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Magical Girl Escalation Taylor (Worm/Nanoha)

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Psychic Smasher 3.5
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    • [ ] Be a diversion – You don't know how well you can fight right now, but you should still be able to fly. Draw her away from the area while Samantha gets Vista and the kids to safety.
    [ ] Skill tree


    Psychic Smasher 3.5

    There's no way you're going to leave now. That woman is clearly not in her right mind, but she was before the Simurgh's device activated. If she can remember what she does when the device is finally destroyed, remembers killing her own children? You wouldn't wish that on anyone. By that same token, you don't want to hurt her just because the Simurgh is using her as a puppet.

    "Sam," you say, your Guardian Beast's full attention on you now. "I'm about to do something that's probably very stupid. I'll get her attention and lure her away from the kids. You get them out of the building, then get them and Vista back to the PRT's headquarters. Make sure Dad's safe. I'll meet up with you as soon as I can lose her."

    "You're right. That's a terrible idea. How about I distract her, instead? I'm stronger and tougher."

    "That's why we're doing it my way." She gives you a dubious look. "It sounds like there are at least two kids in there. That's three with Vista. I can't carry all them at once, but you can. And if you get in trouble, you'll be able to fight back long enough to get to safety. They're going to be safer with you than me. I don't think she can fly, either, so I can stay out of her way." The woman has just passed the second floor and is making her way to the third. Her kids' screaming rises in pitch as they realize what kind of situation they are in. "We don't have time to argue, Sam. I need you to trust me."

    Her teeth click together. "Fine. But we will have a long talk about this when you get back."

    You smile at the implicit demand. "Looking forward to it. Let's go!"

    Aerial Combat kicks in, throwing you off the building towards the woman. Since you have to do a larger proportion of the calculations than normal, you make sure to slow down a little as you get close. The last thing you want is to distract the woman because you're lying dazed on the ground. A single Flare Shooter forms in your hand and smashes against her head. She wheels around to glare at you, not inconvenienced in the slightest by your attack. You expected that, unfortunately, but it would have been nice for something to go your way today.

    "Hey, Monster Mom! I look a whole lot more appetizing than a couple of brats, don't you think?" You mime licking your arm. "Yep, no doubt about it. Way tastier. Come on, Mrs. Robinson. All you can stomach right here."

    You don't know if it was your taunts themselves or just presenting the woman with a different target, but she hurls herself off the building and into the air. Unlike her, you can actually fly, so you swerve out of the way and watch her land gracefully on the street. Because breaking a couple of legs in that fall is clearly too much to ask. You drop down to half your previous height and waggle your fingers at her. "Over here, sweet cheeks."

    The woman turns to you, hate and hunger in her eyes. Is it just you, or is she getting bigger?

    She runs down the street towards you, and you fly away slowly enough that she won't lose you immediately and return to her previous meal choice. That is actually harder to accomplish than it sounds; even with Perfect Storm damaged the way it is, you know you can still reach supersonic speeds if you had a long enough stretch free of obstacles. The woman starts slowing down, and you have to flip around and fly over her head to get her attention again. "That's right. Follow me," you mutter. Raising your voice, you cheer, "You can do it! Lose those thunder thighs! You gotta hit the gym if you want to earn cougar status!"
    «…Perhaps personality upgrades were excessive.»
    Your cheeks turn red as you realize what just came out of your mouth. "Storm, you are never to tell anyone I said that."

    "Said what?"

    "Exactly."

    To answer your previous question, yes, the woman is indeed growing still. She's reached somewhere between six and eight feet in length now, and her body has started slimming down and getting longer. Is she adjusting her body type for whatever she's doing at the time? Lung's growth combined with Aegis's adaptability?

    You hope she doesn't grow wings. That would add a wrinkle you really don't want to deal with.

    The woman leaps up and lands on the side of a building, and then she springs off of that to fly after you. You shoot up this time and watch her soar through where you had just been. She lands on the roof of the building behind you.

    You are about to fly away again when you notice her stumble. Her feet are firmly beneath her, so it isn't that she's lost her balance. Something else is going on. She takes a few more steps before slumping to the ground.

    Curiosity wars with caution and common sense, but you slowly drift closer, ready to get away as soon as possible.

    Your caution is unwarranted. The monstrous form is panting far too quickly for your peace of mind, and its chest doesn't look like it's moving as much as it should. The woman's eyes lose the feral spark that had lit them, leaving only confusion and pain. It took long enough, but it looks like she's finally getting over whatever the Simurgh whammied her with. Big brown eyes look up at you. "Be'," she growls from a throat that is far better suited to earth-shaking roars. "La'."

    Names, maybe? "Your kids are safe. I had my partner carry them to the PRT while I distracted you."

    The fang-filled mouth twitches. Her body relaxes completely. Her breath escapes in one final sigh.

    And just like that, another innocent person has fallen to the Endbringers' rage.

    Rage of your own fills you. What was the point of all this?! What does the Simurgh gain from turning people into monsters and then killing them not two minutes later?! You fly to another, taller building and send your hottest glare at the feathered monster.

    The Simurgh no longer has her machine; that is now laying on the ground and sparking fitfully. She drifts over the battlefield, head moving this way and that as though examining the aftermath of her attack. Then she stops and looks at you.

    You don't know how much good Flare Shooter will do, but you're ready all the same. No going nonlethal on her.

    The Simurgh doesn't attack, though. She spreads her arms wide, then she lands on the ground and bends her knees. She holds that position for a moment. Is she taking a fucking bow?! Like this is all just some big stage production?!

    Her wings flap once, and then she rockets into the sky.

    xxxxxxxxxxxxx​

    "Ta— Calamity!"

    You run over and give your dad a hug. You don't even care if people are watching; anyone who doesn't like it can go hang. Samantha is standing right behind him, and it is her you ask, "Any problems?"

    "Nope. The effects of the Simurgh's gadget didn't even reach here, but it did blow out the cameras the Thinkers were using. No one had any idea anything was going wrong until capes started retreating."

    A couple of capes and several PRT agents in black body armor march towards you. "Calamity Witch," the man in front barks, "return behind the barricade. Noncompliance will be treated as hostile action."

    "What are you—" A couple of agents raise their weapons, and you can see that these aren't containment foam sprayers. They look more like the laser rifle Dad purchased from Coil. "Okay, okay," you tell them, slowing raising your hands in the air until one of them twitches at the motion. Right, capes. Never can tell if an upraised hand is accommodation or preparation to blast you. "Take it easy. I'm going."

    "You need to excuse them," a stern voice says from behind you once you stand with the rest of the capes coming off the battlefield. You turn around and find yourself face to face with a black-haired heroine wearing a dark helmet and an eyepatch, a black cape tumbling down her equally black bodysuit. You know this face. Everyone in the whole world does.

    Alexandria is talking to you!

    The corner of her mouth quirks while you stare speechlessly at her, and her voice is softer when she continues, "Simurgh fights are always bad in terms of morale. It's better when we have the armbands that can keep track of exposure. Speeds up the process immensely. But even without those, we do have means by which to identify who is most likely to be effected by the Scream. It isn't as exact as Dragon's technology, but…" She doesn't shrug. Alexandria is too elegant to do something so casual. She does give the waiting line a small frown, though. "It is always good to have contingencies."

    "Alexandria." The sole woman in the Triumvirate gives you a small nod and walks over to the hero in a bluish-purple business suit and domino mask. He doesn't do anything but wave her on. Not too terrible a surprise; everyone knows that Alexandria is immune to the Simurgh's song. Then he looks at you and glances down at the clipboard in his hand. "Calamity Witch."

    You he gives a more thorough inspection. After a moment, he frowns and holds out his hand. You lay yours on top of his, and if anything, his expression becomes even more disturbed. "Red, blue."

    "Blue?" Alexandria repeats. "Not green?"

    "Not even a hint. Bright royal blue."

    "What does that mean?" you ask in rising panic.

    "Spectrometer measures a cape's inherent threat level," the world-famous heroine says. Waving her fingers in a beckoning motion, she walks away from the Thinker cape, and you hurry to keep up. "Red is the highest, followed by orange, yellow, green, and lastly blue. He can also see any effect on someone's mind caused by a Master, again using that same scale. Very, very few capes walk out of a Simurgh fight with a blue rating, particularly if they have been near the thick of the fighting. Even fewer are red-level threats, too." She stops and turns around to place a heavy gaze on you. "Before today, there were only three of us. You're number four."

    Oh. You stumble a bit as you figure out what you're supposed to say to that. "I… I kind of figured the immunity part out. I couldn't hear the Scream at all, even when I was within sight of her. Samantha, my partner, is the same way."

    "Two capes, working on the same team, both immune to the Scream." She crosses her arms. "Interesting."

    Your grip tightens on Perfect Storm. You are okay with telling the Protectorate about your immunity to the Simurgh and giving them what Perfect Storm knows about telepathy, but admitting that it's a product of possessing your Device, something that can be taken away from you? That goes a bit outside your comfort zone, even if it's Alexandria you're talking to.

    "No! Let him go!"

    You turn around to stare at the situation brewing at one of the evaluation benches. The woman who shouted wears a red bodysuit; the man being held captive is dressed more casually, black slacks and a red dress shirt underneath a breastplate. It takes you a moment to recognize them as Othala and Victor, capes from the Empire. A power-granter and a skill thief, respectively, if you remember correctly.

    "You said he was yellow!" Othala yells at Spectrometer. "So was Glory Bitch! You let her go on!"

    "Procedure is procedure," says the Asian officer in charge of the squad that is pulling Victor away. The nightstick in his hand spits out a couple of small sparks. It's a taser, too, then. "He'll stay here unless he is granted clearance to leave. Should only take ten months to figure it out one way or another."

    "You fucking chink! Let him go or—" What would happen was left unclear when the officer slams his baton into her gut and switches on the taser. Othala seizes briefly before dropping like a rock. Definitely more force than necessary, but if he's a Brocktonite, you can understand his vindictiveness. Victor soon joins her after throwing one of the agents restraining him to the ground.

    "Where are they taking her?" you ask when you notice that both Empire capes are getting dragged away.

    "She will be filed as someone who needs processing and will be contained here." You whirl around to stare at Alexandria. "There is no rule that people who are unaffected have to leave the city being quarantined. Nor is there any rule that people cannot enter once the quarantine is active. It is where most of the medical staff who will treat the civilian injuries will come from. Even though they need to go through the same assessment and clearance procedures that people who were stuck here will need to undergo in order to be released, since they only entered the city after the Simurgh was already gone, they will not have to deal with the requirement to inform employers and landlords about being in a containment zone once they leave. She will likely go on that list as well, but since the only identity that will be recorded is her cape name, she will need to be processed in that identity or else she will receive the tattoo and suffer the same requirements as a potentially influenced civilian."

    You take a moment to try to process that. It's a little too much for you to deal with right now. "Was what she said true?" you ask instead. "Do heroes get preferential treatment?"

    "Despite how famous Sphere's story is, villains are statistically more likely to have increased aggression for a given level of influence." Alexandria flicks her eye around you. "And just between us, yes, there is a bias against them as they contribute nothing to society. A potentially influenced hero is dangerous, but she will try to work for the greater good until it becomes clear whether she is or is not a Ziz-bomb. A villain will not be as helpful, and so there is no point to giving them the benefit of the doubt."

    All you can do is stare at her in shock. Sure, you wanted to get rid of the villains in Brockton Bay, but locking them up in a Simurgh containment zone still seems a little much.

    "I would suggest you, Samantha, and Captain leave while traffic is still relatively light," she says once the silence drags on too long. "The military is quick to set up a boundary following a Simurgh attack, and while they have your names and descriptions, there is only one processing area. If you delay, you will be stuck waiting in line for possibly an hour before you are freed to go." Reaching up, she lays her hand on your shoulder. "This was an ugly battle, particularly for your first Endbringer fight, but I hope to see you at the next Simurgh fight if not against the others. Every cape who is immune to her Scream is a cape who can fight without worrying about a time limit. I can't stress enough how important that can be. Keep that in mind, Calamity Witch."

    Giving you a gentle squeeze, she walks away and rockets into the sky.


    And that is the end of the Simurgh's attack on Brockton Bay. Glad it's over with, personally.

    You get one spell choice for participating in the fight. If you had at any point attacked the Simurgh directly, even if it was only in this chapter, you would have gotten two instead. Oh, well. All the choices are listed in the character sheets. Don't worry about the descriptions that follow; just vote for the name.
     
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    • Psychic Smasher 3.x
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    • Psychic Smasher 3.x

    The sun was sitting low in the sky, painting the Los Angeles skyline a bright, beautiful red. It was an eerie counterpoint to the three glasses of bourbon Michael was passing around. He raised his glass. "To fallen comrades."

    "To fallen comrades," Rebecca murmured. Beside her, David did the same before downing the tiny amount of liquor. He waved one cloak-wrapped arm, and Michael – Legend when he wore the mask that currently lay forgotten on the table – filled the glass anew. Looking at her two closest friends, possibly the only real friends she had left, she asked, "What happened today? Shutting down our powers, turning people into monsters, amplifying her Scream. The Simurgh has never done anything like that before. What changed?"

    "I don't know," David grunted. His temper was always short after an Endbringer fight lately, and it wasn't hard to understand why. "Did either of you get the impression that she was laughing after she did that? When she was just floating over the battlefield? It was like she was taunting us, showing us that it doesn't matter what we try, she'll still win."

    Michael plopped into his seat and forced a weak smile on his face. "Maybe it's you. Weren't you telling me last week that you thought you were on to something? Maybe you've figured out how to get your powers back."

    David's laughter was bitter. "I wish! It was another dead end, just like all the others. Remember when I fell? That was my last flight power burning out. I still have weightlessness and gravity inversion left, but they won't be enough." He laughed again. "Once we thought I had every power imaginable, but now I can count them and watch them wink out one by one. Twenty-seven. That's it. That's all I have left." Reaching out, he grabbed the bottle out of Michael's hands and took a deep pull. "How the mighty have fallen."

    "I really wish Contessa was here," she heard herself say. "She'd know what to do."

    That was the wrong thing to say, and the look of disappointment – not anger; she'd almost prefer that – Michael sent her proved it. "That's what got us here in the first place," he reminded her unnecessarily. "And if you had told me the truth about her and Scion and everything else when it mattered, I would have told you that. Now we're stuck acting out parts in a play that none of us know the script for, and half the cast has called in sick."

    Unable to argue with that, she just nodded. Almost two years previously, Scion had disappeared. He hadn't flown away. He hadn't burst into flames or fallen apart. He was just gone. When she tried to tell Doctor Mother and Contessa about that, she had been unable to reach them. No matter what she tried, she couldn't get an answer. She did not know for sure what had happened, but it didn't take a Thinker to figure it out. Scion had found Cauldron's base. He found the other creature. And from there? If he had even a fraction of humanity's emotions, what he would have done upon seeing one of his own race being chopped up for experimentation was obvious. The next day, Eidolon had resigned, officially because he could no longer handle the stress of running one of the largest branches of the Protectorate but in truth because the vast majority of his powers vanished when Cauldron did, yet more evidence of Scion's rage. It was the only way they could hide his sudden weakness.

    She and David had waited a week before they finally told Michael everything, revealed all the secrets they had kept. They knew they would need to present a united front when Scion inevitably attacked. They waited. Weeks turned into months, months turned into a year, and still there was nothing. Since that fateful day, no one had seen hide nor hair of their golden enemy. The temptation to lower their guard was strong, and they did their best to resist it. Their resolve lasted another six months. Now, though, they had no choice but to accept what was in front of their faces. Scion, the greatest monster humanity had ever faced, the probable source of most capes' powers, had fled this world. Fled or hidden or killed himself out of grief, as laughable as that last was to contemplate.

    June twenty-first, 2009. Father's Day. She could almost choke on the irony.

    Even without Scion waiting for them, they still had three other world-destroying monsters to face. The next fight was against Leviathan, and to their surprise, he chose to attack a comparatively uninhabited island in the South Pacific. Rather than fight, the assembled heroes evacuated the island and let the middle brother have his fun. For a few glorious hours, they thought they had been lucky. Until he set off a tidal wave that scoured clean several of the islands of Indonesia.

    Was that the first hint that the Endbringers had been holding back all along? At the time, it hadn't seemed like it, and since then, everything had gone back to business as usual. Now the Simurgh had forcibly reminded them that knowing their enemy was essential to defeating them, and for all they had learned, they still knew nothing about the Endbringers.

    "Maybe it isn't a total loss," she said softly, mind wandering to all the news Switchboard had relayed to the Chief Director's email account. "A fresh cape gave us an almost hundred-page document on the theoretical principles of the Simurgh's telepathy, along with some conjecture on how to block it or use it to our advantage. It was interesting reading, and while it would take a Tinker to make any of it work, the theory itself seems sound. I've already forwarded it to Dragon and Terawatt. Maybe they can design something new that would keep us all safe from the Scream."

    Or Calamity Witch would step up and help given enough incentive. She had noticed how tightly the young heroine had held her staff when she challenged the girl about her immunity to the Scream. How was it that no one else had figured out the young woman's varied powers were all due to her Tinkertech? Was it just because she was an affiliated hero and so no one dug too deeply, or was she just that deft a manipulator? No, her expression when Rebecca revealed the ugly politics of Simurgh quarantines ruled the latter out. Very few heroes had ever looked at her with that kind of abhorrence. Maybe that was why it was bothering her this much?

    Michael gave her an odd look, but it was David who said what they were both thinking. "You, being an optimist? Who are you, and what have you done with Rebecca?"

    "I can be optimistic when I want. If I remember correctly, and I always do, you two thought I was being too optimistic when I proposed the very idea of the Protectorate."

    The two men nodded, but their words still circled inside her head. She was optimistic. Or, rather, she had been. She hadn't had much in the way of hope in a long while, and as that dwindled, so had her optimism. How could someone with perfect recall not notice her own personality changing? Or was it just the years, little changes happening so slowly that she never paid them any attention? And if that were the case, why was she noticing it now?

    It was the girl. Calamity Witch. Her expression was still stuck in her head. Why? What did her subconscious find so important about that? She couldn't put her finger on it….

    Oh.

    Rebecca closed her eyes. Now she saw it. Long, dark hair. Black outfit. Skirt and boots. Many young heroines had tried to emulate the outfit she had worn when she first debuted, but few pulled it off well. Take away Calamity Witch's hat, turn her shirt black instead of red, replace the mask with a helmet…. Yes. That very easily could have been her twenty years ago. Combine the physical appearance with Spectrometer's proof of her raw power and her immunity to the Simurgh, and it all added up. Calamity Witch reminded her of herself, back when she was young, innocent, idealistic.

    And that was why she couldn't shake the look of shock she had received. It was, what, eleven years ago that the Siberian killed Hero? Doctor Mother had suggested they let Manton run around where he liked because a monster like that would drum up support for the Protectorate. She had rejected that plan the minute it was suggested, but… but she had compromised in the end, hadn't she? She let Manton go. She thought about doing something when he joined the Slaughterhouse 9, but she had been talked out of it once again. No, she hadn't been talked out of it; she had let herself be talked out of it. 'It's necessary for the plan.' 'We have to think about the survival of humanity as a whole.' Or her personal favorite, 'We can't save everyone. Sacrifices have to be made.'

    She had looked into a mirror today, and what she saw was the very person she had once despised.

    And the worst thing? She couldn't even say that it was worth it. She had decided to play the long game only to find out that the rules weren't what she thought they were. How many lives had Cauldron ruined? The people they abducted, turned into monster, mind-raped, all so they could have an army when the final battle arrived. Except there was no final battle. Scion was gone. Cauldron was gone. The formulas were gone. All that was left of their legacy was their victims.

    "…okay, Rebecca?"

    She opened her eyes to find David and Michael looking at her with concern. "Are you okay?" Michael repeated. "You were a million miles away."

    I'm looking back at my life only to see that I wasted the last twenty years and apparently threw out all my morals along the way. "I'm fine," she said with a practiced smile, the same one she gave reporters and subordinates. What did it say that her two closest friends just nodded and accepted it, not even realizing that it was fake? "Today was a bad day, and I still have a lot of work to do before the Chief Director can leave. I don't mean to kick you out, but…."

    "It's fine. We understand." David and Michael stood and put on their masks. Looking at Eidolon, Legend asked, "Do you need a lift back to Houston?"

    "I'm fine. I brought Hopscotch with me. I just hope she didn't run off after a butterfly or something. She's a nightmare to find when she—"

    The door closed shut behind them, and Rebecca rubbed her temples. She had quit aging quite a while ago, but right now, she felt every one of her forty years. Reaching into a small pocket sewn into her suit, she pulled out her civilian ID's cell phone and scrolled through her missed calls. Jillian, her secretary. Jillian again. Oscar, her second-in-command. Jillian. The aide for the Tennessee governor she was supposed to meet in the next couple of weeks. Jillian really needed to talk to her, didn't she? Her mom….

    She stopped and looked at that number again. Her relationship with her parents had been strained after she disappeared for two years for her 'experimental chemotherapy', and after that her two different roles in the government ate up all her time. She hadn't visited them in years, and while she gave them both her work and personal number just in case something terrible ever happened, she generally ignored their calls unless she happened to answer without thinking. She was just too busy. Managing the PRT, running the Protectorate's LA branch, keeping Cauldron's plans running smoothly.

    Her fingers tapped a button.

    "Hello?"

    "Hey, Mom."

    "Becca! This is a surprise. You never call."

    "I know. I'm sorry about that." Her helmet silently taunted her, and she turned her gaze away from it and to the skyline. "I know it's late up there, but do you have time to talk for a little while?"

    Right now, Alexandria could wait.


    Solar Wrath learned.

    Now you know the AU element that's been plaguing this arc. You can thank JadeKaiser for this; I had to tell him multiple times that this was a light-hearted quest, including at one point that I was thinking of how to handwave away the Scion fight.
    And you also know what I meant when I said Breakdown and Phantasm are OCs with canon shards. Yes, Scion is dead, and the shards he originally planned to keep out of the cycle have been thrown into play. Breakdown got the Stilling shard (AKA, the Golden Fuck Off Beam), which is what let him kill Crawler and the Siberian, and Scion's mass-hiding avatar-creation shard is the reason Phantasm can see a chunk of the Simurgh's core.
    What does this mean at the end of the day? With Scion out of the picture, all you have to do to win the quest is kill the three Endbringers. Good luck!
     
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    • AAR: Psychic Smasher
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    • After-Action Report for Arc 3: Psychic Smasher

    The Who, the What, and (Some of) the Why
    I'm sure some of you are still wondering what the hell just happened. The short answer is that the Simurgh was after you, and no, it's not just because you're the protagonist and so the world automatically revolves around you. From a precognitive perspective, every time you exchange a lot of information telepathically with Perfect Storm – such as getting the calculations for a spell or doing a training simulation – it is very similar to a trigger event. If you're just sitting there quietly doing something non-cape-related, she can predict you, but as soon as you get in a fight, you turn into a recurrent blind spot in much the way Eidolon does and for the same reason. That means when you interact with major events, her precognition fails and she has to replot the future. She understandably wants to know how you can do that. As for what she intends to do with that information, only one person IC knows, and she isn't talking yet.

    The reason for the power nullifier–mutagenic cannon–Scream booster was, as I've mentioned on SV, because she was making a point of just how dangerous she can be. No one knew the Endbringer were sandbagging at this point in canon. Now they, and you in particular, do. She thinks you have something she wants, and she's decided fear is the best way to motivate you into giving it to her.

    To Flee or Not to Flee
    • You chose to stick around and help.
    • If you chose to flee, you quickly would have discovered Ziz chasing you. She can't figure out what you're doing if you aren't there, now can she? At that point, you could have chosen to lead her back to Brockton Bay and thereby become part of the fight in an active combat role, or you could have tried to hold her off where you were, which would have ended… badly. Fatally badly.

    Team Player
    • You chose to be part of the Search and Rescue group.
    • Had you chosen the transport group, you only would have grabbed five sets of people before Ziz attacked the PRT headquarters and forced you to focus on the fight at hand. Just like had you run, she needs you to stick around.
    • Without Solar Wrath, you wouldn't have been able to do much good in the Blaster group. You would have gotten two new spells instead of one, though.
    • You had nothing to offer by joining the strategy or healing group, and if I remember correctly, I didn't even give you the choice of joining the latter.
    • Joining the impact group would have gotten you killed, full stop. That consequence was meant to be obvious.

    The Electro-Psychic Pulse
    • That fucking vote. I hate it. I'm the GM. I should never, ever have to decide how a vote goes. That goes double when I know that one of the choices is superior to the other.
    • The path you chose got you caught in the AMF pulse and temporarily dropped your spells down a skill level. But, since you protected Vista, she suffered no injuries.
    • Had you flown away, you would have escaped the blast. Your spells would have been at full power. And since the actual vote was to grab Vista, she would have been safe and not de-powered, too. This is the choice I wanted to give you.
    • God, that vote sucked.
    • Shielding yourself only would have ended the same as the plan you chose for you, but Vista would have been injured since she would tried to "step" away from the pulse and would have lost her power between the two buildings. It wouldn't have killed her because I'm not that mean, but it would have broken her legs.
    • Had you dropped down to huddle behind a building, you would have been affected by the blast just the same.
    • Oh, and the Temporal Sludge plan. Even though it involved flying away, the exact wording involved waiting until the unaffected edge of the blast passed you to try to run. The pulse would have dissolved Temporal Sludge just as easily as it did Wide Area Search and Strong Shield, and so you wouldn't have been able to get away fast enough to escape it. You probably would have been injured, too, since you would have lost your flight between buildings just like Vista would have. Had the vote been to cast Temporal Sludge and then fly away as fast as you could while the rest of the blast was still approaching, you would have made it to safety.
    • Have I mentioned how much I hate making that vote turn out?

    The Beast
    • Holy shit, the entire chapter leading up to that vote just sent tempers sky high.
    • Originally, running back to base was guaranteed survival, attacking the Simurgh was guaranteed death, and attacking or distracting Monster Mom was a chance at death. That idea was changed because 1) I was tired of the arc and wanted it to be over, 2) thinking about it again, killing you does not serve the Simurgh's interests any more than letting you run around outside of the battlefield does, and 3) it would have almost certainly kicked up a riot that I did not want to deal with. I'm not that oblivious.

    Aftermath
    • You chose to head home in 1.2, so Danny didn't go postal on the assembled capes and use his powers to try to kill Kaiser and Lung. It also means you got mega-easy mode, what with Scion hand waved away as I mentioned doing early on.
    • Telling the Protectorate about telepathy and your immunity didn't give you any immediate advantage because of how hasty the screening was, but they now have a lot more information about telepathy than anyone has ever been able to figure out.
    • You earned Alexandria's attention in a big way, both with your telepathic immunity, your knowledge, and how you reminded her of herself, which honestly was not part of the plan but wrote itself into 3.5 and 3.x all on its own. We'll see how that plays out in the future.
    • Since you never recruited Purity, she was still considered a villain and was quarantined in BB due to being questionably compromised. Ironically, considering the reasons for not taking the Light in the Darkness quest in Arc 2 until you were all but forced into it, it was your absence rather than your actions that drove her back to the Nazis.

    Skills
    • From here on out, we will be using a skill tree to get new spells. I hope you enjoy getting more direct control over your character.
    • Since you didn't fight the Simurgh, you could only learn one spell this time. You picked Solar Wrath, which will serve you well so long as you don't kill anybody with it. Although if you mean to kill somebody, I suppose it will still serve you well.
     
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    • Emigration 4.1
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    • Emigration 4.1

    Sunday, March 6
    "It's not funny!"

    "It's kind of funny," Kurt disagrees, doing his best to contain his snickers. The rest of the Privateers' leadership isn't doing so well at that, though at least your dad looks just as embarrassed as you are. "And look at it this way: it could be worse."

    You shoot him and the tablet he carries a hateful glare. Why oh why doesn't Perfect Storm know a spell to incinerate objects with just a look? "Yes, I should be happy that random people on the internet are content with just fantasizing in explicit detail about my torrid love affair with my own father!"

    Goddamn shippers. They are the worst. Apparently, that hug you gave your dad immediately after the Simurgh fight was not quite as inconspicuous as you expected it would be after an Endbringer fight, and people there got ideas. Then some Tinker, who you will track down sooner or later, decided to post pictures. For the first time, that your Barrier Jacket makes you look a couple of years older serves as a disadvantage because no one considered that the two of you might be father and daughter. Instead, several people latched on to the idea that your relationship is a May-December romance, and then the shippers slid out of their slimy holes and started making insinuations. Insinuations and bad cape-fic and Photoshopped images. Worse, because you look like a legal adult, the rules protecting minors from being sexualized aren't being applied, and that was before Perfect Storm found you being mentioned in the NSFW threads.

    If you ever find out who XxVoid_CowboyxX is when he isn't on the Internet, you're going to feed his computer to him piece by piece with great violence.

    Alexander and Margaret glance at each other and then pointedly look away, their jaws trembling as they keep their laughter contained as best they can. Your dad just sighs in resignation. "And to think, they're still not as bad as the ones setting Samantha up with literally everyone."

    "I didn't think they were that bad," your shameless hussy of a Guardian Beast says. "Admittedly, I don't think Narwhal's and Ash Beast's powers would interact like that, but you have to give them points for creativity. And since I am fireproof—"

    "And on that note, I'm gone before I decide I do want to die a virgin, after all."

    The door swings closed behind you, and you walk down the hallway toward the stairwell. In addition to getting away from that conversation, it will be nice to go outside the hotel for a while and just fly. There are a ton of people packed in here, drawn in by the need to sleep somewhere and the significant discount – Endbringer rates, they were calling it – this hotel and others offered to anyone whose driver's license shows a Brockton Bay address, and you've been so busy keeping anyone from noticing that you dad is always off by himself or that there's a random raccoon wandering around that you haven't had any time for yourself.

    These stairs lead up to the roof, and you make a note to leave some money behind in recompense for blowing up the lock that is now laying in shards and puddles on the ground. A thought wraps you in your Barrier Jacket, and then you are rocketing into the clouds. Unfortunately, your relaxing flight is soon interrupted. «You are being contacted by Miss Militia, Mistress.»

    "Ugggh. Fine. Patch it through." The faint crackle of static fills your ears. "Calamity here. What's up, Miss Militia?"

    "Not much. I just got out of a custody meeting." You hum in obvious curiosity, and after a moment, she elaborates, "Vista's parents chose to head to Manchester. They didn't make it."

    Oh. Oh, poor Vista. Most people chose one of three places to run: Dover, Manchester, or Boston. Unfortunately for everyone seeking refuge in Manchester, the stress was apparently enough that someone triggered while on the middle of the freeway. Worse, the power that cape received was one that let him or her sling out huge amounts of boiling tar. When a giant figure formed of hot pitch appeared in the middle of the road where people were already driving fifteen or twenty miles above the speed limit, the results were as tragic as they were predictable. The wrecks just kept piling up, killing several dozen people and injuring hundreds of others. The cape who started everything, labeled Tar-Baby by the media, had slipped away and could not be found.

    "That's terrible. But the rest of the Wards can help her, can't they? And you got custody of her, so that's someone else she can rely on."

    "For now, yes. Legally, the courts still need to decide who receives custody of her civilian identity, but I have custody of her cape identity until we get settled in Philly."

    You turn to stare at the red jewel of your staff. "Philly? But I thought Armsmaster was named as the new head of the Boston branch."

    "He is. That doesn't mean we're all staying here. Even after… after we lost so many to the Simurgh, we're still one of the largest branches in the Northeast." She wasn't kidding about the number of casualties; the Brockton Bay Protectorate had lost five heroes in that fight. Kid Win and Velocity died when the Simurgh first unveiled her machine, Aegis when his powers were turned off and he could no longer fly, and Battery and Triumph sometime after that, probably when she turned all those people into monsters. Miss Militia takes a moment to collect herself before she continues, "Boston is a relatively quiet town from a parahuman perspective, and between Armsmaster, Dauntless, Gallant, and what's left of New Wave, that is more than enough reinforcement to deal with any villains who choose to stay. Not that many will; the main villain in Boston is a Thinker named Accord, and he probably does a better job of running other villains out of town than the Protectorate does.

    "Assault and Clockblocker are headed to Chicago. Unlike Brockton Bay, up there villains are enforcers in the gangs rather than the leaders, and the Protectorate spends a lot of time working with the police to bring in the unpowered thugs. The PRT decided my power would make the gangs too likely to escalate, but Clockblocker has the perfect skill set for making arrests, and Assault has… contacts there from before he joined the Protectorate.

    "Like I said, I'm off to Philadelphia with Vista. For some reason, a lot of Case 53s have been popping up there over the last couple of months. Very powerful, very violent, and unfortunately very insane Case 53s. My powers are better suited to dealing with attacks like that."

    That's most of the surviving capes, but one's missing. "What about Shadow Stalker?" You blanch. "I'm so sorry. Is she…?"

    "No, she survived. We have had some… disciplinary issues with her, and Legend has an interest in troubled Wards. She's moving to New York."

    "Doesn't seem like much of a punishment to me."

    "In many ways, it's not. It's not supposed to be. I'm sure she will think it is, though." You can hear the smile in Miss Militia's voice. "When the Wards first started, it was supposed to be somewhere we could sort out our issues and learn how to use our powers safely and responsibly. Legend has kept it like that for the most part. She'll receive a lot of anger management, a lot of counseling, a lot of lessons on how she should use her powers rather than just how she can use them. It'll be good for her."

    "Why are you telling me all this?" you ask. Just informing you that she's leaving is one thing, but all these details, especially the stuff about Shadow Stalker? There's something going on here. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but it sounds like you have some ulterior motive besides just giving me a heads up."

    "I do," she admits without a moment's hesitation. "You, the Privateers. You want to have a positive impact on the world. You want to do something that matters. I congratulate you on that, but if you want to make a difference, I don't know that you can or should try doing it in Boston. Yes, there are still villains here, but things are stable, and most of the crimes being committed are nonviolent. Theft, embezzlement, blackmail. Crimes that should be stopped but not ones that can be blasted away. In Brockton Bay, it didn't matter; we were one step away from a gang war. In Boston, raw force will cause more problems than it solves.

    "If you still want to stay, stay. I just thought you should know that there are other places you can go, places where you can find a friendly face and where I think you can do more good than you can here. And if you do decide to stay, you have my number. Feel free to call me if you ever run into any problems or just want someone to talk to."

    You chat for a couple more minutes before she hangs up. You drift in the sky, wondering what you're going to do and how you're going to sell your dad on it.


    I think we all know how awful shippers can be. Probably because most of us fit in that group in some way or another. :D

    We're going to try something a little different in regards to the voting. After a request from one of your colleagues and the general tone of the discussion following the AAR, for this vote and the next couple after that I'm imposing a moratorium that will last for 24 HOURS after the chapter drops. Feel free to discuss the choices all you want until the vote actually opens, and like normal, I will answer what questions I can. I will make an announcement when you can cast your votes. If we decide we like this, we'll keep doing it; if not, it's no trouble to stop. And if anyone else has any suggestions, let me know. There are few things I'm unwilling to at least consider.

    Anyway, where do you want to move?
    • Boston. Stick around with Armsmaster, Dauntless, Gallant, and New Wave. Sure, it's stable, but that just means it should be easier to uproot the local villains.
    • Philadelphia. Follow Miss Militia and Vista. Work with Chevalier and deal with the upsurge in "Case 53s". You just hope no one confuses Samantha for one.
    • Chicago. Follow Assault and Clockblocker. You'll spend most of your time dealing with regular gang violence. Solar Wrath might not be the best spell here. :(

    Fair warning: if Boston or Philadelphia are picked, there are going to be lots of OCs to staff the branches. More in Philly, though, since it's a larger branch and the only canon character there is Chevalier.
     
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    • Emigration 4.2
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    • [ ] Philadelphia


    Emigration 4.2

    Friday, March 11
    "A little more to the left."

    Your dad and Samantha slide the couch to the side with a grunt. Maybe it's a little lazy of you to supervise while they do the hard work, but for all the power your magic gives you, enhanced strength wasn't part of the package. And to be fair, they're moving the heavy stuff while you bring everything else into your new apartment.

    When your family, along with about half the Privateers, moved to Philadelphia, you honestly hoped that you'd be able to buy a little house like the one you grew up in. It would also make life easier for your dad as he would have more space where he could let go with his powers without the risk of enhancing random neighbors. Unfortunately for those neighbors, all of you eventually decided to settle in a nicer area of the city with what was considered one of the city's better public school districts – that was something your dad refused to budge on – and houses here were not cheap. Nor were apartments, really, but with an apartment, there was no need to go to the bank and try to justify how an officially out-of-work union man should qualify for a home loan of $150,000 or more. Then there were the issues of not being able to guarantee just how much money he would be able to pull in from month to month and the issues with trying to essentially launder money through a job he didn't have and….

    Anyway, there were more than a few logistical difficulties cropping up.

    At least the Privateers would be busy. Philadelphia was simultaneously in a better and worse position gang-wise than Brockton Bay. On the one hand, Brockton Bay only had three gangs of note, but discounting the Merchants, they were too large, too entrenched, and too powerful to be toppled easily. When one had more capes than the Protectorate and another had a cape who could and had fought back an Endbringer one-on-one, taking them down required planning, persistence, and lots and lots of practice. Philadelphia, on the other hand, had over a dozen stable gangs and more that popped up and vanished a little later, but most of them possessed no capes. Generally it was the established gangs who did, and when one of the smaller gangs grabbed a parahuman of their own, it didn't take long before that cape either died or showed up working for one of the more established groups.

    That briefing Perfect Storm had given the Privateers as a group had been both comforting and worrying. Comforting because it meant that the worst they would likely run into, especially when they were still getting the lay of the land, was regular thugs with maybe one cape. Worrying because it meant that dealing with the older, stronger gangs was going to be a long-term problem just like the Empire and the ABB would have been.

    But that was a worry for a different day. You don't want to think about blasting away gang members right now. Nor about starting a new school on Monday. Nor do you want to consider the email you received a couple of days ago at the address you set up after becoming an official hero, but that one probably does need a response fairly soon.

    "I think that's the last of it," you tell your dad. "I'm off to fly for a while. Need me to do anything before I leave?"

    He shakes his head and flops onto the couch. "No. I'm just gonna sit here until I get some energy back. Be back for dinner."

    You nod. Considering that the daylight is already fading, it gives you maybe an hour before he wants you back. Plenty of time to think. Before you can ask Samantha if she wants to stay here or come along, she shrinks into her pet form and hops into your dad's lap. He absentmindedly starts petting her. «Call me if you need anything. I think I might just rest for a little while, too.»

    That answers that question. Very glad that the apartment you're renting is on the top floor, something you insisted on for this very reason, you transform and slip out your bedroom window. Your dark Barrier Jacket lets you blend in with the building twilight, and you fly high enough that no one on the ground has any hopes of spotting you. A few minutes drift by in silence before you sigh. "Next week's gonna suck."

    «Why does Mistress not continue her education as currently?»

    "Because Dad wants me to hang out with kids my own age," you tell the Device. "He said he'd consider homeschooling again if things started going bad, but only if the school's like Winslow and doesn't fix things. And," you add in a mutter, "that's if anyone even starts anything in the first place. Emma, Sophia, and Madison targeted me because Emma went nuts and I just endured it no matter what they did to me, so they never had any reason to back off. If someone tries to bully me because I'm the new girl or something, I won't make that mistake again." You shrug. "Not to mention, they won't have any secrets or anything to use against me. No one knows me here. Worst that happens is everyone ignores me, which might be the best thing, too."

    «Mistress is distressed, but foresees no difficulties?»

    "Just because I'm not going to be bullied doesn't mean I want to put up with all the normal high school crap." Perfect Storm is silent about that, and you sigh again. "But that's a minor problem, all things considered. Read me the email again."

    «Calamity Witch,

    «I was reviewing what footage we have of the Simurgh fight, and I could not help but notice something interesting in the process. I apologize if you feel that I crossed a line, but despite what you said in your affiliation registration, it is obvious that your staff is Tinkertech. Please do not be concerned that this will negatively influence your current relationship with the PRT; you are not the first independent hero who has wanted to keep her cards close to the vest, as it were, and you will not be the last.

    «The reason I have contacted you is personal rather than strictly professional. It should come as no surprise that I like to speak to any new Tinkers on the scene, and the fact that according to eyewitness accounts your device still functioned when the Simurgh's machine destroyed all the rest of our tech? What you built is truly something remarkable. If you ever want to talk shop, feel free to get in touch with me.

    «Hope to talk to you soon,
    Dragon    »

    Silence fills the air for a moment. "This is a polite way of saying she's going to bug me until I call her about how 'I' built you, isn't it?"

    «A strong possibility, Mistress.»

    "Great. Maybe if I were an engineer or a programmer or something, I could pull it off, but I'm just a high schooler. There's no way she wouldn't see right through me. Unless you can teach me enough about magic technology that I could fool the best Tinker in the world?" you ask hopefully.

    Perfect Storm buzzes quietly. «I do not know the details of my own construction.»

    "I was afraid you were going to say that. I wonder what else has gone wrong in the world today?"

    «All local PRT branches received a bulletin,» your Device says in a cheerful voice. «Members of migratory criminal group the Fallen were seen in Maryland. Agents supervising the construction of the wall surrounding Brockton Bay are aware.»

    "Of course. Endbringer cultists. That's what life was missing."

    «Expectations are the PRT can defend against the Fallen. Eligos was the only identified mage.» That really didn't help. After a slight pause, Perfect Storm asked, «Can a request be submitted?»

    "A request?" You flip around so you're right-side-up and look at the gleaming red jewel. "Sure. What do you want?"

    «Sufficient data concerning recent atmospheric phenomena was collected to create simulation of dimensional craft's reentry and destruction. Media included reports of 'green comets', high potential for being debris. Request that Mistress assist in locating pieces.»

    That was not at all what you were expecting to hear, and you aren't entirely sure how to answer. "Not that I'm saying no, but what are you looking for? That was a couple of months ago. Even if we did find them, they've either been picked clean by anyone nearby or they're in the middle of the ocean and the water's ruined everything."

    The faint warble Perfect Storm let out was pitiful. «Computer core may be intact. Cargo manifests, communication logs, personnel listings.» It hesitates for a moment, something it has done on only rare occasions. It takes a lot to rattle your Device, but apparently this qualifies. «Recovery of corrupted memory sectors has slowed. Origin, engineer, initial designation still unknown. Full recovery likely impossible. Craft may contain desired data.»

    You pull the staff closer and hug it as best you can. With how knowledgable Perfect Storm is about magic, it's easy to forget that it had what was essentially computer amnesia when you first found it. If it really is the only thing that survived reentry, it might never know who it is or where it comes from. You're pretty sure your Device knows that, but it does no one any good to bring it up.

    "We'll see."


    +2 training to Solar Wrath (2/6 Novice).

    Let's wheel out this arc's quests. Pick two to start next week.
    • Picking up the Pieces – Perfect Storm is tracking down the pieces of the alien spaceship that was carrying it before it crashed onto Earth Bet. It understandably wants to know what it is and where it comes from. Follow the directions to locate something useful, maybe even the ship's computer.
    • A Dragon's Hoard – Dragon wants to talk to you about Perfect Storm. Dragon. The only problem is that she wants to talk to you as one Tinker to another, and you aren't a Tinker. This conversation might require a little bit of intense planning and preparation.
    • Snark Hunt – According to the PRT bulletin, the Fallen are headed up to Brockton Bay, possibly to interfere with the building of the wall. They… probably aren't going to be too much trouble for the PRT agents to hold off, but lend a hand to drive off the Endbringer-worshippers.
    • Helping Out the Little Guy – Look for trouble in your new home and stop it. You can write in for someone to come along with you.
    • Hanging Out – This is a bit of an experiment. Pick someone to spend time with outside of combat. Write in the who, what, and where.
    • Know Thyself – Spend a free period training in the simulator. May be chosen twice. Write-in for which spell to practice.
    Remember, 24 hours until the vote actually opens. Think and talk amongst yourselves until then.
     
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    • Emigration 4.3
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    • [ ] Helping Out the Little Guy
    -[ ]With Vista!


    Emigration 4.3

    Monday, March 14
    The bell rings to signal the end of the last class of the day, and you are among the first students out the door. That's not to say that Mr. Paulson, the algebra teacher here at Winterrose Academy, is bad necessarily. He's certainly better than Mr. Quinlan back at Winslow, though that might have something to do with the fact that this particular charter school doesn't seem to have any kind of gang activity whatsoever. Which is kind of strange all on its own, to be honest. It made sense back in Brockton Bay for Arcadia to be gang-free; everyone knew the Wards attended that school. Here in Philadelphia, though? There are only three Wards, four counting Vista, and only one is high school age. One Ward in attendance should not be enough to scare all the gangs into submission, and the rumor is that he goes to school on the other side of town, anyway.

    "Taylor!"

    Your musings have cost you. Before you can disappear into the sea of black sweaters, a girl pops up and links her arm with yours. "That was just so unfair. Your first day, and Paulson makes you take a pop-quiz? Doesn't he have any decency? If you get a bad grade, just let me know. I'll tell Michelle and she'll tell Fiona and she'll tell Bobby and he'll tell his father – he's desperate to get back on her good side after that mess with Gretchen, and even if I don't think he was making out with her like everyone's saying, it was still stupid to be in the music room alone with her, right? – and he's on the school board so he'll tell the principal, and I just know that you'll get a chance to retake it or something."

    "I'm sure I'll be fine," you tell her, partly because you have no idea what she just said. Kayleigh is, to your ever-growing regret, part of the Welcoming Club, a school club that, well, welcomes in new students and supposedly tries to help them fit in with a minimum of stress. You aren't the only Brocktonite who's starting today, and yet somehow out of that crowd of refugees, you are the one she chose to claim. You actually asked her why during lunch, and you were punished with more word-vomit that boiled down to you looking like 'little lost Bambi' and her wanting to make sure you felt at home.

    She reminds you a bit of Madison, which is a completely unfair comparison. Madison was good at playing up the cute little girl angle to get people, teachers included, to ignore any wrongdoing on her part and give her whatever she wanted. Kayleigh has the staff similarly wrapped around her finger, but with her, it seems genuine. She is just that ridiculously chipper. She almost doesn't seem human but instead a puppy whose brain somebody shoved into a girl's head. You've only been around her for a few hours, and already you're exhausted. How do people deal with this day after day after day?

    You take a moment to be glad Samantha is a raccoon.

    "Oh! I know how to cheer you up!" Kayleigh runs in front of you, plaid skirt twirling. "I forgot all about it, but Greg's throwing a party at his place in a couple of weeks. The whole school's invited. Well, not the whole school, but it's still a lot of people, and since I'm invited, you're invited, too." She gives you a guileless smile. "What do you say? Let's go let's go let's go!"

    "I'll have to think about it. Parties aren't my thing, and…." You consider your plans for the night. "And I might be busy."

    xxxxxxxxxxxxx​

    So much for being busy.

    Without knowing much about Philadelphia, you decided to patrol for a while. Nothing too intense, just getting the lay of the land and maybe stopping a couple of muggers or a break-in along the way. In a city of 1.5 million people, there is bound to be a lot of crime going on. Monday nights doesn't seem to be the time for it, though. The entire town is quiet as grave.

    «See anything on your end?» you ask.

    «Couple hookers, but that's it,» Samantha replies. After the first twenty boring minutes, the two of you split up to cover more ground, and thanks to telepathy, you'll know almost instantly if she runs into trouble. So far, you haven't had to worry about that. «I don't know about you, but I'm starting to think we're wasting our time out— Hello, there.»

    «You found something?»

    «Sure did, but not what we're looking for. Turns out we aren't the only ones on patrol. I'm gonna say hi.»

    «Samantha, what are you doing?    » She doesn't respond. Sighing, you dash off.

    Startled laughter tells you you're close, and you drop down only to shake your head at the sight. "Samantha, put that down. You don't know where it's been."

    "Buwuh?! I don't like you any more," Vista says with a scowl. Her attempt to shame you fails the instant your Guardian Beast gives her another squeeze and makes her giggle. Her chaperone glares at all three of you. You can already piece together what happened: Samantha flew in as fast as she could and scooped the younger girl up and maybe twirled her a few times for good measure before anyone knew what was happening. "Samantha, are you sure you don't want to leave nasty old Calamity and stay with me instead?"

    "Hmm. A temping offer," the raccoon woman says with a wink in your direction, "but I'm afraid I have to decline. It's a full-time job keeping Calamity and Captain in line, and without me around, I just know that they'd be helpless."

    "You spent all day at home watching crappy soap operas!" Samantha shrugs your rebuke away. Ignoring them for a moment, you float over to the other Ward and offer your hand. "Hey. I'm Calamity Witch. That's my partner, Samantha."

    He just looks at your hand for a moment before replying in a flat tone, "Bouncer."

    "Nice to meet you," you try to say, but you can't help your voice lifting up at the end. Of the four of you here, the white-costumed hero is the only one who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. "You're the local Wards leader, I hear. I suppose you know where the gang territories are."

    "Wards don't interfere in gang-related activities," he tells you with all the enthusiasm of someone reading from a phone book. "That is left to the police or the Protectorate should a cape be sighted. We go on patrol to let the public know that the PRT is vigilant in their duties to protect the public." Bouncer crosses his arms over the two upwards arrows painted on his chest. "Something we were doing before you interrupted us."

    "Bouncer, stop being a dick. Calamity Witch and Samantha are good people and good heroes." Vista turns to you. "Do you want to patrol with us? It'd be nice to see some friendly faces."

    "We'd be happy to," Samantha answers for both of you.

    Bouncer scoffs and walks off, and a little skip-hop sends him in a high arc over the street to the next building. "Keep up, little girl, or you'll get left behind!"

    "God, I hate him already," your fellow newcomer says. "He's got all the arrogance and bad attitude Shadow Stalker has and is just as much a stick in the mud as Aegis… was…."

    You reach over and give the now-silent girl a one-armed hug. "How are you holding up?"

    "I'm fine."

    How often have you heard those two meaningless words pass your own lips over the last year and a half? "Mm-hmm."

    "I am!" she insists. You lock eyes with her and just hold her gaze until she looks away. "I kinda knew this was going to happen someday. Endbringers, villains, a thug who got lucky. Hookwolf nearly killed me once," Vista admits, "and it was luck that I got away then. Someone I knew was going to die on me eventually. I just… didn't think it was going to be all at once. Or that we'd get split up like this. Everyone I know's gone. My team, my parents." Her face contorts as she tries to stop herself from crying. "I guess I should be glad I'm with Miss Militia, though, right? At least I have one familiar face around."

    "No," cuts in Samantha, "you have three. We're not going away any time soon."

    "Miss Militia has my number." Well, technically the number of the burner phone you bought and that Perfect Storm did something with to make sure it wouldn't get canceled, but that's a minor detail in the grand scheme of things. "If you ever want someone to patrol with or vent to or just hang out with, give us a call. We'll make time."

    She reaches under her visor to wipe her eyes. "Thanks. We should keep going. I don't think he's kidding about leaving us behind."

    You take the obvious segue for what it is and let her twist space to cut down the distance you have to go. To your surprise, Bouncer did wait for you. You start to thank him, but he flings his arm up in a silent command to stop. Jerk.

    "Trouble?" Samantha whispers.

    Oh. That would be a good reason to be quiet. The three of you creep up to join him on the ledge of the building and look down. Eight figures move around in the street, five black and three yellow. It takes you a moment to realize what you're seeing, but then you can't help but stare.

    These are the Case 53s Miss Militia was talking about?!

    The black figures are definitely Brutes, and all of them look like someone scaled up a rat to monstrous size and then tried to make them look borderline human as an afterthought. The yellows are better shaped, but they look… drippy. Snot-yellow slime molded into fat little men with big snail-shell hats on their heads, and once again, they are identical to their brothers.

    Maybe Slime is a duplicator? He has to have some other power than that, though, or it wouldn't make sense for him to make copies of himself, too, nor why he's out in the open rather than letting Rat's doubles do the work. Or, scarier thought, the duplicator is a third cape, in which case you have no idea what Slime's capable of.

    A Rat jumps through the window of the store they're clustered around, and his doubles are quick to follow. To your surprise, this isn't a jeweler's or a pawn shop or something else sensible. It's just a mom-and-pop grocery store. You've heard that Case 53s have problems interacting with other people because of their appearances, but to rob a grocery store? Something's not right about this.

    "We take out the goop guys first," Vista says with an air of authority. "Calamity, Sam, you hit heavier than we do. Bouncer, I'll drop you on the street—"

    "No. We're leaving." You look at Bouncer in surprise to find him tapping on his phone. "Going in guns blazing might be how you did things in that craphole you called home, but you're in Philly now. We pull out and let the PRT handle this."

    Vista points downwards. "They're right there! I don't know about you, but I'm a hero. I'm not going to let them just get away."

    "And I'm team leader. You want to be a Ward? You do what I say when I say it."

    The two teens glare daggers at each other, neither willing to bend, and below you, the Case 53s continue with their pillaging.


    +1 training to Solar Wrath (3/6 Adept).

    If it seems a little convenient for your first patrol to introduce you to the insane Case 53s, well, it is. Then again, all fiction is based around convenient coincidences, and quests in particular.

    On to the important question. What are you going to do about this?
    • Get away and call in the PRT. Bouncer's local, so he should know how things get done around here.
    • Stay back and watch. They aren't hurting anyone at the moment, so best to see what they can do.
    • Nibble at their flanks. Take them out stealthily, starting at the edge and working inwards.
    • Charge in head-first. They broke the law, and now you'll break them. Shock and awe, people.
    Oh! One more thing I forgot to tell you earlier. Solar Wrath, Temporal Sludge, and WAS are all advanced spells, which means Taylor will never use them on her own. Unless you vote to use these abilities, she will rely on her bread-and-butter Flare Shooter, Strong Shield, and occasionally Rust Shooter.
     
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    • Emigration 4.4
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    • [ ] Stay back and watch. They aren't hurting anyone at the moment, so best to see what they can do.
    -[ ] Remember Samantha's comments after the Tattletale debacle. Acknowledge that there may be more to be learned from a subtle approach this time.
    -[ ] Use WAS to gather information. Attempt to use your searchers without attracting the notice of the slime creatures.
    -[ ] Notify Vista and Bouncer of your intent to fight if you're noticed or human lives become endangered so they can make their decisions accordingly.


    Emigration 4.4

    "I think you both might be getting just a little ahead of yourselves," you tell the Wards after a moment's thought. "We know nothing about them, and while they are committing a crime, it looks like they're just stealing food. If they're that hard up, I have a hard time accepting we need to blast them from the word 'go'. We should at least see what they're actually up to before we make any moves."

    Bouncer glares at you. "Weren't you listening? We're leaving. This is not your precious gang land. Fighting is not our job."

    You look him up and down, your expression proof of just how little you think of him. "If Chevalier really told you to ignore a crime going on right in front of you, I will eat my hat." Bouncer is either a coward or an asshole or both if he really thinks he can get away with something like that. And for him to order you around? Oh, hell no. It's time to make your older appearance work for you. "Besides, kid, I'm not part of your little club. I'm sticking around. I'll smooth things out with Militia if you want to join me, Vista."

    "There's no way I'm leaving now."

    Facing a united front, you expect Bouncer to fold. What he does instead surprises you. "Your funerals." He turns away and slings himself into the air, crossing several rooftops in a single bound.

    "This is what you've had to deal with since you got here?" you ask the younger heroine. "You have my sympathies."

    She shrugs. "It's not that bad. Bouncer is… Bouncer, but Cherry Bomb and Flambé have both been really nice. They're the same age as me, too, and they've been capes for a lot less time. It's nice not having the entire team treat me like the baby of the group."

    You shrug at that and look down to make sure the Slimes hadn't heard your whispered argument. They don't seem to be paying any attention, to your great relief. "Just so you know, if they wind up posing a threat to anybody—"

    "I'll be right behind you."

    Giving Vista a small smile, you settle in to watch and wait.

    «Being more cautious, are we?» Samantha asks in your head. «Not that I disapprove, but what made you decide to take a wait and see approach?»

    «A bit of this, a bit of that.    » Your Guardian Beast shoots you a raised eyebrow. «We don't know exactly what they're doing or what they're thinking. If they're villains, we can't leave them be, but if they're just trying to survive, it wouldn't be right to shoot first and ask questions later. It's like the thing with Tattletale,» you add with a sheepish expression. «A little bit of restraint goes a long way.»

    She nods in understanding and returns her attention to the Case 53s. The Rats seem to be wrapping things up, several of them climbing out the broken window with distended bellies and arms full of food. They will probably head towards their lair soon, wherever that may be.

    Thinking for a moment, you hold your staff out and cast Wide Area Search. You don't know for sure that the lair will be close by, but if it is, you'd like to know who and what is hanging around before you wander in and get caught by any guards.

    The sparks zip off in all directions, and the glowing streaks catch the Rats' attention. Several of them snarl at the spell, but to your surprise, they are more focused on where the sparks are going, not where they came from. That should be common sense any time powers are concerned. "You've been a cape for a while," you say to Vista. "Do Case 53s normally act this… animal-ish?"

    "…No. All the ones I've met are normal people, just with weird bodies. They don't act like this."

    Before you can think too hard on that, a holographic screen pops up to your left. Vista watches with undisguised curiosity while you tap part of the display to take a closer look at just what it is that's rapidly approaching you. You groan when you see the white car and the flashing blue lights on top. "Cops incoming. I guess the window had a silent alarm on it or something."

    "That could be a problem." You look at Vista in confusion, and she explains, "Depending on how trigger-happy the cops are, they might set these guys off or they might not. There's no way to tell."

    The police car swerves around a corner and slows to a stop, and the two officers inside step out. Both have their hands on their guns, but neither has drawn it yet. That's a good sign. "Everyone stop and stay where you are! Nice and easy now—"

    The car vanishes, and in its place are the Rats. Clawed arms swing out, and even with the cops' screams drowned out by the car landing heavily on the asphalt, the sprays of blood are still far too visible.

    Your view of the scene distorts, and your Flare Shooters cross the space in an instant to slam into the Rats' chests. Samantha jumps through the warped space and slams her fist into bellies and heads, and then you're there yourself. A Rat snarls and catches a blast of fire in his mouth. You shoot upwards, fireballs forming in a circle around you—

    The ground is suddenly right below you again, and a set of claws slices at your face. Your Barrier Jacket withstands the attack. You fire two of the Flare bullets, and they swing to the sides when Samantha replaces the Rat. She jumps up and kicks you in the stomach, but your feelings of betrayal are cut off when you slam into something big and broad. The remaining Flare Shooters hammer whatever it is. Even without sight, the smell of burnt hair gives you a clue.

    A nearby Rat jumps at you and is replaced by one of the injured cops, and you catch him before he can hit the ground only to wrap your arms around matted black fur. Sharp teeth clamp around your head, and you gag at the foul breath that washes over your face. Being so close, you hit it again and again with Flare Shooters. The heat from the blasts do nothing to you, but after the fifth or sixth one, the Rat rears back with a screech that gives you the perfect chance to shove a brace of bullets into its mouth. They don't blow up until they reach where you expect the Rat's stomach to be.

    Swinging your staff like a club, you divert it upwards when the next Rat you aim at turns into Vista. Samantha reaches out and tosses the Ward away from the fray, and then the raccoon woman vanishes in a flash of golden light that is echoed from farther up the street. You are too concerned with flying up to catch Vista to wonder how many hits Samantha had to withstand to cast that spell in the middle of a fight.

    You and Vista go high above the battle and, finally getting a minute to breathe, look around. Samantha has teleported behind the Slimes, and now she is a blur of motion as she hits them hard enough to throw them into each other and the brick wall nearby. The Rats stop jumping up to try to grab you when one of the Slimes lets out a warbling screech, but none of them are fast enough to reach Samantha before she swings the last one around and splatters its head against the wall.

    You grimace at the violent and lethal display. Samantha made it clear after your chat with Tattletale that she would kill if she thought it necessary to protect you, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier or less disturbing to watch.

    Motion on your search screen finally catches your attention, and then one of the Rats staggers backwards with blood spurting from its chest. It falls, followed by the one to its left. A black SUV, the PRT's emblem pained on its hood and Miss Militia standing halfway out the sunroof, squeals to a stop. The assault rifle in the heroine's hands barks in a harsh staccato, and another Rat dies. This would be the best time for the rest of the duplicates to run, but that isn't what they do. Like rabid animals, they rush the car.

    And like rabid animals, they are put down without mercy.

    Miss Militia's rifle collapses into a black and green smear that reforms as a large hunting knife. She wiggles out of the roof and waves you and Vista over. "Are you two okay?"

    "We're okay," Vista says when you land. She is quiet, though, and you catch her giving the older hero a few cautious glances. It looks like she is just as unnerved by the unexpected viciousness as you are. "How did you know where to find us?"

    "Bouncer called the console and told us. Where is he?" she asks with a puzzled look around.

    You scoff. Bouncer calling this in helped you, no mistake about that, but it sounds like he hadn't told them the whole story. "He's gone. As soon as we said we were staying here and keeping an eye on things, he hopped off without looking back."

    A deep breath through her nose is the only hint you get of Miss Militia's anger. "I see. Thank you for keeping Vista safe. If you'll excuse us, though, we need to get back to base."

    "What about the bodies?"

    "Uh, Calamity?" Samantha says. "You might want to look again."

    Wondering what in the world she's talking about, you do just that and stare at what you find. The bodies of the Slimes are little more than puddles of yellow goop, a bubble popping here and there as their flesh keeps melting. Moving your eyes to the Rats, you see more or less the same thing happening there. The bodies are deflating like balloons, and in some cases the skin of their bellies has sloughed off to reveal partially chewed foodstuffs.

    Samantha smiles slightly. "How convenient. They're self-cleaning."

    You cancel Wide Area Search with a sigh even as you see more cars enter your field of surveillance, undoubtedly additional PRT agents come to secure the scene. "Are you going to want us to give a statement or something?"

    Miss Militia grimaces briefly, the motion so quick that you have to prompt Perfect Storm to replay it in an unobtrusive window to make sure you didn't imagine it. "You can if you want to, but it won't be necessary. We just appreciate the help."

    When the pair walk back to the SUV, you and Samantha take to the air. "I don't like this," you say once you're out of earshot. "Something about this doesn't feel right. I think… I think she's hiding something."

    Something small and fluffy lands on your hip, and you pick up the raccoon and cradle her to your chest. Whatever this secret is, you know you won't like the truth.


    Ouch. That didn't end well, did it? On the plus side, while a couple of cops just died brutal, messy deaths, you get a new spell, so yay? Like I said in the 4.3 vote post, we are still holding a moratorium for this chapter, so talk to each other about what you want to learn but DO NOT VOTE YET.
     
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    • Emigration 4.5
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    • [ ] Picking up the Pieces


    Emigration 4.5

    Friday, March 18
    Cold Atlantic waves lap at your boots while you watch the sun sink behind the watery horizon. "You're sure about this?"

    «Yes, Mistress. Based on videos uploaded onto the Internet and extrapolating speed and trajectory, fragments of the carrier ship would have fallen along this course and been submerged. Likely locations of various fragments have been approximated.»

    "How big an area are we talking about?"

    You hope it's going to be something fairly small, maybe even small enough that you could cover it with Wide Area Search, but your Device disappoints you. «Seventy percent likelihood in an area of 0.8 mile diameter. Ninety-five percent within two miles from center.»

    "Great." You shake your head with a sigh. "Oh, well. Let's get started."

    «There is one additional issue,» Perfect Storm interrupts. «Mistress's Barrier Jacket is not appropriate for undersea search efforts. It is set to protect against sudden impact and energy attacks. It will need to be recalibrated. Contained oxygen supply, resistance to increased pressures. Defense against enemy attack will be limited, but probability of confrontation is minimal.»

    Barely do you have time to open your mouth before your costume shines a sickly red. Slick fabric slides around on your body, and then the light fades to reveal the new 'calibration'. You've gotten used to your Barrier Jacket's short skirt and top, even the slinking walk that comes built in, but your initial discomfort comes back full force now that you're stuck in this itty-bitty string bikini. "Not right now, but very soon you and I are going to have a long talk about what I consider being properly dressed."

    Samantha chortles behind you. "Don't listen to her, Storm. She just needs a push to dress like a teenage girl is supposed to want to dress."

    "Don't give it any ideas just because you like to embarrass me." Shooting her a look through narrowed eyes, you taunt, "Besides, I want to see what it comes up with for you. Hopefully it'll be a swimsuit from the 1900s or something."

    «Guardian Beasts possess Inherent Forcefields, not Barrier Jackets,» Perfect Storm says, speaking from its new form as a red sphere set into the metal vambrace that wraps around your right forearm. «They cannot be recalibrated.»

    "Guess that answers that question," Samantha says with a faint laugh. You can see the worry in her eyes, though. Right now, you don't have the defenses you've gotten used to, and she won't be there to back you up if you get into trouble this time. As if she can read your mind, she shakes her head. "You're going into the ocean. You shouldn't be in any real danger unless you decide to play tag with a great white or try to punch Leviathan. You know, the kind of things I hope you're smart enough not to do." Giving you a broad, creepy smile, she moves closer to clasp your hands in her own. "Please don't prove me wrong."

    "Shouldn't be a problem." She nods and backs off, and you turn around to face the sea once again. "Okay, Perfect Storm. Where's the first one?"

    A holographic arrow flies from your feet into the distance.

    Giving Samantha a wave, you leap to the sky. Several silent minutes pass with your only sight the waves slipping away below you before you ask, "Are you sure the pieces are this far out?"

    «Other pieces are likely located closer to shore, but those would all be small pieces of debris with little informative value. Larger pieces would have fallen farther away.»

    Eventually you reach the first site. Taking a deep breath, which is probably unnecessary all things considered, you shoot straight up into the air and stop on a dime. The wind rustles in your ear as you spin until you're upside down, the water racing towards you. You hit the water with a splash and sink the twenty feet or so to the bottom. «This is the center of that circle you plotted out, right?» you ask your Device. «Show me.»

    A green grid spreads out around you.

    «Yeah, this will work fine. Mark out where I've been so I don't run over the same spot multiple times.» Rising from the seafloor, you start to fly in a circle, keeping the red line to your side and spreading out in an ever-widening spiral. Several minutes later, you reach the edge of the grid and make a final lap to make sure you didn't miss anything just outside the range. «There's nothing here, Storm.»

    «Agreed, Mistress.»

    You reach down and pet the scarlet jewel. Your Device sounds so heartbroken, and not without good reason. This is only there first place you've looked, so you might find exactly what it's looking for in the next one, but this definitely isn't a good way to start the search.

    Your next stop arrives, but you find nothing more than you did the first time. Same for the third. Cruising through the air towards the fourth, you're starting to get worried. By now, the shore is but a distant memory, and the water is getting progressively deeper. How far down can this beach-style Barrier Jacket go?

    A quick dive plunges you under the surface, but before you can prompt Perfect Storm to project the search grid, two things catch your attention. The first is the large chunk of metal sitting on the ocean floor, black streaks coating the surface and the edges maybe a little rounder than you think they probably were before hitting Earth Bet's atmosphere but still definitely intact. It's huge, which shouldn't surprise you as much as it does considering this is an alien spaceship; forty feet tall but irregularly shaped, almost as if it had been sheared lengthwise at an angle. You can only guess at just how big this thing must have been before it broke apart.

    The second is the edge of the sea bottom, beyond which all you can see is a darkening blue.

    You drift forwards to the edge and peer downwards at the inky blackness below. That… is a really steep drop, practically straight down. «Storm, where are we?»

    «Accessing Internet.» It can do that from all the way down here? «Based on current coordinates, ahead is the Sohm's Abyssal Plain. Approximate average depth: 17,000 feet.»

    Silence drifts between you for a moment. «Can I…?»

    «Negative. Mistress will be crushed long before she reaches the bottom.»

    Good to know.

    Of course, now you have to deal with the tiny little problem that all the rest of the pieces of Storm's ship are farther that way where it's impossible reach them. This is your one big find, and you had better make the most of it.

    Floating off the edge, you circle the piece of rubble and see that the end sticking out over the abyssal plain has a wide opening, presumably where it was torn from the rest of the ship. The floors are canted at an angle, lending credence to your assumption that it was damaged during entry. Choosing the biggest opening, you conjure a couple of Flare Shooters for light and head inside.

    To your immense relief, you don't find a bunch of bodies waiting for you. You had serious doubts there would be any here, especially with that gaping hole, but you just couldn't shake the worry that somehow you'd walk into a scene out of a horror movie. The lack of corpses doesn't mean your exploration is all sunshine and rainbows, though. Somewhere between hitting the atmosphere, the surface of the water, and the rocky seafloor, the interior had been cracked and warped, and you have to twist carefully around the strips of metal flooring and inner walls that now criss-cross the space. «Would the computer be in the front of the ship?» you ask.

    «Layout of ship is unknown.»

    Right, of course. That's the whole reason you're here in the first place, because Perfect Storm's memory is so corrupted that it doesn't know where it comes from or even what its real name is. How would it know where anything is in this ship, even if it had spent its entire existence on this one spaceship?

    Thinking about it, you hope for Perfect Storm's sake that it isn't this ship's computer.

    You're about fifty feet in when you stop. You don't know what this computer core is supposed to look like if it's even here, and there has to be a better way to find it than just poking around blindly.

    «There is,» Perfect Storm announces. You must have been broadcasting again. «Mistress merely needs hold out her hand and call upon her magic.»

    Without a better idea of what to do, you do just that. A ribbon of writing appears circling around your right wrist, but this isn't the orange of your magic. It's instead a deep, dark purple, the color of ripe eggplant. While you stare, casting triangles of the same color spin into existence, and they fire cables of some kind into the nearby wall. A couple of lights reveal themselves by flickering on and off, and most of the cables pull out just long enough for you to see the forked ends before they stab into new and more deliberate locations. The flickering increases, spreading all along the ship.

    A wave of lethargy sweeps over you and begins dragging you down.

    Before you can worry about the risks of passing out underwater, the cables retract and the triangles and ribbon vanish. «Highly mana-intensive device located. It is likely a vital component to run the ship, possibly computational or life support—»

    A loud sound, not a boom nor a thump but something in between, can be heard outside the ship, and the entire thing jerks sideways and twists. You grab onto one of the pieces of metal to keep it from swatting you in the face. «What was THAT?!»

    «…It is possible that a forward laser cannon discharged due to indiscriminate empowerment while locating this system.»

    A laser cannon. Like in the movies. Okay. That makes you wonder just what kind of ship this was, but you set that question to the back of your mind and focus on the red glow your Device is projecting on the ceiling another fifteen or twenty feet down the hallway. You make your way towards it, your progress helped when the ship lurches several feet backwards. «Another laser?»

    Perfect Storm doesn't answer, which you take as it not knowing, either, and instead you take a look at the virtual rectangle. «System should be behind this wall,» it says.

    Adding even more room for error, you flick a Rust Shooter about half a foot from the edge and nod when the area of destruction doesn't quite make it all the way. That should do the trick. Firing that spell repeatedly, you slowly work your way up one side and almost make it halfway to the next corner when the ship again lurches, sliding backwards and tilting downwards more than either time before.

    That wasn't a laser.

    You turn yourself slightly so your work area is once more square while you turn this curiosity over in your head. Why would the ship be moving so much? Taking a glance to the side, the obvious answer smacks you in the face as you stare past the thicket of metal at the darker water beyond. «We're perched on the edge of a cliff. Storm, could that laser have broken the rock enough that it's crumbling and we're about to fall off?»

    A long moment passes before Perfect Storm starts blaring a warning klaxon, and you move with newfound haste. Rust Shooter is taking too long, and instead you pull out Flare Shooter. These bullets shine white and set the nearby water to boiling in the brief instant between creation and melting the bulkhead.

    The ship shifts three or four more times before your impromptu acetylene torches make enough room for you to reach your fingers into the gap and rip the wall away, your lack of strength made up for by your buoyancy and your flight. A cylinder much smaller than the rectangle is revealed, maybe half your height and as big around as your two arms put together. Several more Flare Shooters destroy the braces holding it in place and the wires running from its dozen ports.

    You rip it out of the wall just in time for the ship to tilt almost ninety degrees and start falling.

    Perfect Storm is shouting something into your head, but you're too preoccupied with getting the hell out of here to listen. More Flare Shooters hit the wall as fast as you can make them. This was the closest section to the top of the ship, right?! If you can melt your way through, you should reach open—

    The circle of metal falls away, and you dash out into the ocean with the tube right behind you. The falling ship catches on the end and spins you around and around until you don't know which way is up.

    Thankfully, Perfect Storm does. Your flight spell redirects itself, and you rocket backwards and watch the ship fall into the stygian abyss. Then the broken edge of the cliff zooms past you, and a few seconds later, your head breaks the surface of the water.

    "I know this means a lot to you," you tell your Device, "and I'm happy to help you out, but let's not do that again."

    Perfect Storm beeps consolingly at you.

    Whatever this tube thing thing is, it had better be worth the trip. Cradling it to your chest, you sigh with no little relief when your Device paints you a path. Another Flare Shooter, this time to act as light now that the sun is fully gone, and you start skimming through the water to shore, Samantha, and ultimately sleep.


    Recursion Field learned.

    +1 training to Solar Wrath (4/6 Adept).

    Just a thought, but it would be really mean of me to give you what looks like a subquest option but is really an instant kill vote, wouldn't it? :D

    Anyway, now you have… something for PS to play with. How do you want to spend your time next week?
    • Picking up the Pieces, Part 2 – Perfect Storm has been analyzing that piece of space wizard technology for a while. Ask for a progress report and offer whatever help you can give if it's needed.
    • A Dragon's Hoard – Dragon wants to talk to you about Perfect Storm. Dragon. The only problem is that she wants to talk to you as one Tinker to another, and you aren't a Tinker. This conversation might require a little bit of intense planning and preparation.
    • Snark Hunt – According to the bulletin you received, the Fallen are causing trouble where the wall around Brockton Bay is being built. They… probably aren't going to be too much trouble for the PRT agents to hold off, but lend a hand to drive off the Endbringer-worshippers.
    • Monstrous Menagerie – Those monsters had to come from somewhere. Have Perfect Storm do some digging, and then investigate where there seems to be the most activity. Maybe you'll get lucky.
    • Helping Out the Little Guy – Look for trouble in your new home and stop it. You can write in for someone to come along with you.
    • Hanging Out – This is a bit of an experiment. Pick someone to spend time with outside of combat. Write in the who, what, and where.
    • Know Thyself – Spend a free period training in the simulator. May be chosen twice. Write-in for which spell to practice.
    And since you asked for it, you can start voting in 24 hours. Thank you for your cooperation. :D
     
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    • Emigration 4.6
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    • [ ] Picking up the Pieces, Part 2


    Emigration 4.6

    Tuesday, March 22
    Picking up the bowl of ground hamburger, you carry it over to the table where the tortillas and lettuce and cheese are already waiting. A quick, simple meal, but still miles away from those you and your dad have shared for the last couple of years. "We really should have taco night more often."

    "I don't know," he replies with a smile. "Let's wait and see how Sam's digestion handles it. If raccoons react to spicy food like dogs do…."

    Samantha gave him the dainty sniff that comment deserved and settled herself at the table. "I am a lady. I do not get gas, and I certainly would not spread it around the house. That would be rude."

    "You're the rudest and crudest of all of us," you remind her, earning a betrayed glare from her and a quick laugh from your dad.

    Conversation dwindles while you eat, appreciative moans making up the majority of your exchange. When you take a break from your munching, though, you ask the question that's been bugging you for a while. "You've been busy this week. Are the guys already out poking at the gangs?"

    "Not as much as you'd think," he says after wiping his mouth. "A lot of the work so far is research. Finding out what territories the gangs have claimed, which capes are part of which groups, stuff like that. And finding out what kind of business they're involved with, too." He grimaces. "Taking the Merchants' money and handing over their drugs was easy work, honestly. A lot less dangerous than tangling with Lung or the Empire would have been. And I got the feeling that the Protectorate was more accommodating because we were focused on shutting down the drug trade. We might have had more trouble if we had gone around grabbing skinheads who could protest that they weren't doing anything, but busting dug dens? Pretty cut and dry."

    "So you're sticking with that for now?"

    "Yeah. Several gangs make a nice chunk of money off drugs here. The Winter Hill gang is the big name since they have an actual drug Tinker, but they also have a bunch of capes to call on. Not as many as the Empire could, but still enough to rival the Protectorate and Wards. The Warlocks are smaller dealers, but they're also more violent. MS-13 is the big name in cocaine, and Cadejo makes sure they keep that title." He shrugs. "And then there's the Fairyland gang, who should be the easiest to deal with."

    You take a moment to remember that name. "Isn't that the Disney princess gang?"

    "Yes," he agrees with a sigh, "it's the Disney princess gang."

    Samantha snickers. "You know if they beat you, you're never going to live it down, right?"

    "…Let's just cross that bridge when we come to it."

    The three of you stick with small talk for a while longer before your dad finally has to leave for work. Once you've cleaned the dishes, you head upstairs to your bedroom and peek in. "How's it going?"

    Perfect Storm lets out a hollow sound not unlike a deep bell. «Analysis slower than expected. Passive scan inconclusive. Active scan unfeasible. Power requirements excessive.»

    "That's not that unexpected," you tell it. "The thing was part of a spaceship. I'd be surprised if it didn't take a lot of power."

    Of course, that it gobbles up so much power isn't a good thing right now. If Perfect Storm can't scan the computer core or whatever that tube you found is, it can't get any information off it. And if it can't get any information, looking for that thing was a waste of time.

    You think about it for another couple of seconds before offering, "What if we tried what we did in the ship again? I feed you mana, and you do the whole cord thing and power it up?"

    «Mistress nearly collapsed last time.»

    "True, but things are a little different now, don't you think? If I pass out, I won't drown, for one. And last time, you were putting power through that a chunk of the ship. It won't take as much power just to run this. Besides," you add when Perfect Storm doesn't reply, "we don't have to run it for very long. Just long enough for you to get a scan."

    «That is possible. If Mistress desires it, it will be done.»

    Picking up the blue jewel, you offer Perfect Storm the power at your disposal. It drinks deep from your mana, and then the dark purple casting marks reappear and cords zip out to the various couplings. "How long do you think it'll take?" you ask when the magic drain begins to itch and burn.

    «Not… much….»

    Blue-white sparks spit from the tube and do their best to form the same holographic screens your Device is so fond of. Noise soon follows, garbled and unintelligible.

    «Mistress,» Perfect Storm says in something approaching alarm, «this is not a computer core.»

    "DCYP Ahvunlan Lussyht."

    You blink at the spray of sounds. Was that… speech? It sounds like it, kind of, but nothing you've ever heard before.

    Actually, scratch that. You have heard this before. When Perfect Storm first landed, it spoke in some other language, presumably the language of its builders. And if this tube isn't a computer but is speaking to you… maybe it's something else that would be a necessity on a spaceship.

    You found their radio!

    "Drec ec Meaidahyhd Depinuh uv dra DCYP," the man on the other end of the line barks out when you still don't say anything. "Oui yna eh emmakym buccacceuh uv y DCYP jaccam. Etahdevo ouincamv yd uhla!"


    Well, isn't that an interesting dilemma? :) What are you going to do?
    [ ] Talk back. Perfect Storm should be able to translate the aliens' language for you.
    [ ] Hang up. The last thing you want is this guy demanding Perfect Storm back.

    No moratorium this time because in real life this would be a split-second decision.
     
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    • Emigration 4.7
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    • [ ] Talk back. Perfect Storm should be able to translate the aliens' language for you.


    Emigration 4.7

    «Translation active.»

    You shoot Perfect Storm a grateful nod. You don't know what this guy said, but he sure doesn't sound happy. For a moment, you consider hanging up from fear that he might figure out you have Perfect Storm and demand it back, but then you shake away that flight of paranoia. What are the chances that he's going to ask about one specific Device?

    Not to mention, if you hang up now, the chances of ever finding out about its origins drop down to nothing. You owe Perfect Storm way too much to do something like that.

    Clearing your throat, you ask in as innocent a voice as you can manage, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that? I couldn't make it out."

    "I said, this is Lieutenant Tiburon of the TSAB," he says. His voice has lost much of its anger, yet none of the steel lurking behind the emotion. "Identify yourself."

    "Cal—" On second thought, maybe introducing yourself by your cape name isn't a great idea. The PRT agents and Velocity both thought you were a villain based on your name and your Barrier Jacket, and while this Tiburon guy can't see what you look like, he can still react to your name. You'd rather not make a worse first impression than you may already have. "I'm Taylor." Nothing else appropriate to say comes to mind, and then you hear yourself continue, "Hi?"

    Really, brain? Really?

    A long pause follows that as Tiburon no doubt is just as dumbstruck by your unattended mouth as you are. "Hi," he finally answers. "You're… rather more friendly than I expected."

    More friendly than he expected? What? How would he even come up with any idea about what you're like? "Maybe that'll teach you not to judge a book by its cover, won't it?"

    "Strange idiom aside, you are in no position to take offense at someone judging you. Did you truly think we would stand aside and ignore someone illegally seizing the Agharti?"

    …Okay, so the chances of Tiburon asking about one specific Device are actually pretty high. And Agharti? You examine Perfect Storm before shaking your head. Nope, still not seeing it. Your Device just does not look like an Agharti. "I didn't steal the Agharti. I found it on the ground. And considering it accepted me as its user without a single complaint and said it wanted to help me, I don't think you have much say in the matter," you add with more than a touch of defiance. You aren't parting with Perfect Storm so easily, no matter how much he dislikes it.

    "What are you talking about?"

    "What do you think I'm talking about? The Device I found. Wait," you say as you see through the comedy of errors approaching at warp speed, "what are you talking about?"

    "The Agharti. The XIX-class dimensional frigate whose radio you've hijacked." You hear him sigh, the sound familiar from your father's own after a long day where nothing went right. "Something tells me I'm not going to like the answer to this, but you aren't a pirate, are you?"

    "Why the hell would you think I'm a pirate?!"

    "Because the last communication we received from the Agharti's Enforcer afloat was that multiple vessels were approaching at high speeds and were expected to be pirate craft." Oh. That does make more sense, except for, you know, the whole magic space pirate thing. The more you find out about Perfect Storm's old world, the more it sounds like a cheap sci-fi movie. "But if you aren't a pirate like we thought, then I need to know how you got ahold of this radio even more."

    "From what was left of the ship."

    "…What was left of the ship?"

    "It, uh, broke apart when it hit our atmosphere," you say slowly. "Sorry. This is the only piece I managed to salvage."

    "Wonderful. Which members of the crew are you in contact with? I need to debrief them immediately."

    "I guess you didn't hear me a second ago," you tell him. "The ship broke apart during entry and crashed. I don't think any of the crew could have survived that."

    "I heard you, Taylor. But the alternative is that you found part of our ship, repaired highly specialized and complex machinery without our engineers' aid, and yet you did not report its discovery to the TSAB. That doesn't reflect well on you. How are you even powering it?"

    Looking down at the deep purple script and the cords connecting Perfect Storm to the radio, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "Very carefully."

    Tiburon doesn't react to that and pushes on, "I've backtraced your carrier signal and have an approximate location for you." He what?! "You aren't too far from Delnarib. Contact the TSAB outpost there and tell them that you've found portions of the Agharti, and we can both forget the part about you toying around with it instead of telling anybody." Perhaps realizing how his demand could be taken, he continues in a kinder voice, "Not to mention, this could be to your benefit, too. If you're as good with this kind of machinery as you claim to be, I can think of a few people who'd be willing to talk to you about changing jobs. I can almost guarantee you'll get better paid than you are right now."

    "That's a great offer and all," you tell the lieutenant, "but there's just one small problem."

    "What is it now?"

    "What or where is Delnarib?"

    "Let me check something…. No, Delnarib is its local name, too. What world are you on right now, Taylor?"

    This had better not blow up in your face, even if it feels almost like giving some stranger on the Internet your home address. "Earth Bet."

    "What the…. Okay. Okay. What are your nearest dimensional neighbors?"

    "I guess Earth Aleph." Tiburon stays silent, clearly waiting for you to continue. "That's the only one I know."

    "Of course it is. I can't tell you exactly who to talk to," he adds before you can say anything about his tone, "but you need to find a large city with interdimensional communications or maybe even someone who has experience with dimensional transfers. Either way, you should be able to find someone who knows how to contact Delnarib or knows how to talk to another world that does have that information."

    "Yeah, that's going to be a little difficult. No one on our world knows much about dimensional communications or whatever. I guess the people who work with Professor Haywire's portals would," you correct yourself, "but that's just between us and Aleph. And dimensional transfers? Nope."

    "What kind of piss-poor mages do you have on your world?"

    Narrowing your eyes at the radio tube, you cross your arms. Piss-poor mage? Who does he think he is? "You want to talk to a mage on Bet? I'm all you got, so you'll just have to make do."

    "…You're the only mage on your world?"

    "That's right. And you wouldn't even have me if I hadn't found Perfect Storm and started learning about magic from it."

    A strange sound comes across the radio line, almost someone trying to mimic a wet finger running along a balloon. Is this the sound of a grown man holding back from screaming in frustration like a little girl? Tiburon starts talking again, and you have to strain to hear him. "Are you kidding me? I don't get paid enough to deal with this shit. Taylor," he asks in a louder voice, "could you hold on for just a moment? I need to make a quick call to someone who will want to talk to you a little—"

    The connection fizzles out, and all the cords pull back into Perfect Storm's rapidly vanishing casting arrays. "What are you doing?" you demand.

    «Mistress's mana levels dangerously low. Risks of continued communication too high.»

    "No, they're not. I'm perfectly fine." You push yourself to your feet – when did you sit down on the floor? – and then Samantha has to catch you when the room whips around at a hundred miles an hour. "Okay, or maybe you're right. Ugh."

    Your Device floats into your hands and vibrates. «Linker Core strain detected. Time required to heal. Further use of Mistress's mana to power communication system inadvisable.»

    "How are we going to talk to them, then?"

    «Mana collector or generator necessary. Can be constructed by mage with Transcendent Gadgeteer template installed. Guardian Beast of the Gear also a possibility.»

    "Neither of whom we have," Samantha cuts in, "so how about a solution that we can actually put into practice?"

    «Unknown, but commands by Mistress to power communications with Mistress's mana will be rejected. Override protocols activated to prevent intentional user self-harm.»
    «Sole exception to sovereign-level authorization.»
    That puts an end to that, doesn't it? It isn't like you can power the radio without Perfect Storm's help, and if it flat-out refuses to do it, there's not much you can do but try to change its mind. Later, though; not now. Forcing the issue now will just make your Device dig in its heels.

    «Mistress needs rests to recover her mana,» Perfect Storm continues. «No magic usage today or tomorrow. Minimal for at least three days after that.»

    "Okay, okay, I get it. Never would have pegged you for such a worrywart." The Device says nothing to that, but as Samantha helps you to the living room so you don't fall flat on your face, you have to admit to yourself that it maybe has a point.

    Just a little one.


    No vote for this update. I originally planned to roll the second subquest into this chapter, but yeah, that's not happening. This just got too long.
     
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