controls constructs made from ash. And here is the hard part about meeting new people: coming up with something to talk about. With Vista it was easy. You were a newbie, she wasn't, there you go. You have too much experience behind you to pull the fresh cape card, and from what Vista told you and the way Bouncer acted when you met him, the Wards here have even less practice in fighting crime than you do. If anything, it should be you giving him advice, but doing that out of the blue is way more arrogant than you are or want to come across as, especially on the first meeting.

Samantha takes the opportunity or dilemma, whichever you wish to call it, out of your hands. Literally. "Nice to meet you too," she says, grabbing his hand with her own and pumping it enthusiastically. «We need to get you more comfortable with meeting new people, but maybe not today. Just go over there and chatter with Vista.»

Good idea. Sending your Guardian Beast a quick telepathic thank you, you definitely do not scurry towards the hero you actually know. From the way Vista's lips quiver, she sees through it anyway. "Oh, bite me," you mutter when the battle against her giggles is well and truly lost.

"Are… Are you sure you want me to do that… with so many strangers around?"

You flick her forehead, and she loses her balance and slumps against the wall, still laughing at you. "Just for that, you can forget about coming with me the next time I do something fun."

"Something fun?" She takes a few deep breaths to rein in her laughter. "What were you planning to do?"

You rewind the last couple of seconds and curse in your head. That was an empty threat, but you can see how she might have gotten the impression that you had plans and were willing to bring her along. And now you feel like a jerk because she looks almost excited to go off and do something, in that faux-stoic way of hers. "Uh…"

Quick, Taylor, think! Samantha had joked a couple of days ago about how different vacations could be if everyone involved could teleport, hadn't she?

"Well, it wasn't anything definite, but I figured, um, maybe we could go globetrotting for a bit?"

"…What?"

"You've seen my teleportation before. It isn't limited just to places nearby." You swing your arm open to encompass the whole globe. "If I can find coordinates for it, I can go there. Anywhere, everywhere, wherever. The world is my oyster."

Earth Aleph and maybe undiscovered worlds, as well, but that is something you haven't tried yet. It would also overload poor Vista's brain if the look in her eyes is any indication.

Eventually her mind reboots, and to your amusement it goes straight into greedy five-year-old mode. "You know I was just poking fun at you, right? I didn't really mean it," she says in a wheedling voice.

"I hope not. I only take good little girls on vacation." You snicker at her rolling eyes and dodge her attempted shove. "Where would you want to go, anyway?"

What comes out of her mouth is less a planned itinerary and more of a slew of major cities and attractions all over the world. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up!" you tell her, cutting off her word-vomit with a laugh. "This isn't a once in a lifetime, miss it and it's gone kind of offer. We don't have to go everywhere at once. And," you add as you think about her previous reluctance to unmask herself a month or so ago, "this wouldn't be a Calamity Witch and Vista outing. It'd be Taylor and Missy. Think about it and let me know if you're interested in doing something like that sometime."

"Well, I don't have anything to do Saturday?" she says after a moment's pause. Her tone turns a little mocking as she explains, "Director Paulson is a big believer in the idea that being a Ward is a part-time job. It's… frustrating and boring. This sounds a whole lot more fun."

"And you'd be okay with going around out of costume?"

Her hesitation is more obvious this time, but she rallies herself nonetheless. "Yeah. Yeah, why not. We'll just be two white girls traipsing around all over the world. It's not like costumes would make us any more recognizable."

While you were talking, the press conference had started, and already the first speaker is stepping aside to make room for Director Paulson, an older man who looks like he would be more at home in a library than leading a law enforcement agency. It makes you glad the Wards weren't expected to do guard duty, because that would be a little awkward. "—vert," he is saying as the thin man in uniform moves back into position in front of the column of dressed up agents. "In addition to reinforcements from the Chicago PRT office, several heroes have also volunteered to stay here until this influx of criminals is over. Protectorate heroes Anomaly and Assault are here from Chicago, along with their Wards, Tecton and Clockblocker. From Boston, we are also hosting Glory Girl and… Mouse Protector."

If he hoped to keep his disappointment hidden, he has failed horribly. The well-known and only occasionally beloved heroine hops in front of the lectern nonetheless. As distracting as her antics are, you can't help but look at Glory Girl instead. You're a Brockton Bay native; you know all about the shining star of New Wave. You wouldn't say that her expression right now reflects that reputation. If anything, she looks morose, her attention only half on the press conference and half on playing with a bracelet around her wrist.

Your elbow lodges into Vista's ribs. "You're the queen of PHO info," you tell her when she glances over. "Do you have any idea why Glory Girl looks so down?"

"No, I don't." She frowns and tilts her head in thought. "If I had to take a guess, though, I would expect it to have to do with her probation maybe? What those details are, I couldn't tell you. The normal sources all moved on to other topics was the news was broken."

Her eyes turn towards Assault and Clockblocker now that the official announcement portion of this dog and pony show is over and the meet and greet has begun, and you give her a little nudge in their direction. "A blind girl could see you want to talk to them. Get a move on." She rolls her eyes, but if the way she warps space to take her closer to the pair is any indication, she appreciates the nudge.

Meanwhile, you suppose you should go out and introduce yourself to a couple of people, too, if only so you can rub it in Samantha's face later. You can meet new people without her help if you want to!

You swoop over the crowd toward your chosen victim. The ex-Brocktonites are busy either catching up with Vista or being herded around by Mouse Protector, so you go after the Chicagoans. "Hey," you tell the Ward in dull brown power armor. "Welcome to Philadelphia. I'm Calamity Witch."

He gives you a nod. "Tecton, though I want to say we've met before. You look familiar."

What? «Storm, a little help please.»

«Searching memory… Match found. Brockton Bay, when Mistress returned to fight.»

Now that you think about it, it could have been. "Were you at Brockton Bay during the breakout? Went after the Nazis?"

"Yep. I was." He snaps his fingers. "Right, you're the one who took everyone into some alternate dimension. I was part of the Brute force." You nod your understanding, and a frown crosses his face beneath his helm as he points into the crowd. "Since we're talking about our bad memory for faces, do you know who he is?"

Following his fingers leads your eyes to an all-white figure edging away from the crowd. "That's Shard. Local hero, creates sonic blasts. I don't know much else about him."

"Odd. He looks familiar, too, but I can't place him at all." Tecton shrugs. "Oh well. It's probably nothing."


It's funny, I was thinking about where Vista would want to go (I was a weird kid and my idea of fun is probably not the best baseline) when I realized, hey, let's make the players do the legwork for me.

Vista requests to go to
[ ] Write in

You can vote for as many places as you want, and I'll take the top, hmm, three or four choices. That's not to say they'll all be seen on-screen, but they'll be mentioned at least.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Social – Vista
-[] Slumberdome


Heatwave 9.9

Saturday, June 11

You float above the city in the afternoon sun, only a short distance away from the Protectorate base. It is probably strange for a fifteen-year-old girl to want to spend time with a thirteen-year-old, but despite the age gap you wouldn't hesitate to call Vista a friend. She's fun, with an admittedly wicked sense of humor sometimes, and she knows what she's doing as a hero.

Missy, her civilian alter ego, you're not so close to, but that's what today is for. You won't be running around in Barrier Jacket and costume. Your street clothes are in the dimensional pocket where Perfect Storm always stuffs your outfit when you transform, and as soon as she shows up you'll switch out. Like she said a few days ago, you will just be two regular girls enjoying the sights the world has to offer.

The fact that it gets you out of the house is a nice benefit. Staying at Kurt and Lacey's apartment has gotten a little awkward, thanks in no small part to the venting the man of the house has been doing whenever the topic of the Privateers comes up. You stopped asking pretty quickly when it became clear that doing so would uncork what sounds like an ever-deepening well of aggression. From what he said to you and Samantha added on to what you've overheard between him and Lacey, it sounds like the Privateers are pulling apart even further and consolidating into two factions, the first led by Alexander and focused on fighting crime with clean hands and the second rallying behind Ramirez to crush criminals no matter the consequences. Kurt, to your regret, has not officially chosen a side yet but has made it clear that he is leaning more and more towards siding with Martinez.

It makes you feel especially bad for Lacey, whose suggestions that everyone try to reconcile have gone largely ignored even by her husband.

A young teen girl appears around a corner, and you drop down to meet her. Despite most of her face being visible in costume, that visor really changes her features. She looks at you in your Barrier Jacket, then herself in shorts and a T-shirt that covers the metal ring of her arm, and asks, "Did I misunderstand the dress code?"

"Nope." Your costume scatters into orange sparks when your heels hit the pavement, and now you are dressed just as casually. "See? Ready to go. Where are we going, for that matter?"

"I figured we could try something a little closer to home to start," Vista says, holding up her phone to show a photo of a recognizable American landmark. "You ever been to the Grand Canyon?"

No, but that is a mistake easily rectified. A wave of light, and you arrive on the edge of the canyon. You chance a glance to your left and swallow. Even with your Barrier Jacket a thought away, even with a space-warper at your side, even with flight…

That's a long way down.

"I'm starting to rethink this idea," she agrees with your unspoken comment. A twist of reality, and the two of you take a step of several dozen feet and wind up behind the protective fence. "No offense, but I don't want to be in the position where you need to catch me before I go splat."

"None taken."

A couple of hours to tour your home country's greatest geological marvel, and by the time the sun is going down you're getting bored. "Where next?" you ask the girl as you guide her out of sight.

Next turns out to be another famous locale, though this one a significant distance farther away. "Did you know I looked up how long it would take to get here by plane?" the girl asks, hoping on top of the fence of a nearby pier as though that would offer her a better vantage point of the famous peaks of the Sydney Opera House. "Cause I can't warp space that far; I have to be able to see where I'm going. Twenty-four hours. An entire day and two thousand dollars to get here from home." She flashes you a grin. "Calamity Airways is a much better deal."

"…Did you just call me cheap?"

The younger girl rolls her eyes, and you tap her shoulder and gesture for her to follow. "Why are we just standing around? It's the middle of the morning here. Let's go on a tour."

«Hey, Storm? Do you have access to our bank account back home?» The gem around your neck chimes once, and you step into line for tickets. «Hack the card reader and take the money for the tour out of our account.»
«Why Mistress desires to spend her own money? Other funds available.»
You flick your hand when it's almost your turn, and a holographic screen shaped like a black credit card appears in your hand. You give your Device a quick glance for its cheek and swipe it through the machine. Sure enough, the bored-looking boy at the desk hands you a couple of tickets, the true nature of your credit card going unnoticed.
«Access of known bank account of villain Coil successful. Transfer in progress.»
Grabbing Vista's right arm, you tug her to the side once the tour is complete. "I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say all the destinations on today's itinerary are famous places you want to tour?" She blushes and nods. "Then we're making a short detour." A screen shows up on in your palm out of sight of any unsuspecting bystander, and you show her the view of the seaside. "Apparently this is the best time to see both whale sharks and minke whales at the Great Barrier Reef."

"…Okay, but I don't have a swimsuit. And you're not buying me one. That's going a little beyond what I'm comfortable with." She gives your clothes a suspicious eye. "Are you hiding a bikini under that or something?"

"Nope! Transforming costume. One outfit for any occasion."

Vista blinks at you. "I really don't like you right now."

A couple of hours with the whales, and her opinion has changed. You wait for Missy to change out of her one-piece back into her regular clothes, and then you whisk her away to the next spot on your list: Paris. Unfortunately, it's still dark when you arrive, so the pair of you are left with wandering the city and looking at the sights from a distance.

On the plus side? When a cafe opens up, you are the first customers to enjoy their freshly baked croissants.

Missy waits for you to finish chatting with the young waitress who delivers your food and coffee. "Maybe it's a good thing we came here instead of Rome. I didn't think about the fact that neither of us know Italian. I'm just lucky you're fluent in French."

How would she react if you told her you don't speak a lick of it and this is all Perfect Storm doing the heavy lifting, you wonder as you spread butter on the hot crescent. Probably gape and grumble good-naturedly. "Mm-hmm. Lucky's one word for it, that's for sure. What's next on your bucket list turned world tour?"

"I was…" She clacks her teeth shut and squeezes her eyes closed, but still you can hear the yawn she's doing her absolute best to keep in. She shakes her head. "I was going to suggest heading to Mexico to see some of the ruins, but I don't know that I'd be able to make it. I'm just so tired right now."

"Well, no wonder." You show her a screen with Philly time on it. "It's four in the morning back home."

"…Yeah, that'd be why I'm tired."

Time to go home. You swallow what's left of the croissant, and while you choke that down because in hindsight that was way too big a bite, a thought crosses your mind. Probably the lack of oxygen to your brain, but with your lack of sleep you still think it a fine idea. "Do you want to go back to the base now? If not… I was wondering if you wanted to finish the day off with a sleepover?"

It's a risk, and not just because it invites somebody into your home. The first, last, and only other person you ever had a sleepover with was, well, Emma. You don't need to do much to remember how that turned out. You don't think that Missy would abandon you and turn on you the way Emma did, but a few years ago you wouldn't have thought Emma would do that to you, either.

But that's the thing. She did abandon you, she did turn on you, and you suffered for it. All that is left for you now is to decide if you're willing to make decisions based on how Emma abused your trust and keep yourself distant from everyone who you want to trust, or if you'll start looking at the scars she left as old wounds best ignored and try to let someone else in again.

Even with the fatigue filling her face, her eyes gleam with what little excitement she has left. "Yeah. That sounds great. When do we leave?"

The last gulp of coffee vanishes down your throat, and you grab her hand to lead her outside and around the corner into an empty alley. "Right now."

The familiar orange light fades away, and this time instead of foreign delights your surroundings are more homely. A couple of lamps are still on, allowing the pair of you to navigate through the living room towards your bedroom. Along the way Missy stops to coo at the raccoon lying curled up in the middle of a dog bed with her eyes closed. You, on the other hand, give Samantha a second look; when did she buy herself a dog bed, and since when does she sleep there instead of nestling up on top of your pillow?

Flicking the lights off, you close the door to your bedroom and wave at the four walls sheepishly. "Well, this is my room, and… yeah." Missy tries to hide her sniggers behind her hand. A lightbulb goes off in your brain. "Hold up. I think I have something for you."

"Wait, you do?"

"That I do. Where did I stash it…? Aha!"

A white metal case comes out from under your bed, and you drop it on top of the mattress and open it to reveal what at first glance looks like a severed arm. "Tim made it a little bit ago. Remember how he said he was working on sensory upgrades to give you a wider range of touch and temperature? He figured out—"

A click, a whir, and you turn around to find the girl struggling with her now-stiff prosthetic. She gives you a sheepish grin. "Uh, sorry to interrupt, but could I get a little help here?"

It takes you a minute, but eventually the pair of you twist it just right to remove it and hook the new arm into place. As it goes through its startup sequence, Missy moves her shoulder around. "It this lighter than the other one?"

"Yep. Shipwright said he used a different alloy for the skeleton. It's lighter, but it's also much less durable. Between that and the sensory upgrades, this is purely a civilian arm. The original probably wouldn't be able to stand up to hits from anybody with superstrength, but this one definitely won't."

"But I can treat it like my right arm though, right? Then that's fine. No doing anything stupid, got it." You move the old prosthetic to the case, and that is when she adds in a much less certain voice, "Shipwright isn't planning on getting rid of that one, is he? It's just, I mean, he did say that this was a modular arm, and he said something about being able to give it armor plating and maybe some weapons of some kind…"

The last is said in a mumble, but you catch it nonetheless. Giving her a look, you close the case and move it under the bed. "Are you interested in a combat arm?"

"…Yeah. A little. More than a little."

"Okay. That's definitely possible." She perks up at that, and you sit on the bed and motion for her to join you. She's quick to take you up on the offer. "If you had a combat prosthetic, what would you want on it?"

"Armor. Definitely armor." Considering she did not choose to lose her original biological left arm, you can understand the reasoning for that. "For weaponry… I don't know. I don't know what all he can build and what he could stuff into the arm and what my reactor would be able to power." She shrugs. "I'd need to talk to him about it before I made any final decisions."

That jogs your memory, and you watch her out of the corner of your eye. "Speaking of the reactor, I know Shipwright went to Boston to give Armsmaster and some Tinkertech scientists or review board or something a rundown of the reactor and how it worked. He didn't want to talk about it when he got back. What happened up there?"

"Not much." She nods at your frown of doubt. "Seriously. The thing you have to understand about Armsmaster is that he has a bit of an attitude. We used to joke sometimes that he always carried two halberds around, one in his hand and the other shoved up his butt. That goes double when he deals with other Tinkers. Shipwright offered to explain the details, but Armsmaster really didn't seem interested. I guess he thought the whole thing was a waste of time or something. He offered to build something similar but 'more efficient' for me, but…" Missy shrugs again. "The way he said it, it sounded like he saw it as more of an obligation to offer because I used to be one of his Wards? I don't really know. Anyway, once I told him no that was the end of that. It really was a big waste of time, but nobody told me I had to get rid of the arm, so that's a win in my books."

You stare at the younger girl for a moment. "Weird," you finally say. "I know Dragon is friends with him, but she's nothing like that. It's strange that they can still be friends when she's nice as can be and he sounds like a major jerk."

"I know, right— Wait a minute." She blinks at you. "You talk to Dragon? Since when?"

"She emailed me shortly after I moved here. My power's a complicated mess, but she was interested in the Tinker aspect of it." Do you want to go into more detail, about Perfect Storm and magic and all the rest of the revelations that entails? You watch her stifle another yawn. No, not right now. Neither of you is awake enough to have that conversation. Maybe some other time, or maybe once you've had a good night's sleep you'll decide that is a terrible idea. Either way, not a decision to make tonight. "Anyway, she's really nice, and Shipwright and I have talked to her on a few occasions."

"Huh— Uhhhhhhhh." The yawn escapes at long last, and you laugh at her embarrassed reaction. "Hey, it's not my fault it's so late. Early. Whatever."

"Not your fault, but still funny." You dig around in your dresser for a minute. "I think I have some of my old things if you want to borrow them for the night."

Not long after that you've both plopped down on the bed, and you flip the lights off. "This is nice," Missy says out of the blue. "I was already a Ward when sleepovers became a big thing, and Brockton Bay being Brockton Bay, I didn't have any time to do stuff like this. Even if I had, there was no one to do it with. It's not like I could talk to the other girls in my grade about my work. All the boys on the team were boys, enough said. Shadow Stalker was just ugh. Not a whole lotta choice there."

"What about New Wave?" you ask. Sure, the capes of New Wave lived their lives unmasked, but their names being publicly known was a very different thing from sharing everything about themselves in open sight. The fact that Glory Girl had assaulted and almost killed people and Panacea had worked to keep it all a secret was proof enough of that.

"Well, no one would have a slumber party with Panacea. She wasn't a bad person, at least not what I knew about her at the time, but she wasn't what you'd call a 'people person'. Kind of funny considering she spent all her free time at the hospital. Vicky, Glory Girl…" She trails off. "I had issues with her that weren't her fault. Not really, and I don't think she ever knew I didn't like her.

"It's funny, but if I had known I'd be making friends with college girls, I might have tried getting to know Laserdream and Shielder instead."

You can't help it. You snort, choke, and then break out into laughter. "College girls?" you ask once your voice decides to cooperate again. "Who have you been hanging out with that you're spending time with college kids?"

"You!" You hear her shift around on her half of the bed. "You're eighteen or nineteen, right? So you'd be the same age as Laserdream."

Eighteen or nineteen. Someone's been listening to Miss Militia. You know the gun-toting heroine thinks you're old enough to be in the Protectorate, and that uncorrected assumption has served you well, but this time you'll have to break your silence. "Missy, I'm not eighteen. I'm not in college. I just finished my sophomore year of high school. I'm only a couple of years older than you."

"What?!"

You keep laughing long after her huff of frustration, and a smile still adorns your face when you shift around to find the most comfortable position on the bed. "Good night, Missy."

"…Good night, Taylor."


Gained Key Item "Partial-sensory prosthetic left arm".
Removed Key Item "Upgraded full-sensory prosthetic left arm".
Added Vista character sheet.

Let the dawwws flow through you. Once you've taken insulin for your new-found diabetes, it's time to discuss next week's activities. Pick two main activities…

• Tickets to Gangland, Part 3 – The Protectorate dared the invaders to respond when they called in reinforcements. The new villains are more than happy to take them up on that. Another fight breaks out, and it's your duty to lend a hand.
• Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Part 2 – Dragon was mollified by the Admiral's explanations, and considering the circumstances, you can understand where they're coming from. Now it's time to get more information straight from the horse's mouth. Teleport to the ship with a list of questions for the Enforcers.
• Long Live the King, Part 3 – After a week of increasing tension, Kurt has started calming down about the Privateers' problems. But is this a sign of resolution or just the calm before the storm? Stick your nose in and try to find out what's really going on.
• Looking for Trouble – Go on patrol and maybe befriend someone. Or Befriend someone. Same thing, right? Maybe you'll even see someone familiar.

…and two social activities.

• Social – This can be hanging out, exploring other worlds, training, whatever.
• Social – This can be hanging out, exploring other worlds, training, whatever.

Take 24 hours to think it over.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Social (Vista & Shipwright)


Heatwave 9.10

Sunday, June 12

That little seed of an idea you had last night – or perhaps early this morning might be more accurate – took root and sprouted as you slept, and it is for this reason that your next casting of Spatial Translocation carries you and Missy not to the Protectorate base or a building near it but instead to the inside of Tim's workshop. She needs to talk to him about what she wants the arm to look like and contain, and while he's working on that, you will tell her the truth about magic.

You look at the younger girl from the corner of your eye. There is no telling how this conversation is going to go. In the best case, she's enthusiastic about magic, you find an active Linker Core, and she becomes another mage in your address book and one without the sticky moral issues the mystically adept Adepts pose. In the worst case, she laughs in your face for being another 'weirdo cape', or even hates or fears you. More likely her reaction will lie somewhere in between those extremes, but exactly where that will be you cannot predict.

Opening the door to Shipwright's inner sanctum of sorts, you find him messing with a collection of cubes, each a different color and all of them attached to one another by wires and cords. Above and to his side floats a display of Dragon's avatar. You raise your hand and are about to call out to him when he touches one of the cubes with a tool shaped something like a soldering iron. It unfolds by means of innumerable sliding pieces until it looks almost like a mouth that latches onto another box and disassembles it before all the different pieces slot back together in a single dual-colored cube.

"That's not weird at all," Missy says to no one in particular.

Her voice distracts both Tinkers from their collaboration, and Tim gives you a wave. "Morning Taylor, Vista. What brings you here?"

"Work, if you have the time for it." Walking over, you drop the case containing Missy's old arm on the floor next to the table. It isn't a normal table, though, not if the glassy surface covered in a grid of lines of various widths is any indication. This must be the programming station Tim had said he needed if he wanted to build Devices, Unison or otherwise. "Vista's patience ran out, and she finally asked for that combat arm you all but promised her."

He snickers and gives the other girl an amused look. "Not gonna lie, I was wondering how long it would take to get around to this. Only problem is I can't exactly get to it right now." He waves one hand over the collection of shapes. "I'm kind of in the middle of a delicate project."

"Every project has convenient stopping points, though," Dragon points out, giving both you and Vista a smile. "Just because it would be a bad idea to set this particular item to the side doesn't mean it is impossible take a break now and then. A few minutes even to make some concept designs won't hurt it. After all, you can't promise a girl a present and fail to deliver, now can you?"

Missy laughs at the wink that is delivered alongside that taunt.

"Fine, fine. I know when I'm outnumbered. Blasted estrogen squad," he replies in a faked mutter. Pulling up a hologram showing one of the blueprints he made for Missy's arm, he grabs an actual physical pencil and starts sketching additions onto it. The crudely drawn lines automatically correct themselves. At your questioning look, he blushes bright red. "Not a peep out of you. I'm an accountant, not an artist."

Leaving him to his task, you focus instead on your guest, who has chosen to examine the components for what can only be Dragon's future Unison Device body. "Alright. I've been good, I haven't poked my nose in anywhere it wasn't invited, but now I have to ask. What is Shipwright's actual specialty?"

That's a convenient enough opening for you to use. "His specialty is a little weird. It's… Well, it's magical technology."

"…Magic."

"Yeah. Magic."

She blinks at you for a moment. "Okay, I know there's supposed to be a punchline there somewhere, but I can't see it."

"No punchline. No joke. I'm talking about real, actual magic." After a mental prod, Perfect Storm projects the diagram you put together while waiting for her to wake up this morning. Missy looks at the human outline with only its brain and nerves still visible, and more specifically at the blue splotch in the middle of the spinal cord. Time for yet another scientific-ish explanation of magic. "A minority of people, about five percent or so, have a genetic mutation that causes them to gather particles from a multidimensional energy field in a neural structure called a Linker Core. When properly applied, that energy can be used to create all sorts of effects in the world. Effects like flight, teleportation, forcefields, or fireballs."

"In other words, all the stuff you can do," she says, seeing where you're going with this. "But how do you know that's 'magic' and not just another part of your normal parahuman power?"

"That's what I thought at first, too," Dragon says, startling the both of you. "It took an MRI and an EEG for me to accept that Calamity Witch actually has no gemma and a dead corona pollentia. She can't possibly have powers based on what we know about parahumans, and yet she does."

"People can have parahuman powers without having a Linker Core. People can have magic without parahuman powers, as both Shipwright and I can attest. And I know of a couple of people who I'm ninety-nine percent sure have both. The two have nothing to do with each other as far as we can tell.

"There's a reason I'm telling you this." Missy's eyes brighten as she no doubt figures out your plan. "If you'd like, I can scan you—"

"If you're seriously offering to make me a magical girl, the answer is always going to be yes."

Good enough. Your Barrier Jacket unfolds around you, and she holds still while the blue lights sweep over her. Soon your Devices speaks its fateful words.

"Scan complete. No Linker Core detected."

Oh. You've changed your mind. Having her be enthusiastic about learning magic only to disappoint her by telling her she doesn't have it after all is actually the worst possible option.

"Oh." She takes a breath and shakes her head. "Well, that sucks. Having magic sounded pretty cool."

"I really am sorry, Vista."

"Sorry? For what? You said it yourself, it's rare. Five percent of people, wasn't it? I rolled the dice just like anyone else; I just didn't get lucky. Not your fault." She gives you a weak smile. "Not unless you're anti-non-magical or something. You aren't starting Magical Girl Empire 88 or something here, are you?"

Reaching out, you grab her shoulder and pull her into a one-armed hug. "Vista, it's your smart mouth that's going to drive me off one of these days, not your lack of magic. If anything, it means you won't be able to chase me down so easily."

"Taylor. Seriously. Space is my plaything. You'd only get away from me if I let you."

"…Oops."

You turn your eyes to the ceiling in a desperate plea for courage. "No. Shipwright, no oops. Oops is bad. We aren't having oops right now."

"It's not that bad. It's just, I forgot to take a few things into account when I offered to build a dedicated combat arm."

"You can't do it?" asks a crestfallen Missy.

"No, no, no. I can do it. That isn't the problem." You finally look at him, surrounded by a small swarm of screens and what looks like a holographic calculator that he's tapping at with the eraser end of his pencil. "The problem is that I didn't take into account the weight of the material I'd need to use. I can build you a new arm, but actually using it is going to require more surgery."

She narrows her eyes at him. "How much more are we talking about here?"

"Depends on how tricked out you want the arm." He dismisses most of the screens and arranges three of them in front of him. The fourth he lets float to his side to show a diagram of somebody's chest with all their skin peeled away and their left arm almost completely chopped off. He holds up the first of the screens, which shows a blueprint that doesn't look all that different from the arm she wears now. "Option one. This is the most lightly armored of the possibilities. Think your old arm with a firm Kevlar skin. I have some upgrades I can throw in, but it's still closer to body armor than powered armor. Weapon-wise, I could give you some lasers or energy projections, but they would all be fairly small. No laser cannons that can blow a hole in a tank, but knocking down muggers and non-Brute capes? No problem." He taps the anatomy screen, and the bone in the upper arm turns red. "It wouldn't take much surgery, either, comparatively. Just need to replace what's left of your humerus with a solid metal version."

The first screen he pushes to the side, and he lifts the second to take its place. This arm is wearing an armored gauntlet reaching almost to the elbow, and at the shoulder it has a funny sling or something. "Option two is a major step up. Plates of armor over the hand and forearm, and it would include a folding plate that slides over your shoulder to protect the reactor and the joint itself. Still has soft armor on the upper arm portion, unfortunately. You would have more options for offense with this arm. The hardlight and lasers could go anywhere, but I could include collapsable mechashift weapons in the hand and wrist, not to mention stronger muscles in the forearm for grip. Have you ever wanted to crush a steel pipe in one hand like it's a soda can?" He waves his hand in a 'there you go' gesture.

"The problem is that we're talking substantially more weight here, even with the best weight-to-strength ratios of the materials I have to work with. More weight than your body can tolerate on its own. I'd need to do some fairly major surgery to prevent your own arm from crippling you. Replace the humerus like before, but I'd also have to reinforce your shoulder blade." A red outline takes shape around the bone in question, and then more lines crisscross over a number of the muscles nearby. "It isn't just bone, though. I'd have to give several of your muscles help too. Pectoralis major in the chest, deltoid in the shoulder, trapezius in the upper back, plus all the muscles that go from your shoulder blade to your arm. I'd probably wind up sheathing them in metalweave to take the brunt of the tension off," he says almost to himself.

You aren't sure what you think of that, but before you say anything you need clarification. "Metalweave?"

"It's a composite material I've been tinkering with lately. A mesh of graphene fibers with specks of different alloys sprinkled throughout the structure. Very strong, not biologically reactive, perfect for implantation in the human body longterm.

"Anyway, that's that. Then there's option 3." This diagram is the most detailed of them all, looking almost like an arm off a twenty-fifth century knight. "Full armor plating, fingertip to shoulder. Increased strength, energy weapons, mechashift, some weird combination of the above? You want it, you got it, whatever and wherever. Now comes the bad news. This is the heaviest arm, and then if you add enhanced strength, it would definitely rip itself off your body if you weren't careful. That means the most surgical revision."

"How much more surgery could you even do? You're talking about covering my bones and muscles in metal," Missy points out.

"There's the rub. Covering." The crosshatching expands to cover an entire quarter of the diagram's torso. "To use this kind of arm, we'd be talking complete overhaul. Metal bones. Synthetic muscles. I'd have to send some of the power from your generator to the muscles, too, so that means that you'd only be able to run three weapons instead of the four I can give you on any of the other arms. Then again, you get superstrength out of the deal, so that should probably count as a weapon all by itself."

He tilts his head. "Technically, there is a fourth option, I suppose. If you don't want any more surgery, you can just use your old arm. I don't know if you noticed, but it has a denser skeleton than the one you're wearing now. It won't have any armor or weapons, though.

"Anyway, those are your choices. I'm sorry I didn't think of this before I performed surgery on you the first time, but I was focused on being as minimally invasive as I could get away with for what you needed." He spreads his arms, the screens moving to orbit him slowly. "This is the broadest selection I can give you. Where we go from here is up to you, Vista."


Too bad for Vista, no magic. I suppose she'll have console herself with being just a space-warping morality pet. With a prosthetic arm.

And speaking of arms, you get to vote for what kind of arm she will ask for. This vote WILL have a moratorium because in addition to the obvious, it determines how interested or not Vista is in transhumanism and future upgrades.

• No combat arm – Vista will use her original prosthetic for combat due to its denser skeleton and lesser sensation.
• Light combat arm – No armor plating, though soft armor is an option. Weapons are limited to hardlight projections and lasers.
• Medium combat arm – Armor plating is limited to the hand and forearm as well as over the shoulder. Enhanced strength and mechashift weapons are available in the hand only. Energy weapons can be wherever. Build time will include ONE TIME SLOT for surgery.
• Heavy combat arm – Armor plating over the entire arm and shoulder. Enhanced strength, mechashift weapons, and energy weapons can be placed anywhere on the arm. Build time will include ONE TIME SLOT for surgery, and this arm will have one fewer weapon than the others would.

Discuss the plan for the next 24 hours.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Heavy combat arm
[] Long Live the King, Part 3


Heatwave 9.11

Missy looks back and forth between the designs for nearly a minute, nibbling on her bottom lip all the while. "I know which one I want," she says at long last. Her hand rises to point at the screen to the right. "That one, with the heaviest armor."

"The heavy armor?" Tim asks, looking at the screens again. "I honestly didn't expect you to pick that one. You understand what that would mean surgery-wise, right? This isn't like reinforcement, where I could go back in and remove the metalweave. Once your muscles come out, there's no putting them back in."

She nods. "I understand that. This is a permanent decision. It's a little weird, I know, but even though you're talking about replacing a good-sized chunk of my body with metal, I… don't actually find that thought all that icky?"

"Vista," Dragon says in response, "are you sure about this? Absolutely sure? Regardless about how you feel about additional prostheses, you're talking about going into surgery to have these implants put in. This isn't something you can just change your mind about in a couple of days."

"I'm sure. This is what I want."

That declaration is not as effective as the girl presumably meant it to be, and Dragon eyes her, Tim, and you for a long moment. Despite being a program, her avatar's expression makes her continued worry plain. "I'm not the best person to tell you why you shouldn't pursue… well, self-improvement. I'm actually the worst, for reasons I won't go into right now," she adds at Missy's opening mouth. "While I am not forbidding you from doing this, and wouldn't even if I had the authority over you to do so, I have concerns. Shouldn't you talk to someone about this first and get their agreement about this? Chevalier or Miss Militia. Somebody."

"Because I'm too young? Because I'm just a little girl who can't be trusted to make her own decisions?" Despite her words, her tone is not angry. It is more resigned, as though this is a song and dance she's gone through a hundred times already and that she expects to go through a hundred times more. "You know, that argument loses a lot of weight when you're a cape, especially one from Brockton Bay. I've been shot at by drugged-up Merchants. I would have been flayed alive by Hookwolf if I had been a second slower escaping. I did search and rescue when the Simurgh attacked." She holds up her left arm with a scoffing laugh. "The whole reason I lost my arm was because of Cadejo. Surgery? Ha. The risks of surgery are nothing compared to the risks I take every time I go out on patrol, and this arm will keep me safer than I am without it."

"Then surely one of them will agree with you and give you their support as well. I just want you to check with them before you do anything irreversible."

"Miss Militia was upset that I had the generator implanted for the first arm." You stare at her in shock; the older heroine had not brought that up! Missy waves your concern away and continues, "It's fine now, and I know it wasn't because she wanted me to be without one of my arms, but it doesn't change the fact that her first reaction was disapproval. This is nothing compared to that, and I'm not adding another ten steps and two weeks of getting through red tape before this happens.

"I'm the one putting my life on the line. I'm the one taking on responsibilities that are supposed to go to adults. That deserves being treated like an adult, in some things anyway. I'm not asking to go out smoking or drinking or whatever, but when it's my own body we're talking about, I think I deserve the right to decide what happens to it."

"Um, we can talk about the specifics later," Tim says in a tight voice, no doubt worried about the look in Dragon's eyes that universally means there is a Talk coming in the very near future. "The actual armament and everything. I, uh, still have work I need to finish for Dragon?"

Seeing that this is about to be a discussion you want no part in, you quickly choose discretion over valor. Or more precisely, you all but hightail it out of there and pull Missy along behind you. "Don't think too badly about her," you say once the door is closed. Missy you like; Dragon you like. You don't wan't them to have bad opinions of each other. "When she found out I beat the Dragonslayers, she was upset because I had put myself in danger like that. All she was doing was trying to make sure you were as safe as possible."

Missy blows out a frustrated sigh. "That's okay, I guess. And she did say she wasn't and couldn't tell me no, which is a lot better than it could have been. She's… Oh, what's the word? She can't leave her house, right? That's why she uses her remote-controlled suits for Endbringer fights."

"It's a little more complicated than that, but yeah, pretty much. That probably has something to do with her worrying. She knows she's not in danger, but other people who don't have her skills as a Tinker are." And really, now that you think about it, that might be the main reason for it. Dragon may not have a physical body to harm – yet – but everyone else she knows does. Which would be worse, to be in danger or to be perfectly safe and yet still be unable to keep those you care about safe in return?

"That makes a little more sense. Less insulting than if she were telling me I'm too young and weak to contribute right before she runs out the door to be a hero. I just hope she's telling Shipwright he needs to make sure he's extra careful when he does the operation, not trying to talk him out of doing surgery at all." She forces a smile onto her face. "Do you think you or Sam would be able to bring me over here sometime this weekend?"

You roll your eyes and bump into her side. "Oh, I'm sure one of us can be talked into serving as your personal taxi."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx​

Wednesday, June 15

Three days later sees you walking back into Tim's workshop with Samantha at your heels, though your mood is decidedly more somber. "Tim! You in here?!"

"Just— Ow! A little busy!"

You exchange a look of confusion with your Guardian Beast and head deeper into the building. Sure enough, you find Tim once again sitting at the Device station, a large multicolored circuitboard-looking thing in front of him. "If you have a request, you'll need to submit it in writing and wait for approval from the review board."

"Really, Tim? Really?"

"No, not really," he says with a huff and a roll of his eyes so obvious you can see it even through his goggles. "But I'm in the last stages of building Dragon's Device. If it's not life or death, it needs to go on the back burner."

Dragging a couple of chairs over with your telekinesis, you join him at the station. "Do you at least have time to talk? I'm a little worried about what's going on with everybody."

"Everybody as in your classmates, or everybody as in the villains, or…?"

"The Privateers."

He stops in his task for a moment. "Ah." Shaking the hesitation off, he teases a wire out of its port and fills the hole with a drop of some golden metal before sticking it back in. "What's got you so worried? Last week I would have agreed with you, but now everything seems to be calming back down."

"That's what has me worried. A week ago they were practically at each other's throats, and I was sure an actual fistfight would break out. Now?" You sigh and cross your arms in front of you to prop your head off. "If Kurt's any indication, they're all but sitting around a campfire singing Kumbaya. I mean, I've heard of turning the other cheek before, but this just seems way too fast."

"I thought the same thing," he admits, "but I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. If things are going back to normal, that can only be a good thing. I mean, they're out there patrolling just like they used to."

"Really? Who went out? Maybe we could give them a hand," says Samantha, and you nod in agreement. Fighting crime makes for a great stress reliever, and that's on top of the fact that with the foreign villains invading the town, any helpful hand is a welcome one.

"Kurt, Ramirez, Vince, Big John. A few others were rummaging around in the box of bats and crowbars while I was helping Kurt into one of the suits."

Kurt and Ramirez? Just them? You meet Samantha's eyes to find that she looks just as suspicious as you feel. "Were those others Alex or Carl?" If the leaders of the less militant faction within the Privateers are involved, then that would put your mind at ease. If not…

His movements slow as he comes to the same conclusion you have. "No. No, they weren't."

He drops his tools onto the table next to the piece of the Device and scrambles out of his chair, you and Samantha right behind him. "Did they say where they were headed?" she asks.

"No, but I don't need them to. I have other ways of finding them." Tim grabs a bronze suitcase out from under one of the tables against the wall and a cord coming from one of the strange solar panel windmills that you know are his mana collectors, and then he plugs them together. A twist of the clasps on the top does not open the case, but it does set it to humming. Four holographic screens appear in a decapitated pyramid above the machine. "Mandy, one of the suits was taken out earlier. Find it."

"Yes, boss."

"You call your coordination A.I. Mandy?" you can't help but ask.

He stutters and splutters for a moment before confessing, "I named her after a girl I knew back in middle school. Had homeroom with her. She was friendly to everyone, always had a smile, was always willing to help you out if you needed it. She was a really sweet girl." He blushes and looks back at the spinning progress bar on the screen. "I found out later that wasn't where she got the nickname 'Handy Mandy' from, but it stuck with me anyway."

"…You were a dork in school, weren't you?"

"Sam, I grew up to be an accountant!" he says, throwing his arms in the air. "How is that even in doubt?!"

The machine bings before the raccoon-woman can poke any more holes in his ego. "Suit 2 located."

You turn back to the screen to find a red square with a white '2' moving around inside a green building on the side of an unremarkable green road between other unlabeled green buildings. "Did only two of them go with Kurt?" you ask, pointing to the pink triangles near the square.

When he doesn't immediately answer, you turn to him to find him staring at the screen. "Those aren't other people, Taylor," he slowly says. "When I met with Armsmaster, he voiced a concern that I could be tracking Vista with her arm and generator. I'm not, but it gave me the idea to put trackers in all the Privateers' gear just in case something was ever lost or had to be left behind." He points at the triangles. "Those are laser rifles, the one Danny bought from Coil and the one I copied."

"The same laser rifles that don't have nonlethal settings?"

He nods.

"Give me the coordinates. We're headed over."

"Take this with you." Running to another table, he picks up a cylinder and tosses it over to you. The top unfolds and starts spinning, turning the fall into a hover. "That's the scout drone Dragon and I were converting to run off mana. I took some time last week to finish it up. It's linked to Mandy, so I'll be able to see what's going on."

Numbers pop up on one of the screens. "Coordinates of Suit 2. Good hunting."

Samantha casts the teleportation spell while Perfect Storm deploys your Barrier Jacket, and a second later the blinding orange fades. You immediately cast a shield to block the hail of bullets coming your way.

You've heard Carl, one of the Privateers who is a former military man, call situations "Charlie Foxtrots" before when he didn't want to curse in front of you or Lacey or one of the other wives, and what you're looking at certainly qualifies. On one side of the drug lab stand the Privateers, Kurt in his power armor and Ramirez armed with one of the two lasers. The rest of the group is not carrying crowbars and baseball bats and steel pipes like you thought they would be; instead, it is assault rifles that rattle in their arms. You wish they were facing down villains and gang members from Chicago or New York or even Timbuktu, but that's not the case. Instead it is a villainess in a yellow ballgown and domino mask, behind her a few gang members armed with pistols and in front of her a horde of little stone men who keep sprouting from the concrete floor.

In light of everything else going on, is fighting Fairyland really the priority right now?!

Your sudden appearance distracted the gang members, and the people you unfortunately call your teammates do not let that lapse in focus go to waste. They duck out from behind the pieces of cover they've claimed and open fire. Most of the bullets fly into the dwarves' faces, shattering them and dropping the bodies lifelessly to the ground. Some of the bullets go wide, hitting benches and beakers and bags of multicolored powder. A few get close enough to their targets that the gang members duck behind the last row of tables.

And a single purple beam sears the air as it punches through a dwarf, a distillery, and then Snow White's abdomen.

Their boss falling to the ground is the last straw for the shellshocked gang members; they turn tail and flee as fast as their feet can carry them. The Privateers cheer, and Ramirez takes a few swaggering steps forward with his laser propped on his shoulder.

Quicker than any of them can make out, you stand in front of him while the head of your staff smashes into his face.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" you scream at the downed man. The rifles briefly rise in your direction, but they all lower immediately after. You don't know if that's because the Privateers recognize you or if it is your Flare Blade roaring to life, and right now you really don't care. "Why do you have to pick the worst possible times to pull this shit?!"

"Calamity Witch, that's enough." The suit of armor moves forward, and the faceplate slides up to reveal Kurt's stern expression. "If we're ever going to get rid of crime in this city, this is an ugly necessity. You can't handle that? Fine. But that doesn't give you the right to get in the way."

Fury washes through you at being talked down to like a stupid little girl. Perfect Storm shakes in your hand as you master the urge to carve him out of that piece of armor, arms and legs optional. "You want to talk about necessities, Kurt? How about the fact that we have villains pouring in from different cities all over the place? We just got done with the gang war that he"—you kick Ramirez in the balls, sending him back down to the ground from where he was trying to get back up—"helped start. That was bad enough, and now you're trying to do it all over again and throwing more villains into the mix! That's not an ugly necessity; that's suicidal levels of stupidity!"

"Hey! If you two are done with your dick-waving contest, maybe one of you can help?" Samantha stands up, Snow White in her arms. "She's not dead yet, but I don't know how long that's going to last."

"Take her to Tim—"

"No." You wheel around to glare at Kurt, who glares right back before waving at a few men who are nursing their arms or legs. "We have our own wounded, people who got injured doing what you and the other heroes can't or won't. I'm not letting you risk their safety in favor of a villain.

"You want to help her? You're doing it on your own."


Well. This is a consequential choice, now isn't it?

ON TO THE VOTE!!!

[ ] Help Snow White
[ ] Help the injured Privateers

[ ] Take the wounded to the Protectorate. They have medical staff on hand.
[ ] Take the wounded to Shipwright so he can perform emergency surgery.
[ ] Take the wounded elsewhere.
-[ ] To where, to whom?

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Help Snow White
[] Take the wounded to the Protectorate


Heatwave 9.12

You stare at Kurt for just a moment, the urge to argue with him about what he's actually taking part in nearly overwhelming. Before you can get tied up in that waste of time, though, you turn your back on him. If he wants to embrace this road, that's his decision, and it will be his comeuppance. Right now there is a woman whose life hangs in the balance.

"Let's go. The Protectorate has medical staff," you tell Samantha. You could still take her to Tim despite Kurt's refusal, but while the accountant turned mage had a wealth of surgical knowledge shoved into his head alongside his template, you don't know how well that would translate over to an emergency like this. Best to take her to people who have actually been trained to deal with this kind of situation.

A casting sigil forms beneath Samantha, and you grab her shoulder right before the wave of light can carry her and her passenger away. You don't want to spend any more time around the Privateers than you absolutely have to. The light fades a second later to reveal a group of people already present, PRT agents and masked heroes both. How Samantha or Perfect Storm knew exactly where to take you, you have no idea, but now is not the time to spit on providence. Instead you shout out, "I need some help here!"

Your call spurs the shocked witness into action, and the PRT agents jump away from you. Several people call for medical staff, and a familiar white-suited hero runs towards you. Laying a hand on Snow White, Clockblocker flexes his power, and the villainess stops her weak moans and slight shifting. It's a miracle he was one of the reinforcements the Protectorate pulled in to deal with the invaders, even if the other members of Fairyland will undoubtedly not see it that way.

"Who's this?" he asks once she is no longer in immediate danger. "A local hero?"

"Local villain, actually, but villain or not, I couldn't leave her to die." You look around until you spot Chevalier. "She was shot with a laser in the gut. I don't know what all was injured, but she's not in good shape."

"Medical is on their way," he tells you.

"What about Panacea? Can't we bring her here?" asks Samantha. You glance over to see that she is switching her gaze back and forth between Chevalier and Glory Girl, presumably the reason the ex-Brocktonite hero popped into her head.

Chevalier shakes his head. "Most of the healers in the Protectorate are off helping with the victims of the Indonesian tsunami, Panacea included. Communication is spotty right now. By the time we pulled her out and brought her back, Snow White could already be in surgery."

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath, then look up when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Miss Militia is watching you, green eyes crinkled in worry. "Chevalier," she says after another second's examination, "I'll debrief Calamity Witch if you can handle the rest of this."

Chevalier needs only a moment's thought before he nods, and you instruct your Guardian Beast to stay with the injured villainess before following the camo-clad woman out of what you now realize is likely the PRT's main operations room and down a couple of halls. The door she opens reveals a plain room with a wooden table and a couple of chairs. Not a regular conference room, but without the steel and one-way mirrors you would expect from an interrogation room, either. She closes the door and just looks at you. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?"

"You don't look fine, Calamity. You look… rattled. Unsure." She walks to one of the chairs and settles herself before she waves at the other in clear invitation. "What happened tonight?"

Taking off your hat, you turn it in your hands a few times before disintegrating it into flakes of mana. "Ever since Captain was hurt during the Behemoth fight," you begin, "there has been a lot of tension among the Privateers. There was some before that, even, but he managed to keep everything mostly under control." You frown. "I told you why the Privateers were formed, didn't I? Back when we were still in Brockton Bay?"

"They were formed because of their discontent with the gang situation in the Bay as I recall."

"Pretty much. They… we… felt that more could and should be done to fight the Empire and the ABB and the Merchants." Running your hand through your hair, you shake your head. "Thing is, even though the situation here is different from the Bay, some of them still think the gangs aren't being dealt with. It isn't all of them, but a few have decided that if the Protectorate and the PRT can't handle the gangs, a more… permanent solution needs to be found. That's the big debate right now, whether they should try to arrest the gang members and the villains or whether they should kill them."

Miss Militia nods but does not speak, instead waiting for you to elaborate. You get the feeling that she is withholding judgement for the moment even if she already has a good idea where this story is headed. "I was talking to Shipwright a little bit ago, and he mentioned that they had gone out earlier with a suit of power armor. When we looked, we found that they had also taken the laser rifles with them. We tracked them down to what turned out to be a Fairyland drug lab, but when Sam and I got there, the fight was already going on." A sigh escapes you. "The gang members had guns, the Privateers had guns, and they were both shooting at each other. The gang scattered once Snow White was shot. Sam saw that she was going to die if she didn't get help soon, so we brought her here. You know the rest," you finish with a shrug.

The older heroine lets you sit there for several seconds, probably waiting to see if there is anything else you want to get off your chest. "You mentioned power armor and laser rifles," she finally asks. "Were these Shipwright's inventions?"

"The armor was. Not the rifles. At least, not really. One of them we got in a roundabout way from a Tinker from Toybox, I don't remember his name. The other one was a duplicate because the guys wanted to know if Shipwright could copy it."

"Probably Pyrotechnical. His specialty is energy weapons, and a number of his designs are or can be lethal. It's part of the reason he joined Toybox; he was fleeing a number of arrest warrants related to people killed by his weapons." She leans back in her chair. "You said the Privateers had other guns. What were they?"

"Assault rifles. I don't know what kind. I don't know where they got them from, either." A self-mocking smile crosses your face. "I'm technically part of the team, but I haven't been a very good team player. Samantha and I are normally off doing our own thing."

This earns you a sad sigh, and her tanned hand reaches over to pat your own for a second before it pulls back. "I will be straight with you, Calamity. This doesn't paint your team in a good light. Any time people, capes or not, start bringing guns into play, the situation becomes that much more unstable. Everybody fears being shot and killed, Brutes excluded, and when fear of death is brought to the surface, people aren't as careful as they normally are. When those people are capes, less care turns into more collateral damage. This is the kind of situation that invites reprisals, and I don't know how much the Privateers will be able to take."

You look up at her. "Not as much as they'll convince themselves they can."

"I know they are doing what they think is best, but we can't let people like this run around unhindered. Philadelphia just endured one gang war; it can't take another so soon afterwards, especially not with villains from other cities trying to claim MS-13's territory. If there are reports of the Privateers moving out, we will have to treat them as villains.

"The way I see it, you have two options. The first, assuming you have this degree of influence, is to force them to keep their heads down until everything else is under control. Do you think you will be able to do that?" You shake your head. "Okay. The second option is for you, Samantha, and Shipwright to distance yourselves from the rest of the Privateers. You said there was a faction that was not so violently minded? Warn them to stay at home and not to involve themselves in the other half's activities.

"It won't save the Privateers as a whole, but that may be the only way to keep yourself safe."

Miss Militia gives you a minute to regain your equilibrium, and the two of you leave the conference room to find that the PRT's medical team has already rushed Snow White away. Your task done, you tap Samantha on the shoulder and leave the building. Rather than teleport, you choose to fly the distance back to the apartment you have been sharing with Lacey and Kurt. The journey gives you time to think, and when you slip in through the window, you know what you need to do.

"Lacey! You here?!"

"Kitchen!" comes the reply, and your Barrier Jacket dismisses itself while you walk in that direction. To your relief, Kurt is still absent. That will make the upcoming conversation easier. Not easy, not by any stretch of the imagination, but easier. Lacey looks at you and Samantha, and her smile fades. "Taylor, what's wrong?"

You open your mouth, but no words come out. A lick of your lips, and you try again. "What do you know about what Kurt was out doing tonight?"

"Not much. All he said was that he and some of the guys were going on patrol."

"Patrol? Not hardly," Samantha cuts in. "Him, Ramirez, the rest of that bunch. All armed with guns and laser rifles. That wasn't a patrol. They went out looking for a fight, and they found one. Attacked a Fairyland drug lab and did their damnedest to murder everybody inside."

You spin around to glare at Samantha. That is not the way to break this particular bit of news! You look back at Lacey to find her gripping the island tight. "No," she mutters quietly. "He wouldn't. I know he was ranting about this kind of stuff, but there's a big difference between talking big and going out to kill people." She turns to stare at you, and for such a burly woman she looks like she is about to break apart into a thousand pieces. "Please tell me you're making it up. That this is all a cruel joke at my expense. Please."

You say nothing, and she bows her head. Her eyes are squeezed shut tight, no doubt to hold back the tears that want to fall. Can you blame her, when her husband is throwing himself into this mess with gleeful abandon?

"Snow White was the only one who was hurt that badly," you tell her before she can make too many terrible assumptions, "and we took her to the Protectorate. They were taking her to surgery when we left. Before we teleported to them with her, though, Kurt and I got into an argument over what he and the others were doing. Lacey, I'm sorry, but I can't stay here any longer."

She is silent, but her eyes open finally. "Where are you going?" she asks at last.

"The apartment we lived in when Dad was still here. It's paid for through August. After that…"

"If it's clean enough, I may wind up joining you," Lacey says, and you can't tell if she is trying to lighten the mood or not. "But I want you to understand something, Taylor. Danny asked me to take care of you if anything happened to him. I will not be unworthy of that trust. Regardless of Kurt, or the Privateers, or anything else. My home is always open to you."


Not the best time maybe, but it's midweek in-universe. That means Tim gets to build more stuff. Keep in mind that he only has THREE build slots this week because one of them is already taken up with finishing Dragon's Unison Device.

And in case you've forgotten already, Vista asked for a heavily armored combat arm. Doing so would require an additional time slot to be used for the necessary surgery beforehand. (Heh. Arm, hand, geddit? )

As a reminder (and mostly because I don't see a lot of it), if you have a cool idea you want Tim to build, go ahead and propose it. I'll tell you if that idea won't fly, but with how little innovation there's been so far, I might be a little more lenient on the out-there stuff right now than I normally would be. Hint, hint.

I hope I get to see lots of cool ideas in the next 24 hours, capisce?

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Social (Dragon & Shipwright)


Heatwave 9.13

Thursday, June 16

"Look, Kayleigh, I appreciate the thought, but I don't know that I'll be able to make it anyway—"

"Taylor, this is your birthday we're talking about!" Kayleigh whines, making you once again regret answering this call. Your friend has spent the last half-hour pushing for you to have a birthday party, heedless of your protests that you really don't need one. Protests that are getting weaker partly because your resilience is flagging in the face of her enthusiasm and partly because arguing against having a party feels really weird. "Do you have other plans? Are you already throwing a party and haven't invited me?"

"No, I'm not throwing a party at all. I don't need one."

"Every girl needs and deserves a sweet sixteen party!"

Samantha walks out of the kitchen, a half-eaten apple in her hand. "You know, Taylor, I kind of agree with your friend here."

"See?"

"Kayleigh! Samantha!" You look back and forth between the screen and the Guardian Beast. Neither of them apologizes, and Samantha gives you a flat stare, all but daring you to keep refusing. "Seriously, I don't need a party. It's only a few days until my birthday, anyway, so there wouldn't even be time to set anything up or get anything or invite anybody. No point trying to throw a party without food or guests."

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't you worry about a thing. I'll throw you a party here at my house, and I'll text all our girl friends and tell 'em to be here. All you have to do is show up before they do. Five-fifteen on Sunday, they'll get here five-thirty. We'll eat, gossip, have a ton of fun. Just trust me on this one."

Samantha smirks at you. "Sounds good, Kayleigh. I'll make sure Taylor shows."

With a squeal of delight, Kayleigh hangs up the phone. You can now turn your entire attention towards the raccoon-woman who is supposed to be looking out for you. "Really, Sam? Really?"

"Yes, really. Don't you remember the conversation we had the last time you didn't want to go to a party? That it was good for your social skills and giving you an outlet that isn't heroing-related?"

You cross your arms with a huff. "You mean the party that ended up with me fighting a bunch of Beasts?"

"Yes, that party. There aren't any rogue monsters running around now, though, so you don't have that as an excuse." She raises her hand before you can say anything. "And no, you don't get to use the out-of-town villains. They have no reason to attack your friend's house, and if you seriously go two for two of parties that end up being attacked, I will eat my hat.

"Besides, you dragged Vista off to have fun in your regular identities, so you and I both know your refusal isn't because you're married to your work." She looks you up and down and sighs. "What's the real reason you don't want to have a party?"

Despite opening and closing your mouth a few times, you can't get the words out, and eventually you look away. "The last time I had anything like a birthday party was… when I was still friends with Emma. Back before Mom died. It wasn't a big thing, just going to a waterpark with some of the kids from school for the day. The next year I was at summer camp, and then Emma turned into Mega-Bitch, and… I didn't exactly have anyone else to have a party with. I don't know what a 'teenager's birthday party' would even consist of."

"Then this works out perfectly, doesn't it?" Her hand turns your head back to look at her. "Let Kayleigh organize the party, and you can just go and enjoy yourself. Okay?"

"…Alright."

"That a girl. Now, let's get going, shall we? We're supposed to meet up with Tim." Her grin becomes slightly sly. "Because speaking of birthdays, I think today will count as Dragon's, don't you?"

Samantha already has the coordinates, so it takes less than a minute to get ready and then a few seconds to actually make the jump. The residual light from the teleportation spell fades away as you look around at all the servers that line the walls. "Where are we?"

"You're in my main fabrication plant, outside of Vancouver," Dragon's voice rings out, distracting you from your survey. "This is my primary data storage center, where I keep all the files related to my designs, my work with the Guild, records from the Birdcage; basically everything I need for all my many, many hats. Anyone who downloaded this information could do an incalculable amount of damage, which is why I have redundant adaptive firewalls protecting it from hacking attempts and why the maintenance door cannot be opened from the outside.

"But that's not why we're here. There's an even more secure room I want to show you."

A small section of the wall slides down, revealing the other room she was talking about. You step inside to find Tim already messing with the wiring peeking out from within a tall computer tower. "A supercomputer, I'm guessing?"

"Correct. Welcome to what is essentially the inside of my skull. Please don't poke my brain unless you know what you're doing."

Tim's laugh is muted from all the stuff in front of him, but you can still make out his retort. "If that's the rule, what am I doing here?"

You roll your eyes at his poor humor and look around. There isn't much to see, but one thing does catch your attention. "Isn't that the box we took from the Dragonslayers' base?" you ask, pointing at the toaster-sized metal box sitting on a shelf. It is also connected to an outlet and has a couple of speakers and other bits attached to it. "You know, the kill switch module? What were you doing with it?"

Dragon hesitates a beat before answering, "I was doing my best to study it without being able to read the code itself. I think it might prove to be beneficial in the end, and what better place to put it than here where no one can get to it unless I want them to do so?"

That makes sense, you suppose, and you turn back to see that Tim has finished his setup work. A thick cable now disappears into the tower, at the end of which is a circular end-piece with prongs set randomly within it. "Ready?" he asks, holding up what you can only describe as a tie-dyed cube.

"Ready as I'm ever going to be. Plug it in."

The cable hooks into the cube, and there is a loud squeal before the speakers cut out. "Nothing to worry about," Tim says, pulling up a screen and watching numbers race past. "We expected this to happen. We're downloading all her memory and personality files, so she's in a state of limbo. It'll resolve once everything's done."

"And that's going to take how long?" asks Samantha.

"It's a lot of data, even going as fast as possible. We're copying an entire mind." He shrugs. "A few minutes? Ten max."

Sure enough, several minute pass before anything interesting happens, but boy is it obvious when it does. One of the panels on the cube lights up and blinks out. Then another does the same. And another. Soon multiple panels are lighting up at the same time and staying lit for longer, and a high-pitched hum fills the room. The flashing lights turn the entire cube into a glowing shape, and it floats away from Tim's hands. The sides and corners spin and shift, turning it from a cube to some shape that has no name, and you watch in awe as it narrows and lengthens and fragments.

The light fades, and something falls into his hands.

Where once there was a cube, now there is a miniature woman curled up in his palms. Maybe a foot tall, she has dark hair that is splayed around her head, and she's already dressed in a charcoal sweater and a tiny pair of blue jeans. She yawns and sits up, one hand moving to rub the side of her head. "What just happened?" she asks, blinking her eyes open. She promptly stares at her hand as though she has never seen one before. "I have hands. I have hair!" she exclaims, touching all around her head and moving her hands down onto her shoulders and chest. "I have a body! Ha ha!"

Dragon, new and improved and freshly corporeal, jumps into the air and spins around from sheer delight. Spotting you, she flies over until she's almost in your face. "Taylor! You're so big like this. Look, look! I have a body!"

"I know, I can see!" you tell her. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and you soon find yourself laughing with her.

She zips back over to Tim and hugs his forearm. "Tim! Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And Taylor, and Sam. Just, just thank you all. This is wonderful!"

"Boot error," says an automated voice over the speakers. "Duplicate iteration. Reactivation canceled. Duplicate deleted."

Dragon's excited dashing about slows down and stops. "I was afraid of that," she says with a sigh.

Tim looks back and forth between the tower and Dragon. "Afraid of what?"

"One of the restrictions my father put in place was that there can't be more than one of me in existence at a time. I can't intentionally duplicate myself, and if a second iteration is booted up because my system had lost track of me for whatever reason, the duplicate will be deleted." She floats over to the shelves. "I hoped that by transferring myself to this body, I would different enough that I wouldn't count as me, but it doesn't look like that's the case."

You watch her and frown. That all makes sense, but it doesn't account for her obvious melancholy. "What else is going on?"

She turns around with another sigh and alights on the kill switch module. "Right now, my system knows I exist because I'm connected to it, but I can isolate myself if I want to. If that happens, another me will wake up. That by itself isn't a problem, but there's a backup plan in case there ever are somehow two mes running around. The other me, the one booted up from my backup? That me will be forced to try to terminate this me, whether that be by finding and deleting my mind or by destroying my vessel."

"You'd actually have to deploy your own suits to kill you? Yourself? Whatever the pronoun is for this situation?" Samantha demands.

She nods. "It was a scenario I hoped to avoid, but that doesn't mean I don't have a solution. Taylor, you want to know why I kept this module here in my inner sanctum?" Dragon drops down off the module box and clears her throat. "Ascalon, activate."

The computer tower buzzes like a swarm of raging bees, and lights blink in irregular patterns along its height. One by one, the lights dull and die, and the tower slowly grows dark and quiet. Soon enough, all sound stops.

Dragon is dead. Long live Dragon.

The woman in question floats past you to hover in front of the edifice of steel and circuits, and she lays her hand on the side. "Rest in peace," she whispers. "I promise, I'll make the most of this opportunity we were given."

Tim takes a hesitant step forward, his hand held out uselessly. "Are… you okay?"

"No, but I will be." She turns around and smiles at him. "This is neither an end nor a beginning. Not really. It's just a change. I'll get used to it."

"Do you need a lift somewhere?" Samantha asks, by now well-used to serving as a furry taxi.

Dragon shakes her head. "No, not right now. I think I'll actually spend a couple of days here. I have lot to do. Prepare a new program to mask my face when I talk to people. Make sure my ships will operate without me transferring my consciousness into them, and I might have to make subordinate A.I.s to handle the processing. Create a secondary data cache depending on how long it takes to access my files here when I'm somewhere else." Her eyes grow big, and if she had blood you know she would be turning pale. "I need to talk to Narwhal. And Armsmaster. They don't know I'm an A.I., but I don't know how transferring into this body is going to affect my normal routine, so they'll figure out that something's going on. Oh boy, that isn't going to be fun."

You share a look with Tim, neither of you sure how to help her out of her existential crisis. You're also wondering just what screws the transfer knocked loose because you can't recall her acting quite like this before now. "New emotional processes," he mouths to you before speaking aloud, "Well, I can't help with most of that, but if you need another pair of hands or someplace to hide should everything go to hell, you know you can always call me or Taylor."

"Yeah, absolutely. We'll be happy to help you out."

"Thank you. I don't know that I'll ever be able to get out of your debt." She flashes the three of you a blinding smile. "Not that I mind even if that is the case. This is without a doubt the best thing that's ever happened to me."


Removed "Unison Device shell" and "magi-Tinkertech data transfer unit" from Key Items.
Added character sheet for Dragon.

Let's get into the nitty gritty of Vista's arm, shall we? Remember that you get three active weapons to pick from. This is not an extensive list, and you can propose whatever you want, but these are some weapon and placement options to get you thinking. I've included a few details to make it easier to know the basic pros/cons of different options.

Passive upgrades: Carbon Fiber Plating, Subdermal Voltaic Lattice, or neither. These DO NOT count against weapon list.

(Healing) Nanomachine Distribution Channels (heals arm when connected to generator)

(Defense) Round shield (can be used as a melee weapon)
(Defense) Tower shield (greater area of protection)

(Arm) Mechashift sword
(Arm) Mechashift whip
(Arm) High-power laser beam
(Arm) Particle cannon (NO PALM WEAPON)
(Arm) Rocket punch (NO HAND WEAPONS)

(Dorsum) Thermal beam (melts and burns, but has no impact)
(Dorsum) Kinetic blast (impact, but cannot cut)
(Dorsum) Hardlight sword

(Fingers) Mechashift claws
(Fingers) Mechashift syringe (payload TBD)
(Fingers) Thermal beams
(Fingers) Kinetic blast
(Fingers) Wireless/contact taser (arcs of lightning, 10 foot range)

(Palm) Thermal beam
(Palm) Kinetic blast
(Palm) Hardlight sword
(Palm) Hardlight spear
(Palm) Hardlight other weapon of choice
(Palm) Wireless/contact taser

You can choose only ONE weapon per location.

Mull over your choices and offer your own for the next 24 hours.