[ ] Get the perfect Guardian Beast soonish – After that fight, you really want some powered back-up besides Dad. Spend time figuring out exactly what you want your companion to be capable of before performing the ritual Perfect Storm mentioned.
Set Up! 1.8
You land in front of the Dockworkers Association office, the ruined façade not distracting at all from the exhilaration that has replaced your earlier fatigue. If there is one thing you would never, ever give up about your powers, it is the freedom of flight. That is doubly true after spending the last hour sorting through the spell's code. Perfect Storm claimed that with practice, you'll even be able to fly entirely on your own, but you have your doubts about that. For all its claims that you are on your way to becoming a great mage, you know that in the end, all your heroic deeds will be due to Perfect Storm loaning you these abilities.
Deep down, though, you can't help but wish its confident predictions could come true.
Your dad's trailer is the only one with its lights still on, so you walk up the stairs and through the door. He is sitting in his chair at the center of his range-circle, the elaborate costume replaced by his usual jeans and work shirt, but the bright yellow circle clearly did nothing to deter the three men and one woman who had set out cheap chairs in a loose horseshoe shape facing him. A single chair remains empty, and the heavily tattooed man sitting next to it looks up at the sound of the door opening and waves to you. "Come on over, Taylor."
There goes any chance that you will be able to keep your true identity secret, at least from what looks like the Privateers' developing inner circle. Not that you were planning on doing so – you should be able to trust your new team – but it's the principle of the thing. Shut it down, you think at your Device. It had known what you wanted during the fight without you having to tell it, and upon questioning, it had been upfront about the mental connection between you. It would be nice to be able to talk with Perfect Storm without worrying that everyone around you would think you're crazy.
Perfect Storm chimes happily, and your normal clothes reappear in a burst of orange light. "Sorry I'm late," you tell them as you slip in beside Alexander. "The north winds were a little stronger than I expected them to be."
"That's the most outlandish excuse I've ever heard," Margaret, the manager for this branch of the Dockworkers Association, mutters jokingly to Kurt. "And worse, I believe it!"
"We only just started," you dad tells you. "We let the national office know earlier today that we have formally dissolved the Brockton Bay chapter, though we're not making it public knowledge, and so far, three people have quit."
"Three now, but how many do you think will do the same?" you quietly ask.
Kurt scoffs. "Ten, maybe twelve. I spent the day talking to the rest of the guys, those in the hospital included. Jacob got a visit from Panacea last night, so he'll check out tomorrow, and most of the rest will leave in the next couple of days. They're all eager to get out there."
"Even after what happened to Bill?"
"We knew what we were getting into," Alexander says gently, laying one of his huge hands over both of yours. "It was a… a surprise, just how many of us got hurt today, but we knew it was going to happen eventually. Going up against the gangs? Fighting the villains the heroes back down against? We're going to get hurt. Some of us are even going to die." He gives you an encouraging squeeze. "But how is that different from any other day in this city? Tim could be murdered by the ABB just walking down the street. The Empire would consider killing Margaret a public service." The black woman scowled but nodded. "I don't want to die, but if I do, I want it to mean something. I'd rather die fighting than be killed like a dog."
The others there nod, and though you bite your lip, you cannot disagree with his position. Isn't that practically the same thing you told Miss Militia earlier that very day?
Your dad sends you an apologetic expression, no doubt thinking that you shouldn't have seen something like that. And you have to admit, seeing a man you knew lying dead in a truck is different from just thinking about it in the abstract. But! But if he was willing to put his life on the line, if all of them are willing to put their lives on the line, you will not disrespect that sacrifice.
"Tim? How much money did we bring in today?" your dad asks.
The weedy accountant shrugs. "I haven't had the chance to count it up, but at a guess? Fifty thousand dollars at least."
"And what about Squealer?"
You clear your throat. "She was unconscious and Velocity was there when I left. If she isn't in custody, I don't know why."
"The Merchants have lost a lot of their money and even one of their capes. We've accomplished something today." That word, uttered so rarely in conjunction with the dockworkers, instills fresh energy into the people assembled before you. "Tim, if you could sort through the money and start splitting it up tomorrow, that'd be great. We need to set some aside for renting new office space to keep up appearances that we're still barely hanging on."
"If you want it to look like you're still working odd jobs, why dissolve the branch?" you ask.
He shakes his head. "Inspections, mostly. As part of the DWA, they had the ability to audit our books at any time. Someone digging into how we were pulling in so much money without taking any jobs would be… bad." You nod in understanding, and he looks at the rest of the group. "Kurt, Alexander, can you organize the guys and find out what you can about any more drug dens? After today, we need to have more information about where we're going before we try another raid. Margaret, you're still willing to be our manager?"
"Someone has to keep you boys in line," she answers with a smile.
"Thank you." He looks at you. "And Taylor? You'll be studying. You're a member of the team," he says when you open your mouth to argue, "and clearly an indispensable one. But you have to think about your future, too. There's no reason for you not to go to college, not with your brains. We'll send those forms to Winslow and Concord tomorrow, but I want you to get started as soon as you can. We won't have anything for you to help with for a while, anyway."
You sigh but give him a nod of your own. You had more freedom before all this, when you were still plain old Taylor and he was too busy keeping the dockworkers in business to pay much attention to what you were doing.
You wouldn't go back to that for all the money in the world.
"I think we've all had a productive day," he tells them. "Go home, get some rest. The next couple of days should be easier."
Once everyone has left, your dad lets out a long sigh and slumps in his chair. Perfect Storm beeps once, presumably to tell you that his power is no longer restrained. "If you were holding it in, why were you all meeting back here?" you ask.
"I came back here so I wouldn't have to worry about it while we were talking. They decided to grab chairs and come back here. I guess it was to show me that they weren't concerned about me influencing them and they trusted me." Smiling faintly, he continues, "I appreciate the thought, but I think I would have preferred it if they let me relax. I don't want them to be under my power during these meetings. That sounds like a good way to never hear any ideas other than my own, and the last thing I want is to make a mistake that gets more people killed when they could have lived."
You shift in your seat, uncertain about what to say to that, and the motion causes something to crinkle audibly in your pocket. Of course, the forms! "I completely forgot to tell you what the PRT said."
"Honestly, I forgot, too," he agrees. "You got us signed up?"
"Well, about that…."
You tell him the bad news about the Protectorate and the Privateers, and his face grows stormier the longer you go on. "That's bullshit," he finally declares when you're finished. "They don't get the same rights just because they aren't capes?"
"I thought the same thing. But now I wonder if we can't say that they do. I mean, you do give them powers, so maybe it would make them qualify? I got the impression Miss Militia might look the other way if we did that…. Dad?"
He had suddenly grown pale. "That's a bad idea." You look at him curiously. "You probably don't remember when they put Teacher away, but his powers caused a lot of panic. Let's not invite any comparisons to a notorious supervillain who was sent to the Birdcage, please."
Now seems an excellent time to change the subject, so while he is still off-balance, you strike. "Hey, Dad? Can I have a pet?"
"…What?"
"A pet. A small, furry animal I can keep in the house to play with."
"I know what a pet is," he retorts. "I just don't know how we got on this subject."
You shrug. "I was going to ask, anyway, and it really did seem like a reasonable segue. Storm says it knows a… a way to give an animal powers of its own." You might be becoming accustomed to your Device's terminology, but your dad would give you a strange look indeed if you started talking seriously about magic rituals.
He jokes, "If you can make it a healer, I'd start renting it from you."
"That actually is possible," you reply with a smile. During your flight, Perfect Storm had run through the six templates you can choose from, and one of them had some healing spells. You just aren't sure which you like most.
He doesn't seem to know what to say to that, so after a minute, he just shakes his head. "Fine, you can have a pet. But it's a big responsibility. You have to feed it, take care of it, clean up after it—"
"I'm fifteen, Dad, not five!" you laugh as you rise to your feet. "Let's go home. I don't know about you, but I've had a long day."
Homing Bullet learned.
Strong Shield learned.
+1 training to Aerial Combat (6/6 master).
+1 training to Strong Shield (1/4 novice).
Next chapter will be a Danny interlude, and after that I think I'll do an after-action report so you know what could have happened had you made a few decisions differently. (Hint: it could be a hell of a lot worse!)
