Magical Girl Escalation Taylor (Worm/Nanoha)

[DonLyn]

Saint closed the office door, moving slowly so that he wouldn't disturb the over-full coffee cup in his hand. Then he walked over to where Dobrynja was sitting at the computer terminal, eyes fixed on the monitor and its dozens of open windows.

"Did I miss anything?"

Dobrynja jumped in his seat. His hand shot to his chest for a moment, then he twisted around to give Saint a glare.

"That," he growled, "is getting very old."

Saint rolled his eyes.

"It's not my fault you're twitchy. Here." He handed over the cup, then shooed the other man out of his chair. Dobrynja promptly started swearing as some of the coffee spilled onto his futuristic-looking bodysuit.

Saint took his place at the terminal, eyes flickering over the monitor. Multiple cursors moved across the screen as he used both hands and feet to bring different windows into the foreground. His gaze was already starting to unfocus, his brain slipping into that peculiar state of mind he needed if he wanted to keep up with the sheer flood of data.

Not that he actually ever managed to truly keep up.

A new window popped up, showing a young woman with brown hair, a mask and a witch's hat in front of a black background.

Voice modeling program loading… Complete.

"Good afternoon, Calamity Witch."

Saint leaned back in his chair as Dragon started bubbling at the new tinker. It was in moments like these, when she sounded genuinely excited, giddy even, alive, that Saint almost doubted whether he was doing the right thing.

Almost.

A slight slurping sound, which immediately turned into gagging, told Saint that Dobrynja had finally tried his coffee.

"God dammit, did you put vodka into my coffee again?"

One corner of Saint's mouth twitched upwards. "You're a valuable member of the team, Mischa. If a little taste of Mother Russia now and then is what it takes to keep you from getting homesick, then I will gladly shoulder that cost."

A pair of knuckles rapped painfully against his head.

"I've told you before, it's a waste of good vodka and mediocre coffee." Another slurp, followed by an audible shudder. "This shit tastes horrible."

Saint grinned, Dobrynja's disgusted grimace vivid in his mind without having to turn around and actually see it.

"Doesn't keep you from drinking it, though."

The russian man snorted.

"Of course not. Just because you have no appreciation for-"

Something Dragon said to Calamity Witch caught Saint's attention. He held up his hand in a warding gesture, cutting Dobrynja off mid-sentence.

"…Simurgh's Scream. It should come as no surprise, but that has been a holy grail for Tinkers ever since she made her first appearance.
"I suppose the question I have been dying to ask is somewhat obvious now," she concluded with another laugh. "How did you do it?"

There was a long pause during which no one said anything. The only sign that the stream hadn't crashed was the fact that Calamity Witch was fidgeting in obvious discomfort.

"That… is a bit of a complicated answer." She said at last. "I guess I should start with the easiest thing. I'm not a Tinker."

"But your staff-"

"I didn't build Perfect Storm. I found it."

Huh. Saint exchanged a look of raised eyebrows with his team-mate as the cape described the circumstances of her discovery. Luck like that almost qualified as a parahuman power in its own right.

"It… offered to give you what you wanted?" Dragon repeated slowly. "Because it was thankful? You make it sound… sentient. Even sapient."

Calamity Witch collected a blue gemstone with a diamond cut from somewhere off-screen and presented it to the camera. "Dragon, I'd like to introduce you to my Intelligent Device, Perfect Storm."

«It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.»

Saint's breath caught.

"Intel— You're an artificial intelligence. And not a simple one, either, are you?"

«Correct. Complex intelligence and problem-solving capabilities are required to assist my mage as per design. Emotional capabilities necessary to understand user's priorities. Full intelligence was deemed the most efficient solution.»

…

Dobrynja set down the empty cup.

"I'll go get Mags."

- - -

I wanted to write an omake about Uber and Leet. It would have featured an Uber with a creepy stalker crush on our favourite Person of Mass Destruction, them finding out about magic, atttempts to find someone with a reparo spell to fix Leet's degraded projects and, finally, Leet cobbling together an unholy abomination of technology in a manic-depressive bout of mad science, with the goal of giving himself a linker core so that he wouldn't be an anchor attached to his best friend's leg anymore, overwhelming odds of torturous death (or worse) be damned.

Then I found out they got stomped by Ziz and/or comitted suicide by cape.

So you get a slightly less psychotic Saint instead.

p.S.: @Silently Watches I really really like this quest.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Back in the Saddle – Okay, that's one crisis over with, other than the whole 'Lung is the Butcher now' thing. Before you get around to worrying about that, maybe you should deal with the local monsters? Put on your Batman cap and look around for where they could be hiding.


Maskless 6.7

Thursday, April 21
If there is one good thing about finding out that it was the Adepts who left that statue in your room – and, assuming Epoch was telling the truth, was not a threat to your civilian identity but merely the result of an unfortunate power – it is that you can force that mystery out of your head and focus on another one. That it gives you a distraction from wondering how you should deal with a cult of magic-wielding villains who want you to make them more effective at their crimes is definitely not part of your motives, not at all.

Anyway, to business. The Beasts.

The bystanders out shopping and the store owners closing up at five in the afternoon all watch you float above them, staff held out in front of you. This is the same block of stores where you first encountered the Beasts, and as a result you feel that it is the best place for you to begin your search. You don't think the Beasts lair around here, not with only a single attack, but they had to have some way of getting here in the first place, and they certainly didn't swagger down the street.

«How do you want to do this?» Samantha asks from her perch on your shoulder. «Just run around and ask the shopkeeps whether they had anything to do with the fake Case 53s?»

"Somehow I doubt that would do much good," you reply in a dry voice. "Anyone who is in cahoots with their maker isn't going to admit to it, and we'd just put everyone else on edge for no good reason. No, we need to be cleverer about it than that. Not to mention," you add as an afterthought, "we don't have any evidence that anyone here is a collaborator. This Typhon guy is a bio-Tinker, or that's what Miss Militia thinks, anyway. What's to say he can't do some other stuff besides make monsters, or that he can't trade a 'pet' for some other gadget he needs? If he had, I don't know, a few teleporters or something, he could move the Beasts wherever he wanted them."

«That would mean he deliberately targeted these places, though. Why?»

"I don't know. That's the biggest problem with my theory," you say with a sigh. "But if he isn't sending them somewhere, what is the alternative? That he's letting murderous monsters with superpowers run around wherever they want? Explain to me how that isn't worse."

Samantha has no reply for that, much as you would have liked one, and instead she focuses once more on the visible city. «You still haven't said what you're going to do to figure out where they're coming from.»

Holding your staff out, you ask, "Storm, can you look for any any complex tech that might be Tinker-made, or secret passages, or some other hidden way for things to sneak around?" The Device chimes in agreement, and a small ball of red energy starts growing at the end. "Okay, then. Wide Area Search."

Twenty seconds later, a hologram screen appears at your side. «Search complete. No abnormal technology found. No secret passageways found. Correlating with city records… No abnormalities found.»

"Damn. I was sure we would find something like that." Shaking your head, you dismiss the screen. "Where's the next stop on our list?"

Fifteen minutes see you hovering in the sky, your expression thunderous. "How. The hell. Are the Beasts getting from place to place?"

Your long hair rustles as the raccoon unfolds into a woman, her arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders from behind. "Did you honestly expect to figure it all out in one day? The Protectorate has surely been working on this from the time they first realized the Beasts weren't Case 53s. With all the resources at their disposal, did you think it was going to be that easy?"

"Yes!" you hiss. "They don't have Perfect Storm! They don't have magic! I—"

You throw your hat off your head and run your fingers through your hair. Cut off from the rest of your Barrier Jacket, the witch's hat lasts only a second or two before crumbling away into digitized flakes. Your hands get batted away before Samantha takes over that job. "What's really bothering you?" she asks.

"It's this… Epoch thing. I guess I got used to thinking I was, I don't know, special. Sure, there are other people with Linker Cores out there. Tim, Lacey. There's a whole planet of them somewhere, even," you add with a vague wave of your hand towards the sky. "But here, on Earth? At first, I was the only mage, and then I was the one who gave Tim magic. It all stemmed from me. But now, with Epoch, the Adepts, having magic of their own? Magic that they discovered all by themselves?"

"They want you to teach them, though. Surely you haven't forgotten that in only a few days."

"I know. I'm not explaining myself well, am I?" You shake your head. "It's… It wasn't fate or destiny or anything that led to me finding Storm. This is real life, not a fantasy novel. I'm no 'Chosen One', and Storm wasn't waiting for me to come along. It was just blind luck that I was there that day. Storm could have been picked up by anyone, and I'd still just be another random face in the crowd. That's what I am without magic. A nobody."

"Taylor…"

«Mistress not 'nobody',» Perfect Storm disagrees most vehemently. «Possess natural talent with magic. Quick to learn and master spells. High intelligence. High tactical aptitude. Unlikely that potential other users would adapt as well as Mistress. Worthy of power. Calamity Witch origin would be honored.»

That is certainly a longer speech than you normally get from your Intelligent Device, and you reach out with your left hand and give the red gem a gentle caress. You appreciate it trying to cheer you up.

"I definitely have no complaints about having you as my mistress, either," Samantha says with a light laugh in your ear. "Well, maybe a few, but they all have less to do with you being you and more with you being a silly human teenager with all the hang-ups that come with it. Nothing you can help."

You roll your eyes and tilt your head to bop against Samantha's. "Fine, fine, I get it. No more wallowing." She cheers and lets you go, and you wave your hand through the air to recreate your hat. Still, you wish you could figure this out, to salve your bruised ego if nothing else. You don't have the resources the city and the Protectorate does, but…

Wait a minute. Who says you don't?

"Storm, did you save the data from our searches? Pull it up again." Eighteen screens drift around you, and you grab one at random. "You correlated these scan with the city's records before. Grab all the information you can about this area and overlay it with the scan."

"What are you doing?" Samantha asks, looking over your shoulder.

"Tapping into the city's resources and combining them with Perfect Storm. What else?"

The screen turns into a mass of lines and squiggles and tiny text, and you take one look at it before glancing away. So maybe all the information was a bad idea. "Lose the text, please." The screen becomes more bearable, but you still have no clue what you're looking at anymore. "What did you put on here?"

«Recorded blueprints. Utilities. Tax records. Energy use—»

Too much, without a doubt. "I can't tell one thing from another here. It's all blending—" The screen becomes a morass of colors. "—together. Okay, that's better. This is everything?"

The Device chimes.

"We can cross some things off the list right now. Get rid of the roads and sidewalks." A grid of purple vanishes. "Trees, fire hydrants, water lines, power and gas, Internet…"

As you talk, the map returns to something more like what it looked like before, though it is still extremely red and pink. The pink is never outside the red boxes, so maybe interior layout? "Remove the buildings that have available public blueprints and that match those blueprints." Most of the blocks vanish, and of those remaining, you don't see any connections or extensions anywhere else. There are still some lines left, and you tap the deep blue one. "What's this?"

«Waste sewer.»

"The manholes are too small for the Rats to climb out of. The Slimes, maybe, but not the Rats. Get rid of them." Moving to the yellow, you tap again. "This one?"

«Storm sewer.»

"What about this?" you continue, all your focus on a yellow blotch sitting on the line.

«Maintenance access point.»

"Storm sewer, huh?" Didn't your mom tell you when you were little not to play in the storm sewers? You don't remember how big they were back in Brockton Bay, but if something gets clogged there, they would need to be large enough for people to get in and out. Might they be large enough for the Beasts? Tossing the screen back into orbit, you snatch another one. "Show me the storm sewers here."

Yellow runs over the map, and sure enough, there's another splotch.

You point to another scan. "There." A splotch. "And there?" A splotch. A quick grab earns you the first scan of the afternoon, and you stretch it larger. "And here?"

Not two blocks from the grocery store where you fought the Beasts is a bright yellow splotch.

"No wonder no one sees them coming or going," Samantha mutters. "They move around underground and only attack what's near an exit."

Which adds another point to the 'the Beasts are randomly attacking' theory, you realize with a shudder. "Give me a map of Philadelphia and show me where the storm sewers are. The suburbs, too," you add after thinking about the party fiasco.

One more screen appears, and your eyes widen at the twisted and long system of tunnels put on display.

Samantha pops her lips. "Well. This is gonna be fun."


+1 training to Dimensional Transfer (4/4 Master).
+1 training to Flare Blade (2/2 Master).

+1 Inspiration to Mobility.
+3 Inspiration to Mechanical Intuition (PURCHASED).
+2 Inspiration to Digital Blueprints.
+2 Inspiration to Basic Devices.

For my SV readers, check out DonLyn's canon omake, labeled 4.s in the threadmarks and located after 4.9. If you're on SB, you can now find convenient links to BOTH of the canonized omake. Or, you know, any of the other nine that have been written since the last update. I'm worried we might run out of points soon.

Since it's the end of the week, time to discuss your next two activities.

• Secret Santa, Part 3 – You spent some time thinking about Epoch's offer, and you need more information before you make a final decision. Give him a call and meet the rest of the Adepts.
• Back in the Saddle, Part 2 – The storm sewers, of course. There's no telling where in that twisting labyrinth Typhon has holed up. Explore the tunnel system and see if you can find the villainous bio-Tinker's bases. Write-in for whom to bring with you (Samantha is coming by default).
• Ready to Rumble – Because of course villains have nothing better to do than cause trouble. Tensions between the Winter Hill gang and MS-13 are coming to a boil yet again, and the Protectorate is keeping a watchful eye on the situation. Be ready to jump in if a fight breaks out.
• A Whole New World – You've always lived in a small corner of New England, but now you have powers that really let you get around. Take a little time to see the world around you.
  • Spatial Translocation: Write-in
  • Dimensional Translocation: Random or Write-in
• Back to Our Scheduled Programing – Go on patrol and look for trouble. You can write in to go along with somebody/somebodies.
• Hanging Out – Take a little time to yourself and spend some time with somebody/somebodies. Preferably doing something that doesn't involve burninating people. Write in the person, place, and thing.
• Nose to the Grindstone – Spend a free period training in the simulator. May be chosen twice. Write-in for which spell to practice.

You know the drill. Vote opens in 24 hours.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Back in the Saddle, Part 2
-[] With Miss Militia


Maskless 6.8

Monday, April 25
Stone walls stretch skywards around. A quick glance around shows that yes, these are the same walls you dreamed of a couple of weeks ago, though this time your dream, or perhaps the first Calamity Witch's memories, was kind enough to set you in front of the wooden door at the end of the path. Leaving it closed crosses your mind, but only for a moment. If this is a dream, maybe you'll figure out what your subconscious is trying to tell you. If it is a memory, it cannot harm you.

The door creaks open.

The wide pool of bubbling, boiling water still sits there. So does the little lump of dry land in the middle. And so does the little blonde girl who was there last time. She looks up at the sound of the door, and her bright blue eyes widen. "You… You came back?"

"I guess I did," you tell her, feeling bad for your slightly dismissive tone when you see how bright and hopeful her watery smile has become. "You never told me your name."

"Cassiel. If that's okay." She looks down and whispers, "My parents didn't think I deserved a name."

Her parents? Stepping closer, you take a better look at her chains. Thick steel links come out from deeper in the pool than you can make out through the bubbles, but they end in heavy manacles that are clapped onto her wrists. A little bit of red is visible where they rest, her pale skin beneath them undoubtedly rubbed raw. More chains wrap around her forearms to bind them together. You doubt being stuck that position is anything but torturous. "Are they the ones who put you here?"

She sniffles and nods.

"Why?"

"I'm a bad girl. Bad girls are punished," she says in the dead voice of someone reciting an oft-heard condemnation.

Those words hit you like a blow to the gut. Looking away for a moment, you rack your brain for the few things she said when you were here last time. "You said last time that 'it' was coming and you couldn't stop it. What is 'it'?"

Cassiel whips her head back and forth so fast you're afraid she's going to hurt herself. Her words are breathy and terrified. "I can't talk about it. They'll find out. They said not to. Good girls are quiet and do what they're told."

"Did they find out you tried to tell me last time?" you ask, visions of what those monsters might have done to her for being a 'bad girl' dancing through your head.

Her silence is damning.

That makes your mind up for you even if nothing else about this fucked up situation would have. "We need to get you out of here."

"You can't." Her breath hitches as tears start streaming down her cheeks. "I thought you could, but you can't. No one can. They said so."

"Watch me."

Perfect Storm is not in your hands, but you know your flight spell well enough you should still be able to pull off a decent float all on your own. If Epoch can do it, you definitely can. The formula springs to mind with the ease of long repetition, but your feet stay firmly rooted to the ground. Are you just so used to using your Device to kickstart the process that you have trouble drawing out your magic yourself? A deep breath, and you feel for the power within—

"Magic won't work here," Cassiel tells you in a sad tone. "I thought maybe it could. You aren't a parahuman. You're special. But it doesn't."

Fine. If you can't fly, you'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way. You stick your foot into the pool in preparation to jump in and nearly shriek when the scorching heats seeps through your boot. Your Barrier Jacket makes you immune to fire— Except without magic, your Barrier Jacket isn't much good, is it? Maintaining its shape is probably the most you are capable of doing.

Something about that thought niggles at you, but you cannot put your finger on exactly what is wrong with it.

"You can't come over here," she says again. Cassiel hunches her shoulders, looking smaller and even younger than her nine-ish years warrant. "And you can't use your magic. How can you save me?"

"I'll figure something out," you promise. "There has to be some way—"

The walls and pond don't blur so much as shatter, and you blink your eyes to find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom. "What happened?" you ask out loud.

«Telepathic intrusion resisted.»

"Telepathic intrusion?" You roll over to look at Perfect Storm. "I thought you made me immune to Master effects like Dad's. You even stopped the Simurgh."

«Telepathic connection subtle. Low power. Unnoticed until mental waveform abnormality detected. Once discovered, simple to disable.»

A cold shiver runs down your spine. For months, you assumed you were totally resistant to the various Masters and Strangers out there. To be reminded that protection depends on Perfect Storm's ability to detect them, not to mention that even your Intelligent Device can be caught off guard, is not comforting. "Where did it come from?"

«Unknown. Signal too weak to trace.»

Low power. Too weak to trace. Easily disabled. You roll over onto your back again. "Dad's powers and the Scream, those were high-powered, right? You blocked them immediately. So they were pretty obvious." Perfect Storm chimes in agreement. "This was so weak you almost didn't notice it. Would anyone be able to take control of me with that kind of signal?"

«Unknown. Low probability but cannot be ruled out.»

It could be a villain coming after you in your dreams. No one would blame you for protecting yourself from such a person. But if that really is a scared, hurt little girl on the other end, ignoring her would be closing her last door to safety. And you will never know which it is until it's too late to change your mind.

"And Mom wondered why I hated 'The Lady, or the Tiger?'."


+1 Inspiration to Mass Weapons.
+1 Inspiration to Basic Device (PURCHASED).

You thought this chapter would feature the Beasts, but it was I, DIO! Cassiel. Exploring the storm sewers will be next chapter, don't worry.

First, though, what do you want Perfect Storm to do about whoever's reaching out to you?
[ ] Keep the line open – You're a hero, and this is a little girl begging for help. So long as she doesn't do anything threatening, let her call you when she can.
[ ] Block her – You don't know who this is, but she managed to sneak by Perfect Storm's defenses. Don't give a dangerous stranger a chance to Master you.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Keep the line open
-[] Have Perfect Storm monitor the connection


Maskless 6.9

Indecision wars within you, but at last you make your decision. Yes, there is a chance this is all a trap. Yes, if there is a villain on the other side of the line, you are leaving yourself open to be manipulated or even Mastered, and that thought naturally scares you. It would scare anyone.

But you'll take that chance. The alternative is leaving a hurt, abused little girl in the hands of monsters. You are not the kind of person who will do that.

Just because you're going to assume Cassiel is who she says she is doesn't mean you won't stack the deck in your favor. You're a hero, not a fool. "Storm, do you think the next time Cassiel contacts me you could listen in? Or at least monitor the connection so you'll know if she's trying to control me?"

«Can be attempted. Not guaranteed,» your Device warns. «Connection fragile. Interference or surveillance may disrupt it once again.»

"I guess we'll just have to take that chance the first few times. Just try to be light-handed about it. I'd rather not leave her alone any longer than we have to."

Decision made, you glance at the clock and sigh. You need to get up and moving if you want to get to school on time. And once classes are done?

It will be time to go after the Beasts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx​

A rumble grabs your attention, and you turn away from the maintenance access hatch to see a familiar motorcycle rolling to a stop in front of you. "You got my email?" you ask with a smile.

Miss Militia dismounts from her massive Harley, and you swallow the comments that come to mind about only buying American. She would… probably take it as a joke, but no reason to push her buttons unnecessarily. "Clearly. I'm the only one they could spare with Winter Hill and MS-13 at each other's throats again. The last thing we need is a gang war breaking out while we are all otherwise occupied." She gives you a pleading look. "If you would be willing to postpone this until tensions have eased, though…?"

"Miss Militia, you were the one who told me Tinkers need time. Typhon has already had months to work. I don't intend to give him any more time if I can help it."

A loud metallic screech punctuates your words, and you turn around to see Samantha forcing the hatch door open. Laying the strange bone harpoon she came back from the Brockton Bay battle with over her shoulders, she shoots both of you an innocent look. "Anyone else coming?"

You drop through the hole after her, your heels clacking on the floor when you land. Your mask is already compensating for the lack of light, but since neither your Guardian Beast nor Miss Militia have the same advantage, you create a single Flare Shooter and modify it to throw out far more light than it normally does. The Protectorate heroine slides down the ladder and flicks her eyes at the miniature sun. "Convenient, that."

"I thought so." You pull up a holographic screen with the map of the storm sewer system and have Perfect Storm mark your location, and then you begin walking deeper into the maze. "What has the gangs riled up, anyway?"

"We don't know for sure, but our best guess is drugs." Miss Militia walks a little faster until she is beside you, and you catch a gleam of green and black before a cruel-looking gun with a long magazine appears in her hands. You don't know exactly what it is, but it's obviously military-grade hardware. "When you have one gang that is part of a major Mexican cartel and another that has a Tinker whose speciality literally is pharmacologics, there is always going to be some tension. With your team putting Fairyland on the defensive, they are both trying to expand into new territory."

"You're saying this is the Privateers' fault?" Dad has said they have had a great deal of success lately, but neither of you ever thought that would be enough to set off a gang war. Cleaning up the city should be making it less dangerous, not more.

Either your voice is harder than you meant it to be or Miss Militia was already anticipating this question because she immediately says, "Your fault? No. Gangs and villains will jump on any opportunity they see. If you weren't putting pressure on Fairyland, something else would have set them off. We have the PRT and the Protectorate keeping an eye on things with the police, and the Wards are taking more patrols near the gang borders to scare the foot soldiers way before they can start any confrontations."

That is treading far too close to a topic you really don't want to discuss, but if you're honest with yourself, you have been wondering about one Ward in particular. Miss Militia may not broach the topic herself, so it is up to you. You just don't know how you're supposed to bring it up.

"Speaking about the Wards," Samantha cuts in, "how's Vista doing? Is she okay?"

Damn it, Samantha!

Miss Militia shakes her head. "She's handling things as well as can be expected. Any hope of maintaining a civilian identity is all but gone, of course, but she's working through things better than I would have. She actually went to Brockton Bay with us, though she went after the independent villains rather than one of the bigger gangs."

No civilian identity. Miss Militia said something similar to that the last time you talked, and your near certainty about why that is fills you with dread. You saw with your own two eyes just how badly Cadejo hurt her. "They couldn't save her arm, could they?"

"No. No, they couldn't."

Those words, said in such a blank voice, hit you like a brick to the face. "I… I know she doesn't want to see us, and I don't blame her, but—"

You cut yourself off when Miss Militia raises one hand. "You might be surprised. Vista is young, yes, but she's been a Ward for several years. She was actually one of the most senior Wards in Brockton Bay, in fact. She knew the dangers every time she went on patrol, and up against Cadejo, somebody who has already killed multiple heroes including a Ward?" Miss Militia stops to give you her undivided attention. "Yes, you inviting her on patrol is how she was injured, but that could have happened on any patrol with or without you. There's no way to know. What we do know is that without you there, no one could have gotten her back to base in time. You're the only reason she's still alive."

Those words you never expected to hear. You were sure the Protectorate was going to blame you for everything. It's how things seem to always go for you. You did not expect them to think fondly of you, to praise you of all things for not turning that disaster into an unmitigated clusterfuck. You don't know what to say to that.

"As for Vista herself?" Miss Militia shrugs. "She's been asking about you, actually. Wanted to know if anyone's seen you, if there was any rumor that you had been injured yourself. We haven't told her about your statue problem, though, don't worry. With everything else going on, the last thing we want her worrying about is someone violating the unwritten rules and going after people in their homes."

"Even that might not be so bad." The patriot looks over at Samantha, who explains, "Turns out it was the Adepts' teleporter who left it for us. They were inviting us to join their little club."

"I hope you turned them down."

"I didn't give them a yes or a no," you tell her. Should you tell her about how the Adepts really have figured out how to cast magic? No, you decide, or not right now, anyway. In the middle of a hunt for the Beats is not the best time to start a debate about parahuman powers versus magic, not to mention that even with the MRI scans and the video showing the interior of the Agharti, it took hearing aliens on an interstellar radio before Dragon would consider magic as a believable explanation. You really need to figure out how to broach that topic with the Protectorate. On the other hand, you could just keep it to yourself for now. Tim promised to build you a mana generator as soon as he he rebuilt his production equipment, and once that is done, you could call them up and figure out how they like to introduce themselves to new worlds.

While you were thinking, you weren't talking, and now Miss Militia is staring at you. Because you didn't elaborate on why you didn't give the Adepts a straight answer? Probably. "Why are they villains, anyway?" you ask instead. "I tried to look up what they were involved with online, but I didn't find much."

"I don't know any details, but they are primarily a mercenary group from what I have read. Exactly what sort of jobs they are hired to do, you would have to talk to someone from New York."

Or ask them yourself, though you don't say that out loud. You don't want your name associated with villains, but if you could flip them around the way you did Purity? Maybe you would be more willing to consort with them then. You just do not know if you can pull off the same trick twice.

The light from your Flare Shooter catches on something in the near distance, and the three of you slow down and approach silently and cautiously. "Please tell me those Spider things can't actually spin webs," you say when you reach the mesh of glowing silk.

"Who knows?" Miss Militia's gun morphs into a machete, and she hacks through the web with several powerful strokes. It changes back as soon as she's done. "Just a question, but since you use fire, you're fireproof, right?"

"We both are," Samantha explains.

"Good. Good. Between that and being Brutes, you should be fine."

"Fine from what?" Miss Militia ignores your question and walks through the doorway that had previously been blocked off by the webbing. The room beyond is larger than you would have expected for an intersection, but you suppose any workers who come down would need to have room to work and put heavy machinery. The entryways are decorated, too, vines carefully cultivated to form arches. That is really strange.

Your brow wrinkles. How are vines even growing down here in an underground storm sewer, anyway? Vines are plants, not mold. They need sunlight.

"Duck!"

You drop to the floor almost before you have time to process Samantha's order. Your Guardian Beast whips her harpoon around above you and lashes out, and a thud is followed by a wet slap. Spinning around yourself, you see a tangle of vines lying on the ground, but unlike normal vines these spasm when Samantha stabs her harpoon into the center of the mass. Miss Militia wastes no time shooting, and the shotgun blasts out a spray of white sparks that engulf the plant.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You look behind you, heart pounding. Oh, goodie. You walked right into an ambush.

The plants have uncoiled and twisted up on themselves again, and a pale liquid the same color as what you thought was webbing quickly covers the skeletal forms and turns them into gaunt, headless humanoids. Despite their lack of mouths, they screech and rush you.

"Storm!"

«Reconfiguring.»

You flip the staff upside down right before the pole doubles in length, and heat washes over your back. A little closer… just a little closer… Now! You swing your staff, and orange flashes at the head as two of the Gaunts fall to the ground in four pieces. The pole whacks a third in the side, the monstrosity too close to you now.

No matter. You jump to the side and fly backwards. A line of orange light slices through the Gaunt's waist, and the edges catch fire from the surge of heat. You spin to a stop, the anger on your face no doubt lit up by the glow of the four-foot-long scythe blade now attached to the end of your Device.

While you were handling your Gaunts, Miss Militia and Samantha took out another two, and now the heroine is staring at your energy blade. "That's new."

"I decided I needed more close-quarter options." Flare Blade loses its cohesion and is sucked back into the slot in Perfect Storm's arms that you only noticed after asking your Intelligent Device to install a partial Knight template into your Linker Core, and the extra length of its pole retracts. You tested it when you first figure out how to cast it, and after cutting through brick and metal with ease, you knew you had something magnificent. Sharper than any physical blade can ever be, hot as the surface of the sun, and yet it will not kill anything you don't want it to.

Tinker bullshit has nothing on magic.

You pull up the map of the sewers again and frown. "Overlay the areas we scanned on here." Red circles appear along the yellow lines. Waving Miss Militia closer, you point at the dot that indicates where you are. "This doesn't make sense. We're still a good way away from where most of the attacks have been. Why would there be monsters lying in wait here?"

A roar echoes down the tunnels, and Miss Militia grabs your arm. "This wasn't an ambush. It was an early warning system!"

"Where are we going?!" you demand when she pulls you back the way you came.

"If Typhon can throw away monsters just to set off an alarm, he has more than we thought he did! This is too big a job for just the three of us!"

You aren't used to sprinting like this, so you wind up drifting in Miss Militia's wake like a witch balloon by the time you reach the access hatch again. Taking rearguard position, Samantha slams the door shut. "Calamity, melt the door shut. We don't need them coming after us."

Miss Militia has mostly caught her breath when you finish sealing the door, and she pulls out her phone and taps the screen a few times. "Chevalier, it's Militia. Yes, we're out of the sewers. No. No, we don't have Typhon." She looks over at you. "She's right here. Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker."

"Calamity Witch," Chevalier says, "glad to hear you're both safe. What happened?"

"We ran into a new kind of Beast. Some kind of plant-thing this time, not an animal theme like the others." And that was odd. At least with the Rats and the Slimes and the Spiders, there was an animal brain to start from, and the Spiders even had human heads. The Gaunts, on the other hand? They didn't have heads of any sort, and plants certainly did not have brain to work from. "They weren't that hard to kill, but it sounded like something else was about to come after us after we killed them."

Miss Militia takes over now. "It was almost as if they were stationed there as guards. They attacked us as soon as we passed through. What I'm worried about is how many creations Typhon really has if he can afford to put six of them on guard duty at the same spot."

"He's always sent them out in small groups, but we knew he had more when we tried to hunt them down and they overran that party. I hoped we had managed to take out the majority of his reserve force, but either he has a lot more than we thought or he can replace them that quickly. Either way, this has just become more dangerous than we ever anticipated." The leader of Philadelphia's Protectorate is silent for a moment, and when he continues, his voice is grim. "Pull back. I am hereby declaring this an official A-class situation. If we can get word about the Truce going into effect out quickly enough, maybe it will force Jotunn and Cadejo to back down. We're going to need everyone we can get."


+1 Inspiration to Strong Shield (PURCHASED).

I could have let you come up with a plan to fight the Rats and the Gaunts. I probably should have, but Flare Blade was just there and begging to be shown off. Not to mention, with Miss Militia there, you weren't going to explore very deep into the sewer system, anyway.

Hold off on voting for 24 hours. You'll be voting for two things this week: first, the spell you want to learn, and second, what Tim will build through week 4 of this arc. I know I said that vote would be held at the end of the arc, but I decided I didn't want to stuff three different votes into the same update.

Rules for this vote are similar to last time. You may build up to 3 projects this week, though depending on what you want, some may take longer than others, hence the "up to". I will tell you if your project will take longer. You can also buy as many skills as you have the points for, OR you can some or all of your points. As always, I have veto power on what you can or can't build based on the skills you have now.

 

[Generic_Generica]

official staff communication Hokay. @Always Late, @Skychan? Enough.

The rules apply to the both of y'all. All this passive-aggressive sniping and bickering or whatever is accomplishing nothing, and it's not exactly conducive to the thread's health.

I'm going to leave you both with three options. The both of you can step away from the keyboard for a while to chill, y'all could take it to PMs, or y'all could escalate and force me to kick you both out of this thread.

Please don't pick option 3.

Aight, GG out. The rest of you all, stay calm and carry on, you're free to go about your business as you so desire.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Ready to Rumble
-[] Send a briefing packet to Dragon


Maskless 6.10

Thursday, April 28
You slide your hands over the blue, backpack-sized shell sitting on the table and look up at Tim. "It's smaller than I thought it was going to be. When we talked about a generator, I was expecting something more in line with an emergency generator or something. Especially when you said you would design it to run off gasoline."

"I thought so, too, but when I started flipping through Sextant's blueprint library, I saw that there were several different designs that all had more or less the same effectiveness," the accountant turned Tinker says with a shrug. "This isn't even the smallest one. Far from it. It was one of the easier designs to get working, though. The smaller ones, especially those that are meant to be put in people's bodies, look a lot trickier." He shrugs. "Shouldn't be too bad, though, now that I've finished this one. I bet they'll be easier to build sooner or later."

"Sooner, hopefully," you mutter quietly. "And speaking of implants…"

"Don't worry. I got your email. No promises, but I'll give it my best shot. No little girl deserves to go around crippled."

Vista probably wouldn't take being called a little girl well, but if she knew what you and Tim were planning, you expect she would hold her tongue. Tim had confided in you that when he went digging around Sextant's memory banks for blueprints for power armor, he also found designs for all different kinds of prosthetics with similar properties. He doubted the other Privateers would take kindly to him asking to chop off their limbs, an opinion you agree with, but you know someone who won't mind the chance to receive a new arm.

You just need to contact her and figure out how in the world you make this kind of an offer.

Your dad and Tim make smalltalk for a while before the second of the Privateers' mage has to take his leave. "What do you need this for, anyway, Taylor?" your dad asks when he returns to the pitch from showing the man out. "You've been tight-lipped about it, even for you."

Ouch. On the one hand, that comment really is not true. You have been very open with him, a lot more than you used to be. Just… not about everything. On the other, and dogging the heels of the first thought, this is one of those things you have not told him about. You don't know that you want to, either. Somehow, you just know he will see keeping your contact with an alien civilization a secret as a grounding-worthy offense.

Normal teenage girls get their phones taken away. You lose access to an interstellar radio. Same difference, right?

"Storm needed more power for something," you tell him instead. That is mostly true, and it is still vague enough that he should, if you're lucky, assume it's something technical and boring…

"Oh, okay. Do you need any help getting it upstairs?"

In lieu of answering, you pick it up and cradle it in your arms. Not that heavy, either. "I think I can manage."

Once you have reached your bedroom, you set the generator down next to the radio itself. You are very tempted to plug it in and switch it on, but you steel yourself. As important as the next conversation with the space wizards – or at least Enforcer Command – is, you know you cannot go off half-cocked. This is something that needs to be properly planned, with great thought given to how you're going to both make a good impression on them on behalf of your planet and how to make sure they provide any help with the Endbringers they can offer.

Thankfully, you have a wise dragon on your side.

"Storm, I need you to compose an email to Dragon. Let her know that we now have a generator that will power the radio, and we can call them whenever is convenient for her. It sounded like this TSAB might be willing to help us with the Simurgh or even all the Endbringers, so any information she could have ready to go shen we talk to them would be appreciated." You stop and think for a second. "And, you know, if she has a first-contact package or something that she's been working on in the meantime, that probably wouldn't go amiss, either."

«Composing message.»

"Oh, and give her any information you have on the TSAB, too," you add on as an afterthought. "Maybe if we tailor the message to whatever the group—"

«Request impossible.» You stare at the Device in befuddlement, so Perfect Storm helpfully explains, «No information regarding 'TSAB' or 'Enforcer Command' in memory files. Likely group encountered recently. Newer records most heavily corrupted.»

And Perfect Storm's amnesia raises its ugly head again. "What can you guess about them after our little chats?"

«Not Imperial organization. Unlikely Galean in origin. Too diplomatic for Belkan affiliation. Analysis of diction and syntax most similar to Molse subjugates. Possibility for Molsan or Kataric former colony. Multi-world mercenary force versus new minor alliance not unreasonable.»

'Galea' you know, and 'Belka' has popped up very occasionally; mostly you know they were the main enemies of the Galean Empire. But Molse? Katar? You can only assume these are other worlds. How many planets are there with intelligent, magic-wielding life on them? Do you even want to know?

"Calamity Witch, this is Protectorate Console," comes from your Device in a young boy's voice. "Assistance needed. Please respond."

How did the Protectorate Console get your number? Oh, wait. You told Miss Militia to call you if the tensions between Winter Hill and MS-13 broke out into open fighting. "Calamity Witch here. What's the situation?"

"Oh, thank goodness. There's a situation at the intersection of Greene and Wabash. MS-13 attacked a PRT transport, and they have them pinned down hard. Chevalier, Sere, and Miss Militia are moving in to help get them out, but Winter Hill's capes and normal gang members came out of nowhere, too, even if they're going after MS-13 instead of us…" The cape, you think Cherry Bomb but maybe Flambe, trails off for several long seconds."Oh, crap. Sere says Cadejo just showed up."

A thought shuts off the call, and you transform into your Barrier Jacket. No doubt having heard the entire conversation, a gigantic badger-raccoon storms into your room. «You better not be thinking about going off alone,» Samantha says. «If you're wading into a gang war, you need me watching your back.»

"Wouldn't have it any other way," you tell her with complete honesty. Opening the window, the two of you race towards downtown. It's time to give somebody a bad day.


Charge Cartridge learned.

Spoiler: Winter Hill capes

• Jotunn, leader of the Winter Hill gang. Much like Menja and Fenja, he grows larger and tougher, but his maximum size is only ten feet tall. Too bad he also has a freezing touch.
• Cailleach. Blaster with both a cone of cold or a larger and slower ice bomb.
• Solaire. A pyrokinetic who flips between offense with a burning sword and defense with fire armor.
• Pounce. A cat-themed speedster.

This is what you get for volunteering for something. Against which group will your abilities do the most good?
[ ] Winter Hill capes – Truce or not, this is the most powerful gang in the city. Hit them hard, and hit them fast.
[ ] Cadejo – Payback's a bitch, isn't it? For Vista!
[ ] Winter Hill mooks – They're shooting at the MS-13 now, but who says they won't turn on the heroes if they get a chance?
[ ] MS-13 mooks – They're the ones who have the PRT pinned down, after all.

 

[Orm Embar]

gentle reminder The thread topic is back that way, guys.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] MS-13 mooks


Maskless 6.11

The city blurs beneath you as you rush to the intersection where this disaster is going down. «Where should we focus our firepower?» you ask your Guardian Beast. «Cadejo or the grunts? Or should we go after Winter Hill? MS-13 might be more vicious, but Winter Hill has more capes and honestly the better publicity. Philly doesn't need them entrenching themselves like the Empire did back home.»

«One tiny problem with that,» comes Samantha's reply. «With this Truce in play, going after Winter Hill would be a good way to bite off more than we can chew. Not to mention that it sounded like our dear Irish mobsters are on our side for once. No reason to pick fights with people who are offering help.»

Reaching Greene Avenue, it doesn't take long to find the fight. All you need to do is follow the gunfire. The black PRT transport bus lays on one side, the road next to it and the front of the vehicle a mangled mess. The troopers who were inside either the back or the cab are crouched down behind the roof, using the thick metal bus as cover from the bullets coming from a building on the opposite side of the street. An ambush, then.

It nearly worked, too, until capes got involved. All four of Winter Hill's combat capes and the three Protectorate members must have arrived at about the same time for them to coordinate the way they have. The Irish foot soldiers are split into two groups, one led by Cailleach and the other apparently being led by Miss Militia, though the pyrokinetic Solaire is with that group as well. Together they are providing covering fire and the occasional flaming sword for the pinned troopers, shooting assault rifles whenever they see a glint of metal peeking out from the shattered windows of MS-13's perch. While the Maras duck down, Pounce comes out to play. All you see is a white blur that resolves into a dark-skinned woman in a backless catsuit – complete with tail and fluffy ears on her hood – before she grabs one of the troopers and zips back over to safety down an alleyway. You can't help but notice that the villainess has to lean against a wall immediately afterwards. A limitation to her powers' duration, or is it just because she carried someone else with her? You file that question away in the back of your mind.

Cadejo's appearance made things more complicated, but watching him, you decide your help really is not needed there. Chevalier and Jotunn have him well in hand. Most of his bodies might be intangible, but his teeth and claws still need to be real to do any damage, and they are no different in shape or size than in a normal dog. Chevalier is taking advantage of the former fact, enlarging his cannonblade to an otherwise absurd length and skimming it along the ground to send the ghostly canines flying. Jotunn, on the other hand, has taken a more masochistic approach. Impossibly sharp Cadejo's weapons might be, but they are no more than splinters to the ten-foot-tall giant, and they give the leader of Winter Hill a good grip with which to hurl them down the opposite street and away from the battlefield.

Poor Sere, bereft of easy targets to dehydrate, is stuck watching over the rescued troopers.

Should you throw up Recursion Field? That has become one of your go-to spells, and it would let all the capes focus on Cadejo. But… You run through the list of capes in your head. Going by what Perfect Storm has catalogued the times you used Recursion Field around capes, most of the capes you see would get sucked up. The only one you aren't sure about is Pounce, and if she is as fragile as you expect she is, you really do not want to risk the only available means of getting the PRT out of the line of fire.

Blue glitter swirls around one of the broken windows of the Maras' perch for a few seconds, and then it explodes into a flower of ice. Cailleach's construct stays there for not much longer than it took to make it before its own sheer weight rips it off the wall. You thought she could make her ice bombs appear wherever she wanted them, but it looks like she is limited to line of sight. You are learning just all sorts of useful information about your enemies today!

"Storm, hook into the Protectorate's channel," you order your Device. Useful information or no, your fellow heroes called you over to help, not make notes. "Miss Militia, it's Calamity Witch. Where do you need me?"

The gunslinger startles, but she forces back the reaction to look around for you. "Whatever you can do to help would be good. If you can get these guys to back off, that'd be better."

A Mara takes the opportunity your conversation provides and shoots a couple of bullets at Cailleach's group before the answering fire from Miss Militia's forces him to duck back into cover. Drifting above his target group, you size up your opponents' defenses and nod. Philadelphia has a dearth of flying heroes – the same problem that plagued the Protectorate back home, come to think of it, although they had New Wave to call on if they needed more air support – and MS-13 chose their placement with that in mind. They have the high ground against anyone stuck on the street.

Too bad you're above them in turn.

"This is going to sound crazy, but I need you and Winter Hill to stop shooting at them when I give the word."

"You're right. That does sound crazy. We still have men pinned down there!"

"I know that, Miss Militia. I do. But right now, you need to trust me on this. I can't do anything with them turtled up in there."

Silence, and then, "…On your signal, then. This better work."

Oh, it'll work, all right. You slide your hands up Perfect Storm's shaft until they are near the cylindrical slide sitting beneath its head. "Ready for this?"

The Device makes no sound in response, but the slide slips back to reveal a revolver's chamber.

You focus your attention on Perfect Storm's storage dimension, the same place it shoves your clothes every time you transform into your Barrier Jacket, and a glow fills your left hand before it resolves into two bullets. These aren't normal bullets, though, for all that you made them out of empty shell casings. At the ends where metal slugs normally sit are instead oblong shells of orange amber, the crystalized form of the magic you shoved into these cartridges. Three days' work trying to get the process right, and these are so far your only successes. Thankfully you have better hopes for the next batch now that you figured out where you had gone wrong all those other times.

You push the cartridges into the waiting slots and flip the mechanism closed. The real problem isn't the gang members in the building; it's the guns they carry. Lethal Flare Shooters would destroy the guns, but they also throw out heat and radiation. Explaining the latter is not something you want to deal with right now. Rust Shooter works just fine against metal, but the mana needed for that spell is sufficiently different that normally you can only manage one bullet at a time, two if you push yourself.

In this case, 'normally' is the operative word.

A casting sigil spins into life beneath your feet, and two pops emanate from the chamber. Magic surges through your body. A wave of your hand, and you have not one or two but seven Rust Shooters hovering in front of you. "Now!"

The gunfire from Winter Hill stops. It takes a second for the Maras to catch on, but then they shove their own guns through the windows to begin shooting at either the transport truck or the opposing fighters. Big mistake. Your magic bullets zip through the air and smash into the centers of the assault rifles, steel and copper dissolving like spun sugar in their hands.

"Take that!" you can't help but laugh. Rust Shooter is not one of your more common spells, but there is a reason it was one of the first spells Perfect Storm taught you. When it is the right tool for the job, it really shines.

A wave of fatigue hits for you a moment, and you drop a foot or two before regaining control of your flight spell. Right, Perfect Storm said that would happen, something about your Linker Core having trouble handling sudden influxes of mana like the one spending cartridges causes. It passes quickly, and now you're ready for the hard part: getting close and hitting the remaining gangers with Flare Shooter. Too bad for them that you got rid of most of their weapons…

Something glints in the window, and a white trail streaks at your oh fuck missile—

xxxxxxxxxxxxx​

"…cking Brut…"

A groan. A twinge in your head. A giant knife in your chest.

"…up. Come on, get up!"

"Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhh."

"About time. Wake up, witchy."

The streetlight stabs your eyes when you try to open your eyes, and you groan again before the lights dim down to something tolerable. A swarm of people in blue bodysuits buzz around you and hold up their hands. "How many fingers do you see?" they demand.

What…? "Sixty-nine?"

"Greaaat. 'Cause things can't be easy." The swarm is starting to come together, and one of the women pulls you into a sitting position. Is it Ca… Cal… the ice girl? And now you're propped up against her chest. Her, Tattletale, Pounce. Stupid sexy villains and skintight spandex. "Now's not the time to flirt. You need to call off your gal pal before she gets bored with the Maras and comes after us."

Your gal? Samantha? «Saaaam.»

A loud crash comes from somewhere in front of you, and Ice Girl moves a little when a thing thuds close by. Samantha runs over, her suit looking a little ragged and splattered with ketchup. Did she get food? You're not hungry. "Get away from her," the raccoon growls.

"H-Hey, I'm the only reason she's upright. She's got a nasty concussion. Just woke up."

"Move."

You scream when Icee tries to push you towards Samantha and something grinds in your side. Skittering, and then you're in her arms. "Where does it hurt?" Samantha asks normal-ish. Then she pokes something and you scream again. "Broken rib. At least two," she adds when she gets another scream out of you.

"RPG to the face, and she's knocked out and busts up a couple of ribs. Fucking Brutes," mutters Ice Pack.

Samantha tries to move you into a comfortable position. She almost succeeds. «All right, Taylor. Time to get you home.»

«Home? Sleep?» That sounds good. Good plan.

«No, you need to stay awake for me. Taylor. Wake up!»

«No. Sleep time. Night night.»

You close your eyes, and everything goes away.


I finally get to use Battle Frenzy, and you aren't awake to appreciate it. Typical.

Oh, well. That's the end of the fight, and the end of the week.

• Vote for a spell to learn.

• Secret Santa, Part 3 – You spent some time thinking about Epoch's offer, and you need more information before you make a final decision. Give him a call and meet the rest of the Adepts.
• Back in the Saddle, Part 3 – How many monsters does Typhon have at his disposal? No one knows, but if Miss Militia is worried, maybe you should be, too. The Protectorate may even need to call in the local villains to help out. Move out in force and stop this evil Tinker.
• Fishies! – Dragon can't make heads or tales of the books on magic Perfect Storm sent her, and she's tired of it. She rented an exploratory ship and has built several deep-water ROVs to explore the wreck of the Agharti. Head to see with her.
• A Whole New World – You've always lived in a small corner of New England, but now you have powers that really let you get around. Take a little time to see the world around you.
  • Spatial Translocation: Write-in
  • Dimensional Translocation: Random or Write-in
• Back to Our Scheduled Programing – Go on patrol and look for trouble. You can write in to go along with somebody/somebodies.
• Hanging Out – Take a little time to yourself and spend some time with somebody/somebodies. Preferably doing something that doesn't involve burninating people. Write in the person, place, and thing.
• Nose to the Grindstone – Spend a free period training in the simulator. May be chosen twice. Write-in for which spell to practice.

What's that, a 24 hour moratorium? Surprise, surprise. And just so you know, I WILL answer questions, but there will be a delay. On a bunch of planes today.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Hanging Out
-[] Dragon and the TSAB


Maskless 6.12

Tuesday, May 3
The laptop's screen flickers in the corner of your eye, and you offer a small wave to the side. "Good evening, Dragon. Give me a second or two."

"All right…" You fiddle with the wires and where to plug them in before shrugging your shoulders and sticking a wire in each of the three holes that make up this port. Perfect Storm will let you know if the initial charging is a recipe for disaster. You only have time to fiddle with another couple of ports before Dragon's curiosity grows too strong for her to contain any longer. "What are you doing?"

You point a finger at the radio tube lying in front of you. "You remember the power issue we had the last time we tried to use this to talk to the TSAB? I talked to our Tinker, and he put a generator together for it. Now we can talk with them about whatever we want whenever we want."

The heroine's digital avatar stares dumbfounded at you. "The Privateers have a Tinker? And he can work with magic? When did that happen?"

"A couple of weeks ago. He isn't really a Tinker, though. Storm and I gave him a Device loaded up with blueprints and magi-engineering books when we found out he had a Linker Core. I just asked him to build me a generator once he got his workshop set up." Nodding at your handiwork, you scoot over to the blue shell. "I thought I might give the TSAB another call now that we can actually have a conversation with them."

"I suppose it is a good thing I finished the first-contact files," Dragon replies with a sigh. "Anything in particular you plan to discuss?"

"The same thing we tried to talk about last time we rang them up, I guess. The Endbringers and how the hell we deal with them. It'd be nice if they had to fight the same sort of thing and successfully defeated their own."

"I believe the phrase you're looking for is 'impossibly convenient'."

Probably true, but you'd rather hope for the best. It has worked out for you ever since finding Perfect Storm. But maybe that's just the lingering concussion talking. Your dad and Samantha both told you that you were absolutely, one-hundred-percent barred from any kind of combat this week as a result of your misadventure with MS-13 and their explosives. Not that they have anything to worry about today; after spending the last couple of days charging cartridges, you're worn out.

"Whatever. Are you ready?" Dragon's avatar gives you a single nod, and you reach over to flip the switch. After a second's splutter, the generator gives off a whisper-quiet hum. Huzzah! While you are busy celebrating, fits of blue-white sparks leap out and burst into floating holographic screens. Sure, most of them are filled with data you don't have the first clue how to interpret, but it works! "We're in business now. Storm, call up the TSAB. It's time we have a little chat."

"Do you know anything about their culture? Your email did not tell me anything about that, so I was not sure what we did and did not have to include in this briefing packet. I can trim it if I know what they would already find familiar."

"I don't know much about them, either," you admit. "Storm doesn't remember much at all about the species that built it. I would have told you what I knew if I knew something worthwhile."

A large screen appears, and static flickers for a long moment. What will they look like? Tiny grey humanoids? Dinosaurs? Big fluffy dogs? Any or all of those you can handle, but you're drawing the line at tentacle monsters. The static resolves into a coherent picture. "TSAB Enforcer Command, Lieutenant Tiburon speaking."

"…You're human."

"Yes…?" the man on the other side of the screen says in a slow voice. He doesn't have long ears or ridges on his forehead or even green skin; he's just some white guy in a vaguely military uniform and a black buzzcut! So much for sci-fi movies. "Who are you?"

Indecision wages war in your head for a second, but then you take off your hat and mask. This is against all aspects of cape culture, but Tiburon has no mask, and it isn't like they don't already know your name. "Taylor, the mage from Earth Bet who talked to you last month. Hi again."

"Earth Bet— Oh! Pleasure to see you finally. Is your power supply stable enough to speak with one of our admirals? He has been hoping to talk to you ever since you first contacted us."

"S-Sure." Holy crap, an admiral. You thought you would just talk to Tiburon or that other lieutenant you called last time, maybe someone a rank or two higher up. But a full-blown admiral?! These guys do not take first-contact situations lightly, do they?

The screen turns a calming blue with alien symbols scattered throughout, and Dragon whispers, "This is real. This is really happening."

"I told you they were real, didn't I? You even heard them talking back to us."

"Calamity, this is solid proof that we aren't alone in the universe. Not only that, there are other humans out there. Not aliens that might see us as food. Not monsters that can't understand us and who we can't understand in return. Humans! This is… I can't even begin to express the magnitude of this."

"Miss Taylor?" You turn around to find an older man in a more decorated version of Tiburon's uniform sitting at a desk. Strong facial features, a little bit of greying at the temples but otherwise still in his prime. Maybe a little younger than you would have expected an admiral to be, but since military organizations are supposed to be meritocracies, that just means he's very good at his job. "I am Admiral Dietrich Tucson, Director of the Time-Space Administration Bureau's Enforcer Command. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

You swallow. "Ah, nice to meet you, too, Admiral. And this is Dragon," you add while prodding Perfect Storm to throw up a screen next to your head relaying Dragon's video feed. "She's one of our world's greatest heroes and definitely our foremost engineer. She has been helping me figure out how to get ahold of you."

"Then allow me to extend our welcome to you as well, Miss Dragon. Now, I hoped we could discuss a few things as we now have a stable connection. Some of the information you gave us the last time we were in contact was disturbing, to say the least."

Oh, yeah. All you managed to get out last time was that there was a madness-causing monster running around attacking cities. That would disturb anyone. "Sure, absolutely. We actually have an information packet that Dragon prepared, but we can give you the highlights now if you want?"

Tucson nodded, and a picture of the Simurgh replaced Dragon's avatar. "This is the entity Ca— Taylor called you about last time. We call her or it, depending on who you ask, the Simurgh. She is an incredibly powerful telepath, telekinetic, and precognitive, and she also has the ability to tap into the talents of Tinkers, our world's term for individuals who have a unique understanding of advanced technology. Her best-known and most terrifying talent, however, is a psychic scream that causes anyone who is exposed to it for too long to go insane. That would be enough on its own, but this insanity is directed, turning ordinary individuals into weapons that attack infrastructure and people who either are or are predicted to be important to our society.

"She is one of three such monsters, which collectively we term the Endbringers. They attack cities approximately every three months, roughly rotating through their roster. The reasons behind their actions and their goals are unknown. No one has ever managed to meaningfully communicate with them. What we do know is that they do not cease their attacks until they have destroyed whatever city they target or they take enough physical damage that they are forced to retreat and recuperate. Each attack costs hundreds, sometimes thousands of lives."

"Endbringers," Tucson repeats slowly, tasting the word and the hefty meaning behind it. Dragon takes the opportunity to reappear on her screen. "I will see if we have any records on similar creatures elsewhere in Dimensional Space once you send the briefing packet. As you have already told us that you are the lone mage on your world, Taylor, I presume your own military has been repelling these entities using mass weapons. What kind of effectiveness have you had?"

"None, assuming 'mass weapons' are physical projectiles and explosives."

"Then how…?"

"Parahumans." Tucson turns his confused expression from Dragon back to you. "That's what we call people who suddenly develop strange and amazing powers. Indestructibility, lasers, advanced technology, teleportation; all sorts of powers are possible. They can't be learned, and they aren't taught. That's been tried and failed. They just appear without any warning."

"Spontaneous manifestations of Rare Skills?" mutters the admiral to himself. "How many of these powers are there?"

"How many parahumans? A few tens of thousands over the entire world. A large number, but just a drop in the bucket compared to the billions that make up our total population. How many powers?" Dragon shakes her head. "As many as there are parahumans. Some parahumans' powers share similarities, particularly those that belong to close relatives, but there is always some difference."

Tucson stares at her, then you, then her again. "I see," he finally says. "I must admit that I have never heard of such a thing before, but I would have to consult with the Infinite Library to be sure that it is truly unique. I would recommend you give this information to the Enforcer team, as well."

"Enforcer team? You sent people here?" That isn't good. You just know people are going to be screaming alien invasion or some such nonsense.

"I did. The Agharti, the ship that crashed onto your world? It was carrying a very dangerous magical artifact on board, one that was being brought back to Midchilda – the TSAB's capitol world – for containment. It activated once after being discovered, and it killed the entire crews of two ships and nearly destroyed a third before it was sealed. I sent a team of some of my best to retrieve it before it reactivates."

You swallow and tighten your hand around Perfect Storm's shaft. Something that dangerous could be running around loose here on Earth Bet? That's a terrifying thought.

"When are they planned to reach us?" Dragon asks.

"They should arrive shortly. The last communication we received from them was two days ago, and they said they would proceed slower than planned because of a strange turbulence in the Dimensional Sea. If you are concerned about the effect their presence could have on your leaders and your populace," he says, correctly guessing the source of their apprehension, "you can put yourself at ease. My men are quite discreet."

"We might be able to help, then," replies the Tinker. "I have arranged a short expedition to attempt to retrieve pieces of your ship from the ocean floor. Rather than haul everything up, I will instead limit my retrieval to smaller items and take careful photographs so they can identify this artifact."

"What? When were you going to tell me you were going to do that?!"

"I was going to tell you after we discussed whatever it was you called me about today. It was supposed to be a surprise." Her smile is sheepish. "Surprise?"

Tucson's lips are quirked from holding back the laugh that clearly wants to come out. "You two can settle that yourselves, but since you have already made arrangements, I was wondering if you might do us a small favor while you are down there." You nod, and Dragon gives him a curious tilt of her head. His smile fades away as he continues, "After so long in the ocean, finding the crews' remains would be difficult, but I and the TSAB as a whole would appreciate it greatly if you could collect whatever might be personal effects. Anything we can return to their families for burial and remembrance."

"Of course."

"And their Devices, too, I guess?" you ask in a weak voice. You sound like a child, you know it, but you can't help the fear creeping into the back of your head. "Somebody will want Perfect Storm back, won't they?"

Tucson recognizes your worry for what it is, and he gives you a soft smile as he shakes his head. "Intelligent Devices have a way of choosing their own wielders. If we so much as thought about trying to take your partner away, every single one of our mages would rise up in revolt not a minute later. Besides, if you can retrieve even a single personal item from the Agharti, everybody who lost a loved one in the crash would be firmly behind you. You have nothing to fear, Taylor. Perfect Storm is yours."

Dragon and Tucson discuss some of the details of their expedition for a few minutes and Perfect Storm relays the data packet before the admiral signs off. "Hey, Dragon?" you ask when a thought crosses your mind. "Do you want me to ask Shipwright to come along? He's the one learning about magic technology. He might be able to point out what we should leave alone until the Enforcer team gets here." And hopefully he won't freak out when he learns that aliens are real and on their way to Earth.

"I suppose it cannot hurt to ask," she agrees. "If he thinks he can help, then he is welcome to come. I will not hold it against him if he would rather stay in his workshop. We can also deliver anything we find that isn't someone's personal effects to him. I cannot make heads or tails of their technology, but perhaps he can."

"I'll give him a call, then. Is there anything else you want me to ask him?"

"Could…" Dragon trails off before shaking his head. "Never mind. No, nothing at this time. Just let me know if he's coming."

"Are you—" The screen showing the heroine's face blanks out. "—sure? Hey, Storm? Did that seem weird to you?" A chime comes from the ruby orb. "Yeah, me, too."


+1 training to Shell Barrier (3/4 Adept).
+1 Inspiration to Digital Blueprints.

Knight Armor learned.
20 cartridges created.

This chapter was a lot of fun, just so you know!

It's the middle of the week, isn't it? Guess that means time to plan things for Tim to build. Since a few people asked about it, building a surgical suite (which he needs if he wants to install prosthetics into anybody) will take two of his three time slots. Power armor also takes two slots in case anyone forgot, so no building a second suit of power armor and the suite. He also has tech points he can spend. Take 24 HOURS to talk it over.

 

[Silently Watches]

[] Fishies!
-[] Bring Tim along


Maskless 6.13

Saturday, May 7
The spray from the warm sea breeze dots your face as the ship cuts through the water. You have already contributed just about all you have to offer in the form of Perfect Storm's calculations for where it things the fragments of the Agharti landed. The sailors are directing the ship, Tim is walking Dragon through how to convert a drone taken from her latest Dragonsuit to run off mana, and you are taking the time to sit in the shade of said Dragonsuit's rotors and flip through your emails.

Not that you pay much attention to them. The voice mail your Device told you about this morning weighs heavily on your mind. With a resigned sigh, you close the holographic window in front of you. "Play the message again."

«Purpose of repetition?»

"Because I have no clue what I'm going to do and maybe inspiration will strike if I hear it a couple more time."

The ensuing silence tells you what the Intelligent Device thinks of that idea, but finally it relents and begins the playback. "Hey, Calamity. It's Vista. I got your number from Miss Militia, hope you don't mind. She told me you two talked when you went sewer-diving, and I was wondering why… I mean, I thought maybe…" A sigh, the inflection no different from the five other times you heard it. "I'm just gonna be straight with you. What the hell? I thought you'd give me a call sometime in the last, I don't know, MONTH! Okay, yeah, that first week or two, I wasn't in a good place, and I needed the space, but any time after that? Another story entirely. I could even forgive you with the whole deal about how you were worried about how the PRT would treat you, although even that was silly. Yeah, we messed up. Yeah, I got hurt. It isn't the first time, and it won't be the last. We're heroes; danger comes with the job. And after Militia told me that, I tried to be patient. I really did.

"But here's the thing, Cally: I need somebody in my corner who gets what I'm talking about. Flambé, Cherry Bomb? They're nice and all, good kids, but they're still kids. They haven't fought Nazis and Oni Lee and Endbringers. They don't get it like we do.You're from home, you know what it's like. I know you're older and you'd probably get along with the Protectorate better than a Ward, but you treated me like an equal. Hell, like a friend, and I don't exactly have a lot of those right now—

"Crap. Just— ignore that part, okay? Point is, I'm not upset with you about the thing with Cadejo. I don't think you're responsible. But I am upset that I haven't heard from you, especially since you were asking Miss Militia about how I was doing. If you care that much, you can ask me to my face. Just, call me or something, okay?"

"I feel sorry for her boyfriends when she gets older. She's going to be downright vicious with her guilt trips."

"Thanks for the commentary, Sam. Maybe if you have time to come up with jokes, you have time to give me a helpful suggestion about what to do," you snap back.

Samantha shrugs, eyes closed as she sunbathes on a lounge chair. "You want a suggestion? I second Vista's motion. You asked Tim to build her a new arm, but you weren't sure how to tell her about it. Seems like this is as good a segue as you're gonna get."

A sailor walks around the other end of the Dragonsuit and gapes for a second – yes, busty raccoon woman in a pink bikini, nothing to see here – before turning to you. "Calamity Witch, we've arrived at the coordinates you gave us. Dragon and Shipwright are waiting for you on the bridge."

It takes a few minutes to find the bridge, and in that time it appears the crew have already tossed Dragon's mini-subs into the water. You look over Tim's shoulder at the grid of computer screens showing the descent to the sea floor. "How long till they reach the crash site?"

"At current speeds, two to three minutes," Dragon answers from yet another monitor. "Hopefully we can recover something from the Elitnaya's ship."

You shake your head at that bit of theater. Yes, Tinkertech can look fantastic and futuristic, but Dragon expects the crew to believe an alien spaceship is nothing more than an old battleship a Russian Tinker was playing around with? Maybe you need to rethink your choice of role models, particularly if she can actually pull this off.

Smooth, shining steel soon comes into view. You lean closer while raccoon-form Samantha hops from your shoulder to Tim's so you can both get a better look. This part of the ship was savaged, chunks missing all along its length and its contents scattered far and wide. "What could have done this?" you whisper.

"Maybe the Simurgh didn't like the idea of alien invaders?" Tim answered, joke falling flat. That had been his immediate reaction to learning the truth about his technology, and it had taken some fast talking to get him to stop and listen before flying off the handle. And then you had to convince him not to immediately run to your dad and spill the beans. That revelation was one that was probably better coming from your mouth. Sometime. Eventually.

"More likely she had no idea what they could do and did not want to take a chance. Precognition is anything but perfect. If new parahumans can catch precogs off guard, this would definitely be an out-of-context problem, even for her. That's assuming she had anything to do with it. It might have already started breaking up from reentry. Some of the edges of those tears look melted."

"Sextant is recording all this, right?" Tim nods. Good. Maybe the Enforcer team will have some answers when they finally show up.

"Whatever the reason, the hull is so badly damaged that going inside is probably a fool's errand. Our purposes would be better served exploring what was ejected." The drones have already split up to comb over the sea floor, and you watch in dismay as it quickly becomes clear that this was the living quarters. Metal footlockers have split open to reveal articles of clothing, uniforms and more casual outfits both. A shiny something mostly buried in the sand turns out to be the corner of a family photo, a young couple with a son, a baby, and a dog smiling in front of a green sunset. Scraps of technology with wires pilling out like tentacles, to damaged to guess at their function. A few trinkets and pieces of jewelry.

"Go back!" exclaims Tim, pointing eagerly at one screen in particular. "There! Pick that up."

"You know what that is?"

"Not one-hundred-percent, but I have a damn good guess. I think it's a Device."

You look at the glassy red card again. "Thinking of giving it to L— our other prospective mage?"

"Give it to her. Take it apart to study it. Feed it to Perfect Storm so it won't have to cannibalize itself next time. I can think of a couple of different things we could do with it."

Dragon is unashamedly watching you, no doubt learning more than you would have told her on your own. It's hard to hold it against her, though, and you have already told her a lot about magic already. As long as she doesn't use any of this against you, you suppose you don't mind too much.

The remote-controlled sub takes a second to fiddle with the Device, but eventually it stuffs the card into its maw to be suctioned up with all the other goodies you have collected on this trip. Someone picks that time to start ringing an alarm bell. "Wonderful," you groan. "What crisis is it this time?"

Dragon's avatar stutters for a few frames before she scowls. "The Dragonslayers. I had hoped to fly the Sybaris once or twice before they tried to steal its drones, but it seems they have different ideas."

A blur heralds Samantha's return to human form. "So what's the plan? Get close and beat the shit out of them, or keep them off your suit until you can fly another one over here?" Dragon gives her sarong a doubtful look, and you can only shrug in response. Her normal business suit isn't any tougher, honestly.

"It's too dangerous to delay them. The Sybaris does not have much weaponry, but if the missiles are hit, the explosion could still sink the ship. That said, Saint will retreat once their suits take enough damage. For all that they hire themselves out as mercenaries, they are defensive fighters primarily."

"One tiny problem with that plan." The three of you look at Tim, who in turn points at the monitor. "All the stuff we just picked up. If you fight and the ship gets trashed, everything goes back underwater. Not to mention, I can't exactly fight, and they'll shoot me down if I try to fly out of here."

"Perhaps Calamity Witch or Samantha could stay behind to defend you, but that still would leave us without a fighter."

You sigh. So much for any simple solutions.


Talked shop with Dragon and omake: +2 Inspiration to Advanced Device.
+1 Inspiration to Digital Blueprints (and then PURCHASED).

…Damn it, Saint, can't you not be an asshole for like five minutes?
[ ] Fight – The Dragonslayers have made their name beating up Dragon and taking her stuff, but this time she isn't alone. Take them down hard.
[ ] Defend – You have Knight Armor now, and all your defenses are stronger for it. Bunker down where you are and outlast the attack.
[ ] Run – Tim's squishy, and you don't want to lose the items you have managed to collect. Teleport them to safety; that's the whole point of the voyage.

Battle plans are welcome, and yes, some of these could be combined. Just remember that the clock will keep ticking while you do so.